A/N: Beta'd by IcyWaters. Many thanks!

This one is all James Marsden and Brandon Routh's fault... Could be seen as AU, it's only slightly based on all the "X-Men" movies of recent years and "Superman Returns".

Meeting of Heroes

by immertreu

November 2014 - November 2015

"Hey, let me go!"

Clark struggled against the three thugs holding onto him, but his resistance was more for appearances than by any real effort on his part. He could have shaken them off easily enough, but they didn't need to know his real strength, so he chose to wait for a better opportunity to break free. It didn't come. Instead, a white van rounded the corner of the warehouse Clark had been trying to investigate, and screeched to a halt next to the group.

The back doors flung open, and a man jumped out of the driver's cabin to join his companions still clinging to Clark.

"Get him in," the newcomer snapped.

Clark was starting to get a really bad feeling about this, but he still didn't try to get free in earnest because a noise coming from inside the van had grabbed his attention. Bringing his X-ray vision to bear and struggling only for show, Clark looked into the back of the vehicle and discovered what appeared to be a teen-aged boy, blindfolded and handcuffed to steel rings bolted to the wall.

He swore under his breath and received a backhanded slap across the face from the man who seemed to be in charge. "Shut up and move!"

The boss got right into his face, and Clark decided to play along. He didn't know what was going on, but he couldn't leave the other prisoner to his uncertain fate. He couldn't even speed into the van and get the kid out because all of the thugs had seen his face. Clearly.

Damn, he should have come here as Superman, but he wasn't even wearing the suit right now because he'd just finished an undercover job with Lois. Maybe that was a good thing, though, because the gangsters didn't seem to mind a little violence and would surely not be adverse to ripping their captive's clothes to make a point.

Clark dutifully bowed his head as if the blow had really hurt him, and let himself be dragged towards the back of the van. One thug bound his hands behind his back, then they heaved him up and shoved him into the darkened interior.

Clark stumbled, playing his role as a frightened and confused reporter, and fell onto his knees in the middle of the empty space. He looked up in time to see the boy flinch and shrink back at the noise. Then the heavy doors snicked shut behind them. The opening and closing of the front doors could be heard, and the van started moving again. Clark was perched on his feet not even one second later, already loosening the bonds around his wrists without snapping the cord. Luckily, it was slightly flexible. Getting out of zip ties without giving his strength away would have been much more difficult.

The other prisoner hadn't made a sound, but when Clark finally got free and started to make his way over to him, the boy started to shuffle around – further away from Clark. "Who are you?" he asked, and Clark silently reprised his former assessment. The kid might be slightly scared and uncomfortably bound, but he wasn't as young as he looked, his voice educated and strong. Clark guessed he might be about eighteen years old, give or take a year.

He stopped and steadied himself against the wall of the vehicle while putting the piece of string into his pocket. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said. "I got kidnapped as well."

The kid snorted in the dark. "Figures."

He seemed more amused than frightened now, and Clark cocked his head, listening to the young man's even breathing and steady heartbeat. Yep, definitely not too scared.

Puzzled, he tried again: "My name's Clark. What's yours?"

The kid hesitated, but then he sighed and answered. "Scott."

He didn't elaborate, and Clark didn't ask. Instead, he said, "Keep talking so I can reach you, Scott." He didn't need to hear Scott to find him in the dark, of course, but the kid wasn't supposed to know that.

Another snort. "Why? Can't you see?"

Annoyed by the sudden animosity in Scott's tone, Clark took a few steps without answering and bumped into something soft – the kid's leg. Scott jerked back, suddenly frantic again, and Clark stopped his advancement. "It's pitch black in here," he said calmly – and not quite truthfully – as if nothing had happened, and hunkered down by the kid's side. "You probably don't know because of the heavy blindfold. Don't!" he added when the boy tried to move further away from his searching hands. "I just want to get you free."

But Scott didn't listen and wriggled away. "Forget it. They used zip ties and steel handcuffs, impossible to break." The kid took a breath to steady his rising voice and added, "Trust me, I've tried."

Clark glanced at the kid's hands and winced. Yep, he'd tried all right. Scott's skin was broken around his wrists, and red welts were starting to form from his violent attempts at getting free. The thin material of his long-sleeved black t-shirt hadn't been able to protect him much. Scott didn't seem too bothered, though, so Clark didn't comment on his injuries.

The bonds would obviously be no problem for Superman, but he wasn't yet sure how to proceed without giving himself away. The boy seemed harmless enough, yet Clark wasn't about to share his secret with everyone who needed rescuing. Surely there would be an opportunity for escape when they finally reached their destination – where ever that might be. He just hoped they would be able to escape very soon or he'd get an earful from Lois about unnecessary risk-taking later.

Clark relented. "Oh, okay. But at least let me take off the blindfold."

That got an unexpected violent reaction. Scott jumped as far away from Clark as his bindings would allow and curled into a protective ball, shaking his head vigorously. "No!" His voice trembled with fear – no, it was more than that. It was heart-felt terror. "You can't!"

Clark raked a frustrated hand through his hair and settled down against the wall, stretching out his legs. Something wasn't right about the kid, but he couldn't quite name it. Everyone else would have been more than happy to lose the cloth over their eyes, even in the darkness, but Scott was obviously afraid of something. What exactly that was remained to be seen. No pun intended.

He decided to play along for a now but couldn't contain his curiosity. "All right, I won't come near you again. Just tell me: What did you do?"

Silence reigned.

"Come on, kid, I just want to help. They bound my hands with a simple cord, but you get blindfolded and cuffed to the wall? You a cop or what?"

Still no reply. Scott stayed curled-up into a ball, his face turned away from Clark.

"Okay, you know what? Let's start again." He turned to face Scott – who couldn't see him, of course – and said, "My name really is Clark. I'm a reporter. I was about to check out a warehouse because there have been some weird disappearances in the area lately when these guys jumped me and stuffed me in here with you."

Scott scoffed and finally sat up again, still as far away from Clark as the chains would allow, though. "Then you're as stupid as I was. They'd snatched me at the entrance to the biggest warehouse a few minutes before you showed up."

Clark tried very hard not to take offense at the kid's choice of words and eventually decided to cut his fellow prisoner some slack. It wasn't every day that you got kidnapped in broad daylight and driven to God-knows-where without any means to escape.

"What were you doing there?" he asked instead, keeping his tone level and risking an X-rayed glance outside. They were still driving through the industrial district that lay southeast of Metropolis.

Just when he thought Scott would never answer his question, the kid spoke up. "I was searching for a friend of mine. I knew she'd been in the area, but when I didn't hear from her for a couple of days, I went to the last place I knew she'd visited and started asking around. That's when they grabbed me." He paused and added, "I don't even know who they are. They jumped me from behind."

Trying to lighten the mood, Clark said, "Well, if it makes you feel any better: They jumped me in broad daylight, and I could even see their faces, but I don't know who they are either. I've never seen them before."

Scott suddenly grinned, obviously not expecting to be observed in the dark. He replied evenly, "I can tell you that there are four of them, one is most definitely Italian, the other three could be American or maybe Canadian, having been in-country for quite a while. The boss is the Italian one, 6' 1", maybe 6' 2". His three thugs are heavy, about 5' 8" stocky, not used to walking. Not very bright either." He suddenly stopped as if he'd given something away.

Clark was impressed. "How do you know all that?" he asked. "I thought they grabbed you from behind."

And just like that, Scott clammed up again.

Clark banged his head against the metal wall behind his back and sighed in frustration. Just when things had gone so well. It seemed his routine of "I'm a harmless reporter, you can tell me everything" wasn't working with this peculiar kid.

Sensing the other man's annoyance, Scott offered very quietly: "I may be blind, but my hearing is still intact."

Well, shit, Clark thought. That explained Scott's reticence to let him see or touch him. Maybe he'd been in an accident that disfigured him. But what Clark could see of his face looked normal.

Sneaking an infrared peek at Scott's features under the blindfold, Clark could detect nothing unusual. No injuries. On the contrary, Scott had a handsome – some might even say pretty – face, great cheekbones, a chiseled chin. Clark frowned. Looking deeper, he saw intact optic nerves and healthy brain tissue, nothing to suggest blindness in his young companion...but what was that? There was something attached to his optic nerve. Some kind of tumor, perhaps? But no, it seemed to belong, was healthy-looking, in working order.

Clark was no doctor, of course, but he couldn't see anything that would cause Scott to be blind, just an unusual configuration of his visual system. Puzzled, he opened his mouth to speak but remembered just in time that he wasn't supposed to know anything about the inner workings of the kid's head and brain.

He offered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

Scott laughed mirthlessly. "Don't worry about it. Some doubt about my perceptiveness doesn't come even close to damaging my ego."

Clark wondered what kind of trouble Scott had been in before to put that much bitterness into his voice. And that much pride. He looked too young and innocent to be a street kid, but Clark of all people knew better than most that looks could be deceiving. He was about to try and wheedle some more information out of Scott when the kid suddenly cocked his head as if listening to something – and smiled. He said, "We're almost there, I think."

"How do you know?" Clark inquired, but Scott talked over him.

"I know this sounds crazy, but if you see one of the goons carrying around some kind of special glasses and you get the chance to grab them – do it!" His voice had become authoritarian and self-assured. Gone was the sulky teenager from before.

Puzzled, Clark was about to ask why when the van suddenly stopped and he hastily had to pull out the piece of string and tie it loosely around his wrists.

Then the back doors flung open and two new thugs appeared. One stayed outside, covering the whole interior of the vehicle with his weapon, while the other man jumped in and grabbed Clark – now "bound" again – by the arms. "Don't try anything!" he warned and shoved him out the door towards his waiting companion.

Clark hopped down onto the concrete floor and risked a quick glance around. They were in another parking lot, surrounded by yet more warehouses and storage containers, no soul in sight. The whole place seemed to be abandoned.

The four kidnappers from before rounded the van. Two of them took a firm grip on Clark's biceps while a third entered the vehicle and helped his colleague with Scott. The boss stood by and watched.

The newcomer took care of the shackles while his companion towered over the kid, holding him down by the shoulders and dragging him upright when he wasn't bound to the wall anymore. Scott's arms got secured behind his back, though, and Clark grimaced.

"Is that really necessary?" he protested when the taller one of the gangsters grabbed Scott by the hair and almost dragged him to the door. "He's just a kid!"

The goon grinned, but it wasn't a pleasant sight. "He's no kid," he snarled. "He put my friend in the hospital, and we don't take kindly to that."

Surprised, Clark looked at the slender teen who shrugged as if to say, "Who, me?"

The thugs retaliated by pushing him out of the van – without any warning or support. Surprisingly, Scott didn't face-plant into the dirt but landed lightly on his feet, right in front of the kidnapper still holding a rifle. As if sensing the other man's close proximity, he took a step back – and right into the waiting grip of his former tormentors who had also exited the vehicle. He tensed for a moment but then relaxed, knowing as well as Clark did that they couldn't make a run for it – yet.

The group turned towards the closest warehouse, following their leader who was jiggling a heavy key ring.

One kidnapper lagged behind to shut the doors and rap on the side of the van twice. The vehicle sped away, to be parked somewhere hidden out of sight. Clark quickly turned around and memorized the license plate. He got a cuff to the back of his head in retaliation.

"Eyes front!" the gun-wielding goon commanded, and Clark obeyed. No use to antagonize their captors any further. If their treatment of Scott was anything to go by, they wouldn't mind roughing up their captives. On the contrary, they would probably relish it.

Clark still hoped they didn't plan to kill them because then he would have no choice but to intervene. And quickly. He glanced at Scott who was led by two of the thugs.

Now that Clark could finally see the kid in daylight, he realized his first assessment hadn't been far off. He looked to be about eighteen, maybe nineteen, with strong features that spoke of willpower but also experience of life, even with the blindfold covering half of his face. He was tall but pretty slim. His hair that fell almost into his eyes was a light brown, now mostly obscured by the piece of cloth bound around his head, but not badly cut.

Not a runaway then, Clark thought to himself. Not an undercover cop, either. He was definitely too young for that. A bruise on his left cheekbone spoke of a former struggle, probably from when he'd gotten captured.

The youngster's head was cocked again, and Clark wondered what the kid was hearing. Was he counting his steps, trying to get a feel for his surroundings? Or was he listening for some signal?

Scott's sudden announcement right before they had stopped at the second warehouse still rang in Clark's head. How had he known about their imminent arrival? Even Clark's superhearing hadn't given him any real warning because the gangsters hadn't talked on their short drive over.

Clark and Scott let them themselves be led away. They entered the huge building through a small side door and stood in an alley-like hallway with empty steel cages on both sides. Scott flinched when the stagnant air that tasted of metal registered, and Clark shot him a curious look. Had the kid been in a similar situation before?

Before he could voice his thoughts, the foremost thug opened the hatch of the nearest cell-like compartment and motioned for them to enter. Clark went in first, still not seeing a chance to escape with his identity intact. Scott followed immediately, propelled into the right direction by an unfriendly shove to his back.

Clark stopped him by speaking up before Scott could run into him headfirst. "Easy, kid. One more step."

Scott listened and stopped right next to Clark, turning around and following the noises with his unseeing gaze behind the blindfold. The kidnappers closed the door, secured it with a padlock, and stepped away. Only their leader remained behind and jeered at them. "Don't try anything stupid," he said. "My men are ordered to shoot on sight."

Getting more worried by the second, Clark glanced at Scott who showed no visible reaction to the thug's statement. That the bad guys had allowed Clark to see their faces didn't speak well for their captives' chance at survival.

The boss fingered something in his coat pocket, and Clark risked an X-ray glance: It seemed he was carrying the glasses Scott had mentioned earlier. They looked heavy, a little bit like sunglasses but made of a material Clark hadn't seen before. The lenses seemed to be red.

Baffled, Clark returned his gaze to the kidnapper when the man spoke up again, sending an angry glare Scott's way – who couldn't see him, of course. "I'll be back." He turned around and stalked off, further into the warehouse and through the door that separated their makeshift prison from the rest of the building.

The moment they were alone again, Clark loosened the cord around his wrists and regarded Scott who seemed to be just listening, standing in the exact center of their primitive holding cell. Fascinating. His thoughts seemed to be far away, though. Clark didn't know how he knew that, but the way the kid's head was held at an angle again stirred a memory of Scott doing the same thing while in the back of the van. Maybe he had superhearing, too?

Careful so as not to startle Scott, and making a lot of noise, Clark stepped over to the gate barring their escape, and rattled it experimentally.

Immediately, Scott spoke up behind him. "What are you doing?"

Not turning, Clark glanced the way the leader of the kidnappers had disappeared, looking through the closed door – thankfully the place wasn't laced with lead.

The warehouse was empty. At least for now. That should give them enough time to formulate a plan.

Clark could be out of here within a few seconds, of course, but he had to consider Scott. "Just trying the lock," he replied while eyeing the latch and surreptitiously bending it until a hairline fracture appeared right in the middle of the padlock. "It's not too strong. This whole place looks old and in bad repair. We should be able to get free easily enough."

The kid grunted, a derisive sound. "Right. There's just the problem of us still being bound. And in case you hadn't realized, running could be difficult for me right now." There was no self-pity in his voice, he was simply stating a fact. "I don't think you have a guide dog in your pocket?"

Grinning, Clark stepped over to Scott and said, "Well, I managed to get my hands free."

Scott immediately took a step back, away from Clark. "How?" he asked, clearly suspicious.

Stopping his advance, Clark replied in a calm voice, "I told you before, they used a simple cord to bind my hands. It was elastic enough to slip off. They don't seem to be too bright."

Not convinced, Scott stepped back once more until he hit the rear wall of their cell. "Or all this could be a trick. Maybe you're one of them."

That stopped Clark cold. The kid had a point. Trusting a stranger was hard enough. Trusting someone you couldn't even see was far more complicated.

He sighed and allowed, "Sure, I could be, but I'm telling you, I'm not." Great, what a convincing argument, he added mentally. I wouldn't believe me either.

Scott didn't move from his place by the wall, his bound hands pressed against the concrete behind his back.

Clark racked his head for some way to convince Scott of the truth. He finally had an idea when his eye fell on a discarded nail lying just outside their cage. He crouched low and reached for the hopefully sharp tool that he might use to cut Scott's bindings without giving his real strength away. "How about we get rid of your ties? Afterwards, you can still deck me if you like," he said, and stood.

That finally made the kid chuckle, and he relaxed a little. Scott's tone was very dry when he replied. "Highly unlikely. You're taller than me and definitely heavier. Right now I don't stand a chance against you."

Startled, Clark turned to him but refrained from asking the obvious question just in time. "I think the thug you sent to the hospital would disagree."

The kid raised his chin defiantly. "I had no choice. They grabbed me – I fought back."

Clark didn't know how much fighting skill a teen-aged, blind kid might have over a professional gangster, but then he returned to his previous line of thought. "Have you always been this good at judging heights, distances, and such?"

Scott shook his head. "Not always, no. It only started when my eyes…changed."

Clark noted the curious pause but didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "So you haven't always been blind?"

Scott stayed silent.

Clark raked a hand through his hair. So much for their newfound trust.

When Scott made no move to speak again, Clark fingered the nail and said, "I found a huge pin that could be just sharp enough to cut the zip tie. Wanna give it a try?"

After a few seconds of thought, Scott finally stepped away from the wall and nodded. "Okay. Give it your best shot. You're just lucky they left the handcuffs in the van. They probably thought the zip tie would prove resistant enough."

Grinning slightly, Clark dared to step nearer to Scott again and replied, "I told you, they're not very clever. They shouldn't have left us in here together, either. Don't they know that two prisoners in one place are always trouble?"

At this, Scott laughed out loud. "You, my friend, have been watching too many bad movies and cop shows." Then he sobered. "But you're right. They didn't try to disguise their voices either. I'm assuming you saw their faces?"

Clark started to nod, then he remembered Scott couldn't see him. Verbally, he added, "You're right. And yes, I know it's clichéd, but in the movies the bad guys never plan to let you live once you've seen their faces."

Now deadly serious, Scott said, "I know. So we better start on getting out of here before they come back."

Clark silently agreed. "So let's do this. This nail is sharp enough, but I'll have to be careful so as not to hurt you. Could you turn around, please?"

Scott stiffened, but then he obliged and turned his back to Clark, offering his bound hands for easier access.

Clark stepped up behind him, talking the whole time so the kid would know what he was doing. "Okay, thank you. Now, let me see…" He carefully grabbed Scott's wrists that were swollen and chafed. Angry upon seeing the injuries in real light, he said, "I'm sorry, but this might hurt."

Scott sounded impatient. "Just do it. I'll live."

The commanding tone was back in his voice, and Clark's brow furrowed. Then he shrugged and starting sawing away on the plastic band with great speed, cutting through it with ease. A few seconds later, he paused and warned, "Careful now, the thing may snap." He pocketed the nail, took hold of the binding on both sides of the cut he had made, and pulled. The zip tie flew apart with an audible crack.

Scott immediately stepped away, bringing together his abused arms in front of his body, and started rubbing the angry-looking welts on his wrists. Then he turned around and faced Clark, the blindfold still in place. "Thank you," he simply said

Clark replied in kind: "You're welcome." He threw the restraints into a back corner of their cell and turned to regard the metal mesh door again. "Ready to bust out?" he asked over his shoulder, and got rewarded by a confident smirk on Scott's face.

"Sure," the kid said. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll blast us out of the here."

The teen's tone gave Clark goose bumps all over. "You're joking." Or maybe he wasn't? Maybe Clark wasn't the only one hiding a secret? Then he mentally shook himself. He was definitely the only Kryptonian on Earth.

Scott snorted and shrugged. "Sure. Now how about we get out of here? We need to hurry, the thugs won't stay away forever." He rubbed his eyes under the blindfold, and all of a sudden looked like the teenager he really was.

The constant changes in Scott's demeanor were starting to give Clark a headache, and he swore to find out exactly who he was dealing with when all this was over. First they needed to escape, though. Clark grabbed the door once more, shook it mightily – and the bolt holding it in place snapped.

Scott flinched, then he asked, disbelief clear in his voice, "Did you just break us out of this cell?"

Clark didn't suppress his grin. "Yup. The door latch was rusty anyway," he said. "Now come on, we need to go. One step to the left, three forward, and you're through the door."

They quickly exited the primitive cage, but when Clark turned to the left and into the direction from which they had come, Scott stopped and turned right. "I can't leave yet," he said.

"What?" Clark stopped dead in his tracks but not before risking a quick look through the walls in every direction. There was no one in the direct vicinity. Everybody seemed to be assembled one building over. "We have to leave! We need to call the police."

Scott stubbornly shook his head. "I'm not leaving. You can go, but I need to find my friend. I know she's here."

"How?"

Scott stood his ground. "I just know. We have to get her before the goons move her again."

Clark frowned. "Move her where? And how do you even know this? You said you hadn't heard from her in a few days."

The kid just grinned. "And I was telling the truth, but now we need to move. If we sneak closer now, before they realize we're gone, we stand a chance of surprising them."

"We?" Clark sighed, knowing that he'd been manipulated. He could hardly leave a blind kid to his fate, right? He looked past Scott toward the warehouse the kidnappers were occupying. There were still no guards in sight, which had him worried.

Something wasn't adding up. First they kidnapped a kid and a reporter, dragged them out here so no one would ever find them, knocked said kid down a few notches – and then left them all to themselves without even posting a watchdog?

Clark looked at the group in the other building again and suddenly realized why no one was interested in them at the moment: The thugs were interrogating a girl! He flinched when one of the kidnappers slapped her – and at the same time, Scott's hand flew up to his cheek as if he was hurting, too.

Now Clark was really getting suspicious. He quickly scanned Scott again, but there was no hidden transmitter or receiver embedded anywhere that he could see. The kid didn't even have a filled molar. Weird. So how had he known the girl had been hit?

Scott suddenly turned without a word and started down the hallway created by the cages on either side. He kept his right hand on the "wall", walking steadily – but carefully because of old pieces of wood and metal clattering the floor – toward the rear door.

"Hey, kid, wait!" Clark ran to keep up.

The teen didn't listen, just kept going.

"Scott, please."

Clark squeezed by him in the narrow corridor and noticed the shiver when he came too close to the younger man. He planted himself in the middle of the hall and demanded, "Just stop."

That got the kid's attention. "What?!" he almost snarled, having no choice but to halt as well in order not to run into his companion.

Clark sighed and retreated a step. "I'm going to help you, but do you have any idea where you're going? What we're up against?"

"Yes."

"No, you don't," Clark argued.

"Yes, I do." Scott was adamant. "And even if I didn't, I would still go. They're hurting Jean!"

The kid came close to shouting now, and Clark interrupted him. "Keep your voice down!" he snapped, finally losing his cool as well. Then he asked, more calmly, "How do you know? Who are you anyway? And who is Jean?"

Scott crossed his arms in front of his chest, radiating stubbornness. Then he winced, and Clark just knew that the girl who must be Jean had been struck again.

"Fine!" Clark growled. "We're going. But we're gonna have a serious talk afterwards."

"Fine by me." Scott grumbled. "Lead the way."

Clark turned and instructed Scott to put his hand on his shoulder. The kid obliged unwillingly, recognizing the need for guidance, and then they were moving again, Clark constantly monitoring the way ahead of them.

They left the corridor with the depressing cages behind and entered the warehouse proper through the door the thugs had used earlier. The building was empty save for some old crates stacked against one wall, and Clark turned to Scott, "We're alone in here." His voice echoed in the huge space.

Scott winced at the loud noise. "Good. Can we go faster, please?" There was a new kind of urgency in his voice.

Clark risked a glance ahead and saw that all the thugs except for the leader and the big guy that had man-handled Scott earlier had left. Jean cowered in her chair, smarting from various cuts and bruises but not seriously hurt – yet. He turned toward Scott. "Do you trust me?"

Scott snorted. "It's a little bit late not to, don't you think?"

Clark chuckled despite himself. "Well, a few minutes ago you thought I was one of them. Now you want me to rescue your girlfriend."

The kid's sudden start confirmed Clark's suspicious. Jean was the youngster's girlfriend indeed. He didn't comment on it, though, but said, "Can you run if you take my hand?"

"Yes." Scott's answer was simple.

"Okay. Right or left?"

Scott offered his right hand, and Clark took it with his left. Then he used the connection to tug Scott along. "Come on, kid, we need to rescue a damsel in distress."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Scott managed a grin. "Lead on then."

They ran. Slowly, at first, because Clark wasn't sure how well Scott would manage without his sight, but the ground was even, and they made straight for the exit leading outside. They paused for a second when they reached it. Clark cracked the door and peeked outside – he still needed to keep up appearances – and then pulled the kid along.

The space between the two buildings wasn't big, and they arrived at the other side entrance within seconds. Scott caught his breath and resettled his blindfold while Clark looked around and listened for any movement in the vicinity. There were voices, but they were coming from far away, getting more distant by the second. The group of thugs – minus the two with Jean – was leaving the compound, it seemed.

Clark faced Scott again. The teen was listening, too, trying to get a feel for their surroundings, no doubt. "Come on, we'll take the fastest route," Clark said, and grabbed Scott by the arm. They made their way around the outer wall of the warehouse, keeping the facade to their left.

Clark made sure Scott was secured between him and the wall, and for once, the kid didn't seem to mind.

Scott moved with surprising speed and stealth, almost as if he'd done this before. He kept his left hand on the cool exterior of the building, constantly checking their progress.

Clark was still surprised by Scott's sure-footedness, but he thought it would have to be expected from someone blind. He knew there was more to it than simple loss of sight, though, because the kid was still wearing the blindfold – not complaining about it even once. In fact, he seemed to be almost glad the piece of cloth was still there. He continued to fiddle with it whenever they stopped moving.

Clark itched to get away from Scott, to just jump into the fray and rescue the girl, but he knew the kid was suspicious enough already. Besides, the thugs would probably connect the dots and realize the tame reporter they had captured was harboring a big secret. So he wasn't about to risk it, not until the situation became too dire.

Right now, the leader of the kidnappers was talking to Jean, still asking her questions she refused to answer. Clark could see the proud tilt of her head and her fearlessness even through the walls separating them.

Scott was getting more anxious, though. It seemed every question the girl refused to answer raised the gangster's annoyance, causing more fear and dread in Scott as well.

Clark frowned. Those two were definitely connected, but how? He had experienced enough strange things in his life on Earth – and in outer space – but he wasn't sure he really believed in telepathy. Science, biology, physics – those were things he understood. Even Clark's presence on the blue planet and his powers could be explained rationally. But reading minds or sensing someone else's presence wasn't on the list of things he wanted to believe in.

They finally reached the side door leading into the warehouse. Clark knew there would be enough cover for them inside with stacked crates and walls of shelves filled with old pipes, wood and junk boxes, but they still needed to be careful.

Scott, who was adjusting the blindfold once more, asked, "We're there, right?"

Clark started to nod and immediately thought better of it. "Yes," he said. "We need to be quiet, though." He glanced into the direction where the other thugs had vanished and saw their van speed out the front gate of the industrial complex. So far, so good. He continued, "I'll lead, okay? And yes, I know you don't like it" – that much was obvious in the kid's angry stance, – "but you need to trust me on this. You won't be able to see the danger coming, and I can react much faster to any attack than you."

Scott scuffed his feet, impatient to rescue his friend, and hardly listened. "Yes, yes. Can we go in now?"

Clark hoped that he was doing the right thing and opened the door leading into the building. Luckily it seemed to be well-maintained and didn't creak, but he proceeded very carefully nonetheless. Scott had gripped the back of his jacket and followed close on Clark's heels, his other hand stretched slightly to the front and out so he wouldn't hit his head on anything at that height.

They didn't speak, just sneaked in quietly, until they could hear angry voices coming from the other side of a huge stack of pallets. Clark peeked around the corner and saw what he had expected: The leader of their kidnappers was yelling at Jean who only shook her head in denial.

"I know you're one of them!" the thug hissed. "Tell me where the others are!"

What was he talking about?

Jean kept silent, but Clark could see that she was afraid despite the brave facade. Her hands were slightly shaking, and Clark didn't think her pale face was her natural coloring. It made her bright red hair stand out even more and gave the young woman, who seemed a few years older than Scott, a fiery, stubborn appearance.

Clark suddenly understood what the kid saw in her. Glancing to his companion, Clark noticed that Scott's knuckles had gone white. He seemed ready to pounce on the bad guys, no matter the risk to himself. Brave but stupid, Clark thought and tried to come up with a plan to get the thugs away from Jean, and himself and the kids out of here without anyone getting hurt.

The opportunity presented itself a few seconds later. The boss sent his underling away, who turned around and exited the warehouse through a door opposite the one through which Clark and Scott had entered. Only Jean and her interrogator remained.

Scott had moved not even a centimeter when Clark's hand shot out and stopped him. "Not yet," Clark whispered. "The other guy needs to be out of earshot first."

Scott nodded grudgingly, and Clark continued, "We need a diversion. Think you can make enough noise to get the thug's attention and then get away from here as quickly as possible? He may be armed, so you need to stay out of sight." He winced at his poor choice of words and hurried on, "There's a nice niche down the left-hand row of pallets where you can hide."

Angry at being delegated to hiding in the shadows, Scott was about to deliver a hotheaded reply when Clark cut him off, "I need just a few seconds to get to Jean, lose her bindings and come back straight here. He'll never get to you."

"Right." Scott sounded dubious but didn't argue. "See any pipes I could use to create a lot of noise? Any scrap metal?"

Clark grinned. "More than you'll need. Come here." He grabbed Scott who bristled but didn't resist. They stopped right in front of a huge basket of spare parts that looked ancient – and heavy. They would create so much noise that Scott would be able to sneak away without the thug ever hearing him move.

He quickly built a contraption which would enable Scott to create as much noise as possible without wasting too much time. Clark simply pushed a wooden staff in between the stack of pipes that looked wobbly enough on its own, and told Scott to put his hand on this improvised lever. Then he advised, "Count to twenty, then pull. I'll be close enough to get to Jean as soon as the goon comes looking for you. You should be gone by then. Left-hand corridor, about forty paces, turn left again, and I should have you in my sight. Go it?"

Scott actually snorted. "Yes, Mom." The teen continued before Clark could admonish him: "Now go. I think the guy is about to get seriously pissed off."

Clark cast him a glance the kid couldn't observe and left him with a silent pat on the shoulder. Time to get down to business.

As soon as Clark was out of Scott's immediate earshot, he sped to where the goon was still questioning Jean. He stopped behind a large container and looked through it to observe the bad guy. He didn't seem armed, which was good. And he was still carrying Scott's glasses in his pocket. He didn't know what a blind kid would want with those, but maybe he could try to get them off the bad guy – after he'd taken Jean and her boyfriend to safety..

The goon was still yelling, Jean shaking her head every time he tried to get her to talk. Slightly impressed, Clark glanced at his watch: ten more seconds to go. Suddenly, Jean turned her head and seemed to look straight at Clark. Shocked to the core, he froze, but then the girl turned her attention back to her captor, and Clark started breathing again. Laughing at himself, he got ready to run. Jean couldn't have seen him. She was definitely human, without X-ray vision. He'd checked – twice.

A loud noise coming from the direction where he had left Scott was his signal. The goon turned and started yelling for his gang, but then he remembered that he had sent everyone away – to do God knew what – and snarled at Jean. "I'll be back."

The girl didn't reply but watched him go, aiming slightly to the left and away from Clark who took the opportunity and ran to Jean's side, using normal speed. She grinned at him in greeting and whispered, "Nice to finally meet you." Clark looked at her in surprise while making short work of the bindings holding her to the chair – luckily no zip ties this time. Seeing his look, Jean smiled again. "I know you're here with Scott. I just hope the idiot doesn't get himself killed."

Clark didn't know what to reply to that curious statement.

Jean jumped up the second the last binder fell and said, "Come on, let's go!" She ran to where Scott was hiding. Not asking for directions, not waiting for Clark, either. He had no choice but to follow her while simultaneously looking out for the gangster who was stalking towards Scott's former position.

Jean almost bowled Scott over when he emerged from his hiding place with open arms. They hugged for all they were worth, and Clark couldn't help but grin. Yep, these two were deeply in love, no mistaking that. Then he grew sober again. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but we need to go."

Jean loosened her death grip around Scott's neck – she was taller than her boyfriend – grabbed Scott's hand and turned towards Clark. "Well, then we better get out of here," she replied, still smiling, and tugged Scott along, who didn't seem to mind. They'd done this before, then. Clark was glad for it. Being blind must be hard. Being alone and helpless had to be worse. He knew with sudden clarity that Jean had been the one to stand by Scott's side after the kid had lost his sight.

The trio crept forward. Clark kept glancing around – and through – the objects surrounding them, but their luck still held.

Scott and Jean started a whispered conversation – quite heated by the look of it. Jean was urging Scott to just go.

Clark felt bad for eavesdropping, but he couldn't help it at this point, he was listening for the thugs. Scott was stubbornly refusing, demanding Jean get out of here – a sensible choice. And then he said something about needing his glasses.

Jean replied with a cryptic answer: "The Professor can get you new ones."

Clark was intrigued. So it seemed his first instinct had been right – the youngsters were more than just random kids. They were definitely on his side, though.

They had almost reached a tiny door leading out of the warehouse when Jean suddenly stiffened. Scott who was holding onto her arm stopped dead in his tracks as well.

Clark had halted a few seconds earlier, already noticing that the gangster was onto them. He turned in circles, looking around for show while searching deeper, scanning for additional bad guys and keeping an eye on their boss who was silently hiding behind a metal wall, waiting for backup. And the goons were coming back indeed. This was not good!

Jean voiced his thoughts. "We've got company," she whispered. Scott just nodded. Clark's brow furrowed. How had she known?

As if sensing his question, Jean turned and grinned at him. Later, she mouthed, and gestured for him to precede her and Scott along the aisles of crates and containers.

Clark sent her a glare that spoke of a very serious discussion to come, and did as he was told, silently creeping forward, further away from the thug lying in wait. Unfortunately, the other kidnappers had decided to be smart for once and were surrounding the warehouse, blocking the exits. So, it hadn't taken them very long to finally realize that their captives had escaped and were still in the vicinity.

They really needed to get out of here. Realizing that he wouldn't get his answers any time soon, Clark turned towards his companions and opened his mouth to speak.

Scott beat him to it. Still holding Jean's hand, the kid said with urgency in his voice, "Jean, let me see."

Startled, his girlfriend almost let go but then gripped his hand even tighter. They were now both ignoring Clark who gawked at them. What could a blind kid possibly be trying to see?

Shooting Clark another one of the glances that really started to get on the reporter's nerves, Jean asked her friend, "Are you sure? You know I'm not very good at it."

Good at what? Clark wanted to shout, but he restrained himself just in time. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

Scott nodded in reply to his friend's question, his mouth a grim, hard line. It gave him the look of someone at least a decade older. Strangely, it suited him very well.

Thoroughly weirded out, Clark tried once more to speak, but all thoughts of talking fled his mind when both Jean and Scott turned to look at him in unison.

Scott still wore the blindfold, but he stood proud and suddenly looked very capable of taking on Clark, the bandits, and the whole world, if need be. He canted his head a little, as if listening to some inner voice, and then his face broke into a huge smile. It wasn't just a grin, it was a full-blown beam of happiness, showing perfect white teeth – and dimples! Then he spoke, and Clark's jaw dropped. "You're right," Scott calmly said. "He really is Superman."

Clark took a step back and raised his hands in denial. "Uh, I think you're confusing me with someone else here," he said when he'd found his voice again, but Scott shook his head.

"I knew your voice was familiar," Scott said. "I couldn't place it at first, but now that I've seen your face it's obvious."

The kid was delirious! There was no other reasonable explanation. Scott couldn't see. Or had that been a lie?

Jean just smiled and tapped a finger of her free hand against her temple. "Sorry, but no," she said. "He's not crazy, and no, this isn't an elaborate scheme to draw you out."

Clark gaped at her but found no words, so Scott spoke up. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you earlier, but I think the time for secrets and sneaking around is over. We need to get out of here, and we can only do that if we use all our strengths instead of hiding from each other. We're mutants."

Jean looked uncomfortable at that but recovered quickly. "He's right," she confirmed Scott's statement, as if sensing that every bit of credibility they'd had in Clark's mind was about to vanish. "Look, I'm sorry to put you on the spot like this, but we need your help. I was about to discover their plot to kidnap some of our friends. Other mutants," she explained when she saw Clark's questioning gaze, "I obviously came too close to the truth, so they snatched me."

Scott took up the fantastic sounding tale. "When she didn't come home, I went to look for her. That's when they grabbed me – and you, incidentally. Jean's a telepath," he stated as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I'm..." He hesitated. "Well, right now I'm just a blind kid hanging onto his girlfriend's hand, borrowing her sight, but wait until I get my glasses back and can finally kick some ass."

That did it. Clark started laughing; he hadn't decided yet whether it was from hysteria or disbelief. His laughter, too loud in their hostile surroundings, died when a calm voice spoke in his head: Clark Kent, we need you.

Wha...? Clark spun around, but there was no one else there. He turned back to Jean and stared at her. "You...?"

Yes. Once again, the voice in Clark's mind was soft. Not exactly intruding but not to be ignored, either. I am sorry.

And with that, both the girl and Scott turned, still hand in hand, and started running into the direction from which they had come.

Clark swore under his breath and jogged after them. A few long strides brought him to the kids' side. He was about to step into their path and demand what they thought they were doing when the bad guys finally showed up. Without thinking, he decked the one nearest to him who was trying to jump him from behind. The thug went down and didn't get back up.

Then they were surrounded. The gangsters were armed but not shooting yet, instead trying to subdue their former prisoners by brute force and sheer numbers. So they were to be taken alive. Interesting.

Clark was grappling with thug number two, still undecided whether Superman should intervene, when he saw Scott make his move. The teen all but jumped at the guy trying to get a hold of Jean, hitting him hard with a perfectly aimed upper cut to the jaw. When the man – who was at least two weight-classes above the teenager's – didn't go down immediately, the still-blindfolded kid delivered a professional roundhouse kick and grinned in satisfaction as the goon fell to the floor.

Well, now Clark knew how Scott had put one of his kidnappers into the hospital all right.

Then the mood shifted. All the gangsters suddenly drew guns or knives from their holsters and started to advance in earnest. Scott putting down one of their own had been the last straw for them.

Having no choice, Clark finally gave up the pretense and started to run in earnest. He would deal with the consequences afterwards. Two seconds later, all the gangsters were down for the count, their weapons secured and out of reach. All thugs except one. Their boss was still unaccounted for.

Clark looked around and found him immediately – he was running for the exit as fast as he could, seeing the futility of his attempts to recapture his victims.

Clark turned towards Scott and Jean – who smirked – and ran to bring the gang leader back. Not wanting any more witnesses to his powers, he knocked him out cold from behind, grabbed him, and carried the thug back towards his companions who were busy tying up the gangsters. Then he reached into the man's coat pocket and pulled out Scott's glasses, regarding them curiously while Jean looked on.

The kid was by his side immediately, holding out his hand in Clark's general direction. "Give them to me," Scott demanded, as serious as Clark had ever seen him during their short acquaintance. Startled, Clark handed him the unusual contraption that was heavier than it looked.

"Thank you," Scott said, suddenly facing away from him and proceeding to rip off the blindfold with furious movements. He only turned back when he'd carefully settled the glasses onto his nose. Scott looked older now, the shades covering less of his chiseled face than the blindfold but giving him a mysterious, even dangerous aura instead. The red-and-silver spectacles didn't just cover his eyes but the sides of his head as well, completely shielding his eyes from view.

He couldn't see Scott's gaze because of the dark lenses, but when Clark looked deeper he saw that the other's eyes were open, staring straight at him.

Finally, the tension that had hovered on Scott's thin frame ever since Clark had been shoved into the van eased. He extended a hand, and Clark got up from his kneeling position to shake it.

"Scott Summers," the kid said, and jerked his head at his girlfriend who had stepped up next to him. "This is Jean Grey," he added, and put an arm around her waist.

Clark smiled at them conspiratorially. "I'm Clark Kent, but you already knew that."

Jean blushed, and Clark chuckled at the sight because the color clashed horribly with her hair. She glared at him as if reading his thoughts. Come to think of it, she probably was.

Deciding that this was neither the place nor the time for their serious talk, Clark gestured towards the unconscious thugs. "We should get out of here, call the police. My partner will be worried." As an afterthought, he added, "And I bet you have some people to call, too."

The youngsters gazed at each other and nodded simultaneously. Clark grimaced and couldn't suppress his next comment. "Not blind then?" he challenged Scott, who had the good grace to look uncomfortable.

"Not exactly, no," the younger man allowed. "But I don't think we should discuss this here. Come on," he ordered and turned towards the exit, Jean by his side.

Clark lagged behind, surprised by the sudden change in tone and demeanor once more. After one final glance at the securely bound kidnappers, he followed in their wake. Time to get some answers.

Instead of explanations, though, Clark received another surprise when he and the kids stepped out of the warehouse into bright daylight. A sleek black sedan was rolling to a stop only a few feet away from them. The window on the driver's side opened, and a bald man who seemed to be in his fifties looked out at them, an enigmatic smile gracing his kind face. He gazed at Clark for a moment, but then he turned his attention to the youngsters who had stepped closer, looking as baffled as Clark felt.

"Professor?" Scott said. "How did you...?" He interrupted himself and grinned at the new arrival. "Never mind," he said. "I'm just glad you're here. There's a bunch of unconscious thugs inside. They tried to get Jean to tell them where the others are."

He didn't clarify who these "others" were, but it was obvious that he didn't need to. The older man simply nodded in acceptance and replied in an unexpected British accent, "I am very glad to see you. All of you," he added meaningfully, glancing at Clark again. "Your kidnappers will be taken care of." At this, he touched his temple in a gesture similar to the one Jean had used earlier that day.

The sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance. "I think it is better for us to depart now," he added.

Clark was about to step forward and introduce himself – there was no way he would let the kids ride away with this man without even knowing his name and his intentions – when the British guy reached out and grabbed Scott by the hands, drawing him closer. Before Clark could intervene, he pushed back Scott's shirtsleeves and asked angrily, "Did they do this to you?" He held up the kid's damaged wrists for emphasis, the cuts and bruises now clearly visible on pale skin.

Scott tried to shrug him off. The "Professor" – whatever his name – didn't let go but held on with gentle hands. Recognizing the futility of his efforts, Scott nodded and replied, "It's not bad. I tried to get the handcuffs off but only succeeded in hurting myself."

"Not bad?" The Professor's eyebrows rose in indignation, but then he let the matter – and Scott's wrists – drop for the moment. "We'll take care of this when we get home." He looked at Jean. "Are you all right?" he asked, still in full mother-hen mode.

The young woman simply nodded, a relieved smile on her face.

Clark, recognizing the signs of a worried parent or guardian, finally walked closer and cut off the unwanted scrutiny heaped upon the squirming kids. "Sorry to interrupt," he said and stepped up to the open window. "I'm..."

"...Clark Kent," the other finished for him, offering his gentle smile again. "I know. My name is Charles Xavier," he introduced himself, shaking Clark's hand.

Xavier! Suddenly everything fell into place, and Clark's worry abated. Professor Xavier's studies on genetics and mutants were (in)famous enough to have reached even his unknowledgeable ears. Seemed the good Professor was doing more than just writing about mutant rights and had adopted a few special kids along the way.

Suddenly, there was a new voice in Clark's head, definitely male this time. Yes, it said calmly. They are very special indeed. There was so much fatherly pride in that statement that there could only be one source for it.

Clark, getting used to the weirdness of his experience, shared an understanding smile with the Professor, his second telepath of the day. The kids were in good hands, after all. Who better to teach them about their special powers than an older mutant who knew all about their troubles?

"I am so glad you approve," came the dry response, this time spoken out loud.

Clark started guiltily, but then he noticed the amused twinkle in the other man's eyes and chuckled. "Just making sure they are in good hands," he said.

Xavier nodded in approval. "I know. It's your life's work to protect others."

Clark looked at him sharply. Right... Of course Xavier would know about him being Superman.

The Professor nodded in confirmation, and continued, "Before you ask: No, I am not in the habit of reading other people's thoughts uninvited, but you were broadcasting rather loudly." He glanced at Jean while saying this, an unreadable expression on his face, and added, gesturing toward the back of the car: "Why don't you all get in? The police will be here any minute. We can drop you off at the Planet, if you like," he added for Clark's benefit.

The kids started to clamber into the back of the sedan. Xavier held Clark, who was about to step around the car to get to the passenger's side, back with an upraised hand. "I am sure you have questions. You are very welcome to visit us anytime to get some answers and see that Jean and Scott are fine indeed."

Clark nodded. He would definitely take the man up on his offer!

"Thank you," the Professor suddenly said, all humor gone from his expression. "For looking after them, even at the risk of exposing yourself. I know this must have been difficult for you. Scott in particular can be quite..."

He paused, and Clark interjected, "...a handful?"

Xavier chuckled. "I was about to say 'rash', but your description is accurate as well. So...thank you," he repeated.

"You're welcome," Clark replied seriously, understanding the deep feelings that had caused this exchange.

Xavier gazed up at Clark who suddenly remembered that the man sitting in the car was supposed to be bound to a wheelchair. He'd seen it on the news a while back. Curiously, he peeked inside. Ah, there were buttons and levers instead of the usual array of pedals. So that's why the Professor hadn't stepped out of the car to greet his kids.

Xavier, catching him staring, didn't seem to mind and indicated for him to move. "We really should be going," he said.

The sirens were getting closer.

Clark agreed and finally moved around the vehicle. He was strapping himself in when he finally remembered something. "What did you mean by 'taken care of'?" he inquired from their driver who looked at him uncomprehendingly. "The kidnappers," Clark clarified.

"Ah!" The exclamation was the only sound for a while. Xavier put the car in gear and set it into motion with a few quick touches to the various dials and buttons adorning the dashboard. Only when they were speeding away from the approaching emergency forces, did he speak again. "I erased part of their memories," he confided, glancing at Jean and Scott in the rear view mirror. The kids were listening intently.

"I did not delete their encounter with you, only the memories of your faces. Even if they didn't make the connection and thought you, Mr. Kent, just another mutant, it was too risky for everyone involved, including the kidnappers. Can you imagine what people would do to them if someone discovered they knew the identities of several mutants, let alone Superman?"

Clark winced. If he put it that way. Still... "Isn't it unethical to just go in and rewire people's brains?" he asked uncomfortably.

Xavier sighed heavily. "Yes," he replied. "And under normal circumstances I wouldn't even have considered it. I couldn't risk it, though." The unspoken addendum of My children were in danger hung in the air.

Clark supposed he should cut the guy some slack. "So," he said and turned to look at Scott, trying to veer away from the difficult topic for now. "Not blind after all. Then what's the matter with your eyes?" he asked.

Scott just stared at him wordlessly, clearly thinking of how much to tell him, but then he relented. "Without my glasses, I'm effectively blind," he admitted, tapping the heavy spectacles hiding most of his face. "There's something wrong with my head. I can't control my power although I should be able to. The glasses allow me to see while controlling my optic blasts."

Clark still didn't understand. "Optic blasts?"

"Yeah. A little bit like your heat vision, just without the high temperature. They punch through everything except the material my glasses are made of." Seeing the cautious look Clark shot him, he stated, "I could level a whole block of buildings just by looking at them."

Wow! No wonder Scott hadn't allowed him to take off the blindfold or even get near him before. And the joke about him blasting them out of there hadn't been very funny, after all. "So how can you see?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. It wasn't every day that you met a mutant with such a strong power.

Scott's face went taut. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about this any more than he had to. Then he sighed and fixed Clark with his hidden gaze: "I only see in shades of red. Otherwise, my vision is better than perfect. I don't have peripheral vision, obviously."

Clark winced. Yes, that much was obvious. The earpieces hid the kid's eyes completely, shielding the outer world from Scott's destructive power.

He couldn't imagine having to wear this kind of glasses for the rest of his life. Yes, Clark himself wore spectacles in his everyday life, but only to adhere to the image of Clark Kent he had created. He didn't really need them – but they didn't hinder him, either, or tint his whole world red.

"I'm sorry," Clark quietly said.

Scott shrugged. "Could've been worse. The first time my power manifested? I blew out a wall at my school. Suddenly, everyone was scared of me. I had to keep my eyes closed for months on end, always fearing I might slip up. I don't advise living with duct tape over your eyes. It really hurts when coming off."

Not knowing what to say to that, Clark stared out the window of their plush car. They were passing into Metropolis proper now, the streets getting more crowded by the second. No one had stopped them while moving away from the warehouse district, in the opposite direction the first responders were going.

The Professor was driving carefully yet professionally, obviously long used to relying on his hands for doing what his feet couldn't anymore. Clark didn't know all the details, but he'd heard that Xavier hadn't always been paralyzed, that an accident had made him a paraplegic.

No one spoke again until Professor Xavier stopped in front of the Planet building. The enigmatic smile was back, and he regarded Clark with something akin to pride in his eyes. He shook Clark's hand in good-bye and repeated his previous invitation: "You should come visit us soon. I think you have a lot more questions, and we need to talk about what happened here today."

Clark nodded in agreement. "I will," he promised. Then he turned around to nod at Jean who had kept quiet during the whole car ride, deep in thought. Now she looked at him, slightly abashed.

"Sorry about...you know," she said, waggling a hand in the air "I didn't know how else to get your attention." She glanced at the Professor while she said this.

Her mentor nodded in approval. He had taught her better, after all.

Clark smiled, knowing why she'd done it. He had forgiven her for the unwanted intrusion right after understanding who or rather what she was. Desperate times and all that. He solemnly took her offered hand. "It's all right," he reassured her. "No harm done. Although I do prefer to keep my thoughts to myself – and my secrets." He winked at her to ease the harsh words and received a grateful grin in return.

This time, she didn't blush. Too bad, it had been a rather funny sight.

Then Clark glanced at Scott, but before he could offer any more words, the kid got out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk, closing the door behind him. Clark had no choice but to follow. With one last glance at Xavier, he exited the sedan and stood next to Scott.

"So," he said, not really sure how to begin. Again. For someone who seemed such an easy-going nature around his girlfriend and his mentor, Scott was really hard to read when he wanted, and not only because you couldn't see his eyes.

The kid wasn't looking at him, though, but glancing up at the huge golden orb standing atop the roof, pronouncing to everyone who recognized it that this gray, simple building in the heart of Metropolis housed some of the most brilliant, most inquisitive – and yes, nosy – minds of the city.

Smirking inwardly at the idea of Lois ever knowing he'd just thought that, he decided to get his unexpected companion back to the here and now. "Scott?" he asked, and received a jerky nod of the head in return. "What are you staring at?"

Finally, the kid turned to look at him. "Nothing. Just thinking," he replied.

It still unsettled Clark to see the glasses hiding most of the kid's face, but now that he understood the need, he tried his best to just accept them. After all, Scott – and Jean, and the Professor – had trusted him without judgment, too. More than that, they'd offered their friendship and shared their secrets with him.

Clark was under no illusion that Xavier could just have deleted his memories of the whole incident in the blink of an eye. Instead, the Professor had invited him to his home. He and his kids – and he couldn't help but think of them like that, even though neither of them was in any way related to the man and although Jean was definitely not a teen anymore – were decent people, trying to find their place in this strange new world, the same as Superman.

Sensing Scott's scrutiny, Clark returned his unseen gaze. Strange, how fast you could get used to the fact that you couldn't see his eyes yet still knew where to look. Or maybe it was only because Clark could peek through the thick red lenses whenever he wished.

Shaking off his uncharacteristic brooding, Clark took Scott's proffered hand.

"Thanks," the teen said, "for sticking with me and all. I really appreciate your helping us out back there. And I'm sorry for being such a..." He stopped, searching for words.

Clark clapped him on the shoulder. Hard. To his credit, Scott didn't even flinch or reach up to rub his arm which had to be smarting.

Grinning, Clark let him off the hook. The kid really had what it took. "No worries. You did what you had to do to help your friend. But next time?"

Scott regarded him with stress lines appearing on his brow.

"Next time pack a spare pair of glasses so you don't have to go back to get the old ones." Clark grinned to show he wasn't entirely serious.

Scott's eyebrows rose over the rim of his glasses. "Yes, well. This is the only working pair I've got. Our resident genius is fiddling with a new idea, some kind of visor that will not only enable me to see without hurting anybody, but also allow me to control my blasts. Could come in handy in a fight, don't you think?" He bounced on the balls of his feet, suddenly enthusiastic about the prospect of being able to see and use his power without harming anyone – except the bad guys, of course.

Clark raised an admonishing finger. "You do realize that in just one day, you've managed to put one thug into the hospital – maybe even two – and sent a couple of others to jail, even without your sight? By the way, that was one very impressive roundhouse you delivered. One day, you're going to have to teach me how to do that. And tell me how you learned."

Scott looked horrified, and Clark burst out laughing, eliciting curious looks from the passersby who had paid them no attention until now. Guessing the kid's thoughts, he clarified, "I meant you could show me, not fight against me."

"Oh. Good to know. I do value my life, after all." Scott's reply dripped with sarcasm. Then he grew serious again. "Anyway. Thanks again. For everything."

Before either of them could say any more, the whirlwind known as Lois breezed by and grabbed Clark by the sleeve. "Where have you been, Kent? Jimmy's been looking for you everywhere! Perry wants you." And without giving him the chance to say as much as goodbye, she towed him along, not even realizing she'd just interrupted a private conversation.

Clark raised a hand over his shoulder, knowing Scott would understand, and let himself be dragged away for the second time that day. Sometimes, it was simply better not to resist.

The End