stands_for_hope | At Home with Clark and Jim

"Emphasis on little. The paper got paid by another publication who wanted to use my piece so I got a little extra for it," he explained. Honestly, he didn't know as much about it as he could have but Lois had been very helpful when it came to navigating things. She'd also told him he'd better negotiate a better rate if he wanted to get out of his crappy apartment.

Given that he rather liked his apartment, and he was trying not to garner too much attention, he was just fine with it as it was.

"I'd offer to show you the office, but I kind of figured you'd prefer to stay away from people who make their living butting their nose into things."

For just a moment, there was a near-smile on Jim's face. "Who knows if they managed to catch me on camera. I try to stay out of it, but this was... high profile."

Three helicarriers had fallen out of the sky, shooting each other down. SHIELD had fallen. That was more than a little high profile. And if there was a hint of a picture of him, he did have one unmistakeable distinguishing characteristic. It was shiny metal and around a yard long.

"They'd snoop on you for being my roommate before they'd worry about you being involved with the helicarrier incident," he said with a laugh in return.

"'Finally, something interesting about Smallville'," he mimicked, his voice husky and jockish. Steve "The Slinger" Lombard was one of the ones who especially liked to give him trouble. Despite being of seemingly sound mind and body, he'd neglected to join a single sports team at school which, in Lombard's world, meant that he was either to be pitied or despised and possibly both.

"And Cat would be after you in a heartbeat trying to get your number. She's... got something of a type."

Namely male and breathing.

Edited 2014-04-17 05:34 (UTC)

He wondered what, of all that, would be the most troublesome - being asked about his living arrangements or being pursued romantically. Swiftly enough, he decided the latter. He could at least be boring enough to be written off as someone's roommate, but from what he'd seen since becoming his own person, romantic pursuits were, at the moment, more than he had the willpower for. He was still adjusting to something as simple as friendship. Anything more would be too much.

"Tell them you keep me around because I cook." It was close enough to the truth to pass.

He'd washed dishes well and good enough until they ate. They each found a place in the drainer before he walked over to the sofa and sat down. He picked up a screwdriver on the way and looked into his arm. It wasn't malfunctioning just yet, but he wondered what he would do if it ever did.

"Well," he muses, "it'll keep Cat off me for a bit."

And it would make Lois laugh herself sick in the ladies room.

He pulled off his glasses, kicked off his shoes, and ran a hand through his hair to muss it up a little. Then he gave a deep breath out, deep enough to just rustle some of the papers around the house.

"Sorry about that."

But it was kind of amazing to him that he had a roommate, who knew, where he could be himself. College had been hell in a lot of ways, and while his parents had known about him right from the start, his father had always been quick to stomp down on any displays that would set Clark apart from the rest, even at home.

This was good for him, though. As much as he had figured out some parts of the life he'd chosen, finding an internal balance was still somewhat eluding him. Being comfortable with who and what he was... it was going to take some time.

"I think you have more abilities than Captain America," Jim said quietly, but it was true. The strength was about the same, but Clark could fly, had that magnified hearing. Compared to Steve, he was sure Clark was stronger. It had started to give him a sense of security. He and Steve were almost even, but with someone like Clark on his side, he had a chance to heal on his own time.

And he had finally been able to accept it as healing, even if he spent more of his time denying. At least it seemed his nightmares, when he managed to sleep, hadn't awakened anyone but him. He couldn't censor those. He couldn't deny in his sleep.

"I haven't really thought about it," he admits, and it is the truth. He's never been competitive, that particular virtue highly frowned upon in the Kent household other than scholastically.

"I just... use it when I need it."

He looks back at Jim.

"I guess it makes sense, though. Captain America used to be a normal person. I'm not even from this planet."

Not even human is unspoken, but the echo is there anyway.

Edited 2014-04-17 06:27 (UTC)

"I'm not sure a normal person would let themselves be experimented on." Was that his friend? Someone who let himself be changed just to fight in a war?

So many questions.

"And I have a metal arm. None of us are normal."

"But we all choose to be human," he says, quiet and if not at peace with the decision, then learning to be.

It wasn't often that Clark tried to talk about his own struggles on that particular front, as much because he wasn't comfortable with it being spoken aloud as because he felt he was pushing something on Jim that he shouldn't.

"In this world, there's not much else to be. Some variety of human." Clark had been raised by humans. He had been... programmed by humans. Captain America had been created by humans. "Humanity is the worst and the best. Everything in between. Everything's a choice except humanity."

"I'm not sure if I agree about the lack of choice," he admits, tilting his head a little over the edge of the couch, "but I admit, I'm in something of a unique position."

After all, being human was more than just your species. And while humans had taken over most of the globe, they hadn't taken over all of it. There were ways to get away and people who chose to stay there, disconnected, apart. Clark respected the choice even as he envied them the fact that they always had the choice to reconnect; in the age of the internet especially, one could not deny that no matter how strange, one could find others like themselves somewhere. He didn't like the part of himself that envied them, but he knew it was there. He tried to mitigate it, reminded himself that for all the world he looked and acted and seemed like them, but he would always know he wasn't one.

He pops his feet up on the coffee table and folds his hands in his lap.

"As for the best and worst... " he let his eyes slip closed, "that's a much longer discussion. And one I'm definitely not having on an empty stomach."

"It'll be done soon." The meat was really already mostly done if it wasn't done already. Right now was for the vegetables he'd added, which needed time to cook and soften instead of staying hard and bitter. They'd pick up the seasonings as they cooked. How he knew to do this, he wasn't quite sure, but it seemed like second nature. "Wasn't intending to start a conversation, anyway."

He was just sure he'd seen, and been, the worst humanity had to offer.

"I don't mind it, as far as it goes," he said philosophically, "but questions like that aren't good for the stomach and I'm looking forward to this."

He turned to give Jim half a grin.

"It smells pretty close to my mom's."

That made him frown and lean back.

"I should let you meet her. She about flipped when she heard I had a roommate. College was just a little nervewracking."

He stopped himself before he spoke. Of course Clark's mother would know his abilities. No mother could miss that. But it made him ask, "They're that worried about you?"

He wasn't sure that Clark's parents meeting him was such a good idea. It wouldn't exactly be encouraging, so far as he knew.

He breathes out.

"She doesn't usually worry about me physically, but she worries about me just about every other way. Growing up was... it wasn't exactly easy."

Listen to my voice, Clark. Use my voice to pull yourself out. Come on, sweetheart. You can do it.

The words echo in his mind and he doesn't shake them away. They're comforting, quiet and gentle, and he uses them as often now as he did then.

"I'd get overwhelmed in class or the kids at school would go after me because I refused to fight back," he explains, eyes distant. After a moment, he looks over at Jim.

"My dad didn't want me using the parts of me that set me apart, but she was always of a mind that I should do what made me happy as long as I didn't hurt anyone else. She said... she said I had to figure out who I wanted to be beyond the fear."

He turned a lopsided grin on his friend.

"I'm still working on it."

Beyond the fear.

Fear still seemed alien to him. He didn't fear for his life. He didn't fear dying, but he didn't want to die, either. Especially not at the hands of Hydra. But to think of fearing what he was... Did he?

And fighting back...

Alleyways. Alleyways and loud voices and three against one. And that one smaller, slighter, brave and stupid at once. Steve Rogers. Too brave for his own good.

He shook his head, making his mind move to a different subject, making himself stop thinking about memories that kept miring him. There was so much he wanted to avoid.

"What kind of fear?" he asked instead. Easier to talk about Clark.

He's looking at Jim, so he saw the twitch of something in him, but he doesn't ask. As far as he's concerned, Jim can deal with his own trouble as quickly or as slowly as he wants. But since Jim asked, he'd be happy to answer... and if any of it rang true somewhere in Jim, so be it.

"When I was little, I was afraid of my parents abandoning me. I'd break something and I could see it in their faces that they were mad but the told me it was okay, that they weren't mad. But I could hear their heartbeats. I could hear it when they whispered in their room about how I was going to get found out, how the government would come, how maybe they were too old to take in a child."

He turns to Jim and waves it off a little.

"It's the kind of thing that parents say; it's not easy and there's always doubts. I know that now. But most parents can hide things like that from their kids."

Clark folds his hands in his lap.

"When I got older, I was afraid I'd break something important, something expensive. A little older than that and I was terrified I'd hurt someone. I wasn't..." he breathes in "the kids who picked on me, they couldn't hurt me, but it still burned that I had to put up with it. That I could knock every one of them on their backsides..."

He shakes his head.

"Some of that went away when we had an accident on the bus one day. I got a taste of what it was like to have people ask how I could have done that, what made me different, insisting they knew the truth. And that, that was when I started being afraid of being found out. What they could do to me, to my mom, my dad. And eventually, my dad told me about where I'd come from."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, pulling his feet back under him to stand up. He doesn't pace, but he walks over to the table and sits across from Jim.

"Then it was just the fear of the unknown. What was I? How was I supposed to be? Was I really a monster hiding in this teenager's skin? Was I just trained to be human? Why did they send me there? What was I supposed to be? And what did it mean to me since it seemed like I was just living my life, going along my way. Was I failing to live up to a destiny? Was I going to live up to it no matter what I wanted?"

He turns to give Jim an uneven, faint but ultimately hopeful smile.

"That's the one I'm working on, mostly."

Edited 2014-04-18 01:58 (UTC)

"I was an orphan."

The thought was there, clear, fully formed. He had been an orphan. Steve had had his mother, but she'd passed away, and--

'Til the end of the line.

He'd said it to Steve outside Steve's apartment after giving him the spare key, when Steve was being his usual stubborn self, trying to deny help when he needed it, but it was his job to help Steve because Steve needed it.

The vivid memory left him breathless and staring and aware, in the back of his mind, of exactly how unfair it was to think of that while Clark was being so honest.

"I... I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I think I'm glad my parents never saw me become this. Between us, I'm the monster. You... have heart. If you have a destiny, it's one you built, and it's better than mine."

Clark shook his head, unwilling to accept that.

"A heart isn't something you just have," he said gently.

"It's built up, from people and memories and relationships." He breathes in and looks Jim in the face.

"Do you think I don't think terrible things sometimes? That I don't... don't know how fragile the people around me are?"

He reaches over and gently, carefully, puts his hand beside Jim's on the table. He wouldn't touch him without the other man's explicit permission, but the gesture was made.

"Jim, monsters don't realize they're monsters. They think they're martyrs or saviors or unacknowledged heroes. They're everything they WANT to be.

"The one who think they're monsters? Are just the ones who need a little help to find their way."

"Whatever destiny I do or don't have... it's no better or worse than anyone else's. It just happens to be mine."

Edited 2014-04-18 03:22 (UTC)

His gaze settled on Clark's hand, his mind almost taking a step back as he listened. It was easy for him to near-dissociate. Easier than facing the images his mind had put before him. And listening to Clark gave him something beyond the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears to listen to.

"You're a better person than most," he said, though, once he could speak again, and it was as truthful as he could be. Clark and Steve. Both of them were better people. Definitely better people than him.

"I have different fears than most," he says honestly, "that's all."

He leans back then, running a hand through his hair before scratching at one ear.

"And you help me a lot. Just so that you know."

His brows lowered with his frown. "How?" he asked. "I've... not done anything."

Not to Clark. Not really even with him. He'd made a few repairs and he tended to cook, but he couldn't see how that was a help. At least, not against fear.

"You have. It's... a little hard to explain," he admitted with a tilt of his head, "but you have."

He leaned up to look over at the crock pot, peering through the top before breathing in deep.

"And not with the handyman thing or the food. Though I'm pretty damn sure that I'm going to be a fan of your roast beef."

"Half an hour. There should be enough for you to take for lunch tomorrow." It would save money. He preferred to save money. It seemed a precious and finite resource, one to be carefully saved and spent frugally. Prices seemed to have reached astronomical highs, but he'd adjusted - or he'd tried to. Two dollars still seemed expensive for a small meal.

But despite it, he said quietly, "If you want me to meet your mother, I'll try."

"If you're here the next time she calls, I'll pass you the phone," he says with a grateful smile.

"Honestly, I think you'll like her. And you're already making sure I get enough to eat so her usual line of attack is already taken care of."

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