Almost Lois (Chapter Twenty-One)

"Are you gonna come out?"

"No," he pouted.

"Clark, just come out. Please," his mother called through the bathroom door.

He could only see the top of himself in the mirror above the sink, but what he saw was ridiculous enough. "I said I'd try it on. I never said I'd let you see it."

"Clark! I slaved for weeks on it. I need to make sure it's okay before I start on the others."

he rushed to the door, but didn't open it. "The others? Mom,,,,"

"Well, you'll need more." Her voice raised. "If you don't come out now, I'll make one in pink."

He banged his head on the door. "I'm moving out early." He had a place. He could move in now. He was sure the cat lady would share until she was ready for the nursing home.

"Of course you are," she said. She was close on the other side. He wondered if she was peeking through the crack. "But not until I see that suit. Now out!"

He groaned, but finally pulled the door open. She gasped and put her hands over her mouth. He nodded. "See? I told you."

"You look so... heroic," she squealed.

"Heroic? I can think of another word." Homoerotic, maybe. This was something that was put on before getting stripped off on a glittery stage at a place called Boy Toyz or something.

She pulled on his arm, pulling him toward her room. "You just need to see it all at once."

He trailed after her. The red boots tripping over the hall carpet. "Mom, I really don't..."

"There." She stopped him in front of her long mirror.

He took in the boots, the cape that hung behind him, his family's symbol on his chest in the red and yellow. There was a yellow belt, just above his... "Oh, Jesus!" His hands went to his front. "Mom, it's... tight and that's just..."

"Practical," she finished. "Any looser and you'd have to limit your speed in flight." She pulled at the wrists, then snapped them back. She ran her hand over the seams in his arms, tugging hard. "Clark, I've thought this through. Someone had to. You keep rushing around like you always did, but that's just not right anymore. If you are committed to helping anyone anywhere, someone will eventually see."

"But still, Mom... This is..."

"Convenient," she finished, nodding and eyeing him in the mirror. "It needs to be tight. Not just because the wind would tear at any loose items, but because it needs to fit under your clothes. All you need to do is take them off and presto!" She clapped her hands. "Of course, the cape might seem frivolous, but... Well, I just like it. Think how nice it'll look. I triple reinforced it. And it's very lightweight, so it won't be bulky under your clothes." She hugged him from behind. "I put your symbol there, too. It's in yellow." She let him go and began tugging at seams again. "Have to make sure these all hold..."

"Mom, I appreciate this but... Hey!" He jumped away when she tugged a seam on the inside of his leg.

"Oh, honestly! I'm your mother. I used to give you a bath."

"Yeah, when I was about a quarter of my size."

She sighed and clapped her hands together. "Anyway, I think it's perfect."

"Yeah? Cause I think it's..." He trailed off, seeing a tiny shred of hurt in her eyes. He looked away and back at the mirror. It was pretty bad, but... Well, she'd worked so hard. "It's... great, Mom. I actually kind of like it."

She beamed at him. "Really? You're not just saying that to..."

"No. I... uh... it's grown on me. And you're right. It's very... practical," he finished lamely, trying to smile.

"Why don't you take it out for a spin?"

"What you mean... fly?"

"Yeah, see how it holds up." She shrugged, still beaming.

"It's late, Mom..."

"I know. And it's Friday. There could be things going on in Metropolis, Clark. There's no time like the present."

He couldn't argue. Personal embarrassment aside, he needed to be where the action was. "You're right."

"Go now," she said seriously. "I know you'll make me proud."

He tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it. He moved to the window and opened it. "Okay." He looked back at his mother.

She nodded, smiling with a sheen of tears in her eyes. "Go on, Sweetie. Up, up, and away."

**********************************

It felt... right. As much as he'd hated the suit, it hugged him, not flapping and noisy like his clothes. Once, he'd lost a shoe in flight. The boots were laced up tight and didn't seem in any danger of falling off as he gained speed. The cape streamed behind him. It flapped lightly against his hands as he pressed them to his sides.

Time to really try it out. He shot forward. Wind and dampness slicked his hair back against his face as he sped through the clouds that hung low tonight. He almost smiled, but stopped himself. He knew better than to open his mouth too much in flight, especially as he got lower. Bugs were a daily annoyance. He sometimes knew how the grill of a car must feel.

He swooped lower, opening his mind, his ears, filtering through the sound of laughter and playful hollers. It was Friday night, after all. But he knew there was more than playful mischief in the city. There was always something darker.

He stopped when he heard it. It was a man. "Please! Don't!"

He focused. West. He shot toward it, keeping it in his ears. "Take my money, but not my..."

"Shut it," a harsh voice said.

He saw it from above then, between two buildings. A small man with dark hair and two men with guns. He was clutching a briefcase. "You have my wallet," he was saying. "Just go."

Clark assessed the situation carefully. First, he'd get the guns, then he'd subdue the men, then he'd get away. The same as with Lois. Piece of cake. He was taken aback by the shorter thug's voice.

"What's in the case, Charlie Chan?"

"It's my work. And it's confidential. You can't..."

"Must be worth something if you'll give up your wallet first. Huh, Charlie?"

"Listen, guys..." He stepped forward. "If you're going to kill me, you might as well know that Charlie Chan was Chinese. I happen to be Japanese and you happen to be morons!" The small man suddenly wielded the briefcase like a club and Clark rolled his eyes even as he rushed down.

Got the guns, he thought, crushing them and tossing them aside. Now the guys. Before they knew what was happening, he'd knocked their heads together, trying to go light. He wished he didn't always have to go so fast. They were thugs, sure. And racists, to boot. But he didn't enjoy giving anyone a concussion.

He was speeding up when he heard a frantic shout. "What happened? Oh, no! My briefcase!"

He stopped in mid-air, suddenly realizing what the knocking against his boot had been. He looked down. The man was frantically looking around, moving the unconscious thugs, nearly crying. "What am I gonna do?"

Clark looked at his right foot. The case was dangling from his laces. He bent, trying to keep himself up as he struggled with it. The handle was stuck and he couldn't...

"Is someone up there? Hey! You!"

He cringed, trying to keep high, but the struggle with the case was breaking his concentration. "Um... I have your case. Just give me a minute and I'll..."

"Hey, I see you! You're flying!" The man laughed. "Well, that's one I haven't seen yet." He sounded pleased, but not too surprised. Something about him made Clark curious. He straightened and let himself fall slowly, looking warily at the man. Someone had to see him sooner or later. But he'd hoped it would be after he convinced his mom that red and blue was just a little lame.

"Your case got stuck on my boot," Clark sighed, finally seeing the man from ground level.

He was short and slightly rounded. He looked about forty, but Clark was never great with ages. On top of that, this man had a rounded childlike face and eyes that seemed mischievous behind the small, round glasses. "Well, this is just..." He shook his head and laughed. "You know, you're gonna have to acquire more smoothness if you want to keep being a hero."

Clark huffed out a breath. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been clubbing someone with this thing. I could have just been on my way."

The man shrugged, then bent down, working at Clark's boot. "They called me Charlie Chan. I hate that kind of stupidity." He deftly worked at the laces. "I mean, Chan was Chinese, which I'm not, fat, which I'm also not... not really." He stood and smiled, having freed the case and self-consciously patted his stomach. "Also, a lot of those Chan movies were pretty stereo-typical, though I always credit them with at least having an Asian hero instead of an Asian butler or Valet or..."

Clark stood silently, listening to the man babble. He'd just seen a man fly. Why wasn't he at least gaping? "Look," he said, stopping the guy. "You're fine. So I'll just be going." He looked up.

"Wait! Don't you want a reward or..."

"No, thanks. Just... uh... I mean, I wouldn't take a reward for this. Anybody would do it."

The man laughed and shook his head. "Oh, no. We both know that's not true." He held out his hand. "Murray Takamoto. I work at STAR labs in Chicago. But I'm in town doing some research at the Metropolis facility."

Clark shook it, still stunned. "I'm just... a concerned citizen," he said carefully.

Murray nodded and smiled. "I get it. I get it. I know someone a little like you."

Clark's head turned as a groan sounded from the ground. He quickly bent to tap the larger man's head. He was still again. He straightened and stared at the shorter man. "What do you mean? Have you met other Kryptonians?"

"Kryptonian?" Murray echoed. He shook his head. "Never heard of them. But I did have a friend with a similar... nightlife," he finished, grinning hugely. "And you fly? That's just great!"

Clark heard another groan, this time from the smaller man. He wearily bent to flick the man's forehead before straightening again. "What are you talking about?"

He held up his briefcase. "Well, I'm no stranger to..." He must have hit the clasp, because papers suddenly spilled out of it onto the ground. Clark bent to help him pick them up. They had pictures of scarabs, beetles, the name Ted. He didn't look too closely. It wasn't his business. He really had to get back out there. There could be drunks on the road. He shouldn't be standing here talking to this strange little man who seemed so unperturbed at his appearance.

"Look," the man said, still crouching with him. "I'll only be in town for a bit. I'm doing some research for..." He looked at the ground as he closed the papers in. "For a late friend," he finished, his eyes slightly damp. "I'd like to talk to you when you have the time."

Clark hesitated. "Look, I only..."

"I've known other people like you." He looked over Clark. "Well, not exactly like you, but... I can be trusted. I can be of help. I know it."

Clark stared at the man. He seemed so earnest. Something in him told him to trust him. "Mr. Yakamoto..."

"Dr. Takamoto," he corrected. "I promise that, if you some see me at STAR labs, anything we speak of will be kept confidential." He leaned forward. "As I said, I've... dealt with others of your caliber... though not quite." He rubbed his hands together. "I mean, flying, speed, strength... You have something here, my boy." He dug in his pocket and pulled out a card.

Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories, it said underneath STAR. It sounded like everything Jonathon Kent had warned him about, but he took it to be polite.

"If you can't see me here," Murray went on. "Then see me in Chicago. My address is on the card." He suddenly put a finger to his mouth. "And mum's the word. I swear."

Clark found himself nodding. He suddenly heard a scream. A woman this time. "Just phone the police for me," he said quickly. "Get these guys taken care of."

"Okay!" He heard as he sped upwards, heading south. "You can count on me!"

*******************************

He touched his cheek, a feeling of warmth flowing through him as he sped upwards. It was his eighth save of the night. It was an older woman, older than his mother, really.

When he'd got the mugger away, he'd just held him by his belt in one hand. He was sick of knocking them out. It made him a little squeamish. What if he hit too hard? Besides, he wanted them conscious when they landed in jail. He'd quickly handed the lady her purse and, before he could fly off, she'd stopped him, a hand on his arm.

"Don't go," she'd said quickly. He floated down, the man still struggling uselessly. And then she'd grabbed him and kissed his cheek. "Such a nice boy," she'd said.

He'd always been afraid before. Afraid people would look at him like a freak, no matter what he did for them. But this woman had kissed his cheek. As he sped to the police station, the warmth spread. He liked it. Her kiss was like a reward.

Maybe it was the cover of the suit. Maybe it had started with Takamoto's happy acceptance of him, but there was something in him that felt... less afraid. As he circled above the police station, he slowed. People would see him. But wouldn't they know he was there to help? Why not just be out in the open?

The thug whimpered and still jerked around. "Oh, God! I'm gonna die!"

"Calm down," Clark groaned. "It's jail, not death."

"Same thing," the guy moaned.

When he floated down, an older female officer that was leading a handcuffed woman in a short skirt up the steps stared at him in shock, her hands dropping to her sides. The other woman didn't attempt a getaway. She was too busy staring, too.

Clark cleared his throat. "Officer, I caught this man mugging a woman at Fifth and Vine." He handed the officer a large bag on his shoulder. "I think this is the rest of his night's work."

The woman took the bag, but didn't look at it or the man Clark had by the belt. She was still staring at Clark.

"Um... Did you want to cuff him?"

A gray-haired officer suddenly rushed forward, pulling out his own cuffs. For a moment, Clark nearly took off, thinking the man was going to attempt to subdue him. But he grabbed the thief by the arm. "You have the right to remain silent," he began. "Anything you say..."

"Who the hell are you?" the woman, who Clark was assuming was a prostitute, asked.

"Just a concerned citizen," he said quickly, recalling what he'd said to Takamoto.

"A concerned citizen who flies?" She shook her head. "Maybe I should get off the horse for real this time."

The officer holding her seemed to break out of her trance. "That's what I've been saying all along, Chrystal. How many times have I brought you in? You're better than this. Look at me. I grew up in Suicide Slums, too, and..."

"Officer Wojnarowski, I'm talking to the flying man." Chrystal smiled. Clark could see a gold tooth. "You got a name, Sugar?" Both women returned to staring at him.

Clark was saved from replying by the reappearance of the older officer. Clark saw that the thief had been handed off to another officer, that one also gaping as he led the man in. "William Henderson," the man said breathlessly. "Chief of Police." He shook his head and stared at Clark. "Whoever you are, thank you. That guy had over thirty priors. We've been trying to get him for a month. He looked Clark over, nodding. "I guess it takes a man that flies to find some of these creeps. Who are you?"

"Just a..."

"Concerned citizen, I heard." He laughed. "We've been getting nutty calls all night about you." He stabbed his hand out and Clark felt another irrational fear that this was all a trap. They just wanted to catch him, send him somewhere, dissect him... But he found himself taking the hand, letting it pump his own up and down vigorously. "I don't care who you are, Son. You just keep it up."

He smiled. Even when he flew off, he couldn't stop.

"Mom!" he yelled long after dawn, waking her from her bed as he flew in her open window. "Mom, it was great! I've never been so happy crime existed!"

She shot up, blinking at him. "Oh, thats nice, Sweetie," she said before falling back into bed. "Go to sleep."

He tried, but he couldn't. He kept thinking of the faces of those people. The gratitude, the awe, but... not the horror he'd always feared. He grinned and turned over. All these years, he'd done the deeds without staying after. There were rewards he'd never had, never dreamt of. Not money or anything like that. Taking money for using hs powers would be like anyone else accepting payment for breathing. But... there were these rewards. Things like kisses from old ladies, giggles from young kids, looks of wonder and gratitude from anyone he helped...

He'd never thought of these things. Oliver always felt plagued with mistrust. A.C. and Bart lived in near secrecy. Victor hid away. And here he was. Boyscout was in the open and... loved? It was more than he deserved. Could someone die from happiness?

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Chapter Twenty-Two