the original rationale clark had for arriving in new york in the first place was to help foster peace among humans and aliens, his interest in interplanetary alliances having always been fairly close to his heart for a number of very obvious reasons, and even though he ultimately failed in his lower-keyed influences with the city of attilan, he still manages to keep the dream alive, still manages to believe co-habitation can exist, that people can be better than their basest instincts. he wants people to get along, to breathe, to eat, to sleep, unhindered by these nightmarish contradictions, these villains both externally and internally, because when they are good, they can be great, when they are at peace, he finds them beautiful.
but what happened with attilan was not beautiful and what happened with the skrull empire was not beautiful and although he is desperate to still find a way to mend the yawning gap between species, he understands why some people would be wary, why some would want to hide and remain silent in the storm, on both sides, to alternating degrees. he grudges no one for their concealment, no one for their desperate clawing at peace, fingers forever reaching into the seams of whatever reality they can find to garner what little joy is left in the universe, what little remnants of happiness they can achieve.
but sometimes things are greater than oneself, and sometimes being what you are means living up to what you are, and while clark holds no responsibilities among anyone other than himself, he still knows there are questions in need of answers, in need of the atmosphere, in need of sound, woven out into real space, away from merely just thoughts, and heās sorry for it. but it must be done.
heās been listening in on conversations, eavesdropping in ways heād always promised himself heād never do, heightened aware of privacy issues, himself never accustomed to breaching unspoken contracts between himself and those around him, but as a fellow alien searching for the hope that drives him, he shuts his eyes every once in a while and picks up notes and tabs and name-drops and hints, not a lot, not enough to make any sort of case, but blooming a curiosity in his chest he cannot ignore. not anymore. he waits for a while though, waits for the sun to crest against the long horizon, his eyes pointed towards the peeking ball of fire, inhaling the last shards of light he can before it inches from view and his task begins.
he flies like a bullet back down towards the city, red cape tugging at his shoulders, tapping at his legs, his destination lying somewhere in the kaleidoscope of windows new york has to offer, and when he reaches the correct one, he pauses, floating carefully near to the glass. even with the window closed, he can see the being on the other side of it, a skrull he knows, human to most all appearances, but he doesnāt try to see beyond only what he needs. he racks his knuckles against the glass to catch attention before forcing it open and smiling amiably, every inch a country boy, despite broad shoulders, bright eyes, a sharp jawline, and enough radiating force to put heavenās host shame. āhi. iām superman. can we talk?ā
