A.N. I've started a new story. The origin story of my ROB, Nekros. It's titled 'NEKROS: Nobody Ever Knew the Real Omniversal Sovereign'. A multiverse crossover type fic, so I am going to need support for it. If any of you are interested in Star Wars, that's the first arc I'm doing over there so please...
...show this generous author some support and love will you? :)
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Chapter 8
-Clark Kent (Superman)-
A month had passed since the Grand Minister departed, leaving Superman with an agreement that seemed straightforward when described aloud and considerably less straightforward whenever he attempted to apply it to the reality of having Bardock on Earth. The Saiyan had accepted the League's oversight, although Clark suspected the word accepted required a degree of generosity when applied to someone who had made it abundantly clear that he would not be taking orders from them.
Nevertheless, Bardock had kept his word. He had not attempted to establish himself as Earth's protector by force, had not demanded access to League facilities beyond those offered to him, and had not repeated the demonstration that had left an uninhabited planet scattered into incandescent debris. He had, however, developed an astonishing habit of appearing in places where trouble was brewing, resolving the situation with whatever degree of force he considered appropriate, and departing before the local authorities could decide whether they ought to thank him, arrest him, or request that he refrain from doing whatever he had just done to their infrastructure even if infinitesimal.
Batman had described the pattern as predictable in its unpredictability, which Clark thought was a rather elaborate way of admitting that they had yet to understand Bardock's decision-making process. For his own part, Clark had found the Saiyan's conduct reassuring in several respects, even if it had also raised questions that became more complicated the longer he considered them.
The morning over Metropolis had begun without anything particularly remarkable occurring, which Clark had learned to regard as a small blessing rather than a promise that the remainder of the day would follow suit. He had already stopped two bank robberies, the first involving an ordinary group of armed men who had apparently mistaken a poorly planned escape route for a substitute for competent criminal preparation, and the second involving a collection of thugs wearing bulky mechanical suits that made them look as though they had assembled their equipment from the discarded machinery of three different industrial accidents. Their armour had been impressive enough to frighten the bank's security staff, and the weapons built into their gauntlets could have caused serious injuries to anyone who had attempted to confront them without adequate protection.
Against Clark, however, their efforts had amounted to little more than an extended exercise in frustration, especially once he had removed the power source from the largest suit and watched its owner discover that several hundred pounds of powered metal became remarkably inconvenient when the power disappeared. The men were now in police custody, their weapons confiscated and their mechanical suits awaiting examination, while Clark had resumed his patrol with the mild satisfaction of having prevented anyone from being seriously hurt. He was passing above a commercial district when the distant sound of a train horn reached his ears, followed almost immediately by the sharp, irregular shriek of metal grinding against metal.
Clark turned toward the railway line before the horn had finished sounding, his hearing separating the alarm from the rumble of traffic below and the overlapping voices of commuters waiting at crossings. The train was travelling far too quickly for the stretch of track it occupied, its engine pulling a long line of passenger carriages toward a junction where the rails curved alongside a raised barrier overlooking one of Metropolis's busiest freeways.
He could hear the engineer shouting into a radio, the frantic instructions of a railway controller coming through the speaker, and the frightened voices of passengers who had begun to realise that the train was not slowing as it approached the junction. The brakes had failed, or had been rendered useless by something more deliberate than a simple mechanical fault, and the train was gaining speed as the slight downward slope carried it toward the crossing.
Beyond the barrier, several storeys below the railway embankment, vehicles moved along the freeway in dense morning traffic, their occupants completely unaware that a passenger train was approaching a point where its momentum might carry it off the tracks and directly into their path. Clark could have reached the engine in less than a second, but he could not stop there to consider the best possible method of intervening, because every fraction of a second spent choosing was another fraction in which the train continued toward disaster. He accelerated, dropped toward the front of the engine, and positioned himself against its nose with his arms extended, setting his feet against the rails as he began to absorb the train's momentum.
The impact sent a deep shudder through the engine and drove Clark's boots against the steel, forcing his heels through the track bed until the rails bent beneath him. He leaned forward, drawing upon the strength that had allowed him to lift aircraft carriers and hold collapsing structures long enough for people to escape, but the train was carrying an enormous amount of momentum, and the weight of its carriages continued to press against the engine from behind. The locomotive's wheels screamed as they dragged across the damaged rails, throwing sparks in bright streaks along either side of Clark's legs, while the embankment shook beneath the strain of his attempt to halt it.
He could feel the train slowing, but not nearly quickly enough, and the barrier at the end of the line was approaching with a speed that left him less than a little room to correct his position. Clark tightened his grip on the front of the engine, bracing his shoulders and trying to distribute the force across his entire body rather than allowing it to concentrate at a single point. He was strong enough to stop the train eventually, but the question was whether he could do so before the engine tore through the barrier and pulled the rest of the carriages after it. For the first time since he had reached the railway line, he recognised that the problem was not whether he could overpower the train, but whether he could overcome its momentum without causing the very disaster he was trying to prevent.
A green light appeared beneath the carriages.
At first Clark assumed it was a reflection from one of the railway signals, but the glow spread along the entire length of the train, forming a translucent field that surrounded the wheels and extended beneath the engine. The grinding metal grew quieter as the weight came off the rails, and the locomotive rose several inches into the air while its wheels continued spinning uselessly beneath it. The carriages followed in sequence, lifting clear of the track until the entire train hung suspended above the embankment, its immense weight supported by something Clark could neither see nor feel in the ordinary physical sense.
He eased his grip on the engine and glanced over his shoulder, where a familiar figure was descending toward him with the casual composure of someone arriving late to a meeting rather than intervening in a potential mass-casualty incident. Bardock's black hair stood upward in thick, sharply defined clusters, giving his silhouette a resemblance to the wild outline of his more dangerous transformation that Clark had the misfortune of going up against without any of the immense frame or overwhelming aura that accompanied it... or the ferocious amber eyes.
He wore loose gi trousers tucked into combat boots, a green sash trailing from his waist, and a short, open vest that left his chest largely uncovered; a red staff rested horizontally at his waist, secured in a way that suggested he was accustomed to carrying it without giving it much thought. His brown tail remained unfurled behind him, swaying gently as he floated down beside Clark, and his expression suggested that he had arrived in time to witness something mildly amusing.
"You're having a bit of trouble there, aren't you?" Bardock asked, looking from Clark to the suspended train with an expression of mild disbelief. "I've seen you lift cruiser ships, so I wouldn't have expected a train to give you this much grief."
Clark glanced at the train, then back at the Saiyan, making certain that the green field remained stable before allowing himself to answer.
"A train moving at this speed is a little different from a ship that I've had time to get underneath and lift. I'm trying to stop its momentum without tearing the engine apart or sending the carriages through the barrier, and I can't exactly grab the entire thing at once."
Bardock looked at him for another moment before glancing toward the field of energy surrounding the train. "You could if you had telekinesis."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "Not everyone has telekinesis, Bardock."
"I know that." The Saiyan's mouth curved into a faint smile. "That's why I used mine."
Clark looked at the train again, where the wheels continued spinning in the air as though the entire railway system had become irrelevant to its immediate circumstances, and then returned his attention to Bardock.
"You've had that ability this entire time?" he asked, unable to conceal his surprise. "And you didn't think it might be useful during our fight?"
Bardock shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by the implication that he had withheld a useful ability during their earlier confrontation. "It's not usually a Saiyan's style," he explained, as though that settled the matter, although the expression on Clark's face suggested that it did nothing of the sort. "Most of us prefer to hit things, blow things up, or hit things hard enough that they blow up anyway without us having to waste energy on a blast. Telekinesis isn't exactly something that gets much attention when you're learning to fight, and I never had a particularly pressing reason to develop it before coming here."
He gestured with one hand toward the train, and the entire line of carriages shifted gently through the air, maintaining its formation despite the wheels continuing to rotate beneath them. "But I've spent the last couple of months trying to refine my control over my energy, and moving objects without touching them seemed like one of the better ways to practise. It's rather difficult to cheat with brute force when the entire point is to manipulate something without damaging it."
Clark stared at him for a moment, wondering how a man who had once treated a confrontation with the Justice League as an opportunity to assess their combat abilities had apparently spent his subsequent weeks learning to perform delicate tasks with an ability he had not previously considered worth mentioning.
"You decided to learn telekinesis because you wanted to improve your control?" he asked.
"Pretty much," Bardock replied. "Turns out it's useful for more than making things float around, which is always nice when you discover you've been overlooking something obvious."
Clark could not entirely disagree with that assessment, although he suspected the word obvious had a rather different meaning to a Saiyan who regarded most conventional limitations as invitations to experiment. He had spent years refining his own strength through restraint, learning to distinguish between lifting a building and supporting one whose foundations were already collapsing, and understanding that the ability to apply tremendous force did not automatically confer the ability to use it safely.
Bardock's approach appeared to have reached a similar conclusion through a completely different route, though Clark remained uncertain whether the Saiyan had arrived at it through deliberate reflection or simply because he had become bored with doing things the way he already knew how to do them.
"Well, I'm glad you've been practising." Clark said, watching the train hover above the tracks. "Although I would appreciate it if you told me about abilities like this before we have another disagreement over what constitutes an acceptable demonstration of strength."
Bardock considered the suggestion, then gave him a look of exaggerated innocence. "Would you have believed me if I'd told you I could lift an entire train without touching it?"
Clark's expression remained flat. "After our last encounter, I would have believed you could probably do considerably worse."
"Then there you are. No harm done."
Clark looked at the suspended train and then at the rapidly accumulating collection of vehicles slowing along the adjacent roads. "Except for the damaged tracks, the railway barrier, and the fact that the entire city is about to have questions about why a train is floating above Metropolis."
"That sounds like a problem for someone who isn't currently holding a train in the air." Bardock replied, and Clark had to concede that the Saiyan was not entirely wrong. Bardock lifted his hand slightly, and the green field began to move, carrying the train backward along the railway line with a steadiness that made the manoeuvre look almost effortless. The carriages remained level, their wheels rotating freely as the entire formation drifted away from the broken section of track and toward the station from which it had departed.
Clark flew alongside the engine, keeping pace with it while watching the surrounding area for any indication that the strange braking failure had caused damage elsewhere. Bardock's eyes were fixed on the train, his expression becoming more concentrated as he adjusted the position of each carriage relative to the others, correcting small variations in their alignment before they could develop into a larger problem. It was an unexpectedly delicate performance, and Clark found himself paying less attention to the sheer absurdity of a passenger train being moved through the air than to the precision with which Bardock was controlling it.
The Saiyan was not simply lifting the train and hoping that everything remained intact; he was distributing the force across the entire structure, keeping the carriages level, compensating for their different weights, and guiding them toward the station as carefully as a skilled engineer might guide a train along a clear track. Clark had seen Bardock demonstrate extraordinary power, but this was the first time he had watched him apply that power to something where precision mattered more than force for force's sake…like when he blew up a planet.
They reached the station a few moments later, where the train was lowered gradually toward the platform and settled onto the rails with a muted series of metallic clunks. Bardock maintained the green field until the wheels had aligned properly with the tracks, then allowed the glow to fade, leaving the locomotive and its carriages resting in place as though they had never left the ground.
Clark landed on the platform beside the engine while Bardock descended more leisurely, his tail swaying behind him as he surveyed the station with the mild satisfaction of someone who had completed a useful task without having to exert himself particularly hard. The passengers were already beginning to emerge from the carriages, guided by railway staff who were attempting to reassure everyone that the immediate danger had passed while simultaneously trying to understand how the train had returned to the station without using its own wheels.
A few people were visibly shaken, some were arguing with one another about what they had witnessed, and several had immediately begun recording the two heroes on their phones. Clark offered the nearest railway worker a reassuring explanation that the passengers should be checked for injuries and that the train ought to remain out of service until the failure had been investigated, while Bardock watched the crowd with the resigned expression of a man who had suddenly discovered that saving a hundred people was not necessarily the end of the work involved in saving them.
It was then that somebody recognised him. A young man standing beside one of the carriage doors pointed at Bardock with such enthusiasm that several nearby passengers turned to see what had attracted his attention, and the moment his words carried across the platform, a small commotion began to spread through the crowd.
"It's Wukong! That's Wukong!" he shouted, raising his phone as though he had just encountered a celebrity rather than a man who had helped suspend a train above a railway line. Others began repeating the name, some with excitement and others with the uncertain curiosity of people who had heard stories about an unfamiliar hero and were now trying to decide whether the person in front of them matched what they had been told.
Bardock's expression changed almost imperceptibly, his mouth flattening into a line as he looked toward the crowd and then briefly toward Clark, who was beginning to understand that this was not the first time the Saiyan had encountered the name. A woman near the platform stairs called out a question about whether he had really dismantled a criminal organisation in Japan, while another passenger asked if the stories about him rescuing a ship full of trafficked children were true.
Bardock did not answer either question, apparently deciding that the best response was to remain quiet until the crowd found something else to occupy its attention, though his tail had begun moving with the unmistakable irritation reminiscent of a cat that had been disturbed while trying to rest.
Clark waited until they had moved a short distance away from the passengers before asking. "Wukong?"
Bardock closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose, his expression conveying a degree of weariness that Clark had previously seen only when the Saiyan was discussing bureaucratic responsibilities or the prospect of another conversation with someone who wanted him to explain his abilities.
"Don't start."
Clark looked back toward the platform, where several people were still pointing in their direction. "I wasn't going to start anything. I was just wondering where the name came from."
Bardock gave him a sideways glance. "People in Asia started calling me that after I began helping out over there. Apparently, if you've got black hair that sticks up, a tail, and a habit of turning up wherever something unpleasant is happening, people decide you're some sort of walking reference to a monkey king." He folded his arms and looked toward the sky as though appealing to a higher power for patience. "I understand the cultural connection, and I appreciate that the name isn't intended as an insult, but I really don't enjoy being compared to a monkey. Saiyans don't particularly appreciate being reminded of apes, even when the person doing the reminding thinks they're being clever."
Clark nodded slowly, although he was still trying to reconcile the name with the figure standing beside him. "Sun Wukong is a legendary figure in Chinese literature, though. He's more than just a monkey. He's clever, rebellious, incredibly powerful, and difficult for anyone to control."
Bardock looked at him. "You've just described half the Saiyans I've ever met, except the clever part isn't always guaranteed." Clark laughed despite himself, and Bardock's expression softened a little. "Still doesn't mean I want the name."
There was enough genuine irritation in Bardock's voice that Clark decided not to tease him further, although he privately suspected that the name was unlikely to disappear merely because its recipient disliked it. The public had a habit of naming its heroes according to whatever details it found most memorable, and a powerful stranger who appeared in the middle of a crisis, fought criminals with astonishing ease, and possessed a conspicuous tail was unlikely to escape comparisons with an established mythological figure.
Clark had experienced something similar himself, although his public identity had developed over years rather than being assigned to him by people who had watched him dismantle criminal organisations across an entire continent. He could understand why Bardock might find the name uncomfortable, particularly given the history behind Saiyan biology but he also suspected that the people using it were attempting to express admiration rather than mockery.
"For what it's worth," Clark said, "I don't think they mean it as an insult. The stories about Wukong aren't simply about being a monkey, and people generally associate the name with someone who is powerful enough to challenge things that ordinary people can't."
Bardock's eyes narrowed. "That's a very diplomatic way of saying they think I'm a monkey."
Clark smiled. "I was trying to be diplomatic and besides, that stick of yours doesn't help things."
"It's not a stick." Bardock replied, giving him a side-eye. "It's called a Power Pole. And it belonged to my uncle. I just happened to 'borrow' it from its previous trustee."
Clark raised a brow. "Was your uncle okay after that interaction?"
"Oh, he was fine. For clarity, it was being used by a dirty old man to hang his underwear. I took offense to that given the sentimental history attached to this artifact, so I yanked it off his clothesline, beat him half to death with it and then took it back to my house." Bardock unhooked the pole from his waist and looked it over. "I'd forgotten I even had it but when you objected to me using my sword against Earthlings, I had to come up with something less lethal yet just as effective. I went from splitting skulls to just bashing them."
Clark shook his head, amused despite himself, while Bardock finally allowed a small smile to return to his face. "By the way, you said your uncle's name was Goku right?"
"His Earth name, yes. Why?"
"You know, the Japanese have a name for Sun Wukong themselves. They call him Son Gokū…just figured you should know, since your primary address is that Japanese village."
"I am aware." Bardock said as he pressed his lips together in momentary deep thought. "Life is full of wonderful coincidences, isn't it?"
"It sure is."
They rose above the station together, leaving the railway workers to manage the passengers and begin the process of securing the train for inspection. Clark intended to remain nearby until the authorities had confirmed that everyone was safe, but Bardock appeared to have decided that his part in the incident was finished, and he drifted beside Clark with his hands resting behind his head as though they were out for a leisurely flight rather than standing above a city that had nearly experienced a serious railway disaster. The morning sunlight caught the green sash around his waist, making its fabric ripple as the air moved past them, while the red staff secured against his side remained perfectly still despite the speed at which they travelled.
Clark glanced at the unusual weapon and wondered whether it was merely another part of Bardock's personal equipment or something with a more significant purpose than a sentimental object being used as a weapon, but he decided that there would be time enough to ask about it later. For now, he was more interested in why Bardock had appeared in Metropolis at all, given that the Saiyan had spent much of the previous month operating across Asia and the surrounding oceans.
"So, what brings you across the pond?" Clark asked. "I thought you were keeping yourself busy over there."
Bardock made a dismissive gesture toward the east. "I was. Got a bit bored."
Clark turned his head toward him. "You crossed an ocean because you were bored?"
"I crossed an ocean because there wasn't much left to do where I was." Bardock looked down at the city. "Besides, you lot are supposed to be the famous heroes of this side of the world. I thought I'd see how things were going."
Clark was not entirely certain whether he should be reassured or concerned by that explanation. "And what exactly have you been doing in Asia?" he asked.
Bardock's expression became more thoughtful, as though he were mentally reviewing a list of errands that had occupied his time since their last meeting. "A bit of everything, really. The Triads have been taking a beating, the Russian Bratva have become considerably less comfortable with their operations, the Korean Jopok have discovered that intimidating people doesn't work particularly well when the person you're threatening can throw your entire warehouse through a wall, and the Japanese Yakuza have been learning that having a lot of men doesn't help if none of them can actually stop the person coming through the door."
He delivered the explanation in much the same tone someone might use to describe a series of minor household repairs, and Clark found himself staring at him as the full implications of the list became apparent. Bardock continued without noticing, or perhaps without caring, that his account was becoming increasingly alarming.
"There were also a few pirate crews and traffickers operating in the Indian and Pacific oceans. Some of them were using fishing vessels as cover, others had proper cargo ships, and a few had the sort of equipment you'd expect from people who think international waters mean nobody can touch them. Those operations are quieter now. Some of them have probably gone to ground, and the rest are licking their wounds while they try to work out whether it's worth carrying on." He shrugged. "I suppose I did the local authorities a favour."
Clark was silent for several seconds, trying to decide how best to respond to a statement that covered multiple organised criminal networks across several countries and two major oceans. He had spent years working with international agencies, helping law enforcement dismantle trafficking operations and intervening when criminal organisations threatened innocent people, and he knew that such work rarely ended simply because a few dangerous individuals had been defeated.
Criminal networks adapted, replaced their leadership, changed their methods, and sometimes became more dangerous when their existing structures were disrupted. Bardock's intervention might have saved lives and broken operations that had harmed thousands of people, but Clark was concerned about what had happened to the people caught in the middle and whether the organisations had been dismantled or merely frightened into hiding.
"When you say you've given them a thrashing," he began carefully, "I assume you mean you've stopped their operations rather than simply beating up everyone you found."
Bardock looked at him as though the distinction was obvious. "What else would I mean?"
Clark held his gaze. "I mean that people can be dangerous without being equally responsible for what an organisation does. There are people who lead these groups, people who profit from them, and people who get pulled into them because they have nowhere else to go. If you're trying to stop the people causing harm, it's important to know which is which."
Bardock's expression became more serious, and for a moment Clark wondered whether he had pushed too hard, but the Saiyan merely looked toward the distant skyline and considered the point.
"I know the difference. I worked for an organisation that dealt with problems over different timelines." Bardock said eventually. "I'm not going around hitting every fool who happens to work for the wrong person. If someone is running a trafficking operation, selling people, torturing them, or ordering their men to kill civilians, then I have very little patience for them. If someone is standing guard because their family has been threatened, or because they think leaving means they'll be killed, that's a different problem." He glanced toward Clark, his expression unusually direct. "I grew up in a place where being weak meant somebody stronger could do whatever they wanted to you. I've seen what happens when people decide that the lives of others are worth less than their own convenience. I don't need a lecture about how ugly that can get."
Clark accepted the rebuke without taking offence, though he did not entirely abandon his concern. "I wasn't suggesting you did."
Bardock gave a small nod. "Good. Because I don't particularly enjoy explaining myself to people who assume that being strong means you must be stupid about everything else."
Clark's mouth twitched. "That sounds like something you've had to explain before."
"More times than I care to remember." Bardock glanced toward him with a faint grin.
Clark laughed, and the tension eased, although the conversation had given him a better understanding of why Bardock had become so active in regions where organised crime and trafficking had taken root.
They continued flying above the city, Clark keeping his speed low enough that the conversation remained comfortable while Bardock watched the streets below with the relaxed curiosity of someone who had not yet decided what he thought of Metropolis. The Saiyan's gaze moved from the glass towers to the crowded avenues, pausing occasionally on construction sites and the smaller residential districts that lay between the commercial centres.
Clark had noticed during their previous encounters that Bardock possessed an unusual interest in the ordinary details of places he visited, often asking questions about local food, transport, architecture, and customs that other powerful beings might have dismissed as irrelevant. It had initially seemed incongruous in someone capable of destroying a planet, but Clark had come to suspect that this curiosity was one of the things keeping Bardock grounded.
The Saiyan had lived for a long time without the sort of ordinary life most people took for granted, and he appeared to value the chance to experience it wherever he could.
"Have you found anything you like about Metropolis yet?" Clark asked.
Bardock looked toward the street below, where a group of workers were unloading supplies from a delivery truck. "The food's decent. Traffic is a nightmare. People spend a ridiculous amount of money building things that look impressive from a distance but turn out to be poorly designed when you get close enough to inspect them."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a very specific criticism."
Bardock shrugged. "I was looking at a new apartment block yesterday. The balconies are too narrow, the support columns are awkwardly placed, and whoever designed the access to the maintenance levels clearly never had to carry anything heavier than a briefcase."
Clark stared at him for a moment before laughing. "You spent your afternoon inspecting a building?"
"I was walking past it."
The answer was so matter-of-fact that Clark could only shake his head, although it gave him another glimpse of the strange combination of practical intelligence and casual curiosity that made Bardock difficult to categorise. The Saiyan did not seem interested in the social status that came with being powerful, nor did he appear to need the admiration of the people he helped, but he was willing to spend hours considering details that others might never notice.
Clark wondered whether the habit had developed during Bardock's years with the Time Patrol, where understanding unfamiliar environments might have been essential to surviving missions in different eras, or whether it had always been part of his personality. Either way, it made him considerably more complicated than the figure who had fought the Justice League across the Antarctic.
"You know," Clark said after a moment, "most people who can fly around the world in a few seconds don't spend their time inspecting apartment buildings."
Bardock looked at him. "Most people who can fly around the world in a few seconds don't spend their time rescuing cats from trees either, but I imagine you do that occasionally."
Clark smiled. "I have, actually."
"There you are, then. We all have our hobbies." Bardock's expression grew a little more thoughtful as he looked toward the distant skyline. "Besides, if you're going to live somewhere, it helps to understand how the place works. I don't like being ignorant when I can do something about it."
The remark stayed with Clark longer than he expected. He had heard Bardock describe his curiosity before, but there was something in the simple statement that reminded him of his own reasons for remaining close to humanity despite the enormous differences between his abilities and those of ordinary people. Clark had grown up in Smallville, where his parents had taught him that the ability to help did not make him more important than the people he helped, and where the responsibilities of power were often expressed through ordinary acts of kindness rather than grand gestures.
Bardock had not grown up in anything resembling Smallville, and the path that had brought him to this point was almost unimaginably different, yet he seemed to have arrived at a similar conclusion through his own experiences. That did not mean their moral instincts were identical, and Clark had no intention of pretending otherwise, but it suggested that there might be more common ground between them than either had expected when they first met. He looked at Bardock, considering how to approach the subject that had been on his mind since the end of their fight, and eventually decided that avoiding it would accomplish nothing.
"Speaking of understanding how things work." Clark began, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Bardock glanced at him. "If this is about the train, I already told you how I did it."
"It's not about the train." Clark paused briefly. "It's about the offer you made me."
Bardock's expression changed, becoming attentive without losing its casual quality. He lowered his hands from behind his head and looked directly at Clark, apparently understanding immediately which offer he meant.
"Ah. That one."
Clark nodded. "You said you wanted to train me, help me bring out the full extent of what I can do with my powers. I've been thinking about it."
Bardock studied him for a moment, and the Saiyan's tail moved slowly behind him as they continued flying. "And?"
Clark took a breath, although he already knew what he intended to say. "No."
Bardock blinked once. It was a small reaction, but Clark noticed it because the Saiyan had seemed entirely certain that he would eventually agree.
"No?" Bardock repeated. "That's really your answer?"
"Yes." Clark kept his voice even. "I appreciate the offer, and I understand that you're trying to help, but I'm not going to accept it."
Bardock looked away toward the city, his expression becoming difficult to read. Clark could almost see the questions forming behind his eyes, and he suspected that the Saiyan was trying to decide whether the refusal was a matter of pride, distrust, or something else entirely. After a few seconds, Bardock looked back at him.
"All right," he said, though his tone suggested that he was not yet satisfied. "Tell me why."
Clark had expected the question, and he had spent enough time considering his answer that he did not need to search for words.
"Because I don't think the way you approach power is necessarily the way I should approach mine." he said. "You've told me that you spend a great deal of time holding yourself back, that your transformations can affect your judgement, and that you've had to learn how to keep your strength from becoming something you enjoy using too much. I respect the discipline that takes, and I believe you when you say that you've worked hard to control yourself. But my powers don't come from the same place as yours, and the things I need to understand about them are different."
Bardock's expression remained attentive, so Clark continued. "I've spent my life learning what I can do, what I can't do, and what happens when I make a mistake. I don't believe I've reached the limit of my abilities, but I also don't believe that the best way to discover that limit is to train under someone whose experience comes from an entirely different biology and an entirely different relationship with power."
Bardock considered the answer without interrupting. "You're not saying I couldn't teach you anything," he said eventually.
"No," Clark replied. "I'm saying that I don't think you should be the one deciding what I need to learn."
Bardock's eyes narrowed slightly, not with anger but with the focused interest of someone who had just encountered a problem that could not be solved by applying more force.
"That's an interesting distinction." he said. "You're willing to learn from people who know less than you, but not from someone who might be able to show you something you've never considered."
Clark shook his head. "That's not what I said."
"Isn't it?" Bardock asked. "You know I'm stronger than you are in certain respects, and you know I've spent decades fighting things that most people in this universe have never even heard of. You also know that I've had to learn how to control power that can become dangerous when I lose my temper. Those experiences don't automatically make me the right person to train you, but they might still be useful."
Clark listened carefully, because the Saiyan was making a fair point even if it did not change his decision. "They might be," he agreed. "But that's not the only consideration. I have responsibilities to the people I protect, and I can't simply decide that because someone is stronger than me, I should allow them to reshape the way I use my powers."
Bardock's expression softened slightly. "I never said you should."
"I know. But I need to be certain that the decision is mine, and not something I make because I'm afraid of being left behind."
That last admission made Bardock pause. For a moment, the Saiyan seemed to be looking at Clark differently, as though he had expected an argument about pride and instead found something more personal. Clark had no desire to pretend that the possibility of being outmatched did not concern him. The encounter with Bardock had shown him just how far raw power and combat experience could carry someone, and he would have been foolish to ignore the implications for his own abilities.
Yet there was a difference between acknowledging that he had room to improve and deciding that every powerful being he encountered should be allowed to determine the direction of that improvement. He had spent years working alongside Batman, whose abilities were entirely different from his own (namely billions of dollars he can fork up at will), and he had learned as much from Bruce's judgement and preparation as he had from any physical challenge.
He had also learned from Wonder Woman's understanding of combat, from J'onn's patience, from the Lanterns' discipline (mainly John Stewart's), and from the ordinary people whose courage often exceeded their physical strength. None of those lessons required him to abandon his own judgement.
"I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say," Clark continued. "I'm not afraid of learning from you. I simply don't want to treat power as the answer to every problem, including the problem of how to become a better hero."
Bardock remained quiet for several seconds, his gaze shifting toward the streets below before returning to Clark.
"You think that's what I'm offering you?" he asked.
"I think it's a risk," Clark replied. "Not because I believe you're trying to turn me into something I'm not, but because your experiences have shaped you in ways that are very different from mine. You've told me that fighting is a way for you to learn, that you enjoy testing yourself against stronger opponents, and that you've spent much of your life developing techniques designed to let you survive battles that would kill almost anyone else. Those things have made you extraordinarily capable, but I don't think they are the only things that make someone a good protector."
Bardock's mouth curved slightly. "You think I'm trying to teach you how to punch harder."
"I think that's part of it."
"It's a very small part."
Clark looked at him. "Then perhaps you should have explained that before offering to train me."
Bardock laughed quietly, the sound carrying a degree of genuine amusement that relieved some of the tension between them. "Fair enough. I probably should have." He glanced toward the city again, and when he spoke once more, his tone had lost much of its teasing quality. "For what it's worth, Clark, I'm not interested in making you fight like me. That would be a waste of time for both of us."
Clark looked at him with renewed interest. "Then what are you interested in?"
Bardock considered the question carefully, as though he had not expected to be asked to explain something he regarded as self-evident. "I want to see what you're capable of when you stop assuming that the limits you've encountered are the limits you have." he said. "Not because I think you need to become more like me, and not because I believe you have to be the strongest person in the room. I want to know whether there are things you can do that you've never tried because you've become accustomed to thinking of yourself in a particular way."
Clark absorbed that in silence. Bardock continued, his expression thoughtful rather than confrontational. "You're a Kryptonian living under a yellow sun, and your body responds to that environment in ways that most of the people around you don't understand. You have extraordinary strength, speed, senses, and resilience, but you also have habits. You have a way of moving, a way of fighting, and a way of thinking about what your powers are for. There's nothing wrong with any of that. But habits become limitations…liabilities even, when you stop questioning them."
Clark glanced toward him. "You sound remarkably like Batman."
Bardock grimaced. "Don't insult me. My outfit is way better."
Clark laughed, and this time Bardock joined him, the exchange allowing the conversation to settle into something more comfortable. For all the differences between them, Clark could appreciate the sincerity behind the offer, and he was beginning to understand that Bardock's interest in training him was not simply an expression of Saiyan competitiveness. The Saiyan had looked at him, recognised a formidable opponent, and become curious about what might happen if Clark explored his abilities in a different way.
That curiosity was familiar enough to Clark, who had spent much of his life discovering new applications for powers he had initially understood only in the simplest terms. Still, curiosity alone was not enough to make him accept the offer, and he had no intention of pretending that their earlier fight had left him entirely comfortable with the prospect.
"I understand what you're saying," Clark replied. "And I appreciate it. But I'm still going to say no."
Bardock nodded slowly. "All right." He sounded less disappointed than Clark had expected, though his eyes retained the thoughtful expression of someone who had not entirely abandoned the idea. "I won't force you into it, and I'm not going to keep pestering you until you agree. If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
Clark smiled. "I appreciate that."
Bardock's grin returned. "Besides, you've already got Batman trying to improve you, and I wouldn't want to interfere with whatever strange rituals you two perform in the Batcave."
Clark shook his head, but before he could answer, the distant sound of a siren rose from the streets below, followed by the unmistakable crash of a vehicle striking something solid. He turned toward the noise instinctively, his attention narrowing as his hearing picked out the voices of several people shouting near an intersection. Bardock followed his gaze, and for a moment the two of them hovered above the city in companionable silence, their earlier disagreement set aside by the familiar demands of their responsibilities.
Clark could see a delivery truck stopped at an angle across the junction, its front end crumpled against a traffic-light support, while several pedestrians were helping an injured driver out of a nearby car. It did not appear to be a major incident, but Clark was already moving toward it when Bardock called after him.
"Go on," the Saiyan said. "I've got this side of the city for a while. Let's rendezvous later. I'll give you a shout. I'm sure you'll hear me, wherever you are."
Clark glanced back. "You don't have to."
Bardock shrugged. "I know. That's why I'm offering."
Clark studied him for a moment, then gave him a grateful nod before accelerating toward the intersection. Bardock remained above the street for a few seconds, watching Clark descend among the people below, and then turned toward another part of Metropolis where the traffic was beginning to accumulate. The Saiyan's green sash fluttered behind him as he flew away, and the red staff at his waist caught the sunlight briefly before disappearing against the dark line of his trousers.
Clark helped the injured driver out of the car, reassured the surrounding pedestrians, and lifted the damaged truck clear of the intersection so that emergency crews could reach the scene. The work was familiar, uncomplicated, and quietly satisfying, the sort of incident that rarely made the news beyond a brief mention that Superman had helped after a traffic collision. Yet as he returned to the air and looked toward the distant skyline, he found himself thinking about Bardock's offer once again.
He still believed that refusing the training was the right decision, at least for now, but the conversation had forced him to consider a question he had not entirely wanted to confront: whether his understanding of his own abilities had become too comfortable. He had always tried to improve, but improvement did not necessarily mean becoming stronger, faster, or more difficult to hurt. Sometimes it meant recognising that an approach which had worked for years might not be the best approach for the circumstances ahead.
Bardock had demonstrated that principle with the train more clearly than he had during their fight, because he had solved a problem that Clark could have solved through strength but not without risking further damage. The Saiyan had found another way to apply his power, one that required patience, precision, and a willingness to learn something outside the methods he had inherited.
By the time Clark resumed his patrol, he had reached no new conclusion about Bardock's offer, but he had stopped thinking of his refusal as the end of the matter. He would not allow himself to be trained simply because someone stronger had suggested it, and he would not abandon the principles that had guided him since he first put on the cape.
Yet he could recognise a useful lesson without accepting the entire philosophy of the person who had taught it, and he suspected that Bardock understood that distinction better than most. The Saiyan was dangerous, certainly, and there were aspects of his worldview that Clark would continue to question, particularly whenever his enjoyment of combat threatened to blur the line between a necessary confrontation and an unnecessary one.
But he was also curious, observant, and far more willing to listen than his immense strength might have suggested. Clark had spent a month wondering how Bardock would fit into a world that had never asked for him, and he was beginning to suspect that the answer would not be found in the League's agreements or Batman's surveillance reports. It would be found in the ordinary moments between crises, when the Saiyan had a choice about what to do with his time and power, and when nobody was watching closely enough to demand that he prove himself.
For now, Clark was content to let that answer develop at its own pace. There were people to help, a city to protect, and a great deal about Bardock that he still did not understand, but none of those things required him to decide everything immediately. Somewhere across Metropolis, the Saiyan was probably finding another problem to solve, another place to explore, or another person whose patience he could test with his peculiar mixture of bluntness and humour.
Clark could only hope that the next time they met, the situation would involve fewer damaged railway tracks and considerably less risk to the surrounding population. He turned toward the afternoon sun, allowing its warmth to settle through him as he listened to the city below, and continued on his way.
Whatever Bardock's future on Earth might become, Clark intended to make certain that it was shaped by understanding rather than fear, by honest disagreement rather than blind acceptance, and by the same principle that had guided him long before the Saiyan had ever crossed into his world: power was not a measure of what someone deserved to control, but a responsibility to decide what was worth protecting.
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A.N. I had to split up this chapter in two...AGAIN! (sigh), Anyway, go read Part 2.