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The first time Arthur sees him is on the cusp of a rainy day.
Arthur spends most of his daily life in the ocean, and despite the fact that he’s forever tied to it with an overwhelming responsibility simply because of bloodline, he feels completely free within it. No matter how long he tried to avoid Atlantis’ call to him, he couldn’t abandon the water.
Accidents in the ocean happen as often as they would on land. Even with Arthur’s abilities, he couldn’t stop every single one, so he attempts with what he can. Whether it be the hard workers on a fishing boat or spoiled kids on a private yacht who’d hit a rock too fast, he’d manage to save all of them. It’s easier on his conscious that way.
(Arthur would wonder years later how he’d stumbled upon this one. A coincidence? Or maybe fate, but Arthur knew not to dabble in things of that nature.)
The lonely oil rig sat in the high latitudes of the Pacific, just off the coast of Alaska. For the people inside, it should have been an ordinary working day but of course, things would go wrong. The bright, yellow flames stuck out like a sore thumb on the horizon where a gloomy sky met the troubled waters. Smoke could be seen for miles. He knows how easy it would be to leave it alone, and if Arthur were raised by a lesser man he would have.
However, by the time he makes it to the rig, the last of the men trapped have been evacuated. They shuffle quickly into a rescue chopper on the helipad, ready to abandon the burning structure.
Except for one.
From what Arthur could tell, he was a bearded, well-built man and had golden skin that shined with the luminosity of the flames. He made sure the other men were on the chopper, arm swinging about and his mouth wide in a wordless shout. Arthur couldn’t help but admire the lionheart. He didn’t appear to be among the crew because he lacked a hardhat and the rest of the wear necessary, but if he wasn’t crew then who was he? Why would he stay behind?
The structure makes a booming noise and Arthur knows it’s ready to come apart. The man still isn’t getting into the chopper and Arthur readies himself to jump to the platform, but in an instant the man is leaping toward a falling derrick and holding it there with nothing but the strength of his own two arms.
Arthur finds himself unable to move, only watch as the chopper begins to fly away while the rescuer stays behind, buying them time. The rig doesn’t give way under the man’s hands and Arthur knows that no human, no matter how much adrenaline runs through their body, could hold something of that scale up. An Atlantean couldn’t either.
The chopper flies away just as the structure finally gives up. Debris flying everywhere, it tumbles and falls directly onto the man. Arthur only has a second to register it and then he’s diving back into the water to avoid any damage, swimming away into the depths of the North Pacific sea.
His mind lingers on the rescuer while he lets himself float in the demanding pressures (down here nothing can bother him). He ponders on the man’s willingness to literally throw himself into a burning rig to save a handful of workers at the expense of himself. Then, if the man wasn’t human or Atlantean, what was he? He only dwells for so long before he feels a presence within the sea that isn’t native to it. It doesn’t call to him like the water does, it doesn’t seek him out like the marine life. It’s just still, but very alive.
So Arthur calls to him.
He’s had practice over the years on his own, so he’s not unfamiliar to what he’s attempting when he shuts his eyes and brings his fingers to his temples. He seeks out whatever he can and locates two whales nearby to the man’s location, a mother and her baby. He focuses hard and communicates the best he can what he wants.
Help him.
He stays in that position for a period of time that’s lost to him, but he knows that when he feels the man’s still presence become active again, he opens his eyes.
And then the presence is gone, and Arthur is left alone to the sea.
...
A few weeks later, Superman saves the world from General Zod. Arthur sees the way he’d risked his life for a world that doesn’t want him and he just knows.
Months pass and a part of Arthur wants to seek the man—Superman—out.
Not for any particular reason outside of the fact that he’d like to actually meet him. Telepathic connection through whales doesn’t constitute as a real meeting and surely Superman has no idea who Arthur is or what he did for him.
(And how on Earth do you explain that to someone?)
He contemplates doing it; calling out to the Kryptonian and explaining who he is, where he came from (“I’m different too. You’re not alone.”) and actually looking into the eyes of the man who wouldn’t leave his head. In the end, he thinks about it for too long because after a couple more months, Superman is dead.
The world mourns. Arthur takes to the oceans.
...
When he sees him again, up close and for real this time, he’s at peace on the soft bedding of a casket.
...
The skies of the North Russian settlement were starting to clear of the red tint that sprouted, revealing a dark sky ready to yield to the early morning sun. There was no sound of the parademons’ cries nor the frightened screams of civilians settled nearby. The remains of Steppenwolf’s destruction lie in their wake, but from what the six of them could tell, the worst was over.
Arthur lets himself relax.
Victor is in the Fox, tinkering around with the help of Barry while he tries to fix it. “I’ll be ten minutes at most,” he’d said five minutes ago and now Arthur finds himself counting down because he really wants to go home.
(Except he doesn’t have a home, does he?)
The others are talking privately and it’s nothing Arthur feels the need to get into. The three of them go back way before the team was even thought of, so no matter if they’re talking about the future of the team here or just reflecting on the past, Arthur remains in his place on the ledge and just watches the sky.
He peers back once just to look at Superman—Clark, and he thinks that it was nice to finally be able to put a name to his face.
Arthur leans on his trident while he waits. A blink later he hears quiet footsteps and the rustle of a cape.
“Excuse me.”
He’d heard his voice before only a few times, and that was when it was through media outlets where it would be cut to suit the channel’s brand, nothing authentic about it. Right now though, it was nice to hear.
He turns to look at the Man of Steel and holds his breath.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot back in Metropolis and I wanted to apologize,” he begins. His lips splay a small smile and his eyes are warm and greeting. He holds out a hand. “I’m Clark.”
Arthur takes the outstretched gesture. “I know,” he says, not unkindly. In fact, he meant for his words to sound respectful towards Clark because he’d be lying if that wasn’t how he’d felt about him since he’d piled himself against a burning oil rig. And Arthur realizes just how relaxed he is now that they’ve met and that the man is near him. His eyes are so kind and he thinks he has an aura surrounding him that puts every living thing at ease. His other teammates didn’t generate something that makes Arthur feel this way. He feels his face begin to mimic the comforting openness across from him. “I’m Arthur.”
“Arthur,” Clark says, testing the way the name sounds against his lips. “It’s nice to meet you.” Though it’s what Arthur suspects, Clark doesn’t smile and walk away. He’s still gripping Arthur’s hand and makes a look at the ground, like he’s searching for something far away from here. Then, “Have we met before?”
Not what he expected. Not at all. “What makes you say that?”
“I feel like I know you.”
I know you, Arthur thinks. “We never met like this,” he gestures between them, “but...I’ve come across you.”
Clark opens his mouth to say something but comes to a stop, realizing he’s been holding Arthur’s hand a bit too long. Arthur doesn’t mind but Clark releases his nonetheless. “When?”
"Before you came out to the world as Superman,” Arthur begins and it feels like a tidal wave that’s kept itself from the shore for so long finally come crashing down. “It was at an oil rig off the coast of Alaska. I wasn’t there with you, but I’d seen you.”
“Oh,” Clark says, still looking unsure, like his question hadn’t been answered. “And...after that?”
“I sent you some help,” Arthur says, a casualness to his voice.
Clark huffs a laugh, brings a hand to his eyes. “The whales,” he says. “That was you. Of course that was you.”
His laugh, Arthur thinks but doesn’t finish and ignores his unsteady chest.
Clark meets his eyes after he comes to his realization, smiles, and moves to stand beside him on his spot on the ledge. “It’s funny how the world works, sometimes,” he says.
“Yeah,” Arthur agrees.
They stand there in a comfortable silence and watch the sky, waiting for a call from the others over their shoulders.
“We were just discussing,” Clark begins, crossing his arms. “about the future of this team and if it should continue doing what it can to protect this world. And we’re considering all of you for it.” He turns his head to look at Arthur. “Sound like something you wanna be a part of?”
Arthur looks into his eyes and sees every reason he should. “Hell yeah.”
Clark smiles. “Then I look forward to seeing you more often, Arthur.”
“Same here.”
Arthur lets the corners of his lips turn up, and the two watch the light peak over the horizon, hinting the beginning of a serene dawn.
...