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[ private to: Ivan, (Solid) Snake, Bruce, Miles, Gregor, Elizabeth, and Tony ]

So, about my secret identity. [ A small quirk of his lips - it's still odd to say it, but still, he should have done this months ago. ]

I know that I've already spoken to most of you about this, but not in a whole lot of detail... the short of it is, I really need you to keep what you know about me to yourself, for your own safety. I thought it wouldn't be as much of an issue here, but there are some things I didn't take into account.

[ Namely, his family showing up, and the fact that Superman is a lot more popular than he imagined. It was one thing, when the worst he had to worry about was maybe the Ingress pulling Faora out of the phantom zone, but that's just in his corner of the universe. Suddenly there are a lot of people who might have a bone to pick with him, and anyone around him.

But mainly, there are things that only Superman can deal with. He needs his own space to maneuver just as much as Clark needs the space to be, well, Clark. ]

I've got a second ID on the network now, under Superman. If I'm out in that suit, I'd prefer if you called me that, or Kal, instead of Clark. [ He rubs the side of his neck. Theoretically, asking people to call him Superman is a thing he'll eventually get used to. ] Mostly it's there if anyone needs to contact me in case of an emergency, or if there's anyone you know who might need my help.

If anyone asks, there's nothing special about Clark Kent. I'm sure there are some questions, and I'll answer them, but suffice to say, the less people know about what I really am for now, the better.

Oh, and if anyone else shows up and mentions Superman or the Justice League, I'd appreciate a heads-up. Thanks.

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It's a long story. And I did say you could call me Kal.

Are you alright?

Just fine, and I will, thank you. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think you've ever specified what you prefer to be called in private. When no one else is around, I mean -- well, when no one else but me is around, anyway.

[ sorry clark did you think you were really going to get a real answer ]

I hadn't really thought about it a lot. I've been 'Clark' my whole life. It's just... Sometimes it feels almost like it fits as strangely as 'Superman.'

[ Which isn't to say that it doesn't fit. Clark is the name his parents gave him, and Superman is from the people of his adoptive home. But at the same time, he feels like both of them are just - facets, maybe. Parts of a whole.

'Kal-El' is his birthright, something he can claim for himself. But it feels... intimate. Does he want Miles to call him that? ]

Better question: are you going to meet me somewhere, or am I going to come and find you?

Edited 2016-03-18 02:23 (UTC)

Hm. Well, think on it and get back to me. At your leisure, of course. What are you talking about? Did I miss a memo?

[ wait. shit. did he miss something -- or forget, rather? miles racks his brain. no, he's pretty sure he hasn't forgotten any plans he made with clark. he's pretty sure they haven't made any recently -- miles has been damn near off the grid lately with how all over the place he's been. ]

You're not fine. We're having a talk. Where is up to you.

[ EXCUSE??? miles squints at his MID in incipient indignation, mouth opening. god dammit. ]

Have you been spying on me?

[ it's at least partly a matter of professional pride. it's not like miles isn't being spied on all the damn time, that's what impsec is, but the context matters. and it's not like he doesn't know what clark's capable of, but it had honestly escaped him a moment. but this is at least partly another diversion from what clark's really getting at. indignation is always a great smokescreen. ]

That's another thing we can talk about when I see you.

[ Nice try, Miles. ]

[ R U D E ]

You have been spying on me.

[ his pride is just a tiny bit wounded, but also, now he's just being stubborn on principle. miles hates not winning. which is why he's lying on the fold-out bed in his new customized bedroom/office, surrounded by small stacks of paperwork, while he types at clark like a petulant child. ]

[ Roughly three seconds pass after Miles' reply.

One second to read, one to consider arguing more, and one to move from his own room to Miles' location. He doesn't actually think it through - he just moves. He's quick enough that he's hardly a blur to human perception until he stops, but a small gust of wind blows past him when he does, kicking up a few of the papers Miles has neatly stacked around him. Clark stands there, arms folded, in the middle of the room. ]

Are we really -- Miles, what have you been doing to yourself?

[ things you probably shouldn't do to your badly sleep-deprived and professionally paranoid boyfriend: appear in his room in the space of a breath after accusing you of spying on him.

well, it's a little late for that now. miles jumps like a spooked cat, letting out a very startled and vicious curse in barrayaran russian, and one leg spastically kicks an entire stack of papers off the bed, sending it scattering. miles clutches a hand to his chest, looking gray-faced and spooked as all hell on his knees on the bed. he sort of looked like that before clark got here, to be fair. ]

What have I -- what are you -- [ well, that sure got his heart rate up. he can hear it in his ears, the room swimming a little. did he miss something? ] When did -- how did you -- don't do that!

Sorry. [ He sounds both distracted and not sorry at all, but he does unfold his arms and move over to the bed, concern etched into every feature.

He gets a knee on the bed and reaches for Miles like he wants to check for a fever. ] I didn't mean to... Have you slept? At all?

Since when?

[ that answer's little more than a stall, because miles is still trying to get his heart under control -- not very successfully. he flinches back away from clark's hand with a petulant scowl; it isn't out of any worry that clark might hurt him, it's just that sometimes he hates that look that people get. the look that clark's giving him now. the look that means that someone's probably about to tell him what they think is best for him and then try to make him do whatever it is. he's an adult, dammit, he can take care of himself.

but miles doesn't draw back any farther than just out of immediate reach of clark's hand, leaning back on the bed, and then he huffs out a breath, some of the tension draining from his body mostly because it isn't worth the effort to sustain it. he lets his lets slide out from under him so that he's in a sitting position with his legs splayed out in front of him, slumping a little more than he generally likes, but most of his energy right now is devoted to keeping himself relatively alert and focused. he rubs his jaw, his skin rough with a day's worth of stubble growth. the look he gives clark is probably unduly wary. ]

If I say no, are you going to try to sedate me? Because I'm getting a little tired of that shtick.

[ Clark drops his hand. There's a brief flicker of something in his expression, but it's little more than reflexive. He knows that it isn't personal - that Miles has never been afraid of him. It isn't really about him at all. He remembers Miles' quiet admission when they'd first started all of this.

A silent request for personal space is one that he's more than willing to abide by, but he does settle on the edge of the bed, clearly not planning to go anywhere. He knows that look on Miles' face. He's shoring himself up for a fight, which is exactly what Clark was hoping to avoid, but it seems like that kind of thing is generally inevitable between them.

It doesn't surprise him at all that someone has sedated Miles more than once. ]

And it's clearly not working in the long run. [ A pause. ] Miles, I wouldn't sedate you against your will, and if I was going to try, you would already be asleep. Do you want to talk about whatever's going on?

Never said I saw it coming before.

[ it's a muttered aside, mostly to himself, and he regards clark with slightly narrowed eyes for a moment more, but the wary air about him starts to fade when clark pulls back. the part of himself he's always warring with, the part that craves the attention and concern as much as he reviles it, is secretly relieved that clark doesn't retreat any further.

being contrary is almost reflex at this point, but miles doesn't quite have it in him to really fight clark over it. he's still got kind of a hangover from whatever gregor dosed him with the other day -- or maybe it's just a new flavor of exhaustion, whatever -- and he's gotten into enough fights over it recently. he scrubs his face with his hands in an attempt to wake himself up a little, still looking kind of cranky, but mostly, he just looks tired. ]

Nothing's going on. Or everything, depending on who you ask, except I'm the only one you can really ask about it, and I'm of two minds about it right now. I'm just all kinds of backlogged in the Personnel Office, and my co-officer at the bar's gone, and I can't sleep. Can't without nightmares, anyway, and I'm sick of nightmares. They get old after a while. [ tired babbling? you bet. miles delivers a very petulant glare at the paperwork surrounding him and reaches out to sweep a few stacks between him and clark aside with another scowl. ] I used to have people for this.

[ Miles is acting strangely even for Miles, and Clark is rapidly moving past the point of concern, but he reels himself in from this the way he does from most any extreme of emotion. He listens, and tries to sort through what he can do. ]

You still have people. You're the Personnel Officer. Delegate - temporarily. I can staff a bar, and isn't Ivan good with paperwork?

[ He rubs his chin, thoughtful. ]

The nightmares I haven't found a cure for, but sometimes it helps to air it out. You're tired and you're not thinking straight. Slow down and talk to me. [ A pause. ] Or write down what you can't talk about and destroy it after.

You asked me earlier if I was spying on you - it's not in the way you think. I don't know what's going on with you, I just know that it's more than you want to admit, and I'm here to help if I can.

[ god, he's got a headache. what he wouldn't kill for a -- what? a knockout, a pick-me-up? sedatives are always a gamble, and the creme de meth is... well, miles certainly knows what he gets out of that. to stay awake or try to sleep -- which is the lesser evil, he can't tell. ]

Ivan's only talent with paperwork is doing it so slowly as to be the bare minimum. Look, I just --

[ i don't need any help, or i can do it myself, maybe, but the words don't make it out. it feels like cheating, somehow. but it's hard to think about it around the clouded feeling his chest, the vague buzzing in his ears he can't seem to shake. that implicit respect of the private things miles is always keeping so close to his chest does not go unnoticed, and it almost makes him wince with some feeling distantly related to guilt. he doesn't want to pull away, not really, but he's barely had a hold of himself, and what's safe to say, anyway? miles scrubs his face with his hands again, trying to push his disordered thoughts into something coherent. something feels so peculiarly off. ]

It's not about the bar, Clark, I've got bigger things to worry about, and --

[ notes of distress creep into miles's voice but he stutters out before he finishes and he just buries his face in his hands, suddenly run out of steam and mumbling tiredly. ]

It'd be nice if the nightmares would at least stay in the realm of sleep. You know those vid channels that just play reruns around the clock? It's like a TV you can't shut off. For once in my life I'd kill for a commercial break.

[ He's never seen Miles like this. There's a different quality to his frenetic energy, punctuated by stalls, incomplete thoughts, and clear exhaustion. That crack in Miles' voice seems to cut right through him. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't think there's a lot he can do. Maybe Ivan or Gregor would have a better idea of how to handle it, but speaking to them will have to wait.

He can only imagine the scale of Miles' nightmares, though he has a good idea of what some of them might be about. Clark gives him a measured, considering look. ]

Miles. [ He shifts a little, and this time when he reaches for Miles, it's to bush his hand up against tense curve of Miles' spine, and squeeze gently at the back of his neck. ]

[ miles shivers at the hand on his back, but none of the tension eases from his frame, tightly coiled under his skin like a spring wound too tight. the heels of his hands are pressed to his eyes, but eyes shut or open, it doesn't seem to matter. he knows where he is even as he feels the room swim blindly around him, but it doesn't stop the tidal surge of sense memory of other times and places. the roar of shuttle engines drones in his ears, and behind his eyelids miles sees only the endless artifical sun of dagoola iv, the chime of breaking glass distant in his ears.

he's only abstractly aware that his heart is thudding harder now, tight in his chest, his forehead slick and clammy against his palms. he draws in a sharp breath and drops his hands to his lap, turning his face up to clark with a look of raw, weary devastation. ]

We tried to get everyone out, Clark, but we didn't. All the ones we left behind -- I was on the last shuttle up and we still didn't get everyone. I should've stayed.

[ didn't he? didn't he stay, and pay for it with his life? which time was it that he'd been trapped under all that glass and steel, and which was it that lieutenant murka got his head sliced off by plasma? or was it the glass that did him in, just like miles? how many times has he watched sergeant beatrice tumble from the shuttle hatch, swallowed almost immediately by darkness? miles's hands clench in his lap, his mind sputtering and stalling. ]

You -- [ You did stay, Clark almost says. You stayed. I couldn't even bring your body back.

The aftermath of that hadn't been like Metropolis at all. In Metropolis, Clark had pulled survivors out of the rubble there for days. Out there, people hadn't made it to the shuttles had died instantly, all at once, in the unforgiving hush of space. Just like his own world, and his own people. All that was left now were refugees.

But Miles wasn't making sense.

Clark rubbed slow circles across Miles' back, thinking over his words again, the devastation and confusion in his expression.

He has a feeling this is one of those things he isn't meant to know about, and that just makes it all the more alarming. ]

There was another time. Something happened, some kind of disaster, and you had to leave people behind. [ He's mostly confirming the disjointed story. He says it calmly, nearly without inflection, as if Miles isn't scaring the hell out of him under all of his meticulous control. ] What happened?

Clark, what are you talking about? You were there, you should know --

[ miles looks horrendously confused, at a loss, and then his expression flickers like a record skipping and a fresh confusion replaces that expression, all the more devastated. he feels like he's been wrung out and his stomach emptied, leaving only a gaping hold behind. it aches. he tries to chase away the phantoms that lurk at the edges of his vision. ]

We didn't leave anyone behind at Dagoola. I was in the last shuttle up. [ his voice cracks. ] It was in their air we lost them. We weren't fast enough. I wasn't fast enough. I could've caught her, if only I'd been fast enough. That frigging shuttle ramp...

[ ramp's stuck during liftoff -- jettison it. only they couldn't, couldn't get it unstuck. beatrice's voice over the roar of the engines, you'll never get it like that, kicking at the ramp again and again, until it came loose from the ship, and she with it. he still sees the three-second loop of the white blur of her face disappearing below them in his mind. water standing in his eyes, miles clenches his fists in his lap, his voice going raw with regret and futile anger. ]

I wish we could've nuked that camp from orbit. Doesn't matter that it was empty then. A place like that doesn't deserve to stay standing, not after what they did to us. [ he stares at his hands, uncurling them just enough to see the red marks left in his palm by his nails. he clenches them tight again. clark's hand on his back is the only thing keeping him upright now. ] I should've been faster.

I wasn't there, I don't know. [ His voice is gentle but firm.

He's never heard of Dagoola, but he files the name away. They can talk about the specifics when Miles isn't having some kind of mental break. Clark had always gotten hints of experience well outside what he's been told about from Miles, but this is a whole different story.

He wants to tell Miles that he did his best, but he knows from experience - even hearing someone else say it doesn't make it feel more true. Instead, he shifts a little on the bed and puts his arm around Miles to support him better. ]

What was her name?

Beatrice. [ he's shaking, great tremors running through his small frame. on some level he knows he's not there, not back on dagoola, but the sense memory of being naked and rundown for days is overpowering. ] Sergeant Beatrice of the Marilacan Army. She almost broke my arm when we first met. She got me my clothes back.

[ he starts to cry then, tears dripping down his cheeks, and he wants to stop, almost as badly as he'd wanted to stop back on caducus primary but couldn't, can't. ]

I didn't get to give her anything. Quinn -- Elli Quinn, she was my fault, but I at least got to give her her face back. Beatrice, I couldn't -- I couldn't give her anything back.

[ he hasn't told clark about how he and elli met, not beyond the bare details of how he'd met her along with bel -- he hasn't told clark about how she'd had her face blown off by plasma fire under the fumbling command of a seventeen-year-old posing for a man of at least thirty, how he'd used every last betan dollar he had left from that whole debacle to buy her a new one. but there was nothing left to buy for beatrice, not even a burial. ]

[ He can feel the tremors in Miles' body all the way along his side, an almost physical pain echoing in his chest.

There's an echo of Caducus Primary in this, even now. It feels so much like kneeling by Miles' side, powerless, watching him suffer. ]

It's not your fault, Miles. I know you. [ There's a wide chasm between what he knows and what Miles has actually done, but there are some things about Miles that he'll always be certain of. ] You did everything you could. If you weren't fast enough for Sergeant Beatrice, it was out of your control. No matter how many times you replay it, that's not going to change.

And you're wrong. You can still give back to her. When you get through this, you'll find a way to honor her memory, but you can't do anything if you let guilt eat you alive.

Edited 2016-04-10 18:00 (UTC)

[ miles buries his face in his hands to muffle whatever sounds are escaping him, and beneath all the upset he's embarrassed for breaking down like this around clark. caducus primary was one thing, but this... ]

I can't get away from it. [ he sounds less frantic now, but only by a few hairs, his breath still short. ] I'm trying. It's like -- it's like they're waiting for me around every corner. I keep hoping I won't see them again, but -- Murka's stupid damned head keeps making short jokes and I don't think he even realizes it.

[ hallucinating all over the place? you bet. ]

[ Every time Clark thinks it can't get much worse, it does. He might sound just a tiny bit less hysterical, but that's just for the moment. He's seeing things, hearing things... This is out of Clark's hands. ]

Miles, have you gone to medbay?

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