Clark sat at his desk, staring at the top of it. He knew there were some paper clips, a notepad, and a few packs of gum in his top drawer, but he'd shook it up a bit. He didn't know exactly where they fell. That had to be enough mystery to get him looking through his desktop and inside.
He sighed and looked away. Apparently not.
He just couldn't get a handle on X-ray. Ramirez had drilled him for two nights on speed and strength. She'd even, in a moment that she said was planned and that he suspected was a fit of pique, slapped him with a two-by-four "to test invulnerability." He was unharmed, of course. He hoped things would pick up when Murray came back tonight. He knew Ramirez was frustrated. He was, too. Years ago, he would have been happy to give it all up. Now he wanted it back so bad he could taste it. Or maybe that was just lunch. He sighed and opened his top drawer, taking out a pack of gum. Wednesday, the Met Stop had tuna melts on special. He kind of liked a good tuna melt. He could also still smell it on him. Usually, he grabbed a mint on his way out from lunch, but he'd been distracted by a man trying to walk out on his check. He'd sped to the door and pointed out that they man must have "forgot" to pay his bill loudly. The manager had taken notice and he'd felt at least a little useful.
He supposed there were greater crimes happening in the city. But he couldn't hear them or see them so far away. And that was the problem. He felt like the superhero equivalent of a hall monitor right now, stopping diner walk-outs rather than robberies, even murder.
He knew it went on. He was writing up a robbery at a jewelry store right now... Or he would be, if he wasn't so busy hitting himself in the head that it had happened at all. "I just wonder where is Superman?" the owner had quoted to him in a heavy accent. "He would not have to let this happen." One month earlier and that was true. Superman would not let... Well, he would have stopped it. But Superman could hardly do a thing to stop said robbery when he was on the other side of town obliviously enjoying his tuna melt with extra tomato and a side of cheese fries.
"I'm such a loser," he grumbled.
"You?" He looked up, seeing Jimmy at his side. "Try saying that when the Chief has you scanning his personal files into pdfs."
Clark spun around in his chair to face him. "I don't get it. Why do you do this stuff for him?"
Jimmy shrugged. "Glutton for punishment?"
Clark shook his head, happy to be distracted from writing about that robbery he personally should have stopped. "How about the real reason?"
Jimmy perched on his desk. "Okay. Fine. Maybe it's that I know that some mail room drone could do this, but that the Chief trusts me with his personal stuff. I mean, a lot of this is med insurance stuff that could get him out on mandatory leave except... Well, I wouldn't be showing it around. I kinda like that he trusts me." Jimmy sighed. "Now if only that trust would extend to weekend activities."
Clark squinted at him. "Meaning?"
"Well, my roomie just got a huge plasma screen and I agreed to put up with the noise from him and his buddies on Guitar Hero as long as he let me have it once in a while for the Sharks' games. And I invited the Chief, who should be all over it, for Saturday, but he says he's too busy and... What does it take to get a lousy guys night going?" Jimmy looked miserable.
"Maybe being an actual guy?" Rachel said, moving past.
"Oh, hardy-har," Jimmy shot at her. He turned back to Clark. "I may not look all... jockish. But I'm a red-blooded sports fan as much as any guy. Why does my roommate get to have all the cool parties while I... get to have D&D night with accounting? The one night I secure for an awesome game and... nobody."
"Well, if you have room," Clark said suddenly, feeling for him. "I could come."
"Yeah?" Jimmy turned back to him. "I swear, it'll be awesome. I'm talking wings, beer, chips, even a friendly gamble on the outcome, and... Well, wings -- with ranch. All the..."
"Hey, I'm sold," Clark said. Hell, he could use a night off from re-training. Especially since, as this would be a Saturday, he'd have spent the whole day on it.
"Awesome, anyway, better get scannin' on the Canon." Jimmy laughed and backed up slightly. "See that? It rhymed. I have a way with words myself."
"Doesn't make it less stupid," Rachel said from behind him. "Anyway, you'll have to wait. I have society divorce papers from a reliable source and that takes precedence over... whatever the hell you're doing." She moved to the copy room.
Jimmy followed. "Wait a sec. These are from Perry and..."
"Gee, I'm sorry. You'll just have to kiss his ass a little slower than usual."
"Oh, that's it..." Jimmy closed the door and Clark sighed and sat back. A night off might be nice. He hadn't had a real night off with no agenda since... He actually couldn't remember, which meant that it had probably been too long. But, if he could get a night... He hoped he could convince Ramirez. She was kind of a taskmaster. Last night, he'd been trying to see through playing cards for hours on end. He'd got only one right. And that was only because if a guy answered seven half the time. He was bound to get one.
He stared ahead of him, pushing his glasses down slightly to rub the bridge of his nose as Jimmy and Rachel pointed at eachother, red-faced. He couldn't hear them, just the dull din of a bicker with no substance. But he was already on Jimmy's side. Rachel gave him a hard time. Maybe Jimmy needed a guys night just to reclaim his... Whoa, there!
The door was closed. That damned door was closed! He'd seen it close.
Okay, don't try too hard. Just... relax. He pushed his glasses down a little more as Rachel poked Jimmy in the chest. It's happening. It's actually...
"Wha..." His eyes widened as Rachel sort of grabbed Jimmy by the bowtie. And... it wasn't for a snap-back. He leaned forward, because this was just too... His elbow missed the desk and he nearly face-planted into his monitor. He quickly righted himself and looked around, pushing his glasses up again. That would have been hard to explain.
He shook himself and turned back to the door, lowering his glasses and looking at the... door. "No," he groaned. "Come on. I had it."
"Heh. I know that sound." He turned to see Daly in finance shaking his head. "You should set it on auto-save, Kent. I did. Last month, I actually had to redo my entire story on Wingate Stevens."
"Huh?"
"You know, the guy with the dental floss empire. Heh. You try making that guy sound interesting twice."
"Well, lesson learned." Clark turned back to the door, ready to try again when he realized he could see in. Unfortunately, it was because the door was open and Rachel was stepping out, running a hand through her hair and moving to her desk.
It took a moment for Jimmy to appear in the doorway, too, staring blankly ahead of him.
"Hey, Olsen," Clark heard Perry call out from behind him. He turned. "Checked with Alice. I'm in."
Jimmy just stared ahead of him. "Huh?"
"You know? The game?" Perry leaned closer to Clark. "Is he sniffing glue or something?"
"He's just tired." Clark stood and moved to Jimmy. "Yeah. I dragged Jimmy out last night."
Jimmy turned to him. "You did?"
Perry rolled his eyes. "I know you kids think you're invincible. But you need a solid eight hours or you won't be on the ball. Speaking of that, what about my scans?"
Clark shored up the papers that were nearly dropping from Jimmy's arms. "That's my fault, too. I made him help with my computer. Thank God for Jimmy." Clark clapped him on the back and he stumbled slightly. Clark quickly righted him. "I almost lost the whole story."
"Telling you, Kent," Daly muttered. "Auto-save."
"Well, Jimmy was just on his way to finish that for you. Right?"
"I was?" Jimmy stared at Clark, who nodded his head to Perry. "Yeah. I was. Right on it, Chief."
Jimmy turned back to the copy room, but Clark stopped him. "You got some... frosting on your lip."
"Huh?"
"Sparkly, pink frosting," Clark clarified.
Jimmy threw a glance past Clark and, he was sure, toward Rachel. "Yeah. Thanks. Man..." He shook his head and moved away.
"Jimmy, don't get those wings from Hot Stop. You need to go for the ones from O'Malley's," Perry yelled after him. "It's the only way." He turned to Clark. "Think he heard me?"
"I'll remind him if he didn't," Clark said soberly.
"What are you doing, anyway, taking a kid like Jimmy drinking?"
Clark wanted to point out that he and that kid were about the same age, but... "Yeah, sorry about that," he said instead.
"A guy your size can probably put 'em away, but Olsen can't handle his liquor." Perry sighed. "Anyway, you tell him about those wings." Perry started away. "And I expect that story in ten minutes."
"Right on it, Chief."
Perry stopped. "Not you, too," he said, shaking his head.
Clark sat down again. Right on it. He had to be. Now wasn't the time for testing his powers. Now was the time for work. But come five o'clock... He'd do it. He knew he would because he knew he could.
He had it.
*******************************
It was not even halfway through 2002 and she had it. It was like the damned holy grail after all the searching. An article by Chloe Sullivan. And for The Smallville Ledger. It gave her some kind of hope. Maybe that hope had started burgeoning the moment she found the poem, but she suddenly felt... proud of Chloe Sullivan. Connected to Chloe Sullivan and... trapped.
She couldn't breath.
It was ridiculous. She was in a large and airy library where the sun was, thankfully, still somewhere overhead and not in her eyes, but she...
...was running out of oxygen. She should take smaller breaths. Because who knew how long before... light.... in her eyes and air in her lung and arms and... "I knew it was you...
"It's always you," she whispered.
"Can I help you?"
She glanced up at Ellen, breathing heavily. "Yes. Is there a way to print this out?"
***********************************
"I don't get it," Clark said, dumbfounded. "I had it. I really did. I just can't..."
"Let's just go over it." Ramirez put down the deck of cards.
Murray rubbed his eyes. "I swear, I'm trying to see through things now." He yawned. "I really wanted to sleep on the flight, but Oliver has his jet in Star City and Diana picked me up and... Well, it wasn't very relaxing. Never again will I..."
"Murray, on task," Ramirez warned.
"Well, who made you the..." Murray stopped and covered his mouth. "I really am sorry, Sara. I must be slightly cranky."
Sara tossed him a smile. "It's fine. You have to be crabby at least once in your lifetime." She turned to Clark. "Now how did it happen?"
"Well... I was sitting at my desk and I could just... see through the door and they were kissing and I was just so surprised that I lost it."
Ramirez nodded. "Mm-hmm. That tells me nothing. Could you... give me something more, here?"
God, he was tired. "Uh..."
"Who was kissing?"
"Jimmy and Rachel."
"And what does that tell me? Who the hell are Jimmy and Rachel?"
"Well, Jimmy is a photographer and Rachel is our gossip columnist and..."
"I think," Murray cut in, "that Sara means you need to go over the moments leading up to this... breakthrough."
"Okay." Clark took a deep breath. "Well, Jimmy came to me and invited me to watch the Sharks game at his place on Saturday night and I said I could go and..."
"Oh, did you?" Ramirez folded her arms. "Because, obviously a game is a necessary thing when..."
"Now, Sara..." Murray nodded to Clark. "Go on, Clark."
"Well, Jimmy needed to use the scanner and Rachel said she did and she was being rude and they went in the copy room and he closed the door and... Jimmy and Rachel. It's like a piranha with a guppy. I just..."
"What happened after he closed the door?" Murray prodded.
"Well, they were fighting and... then they were kissing."
"But you saw it, with the closed door," Ramirez pointed out.
"Yeah, but it just... happened."
"But why? Why in that moment? Did you really want to see Jimmy and Rachel?"
"I don't think so. If I knew what would happen, I might have, just... you know... for office gossip or..." Clark shook his head. "Actually, no. Not really. I'm not much for gossip. It's interesting, but I wouldn't be spreading it around. I, of all people, know about keeping things under..."
"Clark," Ramirez began, "I've sometimes considered you intelligent. But..."
Murray leaned across the ratty table. "What she means is that you need to stop veering off. What happened, in that moment, that led you to see?"
"I... don't know. I was just sitting there thinking about the guys' night and the game and hot wings and how I... Well, I can't remember the last time I had a night just to relax and I..." Clark sat back. "I think I relaxed a little just thinking about it."
Ramirez rolled her eyes. "The thought of hot wings and you can suddenly..."
"No. He has a point," Murray said quickly. "Clark, try to remember your last free night, no stories, no crisis, nothing but just... Just fun."
"Well..." Clark sputtered. "It's been a busy year. Maybe Thanksgving? Just kind of ate with Mom and Lois and then... Well, I kind of kidnapped a few people and flew them to you, Murray."
"Oh, yes. I remember. Was that the Jimmy you're talking about? I recall you brought pie, too." Murray pursed his lips. "Still... not exactly a night off."
"Well, I did go this Halloween party and... Yeah. Not exactly fun. Everyone was making such mischief and I had to change my clothes every two seconds and... Huh." Clark shook his head. "I... I can't remember my last night off. No patrols, no story. I just..."
"Okay, I get it," Ramirez groaned. "You can have Saturday night if it's so important."
"Of course it is," Murray said. "But, Clark... Have you ever thought that you need to relax just... as a rule?"
"Well... Something always comes up and I can't exactly..."
"But you should," Murray insisted. "Even if something should come up, you need to find more ways to unwind. Just let off a little steam. You worry about the things that come when they do. You shouldn't sit around anticipating them."
Clark snorted. "Well, that just..." makes sense?
"You lead a double life, Clark," Murray said gently. "But that doesn't mean... no life."
"Do you even know who you're talking to?" Clark turned and saw Linda at the door. "This is a guy who uses an ice palace in the Arctic as a club house. No life is, like, fun to him."
Clark faked a smile. "Linda."
Hers seemed equally fake. "Clark."
Ramirez stood. "I thought you said eight."
Linda moved to her. "It's five after and all the good lobsters will be gone if we don't get there soon."
"Oh, sorry." Ramirez looked at her watch. "I didn't think we'd take so long but the extranjero estúpido is taking forever."
Clark's head whipped to them. "I know what that last word means, you know."
"You should," Linda said smugly. "Anyway, this place..."
"Don't worry, Clark," Murray whispered. "I know you're trying."
"Well, I am," Clark huffed.
"And maybe that's the point. If even the thought of a night off was enough to truly relax you, imagine what shape you'll be in after the night itself. You like those... Sharks, is it? Do you keep up with them?"
"Well, I saw one Shark's game while in Met Vista." His eyes wandered to Ramirez and Linda talking. "But I was still under an assumed name and I never felt really relaxed."
"Maybe it's not even the game," Murray said, moving to the chair next to him. "Maybe it's just about relaxation. We could try some yoga or..."
"Oh, Murray, come on. Yoga?"
"Well. I'm not an enthusiast myself, but the stretching, the deep breathing, the... Well, we could try that now. Come on. In..." Murray took a deep breath. "And out," he choked.
Clark rolled his eyes, but decided to humor him. "Fine. In..." He took a breath as Linda and Ramirez moved to the side bench. "And out," he breathed, nearly laughing at the silliness of it all. Ramirez dropped her coat and Linda started to bend to it, then stopped, a hand on her stomach... a hand, a skeleton-like hand, beyond that a... "Oh, my God!"
He felt Murray's hand on his arm. "Now, Clark, that's not exactly relaxed, is it?"
"No." Clark swallowed, scaling his vision back, staring at Linda and Ramirez as they stopped to gape at him. He stared through Linda's flesh again as her hand dropped. "I see."
"What's your problem?" Linda asked, annoyed.
"I can see," Clark said. "I can see through everything."
Ramirez threw her hands over herself.
"I do have some control," Clark said impatiently. "Hold up a card."
Ramirez moved to the table and picked one up, staring at Clark.
"Seven," Clark barked.
"Well, this is last night all over ag... Oh." She stared at the card on her hand, then pursed her lips. "Actually a seven." She picked up another.
"Queen of clubs," Clark answered.
She picked up another.
"Two of diamonds."
Another.
"Eight of spades."
Ramirez tossed the card down and crossed her arms. "Okay. What color underwear... is Murray wearing?" she finally finished.
Clark glanced over quickly. "Boxers... white with red hearts."
"Well..." Murray sputtered. "They were a Valentine's Day gift. And I haven't had a chance to do my laundry and..."
"It's fine, Murray." Ramirez beamed at Clark. "I mean... He can see."
"Yes. I can." Clark turned his eyes to Linda, who turned white. "I can see everything."
**************************
Lois read the text. She even touched the text. There was something about this that seemed more real, something more than those columns from "Sullivan's Travels." This story... the immediacy, the feeling, as if she'd been there... And she had. She really had been there. But even if she hadn't been, she would feel this way. Chloe Sullivan had been a reporter. A good enough reporter to write her own story for a town's paper. She sort of didn't count "Sullivan's Travels." There was nothing there. Even in the writing, there was a sort of... detachment. Not here.
Here was a story. Yet... she felt there was something missing.
It's always you.
What was that? It tickled, just like those other moments. It begged to be heard. But she couldn't place it...
But Chloe... she was a hard girl to figure out. She'd gone as far as she could in The Ledger and all she knew was that Chloe Sullivan was Valedictorian in 2006. She might have missed that bit, so overshadowed by a meteor shower. The paper was sparing on its coverage of that, though she was hungering for more, yet... it didn't fit in, anyway. It had nothing to do with Chloe Sullivan.
She had to find more on Chloe Sullivan.
Reporter.
Valedictorian.
How could someone like that go so wrong?
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Chapter Seventeen
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