Clark waited as Perry thoughtfully chewed in The Planet's break room. "Well?"
Perry picked up his plate of wings. "They need another zap."
Clark tapped his foot as Perry moved to the microwave. "But about the..."
"I'm still thinking."
"Maybe it's not the right angle." Clark sighed. "I guess I can call the bank and see if I can talk to some employees who were witnesses or..."
"No. That does no good. The actually robbery was done to death. Everyone and their dog knows what happened. We have nothing to add there. The story's good. I'm just trying to find the damned headline."
Clark smiled to himself. So he did get a story. As weird as it was to be writing about himself... right now, he was news.
"I want it to grab people. 'Kids sure like Superman' doesn't exactly pop." He pressed a few buttons on the microwave and leaned against the counter. "And we have to touch on the robbery in it, too. It'll look like sour grapes if we don't print anything because we're not the first."
"Well, I can change the first sentence around to start off with the bank robbery." Clark grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled on top. "With the robbery at The First National Bank of Metropolis, Superman may have pulled his biggest save yet. See and we can make it bigger and bolder, but still keep the headline about the kids. Like But some residents of Metropolis aren't surprised at all, namely the kids. You know, then we can go into their quotes and all." Though it was still hard to get over the weird factor, he really liked the quotes he got, even approaching a few more kids who seemed to know exactly what happened. Their stories ranged from Superman stopping a "nucular" warhead to his having flown through the roof, landing on top of the robbers, to him using his "laser beams" to melt the guns, which were giant bazookas. In reality, what he did wasn't that impressive. But he didn't mind their tall tales. They'd given him a story. He now had several places to swing by tonight while patrolling.
"Good." Perry nodded and took his plate out of the microwave. "But the headline..." He tossed his plate on the table. "'Superman through a child's eyes.'" He pushed the plate to Clark. "Is that corny?"
Clark took a wing and dipped it into some blue cheese. "Maybe a little, but... I don't know. Christmas is coming. People are in the mood for corny about now."
"Oh, come on, Kent."
"What? I think..."
"No, no. You don't just dip the end into the blue cheese." Perry took his and sort of rolled it in the dressing. "See, you coat it, then you won't be coming back for more after you bit. Unsanitary," he said, pointing with his wing.
Clark nodded and rolled his wing. "Sorry about that."
"Eh, you're young. You'll learn. Just keep watching me, Kent. I have all the answers."
**************************
Later, on patrol, he found himself wishing he could talk to Perry about more than stories and the proper way to dip a wing. There was something about the older perspective. He scrambled up the fire across from Metro Records and waited on the roof...
He heard something to his left.
"Mom! Mom!"
"Jacob what is it?"
"It's Superman! I talked to a paper guy and he said he'd tell Superman to make sure my neighborhoods safe. And he's doing it now! He's across the street! Look!"
"Oh, my God. That is some tight outfit."
Clark suppressed a groan and pulled back his hearing and stayed there, listening for more in the neighborhood. He couldn't patrol as much without flying. Tonight, he'd stay here. Tomorrow, he'd cruise Timmy's area. Even without his powers, he should be seen around. Perry had said "No thug would try something this big if Superman had been making his presence known."
Maybe he should have let himself be seen all this time. Some people put security company signs on their lawn, even if they didn't have a system. Sometimes just that was enough of a theft-deterrent.
As he scanned the area, he heard Jacob again. "Mom, I wish I was an alien."
"No, you don't. Then you wouldn't be able to eat hot dogs and fish sticks. You'd have to eat...bugs or something."
"Does Superman eat bugs?"
"I... don't know. Maybe we can google it tomorrow. Now get in bed."
"I don't care if he eats bugs. I want to be just like Superman when I grow up," he said on a yawn.
No, you don't, Clark thought, shaking his head. It was a certain kind of pressure, being looked up to. He remembered what it was like to look up to someone. He used to watch his father carefully when he was little, trying to hold his fork just like he did, watching the faces he made when he shaved. It was very careful studying. Because he wanted to be just like him. He used to go out in the sun, wishing his hair would lighten, even.
There was a kind of sadness in the first time he lifted something his dad couldn't. Not only did it seem an unforgivable sin to surpass his dad in anything, but it was the moment he knew he had no chance of being just like Jonathon Kent.
He missed him, now especially. He could talk to his mother. But there were times when he wanted to talk to a father.
He made another circle around the neighborhood before moving on.
Technically, he might still have a father. Not the one that had raised him. That was something he'd never have again. A birth father... or a reasonable simulation of one.
Maybe it was time he checked to see if he was still there.
*******************************
She woke at nine. Which would seem nearly normal if it hadn't been nine at night. Still, it was sleep. Her body just had to have its damned sleep, no matter what she had to say about it.
Still, it was nearly a full night's sleep, though in day. Maybe now her eyes would stop closing on her. She got up and shivered, feeling off. It felt so strange to get up and turn a light on. To get up to cold darkness. Still, this was best. In the day, there were people shouting, kids playing, jackhammers in the street. But at night... It may be cold and dark, but it was quiet. The world around her was asleep. All the great thoughts and ideas were hers because no one was awake to grab them up. She thought best at night... or at least that was the plan.
After two hours on her board, she decided that night time worked no better than day. She erased a part of the board with her fingers. She had the timeline right, but nothing fit.
Chloe Sullivan graduated.
Chloe Sullivan went to Met U, fitting six semesters into two years, but she didn't graduate.
Why?
Possibly because, in the early fall, her father died.
Cut two months later and "Chloe Sullivan" died at Ruby Ridge.
If the last part was true, it would seem so simple. But it wasn't. Added to that, her PI was still researching the Lane family tree. Though computer research on "Linda" seemed to point to Henry and Marianne King, deceased, of Ohio, there were no hard copies.
So there was a piece that didn't fit or, rather, a person...
******************************
Clark skidded to a stop in the yard, surprised to see two cars at his mother's house. One was hers, one was Linda's Jag. The other, he didn't know, but...He did a double take, staring at Linda's car. Linda was here. He had an idea what that meant. He bypassed the front door and moved around the house to the kitchen door instead.
"Mom, I didn't mean to tell her," he rehearsed under his breath. "It just slipped out. Sorry if I..."
He jumped back as the kitchen door flew open.
"It just slipped out," he found himself saying loudly.
"Huh?" It was Linda. She rolled her eyes and stared down at her phone. "Smallville, I don't have time for whatever your problem is. I have bigger things." She hit her phone. "Like how I can't get reception anywhere. I don't get it. Is a tower down or..." She muttered her way into the distance.
Clark squeezed his eyes shut and opened the kitchen door, stepping in.
"Mom, I didn't mean to..." He stared at a young man sitting at his kitchen table. "You're not Mom."
The guy stood, adjusting his tie. "Uh... I'm Bill Tanner. Are you working on the campaign, too?"
"I'm stopping by to see the candidate? This is a campaign now?"
"You're right." He nodded seriously. "It's more of a grass roots movement in protest against big business expansion."
Clark blinked. "You are aware this is for a seat on the town council in a town with less than a thousand residents."
"Yeah..." Bill shrugged. "But I'm getting college credit."
"Where's the candidate?"
"Oh, she's upstairs. Mrs. Queen wanted her to rethink what she's wearing to the church's pancake breakfast. Didn't reflect so well on..."
"Yeah, thanks." Clark hurried out of the kitchen and through the dining room. He rehearsed his speech on the way upstairs. He stopped at her bedroom door and knocked.
"Linda, I'll be out in a second. And I don't think I fit my old suits any..."
"Mom, it's me."
He heard a sigh. "Come in, Clark." He opened the door and found her tossing clothes on the bed. "Remember when Sunday was a day of rest?"
"Mom, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..."
"Just don't bother. It had to come out sooner or later. I just... I kind of hoped this would be quieter." She gestured at her tan sweater set. "Do you think this makes me look powerless?"
"No, I..."
"He doesn't know, Martha." Linda was behind him in the doorway. "We need sharp angles and clean lines, something to show the voters you aren't just another small town boob."
Martha sighed and came forward, taking her by the shoulders. "Linda, I think the point of me running is that I am a small town boob who's trying to save her town."
Linda nodded. "Hmmm. Good strategy, Martha. At least someone's on the ball." She glanced down at her phone. "Damn it, Victor. Come on. Get me some... A-ha! Signal city, here." She turned and rushed down the hall. "Now if I can just find a decent photographer who works Sunday..."
Clark glanced at his mother sheepishly. "Sure you don't want that apology?"
"Maybe a little one." Martha said, patting his shoulder as she moved out the door.
"It just slipped out, really. I didn't mean to..."
As they hit the bottom of the stairs they saw Linda pacing back and forth in the entryway. "Yes. I got the picture message and the signs are hideous. We don't want cold graphics. I need warmth. Martha Kent is the candidate of home and hearth, of conserving the beauty of Smallville. Get it right." She flipped her phone closed. "Honestly, how am I supposed to get your message across with these amateurs?"
"Well, they are high school art students and they're volunteering their time on a Sunday..."
"That's exactly the problem. If you'd just let me hire someone..."
"Linda, I really don't want you blowing money on this. I really want to keep this simple."
"Fine. Simple. Got it. Bill!" she hollered. The kid in the suit came out of the kitchen. "I have to get down to the high school. These kids are totally screwing it up. Get me a chai latte and meet there in ten."
"Right on it, Boss Lady."
"Could you rethink the nickname?" she yelled after him as he moved out.
She pulled Clark aside. "Ollie's back tonight," she said in a low voice. "But he said he won't be here till eight. I've told the rest that we're going to talk about... that thing."
"You mean Loi..."
"Shhh! Not in front of your mother."
"Linda, she's as in this as anyone else is."
"Are you nuts? We don't need to add any stress. That woman is under enough pressure. She is running for office." Linda sighed. "I don't expect you to get it." She punched a few numbers in her phone. "Yeah. I need a mani, pedi appointment for two... Earliest you got... Well, I was hoping for tomorrow, but I guess paying double won't make a diff... Excellent. We'll be there at eleven." She grinned at Martha and closed her phone. "Who's getting a french manicure at the best salon in Metropolis?"
Martha swallowed. "Uh... We are?"
"Exactly." Linda moved to hug her, but stopped, running a finger over her eyebrows. "I hope we can squeeze in a wax, too." She touched Martha's hair. "And a little root touch-up. Oooh! We'll both get our roots done!" She shook Martha by the shoulders. "Isn't this exciting?"
"A little too..."
"Okay. I'm out. Call me if you need me."
Clark and Martha stared at the closed door.
"A little much," he said dully.
"Just a little," Martha agreed, pursing her lips. "But... I don't know. I haven't seen her so happy in a while. She's been a little down, what with the..." Martha shut her lips tight.
"The what?"
"Nothing."
"You mean the baby?"
Martha turned to him. "You know?"
"I think almost everyone has figured it out. Everyone except Oliver." Clark sighed and moved to the kitchen. "If you ask me, she should..."
"Well, no one's asking you or me. We should just help her in whatever way we can. Me? I'm letting her have her fun. If that means manicures, pedicures, and a fancy hair-do, then I'll just suffer through it."
Clark got out the coffee as she put a filter in. "It might also mean a photo sitting. I heard her mumbling about that."
Martha shook her head. "I can handle her."
"As long as you're sure."
"I'm sure... But are you sure?"
"Mom, I'm just going to check."
"I know, but I... I can't help it. I think of you going there and I always think it's forever. It was one thing when you were at death's door. But you're fine now, Clark. You've been getting everything back. There's no reason to..."
"Mom, I need answers. The fortress has them. If I'm gaining more of myself back, then Jor-el... Well, he might be stronger, too. I just... I feel like I'm going around blind sometimes. There are so many things I want to know and I feel like, since the training, we've grown... closer."
"You realize you're talking about alien artificial intelligence, here, Clark. If you need advice you have me and your friends and... anyone that actually exists."
"Mom..."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so snarky about it. I just... I think I still see him as some kind of boogeyman. Someone that's going to steal you away."
He pulled her close. "Would it help if I told you I'd be back for dinner? I might even bring it to you? I could swing by Alaska, get some crab legs or..."
"Just you come back to me." She pulled back and patted is cheek. "That's all I need."
***********************
She tossed her marker across the room with a shriek. She didn't understand. She'd gathered everything there was to gather. Now was when it was all supposed to click. It was barely noon. She wasn't tired yet. She could reasonably be up for seven more hours before she started to get dizzy. She'd even eaten... some. There was so reason why it wouldn't start making sense!
She put her hands to her ears. Now there was even a sort of buzzing ring that just sliced through her and... "Phone." She sifted through the papers on her floor. That was her phone. Her stupid, gas station cell phone. Only two people had the number and, unless Franklin Robbins had found lost editions of The Torch, this would be Webber.
She found it and pressed talk. "Yes. Hello."
"Lane, it's Webber."
"Yes. I know." Just tell me! Tell me anything! "What do you have?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
"Well, I still don't get what you need this for, but you were right to have me check those records. There was another daughter."
"Another..." She grabbed a pen. "Tell me everything."
She might not be sleeping today.
******************************
Clark sort of stumbled as the portal dropped him in the snow. It was something he'd never got used to. Still, it was better than the first time, when he'd sort of belly-flopped into the snow. Sadly, the portal didn't go both ways. He'd have to run back... unless he could fly.
He couldn't lie. Best case scenario, he was hoping Jor-El had some kind of magic up his sleeve, something that would give the rest of his powers back. But he doubted that would be the case. He had a theory: If the crystal was the main power source and it was weakened as he was, then the best he could hope was that communications were back on. He wouldn't ask anything more today. He could continue rebuilding from the ground up if it meant not taxing the fortress anymore than he needed.
He looked around him. The light was dim. It would have been better if this depowering had happened in summer, from what little he knew of Polar days and nights. But he hoped that all that was needed was time.
It had been less than two weeks, but the fortress hadn't been drained then. Even so, he wouldn't ask much today. Just a word... or a few.
He crept in, sort of chilled by the quiet. Sort of apprehensive in ways he hadn't been since he was young. Since his training, he'd felt nearly at home here. He knew that the voice and the words were only an echo of the man Jor-El had been. But there was a sort of comfort in having even that much of the man who gave him life. The man he'd never know.
"Jor-El," he whispered, almost startled by his own voice. There was a time he would come in here, his voice demanding, disaster at is heels. But not now. He only wanted... to know he was still here. That might be enough. "Jor-El," he said, louder now.
There was a sort of muted buzz and almost the whisper of a voice.
"Jor-El..." He took a deep breath. "Father. Please..."
There was a spurt of rumbling and then... his voice, starting slow, then speeding up, as before, as if interrupted in the middle of a taped seminar. "In my younger years, I also considered the choice of a human mate. But there is no way to know if procreation will be successful with a being that is..."
"Stop." He nearly smiled as the voice quieted. He was there. "Jor-El, I... are you okay?"
There was silence so long he was afraid he'd somehow damaged the program, like clicking too many times on an icon and crashing a laptop. "I don't understand," the voice finally said.
He gave a stilted laugh in relief. "You've been..." Unplugged? Your batteries had run out? He suspected that wouldn't quite compute. "I made use of the crystal to heal a human. I was drained, as you suspected. I was just wondering... how you were."
"My processes are clear. I feel the fortress is in a weakened state. If you need full use of your powers, I might be able to help, but the toll would be significant and I am not sure there is the power to regain...
"No. No need for that. I'm fine. I'm... working on it myself. I just... I sort of... I was... concerned about you."
There was silence. He wasn't sure that computed, either. Jor-El had often accused Clark of being a slave to human emotion. It was something the computer didn't understand. Jor-El, in this state, didn't run on this program. But he often wondered about Jor-El the man... He wished it wasn't just a program sometimes. He wished he could speak to his father in flesh. He wondered if that man and him might not have found common ground much sooner.
It was sort of like missing something he never had on the heels of forever missing what he once had with his Dad. But he supposed he should just take what he could have now. Though this program didn't respond as a man would, it had all the knowledge there was of that man.
Once again, he had to take what he could get. He sat down on a jutting platform. "I'm sorry. Just... Go on with what you were saying before."
"There is no way to know if procreation will be successful with a being that is of the earth and..."
His head whipped up so fast, his glasses nearly flew off. "Wait... What?"
"There is no way to know if procreation..."
He stood. "Who said anything about procreation? I mean, I... I can't even think about that kind of..."
There was silence again.
The last two times he's been there, Jor-El had been saying something, but it was so stilted and patchy that he hardly caught it. His mind had also been more preoccupied by other things at the time -- both his near-death and Jor-El's weakening state. "Okay." He sighed and took off his glasses, placing them in his pocket. "You might need to go back," he said, shaking his head. "I think we've been interrupted a few times."
"I was speaking of the female you've chosen."
Lois. "I... suppose I have chosen her." Though he hasn't exactly chosen me. "But how exactly do you know? Can you... read my mind?" And, if so, wouldn't things have gone much smoother up till now?
"I can sense much of what you feel. But there is something old I sensed on her. Though the Kawatche once communed with our ancestor, it has been five centuries and legend has turned to mythology. But there is no mistaking the old ways. She wore the blue stone, once of our planet."
"Blue stone?" Clark shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."
"Kryptonian weddings were often accompanied by the donning of rings, but some kept to the old ways in which marriage bracelets were donned of a variation all their own, which no other couple was allowed to duplicate. I had taught you this."
"Well, yes, but the bracelet she's wearing isn't Kryptonian. It's Kawatche." In a fanciful way, he always remembered what Joseph Willowbrook had said when he gave him the bracelet. For the true one in your life. The fact that the woman he loved couldn't remove it had given him pause when he first saw it on her. "The bracelet was a gift from a friend. It's older than you are. And it's not blue. I... I have my own suspicions that there's some kind of Kawatche hoodoo involved, but... what does it have to do with Krypton?"
"I do not know all of the Kawatche legends. Only what I learned in my short time on Earth. The Kawatche did seem to have had direct contact with an ancestor of ours. When I learned of it, I'd thought it was rather someone hoodwinking a people, fashioning himself as a god to them, so much that they spun a mythology from it. Yet I could not fully discredit their prophesies. There is a sort of mysticism to the people, something beyond what I could understand. We were a people of science, but I could not let that blind me that there were greater things. When sent to Earth as a rite of passage, I began to believe I was this Naman the caves spoke of."
"You did? You never told me that."
"I was not asked."
"Why would you think that?"
"I fancied myself in love with an earth woman at the time. It was during my sojourn to Earth..."
"I know this," Clark whispered, almost to himself. "Louise McCallum, Lana's great aunt. I... saw it all once." The memory pendant. He, Chloe, and Lana had spent time investigating her death at the request of Dex McCallum, long believed to have killed his wife.
"She was the wife of another man, but I was young and foolish. I must have thought it romantic to believe the symbols, that we were destined and nothing could stand in the way of that. I felt the weight of her death for a long time."
He wondered if he should tell his father that history, in ways, repeated itself. He'd once been foolish, trying to make off with another man's wife. And Lana Lang, for all intents and purposes, "died" soon after that.
"I was very young. It was not meant to be. I found my true one later."
"Lara," Clark whispered. "What was she like?"
"Lara Lor-Van was the most intelligent woman I had ever known. She designed key components of the craft we sent you to Earth in. She was my help-mate in all things."
Clark smiled sadly. "I know the type." he squinted into the dim light. "Wait a minute. I still don't get where you get this blue stone. It's turquoise, so I guess it's blue-ish, but... there's nothing Kryptonian about turquoise."
"There is a blue stone. Perhaps it is hidden under an inferior mineral."
"I... suppose it could be. But... I've never come across a blue meteor rock."
"Blue kryptonite is rarely to be found. On our planet, it is merely a pretty stone. But here, if worn, it would strip you of your powers."
"But if she's wearing it..."
"You can never harm her."
Clark looked around, dazed. It was all too much. "I... I couldn't remove it from her."
"The selection of a mate is not to be taken lightly."
"But I didn't put it on her. She just... She just put it on one day. She can't even get it off herself."
"Perhaps because she doesn't choose to."
"Oh, no." Clark ran a hand through his hair. "She would choose to. She hates Turquoise and... I just got that from a Kawatche man. It had belonged to a girl I... sort of cared for and I... I just... I held onto it for her sake." But did I? Didn't I somehow know? "How could a bracelet forged before I was born be tied directly to..."
"I've told you that I do not fully understand the mysticism of the Kawatche people. Though an ancestor of ours did have contact with them, it is possible that you were the one Earth was truly waiting for. On some level, I knew. I would not have sent you otherwise. Along with the kindness of Hiram and Jessica Kent, I took some comfort in the idea that there may be a destiny awaiting my son. That the Kawatche had some foreknowledge of your future. That even this bracelet was forged for you alone."
"Uh-huh." Clark rubbed his temples. "A little too much." He looked at the center. It was dim. "I... think maybe you should rest. I... I need some time."
The light dimmed, but there was still a steady glow from the crystals in the center. He stared, having no where else to look. He wondered if all this would be easier to take in coming from an actual face. He'd been floored the day he'd found out he wasn't from Earth, but then he had Jonathon Kent before him with his wry sort of smile and crinkly eyes. Here, he had a disembodied voice. No one should ever get news this big from a disembodied voice.
He shook himself and moved to the mouth of the fortress, bracing himself for a hard run. And he took it, moving south, then east, then north again across the icy tundra. He didn't want to stop yet. Stopping meant thinking. And he couldn't think on this just yet.
When he found out he was an alien, it was big.
When he feared he was sent to conquer earth, it was also pretty damned big.
When he decided to embrace destiny, he never thought too hard on the Kawatche Legend and how the descendant of Naman was supposed to protect the earth. Honestly, he thought any decent Kryptonian in his place would do the same. How could anyone have these powers and not make that choice?
But the idea that not only his life, even his love life, was foretold centuries before he was born was like a wet slap to his brain. He ran fast and aimlessly until the sun grew lower before he realized he would have to get back to the caves soon and remove the key. That meant he'd have to face the caves. Maybe he could just zip in and out...
As he crossed the Canadian border, he knew he wouldn't be able to just zip out of the caves. Every time he entered them, his body stopped, arrested by something so old, but so... connected to him.
He was connected to the caves. He always knew it on some level. His father, apparently, also felt it. When he finally skidded to a stop inside the caves, he didn't move directly to the key. He looked around him.
Had he heard this years ago, he might have rebelled as a knee-jerk reaction. Symbols on a cave wall couldn't tell him what to do or who to be with. Yet they weren't telling him. They just... knew before he did.
They told him he would protect the earth. Now he knew it to be true. He glanced up at the crude painting of a woman's face, of the bracelet.
They saw you coming, too, Lois.
It wasn't something he could help or even explain. It was there on a visceral level. As primitive and backwards as it seemed, she was his. He didn't exactly need the bracelet to tell him that, but it sure did tie things up with an ancient flourish.
He couldn't remove it because of the blue kryptonite. But Lois couldn't remove it, either.
Perhaps because she doesn't choose to.
Did she know? On some elemental level, did Lois know what it meant? Could she truly have chosen him, too?
The thought was too scary and wonderful to contemplate. Because, memories or no, he wanted her to have the choice. Not be bound by some ancient piece of jewelry. If he told her what it meant, would she choose to remove it?
Tonight, they would all talk. They would decide on a plan of action. Even if tonight went the way he wished, he couldn't just assume it meant anything for them as a pair.
But, God, he wished it would.
He slipped his glasses on and stepped out of the cave. He closed his mouth, braced for a long run, but stopped short at the beeping and vibrating in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen. He must have just got reception back. He never could get a signal in the caves.
He nearly laughed. He'd been gone four hours and there were fourteen missed calls from his mother. Did she really think he wouldn't come back? He'd reassure her himself in about one minute.
He sped home, stopping in the yard. Another new car. Maybe Linda did find a photographer who'd work on a Sunday. Poor Mom. He moved to the front door and threw it open. "Mom!"
"Clark?" She appeared from the living room, wringing her hands. "I..."
"Hey, I'm home. I told you I would be."
"Clark, I tried to call you..."
"Yes. Fourteen times. I saw." He rubbed her arm. "Were you really that worried?"
"It's not just that." Her mouth worked soundlessly. "I was just hoping to tell you before..."
"Hello, Clark."
He glanced at the living room doorway. "Hi, Lana." He turned back to his mother. "I promised dinner. So what about..." He sort of froze, then turned back to the living room. "Lana?"
*******************
Lois took a pull directly from the bottle of Jameson's in front of her, grimacing. This was possibly very unhealthy behavior, but after weeks of frustration, pieces were falling on her like a ton of bricks. She needed something to help her get out from under the weight.
She could just add it to her vices this week. She was going to be a malnourished, sleep deprived drunk. Seemed like a plan. A much better one than actually thinking.
"Lucy," she whispered. "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy..." It was more than a name for a red-headed nuisance who sent her Cuban husband into hysterics. It was a name that had hovered at the back of her mind, sort of haunting her.
It was a person, a piece.
And she was nearly sure where it fit.
TBC
Previous Chapter
Chapter Twenty-Four
Note: I'd like to thank the Smallville wiki and the superman wiki for all the exhausting hours of research they gave me to finish this chapter. Honestly, my outlines say things like "soulmate stuff, bracelet, look up some kawatche and krypton crap." Hours later, I have a long-ass second part of this chapter and my head is spinning. I both love and hate all this legwork.
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