Part Eight Part Nine: ----------
The little laboratory was fairly spartan compared to Michel's office, though it somehow still managed to be in a state of disarray. Clark reflected that if anything ever happened to the man while he was working, there would be no definite signs of the struggle. He set the bag he'd brought down on a table covered in assorted rocks and drifted toward the item that had initially drawn him in here: Wayne's toolbox sat open and empty on the counter, looking for all the world like an ordinary object that never contained any life-destroying items whatsoever. Clark shuddered.
A notepad lay next to it. While he could read French easily enough, the messily scrawled fusion of numbers, scientific abbreviations, and diagrams might as well have been Gr—well, gibberish. Only a tiny sketch of a familiar-looking rock gave Clark any definite idea of what the page was rambling about.
“Did you find anything interesting?”
With a start, Clark backed away from the notepad and sheepishly turned to face Michel, who was now leaning in the open doorway. “Hi.”
Michel uncrossed his arms and stepped further into the tiny room. “Hi,” he replied.
“I—uh—brought you these,” Clark said, retrieving the bag and holding it out toward Michel. “There's two boxes of Ho-Hos,” he explained even as the other man took the bag and looked inside, “and Mom made some brownies.”
“You really didn't have to,” Michel protested, his eyes widening at the sugary bounty.
Clark shrugged. “I wanted to—partly to apologize again, and partly because—well, you saved my life. Wayne's, too.” He grinned. “You were a real hero, Michel.”
Michel looked away.
“Didn't it feel good?” Clark asked, gently. “Helping someone else? Making a diff—”
“Clark,” Michel said abruptly, “are we still friends?”
“I hope we are,” Clark replied.
Michel took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Then, as my friend, I am asking you to please shut up.”
It took Clark a few seconds to realize his mouth was hanging open. He closed it with a snap.
“I—I'm sorry,” Michel stammered, nervously twisting the handles of the bag. “But, you just don't understand.”
Clark sighed and leaned against the counter behind him. “No, I don't,” he agreed. “Could you please explain?”
Michel seemed to stare at the wall for a moment. Finally, he said, “It's different for you.”
“What do you mean?” Clark asked, his eyebrows raised. “We're almost exactly the same!”
“But we're not the same,” Michel insisted. “Your life is different from mine, Clark.”
“If this is about having to keep your secret safe,” said Clark, “I've been there too, remember? My parents were deathly afraid of what would happen if I got caught using my powers; Dad used to warn me about being hauled away to a lab somewhere and cut up like a frog. Heck, back when I was traveling, there were times when I had to pack up and leave just because someone was getting suspicious...”
“You did what?” Michel asked, calmly.
Clark frowned. “I said I had to leave places,” he repeated.
“Exactly,” said Michel.
Clark's frown deepened.
“You were able to run away, Clark,” Michel explained. “I never had that option. I've lived in or near this city for my entire life. If I make someone suspicious, I can't just disappear.”
Clark stared at him, stunned. Somehow, that simple fact had never occurred to him. “But...” he found himself asking, “...but...what do you do?”
Michel's expression went blank. “What do you mean?”
“When you hear someone who needs help,” Clark elaborated, waving his hands vaguely toward the door. “You can hear the same things I do, and in a city this size.... What do you *do*?”
“Nothing,” said Michel.
Clark blinked. “Nothing?” he echoed.
Michel nodded.
For a few moments, Clark was at a loss for words. “Nothing?” he repeated again. “But that's—I mean—how?!”
His friend heaved a sigh. “You grow a tougher skin. You remind yourself that tragedy has always been a part of life and always will be. You remember who your first duty is toward, and you remind yourself of the consequences of your actions.” He looked Clark in the eye. “You learn to do what is necessary.”
Clark felt his heart ache. “I don't think I could ever live like that,” he said softly.
Michel shrugged and idly picked up a rock from the table, revealing it to be half of a geode. He turned it over in his hand so that its crystalline interior caught the light. “You probably would if you had to,” he commented.
“Well,” Clark replied, shuddering at the very thought, “thank goodness I don't have to.”
TBC...
