Clark hadn't felt this good about himself in a long, long time. Sure, he'd always felt incredible after a successful night out on the streets with Bruce, the two of them assuming the identities of Nightwing and Batman. But this was something different. This was him taking the first real step into making a difference in the world as himself, in broad daylight. This was him finally finding his place in the world, fulfilling his dreams, and making his future possible.
He wished he had someone to call, to break the news to.
He could always call Bruce, he knew. And he would. Just not right this second. The computer chair hadn't even grown warm from his body heat yet. He wasn't going to immediately jump on his phone on a personal call. He could wait until he was out of the office.
He bided his time by getting his desk set up. He got to know a few of his new coworkers and wondered who owned the desk across the aisle from him; the nameplate was missing. Perry got him set up with his press pass, as soon as Clark signed some paperwork with human resources. All in all, the hours passed by quickly and Clark was feeling pretty good about himself.
He took a late lunch, figuring he could also drop off his briefcase in his hotel room while he was out and then head directly over to the theater. It was almost two in the afternoon when he finally left the building. He'd seen a pizza place on his way in for this interview, so he headed there first. His super nose hadn't betrayed him; the delicious scents he'd caught wind of on his walk to the Planet translated into some of the best pizza he'd ever had, despite his world travels. Clark wolfed down two generously large slices and a bottle of Pepsi.
His stomach full and happy, he pulled out his cell phone. With it being so late in the afternoon, the place was fairly quiet. Clark figured now was as good a time as any to share his good news. He called Bruce's office, hoping the man was there. After two rings, the phone picked up.
"Bruce Wayne," he heard Bruce's voice say on the other end.
"Mr. Wayne? My name is Clark Kent. I'm a reporter at The Daily Planet and I'd like to know if you'd allow me to interview you," Clark joked, barely biting back his laughter.
"You got it?" The sheer pride in Bruce’s voice was unmistakable. It made Clark feel even prouder of himself, a feat he hadn’t imagined possible just a few short minutes ago.
"I got it," Clark confirmed, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Congratulations!" Bruce said, sounding genuinely thrilled. "I knew you'd nail it! When do you start?"
"I already have," Clark replied.
"What?" Astonishment rang in Bruce’s voice. “Even I didn’t put you to work the first day I hired you to work at Wayne Tower,” he joked.
"The editor needed someone to cover something this afternoon. It sounds like a puff piece, but I'm more than happy to do it," Clark explained, a casual shrug in his voice. “I would have volunteered to do it even if he hadn’t asked.”
He heard Bruce chuckle quietly. "Figures. You've always liked jumping right into things. I'm reminded of a night long ago when you stepped out of the shadows and took on...well, a new role in your life." There was no mistaking the fact that Bruce had a grin on his face a mile wide.
Clark found himself smiling at the memory. He'd stepped out of the shadows in the guise of Nightwing to assist Bruce, even though the billionaire had specifically told him that Batman worked alone.
"It worked out well for you then," Bruce continued. "I know that quality will work out for you in this job too."
"Thanks, Bruce." Clark’s heart swelled with pride.
"You want to come for dinner tonight and celebrate? I can have Alfred whip up one of your favorites."
"Yeah, sure. That'd be great," Clark conceded. "I'm not sure how long I'll be at work. Let's shoot for seven?"
"Seven is fine. Lobster ravioli okay?" It was less of a question and more of a statement, in a way. Bruce knew that Clark never turned down an offer of Alfred’s famous lobster ravioli.
"More than okay. It's been a while since he's made that," Clark chuckled.
"Perfect. Listen, congratulations again," Bruce said sincerely. "I'll see you tonight. I'll ask if Vicki wants to join us as well, if that's okay."
"Sure," Clark said with a shrug. "Apparently she gave Perry White a pretty glowing recommendation for me. I owe her my thanks."
Bruce chuckled the slightest bit. "That's Vicki for you. Okay, listen, I’m sure you have plenty to do at your new job. I'll talk to you later. Besides, I have a meeting coming up in about five minutes."
"Yeah? What for?" Clark's interest was piqued.
Bruce sighed in what sounded like weariness. "I’m still trying to get Wayne Airlines up and running. It hasn't been the smoothest road and I know this meeting is going to be a game of hardball. I’m starting to wonder if it’s even still worth pursuing, to be honest. This might be the last attempt I make on the venture."
"Ouch," Clark said, feeling genuinely bad for his friend. Bruce had been trying to expand his business ventures into airlines for nearly three years, with almost no success. "I won't keep you on the line then. Good luck, Bruce."
"Thanks. I'm going to need it."
The phone line disconnected and Clark put his phone away again. He hoped Bruce would be able to finally seal the deal on his airline idea. He certainly deserved it. After all, the amount of time and effort that had gone into the venture had been incredible.
Clark cleaned up his table, then used the pizzeria's restroom to wash up. Though delicious, the pizza had been a little on the oily side. Checking his watch as he left the little shop, he saw that he still had enough time to make it to the theater demolition. Ducking into a deserted alley, Clark took off into the air. He made a beeline for the Metropolis Tower Suites. About a block from the place, he landed again, then casually walked to the hotel. Luckily, there was an elevator just opening up as he approached. An elderly couple exited the car, then Clark entered. He pushed the button for his floor and was there in moments. He supposed he could have dashed up the stairs at super speed, but he wanted to fit in. No one used the stairs if they didn't have to, especially with an open elevator car right there in front of them.
He tossed his briefcase onto the freshly made bed as soon as he walked in the door. He took a moment to check his appearance in the full-length mirror, then brushed his teeth. Feeling refreshed, he started back downstairs. Excitement made his heart pound. He was about to go on his first assignment for The Daily Planet! He would do his job, and do it well, he vowed in his heart. He would make Perry White proud to have hired him.
He got to the site of the demolition with about twenty minutes to spare. He took his time to commit the scene to his flawless memory, idly jotting down some notes in a notebook to keep up appearances. He introduced himself to a couple of bored looking construction workers who were standing by, making small talk and killing time before they had to get to work. The men were unimpressed by the press pass he flashed, but were more than willing to give him a quote or two that he thought he might be able to use once he wrote up his article.
He moved on, speaking to some of the curious bystanders who'd flooded into the street, behind the police barricades. Most of them expressed how disheartened they were to see the old theater being torn down. It had been, apparently, a staple of the neighborhood for almost seventy years. Many of the residents fondly recalled seeing various plays performed there during their lifetimes. Two teenaged boys, on the other hand, only appeared to be interested in seeing the building be "blown up," as they put it.
"Mr. Kent?"
Clark turned toward the sound of his name, only to find a young man pointing a camera directly into his face. "Yes?"
"Oh, good. I was hoping I'd gotten the right guy. Perry gave me your general description but...well, you never know, I guess." The camera lowered as the man spoke. He fidgeted with the settings for a moment, then brought it up once more to look through the viewfinder. “Nope,” he muttered to himself. “Still not the right aperture setting.” He went back to fiddling with the dials on the camera.
"And you are...?"
The man flushed a bright red. "Oops, sorry. Let me start over. I'm Todd. Todd Farris. Perry set me to cover the demolition from the photographic aspect. I figured I'd introduce myself to you while I'm here. Nice to meet you."
Clark smiled and shook the young man's hand. During all of that, he didn't think Todd had stopped to take a breath. He had the impression of talking to a whirlwind.
"Nice to meet you too," he offered.
"First day on the job, huh?" Todd commented.
Clark nodded. "Yeah."
"You're going to love the Planet," Todd assured him as he snapped a few shots of the crowd. "I've been here three years, ever since I got out of college. Perry can be a demanding boss, but he's more than fair and approachable."
"Thanks for the advice," Clark said, giving him a small smile that when unnoticed. The young photographer was far too preoccupied with changing the roll of film in his camera.
"Hey, you want me to grab any specific shots?" Todd asked. "I know some reporters don't necessarily care, but some do, so I always ask."
Clark thought it over for a moment. "There was a poster on the building," he said at length. "It was a flier celebrating the theater's most recent anniversary. It might be a good, emotional shot. Otherwise, I trust your judgement."
"You got it, Mr. Kent," Todd said.
Clark didn't waste any time watching the man leave. He dove right into his work, talking to a couple of police officers to get their take on things. One of them - an Inspector Henderson - was particularly helpful to Clark, and gave him some solid quotes that Clark was sure he could use - if not in the main article, then in a sidebar piece that was slowly taking shape in his mind.
At ten minutes to the scheduled demolition, a protest broke out as a large group started shouting and waving signs in the air. Clark took notes in rapid-fire succession. Two of the men approached the heavy machinery, mischief in their faces as they tried to disable the engines. The police moved in swiftly to break it up and make whatever arrests were needed. But it was another sound that caught Clark's attention.
Crying.
Inside the theater, someone was crying.
Clark's head whipped around toward the sound. He x-rayed through the building. There, on the stage, was a young woman. Clark telescoped in a little, and corrected himself. The girl was not yet out of her teenage years.
No one was paying him any mind. Everyone's attention was fixed on the protest now. Hopeful cheers rang out in the crowd as people hoped the protesters would succeed in stopping the demolition. Clark ducked around the police barricades and slipped into the building.
"Hello?" he called out as he walked, not wanting to scare the girl. "Is there someone in here?" he continued, feigning uncertainty. "Hello?" he called again, as he reached the auditorium.
The girl looked up, sniffling. "Go away!"
"You have to get out of here! They're about to take the building down," Clark warned her.
The girl put her back to him and didn't respond. Clark was torn. He wanted to talk to the girl and find out what was upsetting her so badly. On the other hand, there was no telling how much time they had before the building would come crashing down.
"Stay there," he cautioned. "I'll be right back."
He dashed outside and raced to where Inspector Henderson was talking to what Clark could only assume was dispatch, probably for back up. The crowd was getting unrulier by the moment. Henderson finished his call and scowled.
"Kent? What are you doing in this side of the barricades?" he demanded to know.
"There's someone in the building," he said simply.
"Impossible! We checked the place top to bottom!"
"Then she was either hiding or slipped in afterwards," Clark said. "I was just in there. There's a teenaged girl standing on the stage, crying."
"You were in there? Are you out of your mind? What drove you to go into a building that's about to be knocked down?"
"Just a hunch," Clark easily fibbed. "Look, I know you don't know me from the next guy, but trust me. There's a girl in there. You have to call off the demolition, at least until she's out of there and the building is checked again."
Henderson sized him up for a moment. After a moment, he nodded. Perhaps he'd seen the earnestness in Clark's face.
"All right," he agreed. "I'll talk to the demo crew."
"Thank you," Clark said, feeling relieved.
Henderson nodded again and strode over to speak to a burly, heavily tattooed man in a yellow hard hat. Clark supposed he could zero in on their conversation, but he didn't. He turned back to the theater, slipping his glasses down to x-ray it again. The girl was still there, still crying, but kneeling on the stage now instead of standing. He took one step toward the door when, suddenly, the incendiary devices on the building were set off. The building collapsed in on itself, the way it was supposed to, Clark knew, from having seen other controlled demolitions before in his travels.
Instantly, the shouting of the crowd grew angrier and louder. Clark hoped it wouldn't devolve into a mob scenario. But Henderson was right there, getting on a bullhorn, addressing the crowd.
"Everyone calm down!" he ordered. "Clear the area! We have reason to believe someone may have been in the building. I need everyone from the construction crew to start clearing away bricks. Carefully now! We don't want to risk taking any chances, in case anyone is trapped."
Clark heard an officer nearby calling for help, but Clark tuned the man out. He slipped his glasses down for a third time and x-rayed the building again. All the while, he prayed the girl was still alive. After an agonizing half a minute, he found her. She was, indeed, trapped in a pocket beneath the tons of rubble. Clark jogged over to Henderson, his heart torn in two.
He needed to protect his secret, at all costs. If anyone ever found out that he was more than he seemed, he knew he'd never have a life again. He'd be a target for every nutjob on the planet and pursued by every scientist in an effort to have a chance at dissecting him in a lab somewhere. On the other hand, he could have the girl out of danger in mere moments, whereas the construction crew would have to go slowly and deliberately. It would take hours - maybe even days - to get her out of there safely. In the meantime, anything could happen to her. She could run out of air. The pocket could collapse and crush her. She could go into shock.
She could die.
"Inspector?" Clark called. "I think she was around this area, over here," he said, waving the officer over. He gestured to the area around where he knew she was trapped. "Right in the center of the stage. At least, when I saw her last," he said.
"Okay," Henderson said with a curt nod, all business now. "Start in this area!" he called to the rest of them. "Sorry, Kent. I appreciate the help, but I'm afraid I'm going to need you to get back behind the barricades now."
"Sure, of course," Clark agreed with a heavy heart, while his brain screamed at him that he could save the girl in seconds, with next to no effort.
If only Nightwing lived in Metropolis, he thought to himself as he retreated.
It was an intriguing thought, to be sure. But he's sworn off Nightwing when he'd decided to leave Gotham. If he was to pursue the idea of another costumed alter ego in Metropolis, it would have to be someone new. There was no place for Nightwing in his life now. He'd outgrown the dark and was ready to step out into the light. Any hero he might decide to create would need to be someone who had no fear of operating in broad daylight.
Clark kept vigil over the excavation efforts, his fists clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep himself from rushing into the thick of things to rescue the girl - and exposing himself as an alien to the world in the process. He kept tabs on the girl to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing and letting others rescue her. There was far too much noise in the immediate area for him to even attempt to focus his hearing on her. He had to content himself to giving the area an occasional x-ray. Each time, he could see that she was alive and scared - and he didn't blame her one bit for her terror.
After the first half hour passed, the crowd began to slowly break up. Random stragglers began to drift away, having other matters to attend to or just getting bored with the lack of dynamic action on the scene. Clark pulled out his cell phone and called into the office. Swiftly, he informed Veronica at the City Desk of what was going on. She assured him that she would pass the message along to Perry, while Clark swore to stay put until the girl was rescued. Next, he called Alfred, cancelling on dinner. He knew both Bruce and Alfred would excuse him if he didn’t show up, but he’d been raised with better manners. Besides, it kept him from pushing past the barricades to assist in the rescue.
It wasn't long before Clark lost complete track of the time. The rescue team was nearly through the pile of rubble. Small, carefully placed air holes had been made; their primary concern being that the girl would suffocate if she was still alive. After the first air hole was made, faint sounds could be heard from where she was trapped. Clark couldn't hear what she said, but he could clearly hear and see the construction workers and police alike celebrate the fact that she was still living.
Eventually, enough rubble was cleared away, leaving a small opening just large enough for the girl to crawl through. Clark saw a tiny policewoman crouch down by the hole. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet. She crawled inside and disappeared from sight. Long moments passed until she emerged again, the girl following along in her wake. Cheers rang through the remaining crowd. Clark felt the vice around his heart loosen, though he still feel guilty and ashamed for not lending his aid.
Paramedics immediately surrounded the shaken girl. Clark got only a fleeting glance of her. She looked almost like a statue. From head to toe, she was covered in gray dust, dirt, and grime from the building as it had come crashing down around her. Her blonde hair looked nearly black. Her neon pink shirt was muted and the logo on it had been obscured. She was coughing hard, and an EMT swiftly got an oxygen mask on her. That was all he could see before she was bundled off into an ambulance and whisked off to the hospital.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The girl was alive.
He knew he needed to get back to the office and write up his article. Blinking, he pulled himself from his thoughts and noticed for the first time that it was getting dark out. More time had passed than he'd thought. He sighed. He'd failed Perry on at least one of his promises - that the story would be ready in time for the evening edition.
With nothing more to see, the rest of the bystanders departed, leaving just the press behind. Clark once more crossed the police barricades. With all that happened, he needed to do some more work before he could return to the office. He hastily, but thoroughly, interviewed some of the construction workers who were willing to speak with him. Next, he spoke to the policewoman who'd gone inside the pile of rubble to help the girl get out. Marilyn Mueller, as she identified herself. He talked to Henderson too, since he'd been the one to step up and take charge of the situation when it had first happened.
"Any idea what her name was?" he asked at the end of his questions.
Henderson shook his head. "No. She didn't say."
"If you find out anything?" Clark asked, knowing he didn't need to finish speaking.
"Sure, sure, I'll send it along. I'm sure a press conference will be held tomorrow, regardless of what we find out tonight."
Clark nodded absently. "Inspector? Maybe I'm crossing a line here but...the charges went off after you clearly said someone was still in there."
Again, Henderson nodded. "That's been bothering me too. Lord, it's times like this when I need a cigarette."
"Sorry, I don't..."
"Nah, you're fine, Kent. I quit, oh, five years ago. Most days are fine and I don't miss it. But cases like these? Brings back the cravings in full force. Guess I never really got over the addiction. Maybe no former smoker ever does."
Clark wasn't totally sure how to respond to that. Luckily, he didn't have to. Henderson slipped a business card of out of his breast pocket.
"Listen, Kent. Here's my card. You hear anything about this, you let me know. And I'll do the same for you. Got it?"
Clark nodded and took the card. "Got it. Thank you, Inspector."
"Now get out of here. We still have a lot of work ahead of us."
***
"Kent?"
Clark's head snapped up from his computer.
"Yeah, Chief?"
"You just get in?" Perry asked.
Clark nodded. "About ten minutes ago. I'm writing up the article on the Majestic Theater now."
Perry cracked a satisfied smile. "Good man. How's it going?"
"Pretty well. I started drafting the basic outline of it in my head on the way over. It'll be in your inbox in an hour or less. I've also got a sidebar piece in mind, if that’s okay."
Perry chuckled. "Quite the overachiever, aren't you? I admire that."
Clark hesitated. "Uh, Chief?"
"Yeah?"
"This article...that's not all I want to do with what happened out there," Clark said, confidence in his words. "I think we need to investigate this further."
"Investigate an accident? Look, son, I know you didn't get to do much, if any, investigating at the Gazette, but..."
"What happened wasn't an accident," Clark said with conviction. "I don't know how, but I'll prove it. I know I can. The police made it clear that someone was inside before the building came down."
"If you find something, you have my blessing, of course," Perry said with a shrug. "Just you make sure you're not out there chasing evidence that doesn't exist."
"Of course," Clark agreed. "And...thanks, Chief." He looked at his computer screen again and Perry started off.
Wow, Clark thought as he typed. This is the first time an editor has really listened to me. Listened and given me permission to follow the story the way I see fit. He smiled to himself in contentment.
The article practically wrote itself. Words flowed from Clark in a way that they hadn't in a long time. Working for the Gazette, some articles had been easier to write than others, but there had always been a part of him that had needed to hold back, because he wasn't involved in investigative writing. Even sometimes when he'd written in his journals, as Grandma Tildy had made him promise he would, the words were slow in coming. He supposed it was a natural thing, to sometimes be in a state of mind that wasn't exactly conducive to writing. But now his joy and pride over being employed at The Daily Planet seemed to pour into his writing. Without even needing to use his super speed, he was done with both the article and the sidebar piece he'd planned on in no time at all.
He fired off an email to Henderson, touching base with the man and checking to see if there had been any news on the girl's condition or new details as to her identity. He didn't expect an answer that night, so he resisted the urge to keep checking his inbox. Then he fired off the article to Perry, with a note stating that he was already in the process of following up on things. Finished, he sat back in his chair and simply took in his surroundings.
The Daily Planet.
He'd made it. He'd finally made it to the big leagues. Sure, the Gotham Gazette was a powerhouse in its own right. But this was different. This was everything he'd ever hoped for and more. This was where he was destined to make his mark on the world.
"Hey! I see the Chief must have hired you!"
Clark broke out of his thoughts at the voice. It was the younger man he'd met earlier in the day, though after all that had happened, it felt like eons ago. What was his name again? Jimmy?
He chuckled as he laughed. "Yeah."
"Long interview?" the man joked.
"If only," Clark joked back. "I wound up covering the theater demolition."
"On the day he hired you? Wow! Perry must have been pretty impressed with you."
Clark chuckled again. "Or desperate."
"Nah," Jimmy assured him. "Perry would have nabbed someone to cover it if need be. To send you out right away, that's big."
"It was a puff piece," Clark said, downplaying the significance of being sent out on assignment moments after being hired. "Or, it was supposed to be."
"Yeah, I heard about the girl," Jimmy nodded. "Uh..." He struggled for a moment. "Sorry, I'm blanking on your name. I'm so embarrassed."
Clark smiled. "No big deal...Jimmy, right?"
"Jimmy Olsen, that's right," he nodded.
"Clark Kent," Clark offered.
"Glad to meet you, Clark. Hmmm,” Jimmy said, thinking, almost like he was testing something out in my mind before he spoke it aloud. “Clark Kent. CK. I like it. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? You mind if I call you CK?”
“Not at all!” Clark replied, feeling an instant connection with the younger man before him. He knew, somehow, in that moment, as Jimmy decided on a nickname for him, that the two of them would be good friends.
“Cool. CK,” Jimmy said, as if confirming Clark’s new moniker. “I’m happy to hear that you got the job. You'll love the Planet."
"I already do," Clark agreed. Then, remembering how Jimmy had barged in on his interview, "Hey, how'd the hostage situation go?"
"Boring, mostly. At least from a bystander's point of view. Which is good, don't get me wrong. The police liaison was able to talk the gunman down less than an hour ago. I got my photos and hightailed it back here to get them processed. Last I saw, Lois was still trying to nail down an interview with some of the victims."
"Lois?"
Jimmy nodded and gestured to the empty desk across the aisle from Clark. "Lois Lane. Perry's top reporter. And she's not shy about letting anyone know that either."
"Lois Lane?" Clark could help but to repeat, his eyes going wider. "The Lois Lane? Youngest reporter ever to win a Kerth award?"
"That's her. And she's the only woman to win one three consecutive years in a row." Jimmy shrugged. "That's something else she isn't shy about keeping to herself."
Clark shrugged in turn. "Can you blame her? Those are some impressive accomplishments."
"Absolutely. Anyway, I wish I could stay and talk some more. But I need to get started on these if I ever plan on getting home tonight," Jimmy said, hefting his camera bag on his shoulder just a little.
"Of course," Clark said graciously. "See you tomorrow, Jimmy."
"Night, CK. Uh...it is okay if I call you that, right?"
Clark shrugged again. "That’s fine by me. I like it."
"Cool. See ya, CK."
"See ya, Jimmy."
To Be Continued…
