* * *

Insight

* * *

"You see," said Clark, "I've met a bo -- a ma -- a va -- I've met someone."

His companion pushed the bowl of peanuts towards him.

"Ook."

"Thanks," said Clark. "Don't mind if I do."

"Ook. Eek?"

Clark ducked his head, but he couldn't hide his grin. It was wide and unusually goofy, even for one of Clark's grins, and it was having its usual effect. A barbarian mercenary who had happened to be directly in the way of the smile had dropped his sword on his foot and was cursing in a still-dazed mumble, and the more unsavoury patrons of the bar were squeezing themselves uncomfortably into corners as the shadows retreated. The Librarian looked around the room -- better-lit now than it had been since Clark's last visit -- and ooked disapprovingly at the state of the floor.

"Yeah, I like him," said Clark, still grinning soppily. The bartender was starting to give them apprehensive looks. It was one thing to have customers who came in and broke table legs over one another's heads; he could deal with those. Customers who brought their own lighting with them were another matter entirely.

He hadn't tried to kick them out yet. Clark had smiled at him the first time he was here, when the Librarian had met him. The bartender had refrained from pouring out his life story to Clark, but the Librarian noticed he huffed on Clark's glass and polished it before serving him his drink. In the Mended Drum, this was akin to rolling out the red carpet.

"He's nice," said Clark. "Or -- well, not nice exactly. Not nice at all, in fact," he amended conscientiously. "But he's -- he's not like anyone else I've ever met. He -- " Clark fiddled with his glass, and said, in a burst of confidence,

"He's like me."

"Ook?" said the Librarian skeptically.

"Well, no, he doesn't look like me," Clark admitted. "And he doesn't act like me. It's just -- it goes deeper than that. I feel like he really understands me."

The Librarian stared at him, but he seemed to mean it. That was the painful thing about Clark. He always meant it.

"Ook," said the Librarian, a little sadly. He was trying to remember when he had ever been that young. Clark had that effect on people, whether they could pick things up with their feet or not.

"I think he likes me too," said Clark. "Like, really likes me. He showed up at work today."

"Ook?"

"Oh, no. He doesn't work there," said Clark. He blushed, but went on bravely. "I think he came to see me. Um. He didn't talk to me -- just to Otto -- but he was looking at me."

The Librarian thought about this.

"Ook," he said slowly. "Ook eek ook?"

Clark looked shocked.

"Not stalking," he said. "I wouldn't call it stalking. He was standing right out in the open. He wasn't trying to hide or anything. Anyone could have seen him. It wasn’t stalking.

"I think it was kind of sweet," he added.

"Ook," said the Librarian doubtfully, but it had been a long time since he’d been human. Courtship rituals might have changed in that time. He decided to let it go.

Then he thought of another question.

"Ook?"

Clark blinked.

"No," he said. "They didn't seem to notice him." He looked thoughtful.

"I thought that was kind of weird at the time," he said. "William doesn't usually like outsiders in the newsroom. I thought maybe, since he was a friend of Otto's -- "

"Ook?"

"They met in Uberwald," Clark explained. "Otto knew him before his father sent him to the Assassins’ Guild to be educated. He told me about it over dinner last night."

The Librarian was struck by a premonition.

"Ook," he said. "Ook ook?"

"Only Otto. They talked before Le -- I mean, he left. Why d'you ask?"

"Ook? Ook eek ook?"

"Yeah, it's short for Alexander. What's the matter?"

"Eek eek ook?"

Clark looked defensive.

"He's a Black Ribboner," he said. "He doesn't drink blood anymore! It's not his fault he was born -- the way he is."

"Ook," said the Librarian despairingly. If Clark thought the only problem with dating was Lex Luthor was the fact that Luthor was a vampire . . .

He had another try at dislodging Clark's naivete anyway.

"Ook ook eek."

Clark's face closed like a book. The room suddenly seemed darker. The Librarian's heart fell.

"You don't know him," Clark said coldly. "You don't understand. Lex does. He -- he knows what it's like. He gets it."

"Ook," said the Librarian.

Clark gave him the look that always puzzled him -- a dark, lonely look. A face capable of a grin like Clark's shouldn't have been capable of that look. It was only when Clark looked like that that you realised what secrets his eyes held.

There were a lot of them, and they were huge -- bigger, somehow, than concepts like nice or nasty. They didn't look like pleasant secrets, but they didn't look unpleasant either. They were more important than that. Good and evil slept in Clark's eyes.

The Librarian shifted in discomfort, and scratched himself. The movement broke the spell. Clark switched off the gaze, looking down.

"I like him," he said finally. "I really like him."

"Ook," said the Librarian. "Ook ook ook."

"Yeah," said Clark. "Can't be helped. Drinks on me this time?"

He really was a nice boy. The Librarian wasn't sure if he felt sorrier for him, or for Lex Luthor.

"Ook," he said.

"No problem," said Clark. "Can I get you a banana with that?"

"Ook," said the Librarian. Clark grinned.

"You said it," he said.

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