Clark stopped at the edge of the freeway and took a moment. He was covered in dust. It was one of the headaches of speed that made him miss flying. The speeding through dirty fields and the sides of freeways, the occasional bug swallow, getting where he was going only to find his shoes caked in mud. Not to mention how quickly he wore through the soles of his shoes back then.
He took all that a lot better back when he was used to it. Maybe flying had spoiled him. He'd sure appreciate having it back now. But he knew that knowing that did nothing for him. This wasn't a lesson. This wasn't even a mental block. He knew that now. It was just something he had to bounce back from, rehabilitate from. He'd been drained. And his body was relearning what it could do. It just took time and effort.
He'd never noticed that before, developing all these abilities through the years. Of course, he'd been so busy growing up, he never noticed how much effort each took to get a handle on. They were more spread-out then.
Now... Now he had to relearn each, one after the other. And it was some combination of relaxation and effort, distraction and focus, happiness and anger... It was complicated. But he knew they were coming back. He was strong again. He could run now. He could use most aspects of his vision. He just had to keep trying... and training.
His sessions had helped so far. If he kept working, he could get it all back. He just had to keep... positive, maybe.
It sounded silly. It sounded like Peter Pan. His mother had first read that to him when he was six. And he was astounded and intrigued that happy thoughts could make someone fly. He'd actually been tempted to try until his mom had reminded him about the crucial ingredient and that they were fresh out of fairy dust. The silliest part was looking back and, instead of shaking his head at his childishness at believing someone could fly, knowing that he could all along. Like Dorothy and how she always had the power to go home and...
He chuckled to himself and sped to the docks. Now he'd moved from identifying with a boy in tights to a girl in ruby slippers. Maybe he was just in a fanciful mood tonight. Still, that was good. Even if nothing progressed tonight, maybe he could keep his happy thoughts. Nothing but happy...
"No," he whispered.
As he looked through the door, he saw Ramirez... with Linda.
"Where's Murray?"
"He's still out of town," Ramirez said, turning to the door. She patted Linda's shoulder. "Linda seemed eager to help out and, to be honest, these sessions get a little boring, one-on-one." She shrugged. "No offense."
"Oh, Smallville knows he's not the king of excitement."
Clark stared at Linda. And there go the happy thoughts. "So Murray's not coming?"
Linda snorted. "Hello to you, too." She marched to the center of the warehouse and folded her arms. "So what are we doing?"
"I thought we might give heat a try," Ramirez said. "I've already cleared most flammable items. And with far-sight on the fritz..."
"But it's working," Clark broke in, suddenly excited.
"It is?"
"Just now. I was sitting on the windmill's..."
Ramirez held her hand up. "No. Stop there. If we've had a breakthrough, then we should just go with it and not over-analyze. We should keep moving on to heat." She came to stand in front of Clark. "What triggered your heat vision when it developed?"
Boobs. He didn't say that, of course. "You know... stuff. It just happened."
"Well... happened after what?"
Linda rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Stuff isn't exactly an answer."
He pulled Ramirez aside. "Does she have to be here?"
"What? Do you want me to ask her to leave? It's very nice of Linda to volunteer her time."
"She's only doing it to bug me and... Besides, I don't want this one to be... public."
"Why? If you can handle Bart's presence, then..."
"It's embarrassing," he hissed.
"Embarrassing? Why?"
"Because... I mean..." He didn't know how to say it. It was hard enough telling Ramirez this one, even though he'd reached some level of comfort with her. But to explore this with Linda there... "The first time, it was triggered by... lust."
"Lust?" Ramirez repeated.
"Shhh!"
"I kind of thought it would be anger or something like that. But lust..." She laughed and shook her head. "Well, you are male."
"What about lust?" Linda was directly behind him.
Clark swallowed hard, begging Ramirez with his eyes to let this be less public.
But telepathy was obviously not in the range of his powers because she only chortled, moving away. "Well, this should be fun."
*************************
"It's not just The Torch. I have the yearbooks since the thirties, various football jerseys... unwashed, mind you. Some still have blood and grass stains. Vintage trophies, civic duty awards... I pretty much have all things SH," Franklin was saying.
Lois glanced up from her copying. "SH?"
"Smallville High?" He rolled his eyes, as if it should be obvious.
And maybe the acronym should be obvious. It was her alma mater. Not that he knew that. Not that she truly knew that. "So when did you graduate?"
"Just three years ago," he said, leaning against a counter. Lois couldn't believe he was actually younger than her. There was that tell-tale acne still holding on, but he carried himself like a middle-aged librarian. "But I think of myself as classless."
I think of you as lifeless. Even as she was grateful that he had these issues, these possible answers... What kind of person spent their life devoted to the past? Not even their own past? Stranger yet, why would someone who looked like he spent most of his high school years getting wedgies and having his books dumped be so dedicated to said school? It seemed a little like making a fond scrapbook about prison. "What makes you so passionate about... SH?"
"I consider myself an unofficial curator. It's more of a hobby, but I think it could be a job down the line. There will be a time when the alumni association will accept my work as necessary for future generation of Smallvillians, if you will. Maybe even the world."
She smiled and nodded and unfolded the next issue for copying. She had no doubt that this was important to him. Maybe it was even important to Smallville. But it wasn't like a great president or war hero... She faltered, pushing the copy button twice on one page. Because someoone had gone here. Someone that might, somewhere down the line, be more famous than any president or general in history. Superman. Not that she'd ever tell, no matter what happened, she didn't think she'd ever expose Clark to the world. What would happen to him? To Martha? But should Superman ever be found out...
"You keep it up," she said, squinting at Franklin. "You never know." Maybe a hundred years down the line, Smallville would be famous for having turned out a hero. She shook her head, trying not to think of Clark. Trying, even more, not to idealize him. It confused things. He was possibly the only part of this she couldn't fit in a neat pile of facts. There were too many unclear feelings.
She forced her mind back to what was important today. "Wow." She feigned surprise as she turned the issue over. "A lot of these articles are by Chloe Sullivan."
"In those years, yes. She was editor from freshman to senior year, in her time. I... thought that was why you wanted them."
She froze, her hand poised over the button. "What?"
"Well... I was two years below her, but I remember her well. You look like her." She turned to him... waiting. "I know why you wanted these. I've done my homework, as I said. I know who you are."
"Do you?"
"You're her cousin." He lifted his chin, smiling like he was Sherlock Holmes, solving the case.
"You got me," she said, relieved. After one person had recognized her as Chloe Sullivan, she was desperately afraid of another, considering Chloe Sullivan was legally dead.
"According to the papers, you were the one who identified her body. And you have a fairly solid resume yourself. It's why I let you have access. I'm assuming you're working on clearing her name." He nodded seriously. "And about time."
"Is it?"
He leaned in. "We both know the allegations can't be true," he whispered. "She was the uncredited genius who brought meteor infection to the attention of the town before it spread outward, though many still refuse to acknowledge the existence of metahumans. She was a bastion of truth. I know." He nodded again. "I worked under her."
"Really?" She leaned on the copier, staring at him. If he could shed any light...
"You might want to change pages."
"Huh?" She looked down. Several pages of "Can Any Cell Hold Her?" were piling on top of each other. "Oh, yeah." She switched the page out and turned to him. "You worked under her?"
"Well, she was a senior and I was a freshman, but yes. I did my time on The Torch. It was run by Joseph Feorch after her. But it wasn't the same. I only stayed through sophomore year before I focused on yearbook. The Torch was all 'Crows victorious' and 'Crows defeated' and, while those things have their place in Smallville High history and I am no one to scoff at the history of the high school I'm dedicated to..." He sighed sadly. "The Torch wasn't an interesting thing to read anymore. Just dry and boring with no purpose." He lifted his chin. "Chloe Sullivan had a purpose, you see. She was driven to expose the truth abut meteor freaks, in which I personally believe. Do you?"
"I know of a few," she said, having no reason to lie. "But... what if that drive to expose them led to some kind of fear, paranoia?"
"You mean the rumors that Ruby Ridge was launched as a defense against alien invasion?" He shrugged. "I'm sure it was and that we're not alone. But the methods used were illegal and someone like Chloe Sullivan would never cover that up. She wouldn't cover the truth." He nodded to himself. "My best bet is that she was working undercover somehow. I'm sure of it."
This wasn't something she'd considered. "How can you be sure?"
"Because I knew Chloe Sullivan."
"But how well did you..."
"Okay. Maybe we weren't best friends. She might not have known my name most of the time. Fine. But I worked side by side with... Okay, maybe not side by side. She was always working with that hulking guy in the flannel. What's his name?"
Clark. "Beats me," she lied. "Did this... hulking guy work on The Torch?"
"Oh, sometimes. He had a habit of always turning everything in late with some lame excuse." Sure sounded like Clark. He shook his head. "What was his name?"
She didn't want him to think too deeply on that. "Wonder why she kept what's-his-name on," she said with a laugh.
He chuckled. "Well, I kind of know. Everyone knew she had this big crush on him. Though he never looked at her."
"He didn't?" She felt mildly offended.
"He was all over the same girl everyone else was. Lana Lang."
"Lana Lang?" She felt like she should know the name. Her body seemed to jolt at it, yet her mind came up blank.
"Very pretty girl... in that obvious way. Don't see what the big deal was about her. She didn't even make prom queen. That was Chloe."
Her eyes widened. "Chloe was prom queen?"
He tilted his head. "I thought you, of all people, would know that."
"I... grew up in Pennsylvania." At least on paper. "We didn't see much of each other."
"Well, she was valedictorian, too. Not a lot of girls manage to do both. She was extraordinary."
Between him and the woman at The Talon... She wanted to believe that Chloe was more than some good girl gone bad. She wanted to be proud of a past she only half-knew and could never admit, as useless as it may be. "Was she nice, I mean as an editor? Besides being driven, was she..."
"Oh, here's the last one." He handed her a sheet and she took it. "Guess we're done."
"We don't have to be," she said, taking her time fitting the sheet and pressing the button. "If you wanted to get a coffee, I could..."
"Okay. I saw this coming." He chuckled and shook his head.
"Huh?"
"The staring, the way you're obviously flustered and nervous." He shrugged. "It's very flattering, but I'm seeing someone. "
She stared, aghast. "Oh... what a shame."
"Besides all that, I can't stay much longer. It's Kling-on Scrabble night and I'm hosting."
She almost wanted to ask if he was sure he was seeing someone after hearing that last sentence. "Understood," she said, deciding not to burst his bubble.
He put the last issue back in his box and started away, then turned back. "I hope you clear her name. And, as for me, if things were different..."
"Oh, let's just leave it there, Franklin." She shook her head and forced a sad smile. "Let's not ruin it."
He nodded soberly, then left.
Lois shook herself and placed her last copy on top of the others. She found herself checking her hair in the window. She wasn't sure what was a worse blow to her self-esteem, that Franklin didn't return what he perceived to be her attraction for him or that Clark had, by Franklin's account, hardly known she was alive in high school. The first was actually a relief. If Franklin hadn't been taken, she might have had a job fending him off and explaining that she was only spacy and nervous because she happened to be a dead girl.
But Clark... It didn't even make sense. If he hardly looked at her before, then... the sex. Why now? Why, period?
Because you needed it, he'd snapped at her the last time they were alone. Just before the big interview, when she asked him that very thing.
God knows why, Lois, but I've been bending over backwards to give you what you need! I give you space when you need it, I pull you from a car when you run off to Luthor because you won't let anything fucking go, and when you look up at me with sad eyes and ask me to touch you, I do it.
Was that the answer? Was it really? She hadn't asked for clarification at the time. Just punched him, which her hand still slightly smarted from. Then went on a crazy crying jag and then... he kissed her.
So maybe that was the answer. Maybe he felt guilty because he knew how she must have felt about him once and... Who was she kidding? Her feelings for Clark were obviously there whether her memory of them were or not. She couldn't be in the same room with him without wanting to tear his clothes off most times and the sex was just... it felt so right.
She slipped on her sunglasses and gathered her box and purse, her brow furrowed.
Right for her, maybe. But what about Clark? Was the sex, like that kiss, some way to comfort a weeping woman? He did seem to give more than receive and...
Was all that some combination of guilt and pity and...
"No," she growled, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. A few people stared at the crazy lady saying no to a box. She didn't care. She had to be firm with herself.
She was going to gather and sort and put the damned pieces together. And, while Clark was definitely one of those pieces, he was not one she was ready to fit in right now.
She was not going to think about Clark.
*******************************
"You just better not be thinking about my cousin," he heard Linda say behind him.
"Would you be quiet?" Clark hissed. He had a pile of newspaper in a tin wastebasket and he could have sworn he'd seen a curl of smoke. "I can't concentrate."
"Well, concentrate on a swimsuit model or centerfold or something, because if I get any sign that you're..."
He clenched his fists and started to turn.
"Linda, you aren't exactly helping," he heard Ramirez say.
"Well, I'm just saying. Lust triggers those laser beams and we all know who Smallville has done the nasty with, even recently, which I still don't forgive him for, and it would be a pretty damned inappropriate if you were getting dirty with my little cousin in that head of yours while I'm in the room. I mean... Ew!"
"Look," Clark said calmly, turning. "It wasn't like I had to think of naked women every time I used it. It was just... That was how it started. I'm trying to concentrate like I always did and I can't do it with you harping."
"Well, as long as you aren't..."
"I'm not thinking about her." He turned. "Okay?"
Linda shrugged. "Fine. Just making sure."
He nodded and turned back.
Of course, all that was a lie.
As awkward as it was, his mind kept turning back to her. But he was trying to keep those thoughts from manifesting south, directing all that energy at the wastebasket. It was funny how much he remembered of them, through the years, now. They'd only been together a few times since that night she ripped the necklace from him.
There is no Kal, she'd said. And he hadn't been able to deny it. The more he'd used the necklace, the more the two had come together. He was no longer able to block all his mind and body knew of her... of them. After his training, he'd been even more clear on what he'd done to her. And, while that came with a measure of guilt, it also came with a heavy side of lust. He'd tried to stay away from her, tried to keep his distance, but to know the things they'd done to each other... The way his body was pulled to hers, even through the years...
Picturing a swimsuit model didn't compare. Lois wasn't exactly a centerfold. Objectively, he knew that not every man in the world was lusting after Lois Lane. But her voice, her laugh, those eyes with their sidelong glances, the way she sort of moaned with that first sip of coffee...
Her appeal wasn't something that was obvious to everyone. It was just clear to him. Maybe because she was his.
You're mine, he'd fairly sneered at her that first time. In an alley. If he'd known then how he'd feel, he'd have taken her somewhere more worthy of her. But, even with the guilt of that, he couldn't help but remember how... Jesus. He wiped his brow. How fucking hot was that? Every time was always so hot, heavy, mind-numbingly intense.
It never got old. It was always so god damned urgent, as if it were the first time... or the last.
How could he think of anyone else?
You're mine, he'd repeated. And don't you forget it.
Yet she had. It didn't mean he had, though. Despite that conversation with Linda, that he knew she might not be that prize waiting at the end of the path, he would never stop wanting her to be there. He would never stop wanting her and...
It made him angry. Selfishly enraged. That he could pant after her pathetically for the rest of his life, addicted to the feel of her, the taste of her and... that she wouldn't be his.
And he fucking knew! He didn't deserve her. He'd fucked up in so many ways, it was a miracle she even looked at him. He didn't deserve to feel this... entitlement. Yet there it was. There was this anger, still. That she was his and that she wasn't. And this should be beneath him. He should be the hero, only care about what was best for her and let her go and...
He couldn't.
She was his. Whatever her name was, she was fucking his and he wanted to tear down her door and...
"Good job, Clark."
"Huh?" He turned, saw Ramirez smiling.
He turned and saw the waste basket, flames licking from the top. He looked down, afraid he was protruding in some embarrassing way, but it seemed to have worked. He seemed to have put it all into his eyes.
For a moment, he felt guilty. How dare he feel anger that she needed her space? That she wasn't his to take, grab and...
"How did you do it?"
He turned back to Linda. "Just focus. You know..." He turned back to the smoldering can. Whether he had the right to his feelings or not, they were there.
Clark, you seem to want to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, and then you want to punish yourself for finding it heavy. His mother's words. A little weird on the heels of lustful thoughts of Lois. but there they were. Sweetie, you can let go sometimes. You can't control what you feel. Maybe you just need to let yourself feel it. Whatever it is.
And what did he feel now? Lust and anger. Both at her. Both because he wanted her and he couldn't have her. And, for once, he would let himself feel both. Not push them away. As selfish as those feelings were, they were real and they were helping.
He moved to the pile of garbage Ramirez had collected and grabbed some broken bits of wood.
"Why don't we try something more challenging?"
He dropped them in the waste basket, on top of the smoldering paper in the bottom.
He stared at it.
This is for dating Jimmy Olsen, he thought, squinting.
Soon the smell of burning wood filled the room.
"Does anyone else kinda wish they brought marshmallows?" he heard Linda say as he watched the flames rise from the wastebasket. "Ooooh! And graham crackers and chocolate!"
He ignored her cravings and tossed more wood on top of the ashes.
This for letting Lex Luthor make you come. He squinted again.
It was a good thing Ramirez had a fire extinguisher.
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