The Phoenix Crisis

Chapter 3

Without the original crystals, going through Jor-El's information took a lot longer. As vast as the universe was, there really weren't that many natural hybrids among. The information that was available did nothing to assuage Clark's fears for Jason.

It was midnight by the time he returned to the school. Lights still shone through a few of the first-floor windows: Ororo Munroe's office, plus a few others on the same wing that he assumed were other teacher's offices. He adjusted his vision to see through the walls: The third floor appeared to be staff rooms. The nurse, Annie, yanked the pins from her bun and shook her hair free. He moved his vision to the second floor. Rogue, the teacher with the white streak of hair, walk through curfew checks. Several kids rushed back into their rooms at her approach. On the first floor, the purple-haired woman, Elizabeth, was having a heated conversation on a telephone; Ororo serenely read through a pile of papers while her partner, Logan, sat across from her, making the occasional comment.

Clark landed on her office balcony and tapped on the glass. Logan went on alert; claws emerged from between his knuckles as he half-rose from his seat.

"It's the Big Blue," he said.

"Come in," said Ororo without turning around. "Hank's been expecting you."

"Are they still downstairs?" Clark asked as he entered.

"Yes. We set up some cots since both Lois and Richard opted to sleep there for the night. Do you remember the way down?"

He nodded.

Lois looked so peaceful when she slept. The tightness she held on her shoulders disappeared. Her hair, always so viciously tamed and styled during the day, stretched out in wild waves on her pillow. Even her hands relaxed, neither clenched around a pen nor stiff on a table, but, instead, curled ever so slightly inward. That was Lois all over-- an impenetrable brick box, self-contained and self-reliant to the rest of the world, but jewel-toned velvet and fierce devotion to people she cared about.

Unbidden, his attention moved to Richard. His breathing stuttered. Every time Clark looked at the man, he felt like he inhaled a cloud of kryptonite dust. Richard was a good man. Heck, he was a great man: lovingly raising Jason, unabashedly crazy about Lois, forthright, modest, one hell of a pool player, and a good friend. His friendly overtures towards Kent the Office Klutz drove Clark insane with guilt because he knew he didn't deserve kindness from him. Not when his greatest wish had been to take Richard's family for his own.

Before Clark gave into the urge to bang his head against a wall, Dr. McCoy popped his head out of the laboratory. "You're back. Was your search fruitful?"

Clark nodded and held out a small recording crystal. "Some of the science went over my head but I've recorded everything on file."

Like a child with a new toy, Dr. McCoy gleefully took the crystal. "How does this work?"

His zeal was contagious. His expression lightening, Clark pulled the shard up to eye-level and said, "Play."

A small hologram of Jor-El stood on top of the crystal. He bowed to Clark and Hank. "This is the doctor you spoke of?"

"Yes."

"Is it sentient?" asked Hank.

Clark shook his head. "Just high-tech lights and sounds."

"I see." Hank peered at him over the hologram and Clark had the sense that he really did see. His chest tightened a little bit more. "Well, why don't Jor-El and I have a chat. Would you like a cot as well?"

"I don't really need to sleep," said Clark. "Besides, I think I'm needed elsewhere."

"Of course." Hank made a motion to stop him. "If I might be so audacious as to consider myself your personal physician..."

Clark raised his brows, waiting for him to continue.

"Unless it's a disaster of massive proportions, I would suggest getting some rest. Your body may not need it but after the past twenty-four hours, your mind certainly does."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Clark. "Thank you, doctor."

Richard woke up just as Clark stepped through the door. It had been one hell of a night. If Scott hadn't done something to actually shut his brain down, he would not have been able to sleep.

Superman wore what must have been Kryptonian loungewear: a one-piece, dark blue suit with a high collar and two red capes clipped at his shoulders so that one hung over his back like a normal cape while the other covered his front.

Hearing him rise, Clark flashed him a skittish smile. "Good morning," he whispered.

"Morning," said Richard, grudgingly leaving the "good" out of it.

Clark studied him strangely. "Breakfast is ready upstairs."

"Coffee?"

"Tonnes."

"Great."

Great, Scott echoed.

Richard had a brief vision of his double stretching inside his head, scratching his butt, and smacking his lips.

Not far from the truth, said Scott.

Watching Clark amble down the hall, Richard found it hard to believe that no one even suspected him of being Superman. True, his slouch and babbling speech vastly differed from Superman's powerful stance and quiet monosyllables but really, all that was between Clark and Superman was a pair of Buddy Holly glasses.

If you were Superman, would you have a normal life? Scott asked.

Richard started to give a negative answer but changed his mind. I think I would. If I had to be the perfect hero twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I think I'd go nuts.

Scott hummed thoughtfully. So which one do you think is the mask? Clark or Superman?

That's the sixty-four million dollar question, isn't it?

Do you think Lois likes Clark or Superman better?

Richard nearly smacked his head. Who died and made you Dr. Phil? It's too early and I'm hungry.

The dining room burbled with activity. A couple adults and several older students scurried in and out of the kitchen with pitchers of juice, water and milk, platters of food, and boxes of cereal. Richard spotted a table close to the kitchen where most of the teachers sat. Rogue waved at them and nudged Ororo who turned and made some motions to make space beside her.

Clark nodded at the assembly, nearly causing a tidal wave of food down the first table as they students surged to meet him.

"Students!" Ororo's voice rang out but it wasn't enough to drown the kids' excitement. After her third repeated shout with no effect, she looked at Clark who smiled and held his arms up for silence.

"Thank you for coming to say good morning," he said, "but I think you should all finish your breakfast first. Then I can answer your questions."

While the kids settled, Richard opted for the relative safety of the empty kitchen and, thus, closer to the coffee pot. Grabbing a clear stretch of the countertop, he took his breakfast and commandeered a barstool. Disconcertingly, Clark followed him, choosing the seat to his left. He really didn't want to have to talk to him right now, Richard thought as he dug into his meal. Eating with your rival had to be against the rules.

"My mom made silver-dollar pancakes for me when I was little," Clark said in a quiet voice. "With jam eyes and smiles. I try to cook them the way she tells me to but it never turns out as fluffy."

Richard nodded, chewing, trying to think of him as Clark instead of Superman which would hopefully keep the strangeness of the topic at a minimum. Scott flashed an incogorous image of Superman in a flowered apron. Richard nearly choked.

"I was sick a lot as a child. I had bizarre allergies: trout, fresh cut grass but not growing ones, honey. Honey made me vomit." He looked so uncomfortable hunched over the table like that, his demeanour not quite Superman but not quite Clark. He almost smiled at Richard then, as if sensing Richard's surliness, the smile crumpled and he set to polishing off a metric tonne of pancakes.

"I was sick a lot, too," Richard finally spoke up after a minute, unable to stand the awkwardness of it all. "When Jason started getting... I mean, that's why no one in my family really questioned his paternity. Besides, who'd believe who his real dad was?"

"It was kind of strange," said Clark. "Back in... where I grew up, if you weren't strong enough to be in football as a kid, you weren't really worth talking about. And it wasn't that I wasn't strong enough; I'd always been strong-- when I got older, I was too strong actually-- but as a kid right after I used my powers, I'd get so weak. That was on top of the strange allergies." He shrugged. "But at least I wasn't allergic to dogs."

Could he be actually feeling sympathy for the guy? Richard inwardly groaned. He was so happy being pissed off! He had reason to feel good about himself and his chance with Lois when he thought of Superman as a home-wrecker. Now, with the puppy-dog eyes and the sad story and the knowledge that he couldn't outright lie.

Thankfully, Elizabeth and Ororo entered moments later.

Clark slid to his feet. "I'm sorry for the interruption at breakfast."

"Compliments to the percolator," said Richard lifting his cup.

"I'm pleased that you enjoyed it," said Ororo. "I just wanted to re-introduce you to Betsy. She's our resident telepath as well as the school's public relations officer."

Betsy stuck her hand out Richard. "Whenever you're ready, we can talk. I might be able to help with your problem."

"Thank you," said Richard. Scott also made him say, "Are there any other telepaths?"

"A few students," said Betsy. "But none of them are capable of working Cerebro just yet."

"Hank also wanted to have a few words with Superman when you're ready," said Ororo.

"Of course," Clark inclined his head.

"What about Jason?" Richard asked. "Has he made any progress?"

"We are still in the midst of researching the problem," said Ororo. "I believe Hank is on a conference call with a colleague in Scotland who also has extensive experience in mutant genetics. Which reminds me, Betsy, we will need someone to force feed Hank for the rest of the day. He tends to forget about mundane things such as eating and sleeping when he has a puzzle to solve," she explained.

Gulping down the rest of his coffee, Richard scrambled off his barstool. "I guess there's no time like the present. If you want, Elizabeth, I can meet with you right now."

"I've cleared my schedule for you today," she said, her faint British accent erasing the hard K from the word "schedule". "My office is just down the hall. If you'll follow me."

Her heels clicked assertively on the hardwood floor. Richard had met women like her before, perfectly poised finishing-school gems, either dumb and simpering or cold as the diamonds they adored. What she was doing in a school was beyond his imagination but if she could help Jason, he'd put on the Ivy League for her.

"Are you aware of my mutation, Mr. White?" she asked not looking back as she addressed him.

"You're a telepath," he said.

Ask her what level, Scott said.

"Tell Scott that I am a beta level telepath and a gamma level telekinetic," she said. "He would also do well to advise you on how to form a mental shield. Telepathy is quite a common mutation, and sometimes the children cannot help but pick up stray thoughts."

Thanks for the warning, Richard told Scott.

I thought I was shielding you, he retorted.

Elizabeth pushed her door open and waved him in, sashaying behind her desk as Richard took a seat. She didn't have a full computer, Richard noted, just the small electronic tablet that she'd brought with her in the hospital last night. God, was it only last night that this whole nightmare started?

"I asked to meet you alone for several reasons," she said after the perfunctory offerings of drinks. "First of all, I would like to assure you that Dr. McCoy shared only the information relevant for this meeting: the existence of Scott Summers in your mind. Whatever else you talked about last night remains strictly in Dr. McCoy's confidence."

"Thank you," said Richard, still wary.

"Secondly, I would like to tell you a bit about myself." She leaned back, swinging one leg over the other, her French-tipped nails fiddling with her light pen. "I joined Xavier's staff two years ago but I have worked with our sister school in Scotland since I turned eighteen. My official title is public relations officer; with the increasing attention on mutants, the school required a full-time staff member to take care of liaisons with the public and private sectors for funding, press releases, and other such business."

Spin doctors, Scott translated with a touch of scorn.

"Yes, a spin doctor, Mr. Summers."

"That is creepy," Richard said.

"Your... roommate is loud for someone who supposedly spent much time with telepaths."

I'm six years out of practice, Scott said sharply.

Elizabeth replied with a dry smile. "You should be pleased with my presence, Mr. Summers. It means that Xavier's is thriving just as Charles Xavier dreamed it would."

Scott only grunted. Wait. "Dreamed?" Did she just use the past-tense? Before Scott made Richard ask the question, Elizabeth spoke again.

"My final job description is resident telepath. I'm sure Mr. Summers knows that all telepaths studying under Xavier's academic curriculum are required to have reams and reams of psychology classes and as such, we are most times the de facto guidance counsellors. We are best able to anticipate and contain emotions that might otherwise do harm."

"I realise that Jason might need counselling after this," said Richard.

Her bland smile widened by a half-inch. "It's not Jason who we're worried about."

Richard cocked his head back, his brow wrinkling. "What do you... This meeting is about Scott Summers?"

I can wait to get back to my body, said Scott. Just help Jason get better first.

"Of course, the boy's health is our primary concern but even then, I'm afraid I can't just do pull you out of Richard's mind," said Elizabeth.

The hairs on Richard's arms stood on end. He felt something crawling into his brain, spreading like a wad of peanut butter over toast. He wanted to hyperventilate but his lungs inflated and deflated with maddening regularity.

"Why?" he managed to ask.

"Scott Summers' body was destroyed six years ago. There is nothing left for him to return to."

Someone somewhere roared, filling his head with reverberating patterns of colour that just as nauseatingly flushed black.

Richard's eyes rolled up and he passed out on Elizabeth Braddock's Barcelona original.

Lois woke up with a crick on her neck and a bladder ready to burst. As she washed her face in the medlab's bathroom, she took stock of everything that they needed: clothes for a week, toothbrushes, toothpaste, deodorant, face wash, moisturizer, lotion, Jason's medications (past and present), shoes (casual and formal). She had to call Jason's school to tell them about his extended stay at the hospital, then call Perry at the Planet to talk about an extended leave for her and Richard. She didn't know whether or not to call for Clark either; he still didn't know that she knew. Richard's family had to be notified; they'd left more than twenty messages on her cell phone alone.

She nearly rammed into Clark on her way out of the bathroom. "Hey!"

"Sorry." He steadied her by placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't worry about it." Lois rubbed her nose. "I was just-- what are you wearing?"

He might have blushed except that Clark blushed, never Superman, and she was pretty sure Clark wouldn't be caught dead in a skin-tight coverall with a sheet slung over it for propriety's sake.

"Kryptonian house wear," he said. He wasn't blushing now. That was some superpower: blush control. "It's very comfortable."

"You said that about the costume," she pointed out.

He smiled. Oh God, he still had dimples too. What was it with her and her fatal attraction to tall, dark men with dimples? "It is. You should try one."

"At my age?" Lois snorted. "I can barely justify my yoga shorts."

"You'd look lovely," he said. Finally realising that he was blocking her way, he stepped aside. "Jason seems to be sleeping more soundly now. Ms. Ghazikhanian placed a neural stabilizer on his head to ease his brain waves."

"Ms. Ghazikhanian?"

"The nurse. Annie."

"Oh." Lois ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as she yanked at tangles. "Dammit."

"Let me." He was suddenly behind her, prising her hands from the Chinese finger torture that her hair had become, and lowering them to her side. His hands slid down her arms, leaving trails of heat inside her elbows and around her biceps. Gathering her hair up in one hand, he then used the other to scratch her scalp, easing a sigh from her lips. Ever since she figured out who Superman was, Lois had never been able to understand how someone who could crush a trailer between two fingers could be gentle enough to catch dragonflies for Jason to observe. Or to comb the tangles from her hair.

His fingers dragged through, over and over, pulling lightly on her scalp. With each stroke, some of her tension eased. It was like he was brushing her stress away. His fingers rested momentarily on the nape of her neck, then after a few more passes, behind her ears, and then again at her temples.

Before Lois knew it, she was leaning back against him, his funny cloak covering them both in his heat. He smelled like a lawn after a rainy day. He'd stopped brushing her hair now and was simply stroking her from crown to shoulders and back, up and down, in an easy rhythm.

When he stepped away, Lois' stomach dropped and goose bumps went up in her arms.

"It looks fine now," Clark said, his soft baritone vibrating down her nape.

"It looks--" Anger swept through Lois as quickly as the cold did. "You... you ass! You break up with me and then you just... fondle... Argh!" She tried to pound on his chest but he wouldn't even give her that, catching her hand and cupping it tenderly despite the fact that he could probably turn her bones into paste. In fact, she wanted him to get pissed off enough at her to do just that.

"Lois."

"Don't 'Lois' me with that tone of voice, Kal!" Yanking her hand again, she stalked a safe six feet away from him, out of range of that delicious heat and the ozone smell. "Jason is eleven. He's eleven years old."

He nodded slowly, clearly of the opinion that she'd finally stepped over the edge.

"Our son--" Catching her self, Lois clenched her mouth closed and whispered instead, knowing he'd hear her fine. "Our son is eleven years old and you didn't let me in any closer last month than the first time you landed on my balcony."

"Lois--"

"You took me to Paris and Sydney and the lower stratosphere but I was never invited into your apartment. Or back in your fortress for that matter. This is the first time I've ever seen you outside of your usual suit!"

"Lois--"

"I know you thought it was better this way and that you're keeping me safe, but you know what? I don't feel safe. Okay? I feel... I feel..."

He leaned forward. "Yes?"

Lois' shoulders slumped, her nose stinging with the threat of tears. "I'm not some damsel in distress that you have to keep in a cotton ball."

"Of course not," he said. "I've never thought that."

"Than stop acting like it," she snapped. "I am an investigative reporter, the daughter of a four-star general, and most importantly, the mother of a boy that the doctors thought would die before he turned two. Nothing can scare me."

"You scare me," he said simply.

The words were so absurd that Lois said, "Excuse me?"

"You scare me." He drew closer, palms up at his side like he had to show he wasn't armed. Which was probably smart. When she got to this point, Lois was liable to hit something to let it all out. "You don't need me. You never have. You have your own mind. You never, ever listen to what I say."

Lois had to smirk at that.

"You can leave me."

She looked up. He was right beside her again, his brilliant blue eyes unusually moist.

"Lois." He took a deep breath but before he could any anything more, she pressed two fingers to his mouth. He spoke anyway, his lips moving against her fingertips almost like a kiss. "You know."

Clark pulled away as Dr. McCoy's footsteps drew closer. By the time he pulled the curtains open, Lois was sitting on her chair on the other side of the bed and he was on the other, holding Jason's hand.

"Good morning, Ms. La--Lois," Dr. McCoy amended. "There's still breakfast upstairs if you're hungry."

"I'm fine, thanks," said Lois. Her hands rose, presumably to push her hair down, but she jerked them back onto the edge of Jason's bed. "Doctor, I'd like to apologize to you."

Dr. McCoy's bushy blue brow rose to hairline level. "Whatever for, my dear?"

"For yelling at you last night," she said. "You flew all the way down to help a complete stranger out and I blow my top off for no reason at all, yelling out the dirty laundry for all and sundry to hear. Not my best moment."

"It's a stressful time right now," said Dr. McCoy. "Truthfully, I'd rather you express your emotions than bottle them up."

"It's still no excuse. I turned into one of those monster moms that I swore I'd never be. Next thing you know, I'll be heading a picket-line to keep soda in classrooms and hunting down PE coaches who allow tackle football in anything less than seventy-five degree weather."

"Rest assured that I have had worse," said Dr. McCoy. "You didn't throw anything, for one." Patting her arm, he came around to Clark's side of the bed to check Jason's vitals once again. "The neural stabilizer seems to be doing the trick. I was afraid that it wouldn't be as effective considering his condition."

"Why would his condition affect the machine?" Clark asked.

"It's an aid that encourages that induces relaxation by tapping certain brain waves. Mind over matter, so to speak. Betsy was saying that you--" he peered over his shoulder to look at Clark-- "are resistant to surface-level telepathic scans because your brain waves are different. A different frequency if you will. It's almost like having a built-in mental shield. She was actually interested in speaking with you about-- Oh, hello, Annie."

The nurse licked her lips, her heart beating a little quicker than normal. "Betsy teped. The boy's dad is going to need that bed we prepped. Rogue is bringing him down now."

"Richard?" Lois and Clark both said. "What's wrong?" asked Lois.

Dr. McCoy addressed Ms. Ghazikhanian first. "Tell her they can come right in. Betsy," he spoke to the air, "did he react any differently than what you thought?" Whatever he heard, it must not have been a surprise because he nodded assuredly and said, "His bed awaits. I'll tell Annie to have a spare mini-Cerebro set aside in case you need it." Quiet again. "You've never met Scott when he's angry."

"What's wrong with Richard?" Lois demanded.

"A small reaction to a large revelation," answered Dr. McCoy. "Betsy has it all taken care of, never fear. He should be conscious--"

"Conscious!"

"--in a few minutes but we're going to deliberately keep him under until Betsy can root around in his psyche for any damage."

Now even Clark was worried. "Damage?"

Rogue entered with Ms. Braddock at his/her heels. Richard lay slack in the young teacher's arms.

"Put him in that second bed," Ms. Braddock ordered.

"What happened?" Lois demanded. All the tension Clark had brushed away was back in full force.

"We told him what happened to Scott Summers," said Ms. Braddock. "Summers didn't take it very well at all."

No kidding. If Scott Summers taught here, he must be made of pretty stern stuff. The news couldn't be good if it could make someone like him go into shock and bring Richard with him.

"Let's go to the second sub-basement," said Hank, throwing an arm over Lois' shoulder. "My associate, Dr. MacTaggert should be in touch very soon."

"But Richard--"

"Is in good hands with Betsy."

Clark raised his eyebrows at that but Dr. McCoy didn't break a sweat. "Did my information help?" he asked.

"Indubitably," Dr. McCoy replied. "Why, with the information you've given me, genetic research will be able to grow by leaps and bounds in the next five years of not less."

"I'm sorry, Dr. McCoy but I'm going to have to ask you to erase all your personal copies of this information after this ordeal," said Clark.

The doctor went slightly lilac. "I beg your pardon?"

"Even with the more archaic kryptonian information, it's too advanced," he said. "I can't let that knowledge spread before this planet is ready for it."

"But... but the people we could help, the diseases..." His voice faltered away.

Clark winced inwardly. He hated having to do this. "I'm taking away the methods and the sources, doctor. You still know the results."

Dr. McCoy sighed. "I suppose I'd best start memorising."

He cheered up again by the time they arrived at the council room. A large central monitor showed a stand-by image with actual footage confined to a small rectangle in the lower-right hand corner. As Dr. McCoy passed by the screen he tapped the small square. The footage grew to fill the entire screen.

A grey-haired woman in a lab coat slid her chair to the middle of the frame. "Hello, Henry. I was expecting you a little later."

"Did you need a bit more time?" asked Dr. McCoy.

"Ach, no, I have all your information." She shuffled through some papers. Clark noted that she was as orderly as Dr. McCoy. "Let's talk about our lad. Will you bring up the feed from the clinic?"

The screen divided in half vertically, and then the right side divided in half again horizontally. Jason took up the smaller, lower right part of the screen; Dr. MacTaggert, the upper right; and a three-dimensional animation of a DNA molecule, the largest section.

"This is a model of one of Jason's chromosomes," Dr. MacTaggert began, her Scottish accent decreasing noticeably as she got down to business. "The red bits are the ones that are vastly different from human sequences. As you can see, it averages out to about forty percent."

"Why only forty?" asked Clark. "Shouldn't it be half?"

"Current human knowledge dictates that as completely different entities, humans and kryptonians shouldn't even be able to reproduce. It's not even a matter of species; your very atomic structure and metabolic pathways are different. However, from the information you've given, kryptonian genes seem to be quite adaptable in the zygotic stage. The hows and whys are a little blurry right now but what seems to be happening is that the kryptonian half is reacting to the physiological changes that occur during human puberty."

"Why didn't this happen until now?" Lois asked. "I mean, he's always had kryptonian DNA; why did he get this attack just now?"

Dr. McCoy answered this question. "His health problems were small attacks, perhaps times when his body was still trying to make compromises between the two entirely different... well, I'm not sure what to call them. 'Species' doesn't even begin to cover the number of differences in basic genetic ancestry even taking into the account the new classifications systems which... I digress," he said hurriedly. "Humans grow in spurts, a phenomenon you can see mirrored in Jason's medical records. He was most sickly during his first two years of life. Then between the ages three and eleven, when his body began to plateau, his health also improved. Now, with the onset of puberty, he will likely suffer a few more health concerns."

"Will he be this ill throughout all his teenage years?" asked Clark.

The two doctors looked at each other. "That's what we wanted to ask you," said Dr. McCoy. "We can only make comparisons between your family and Lois', perhaps study a few mutants with similar powers, and make hypotheses."

"Unfortunately, we can only learn as we go," said Dr. MacTaggert. "He is a very unique little boy."

Unique.

When Clark was growing up, that was a nicer word for "alone."