Clark skidded to a stop in front of the porch. After a week like he'd had, there was only one person he wanted to see. He still had fifty-five minutes left before he was expected for training. And he wasn't about to go straight there and wait around. Not after a day of writing about crimes that should have ended with "but thanks to Superman, the police have caught..."
He just couldn't take it anymore. It wasn't like he knew what was going on. It wasn't like he could hear what was going on across town anymore. He wished he could just skip everything and get to hearing, but he couldn't just force it. His powers seemed to be determined to redevelop the same way they'd come the first time around. This sort of order that would be fine if he could just find the key to each.
Distraction. Determination. Relaxation. Emotion. No emotion. Motivation. Don't overthink.
There was no real rhyme or reason. Every time he thought he had it, he didn't. He was starting to wonder if all of this work was just bull. If each came at its own pace and nothing he did or didn't do had any effect. Maybe he was, essentially, powerless over his own powers.
It wasn't a feeling he liked. But here...
He breathed in the wintry air. Winter on the farm had always smelled clean to him, even when it was a working farm. It wasn't the same in Metropolis. There were shops and bakeries and factories and exhaust, so many smells always competing against each other. But here it was clean. The surrounding land, now fully owned by Ben Hubbard, was cut back for winter. There wasn't the smell of corn crops or fertilizer now. But there was something clean here. Not a factory or oil refinery for miles around. Just the light scent of snow in the air.
When he was little, he used to poke his head back in the door on a winter morning, informing his parents that it "smelled like snow." It didn't mean that it would snow, exactly, just that clean smell in the air that made him think of it, anticipating icy roads and those days when he was dressed and ready, only to listen fervently to AM radio, waiting for the news station to call 483, those magical numbers that meant Smallville Elementary would close and he and Pete could go sledding or just pelt each other with snowballs.
It was a particular smell in that it had no smell. The sort of absence of smell that came with the winter. It was a cleaning of the slate before Spring with its new smells, Summer with its almost sickly sweetness of flowers and harvested vegetables, Autumn with the way the smells sort of faded into Winter... Each season had its way.
He only truly experienced them here, where there was open space and air and things that grew.
Maybe that was why he needed to be here right now. To feel at home and to feel welcome. There was only one place that ever made him feel so unequivocally welcome.
He found himself smiling as he started up the steps. He gripped the screen door only to find the front door swung open to the inside.
"Mom." He smiled wider.
There was only one person who always had time for him.
Her eyes widened. "Clark." She promptly closed the door.
He stared, aghast, through the screen. "Mom?"
The door opened again, but not all the way. "I'm sorry, Clark. I just... you surprised me." She insinuated herself between the screen and the door. "What's going on?"
"I was just stopping by for a minute."
"Well, I would love to talk, but I don't exactly have time right now."
"Oh." He looked down. Scratch mom always having time for him. "I probably should have called or..."
"I really would talk, Sweetie, I'm just on my way... to the grocery store."
"Well, they're open till eight. I was only..." He looked down as she kept the front door held mostly closed behind her. "Mom, are you... hiding something from me?"
"No. Of course not. I'm just..." She closed her eyes. "Well, it's not exactly hiding. I just wasn't going to tell you." She sighed and stepped back, opening the door. "Come in. I'm just being stupid."
"I don't have a lot of time myself. I just..." He looked around. Saw some partially painted signs on the dining room table. He caught the words Martha Kent, Town Council, and Malls before he turned to her.
She glanced sheepishly at him and moved a large binder. "I could do with some tea before I go."
He followed her into the kitchen. "So I take it you aren't on your way to the grocery store."
"No. I'm actually on my way to the Town Council meeting. Ellen Pritchard's going to nominate me so John Gallen isn't running unopposed and so we don't have a shopping mall off this very porch and... Well, I'm just getting ready."
He smiled. "That's great." His smile fell. "But why wouldn't you want to tell me? Did you think I wouldn't..."
"It's not just you. I wasn't going to tell anyone. I mean... It might not work out." She took off her coat and hung it on the chair.
"But you were a state senator, then a US..."
"I've never exactly campaigned before. That was all Jonathon. Both seats, I got by default. I just... I didn't want to make a big deal out of this in case I looked silly for trying."
"Mom, I would never think you were silly." He looked behind him. "I... I've always felt bad that you left your seat. You know I wouldn't have asked it, Mom."
"I know, Hon. But I chose to."
"Do you... regret leaving Washington?"
"Washington? No. Having something meaningful to do? Yes." She moved to the sink and filled the kettle. "At some point in my life, I stopped being a city girl. I like this house and this town. Being here makes me almost happy. If I could do that kind of work here, then... Well, that would be kind of like having it all for me." She turned the stove on and sat at the table. "Of course, ideally, your father would be alive and well and here with me. But..." She smiled sadly. "Not a lot of people get to have it all."
"No," Clark agreed, sitting down. Even if he had all his powers back, he wouldn't have it all. Not without her.
"You're thinking about Lois." He looked up, surprised, and she shrugged. "I'm psychic."
He stood and moved to the cabinet. "Or just a good guesser." He pulled out two mugs. "I'm always thinking about her. Worrying about her. Wondering what I can do for her..."
"You care for her. It's only natural you think about her. But it shouldn't be always."
He turned to her. "Then what am I supposed to think about?"
"Maybe think about things that make you happy apart from Lois." She stood herself and opened a tea canister, taking two bags and placing them in the mugs. "Don't get me wrong. I love you. I love Lois. I would love nothing better than to see the two of you end up together, but..." She took the mugs from him and brought them to the stove. "If you're thinking that all happiness in life depended on her, then that's no life. Might even be a lot of pressure for one woman."
"Mom, I don't understand what you're..."
"Of course you don't. I'm twice your age. If you understood everything the way I do, then I'd hardly be the fountain if wisdom I am now." She removed the kettle as it started to whistle. "Maybe I can explain better." She poured slowly. "I lost your father, Clark. I miss him every day. But if I spent every day miserable about him being gone, then I wouldn't have a reason to get up. After he was gone, I had to find reasons to keep going. I had to find things that make me happy. I had you. I had my home. I had silly things I liked. Like towels just out of the dryer or the smell of bacon in the morning or a good book or the way that first sip of orange juice tastes. Happiness isn't a happy ending. Because there is no ending. Life goes on." She brought their cups to the table and sat. "And it isn't always perfect. Happiness is... moments. These little times when you appreciate what you have more fully." She took his hand. "That's one of the things that worries me about you, Clark. I don't think you take time to appreciate what you have. You have some of your powers back, but all you can think about is the ones you don't have. You have an apartment and a great job, but I don't think you really..."
"Mom, I've been trying to relax more. You aren't the first person that's told me to stop and smell the roses."
"Well, maybe I'm the first one you'll actually listen to."
******************************
Clark sat on the wooden platform of the windmill. Something he'd done more than a few times in his life. He could see the city from here. The city he now lived in. His mom had said she'd stopped being a city girl. He could see that. The farm was so comforting and the city so... Well, it was dangerous and smelly and... And he loved it. He stared at it, nearly hazy in the distance. He did live there. He'd lived more fully and saved more people and had more satisfaction than he'd ever had in Smallville.
It was ironic. His mother had stopped being a city girl and he'd stopped being a farm boy.
He shouldn't love it. He had a cramped apartment in a bad neighborhood compared to all this land and space, but he... It was his. And he wanted to get back to his city. Even if he can't help it right now. Even though it was smelly and loud and his neighborhood sucked and his apartment still smelled like cat pee.
Was he actually, underneath it all, happy? Did he have a reason to be? What made him love that city? What makes me happy? He closed his eyes.
He woke up next to her. It had always been her. He leaned on his elbow. It was nearly dawn. He could see her face now and he marveled at the things that had seemed so ordinary to him before. Her skin. The purity of it. The light peach that blended into the slight pink of her cheeks that faded into the pale grey beneath her eyes...
"No," he whispered, shaking his head. Because that wasn't something he had. That was something he might never have again, yet... It was such a clear, happy moment. If he hadn't been called away by Jor-El. If he... It wasn't something he could think about. It wasn't something he had. It was only something he might have had.
Perry White put the paper down. "Not bad, Kent. Nice light quotes from the seniors, but you still let the city officials have it."
"Well, I had a little help with my angle..."
"I hear you have a contact at STAR Labs."
"Well, actually I..."
"Don't dither, here. You get something good, I'll give you page one in Technology." Perry started pushing him out the door.
"I'll try to..."
"No. You will."
Clark nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned away.
"Kent..."
He stopped and turned back.
"Not a bad writer. But try to lay off the adverbs."
He smiled, remembering. Those last words from Perry were, knowing what he did now, a fairly high compliment. It was a moment he'd hardly registered, but there it was. The moment he'd felt like he was truly a reporter and not just someone working as one to be closer to her.
He closed his eyes again as the wind picked up and the windmill creaked to life behind him.
"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.
He was still smiling. That first night.
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 his 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.
When had he let it become a job? Why had he let the wonder of that first night go? The wonder of that first month in the city...
He chose the gray-blue paint for his room. He'd been ready to go with a beige. His room had been beige growing up. But that hadn't been something he'd chose. It was just something he was used to seeing. But this apartment was his. It may be fairly crappy, but he could choose his own paint. He sped around, trying to be careful not to drip on the floor... But it was his floor now. His walls. His place.
His place. It still smelled like cat pee, but it really was his. He smiled to himself. Maybe happiness was just moments.
Those articles by Lois, the things they said about Superman, all the other stories about him calling him a hero. Bart teasing him about the tights, then speeding out of reach. Morgan kissing his cheek. Murray's praise on the Met Vista article...
They were moments of happiness. And he didn't really stop to experience them.
He stood, seeing the city from afar, then... closer. His eyes zeroed in on a tall building. A man was pacing an office, gesticulating wildly while talking into a headset. He could see him, the papers on his desk, the graph on his monitor. He could see so far now.
Maybe that was it all along. Not just to stop overthinking, to relax. But to be... happy.
He could appreciate it now, all he had. He would. Once he had it all.
And maybe he had the answer now. Maybe, in appreciating what he had now, he could get back all he didn't.
He felt suddenly light, staring at the city beyond. He wondered if...
He didn't think. He jumped. He smiled as he felt the wind whipping his clothes back and...
"No!"
He pulled himself up from the ground and spit out a mouthful of dirt.
It was possible he needed to keep with the baby steps. He brushed off his suit and looked toward town. He'd have to rush through to get back to the city. He took the back ways until he could no longer avoid that careful rush through Main Street, something he hadn't had to do since he could fly.
Stupid baby steps. He still wanted to fly now. But he tried to be happy with this. With what he had. Even if it...
He stopped at the side of the Hardware store. He wasn't sure why. He just had to...
"Clark Kent. Where did you come from?"
He turned to see Ben Hubbard coming out of the store with two large, brown bags. "Hi, Mr. Hubbard."
"Now come on. You aren't a kid anymore. You can call me Ben these days. Your mother tells me you're doing real good at the Daily Planet and... Say, you mind taking one of these for me?"
"Oh... Sure."
"Careful now. It's heavy." Clark fabricated a grunt as he took the bag. "Suppose you heard about the mall."
"Well, I only just..."
"Most of us are up in arms, especially me and your mother. Between you and me, that election's a lock for her. Most of us like things the way they are. Now, I'm not talking about easier internet or more cell towers. That sort of thing doesn't interfere. You can farm around that nonsense. But when they talk about taking away our land..."
Clark wearily followed him to his pick-up as he went on. Not that what he was saying wasn't important, but he could have sworn...
*******************************
Lois walked down Main. She was an hour early for her meeting with Franklin Robbins, obsessive keeper of all things relating to Smallville High. But she had to get out of her apartment. She stared at the marquis ahead of her.
The Talon. Today was the day. There was this feeling she had when she passed it. This idea that she shouldn't. And that she must. Those two feelings together meant only one thing to a reporter. She obviously had to go in. there was no helping it. Yet she felt this strange tingling as she approached the door. She even felt as if this gust of wind washed over her. She shuddered slightly. She stopped just short of grasping the handle, pulling her left wrist away. There was a throbbing there. She glared at the damned turquoise bracelet. Just improper circulation. She shook her hand out. if she could ever get the thing off, she'd be fine.
Fine. She grasped the handle and pulled open the glass door. Clark just hated that word, as he'd said. But fine was where she wanted to be. Not ecstatically happy. Not miserable. Just that place in the middle. Fine. Just enough to keep going. Even with all she had been. She might never get to happy. But fine... That was reachable.
Maybe.
She wasn't sure yet. Even that might be out of her grasp. She didn't know for sure. She didn't have enough...
"Pieces." She whispered the last word to herself in the crowded coffee house.
This was a piece.
Lois Lane and Chloe Sullivan had shared an apartment above this shop. She'd seen the lease. She tried to look up those metal stairs, but she found her eyes drawn to the shop around her. It was all so familiar.
Well, of course, Doofus. You've been here before.
But so much to draw her eye. The old art deco, accented by bright murals mimicking something Egyptian, maybe. The plush chairs and couches and... She found her eye drawn to a concave section of wall, a red plush cushioned bench accented with pillows, a stained glass window...
"Royal flush," she breathed.
"Ma'am?" She turned to a teenaged girl at her side, balancing a tray in one hand. "Can I help you?"
Where the hell had that come from? "Uh... I..."
"Would you like to sit anywhere in particular?"
Lois moved to the cushioned bench and sat herself down. "Latte," she choked out, though she might prefer a shot of whiskey, the way she was feeling.
The girl smiled. "Right back with that, Ma'am."
Lois took a moment to feel offended. She wasn't even twenty-five. It should still be "miss," really. She was tempted to pull out her compact. Did she look so old that she was no longer...
"Chloe?"
Her eyes widened and she turned to her right. A gray haired woman had sat herself down on the concave bench.
"Chloe Sullivan?" the woman smiled. "I haven't seen you in years."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Ms. Walters. I taught you in Freshman English, but then I moved. Just visiting my mother." She stared at Chloe, then shook her head, smiling. "Silly me. You might not recognize me. I have changed my hair." She patted her short gray bob. Her eyes widened. "As have you. It's very becoming."
"I'm sorry," she droned, not sure how to react. "You have me confused with someone else."
"Hardly." She laughed. "I'd never forget a student like you."
"No. Really. I'm not..."
"You always had such a way with words. I do hope you're still pursuing writing as a means of..."
"I'm not Chloe Sullivan," she found herself nearly growling on that third denial. What was she? Peter? Did it really take three times for it to sink in?
The woman's eyes drew together. "Oh, I'm sorry if I..."
"No. I'm sorry to snap," Lois said quietly. "I do know who you're speaking of. She..." Could she do it? Could she speak the lie aloud. "She was my cousin." Yes. She could. Too easily. Lying came only too easily. Must have been second nature to her once. "She died over a year ago."
"Your cousin?" Ms. Walters stared at her. "Well, there really is a striking resemblance. I'm..." Her eyes softened. "I'm sorry if I upset you. The grief must be very fresh."
"No. It's fine." She started to move away when she felt a hand on her arm.
"She was a lovely girl. Always so inquisitive, but... Well, also strangely intuitive. Her essays were always something to behold. Well researched, but so well thought out from all angles. She was a wonderful student. And I kept up. I heard she was valedictorian of her class and..."
"Yes. I heard that," Lois said quickly. "She was very intelligent." But did you know what else she was? No. Because you knew her before she was...
"Your latte."
Lois blinked up at the girl holding out the large cup. "I'm sorry." She took the cup and downed it, grimacing at the heat and the sourness of the unsweetened liquid. She put it on the tray as both women stared at her. "Thank you." She dug in her purse and pulled out a ten, tossing it on the tray as well. She turned to the older woman. "I have to go." She stood, trying to smile at the waitress and failing. She gave up and headed for the door. Maybe this place was a piece, but it wasn't one she was ready for.
The idea of Chloe Sullivan, track-line student and English wiz was a little much right now. She'd only just got used to Chloe Sullivan, criminal conspirator and floozie. She didn't need any muddying of the waters with what she may have been before.
She made her way to the Smallville Copy and Mail. She was still early, but she hoped they had a lovely selection of postcards for her to peruse for an hour before Robbins showed up in his probably colorful uniform from work. Maybe he could even keep a lookout for a car with a colorful ad on the side or a... Tan sedan.
There it was. Just parking on the street ahead of her as if this tan sedan really belonged there. But she knew better. She started past it, trying not to look at it. But she saw. Same rental plates. Same tinted windows. Same ubiquitous presence everywhere she happened to be. And she didn't have time for it, whoever it belonged to.
"Miss Lane?"
She heard it behind her, but kept going, rushing down Main.
"Miss Lane!"
She moved even faster, seeing the door of the copy shop ahead of her. She was so close. If she could get in... She'd be safe if... A figure rushed forward and put a hand on tte door.
"Honestly, Miss Lane. I can hardly meet with you if you run away from me."
She followed the hand to the arm, then the shirt with a Sbarro's tag on it. It was a short squat boy of a man carrying a box. She looked into the bespectacled face of what could only be Franklin Robbins. "H-how did you know who I was?"
"I saw the picture on your byline." He straightened. "Do you think I'd let just anyone have access to my collection?"
"Well, I..." She pulled away from the door and turned to the street. No tan sedan. had she imagined it was there? She turned back to the short man before her. "You're early."
"Well, there was a rodent situation," he said, sounding nearly defensive. "I'm positive it was from Mr. Wok next door, but the entire food court was shut down for pest control."
Food court. Well, I got that part right.
"Why did you run away from me?" he asked, shaking his head.
"You just surprised me is all." She smiled and pulled the door open, holding it. "Shall we?"
"You did bring cash?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Of course."
"All right, then." he swept in with his box.
"I was so sure it was Hot Dog on a Stick," she muttered, shaking her head and following him inside.
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