Clark went down for a nap a few minutes before Martha returned to the house with groceries. Jonathan helped her unpack silently for a few minutes, still considering what to say to her.

He'd already called a medical researcher—he didn't give any details over the phone, but he'd made an appointment for later that day. Now he just had to convince Martha to actually bring Clark to the appointment.

Pieces were starting to fall together in his mind. Clark never got tired no matter how much he ran. Jonathan had heard that some toddlers had endless energy, but even the stairs didn't slow Clark down, and he climbed up to the top of the refrigerator with no effort at all. Martha had said the seatbelt straps in the shopping carts were easy to break—of course Clark had broken through them easily, with his strength. They'd had the same problem with his car seat, if Jonathan remembered correctly. And maybe he didn't need to have worried about Clark playing with the outlets. Jonathan also realized that the slap probably hadn't hurt Clark in the slightest, at least not physically.

Jonathan took a deep breath as he folded up the empty grocery bags. "Martha, have you ever noticed anything unusual about our . . . about Clark?"

"The most unusual thing has been how normal he is. He's an energetic little guy, but he's a toddler, so that's normal."

He nodded slowly as Martha put away the last of the groceries. "Martha, can you . . . can you come with me?"

Her brow furrowed, but she followed him up the stairs to their bedroom.

He gestured to their bed, which was a few inches away from where it had been this morning. "How much do you think this weighs?"

"The bed?"

"Yeah."

"Jonathan, what's this about?"

"Humor me."

She pursed her lips, looking it over. "A few hundred pounds? Why, did you move it?"

"No. Clark moved it."

Her eyes widened. "He pushed it out of place?"

"No, he lifted it."

"Lifted?"

"He was hiding under the bed, then he lifted the whole thing over his head."

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She took a step back. "Is this a joke?"

"You know me, Martha. Is this the kind of thing I'd joke about?"

Her mouth opened, and she knelt down, placing a hand under the front edge of the bed and pushing up. She couldn't even lift the corner. She stood, breathing hard.

"Sweetheart—"

"You were right. We're out of our depth."

Jonathan swallowed. "You were right to take him in, Martha, but we're not going to be able to do this alone. We need help."

She nodded. "Did you call someone?"

He half smiled—she knew him well. "I called a scientist."

"What did you tell them on the phone?"

"Nothing. Just that our adopted son seemed to have an unusual condition, and it might interest him. He was willing to make an appointment with us for this afternoon."

"Okay," she said. "What time is the appointment?"

----------------------------------------

The car ride was mostly silent. Jonathan had been right about the carseat, so Martha held Clark in her arms for the drive over while he slept, his little thumb in his mouth. Jonathan drove slowly and carefully. He didn't want to test the limits of Clark's strength.

They pulled up to the office, and Jonathan unbuckled his seatbelt. He looked over at Martha.

She caught his eye and burst into tears, clutching onto Clark with both arms.

"Martha?"

"They're not going to help us," she sobbed.

"Of course they are. They're more equipped to understand than we are, they'll—"

"They'll keep him! You know if we do this, we're committing him to a life of—of experiments? He's an alien."

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was the first time she'd said the word in front of Clark, but that hardly seemed relevant anymore. It was ironic that the reason why they'd avoided the word was to give Clark a normal life. Normal was out of the question now.

"They're going to want to take samples, they're going to hurt him, they might dissect him."

"I'm not sure how much they'll be able to hurt him, Martha."

"We're asking them to study him! They're scientists—it's like you said, they'll understand better than we will, and they'll find a way. They'll figure out his weaknesses, and—"

"We won't let them do anything to him that we don't approve of."

"You think we'll be able to stop them?" Her tears dripped into Clark's hair, though he didn't stir. "They'll find out the truth about his adoption. If we walk through those doors, we'll never see him again."

Jonathan faced forward in his seat and gripped onto the steering wheel with both hands. "Okay. What do we do?"

"I don't know! But we can't lose him, Jonathan, he's our son."

"He could kill us. First tantrum he has, he could kill us without even meaning to."

"I don't think he would. He's been upset already, but he's never lashed out at me."

"But it could still happen."

Her grip on him tightened. "I'm willing to die for him."

Jonathan hung his head. He knew in that moment that he would be willing to do the same. He reached over and tousled the little boy's hair, kissing him on the forehead.

"Jonathan?"

He straightened up and turned on the car. "Let's go home," he said.

Martha let out a laugh, though tears still streamed down her cheeks. She reached across to cradle Jonathan's face in her hand, then leaned over to kiss him.

As they drove away, Jonathan couldn't help but feel that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. But when he glanced over to see Clark stirring in Martha's arms, his bright blue-green eyes blinking and peering up at Jonathan, he knew it was the best mistake he could ever make.