Li Jie sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, his cane propped beside him, swinging a bottle of Coke in his hand.
The hospital room door stood ajar. Through the gap, he could see Clark's back. Clark sat beside the bed, a cramped spot for someone six foot three, his knees almost pressed against its edge. A little girl lay in the bed, covered in bandages, with only half her face showing.
Clark sat motionless, like an oversized statue. Occasionally, he murmured something, but his voice was too soft to make out through the door.
The clock at the end of the corridor read five forty in the afternoon. Darkness fell earlier in Gotham, and outside the windows, everything was already ink-black.
Li Jie gulped down some Coke. It was almost sickeningly sweet. He stared at the door without speaking or moving. About ten minutes later, Clark slipped out quietly, as though afraid of disturbing something. He sat down beside Li Jie, and the bench groaned under the weight.
"She's asleep," Clark said. "But... she's in really bad shape."
Li Jie nodded and handed him the other, untouched bottle of Coke. Clark took it and held it in his hands.
The corridor was quiet. The nurses' station was lit, and the steady beeping of equipment sounded now and then.
"That missing child, Alisa."
Clark spoke very quietly. "They said she was my... fan."
Even now, saying that word brought a faint blush to Clark's face.
Li Jie said nothing.
"That drawing was of me," Clark said, his gaze settling on the end of the corridor. "There was a line underneath it: 'He'll come.' Jay, she believed all along that I would come save her. But I didn't."
"I want to go find her."
Li Jie turned to look at