Clark shifted the six pack to his other arm and rang the buzzer. On the way over, he'd been thinking of what Ramirez said about not losing Clark Kent. And he wondered exactly what he'd be losing if he did. Clark Kent was a guy who grew up on a farm, was a journalist and... There wasn't much else. Most of the people he hung out with knew Superman better. He was the guy that saved lives, stopped cars, and returned stolen purses.
"Who's there?"
"I don't know anymore," he muttered.
"Huh?"
He glanced up at the intercom, shaking his head. "It's Clark."
"CK! Buddy! Come on up! 303."
There was a loud buzz and Clark opened the front door.
Clark... he hardly knew who he was or what he liked. He spent so many years absorbed by his secret that he wondered if he forgot to develop an actual personality. He knew what Superman did was important. But he wasn't sure that Clark Kent was more than a blip on the earth. So maybe going to this party was important. Because Clark Kent should have some of the things he liked. Clark Kent did like football. If it wasn't grossly unfair to do so, Clark Kent might have played football. And Clark also liked having friends. And Jimmy was starting to be his only, for lack of a better word, normal friend. One who didn't know.
That was important. It was good to have someone in his life where he could just be Clark.
It would be even better if he could stop thinking of himself in the third person. Who does that?.
He reached the top of the stairs and moved down the hall to 303.
He'd actually been here before, but as Superman and outside Jimmy's window... and kind of kidnapping him. It was sort of nice to go somewhere under normal circumstances. He could do this. He could do normal, at least sometimes.
He knocked and Jimmy appeared. "CK! We've been waiting on you." He glanced at Clark's six pack and took it. "Oh, thanks. Come on in." Jimmy gestured around. "You know Daly and Robertson. Spinelli's in obits and..."
"Come on, you pansies, shut it. Game's starting."
"Yeah. That's Clifton. He's in legal," Jimmy whispered. "I didn't want to invite him, but he kind of heard."
"Are you bitches gonna sit down or what? I got money on this."
"Every workplace has one." Jimmy rolled his eyes and yelled into the kitchen. "Hey, Chief. CK's here!"
"Well, I hope he brought some blue cheese. You don't eat wings with ranch." Perry steeped out with a plate. "And could you stop calling me Chief? It's my day off, for crying..."
There was a knock and Jimmy turned to the door. "I thought we were all here. Oh, well..." He patted Clark on the back. "Make yourself at home."
Clark moved toward Perry, who was standing near a table littered with wings, pizza, and chips. "Hey, Chi... Mr. White."
"Just call me Perry, Kent." He glanced at Clark. "And I don't see blue cheese."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know..."
"No, it's fine," he sighed. "At least Jimmy got the O'Malley's wings. But look at this." He dipped a wing in the ranch. "No chunks hanging on. It's just not right."
"No, you're wrong." Clark turned to Jimmy, surprised he would contradict Perry. But Jimmy was over by the door and Clark's eyes widened as he realized he was whispering. Involuntary use of hearing, but still, it was working.
"No. You said six." A girl. Clark didn't exactly want to look through Jimmy because... ew. He craned his neck slightly. Rachel.
"I did say six, but it was six tomorrow."
"Sunday?" Rachel hissed. "So wait... not only do I have to pick you up, you car-less loser, but you expected me to go out on a Sunday? What are your plans? The church ice cream social?"
"You know what? We don't have to do this at all."
"Damn right we don't. You aren't exactly someone I..."
Clark reluctantly pulled back, discovering more about himself every minute. Clark Kent liked football and was a nosy gossip who spied on his coworkers.
"...It's not even about the lumps. It's that slight bite. You don't get that with ranch. It's bland. I blame California. They put ranch on everything and it spreads and the rest of the world forgets blue cheese exists. And there's more of a..."
Clark kind of wished he'd kept listening to Jimmy now. He was such a nosy spy, he wanted to do it some more. How... normal. He found himself smiling. See, Ramirez? I'm not so above it all.
"It's freezing," Clifton whined. "Close the damned... Rogers?" He turned to Jimmy, snorting. "What's she doing here?"
"Rachel?" Jimmy froze. "She... Uh... was just..."
"Hey, Rogers, this isn't a shoe store, just so you know."
"Screw you, Clifton," Rachel said with a cool smile. "I'm here for the game." She took the six-pack from Jimmy. "And I brought... Prairie Dog Brown. Excuse me, Perry."
"Rogers. Good beer." Perry took one. "Better than the swill these other guys brought."
"Why, thank you, Perry. I thought you might like it."
Oh, did you? Perry moved to the couch, but Clark stayed put as Rachel moved past him with the beer he'd sped all the way from a microbrewery in Topeka.
Jimmy followed quickly. "What are you doing?" Clark looked down, dipping a chip over and over.
"Staying. I have to now."
"You hate sports."
"Well, I hate Clifton more. I'm not going to let him think I wandered up here on my way to shop. We can call this our stupid date, Olsen. I'll sit here for a while, listen to you idiots gawk at padded men in tight pants in your semi-homoerotic ritual and then we can say we did this and move on."
"You know, this date was your idea in the first..."
"Well, it was a stupid idea. " She moved to the couch. "So... who's winning?"
Clark found Jimmy standing next to him. "So you probably heard that."
Didn't even need to try.
"See, when she said date, she meant... God." Jimmy sighed. "What am I doing? I mean, you were there the other day. You even bailed me out and... This was a stupid idea, me and her. She's too... difficult."
As far as difficult women... Clark could sympathize. Though, even with all the roadblocks to get to Lois, she was downright mild compared to Rachel Rogers, possibly the woman who'd defined high maintenance. Still... He saw her eyes fixed on Jimmy's back as he made himself a plate.
"Difficult might not be so bad. I mean, it could be worth it in the end."
"Yeah, sure," Jimmy grunted, scowling. "Just do me a favor, CK. Pretend none of that happened. You can keep a secret, right?"
"Better than most," Clark muttered as Jimmy turned away with his food.
And now he was a gossiping matchmaker. Maybe that was too much normal for the day. Maybe he should focus on the game, which was getting good, if the shouting was any indication -- both from the fans on TV and in the living room.
He tried to keep his mind on the game, as overwhelmed as he was today, trying to stop thinking of Lois, of Superman, but to think of Clark. It wasn't easier. It wasn't something he did a lot. But thinking was probably not the answer. He should just watch the game. Which wasn't bad so far. The company wasn't so bad.
"Reilly dropped the fucking ball again, the damned panty-waist," Clifton yelled at the screen.
Some of the company, he amended.
On the commercials, he found himself talking to Spinelli... or being talked to. He wasn't Clark's idea of a man who spent his days editing obits for spelling mistakes. He seemed to think of himself as an amatuer comedian.
"... then the blonde screams 'If I could swim, I'd come over there and kick your ass.'" Spinelli laughed uproariously, his chins wobbling.
Clark forced one as well. The joke was funnier the first five times he'd received it in various emails.
"Okay, okay, get this," Spinelli said, holding a hand up. "So a bear and a rabbit are taking a sh..."
"Hey, the game's back," Clark said quickly.
"Oh, yeah." Spinelli turned back, thankfully.
Yes. The company wasn't so bad. It wasn't so good, either. He'd rather be next to Perry. Perry might talk about food a bit much... and beer... and cigars. But he was used to Perry. Added to that, Perry was the smartest newsman he'd come across ever. He might have something insightful to say.
Or maybe Jimmy. He liked Jimmy. Even when he didn't like Jimmy, he liked him. Maybe because Jimmy seemed to go out of his way to be liked. It might seem like he was a doormat, but it was more that he had this quality where he never made anyone feel uncomfortable around him. It made Clark want to be around him, the more he saw him.
He'd even pick Rachel, who was uncharacteristically morose. At least she was silent.
But no. He was sandwiched on the couch between Spinelli's jokes and Clifton's constant screaming of effeminate slurs, something that made him wonder if he tried on high heels in his spare time or something that would make him so...
He was doing it. This. This was normal. Being stuck at a work party where you were trapped talking to people you could barely stand and separated from the people you could because you had to be polite because you had to see everyone on Monday. It was actually his first work party. He suddenly felt glad to be there, be a part of something so separated from saving the world, saving anyone. Something mundane. Maybe it was good once in a...
There were assorted screams around him. He stared back at the TV. He was so caught up in being normal, that he forgot to actually do it and watch the game. The Sharks had just gained ten yards. You'd think it was a touchdown with all the screaming fans and the... screaming.
Clark found himself standing.
"Kent! Down in front!"
Clark turned to the angry mob behind him, but he could only hear the shouts somewhere east...
Down! On the floor!... Oh, God! Please... anything you want... just... Shut up!
His hand moved to his shirt. There was a suit underneath. It had been there daily, but he'd never used it. He was never in the right place at the right time but now... There was screaming.
"Kent!"
He opened his eyes and stared down at Perry.
"What's the matter?"
"You know, I just realized..." Clark started to step past everyone.
"Um... Ow!"
"Oh, sorry, Rachel." He carefully stepped to the side.
Jimmy jumped up and over. "You okay?"
"Clark stepped on my foot." She suddenly sunk delicately back into her chair. "It really hurts."
Jimmy held her ankle. "Dude, CK, you gotta watch..."
Clark clenched his fists. He didn't have time for this. "I have to go."
"Go where?" Perry asked, wiping some ranch off his shirt.
Clark realized he must have done that. But it was a good thing. It gave him an idea. "That ranch... You know, it's... just not right." He felt nervous and oddly elated. Not that there was crime. But that he could stop it. "We really do need some blue cheese. I'm gonna get some."
"Now?" Clifton said. "It's the third quarter! Are you..."
"Let the man go," Perry cut in, his eyes intent. "And make sure it's chunky."
*********************************
Clark started up Jimmy's steps again, stopping once to make sure he was properly tucked in. It might look suspicious if he came back... without blue cheese.
"Damn it." He slipped into the alleyway quickly, waiting for a few pedestrians to pass before he could speed out.
There'd been a small grocery store a few blocks down. He'd passed it on his way back from the First National Bank of Metropolis, which hadn't been robbed today. He took a second to bask in that. Not too long, however. He had to have been gone ten minutes.
He didn't take much time at the bank, either, knowing he had to get back to... normalcy. Just a zip in, a couple taps to three heads, a few bent guns, and he was done. It was the getting there and back that took the longest. All those people to dodge, when he could have just...
He sighed and sped out, ready to dodge at a moments notice. Flying was what he missed most of all. It wasn't just the convenience. He missed the feel of it. The first time he flew was about the first time he felt his lot in life wasn't so bad. Even isolated from all he knew in the Arctic. Even knowing that she was waiting months by then and most likely hated him. When he came back and she didn't. When he made her hate him for real.... No matter how shitty life was... He could fly.
Wasn't something just anybody could say.
But not him. Not now. He knew because he always gave it a try. Every spare moment, he sort of... tested the air. But the air didn't welcome him like before. It just sat there around him, holding him to the ground.
Just work up to it. Just like the others. Redevelop. Retrain. Re... No. Not now. Now was time for normal. He had a Superman break and now he had to be Clark Kent. It was strange that it seemed like a time-out now, after all the years of wanting to be only Clark Kent. Still, being only Superman would be a little strange. Superman was like a caged animal, waiting for evil-doings, of all things, to be let out. Clark was... a guy that, so far, liked football, gossip, and office parties. Clark might easily bore anyone to death. And Superman might be a little too much excitement. It wasn't a state he could live in constantly.
He wished he had some kind of middle ground, somewhere he felt he was truly there, whoever he was.
He didn't know who he wanted to be anymore. After these last weeks without his powers, he nearly itched to use them. But Ramirez was right. He couldn't lose Clark Kent in all this. Yet no matter how much he needed to be normal, he also needed...
Clifton was rushing out the front door of Jimmy's building just as Clark reached for the buzzer.
"Is the game over?" Clark asked. That was disappointing. He'd wanted to squeeze in more Clark time today and this was about the only thing he had to do, as Clark, that is. He supposed Superman could patrol, but it was so much harder without flight. You heard so much more cruising over the city rather than through, dodging cars and...
"Not even close. Can't even hear the game," Clifton muttered, moving off. "Going home. Plasma's not worth it. Better not have missed anyth..."
Clark caught the front door before it closed, staring after him. What's his problem? He moved to the stairs, sort of glad he hadn't missed the whole game -- also that Clifton had left. He was sure everyone else would be, too. Now they could just...
He stopped in the hall as Daly and Robertson came out. "You guys are leaving?"
"We're watching it at the bar," Daly said, securing his jacket.
"White's on the warpath," Robertson added. "He's been asking about you."
"I was only gone..." Clark checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes," he said dully as they passed him, hurrying off.
Clark moved to the door, holding up his paper bag. If he knew the dressing was that much of an emergency... "I got the blue cheese," he announced, surprised to find only Perry in the room.
He stopped in the middle of putting on his coat. "Is that all you have to say at a time like this?"
"Uh... A time like what?"
"The First National was just robbed," Perry said, eyes wide. "And I had to hear about it on a news break. Me! I heard about it."
Clark's mouth dropped open. "It was robbed?" He thought he'd stopped it. He'd been so sure...
"Okay, it wasn't robbed. But it was an attempt. And we need to get there. Damned TV news got there first. Maybe we'll be Johnny come lately, but we have to get something out or..." Perry gave up trying to stuff his arm in his inside out sleeve and pulled it out. "Where the hell is Olsen? Did he leave when you did?"
"I don't think so." Clark glanced around.
"Haven't seen him since you left," Perry muttered.
Clark glanced through the walls. Jimmy didn't seem to be in any of the... Whoa!
Clark pulled back his vision and stared at Perry as he righted his coat's sleeve, weighing the facts.
On the one hand, a bank was robbed. On the other hand, Jimmy was in his bedroom with a girl... namely Rachel.
Maybe he was sympathetic in his own celibate state, but he thought the latter outweighed the first.
"You know, Perry," he said. "I just remembered. I think Jimmy said something about being low on dip as I was leaving. He probably..."
"Oh, fine," Perry growled. "Not like we'll have a good photo op, anyway. Superman didn't stick around." He nodded at the door. "Come on." Clark started for the door, but Perry stopped him. "Did you get chunky?"
Clark nodded.
"Good." Perry moved back to the table and grabbed the bucket of wings. "We don't want them to go to waste. Oh! And get a pad and pen!"
Clark quickly grabbed a magnetized pad from the fridge and a pen from a Daily Planet coffee mug on the counter and followed him out, closing the door after them. "Robertson said you were asking about me."
"Of course I was. I couldn't take the Business guy or the Lifestyles guy with me. They don't get it." Perry hurried down the stairs.
"And I do?"
"You're a real newsman, Kent. And unless you want 'Statistics say: Suicide rate rises with holidays,' then we have no front page story. Even if we aren't there first, you can get me a front page story."
I can? He didn't ask the last. He didn't want to sound like a dunce. Besides that, he was too busy sort of floating on the fact that Perry thought he was a real newsman. Maybe being Clark wasn't so boring after all. But... where was the story? A bank almost got robbed, but didn't. "I don't see what the big deal is," he found himself saying.
He immediately wanted to take it back when Perry whirled on him at the front door. "The biggest bank in the city gets hit? It's a big deal."
"The biggest?" Clark nearly blushed. "Really?" He'd stopped the biggest bank... In fact, he'd stopped a bank robbery. Period. It might be his biggest public act as Superman. In fact, it was. At the time, he was just glad to be useful again and in a hurry to get back before anyone missed him. He hadn't really thought about the fact that it was the biggest bank in...
"Not only that," Perry said, walking briskly out into the street. "It's the first sighting of Superman in a week and half."
"I didn't think anyone had...noticed," he finished flatly. He'd been torturing himself, hating being unable to help. But he never thought anyone else had really noticed he was absent.
Perry stopped and turned. "Of course they noticed. No thug would try something this big if Superman had been making his presence known."
"Well, I never thought..."
Perry started down the street again. "Remember that thing I said about you being a real newsman?" he threw over his shoulder. "I take it back."
Clark dropped his gaze to the street and followed Perry, crestfallen. Just when he was feeling good about being Clark, Superman had to still be that much cooler.
He sighed. He was clearly nuts.
Perry stopped and Clark nearly bumped into him, still distracted.
"Remember how I said you weren't a newsman?" Perry grabbed his arm and pushed him at the throng surrounding the police liines and news vans. "Prove me wrong. Find me an angle."
Clark let Perry push him forward, but found a wall of people in front of him. How was he supposed to find an angle in this?
He jumped slightly as Perry grabbed the paper bag still holding the blue cheese from him. "Get on it, Kent."
Clark stared at the wall of people again. What was he supposed to do now? Plow through them to get to the direct witnesses or the cops? Physically he could, but it wasn;t something he would do.
He noticed two kids beside him, jumping up and down behind the throng. He could sympathize. He leaned down. "You nned help seeing the police cars?"
"Nah. Police cars are nothin," the smaller, dark-skinned kid said. "I wanna see Superman. I never saw him before."
"You didn't?" The second kid, the one with the curly blonde hair, said. "I saw him."
"You did?"
"Yeah! Well... in a picture. But I saw him and he was seven feet tall and this big." The curly-haired kid held his hands out as wide as they could go. Clark found himself sucking himself in slightly.
"Then you didn't see him, neither," the first kid said.
"Did so!"
"Did not!"
"I think you both missed him," Clark pointed out quickly, hoping this didn't turn into a fight. "I think he left."
"But he stopped the bad guys first," the first kid said eagerly. "Right?"
"Course he did," the blonde kid said. "That's what Superman does. He flies in and..." Various sound effects followed. "Bam!"
"Well, I know that," the first kid said. "I was just makin sure." He looked up at Clark. "You think Superman ever flies downtown?"
"I heard he does."
"How do you know?"
"I work for a newspaper," Clark said, as seriously as he could. "I might even be able to print out a story where I tell Superman to go." If these kids wanted to see him so bad, it would be no trouble just to...
The first kid jumped up. "My name is Jacob and I live above Metro Records! Tell the paper that Superman has to..."
"Wait! Tell him my name is Timmy and he has to fly over first and Maple, too. I live there and I won't leave my window, I swear..."
"I said it first," Jacob said. "I want him to fly over..."
"Hold up," Clark cut in, crouching down. All this talk about flying had him worried. "What if you saw Superman and he didn't fly?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Jacob said, shrugging. "If I could fly, I'd fly all the time."
"But you can't fly," Clark clarified, suddenly worried that the children of Metropolis would start jumping off their rooftops.
"Course not. I'm not a alien. But Superman can."
Clark leaned back, wondering if he should show up and disappoint this sudden fanbase. "Is that why you want to see him? The flying?"
"No," Timmy scoffed. "It's because he's Superman. Duh!"
Clark felt it might be pretty much vainglorious, but he thought he might have found, at the back of this crowd, an angle. "What's so great about Superman?"
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Chapter Twenty-Three
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