The two men sat across from each other at Clark's kitchen table, a plate of chamonix and ding-dongs between them. Michel stared into his tea, trying to think of how to break the awkward silence without getting into another argument about the proper use of superpowers. He finally settled for asking, "So, how are things at work?"
"Pretty good," Clark replied, giving him a tiny smile. "I mean, aside from..." The smile vanished, and Michel inwardly winced. Clark took another sip of his tea. "I've been trying to get an interview with the leader of the dock-workers' union," he offered.
Michel did his best to be interested. This was good: this was normal. This was the sort of thing that Clark needed, right now. "Oh?" he prompted.
Clark nodded. "There's a strike going on," he elaborated. "If it doesn't get settled in a reasonable amount of time, it could hit the economy pretty hard. Most of the people in the bay area are barely scraping by as it is, especially the dock-workers, whose low wages are a big part of why they're striking. Of course, they have *no* wages as long as the strike is on, which makes it even harder for them and their families."
Michel stared at Clark in silence. Most people he knew, if they even cared about the strike at all, would probably just grumble at the inconvenience it was causing. Clark, though, cared too deeply about people. Michel had the feeling that if Clark didn't have any powers at all, he would probably still run through the city like some kind of Robin Hood, helping the poor; or a gun-slinging cowboy, saving innocent people from wrong-doers.
Of course, most heroes like Robin Hood or the Lone Rider were just stories, he reminded himself. Real life had more martyrs than heroes. Even Clark's "Superman" experiment was proving to be a failure, and now Michel had to be the voice of reason long enough to talk Clark out of truly losing everything.
"So," Clark suddenly said, interrupting Michel's thoughts, "how are things over at your job?"
Michel hadn't even realized he'd been tensing up, until his shoulders relaxed. "Fairly good," he replied. "Things have slowed down a little, lately, so I've had plenty of time to study the Kryptonite sample."
Clark shuddered. "How can you stand to be near that stuff?" he asked.
"How can I not?" Michel countered, grinning. "It is a fragment of an alien planet—your birth-planet, if the information we have is correct." He often wondered if it was his own birthplace, too. While the similarities he shared with Clark were certainly a staggering coincidince, it was still possible that they were just that. "Aren't you just a little bit curious?" he asked.
"Yeah," Clark replied, staring at him with an odd expression. He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I mean, uh, yeah, I guess Kryptonite is...significant," he said, reaching for one of the ding-dongs. "It's just a shame that it's a glowing shard of crippling agony."
"Do you know what that means?" Michel asked, his grin broadening.
"Keep away from it?" Clark replied, one eyebrow raised. He bit into the ding-dong and took a swing of his tea.
Michel took another sip from his own. "It means ultra-high-band radiation, which in turn means a very high number of protons per atom, which means that we're dealing with something made by forces greater than the sun!"
Both of Clark's eyebrows rose. "And what does *that* mean?" he asked.
"Mass," Michel replied. "Or possibly an event that somehow released vast amounts of energy at once, but it still comes back down to mass. Whatever that meteorite originated from, I think it must have contained more matter than our entire solar-system combined."
Clark let out a low whistle. "That's pretty big," he commented.
Michel nodded. "I wish I could see it," he confessed.
For some reason, Clark suddenly looked distracted. His eyes drifted past Michel's shoulder, settling somewhere beyond the entrance to his bedroom. "I can show it to you, if you want,"
"What?!" Michel blinked at Clark, who was already rising from the table. He shot to his feet and followed him over to a desk, where Clark retrieved a small key.
"The globe I got from my ship shows it," Clark explained, leading him over to a bookcase and unlocking a small box. A small replica of Earth sat inside. Or at least, it looked like Earth; was Krypton some sort of twin planet?
Clark started to reach for the globe, then froze. "Actually...why don't you pick it up?" he said.
Michel looked at him in confusion, then reached forward. He lifted the orb out of its box, nearly dropping it when Earth's blue seas and green continents suddenly morphed into a mottled green and red planet: Krypton.
This was Krypton.
And he was from there.
Michel couldn't explain how he knew these things: he simply knew them. He turned to Clark, his jaw slack.
Clark looked from Michel, to the globe, then back again. "Did it...tell you anything?" he asked, looking and sounding anxious.
Michel stared at the globe again. "All these years," he whispered, "not knowing...and now..."
Clark smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know what you mean," he said.
Michel couldn't stop the laughter that suddenly bubbled up. "Well, my American friend, it seems we are really countrymen after all!"
The mood lightened considerably, at that point. Superman was, ironically enough, forgotten as this new discovery caused the earlier uneasiness to dissipate. As far as they were concerned, there was no heatwave, no injunction, no disagreements: only two friends who miraculously came from the same far-off place.
They were just about to drink a toast to Krypton when they heard a knock at the door.
"Clark!" a familiar voice called from the other side. "Open up. It's me."
"Lois," Clark whispered, going a little pale. "She's going to expect Superman to be here. How am I supposed to—" he broke off, then turned to Michel with a thoughtful expression.
Michel sighed.
**********
"This is a terrible idea," Michel whispered for the fifth time in as many minutes. He stepped out from the bathroom, dressed in one of Clark's suits. The resemblance was even more startling now that Michel's different hairstyle and taste in clothes were taken out of the equasion. Clark briefly wondered if even their own mothers would be able to tell Michel from Superman.
Outside, Lois pounded on the door again. "Clark?" she repeated.
"Coming!" Clark called, then turned back to Michel. "Don't worry," he whispered back. "just be aloof and heroic-looking for the next five minutes. She'll never know."
"Why can't I just be you and you be Superman?" Michel pleaded, his voice still kept low.
"Because she knows me too well," Clark replied in a hush, "and besides that, it'd be confusing!" He sprinted up the steps and laid his hand on the doorknob, just as Lois shouted his name again. "Ready?" he mouthed.
Michel sighed, nodded, then placed his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest.
Clark opened the door, just as Lois raised her fist to knock again. She gave a little start, but quickly recovered. "Well, it's about time," she huffed, marching into his livingroom armed with a bag of groceries. She stopped as soon as she saw Michel, and Clark saw her face morph into that wide-eyed, girlish swoon he'd come to simultaneously love and loathe. "Hi, Superman," she said, coyly.
Michel puffed his chest out further. "Good evening, Citizen," he replied in an accent vaguely reminiscent of John Wayne.
Clark pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lois started to giggle, then glanced at Clark and swiftly recomposed herself. "I—ah—thought you boys might like some dinner," she said turning towards the kitchen. "Have you eaten, yet?" She paused, her eyes landing on what was left of the plate of sweets. "Have you eaten any actual *food*, yet?" she ammended.
Michel looked at Clark.
"We're fine," Clark told her, trying to gently shepherd her back the way she came. "We're actually not hungry."
Lois shook him off and set the bag on the table, nudging Clark's mug out of the way. "Nonsense! You guys need a decent meal; you can't just survive on sugar." She looked up at Michel and actually batted her eyes. "Well, I guess Superman can," she added, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can survive on pretty much anything, can't you?"
"Actually," Clark said, an idea coming to him, "I think Superman just wants to go to bed, right now. He's very tired."
Thankfully, Michel picked up his lead. He made an exaggerated yawn. "That's right, Ma'am," he said, once again sounding like something out of a bad spaghetti-western, "I'm just plum wore out!"
Lois paused in her task of taking out the food and stared at Michel with an expression of sympathy. "Oh, Superman, you poor thing! I guess with the trial and getting sent to jail and everything, you did have a really hard day, didn't you?"
"Y—I was in jail?!" Michel exclaimed, turning wide eyes onto Clark.
Clark grinned nervously at Lois, who was looking understandably confused at this outburst. "He's still in shock about it," Clark apologized.
Lois gaped at Michel for a moment that felt far too long, then suddenly rushed forward and threw her arms around the erstatz superhero. Michel went rigid as a board, staring at Clark with a panicked expression. "I'm so sorry!" she lamented. "It's just not fair how they've been treating you, and after everything you've done for us!" She pulled back and gave him a reassuring smile. "But don't worry, Superman," she said sweetly. "I haven't given up on you, and I never will!"
Michel smiled back at her, though his posture was still unnaturally stiff.
Lois frowned. "Are you okay? You've been acting a little strange."
"Er, prison changed me!" Michel stammered.
"What he means is, uh..." Clark shot a quick glare at Michel, his mind racing. "He's been under a lot of stress."
"Yes!" Michel said, quickly. "That is what I meant."
Lois seemed like she was about to respond, but before she could utter a word, the music from the stereo abruptly stopped. The three fell silent as a news bulletin was announced. Lois crossed the room and raised the volume.
"—high speed Metro train has lost its brakes. Passengers in the main terminal are being evacuated, but there are over three-hundred people at risk on the train..."
Clark's jaw tightened. Michel and the DA might not like it, but he knew what he had to do. A shiver ran up his spine, ending with a prickle at the back of his head.
"No!" Michel whispered faintly from behind him. "You can't!" He sounded strangely far away.
"I have to," Clark whispered back. He turned to Michel, bracing himself for an argument. After a few seconds, however, Michel only gave a mute nod.
"I'm sorry, Superman," Lois said, "but dinner's going to have to wait. Clark and I gotta go."
"I will fly you both there," Michel suddenly offered, his accent becoming a bit more European.
Clark stared at him, his jaw hanging open.
"What?!" Lois exclaimed. "You can't!"
"Superman has to stop the train," he continued, looking Clark straight in the eye. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'll land a short distance away so we can trade clothes."
Clark nodded. "Thank you," he replied.
Michel put an arm around each of them, and only Clark heard him swallow before they took off into the night. The thought passed through Clark's mind that he owed Michel big-time for this. As grateful as he was, though, it was a little puzzling how that thought would not go away.
