But nobody ever considered giving.
No one knew that, indeed, heroes could be lonely too.
The loneliness at the top, the loneliness of the long nights with no one to lean on, the loneliness of being misunderstood rather than understood.
Then, at this moment, a small hand reached out.
The young Michael, who resembled him in appearance, temperament, and even thoughts, held his hand.
With those eyes so similar to his own, and a warm smile he'd never experienced, Michael looked at him, "I knew you wouldn't do such a thing. I wanted to plead your case to everyone, but…"
He deflated somewhat, "I guess everyone would rather believe what they've heard for themselves."
Hank Clegg said nothing. He reached out and suddenly swept Michael into his arms.
"Thank you." He breathed in against Michael's small head.
