Summary: After leaving Gotham (and Nightwing) behind, Clark Kent finds himself in Metropolis, and facing his true destiny.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing. All Superman characters, plot points, and recognizable dialogue belong to DC Comics, Warner Bros., December 3rd Productions and anyone else with a stake in the Superman franchise. All Batman characters, plot points, and otherwise belong to DC Comics, Warner Bros., and anyone else with a stake in the Batman franchise. I'm just borrowing their toys for a little while.
Author's Note: Special thanks go out to Val, my super beta. And to both Val and Feli, for letting me bounce ideas off of them as needed.
This is a direct sequel to “Embracing The Darkness.” Please read that story first, if you haven’t already. Thanks! And enjoy!
***
Clark Kent stepped off the Greyhound bus and took a long, deep breath, inhaling all the scents the city had to offer. It wasn't unlike others he'd been to around the world. That mixture of pollution, -from exhaust pipes and discarded cigarette stubs still smoldering on the sidewalk and dumpsters filled to the brim with rotting refuse - chaos, and too many people crowded into too small an area was familiar to Clark. He took another breath, this time concentrating on the subtler scents. Hotdogs being sold from a cart on the corner. The smoky, choking fumes as the bus pulled away. The cloyingly sweet scent of the perfume the old woman next to him was wearing. The minty gum the man on his other side was chewing. Ripe mangoes being sold in front of a small grocery store. Roasted chestnuts from another cart. Fresh horse manure from a mounted policeman's steed.
And something else, Clark thought. Something intangible.
Hope.
A fresh start.
Home.
Clark found himself instantly entranced with the city and all the opportunities it held within it for anyone and everyone. He only hoped that he would find his opportunity for a permanent home and job here too.
Please, he mentally pleaded with the universe.
His cell phone rang, just as the light to cross the street turned green. Clark answered it as he picked up his suitcase. He started to move with the throng of other pedestrians.
"Hey, Bruce," he answered, correctly guessing the caller without even looking at the small display.
"Hey. How's Metropolis?"
"Just arrived," Clark responded with an involuntary shrug. "The bridge was a little backed up, so the trip took a little more time than I'd anticipated. It's a good thing I'm not scheduled to meet with Perry White until tomorrow."
"Well, good luck with it," Bruce replied sincerely. “Glad you go in safely.”
"Thanks, Bruce."
"So, where are you staying?"
"Not sure yet. I'll let you know. I passed a few hotels on the way to my stop, but I didn’t get a great of at look at them."
"Let me call in a few favors. I can get you a room at the Lexor, for as long as you need."
"That's generous of you, but I'd rather not," Clark said with revulsion in his voice and an actual, physical shudder as he reached the opposite sidewalk.
The mere mention of the multibillionaire’s name caused bile to rise in the back of Clark’s throat and his heart rate to spike in defensiveness. And that wasn’t just because he was Bruce’s rival in practically every way – business acquaintances or not. There was something about the man that unsettled Clark. Something hidden deep within, that Luthor clearly worked hard to hide from the world. Something that felt…sinister, in a way.
"You still don't trust Lex Luthor, do you?" Bruce sighed audibly.
"I haven't trusted him since you introduced him to me when I was seventeen," Clark confirmed. "There's something about him, Bruce. He just strikes me as someone to stay away from."
"He's a businessman, Clark. Half of them act just like him. More than half,” he immediately corrected. “I'll admit he's a bit cutthroat, but sometimes a little...aggression...is needed in running a company as large as LexCorps. Or Wayne Enterprises, for that matter."
"No," Clark said, shaking his head. "Look, Bruce, I've known you for eleven years now. Not once did you ever make me feel uncomfortable in your presence. But him? A chill runs up my spine every time. I feel like…like an insect under his microscope. And not just me. He looks at everyone that way, even you. Only with you, it’s worse. There’s a lot of contempt there, when he looks at you."
Bruce hesitated for a moment. "I may not necessarily feel the same way, but I've always trusted your instincts. If you say to watch out for him, I will."
"You know I've always said it," Clark confirmed with a slight smile.
Bruce chuckled. "Yeah, you have. Okay. So, the Lexor is out. Any other ideas?"
"None. I'm going to look around a bit. Like I said, I passed a few on the way in. I didn’t get a great look, but I thought I saw a decent place a few blocks up from where I am now."
"Okay. Let me know. I have a conference call coming up in a few minutes. Glad you arrived in Metropolis okay."
"Thanks, Bruce. I'll be in touch."
Clark ended the call and looked around, feeling intangibly better for having talked to Bruce, their conversation about Luthor aside. He could scarcely believe that he was here, in Metropolis, with an interview scheduled for the next day at The Daily Planet. He'd been reading that paper for as long as he could remember. Even back in Smallville, when he was a kid, the Planet had been accessible to him at most of the stores that sold magazines and newspapers. He could remember pouring over the front-page headlines as a kid whilst standing in line at the supermarket with his mother, or picking up a copy at the local barbershop while waiting for a haircut, or for Martha to finish getting her hair done.
At first, he'd liked the comics and had paid little attention to the news. But as he'd grown older and more aware of the world around him, he'd felt it was important to see what was actually going on around the globe. The Daily Planet was the best place for him to get that kind of information. And now, in a dream come true, he was going to do everything in his power to get a job there.
Still, the mention of Lex Luthor had thrown a dark rain cloud over his otherwise sunny afternoon. He wished he could pinpoint what, exactly, it was about the man that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at uncomfortable attention. There was just something about Luthor. Something that felt almost bloodthirsty - more so than just a rich man commanding an empire he'd built from basically the ground up. As yet, it was so much more than just the man’s reputation as a ruthless businessman. Luthor had always felt fake to Clark, despite the way he could ooze with charm in the public's eye. But Clark knew better. The man was cold. Calculating. Almost reptilian, to Clark's discerning eyes. Like a snake, tightly coiled in the corner, waiting to strike at unsuspecting prey.
But, Clark had to admit – as much as he hated to - that perhaps Bruce was right, and it really was just Luthor's way of conducting business. After all, as Clark had seen up close and personally for eleven years, the nice guys in business rarely finished first. Bruce himself was as nice as they came, but even he would often resort to taking a hard, firm approach to business deals. Never in a rude or hurtful way, but in a manner that clearly showed who was in charge of things.
It was a real shame, Clark thought, that Luthor's home was Metropolis - the same place Clark desperately wanted to make his own home.
Well, no matter.
Clark Kent was no longer a part of the elite society of the one percent. He was just an average, working man now – gleefully part of the middle class. Aside from articles he might need to cover about Luthor, chances were slim he'd have much dealings with the man. At least, he hoped.
In any case, he wasn't going to think about Lex Luthor right now. Today he was simply going to live in the moment, find a hotel, and just enjoy his first day in the city. Somehow, in his world travels, he'd never spent any time in Metropolis. Flown over it on his way to other places, sure, but never landed and explored the place.
Now that he was here, he couldn’t help but to wonder why that was.
Five blocks up, Clark found the hotel he'd seen whilst still on the bus. The Metropolis Tower Suites, it proudly boasted in shining gold letters. Clark entered through the front door and made his way to the reception desk. A plucky young woman named Allison was manning the desk, and smiled flirtatiously at Clark as he approached.
"Hi there! Welcome to the Metropolis Tower Suites! Are you checking in?"
"That depends," Clark said with a friendly smile as he set his luggage down. "What are your rates?"
"Well, we have several room options available," she replied, her smile unmoving. She slid a brochure over to him to look at. "Our standard Queen room is one hundred eighty a night. A King bed is a little more. All the way up to our top of the line, multi-room suites for five hundred a night."
Clark hesitated. It was a little more expensive than he'd hoped for, but considering some of the other hotels he'd passed on the way, he was inclined to spend the money for a decent place. The Hotel Apollo, in particular, had appeared to be moldering just from glance at the outside. He mentally shuddered at the memory of the rusted, crooked sign.
"Okay," he said at last. "I'll go with the Queen-sized bed."
"Perfect!" Allison exclaimed. "And how long will you be staying with us?"
"I'm not sure," Clark said with a shake of his head. "Depends on a few factors that are out of my hands. I hope that isn’t a problem?" he said, the statement somehow twisting into a question as he said it.
"That's fine," Allison encouraged him. "I'll just make a note in the system..."
She typed away at her computer for a moment before continuing on to take Clark's personal information and a credit card to have on file. Finally, she handed him the key to room 231.
"Thanks," Clark said, pocketing the key to free up his hands.
"My pleasure. Enjoy your stay!"
Clark dipped his head in acknowledgement, then picked up his luggage and made his way to the elevators. One was letting off passengers as he approached, so he stepped inside once it was fully vacant and pushed the button for the second floor. A minute later he was getting back out of the car and heading down the hall to his room.
It was a completely unremarkable room, not that he'd anticipated anything overly fancy. A comfortable looking Queen bed commanded the center of the room. A cherry colored wooden desk stood off to one side. A small television stood atop the dresser and a laminated card nearby informed him of what channels he could choose from. The bathroom boasted a simple shower stall - not even a tub - and a toilet. Outside of the small room was the sink with a marble countertop and a large mirror. It wasn't home, but it would do. Clark went to the window to check out the view. At least that was exceptional, he mused. Since his room was toward the back of the building, it overlooked a small courtyard with a few benches and some flowering bushes and trees. It was quieter on that side of the building too, without the constant noise of the city streets and traffic directly before the window.
"Well," he said to himself, "with any luck, I'll be looking for an apartment within the next week or so."
To give himself a task, he unpacked his scant belongings. Then he put his suitcase in the closet, getting it out of his way. He stretched out on the bed and sighed contentedly. It truly was a comfortable mattress.
"Although," he continued, "I could get used to this place." He chuckled.
He set up his laptop on the desk and booted it up. The first thing he did was to check his email. There was nothing except spam there, so he deleted all of the messages. Then he sent a quick message to Bruce, giving his friend the information about his accommodations. The hotel had a pool, so he quickly changed his clothing and made his way back down to the lobby. Following the signs to the right of the elevators, he found his way to the indoor pool.
The area was exquisite. Trees stood everywhere in the room and large glass windows looked out over the courtyard. Tables, chairs, and lounge chairs were more than abundant. Clark picked a lounge chair and tossed his towel and room key on it, staking his claim. Then he was stepping into the warm water, and feeling some of his tension melting away. He was here, in Metropolis. He'd made it. And tomorrow, he would nail his interview at The Daily Planet. He was sure of it.
At first, he merely stood in the chest-high water, but soon he began to swim laps back and forth across the length of the pool. No one else was in the water - it was, after all, two o'clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday - so he didn't need to worry about disturbing anyone as he swam. Still, to be on the safe side, he kept his speed to that of a normal human being, just in case someone was to come into the area.
After an hour or so, he grew bored with his laps. Attached to the pool was a hot tub, and its continuous bubbling was too enticing to pass up. Clark swam over, hoisted himself over the edge of the pool and into the steaming water. He sighed audibly as his body sank down amongst the bubbles when he sat. Invincible or not, he still could suffer from tired and knotted muscles. The hours on the bus to Metropolis hadn't been pleasant ones. And the traffic snag they'd hit hadn't helped things at all. A part of him wondered - again! - why he hadn't taken Bruce up on his offer to send him in a more comfortable car. Even his motorcycle would have been more comfortable, if only he'd had the space to put his luggage on it.
He closed his eyes and let the heat and constant pressure of the jets of water work their magic on him. Even the sound of the ever-roiling water and bubbles was soothing to him. It was so much better than the noises he'd heard on the bus - the roar of the engine, the blaring of car horns around them, the coughing and sneezing of individuals around him, a steady stream of conversations from people who'd only thought they were whispering to one another, the screech of the air brakes each time they’d needed to make a stop. It had been exhausting to his sensitive ears. He sighed again as he slid an inch to the right, which allowed a jet of water to blast itself against the middle of his lower back.
After about half an hour, Clark grew bored. He left the hot tub and toweled off before heading back to his room. Once inside, he took a well-deserved shower and dressed once more. It was getting close to dinner time by then, so he headed out into the city again. He supposed he could just eat in the restaurant located within the hotel itself, but he wanted something that was more unique to Metropolis, rather than just standard, chain restaurant fare. He wasn't sure where to start looking, exactly, so he simply chose a direction and began walking. Downtown seemed as good a direction to go as any, so he found himself backtracking his earlier footsteps as he'd gone to the hotel. Fifteen blocks later, he found a charming-looking French restaurant and went inside.
The atmosphere was subdued as he entered; a definite positive in Clark's mind. He glanced over the menu and placed his order, then quietly watched the people out on the streets as he gazed out the large window he was next to. It was nice sometimes, to just sit and observe the world around him, even if he was a little lonely while he ate by himself. The food was good though and he mentally added the place as somewhere to return to. He left a hefty tip for his waitress before heading back to the hotel. A part of him wanted to explore the city some more, but he was also very tired. It was better for him to go rest and mentally prepare himself for his interview in the morning.
***
The elevator softly dinged, half a second before the door slid open, revealing the bullpen of The Daily Planet. Clark's heart skipped a beat. It had never done that before, not in regard to a job. Even when he'd gone to the Gotham Gazette to interview, it hadn't had this big of an impact on him. The Gazette was the big leagues to be sure, - after all, they did cover the news all over the world - but The Daily Planet was on a completely different level. This was a paper he'd been able to read in practically every country he'd ever been in. A job here would be a dream come true.
If Perry White liked him.
If he was offered a job.
If he could be an investigative journalist and stay in the city, the way he desperately wanted.
Well, he told himself, there's nothing to be gained from standing here all day.
So, he took that first, frightening step out into the bullpen, his briefcase in hand, packed full of writing samples, in case the editor asked for it. As the elevator door closed behind him, Clark stopped again and took in the atmosphere. Strong coffee brewing in the break area. A plate of fresh bagels. Phones ringing almost constantly. The beeping of the fax machine. The clicking of computer keyboards as the paper's reporters raced to get the news down into print. The smell of ink and newly printed papers. The trace of chemicals in the air as someone came out of the darkroom, a stack of photographs in hand. The low murmurs of the staff as they chatted about everything from the latest sporting event to the cases they were hard at work on.
This was what he'd always been missing, what his heart had yearned for as he'd traversed the globe for The Gotham Gazette. This sense of collaboration. This sense of permanence. This sense of truly making a difference in the world.
Please, he begged the universe. Let me get this job.
He made his way down the ramp and into the heart of the bullpen. From there, he wound his way through, toward the back, where he could see the editor's office. As he made his way over, a young man nearly crashed into him in his haste. A camera hung around his neck and a camera bag was slung over his right shoulder.
"Oh, hey, sorry about that," the man apologized.
"No problem," Clark replied.
"I'm Jimmy," the man introduced himself. "Are you new here?"
Clark smiled. "Clark Kent. And I'm hoping to be."
Jimmy chuckled. "I take it you're here to see Perry then."
Clark nodded. "I am."
"You want me to walk you over to his office?" Jimmy offered.
"No, but thanks. I can manage. Besides, you look like you've got enough to do," he smiled, nodding at the camera Jimmy was fiddling with.
"Yeah," Jimmy admitted. "I need to get these pictures developed for the evening edition." He hesitated. "Uh, would you mind letting Perry know I'm working on the Silverstein photos? Since you're headed in that direction, I mean."
Clark chuckled. "You can count on me."
"Thanks," Jimmy said, nodding his head. "Good luck in there!"
"Thanks," Clark returned.
In the next second, Jimmy was off again, cutting through the bullpen with the speed and grace that only came from having spent a couple of years working in the same newsroom. Clark watched for a moment before he continued on. A few moments later, he found himself before the editor's open door. He took a steadying breath, then knocked.
The editor looked up, startled, from the article he was marking with a red pencil. Then he chuckled at himself. A good sign, Clark thought. Clearly, the man didn't take himself as seriously as some of the other men and women he'd known his lifetime.
"Boy, you scared me half to death. How can I help you?" the editor asked, putting aside the paper and pencil.
"Mr. White? My name is Clark Kent. We spoke on the phone a couple of days ago. I'm scheduled to interview with you," Clark began. Despite himself, he could feel every one of his nerves standing on edge.
"Kent? Kent?" Perry asked himself, as though trying to make a mental connection. He drummed his fingers on the top of his old wooden desk as he thought. Clark saw the flash of recognition when his name registered with the older man. "Oh yes! Kent! From The Gotham Gazette." He snapped his fingers as he did so, looking relieved and pleased to remember who Clark was.
Clark nodded. "That's me."
Mr. White waved him into his office as he stood. "Come in. Come in," he encouraged, extending a hand to Clark. “I apologize for not recognizing your name right away. It’s been, well, a rough few weeks around here. Feels like my attention is always split between things lately. But we’ll push through. The Planet always does.”
Clark shook his hand. "Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. White."
"My pleasure," Mr. White said, gesturing to the plaid armchair in his office. "Have a seat."
Clark did as he was bid, and the editor took the opportunity to close the office door. Immediately, the sounds of the bullpen were shut out, making it easier for the two men to talk. Mr. White retreated back to his seat behind the desk.
"Thank you. And, might I just say, before I forget, I bumped into Jimmy in the newsroom. He said he's working on the Silverstein photos."
Mr. White cracked a tiny smile. "That kid's one of the fastest photographers I've ever had. He comes in here and he gets his film developed quicker than you can say 'blue suede shoes.' Thanks for letting me know."
"My pleasure," Clark said, relaxing by the tiniest of degrees. "He seemed like a great guy."
"Jimmy? Hell yeah. He's the best. Used to be more of a gofer around here, until he got shots of a bank robbery on his way into work one morning. Guess that was about…oh...maybe a year ago. A little less, I suppose. Kid's got a killer eye. I don't think I've turned away any of his photos yet. Does a hell of a job helping with research too. But, well, let’s get down to business, shall we?"
"I have a copy of my resume, if you'd like," Clark offered, nodding.
Mr. White nodded his approval and Clark handed it over. The man scanned it silently for a moment.
"So, The Gotham Gazette. That's a fine paper," he said after a moment.
"It is," Clark affirmed.
"I see you have a number of years of experience working there. What makes you want to come work for the Planet?"
"Well," Clark began, carefully choosing his words. "The Gazette was my first job out of college. I learned a lot there, and I'll always be grateful for the experience and the opportunities they gave me. But I was an overseas reporter. I basically just reported the facts and moved on. I had hoped to do more...to investigate hard hitting cases. The Gazette wasn't able to offer me the opportunity to move into that role," he explained, in response to the editor's unasked question of 'so why did you leave them?'
"I see," Mr. White said, in a tone that was hard to read. "And why do you want to work for the Planet?"
"Who wouldn't want to work for a world-renowned publication?" Clark replied with a smile. "It's been a dream of mine, ever since I decided on a career in Journalism, to work for a paper like this. A news source that outdoes itself on covering the events occurring all around the world. A paper everyone knows and respects as not only a pillar of truth, but of justice as well, because the investigations it runs get real results for the public."
Apparently, it was a good answer. A small smile tugged at the corners of the editor’s mouth.
"Yes, well," Mr. White fairly beamed, "we do pride ourselves on getting just the facts out there."
"I remember being struck by how impressive the paper was, even when I was just a kid reading the headlines in the supermarket checkout line," Clark agreed.
Mr. White chuckled lightly. "You and me both. And I've been with this paper most of my life." He scanned Clark's resume again. "So, let me see. Looks like you left the Gazette a few months ago. And it doesn't look like you've done anything since."
"I know it probably doesn't look great," Clark acknowledged. "But after I resigned from the Gazette, I decided to take a few months to recharge. I'd been on the road for years, never settling in one place for more than a few weeks on average. I was a bit burnt out, to be perfectly honest. I knew I wasn't at my best, and didn't want to waste your time until I knew I was completely ready to dive back in and give it my all."
"And if I were to hire you, what guarantee do I have that you won't need another...shall we say, break?"
"Because," Clark said with all sincerity, "I thrive on being able to help people."
Mr. White chuckled again. "Whoa there! You aren't some vigilante hero, like that Batman character."
Clark allowed himself to laugh. "No, but reporters are their own class of superhero, if you think about it. Going out there, uncovering corruption, helping bring criminals to justice. It's...it's invigorating, isn't it?"
"Son, you sound like a man after my own heart," Mr. White laughed. "So, let me take a guess here. You aren't looking for an overseas reporting position."
Clark smiled at the man's teasing tone. "No, sir. It was an interesting experience to be sure, but I'd rather stick close to home from now on."
"You have some samples of your work?" Mr. White asked.
Clark's heart beat a little less fearfully. If the editor was asking to see his work, it could only mean he was at least interested in the idea of taking Clark on as an employee, right?
"Of course," Clark replied. He deftly extracted copies of his articles and handed the stack over to Mr. White.
For a long time, Mr. White looked through Clark's articles. His features remained neutral, unreadable, and Clark felt his stomach tighten into knots. Mr. White cleared his throat a couple of times as he flipped through the stack of paper. That made Clark even more nervous. His heart was hammering so hard he thought that surely it would burst right out of his chest. After a small lifetime, the editor handed him the articles back.
"Well, you certainly do have quite the repertoire there," he said thoughtfully.
"I've been lucky enough to cover a wide variety of stories," Clark allowed.
"So it seems. Look, son, normally, I'd be looking for someone with more direct experience in doing in-depth investigations."
Clark's heart sank. "I see."
"Chief!" The door to Mr. White's office burst open half a heartbeat after a knock sounded on it. It was Jimmy.
"Olsen? What in the name of Elvis are you doing interrupting my interview?" Mr. White demanded.
"Hostage situation at the art museum. Lois said she's going and taking me," Jimmy said. He didn't even enter the room. He just stuck his head inside the doorframe.
"Hell, she's supposed to be covering the demolition of that old theater on Flatbush," the editor grumbled. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Then, "Go, but you tell her she'd better bring back Page One stuff!"
"Doesn't she always?" Jimmy asked with a teasing shrug. In the next second, he was gone, the door closing in his wake.
"If she wasn't the best damn reporter I have..." the editor said, rubbing his temples. He left the statement unfinished and shook his head. "All right. Where were we?" He thought for a couple of seconds. "Oh, right. Well, Kent, like I said. I usually would look for someone with a bit more investigative experience than you have. But I spoke to your old editor at the Gazette this morning, and he had nothing but the highest of praise for you work. So did Vicki Vale, by the way."
"Vicki? You spoke with her?" Clark asked, surprised. "I mean, she was never my editor or supervisor or anything. In fact, we never worked together on any stories. She was just a friend, that's all."
Mr. White nodded. "I know. And I took that into consideration. But what she said about you, Mr. Waters had said as well."
"Well...that was certainly nice of her," Clark said.
"And from what I saw in your articles," Mr. White continued, pointing to Clark's briefcase, where the stack of articles had been returned, "I see a lot of potential in you."
"You...do?" Clark stammered, shocked.
The editor nodded. "I do. Welcome to the Daily Planet, son."
He extended a hand and Clark took it, dazed. It all felt too unreal, a dream literally coming true. All the tension he'd been holding inside bled out of him, and Clark felt like he was in danger of shaking with relief.
"Thank you, Mr. White! I promise, you won't regret giving me this chance."
"I suspect I won't," Mr. White agreed. "But, well, there's one thing you need to do for me."
"Anything," Clark said sincerely.
"This is the last time you call me Mr. White, you hear?" He was smiling broadly now. "From now on, it's just Perry. Or Chief."
"Got it...Chief," Clark obliged.
It was so different at the Planet, he mused in the back of his brain. Everyone had been nice enough at The Gotham Gazette, but there had been far more formality there. Mr. Waters would never have permitted his staff to call him Hank or Chief. And that interruption by Jimmy? That would not have been tolerated nearly so well as Perry had allowed it. Already, the man felt more fatherly and caring than Clark had ever seen in a work situation. Even Bruce, to a certain degree, was unlike Perry, and Clark had always thought of his friend as an excellent, approachable, open and friendly boss to his staff.
"Good man. Now, normally I wouldn't do this but, uh, would you mind starting today? As you heard, I need someone to cover the theater demolition. It's scheduled for three this afternoon."
"You can count on me, Chief," Clark grinned. His first real assignment with a world-renowned paper! He felt like he was dreaming. "Flatbush, right?"
Perry nodded and smiled, delighted that Clark remembered. "That's right. The Majestic Theater."
"Got it," Clark assured his new boss. "You'll have the article in time for the evening edition."
Perry looked perhaps a tad surprised at Clark's confidence, but he didn't comment on it.
"Good," he said instead. "Let's go find you a desk."
To Be Continued…
