It was useless trying to sleep. Clark threw back his covers and gritted his teeth as the thumping beats rose up from below. It wasn't even that. He'd slept through worse from downstairs Dave. It was her words that kept him up, not the party full of young, stupid...
I think I was young and stupid.
Everything came back to her. To what she said. He couldn't get away from her words and the very many ways they were wrong. They had to be. She was young, yes, but never stupid. They weren't just...
...dumb kids that made a mistake getting involved that way.
It was more than some mistake. If things had been different, if he hadn't been called away that morning... If he had told her every crazy, stupid, possessive thing he felt before he left again, who knows where they'd be now? They could be...
... the kind of thing that makes a relationship and that's, I think, why there never was one.
But there might have been if he'd only...
I obviously didn't and this is what happened.
Her words tortured him. They wouldn't let him even explore those what ifs.
You can't undo the past. But you also can't live in it.
His own mother was jumping in now. What was the fucking use, anyway?
I've decided to stop focusing on that or resenting you for that. You don't owe me anything.
But it wasn't about that. It wasn't about owing or pleasing or giving her what she needed. He needed her. If he just told her, if she knew...
You can't let your ability to live your life hang on one person. It's too much pressure.
His mother, again. There were a few too many people in his head right now. Of course, he didn't put much stock in his mother right now. She'd told him to put on a nice suit and show up. Let everything take care of itself. It usually does.
And this is how it was taken care of?
He paced out of his room and over to the dining table, where her nearly ruined book sat, thinking he should at least make himself useful if he wasn't getting any damned sleep tonight. He took it with him to the kitchen and rifled through his junk drawer. He had some crazy glue in here somewhere. It had been in his way every time he wasn't looking for it. Why is it he could never find something useful when he...
Is it useful? Me knowing every single thing about something that doesn't exist anymore?
He upended the drawer onto the counter with a growl. Maybe she was right. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe it really didn't exist anymore... for her. And maybe putting this on her would be unwelcome. Maybe, to her as she was now, this was just a youthful indiscretion, followed by a few adult ones...
given our more recent forays into intimacy, we worked some of that tension off, so... I think we can end up as really good friends.
Maybe that's all it was to her. It didn't matter that it was more to him. Maybe, even if she'd stayed whole, this was where she would have ended up. He supposed it would have served him right. So maybe it served him right even now.
He tried to put it out of his mind again, finally grabbing the tiny tube of glue from under some old chopsticks and rubber bands. He took it and the book to the table. He spied a cold cup of coffee and pulled that to him, too. He stared into it until it bubbled and steamed. Coffee didn't technically do anything for him, but it always made him think he was more alert.
He examined the binding, taking a long sip. It shouldn't be hard to...
"Shit!"
He'd never been good at multi-tasking, which would only make the coming weeks harder. Now he'd dropped the whole cup onto the table, all over his index cards for tomorrow and all over his sweatshirt. He took his still-dripping shirt off and used it to mop at the suit underneath. It Wouldn't do for Superman to be seen with coffee stains. He then saw the puddle creeping towards her book. He tossed his shirt over the puddle and picked it up. It only got the edge. He flipped through, hastily grabbing a napkin to blot at the pages. It was fine. She'd been going on about this books and its worn pages, folded corners and stains. Maybe this would blend in with all the...
He stopped at a set of particularly worn pages. It was folded here, but that wasn't what caught his eye. It was a sort of pink stain with just a bit of writing barely visible in the tiny blob.
...hoping one day you'll fly back to...
"Fly back to me," he said aloud. He knew the words. He knew the writing. He even knew the color of the damned paper it had been written on. He stared down at it and moved to his shelf, to the picture of him and Chloe and Pete, the one he'd hid on Thanksgiving. He picked it up now and turned it over, pulling at the backing, taking the letter tucked between the picture and it. He brought it to the table. It had been worn when he found it. It was even more so now, he'd read it so many times, thinking it meant something.
He unfolded it now, comparing it to the faded imprint in the book, running sideways over the text. She'd had this letter here. In this book...
There was this poem in there that was the first... good thing I found about Chloe, I mean, back when I thought she was kind of evil. When I found that book, it was... all there. Little stains, folded corners, worn pages that I knew must have been read to death...
A line jumped out at him from the text. There will be time, there will be time to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet...
He'd nearly forgot, her speaking so fondly of her favorite poem, bathed in a halo of light and moisture on a foggy night after bowling at Metropolis Lanes.
This was that poem. And the letter... It had been here.
It was something I loved. And it never really went away.
He dropped the open book and the letter. It fluttered down over that poem, that thing she loved that had never gone away and he... hated it suddenly.
He paced his living room, pissed that a poem could stay inside her when he could be brushed off as a fling, as a youthful mistake. He hit the ceiling... literally.
It was a bit of a shock and he fell to the floor with a loud thump, looking up at the cracked popcorn ceiling. Bits of plaster drifted down as someone upstairs took exception. He stared through it, seeing Mrs. Jablonsky stomping on it, yelling about "damned kids." Another thumping came from underneath and he looked down and through the floor to see Downstairs Dave, jabbing at his own ceiling with a broom, ironically asking someone else to "keep it down."
He groaned and got up, going to his room to pull on another sweatshirt. If either decided to come up or down to complain, it wouldn't do to be seen with Superman's shield... or without his glasses. He pulled the shirt down and moved to his nightstand, then stilled, his glasses clattering to the floor.
He'd hit the ceiling. The ceiling that was three feet above his head.
He straightened and moved out of his bedroom and through his living room, then to the hall.
When he opened the outer door to the street, he started to wonder if he should be out here like this, without his glasses, with no disguise. But it didn't matter because the streets were deserted and he was running. He looked at the empty street ahead of him and saw a runway. He decided to keep seeing that because he was going to take off now. He could feel it.
He ripped at his clothes, leaving them behind in pieces as he ran and ran. The street ended at a long abandoned building. It was getting closer, but he refused to stop. He'd either rise up when he reached it or give it a new, man-shaped entrance.
It was close. His chin scraped up the brick walls as he rose up. But he did rise up... and up... and up.
He didn't stop to think, to celebrate this supposed triumph, he just kept going, higher and higher, staring at Venus, at The Nothern Star. He followed it.
He was flying again. He kind of thought, by the time he got here again, he'd be shouting woo-hoo and shooting back and forth across the hemisphere. But he really wasn't in the mood. He stopped, hovering over the city, covered in snow clouds, happy to leave it, leave it all, just for now.
By tomorrow, he'd have to swing his first day undercover, Superman's first speaking engagement, and face a future where he and Lois would end up as really good friends. But now... Who was he kidding? He had to face all that this moment. And flying above the city didn't change that. But it might help a few things along.
He turned away from the shrouded city and kept heading north. North to his fortress. To his father. To what answers he could give.
When he touched down, he was focused. He strode toward the mouth. He'd ask Jor-El about Lionel Luthor, about what he could possibly have in a safe deposit box and whether it had something to do with him. Maybe the fortress, much like he'd been, was de-powered, but it handled his questions before. He was here on business and, considering he had a speech to write and a very believable excuse to make up for Turpin and Sawyer, he'd be brief.
"Jor-El?"
The fortress lit up around him and he waited for the glow to flicker and fade as it had done from the moment he took the crystal away.
It didn't and he looked around. "Jor-El?" he called again.
"Kal-El."
He started just a little at the voice, louder and more powerful than it had been the last time. "You're... feeling better?"
"I do not feel. I am. But your fortress is recovered. The yellow sun gives power to more than you, Kal-El."
"Well, it hasn't been doing its job on me," he muttered. "Do you know what I've been going through? I've had to relearn every single ability."
"I do not see a reason. But, perhaps you, like your fortress, have suffered from lack of exposure to the yellow sun. In training, I often stressed the importance of this very thing. If you wish to refresh your memory..."
"No. I've had plenty of it... I guess. I mean, I'm not stuck in an arctic winter, but... I haven't flown since I used that crystal to heal the virus and you said it would drain me, so maybe I recovered when you did." He trailed off and narrowed his eyes at the console, having no other focal point for this father of his. "How long have you been... recovered?"
"I don't often make note of earth days. They seem meaningless to me. But this planet has turned three times."
"Well, that explains it," he said, throwing up his hands. "I went through all that retraining for nothing. I guess I was just supposed to wait for this fortress to heal and take me with it."
"That is a strange thought."
"No, it's not," he said, pacing now. "It makes perfect sense. I had to get psychoanalyzed and tossed from a helicopter into a compost heap and get tortured by Bart," he sneered, "when all I had to do was wait."
"I may have been weakened, but I sensed no real weakness in you the last time you came to me... and left abruptly."
"That sounds kind of like a guilt trip," he said, taken aback.
"I admit. I have been restless, waiting for you to come back to me."
His mind filled with silly images of this consciousness that was all that was left of his father trying to fill that time. Did the fortress have a Spider Solitaire or Minesweeper application? "Too bad you can't call my cell," Clark mumbled, shaking away the silly thoughts. "I could have used a distraction three days ago." Three days ago, he'd been reeling as Lois pushed him away in the loft after what seemed like some promising foreplay during which she discovered that Clark and Chloe had been more than strictly friends and he discovered that Turquoise, apparently, glowed and...
"The bracelet," he hissed. "I saw it... glow that night."
"The materials of our world are bound and the blue stone is powerful. Your fortress could sense your heightened state and, in that moment, I sensed..."
"No." He shook his head. He wasn't here for this and damned if it wasn't just a little intrusive. "I don't want to hear that. You keep going on about this blue stone. I'm telling you, it's turquoise and it has nothing to do with anything and I wish you'd stop..."
"You don't look deeper, Kal-El. That has always been your failing."
"I do nothing but look deeper," he snapped. "Do you know how much time I spend analyzing everything and wondering how things would be if..."
"That is not depth. That is doubt. You cannot look past your doubt and trust in what I tell you."
He gritted his teeth. He'd meant to keep this brief. He'd meant to get the answers, and not about the bracelet that still disturbed him, and go. He knew by now that arguing with Jor-El was fruitless. But all that went to hell as he remembered his last time here, the last time they spoke, of who they spoke.
"Well, you were wrong," he said bitterly. "You don't know my destiny. You kept going on about blue stones and chosen mates and the Kawatche." He glared at the crystalline floor, wishing he'd really listened all those times he tried to tell himself he wasn't secretly counting on them coming together in the end. Because he was obviously counting on it and the bracelet was a big part of why. "It means nothing," he hissed. "Best I can tell, it's some kind of... remote moodring. Glows, but that's just some stupid trick, I guess."
"The materials of our world are no trick. They tie us to our home, though far away. I told you before. I do not pretend to understand the mysteries of the Kawatche people. But I believe it was forged for you between their ways and ours. Our people have always believed being bound by the blue stone to be the highest..."
"We are not bound. We've barely even started to be friends again."
"But you have chosen her."
"She doesn't choose me," he said brokenly, sinking to a raised platform.
"Yet she still wears it because she has chosen..."
"Because she can't get it off," he snapped. "And I can't even get it off her. It won't even bend or..."
"I find repeating myself tedious," his father's voice echoed, almost tiredly, before he heard his own voice...
"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."
"I... I couldn't remove it from her."
"The selection of a mate is not to be taken lightly."
He shook his head, the idea of it still disturbing, as if no one had a choice, here. He'd never been put off by the idea of Lois and no one else, but for her to be bound when she didn't even know it...
"But I didn't put it on her." his own voice said around him. "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. She would choose to. She hates Turquoise and... I just got that from a Kawatche girl. I just... I held onto it for her sake. 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."
"I was not wrong," Jor-El said. "The fact that your mate is unable to remove this bauble only tells me I was correct."
"Stop calling her my mate," Clark cut in loudly, standing.
"But that is what she is. You are bound to each other. You are betrothed. You have chosen her and..."
"She hasn't chosen me," he yelled. "And I hate the idea of her being... forced into something because of a damned piece of jewelry. She still can't get it off, you know. And I'll be damned if I'm the one to tell her it's because I somehow made her my mate when I didn't even mean to force her into something so... barbaric."
"She could remove it if your union were broken."
"Well, it is broken. For all intents and purposes, Clark Kent and Lois Lane are coworkers and hardly even friends and..."
"And yet she has not removed it."
Clark frowned at that, wondering if, under all the missed memories and confusion, if she wanted to be with him. If there was something deep down that held on to him, to them. Once upon a time, he would have smiled at these notions of fate, but now...
"If she truly chose to," Jor-El began. "Then..."
"Then I choose to," he cut in, his eyes widening as he realized that it was the only way to break this. Maybe, on some level, she did feel this connection to him, did want to be tied to him. But it did seem somehow barbaric, forcing her into some union with him when she didn't even know it to be so. That bracelet seemed more and more like a manacle around her wrist and he suddenly hated the idea of it. "I choose to release her," he said clearly.
"But you do not truly," Jor-el said.
"Does that matter? I'm saying it." He cleared his throat and stood straighter. "I'm saying it out loud. Whatever's binding us, take it away." He faltered and looked around. "Can you do that? I mean, you can make it glow and you said the materials of our world are bound, so..."
"I cannot take it away. Only you have that power."
"Then I need to use it. I choose to." He looked around again, staring at the many crystals, some of which he remembered the purpose of. He'd often wished Jor-El provided a take-home study guide. But if this fortress contained what was left of his home and had some link to this blue stone Jor-El insisted was somewhere under that turquoise, then there was a way to tell it to let go. "You hear me? I choose to release her!"
"There is no need to shout," Jor-El's voice called out. "If you choose to release her, then she is released."
"Well, you kept arguing with me," he said, trying not to sound like a whiny teenager.
"I do not argue. I reason."
He smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Then maybe stop reasoning for a minute and tell me..." He took a deep breath, trying to push this bracelet away, push Lois away. There was a reason he'd come here. "I need you to tell me everything you know about Lionel Luthor."
"Lionel Luthor?"
"Your one-time vessel."
"Yes. I know who you speak of, but his time as my vessel, though brief, gave me knowledge of him that encompasses decades."
"Well, maybe just the stuff that might relate to..." Clark trailed off. He still had no idea what this safe deposit box might contain and, really, it might have nothing to do with him. Lionel had had his hands in varied dirty deals through the years and whatever Intergang had from him had to be bad news, whatever it was. "Tell me everything," he sighed.
"Lionel Luthor was born on September 14th, 1944 to Lachlan and Eliza Luthor, who resided in a part of Metropolis described as Suicide Slums..."
Clark sat down again, suspecting he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.
***********************
It was four in the morning. She just wanted to get back to sleep. She had a big day today. She had to cover Superman today. She hadn't touched Superman since she found out he was Clark Kent and now she had to spend her morning at an elementary school getting every detail of his speech according to Perry. That should have made her more motivated to go home and sleep. But no. She'd stayed too long at the party and Jimmy had forced three more of his special margaritas down her throat and then she'd got home and had to sit through an hour on the phone with Linda, going over New Life Resolutions.
Of course, to be honest, she'd actually been demanding more margaritas and Jimmy and a cranky, sobering Rachel were nice enough to stay with her till she got a cab. And she hadn't so much sat through and hour with Linda as drunkenly babbled her ear off about how much she was letting go of the past and how completely fine she'd be being friends with Clark and nothing else... at all... for real and how she was going to go to the gym more and maybe take a pottery class... Linda had actually seemed, in retrospect, to be trying to end the call and sleep. Sobriety seemed to color things just a little in the light of day... or the light of some rogue street lamp that seemed bent on shining all over her room.
She didn't have the energy to get up and pull the shades. She shut her eyes tighter against the glare, then turned away from the window. It didn't help. It seemed to find her still. She opened her eyes with a groan and turned to the window. The darkened window. She looked around, startled. The room was bright as day and her clock still insisted it was 4:01.
"What the..."
She pulled the covers to her chin, wincing and staring at her ceiling, thinking about alien abductions and strange lights and how, really, with what she knew of the world now, it was not that far-fetched that little green or grey men might...
The light faded and she stared around her, pushing her covers away as the light... moved. She pulled them back up and it moved again, as if she were waving a fading flashlight. She looked down at herself and started as she saw the bracelet. The glowing bracelet. It had been a fixture on her wrist so long, she'd nearly forgotten it was there. Now that it seemed to be giving off light, it bore examining again.
It was old, to be sure. With all Clark's insistence it being a tacky roadside stand souvenir, she knew there was more to it. Perhaps that's why she didn't mind wearing it so much. It was such a mystery. She ran her fingers over the stone as the light faded more.
"No." She tapped at it, then shook her wrist as if that would make the glow come back. "Wait, wait..." She shook it harder and the bracelet was... gone. "What?" Weeks, she'd been trying to remove this thing, from pulling to pushing to soap, butter, and olive oil. And all it took was a weak shake? She searched her rumpled blanket. She felt strangely... bereft and wasn't sure why. She found it again and picked it up, disappointed to find no glow at all. It wasn't like the glow told her anything, but it was almost comforting that it did something for just a moment. It went a long way in proving her ancient curse theory.
She ran her fingers over the markings, sort of disappointed to have it off so abruptly. She supposed she'd have to give it back to Clark now. The idea made her feel bereft all over again. She nearly slipped it on again before she stopped herself. Slipping it on once was forgivable, but twice was just silly. She hated turquoise.
She slipped out of bed and tucked it in her purse. She'd give it back tomorrow. She crawled back under the covers in her newly darkened room and found herself turning over in bed, staring at her purse.
No.
She'd give it back. She would.
***********************
"You said you'd do it."
Clark jumped at his mother's voice and turned, nearly dropping his paintbrush.
"I just never thought you'd do it at five o'clock in the morning," she finished on a yawn.
"You wanted it done before Christmas." He stared at the porch railing he'd damaged the other day and continued stroking up and down it. "I found some touch-up paint in the fruit cellar. I'm sorry if I woke you," he said sheepishly. "I was trying to be quiet. I don't know how my days are going to be this week, so I figured I'd better get it done now."
"You didn't wake me," she said. "I'm always up with the cows, whether... Well, you know. But I wouldn't mind you telling me why your days are going to be so... mysterious."
"I can't, Mom. I asked you to trust me on this. Please..."
"Yes. I know. I trust you. It doesn't make me stop worrying about you. Even more so when you show up at the crack of dawn to paint a railing."
"Well, I'm probably going to have to use it as an excuse anyway. Superman has to give a 'Stranger, Danger' speech this morning and Clark Kent needs to find something that sounds like a valid excuse so Superman can do that."
"An emergency porch paint job for your mother?"
He chuckled. "Well, I might make you sound a little older than you are, maybe infirm, with arthritus."
"And who would you have to make this excuse to?"
He glanced at her. "You're as bad as Lois."
She shrugged. "I'll take that as a compliment." She pulled the door open. "Mind coming in for coffee? And maybe telling me the real reason you're here?"
"I told you. I needed to do this so it wasn't a full-on lie and you said you wanted it fixed before..."
"Clark?"
He sighed and propped his paint brush on the can. "Start the coffee. I'll clean up here."
When he came in, he found her pouring two mugs from the old Mr. Coffee, the one that sparked when you plugged it in. He made a mental note of that for Christmas.
"I saw Jor-El," he said without preamble, moving to the sink to wash the paint from his hands.
"I see," his mother said stiffly, scraping her chair back.
"It's not like that. I just... stopped by to talk, find out what I could about... some things," he finished lamely, realizing there was no one he could share this investigation with. It was annoying. Between his mother, his friends, and his... Lois. Well, he always had someone to go to at the end of a hard day. He now had possibly two weeks with no one to confide in.
"The fortress is at full power," he said, settling on something he could speak of, "and so am I."
She stopped in the middle of pouring the stream of sugar that made his coffee palatable. "You are?" She put the bowl down.
"I flew tonight. I just... did it. I haven't tested the freezing breath yet, but..."
"Don't bother," she said with a shiver. "It's cold enough now." She sat down and smiled. "Clark, I'm so glad for you. The re-training worked."
"The re-training was useless," he said pulling up a chair and dumping just a little more sugar in before he pulled it to him. "I don't know why I bothered. I mean, Jor-El said there was no reason for my weakness, but look at the fortress and look at me now. It had to be that. I wasted weeks when I could have just..."
"Sat around and waited?"
"Well... not like that."
"I might have to agree with Jor-El, for a change. I don't think there was a reason for your weakness." She sipped her soffee thoughtfully. "Not physically, at least."
"Mom, you've spent too much time with Linda. Don't start psychoanalyzing me."
"What is it you and Lois? You act like talking things out is some sign of weakness, but look at the pair of you. She wiped her memories and you lost your powers for a..."
"Because the fortress was weakened," he cut in, avoiding the subject of Lois.
"Or... because you were keeping too much inside. Depression, guilt, stress. These things do affect everyone and aliens are not excluded. And I don't know. From what the boys tell me, it was good for you to hone your skills."
"I spent nearly nine months honing my skills with Jor-El."
"Yes, but Jor-El is... Listen, I know he has his merits. Lord knows I'm grateful he sent you to us. But he is a little... cold. Maybe he doesn't understand that you need a little more... emotional guidance. Everyone does and you're no exception. I think the training was a good idea, personally. At least it got you to start talking to your friends rather than just going off to brood."
"Well, we'll never know," he said, sighing. "I mean, if it was the fortress or the retraining for sure. I still say..."
"There's one way to know." She pushed her coffee towards him. "Can you freeze it?"
He took her cup and pulled it to him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then blew.
"Well?"
He opened his eyes on his mother, then on the cup, then turned it upside down.
Martha huffed. "Well, that doesn't prove anything."
"It does. I couldn't do it before the fortress was healed."
"Yes, but maybe the only reason you can do it is because you now feel so sure you can."
He put it back down and focused his heat vision on it before sliding it back. "How about we agree to disagree?"
"How about you agree to talk things out more, like why you..."
"Mom, for the last time, I can't tell you what I'm doing for the next few weeks. I can't tell anyone, so please..."
"Can you also agree to let me finish before you go off?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry. What were you going to say?"
"I want to know why you're here. It can't be to show off your powers. You know they don't exactly impress me after all these years. And we both know the porch is just your little decoy."
He took a deep breath, wondering why he didn't get one of those complacent moms who cut the strings when he grew up. But looking deeper, which he could do, despite what Jor-El said, he knew he wouldn't want to be there at five in the morning with that mom. "Lois and I had a talk." He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Well, she talked. I mostly just listened."
Martha leaned back. "I kind of thought that was coming."
"She wants to be friends. She doesn't want anything more."
"And you?"
"I'm... prepared to respect her wishes," he answered carefully, deciding to leave any mention of the bracelet out of it. It still weirded him out and he didn't think his mom needed any more weird in her life.
"Then that's that."
He glanced up, surprised. "That's that? You're the one who just said I need to talk things out."
"Things you have control over? Yes. Things that are someone else's decision and that you can't change? No."
"This is some great therapy," he groaned.
"Clark, you think I don't know how you feel? I know more about the two of you than I wish to. I know you'd do about anything to be with her again. I know you feel like the two of you were cheated by so many things beyond your control. I know you want someone to call your daughter and really feel it's true." She stopped. "Well, maybe that last one's me." She smiled sadly and reached for his hand. "But I told you a few days ago. She can't be your reason to go on. That's too much for a person to shoulder. You need to keep doing what has to be done."
"She was..." He squeezed his mother's hand. "She was a lot of the reason I do what I do. The way she always guided me and protected me and... It just means less without her."
"But does it mean nothing? Knowing that you can save people that need it?"
"Of course not."
"Then you do it because it's the right thing to do. And you take pleasure in it because you deserve to be proud."
"Are you... proud?" He glanced at her, knowing he was fishing, but also knowing he needed to hear it right now.
She must have known as well. She smiled and gave his hand one last squeeze. "I'm very proud of you. Chocolate chip pancake level proud."
He smiled as she pulled away. "With real whipped cream?"
She turned back as she opened the fridge. "Don't push it."
***********************
Lois knew she was pushing more than the PH button in the elevator. She was pushing some boundaries today. She'd spent days telling her friends not to bug her when she needed space and here she was, showing up at the crack of dawn at the Clocktower. It might be seen as hypocritical, but she saw it as necessary. She was about to meet with Superman, who was actually Clark, and something told her that she should give Clark, who was actually Superman, this bracelet then so it didn't seem like she was holding on to it.
And she wasn't. Not really. She would surrender it willingly. As soon as she knew more about it. She gazed fondly at it, sticking just a little out of her purse. That was all. It was the mystery of it, the glowing and the way it seemed to stay on or off her at will. She really hated turquoise. It wasn't like she wanted it or anything. It wasn't like she was actually upset that, having finally fallen off her wrist, it refused to go back on again for more than two seconds... just slipped off like it was covered in Vaseline.
"I don't want to wear it," she said, jumping as the elevator doors opened.
"Huh?" Victor leaned against the railing as she stepped off, his eyes tired.
"Nothing," she said stiffly as she moved to him. "Glad you could see me."
"Well, you said it was important."
"Did I say that?" She shook her head. "You know, I might have exaggerated, took a little creative license with the term. It's really nothing too..."
"Spit it out," he said with a tired smile. "I don't have a lot of patience when I'm unplugged at odd times."
She took a deep breath as the elevator doors closed behind her. "What do you know about the Kawatche people?"
Victor stared at her. "Nothing?"
She nodded. "Then we're in the same boat." She pulled the bracelet out of her purse. "I want to know what you can tell me about this."
He took it from her hands... after a few minutes of pulling. He stared at her, wide-eyed, when she finally released it.
"Sorry. Just... You know, I just... I'm fascinated by it. I want to know if you can figure it out."
He shrugged. "It looks like a bracelet to me."
She frowned. Maybe she'd under-sold it on the phone. "A bracelet that stayed on my wrist for weeks and wouldn't come off for anything, not even butter or Clark pulling at it, and glowed like a beacon before it finally just... fell off. Like it was paper." She stood back as he stared at her like she was a crazy person. Maybe she'd over-sold it now.
But he stared at it again, held it up to the light. "The markings are... interesting, I guess." He glanced at her. "You say it glowed?"
"Victor, it was daylight at four in the morning."
He nodded. "Let's see what we can find out."
*********************
When Clark got home, he decided that chocolate-chip pancakes were probably a good substitute for sleep. He felt energized, as if these next two weeks were almost... doable. He could find out what Lionel Luthor had, stop Intergang from making use of it, still get his Christmas shopping done, and make his speech at John Byrne elementary tomorrow and...
"Crap."
He stared at his dining room table, at his still-blank index cards and groaned. It was past six now. He had two hours before he met with Turpin and he was still nervous about getting away for his speech. And what speech? He had nothing.
He sat down at his table and stared at the blank index cards. He would write this speech and do nothing else.
His eyes slid to the book, still with its broken binding.
He would do nothing else... except fix this book. Then he'd write his speech.
He pulled the book to him and the krazy glue and tried not to look at the smudge that still contained the faint imprint of her words. He just couldn't help it. Even as he glued the binding, those words swam in front of his eyes.
Fly back to me.
It was as if she knew, even then.
He closed his eyes and closed the book, pressing the cover to the binding. He had to stop thinking it meant something. He had to stop thinking the bracelet meant something. He had to stop thinking about fate and destiny because they were just pretty words for traps. He was glad he released her. Like his mother said, it was too much pressure and she deserved her own choices and she didn't deserve to be tied to him when she didn't know him or them or what they were, not really.
He opened his eyes wide and pushed the book away.
Maybe she should know... but only if she chose to.
He pushed the index cards further away and drew a notepad closer. He picked up a pen and took a deep breath.
His mother was right. Keeping things in was no good. Talking over things you couldn't control? Also useless. But writing... Somehow, he thought Lois would approve of this.
So he wrote.
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CONTINUED IN... ALMOST LOVERS
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