Chapter 2: Arriving in New work
Clark couldn't help but to open a big smile when he looked at the beautiful city: New York, the Big Apple, the most populous city of all the United States of America. He had never seen anything quite like that.
Of course, having lived most of his life in Smallville would make it all the more impressive. Not that Clark hadn't left before. He had, after all, travelled a good portion of the world, while looking for traces of his origins, but he had definitely never stayed on big cities and certainly not one as impressive as this.
As he walked down the streets, his big travelling bag on his shoulders, he tried to take in the sights, as best as he could. There were people everywhere, bumping on each other, as they walked on the sidewalks; cars, buses, motorcycles filled the streets, the noise they made surrounding the air; music was blasting from inside the stores, of every kind; the smell of different kinds of foods caressed Clark's nose, making his stomach growl.
It was all so different from Smallville and the other places he had been that it might as well be in other planet. But, despite all those differences, Clark was really excited to be moving to the big city, to start this new phase of his life, to chase his dream of becoming a journalist.
It wouldn't be easy, he knew that. For all his work on the high school's newspaper and the several journalism's courses he took, Clark still didn't have any real experience. So he was moving to a new city, without a guaranteed job, with no previous references besides his old articles and without knowing anybody in the city.
And in this economy, or so everybody would say to him at every chance they had, nobody was hiring.
But Clark wouldn't let this bring him down. He had talent and he had will, that was all an honest man needed to succeed in life, his father used to say. And of course, there was the real reason behind wanting to be a journalist: it was a job where he could keep his ear to the ground, where people wouldn't look twice when he wanted to go somewhere dangerous and start asking questions.
A job that would give him the chance to finally do what his parents, both adopted and biological, believed he could do: to use his gifts for good.
Clark stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the traffic lights to turn green, his mind wandering for a second, thinking back on how he ended up where he was. He had to admit it was quite the journey.
After his dad, Jonathan Kent, died, Clark was numb. Everything he was, he owed to his family, and to have half of that family ripped from him so early was a shock. He simply didn't see it coming; a heart attack, probably one of the most, if not the most, common causes of death in the world. And something that he couldn't fix, despite having all those powers.
He was devastated. He was lost. He was angry. And most of all, he was confused. Should he have noticed something? Should he have expected that? Because he didn't, at all. The thought of his father passing away had never crossed his mind, not even once, and Clark didn't know if that happened because he was young, thus naïve, or if he didn't see it because he was a super powered alien who never got sick in all his life.
Not for the first time his unknown past plagued him with doubts. He didn't want to be different. He didn't like being something else. He didn't like not knowing what he was. And with his father passing away he never felt so alone with his doubts.
His mother was the one who shook him out of his depression. And the reason he left Smallville. Martha Kent was a strong woman; and a very scary mother, when she needed to be. She had told Clark, not too gently, that he had a choice: he could stay there, depressed into his little dark world, whining about all the problems he had in his life; or he could get up and do something about it.
Don't know what you are? Go look for clues to see if you find something out. Feeling sad because you are different? Everybody is different, grow up, be your own sort of unique. Can't understand humanity because you are not one? Then get out of your bubble and try to learn something useful from other people. Feeling useless because you can't help everybody? Hone your abilities and use them to help those you can.
Clark smiled a little bit thinking about his mother. She was a lovely person, but she could scare even him, a bullet proof alien, when she had to. She was the one that gave him the kick-start he needed to go out in the world. And go out he did, for years, learning everything he could, training his abilities, searching for clues of his past.
Surprisingly, he ended up learning more about his own morals than anything else, at least in the beginning.
He found out that he liked to help people. And so he did, as often as he could. It was by doing that, that Clark observed something valuable: good actions generated good actions. All some people needed to start doing good deed themselves was a little push, a little example, a little help. And sometimes, in a world that could more often than not be unforgiving and harsh, that was the most difficult thing to find.
So when Clark finally came back to Smallville, he did it with the sense of a job well done. He had done what he set out to do. And seeing the knowing smile of his mother when he hugged her made it everything worth it; as if she knew, all along, that he would succeed. The only one who needed proof was him, apparently.
He spent a couple of months in Smallville after coming back, telling his mother everything he'd learned and seen, about his experiences and his past, about his biological family and his people. Not that he hadn't told her before, an abridged version here and there every time he called home, but nothing could beat actually sitting down and talking, while eating a piece of apple pie.
He was happy. His mother was happy. And for the first time since the passing of Jonathan Kent, Clark felt he could finally move on without that bag of bricks on his chest. Which brought him, finally, to New York. To, hopefully, the beginning of a successful career.
But first, before trying his hand into becoming a legendary journalist, Clark needed to find a place to live. And there was probably one place someone with no job, no family money and limited savings that came from working in diners could look in New York. The neighborhood that was almost wiped off the map during The Incident: Hell's Kitchen.
Walking through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, Clark could understand why the prices were so sympathetic to his pockets. The place had been hit the hardest during the Battle of New York. Everywhere he looked there were signs of the fight. Destroyed buildings, debris still on the sidewalks, big cranes making repairs… The Avengers had saved the world, but the aliens had taken a piece of it before throwing the towel; that piece was Hell's Kitchen.
Clark felt his mood dampen a little bit. An alien invasion. An honest to god freaking alien invasion had happened and he wasn't there to help. An alien invasion had happened while he was elsewhere looking for clues about aliens. If it wasn't so tragic, the irony would have made him laugh.
Well, that wouldn't happen again, Clark promised himself. Not now that he had actually learned how to fly.
Shaking off his bad mood, Clark began to hasten his steps. He was going to meet the real estate agent that had rented the place to him, and it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of him to keep a lady waiting, especially in this dangerous neighborhood.
Susan Harris was tapping her foot, impatiently. Mr. Kent was late. It was bad enough to be in this part of town for any amount of time, surrounded by the unsavory elements and the ruined landscape, but to be here waiting indefinitely was cause for worry.
Hell's Kitchen change after The Incident could be quantified between "worse" and "even worse". Before that it wasn't a bad place, full of restaurants of every kind, good places for people who enjoyed music and any kind of artistic performances and in general full of good people.
Things like that tend to change when an alien army falls on top of it.
The damage to Hell's Kitchen was astronomical. Several people lost their homes, the buildings that were left standing were in poor condition, water and energy were cut off, businesses had to close its doors… The situation now wasn't nearly as bad as it was a few weeks after the invasion, but it also wasn't nearly of what it was before it.
Because of that, the prices had dropped tremendously. Nobody wanted to stay there. Nobody that had options wanted to move there. Supply and demand. Things would get better in time, she hoped, with how much work and money Union Allied Construction was pouring there, but for now, prices were low.
Which brought Susan to her current predicament: waiting for a client that was probably poor as a church mouse, who, she could only hope, would arrive before she was mugged.
It wasn't such an absurd possibility. Susan Harris stuck like a sore thumb. Blond, beautiful, dressed on a form fitting white dress and black high heels, she was surrounded by a bunch of people in old jeans and ragged coats going to work. Given the risen numbers of violence and assaults since The Incident… Well, she wasn't exactly crazy for being worried.
"Susan Harris?" asked someone from behind her.
"Finally," she muttered, turning to speak with Mr. Kent, an irritated look on her face.
And as soon as she did turn, the angry frown disappeared, replaced by wide eyes. She was not expecting this, Susan had to admit. Mr. Kent was beyond hot. And she used the word only on special occasions. Tall, dark hair, the most gorgeous cerulean blue eyes… And, oh my, did he have muscles! Big, defined, muscled arms and she could only imagine how ripped his stomach would be…
Clark cleared his throat when the silence extended.
"Mrs. Harris, I'm so sorry for being late," he said, sheepishly. "I guess I overestimated my sense of direction."
The sound of his voice snapped Susan back to reality; her cheeks were a bit rosy now.
"Not at all, Mr. Kent, I wasn't here for long anyway," she said, suddenly cheerfully. She extended her hand. "And it's Miss…" she added unconsciously, for her eternal embarrassment; she shook her head a little bit. "Susan Harris, Midtown Property Solutions."
"Clark Kent, but please, call me Clark," he said, shaking her hand, with dazzlingly smile.
Strong hands, Susan thought, holding it a little more than what was socially acceptable.
"So, this is the place?" said Clark, since apparently Susan's mind was elsewhere.
"Yes!" She confirmed quickly, turning towards the entrance of the building.
For a few seconds, Clark didn't say anything.
"It's…hmm…severe?"
"Yes, severe…" Susan agreed, though the word she would have used is "dump". "But don't let yourself be fooled by the plain look of the building. Regardless of how it looks on the outside, it's very well placed. There are several good restaurants here, the subway is a few blocks that way, and at night there are a few good bars around, if you like that sort of thing."
Let it never be said that Susan Harris was bad at her job.
"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," he agreed, and looked at her. "So… let's go in?"
"Absolutely!"
She crossed her arm with Clark's and guided him to the entrance. The inside was as gloomy as the outside, but without the sunlight to help. It was an old and unkempt place; not the cleanest too, she noticed. She pressed the button of the elevator as fast as she could.
"There aren't a lot of occupied apartments in the building," she said, as Clark looked around. "But you will share your floor with 2 others, if I recall. They probably are lovely people; the people of Hell's Kitchen tend to be very welcoming." The doors of the elevator opened and they entered.
When they arrived at the right floor, the doors opened, showing a long corridor with doors on both sides and one door right at the end; a woman was coming from that apartment.
"There, that is one of your neighbors," Susan said, happily.
The woman approached the elevator with fast steps. She had black hair, very white skin and was using a black leather jacket and old jeans; her face, however, couldn't exactly be described as anything close to welcoming.
"Good morn…"
"Fuck off!" interrupted the woman, sliding past them and entering the elevator.
Susan shared a nervous look with a wide-eyed Clark.
"Ha ha… Mondays, right? They can get to the best of us."
God damn this people, Susan thought. If Clark hadn't already made a deposit, he would probably make a run for it. This building was terrible and it was apparently full of aggressive nutjobs. Outwardly, though, she kept a cool face. They were already there, nothing could go wrong anymore.
She reached her purse to get the keys of the apartment when they arrived in front of it; the door, however, seemed to be unlocked and only half closed. Frowning, she opened, only to jump back when a man got up from the couch and pointed a knife at her.
"What are you doing in my apartment?!"
She didn't even notice when Clark stepped in front of her; she was just suddenly blocked by his broad back. Oh god, this couldn't be happening! She didn't want to be stabbed, least of all in a place like Hell's Kitchen. She frantically looked for her phone, ready to call 911, only to be stopped by an alarmingly calm Clark.
"Hey, there is no need for that," he said with a smile, walking forward. "He is not going to attack us, we just surprised him, right?"
Clark kept walking, no hesitation, no sign of fear whatsoever. And despite the situation, Susan suddenly felt completely safe.
"So what is your favorite? Crunchy or smooth?" For a second Susan didn't understand, until she noticed the jar of peanut butter on the man's hand; the knife she was so afraid of was a kitchen knife that he was just using to eat it.
"Crunchy of course," the man mumbled, putting the knife back on the jar and scratching his nose. "Is there any other way to eat it?"
"Not as far as I am concerned," said Clark, still smiling, stopping in front of the man. "So, what's your name?"
The man hesitated for a second, looking at Clark. He looked terribly unhealthy, especially standing so close to a big, strong man as Clark was; he was thin, had black skin, wasn't particularly tall and had a very high afro. He was also, undoubtedly, a drug addict.
"Malcolm," he muttered.
"I'm Clark," he extended his hand and, after a moment, Malcolm shook it. "I think I'm your new neighbor."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. But, the thing is, I'm almost certain that this apartment here is the one I'm renting. Do you think it's possible you got confused and entered the wrong one?"
Malcolm shrugged noncommittally.
"Happened before."
Clark smiled again.
"A friend of mine entered the wrong classroom once, when we were kids. Went all the way back and actually sat down. Small town, people laugh about this to this day."
Even Susan smiled; Clark's good mood was infectious.
"So, why don't I help you get to your apartment so I can let this lovely lady go back to her work?"
"Alright," Malcolm agreed.
Susan moved out of the way and watched as Clark guided the obviously high man back to his apartment, the peanut butter jar in his hand. She held back a smile when the man turned to the wrong side again, trying to enter the apartment they've seen the woman leave earlier, and Clark had to turn him to the other one.
When he came back, Susan couldn't hold herself back anymore.
"Mr. Kent, I'm so sorry about this!" she said, fast, before she regained her senses. "This place is… This place is horrible! You have a rude neighbor on one side and a junkie on the other, the streets aren't safe…"
He interrupted her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, it's alright. It's not so bad. I'm sure after a good scrub this apartment will be as good as new. Malcolm is not a bad guy, just a little confused. And the woman, well, you were right, Mondays can be rough."
This man was a saint, Susan thought.
"I know that I can't expect much with a budget like mine. You don't have to apologize, Miss Harris, you did the best you could and I'm happy."
She could have cried right then and there. She hoped New York wouldn't tear him apart; he was probably the nicest person she ever met.
"Well, Clark, if you are satisfied, so am I. Here are your keys," she said, handing him the keys. "But I must say, if there is any problem, at all, give me a call and I'll see what I can do. Okay?"
He gave her a beautiful smile and shook her hand again.
"I promise. And thank you, Miss Harris."
She hesitated before turning, than added.
"And, you know, if you need someone to show you around, give me a call too."
And before he could answer, she gave him a saucy smile and left.
Clark was a little bit shocked; he definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, but still with a big smile on his face from being asked out by a gorgeous woman, Clark turned to look at his apartment. Despite his reassurances to Miss Harris, the apartment really wasn't much. A living room, a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom. There was no T.V, it was small, dark, and the furniture could very well belong to a house of the old U.S.S.R; he was pretty sure the fridge actually was from the East Germany.
Well, there was nothing he could do for now. He tossed his bag on the couch, opened it, and used his super speed to put his stuff on the designated places all over the apartment in a few seconds. Tomorrow he would have to buy some food and cleaning products. And a broom, he couldn't forget a broom, because the amount of dust that rose when he ran made him feel as if he were in the middle of a sandstorm.
But now there was no time to clean his new home. Now, Clark was going out and, hopefully, when he got back, he would be employed. He took the list from his pocket where he had written the names and addresses of the main newspapers of New York, opened the door, and left.
Today was going to be a good day, Clark thought.
Natasha Romanoff walked quickly through the corridors of The Triskelion, SHIELD's headquarters in Washington, D.C. As quickly as she walked, though, the people who crossed her path moved even quicker out of her way. Natasha was an intimidating woman. There were several factors that contributed to it, like her confidence, her phenomenal good looks, her immense sharpness and perspicacity, her no-nonsense attitude and her Avengers membership.
Her ability to kill any person, armed or unarmed, trained or untrained, using any kind of weapon or simply her bare hands probably was a factor too.
She stopped in front of a door and knocked, entering soon after, without waiting for permission.
"You called?" she asked, a little smile on her face.
Nick Fury didn't even turn his chair.
"I have a job for you," he said, still looking through the big window of his office.
Fury's office was a beautiful room, modestly furnished, bright and with a lot of space. There were screens on the wall in front of his desk and, behind it, a striking view of the city. Natasha walked with the sureness of someone who had been there several times and sat on a chair by Fury's desk.
"I do hope it's better than the last one," she said, making herself confortable on the leather chair. "Can you even imagine how tedious it was to observe a mob's accountant? The man was so predictably boring that one day he mistook sweetener for sugar after pouring it into his coffee and, instead of drinking it, he bought another one. I actually thought you were punishing me for something."
Nick gave her a little smile.
"They can't all be alien invasions, can they?"
"Well, if those are my two options, I take the accountant," she rolled her eyes. "But we'll see how long it takes until I wish another alien invasion upon us."
"How about something in-between?" Fury asked.
Natasha raised her eyebrows slightly, even if inside she felt a bit more surprised than that.
"What do you mean?"
Fury turned one of his monitors so she could see it.
"Three and a half months ago, the Canadian army found something buried in thick ice in Ellesmere Island. They didn't have the equipment necessary to know what exactly it was, so they made a joint operation with the American army to find out what they could."
"We didn't send anyone with them?" Natasha asked, her eyes on the screen.
"Of course we did, just not officially. But a previously associate of ours was invited because of her expertise: Dr. Jane Foster and, of course, her 'assistant' Miss Darcy Lewis. As I understand, they tried to contact Erik Selvig, but as you probably know, he still is treating himself because of the number Loki did on his mind."
She liked where this was going less and less.
"What could an astrophysicist know about an object trapped in ice?" she asked, already guessing the answer.
He didn't disappoint her.
"It wasn't about where the object was at the moment, but where it was 20.000 years ago: out of this planet."
There was a stream of curses in Russian.
"Yes, that was exactly what I said too, only in English!" Fury replied, laughing ironically. "But wait, it gets even better. One day after Dr. Foster arrived, that was a huge tremor. The specialists would have thought it was an earthquake, if not for the fact that several lights turned on beneath the ice and, suddenly, an alien spaceship rose to sky and disappeared into the night."
Her eyes closed for a moment as she refrained from cursing again.
"They lost an alien ship?" she asked, her voice perfectly calm.
"They did," confirmed Fury. "They weren't exactly equipped to chase it and the ship simply doesn't show in our sensors. It either buried itself back on ice or…"
"Or its technology is too advanced to be noticed by ours," she completed.
"Precisely. We have no idea where this thing is," he tilted his head "but at least it isn't killing people. Nobody there died, the ship just took off."
Romanoff studied the screen again, seeing the grainy images from the ship.
"What's the other lead you have then?" she asked, knowing she was there for a reason.
Fury smiled.
"There is one. The Canadian forces hired a company called Arctic Cargo to transport everything they needed. There were 67 workers when they arrived; after the ship left there were only 66. After analysis, we reached the 'oh so surprising' conclusion that his documents were fake and that left us without a name or a picture."
"How do you know it isn't simply an illegal that left after things became too heated?"
"Because of the testimony of our Norse God's old friend, Darcy Lewis. I can't even begin to quote from memory, so let me read it… Here it is," he looked at the text on the screen and read: "[…]He totally saved our lives when the killer robot attacked and almost killed Jane! He just appeared and ARGHH, ripped the thing in two with his bare hands![…]How did he look like? Wow, where do I begin… He was a dark haired hunky blue eyed beefcake of a man and I wanted to bite him! I told Jane that a have dibs on this one, she can't just get all the good looking aliens for herself.[…]How do I know he is an alien? That's a stupid question. He operated on Jane with laser eyes! He went ARGHH and destroyed a robot! What else could he be? Captain Canada, who was also frozen in ice?"
It was a testament to Natasha's training that she didn't laugh when Fury read that.
"So, an alien that looks like a human with dark hair and blue eyes, is strong and has laser eyes stole the ship?" Natasha asked. "And before that he was working for Arctic Cargo with fake documents. Well… it's a lead. Though I probably should speak to Dr. Foster and Miss Lewis, they might know more."
Fury nodded and suddenly looked very serious.
"We need to find this man, Romanoff. We have an alien with unknown strength and motivations who is in possession of an alien ship inside our planet. If we don't deal with this swiftly, it could turn into another Incident."
Natasha got up.
"I can't believe they are calling it 'The Incident'," she said, looking at Fury. "I was there, I remember it being a little more than a simple 'incident'." She looked at Fury. "And I have no intention of letting something like that happen again."
Saying this, Natasha Romanoff turned and left the room; she was already missing the accountant.
Weekly Power Status
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