"Nice place you've got here," Bruce said approvingly as he looked around Clark's apartment.
"Thanks. I've been here three months now but it's finally starting to really feel like home," Clark said, gesturing to the couch.
Bruce and Alfred sat. Clark took a seat on his dad's old armchair, which he'd only recently had time to fly in from Gotham.
"I really appreciate the storage facility, back in Gotham. It's nice to have some of the things I grew up with here, in my own apartment. And with Wayne Irig passing away last year...I'm afraid I would have lost all of it, if everything had still been at his place."
"It was my pleasure," Bruce replied. "I'm glad you got to hold on to the things you wanted to. I know, for me, there are things in my house I could never part with, for the memories attached to them."
"Yeah," Clark nodded. "Walking into that storage unit...it was like taking a trip back in time. I kept half expecting to see my dad sitting in this chair, or Mom sitting at her sewing machine." He sighed and allowed a silence to lapse between them.
"So, how are you enjoying Metropolis, Master Clark?" Alfred asked.
"I love it here," he answered honestly. "I feel like...like I'm finally where I belong. No offense to you or to Gotham, of course," he quickly amended. "But there's something about Metropolis...something I can't quite place my finger on."
"Uh huh. And it has nothing to do with Lois Lane, I'm sure," Bruce teased.
Clark felt his face go hot as a blush overtook him. "Well..." he stammered.
"Uh huh," Bruce repeated.
"Okay, yes, I can admit it. Meeting Lois has been amazing. Working with her every day...being her friend...that alone would have made me want to stay here. Even just working for The Daily Planet would have been good enough. But there's something else. Something about the city itself that just feels right."
"It's a good city," Bruce agreed. "As a matter of fact, I'm toying with the idea of building another office here. Sort of a support hub for Wayne Tower, back in Gotham. The two cities are close enough in distance that it wouldn't be a hassle to pop in as needed. And the Wayne Enterprises is growing. We need more offices, plain and simple."
"That'd be great!" Clark said. He truly meant it. He loved seeing Wayne Enterprises expand and succeed.
"Actually, we're already expanding into Metropolis, in a way," Bruce added, almost as an afterthought. "We're merging Wayne Tech with S.T.A.R. Labs. They'll still operate as normal, but we'll be sharing our resources and discoveries with each other."
"Makes sense. Wayne Tech and S.T.A.R. Labs are the leaders of their fields. Technology under your company and medicine for S.T.A.R. Labs. Teaming up...there's a lot of good that can come from such a relationship,” Clark said thoughtfully.
"We think so too," Bruce said with a nod. "We're hoping it will lead to better, more effective medical breakthroughs. We're pretty excited about it, particularly since Dr. Bernard Klein will be heading the Board."
Clark's eyes widened a bit. "I've read about him. He's a smart guy."
Bruce nodded. "He is."
“Sounds like a pretty amazing merge,” Clark offered, approval shining through in his voice.
"Anyway, the merge won't happen until next year, once we settle all the fine details." Bruce waved his hand in the air, as if dismissing the thought.
"When you announce it to the public," Clark began, thinking ahead already, "I'm going to need an exclusive interview. Perry will skin me alive if I don't." He grinned.
Bruce laughed. "Done."
"So how was London?" Clark asked, changing the subject.
Bruce shrugged and sighed.
"Tedious, if I may say so," Alfred answered instead.
"Uh oh. What happened?"
"Nothing. That's the problem. Two weeks and we got nothing accomplished. I'd feared that would be the case but I’d hoped for something at least. But Theodore Rammel is not an easy man to strike a deal with. The London venture might be out of reach, for the moment anyway."
"Sorry, Bruce," Clark offered sincerely. "I know how much you were hoping it would pan out."
The billionaire nodded. "Next time," he said quietly.
After half a minute of silence, Clark spoke up once more.
"Alfred?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I was wondering...could you make me a suit?"
"Of course, Master Clark. What style would you like? I'll contact Monsieur Dupont and have him make whatever you'd like."
"Oh...no," Clark gently corrected. "Not that kind of suit. I meant the other kind. With Bruce's permission to utilize your services, of course."
Both men perked up and looked at Clark intently. He tried to read their expressions. Alfred, at least, was extremely interested. He could tell by the way the older man's eyes gleamed and seem to dance with readiness for the challenge. He seemed to sit up in even straighter than before. Bruce, on the other hand, was harder to gauge. He was, perhaps, a little too good at Batman's neutral personality.
"What kind of suit?" he finally asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Clark took a deep breath before taking the lunge. "A super suit," he said, simply and honestly.
"You mean, you want to resurrect Nightwing?" Alfred asked.
Clark shook his head and stood up. He felt compelled to move, even if it was only pacing.
"No. I wasn't kidding when I said I was done with Nightwing. It's not that I have hard feelings toward that alter ego. It's just...I loved being Nightwing. But I've already embraced the night and the darkness. I want...I need...to be able to help people in the daylight. I have these abilities...these powers. I can do a lot more good if I don't have to hide in the shadows."
"Clark, I appreciate what you're saying but...are you sure it's a good idea to go out there and show people what you can do? What you can really do?" Bruce asked.
"No," Clark said again. "I'm not sure. I don't know if people will hate whatever character we create, like some did when I was Nightwing. I don't know if flying around in broad daylight will terrify, rather than reassure, the public. All I know is, three months ago, when I first arrived here in Metropolis, I stood by helplessly while a young girl was trapped in a collapsed building. I could have saved her in seconds if I had a character I could become, to protect my identity. But I couldn't. I still have nightmares about all the 'what ifs' and how it would have been my fault for not helping when I could have."
"I know you want to help," Bruce offered after a couple of seconds. "But...people will know you aren't like them. They'll come after you. People hate and fear what they don't understand."
"I know, and I've thought about that...at great length," Clark assured him. "But it's a risk I need to take."
"There will be those who will want to see you dead," Bruce pointed out in a flat voice. "I don't want to see that happen."
"Believe me, neither do I," Clark replied. "But, aside from that Kryptonite we accidentally discovered a while back, nothing can hurt me." He sighed, stopped pacing, and looked Bruce in the eyes. "Bruce, you know as much as I do, that my life is already on the line, every single day...so to speak. I'm a reporter. Any lunatic criminal could see me as a threat and decide they want to eliminate me. Last month Lois and I had a guy pull a gun on us, simply for asking for an interview. And he was the victim!"
Bruce studied him for a minute, his face that same, unreadable mask. After a small eternity, some of the hardness melted away and he nodded.
"You're right,” he said, his voice coming out as a defeated sigh.
Clark blinked. He'd expected more pushback from Bruce before the man might finally agree with him.
"I am?" he asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I mean, I am," he amended a second later.
"Look, Clark, I’ll go on record here. I don't like the idea of you exposing yourself to the public the way you're planning to. But I also know you'd never do it unless you were certain it's the only way to keep helping."
"It is," Clark said softly. "I've been thinking about it since my last time out as Nightwing. The need to be able to go wherever I can help, whenever I’m needed, has only grown stronger. That earthquake in South America? I've been watching the news all week. If I had the freedom to fly down there and help, I could have the roads unblocked in an hour or two, so the emergency crews could get to the people who need them. It's killing me inside to not be able to help."
"Even so, you can't possibly be at every disaster or emergency, every single time," Bruce reminded him.
"I know," Clark replied with a solemn nod. "I've thought a lot about that too. I'll have to prioritize a bit. Obviously, huge natural disasters would be higher than, say, a carjacking. It'll also be easier to stop crime in Metropolis than elsewhere, simply because I'll be closer to the action here and be able to pick up on it with my super hearing." He shrugged.
"It won't be easy for you to ignore cries for help," Bruce said, his voice serious but concerned. "I know you too well to think you'll be okay with having to pick and choose who to help."
Again, Clark nodded. "I know. But it’s nothing I haven’t had to do before. We had to pick and choose our battles in Gotham on occasion. Helping some people is better than helping none at all."
As he said the words, a memory flashed before his eyes. He'd been seven at the time. It had been a long, hot summer and a series of storms had spawned tornadoes in the area. One twister had ripped right through the center of town, but had mercifully dissipated before it could tear its way across the farmlands in the surrounding area. Several buildings in town had been torn apart. The bookstore had vanished. All that had stood where the church had once been was the heavy marble altar and a pile of debris. Half the school had been damaged - most of the roof had been ripped away. Several houses had been in various stages of collapse from the powerful tornado. Cars had been dragged in every direction from the winds. Power lines had snapped and live wires had laid in the streets, shutting down the town until professionals could remove and repair the danger.
Jonathan and Martha had immediately volunteered to help with the restoration efforts. Every capable person in Smallville had helped in what ways they could. His parents had chosen to dedicate their time to helping the Baron family. The twister had done serious damage to their house. The roof was gone. Every window had shattered. The entire back half of the house had been demolished.
"Why are we only helping the Barons?" Clark had innocently asked one afternoon, while he watched his father and two of the other men cutting pieces of wood for the new house frame that was being built.
"What do you mean, son?" his dad had asked, looking up from measuring the beam he was about to mark for Ted, who was manning the saw.
"There's lots of people who have broken houses," Clark had clarified. "Not just the Barons. But we haven't gone to their houses and built stuff. Not the Dickersons or the Cranz family or even the Franks."
"Ah, I see," Jonathan had said, the familiar amused twinkle in his eyes. "You think it's maybe a little unfair that we've spent the last week here, instead of moving from house to house? Is that it?"
"Well...yeah. I guess."
"Clark," he'd said, smiling and putting his hand on Clark's shoulder. "When things like this happen, it's easy to think that one or two men...or even a group of people...working on only one task doesn't really amount to much. But we're only one person, each of us. There's only so much we can possibly do at a time. So, we take it one task at a time, and we do that job well, instead of rushing around from place to place. We take our time and use our talents to the best of our ability. And whatever good we can do...whatever help we can give...helping one person is better than not helping at all. And once we finish our work here, then we can move on to whoever else still needs a hand."
"I get it," Clark had said, brightening a bit. "And I guess...there are a lot of other people helping. Pete's folks are helping to fix the roof on the grocery store. Lana and her family are helping with the food and clothing collection to help people replace what they lost."
"Exactly," Jonathan had said, nodding once. "We do what we can. No one can do everything, no matter what abilities they have."
"Whatever I can do, it will have to be enough," Clark said aloud, snapping back to the present, though he wasn't quite sure if he was trying to reassure himself or Bruce.
"If you're absolutely sure," Bruce began.
"I am," Clark said, before Bruce could finish.
"Then...what did you have in mind?" the billionaire asked.
Clark blinked twice in disbelief. Had he just heard that right? Had Bruce agreed to allow Alfred to assist in creating the alter ego Clark had been toying with for the last three months?
"Clark?" Bruce prompted after a minute.
That snapped Clark out of his shocked thoughts. "Huh? Oh. Uh, I mean...thanks." He chuckled. "Sorry, I guess I was expecting more of a pushback from you."
"I still could, if you'd prefer it," Bruce replied with a smirk.
Again, Clark laughed. "No, that's quite all right."
"Master Clark? What kind of super suit did you have in mind?" Alfred asked, repeating Bruce's earlier question.
Clark shook his head. "I don’t have a concrete idea just yet. I kind of liked the overall feel of the Nightwing suit - the tight fit cut down on the wind resistance when I flew, and the cape gave me a bit of...modesty...in the back."
Alfred nodded as Clark spoke, mentally making his notes, Clark knew.
"And a mask, I assume?" he asked, gesturing with one hand, as if it was a given.
Clark shook his head again. "No. Not this time. I want people to see me. I want them to know I'm not hiding anything from them. A mask suggests a certain level of...secrecy."
"But you will be hiding information from them," Bruce pointed out, leaning back and settling deeply into the couch cushions.
"My true identity," Clark nodded. "I know. I've thought about that. Hopefully showing my full face, without the glasses interfering with my visual abilities, of course, will be enough to stop people from prying too deeply. And besides, I won't really be me. I'll be this new character we'll create. Which is why I want bright, distracting...even clashing...colors used for the suit. I want to put this character as far from Clark Kent as I can."
Bruce thought about it for a moment. "It's just crazy enough to possibly work," he admitted.
"It has to work," Clark insisted.
"Okay, so, the same basic cut as the Nightwing suit," Alfred said. "Any particular colors, sir?"
"Hmmm," Clark mused, thinking it over. "Maybe blue," he finally said.
"A dark blue would look dashing, if I may suggest it," Alfred replied.
"Yeah," Clark said, nodding. “But not too dark. Is there such a thing as a bright, dark blue out there?” he laughed.
"I think I know just the shade we can use. It might even invoke images of a police uniform, and law and order," Bruce put in. Then he smiled wryly. "Even though it would be worn by a vigilante."
Clark grinned. "Well, I never claimed to be perfect," he joked.
Bruce roared a laugh. "You and me both, it would seem."
"A vibrant dark blue," Alfred said, gently bringing everyone back to the task at hand, "for the body suit. If you want to provide a contrast, I would go with red, maybe a hint of yellow. Not only will it 'pop,' as they say, but it should provide the distraction you're hoping to get from the outfit."
"That works for me," Clark shrugged. "You're the expert on super suits, so whatever you think is best, I'm willing to go along with. Just…I’m not a huge fan of yellow, so let’s keep that to a minimum. I like the idea though."
"And this new character's name, Master Clark?" Alfred asked.
Clark was struck dumb. In all the thought he'd given to this new character, he'd never once settled on a name.
"I...don't have one yet," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm sure I'll think of something...eventually."
"The sooner, the better," Bruce said. "We'll need to figure out how to 'brand' you, so to speak."
"You mean like the bat symbol," Clark said, understanding. A thought occurred to him. "Wait here. I think I have an idea."
He crossed the living room to his bedroom, then pulled out the old cedar trunk his mother had always kept at the foot of her and Jonathan's bed. It had been one of the things Clark had saved, and he was glad, even now, to have that small piece of home with him. At the bottom, under the blanket his mother had made for him, was the manila envelope he'd carried with him into the halfway house and kept close during his homelessness. He opened it and took out the single item contained within the creased and dirty envelope.
"Here," he said, coming back into the living room and holding his prize before him. "Put this on the chest. This will identify me to the world."
"What is it, if I may ask, Master Clark?"
"I think...I think it's who I am. Or...who I used to be, when I was born, before I was sent to Earth. When I saw those messages in the globe...you know the ones? Where my biological parents appeared to me and told me about Kypton's demise? They both had this symbol on their chests. I think it's maybe some kind of family crest or something. Something that announced to their planet that they were the El family. Why else would they have been wearing it? Why else had they made sure that the same symbol was on the blanket I was wrapped in?"
Clark studied the scrap of fabric in his hand. It was roughly diamond shaped with a stylized S enclosed within the borders of it.
Jor-El and Lara had both worn the symbol. They had appeared to be strong, elegant people, and smart as well. All of that equipment he'd seen in the hologram had looked extremely scientific. The messages had alluded to the fact that they hadn't been able to find a way to fix their dying world. Even if the S shape didn't stand for their family, Clark felt that it at least marked them as important members of their society. To wear the S now, as he embarked on his quest to save the people of Earth, was an honor of the highest degree, in his mind.
"This is who I will be," he said quietly, more to himself than to either of the other two men sitting on his couch. "This symbol was always meant for me."
***
"Hey, Lois?" Clark asked, the next day, just before they were to leave for the night.
"Hmm?" she answered, distractedly, as she checked her email one last time.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Uh huh," she replied, her attention still mostly on her computer screen.
"Lois, I'm serious," Clark said, sitting down on the edge of her desk.
"That's great, Clark," she said, scrolling through the items on her screen.
"It's horrible, Lois," Clark went on, making up whatever came to mind. "They say it'll be the biggest disaster to hit the world since the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs. The Double Fudge Crunch Bar company is going out of business! And with the impending coffee shortage..."
"What?" Her head snapped up to look at him.
"Ah, I see I have your attention now," he teased, grinning.
"Not funny," Lois said, crossing her arms. "None of that is meant to be joked about." Though she said it as an admonishment, he couldn't miss the amusement in her eyes.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to offend the sacred."
She rolled her eyes but grinned. "I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But don't let it happen again." She wagged a scolding finger at him.
Clark mock bowed. "As you wish."
"Okay, so what did you really want?" she asked after a couple of seconds, while she shut her machine down.
"Well," he began slowly. "The White Orchid Ball is coming up in a few weeks."
"Yeah?"
"I was wondering if...you might want to go. With me, that is," he clarified. "I mean, I know you're probably going to go anyway, being a member of the press and all."
She nodded. "Well...yeah. I go every year. Anyone who's anyone goes to The White Orchid Ball. It's the biggest event of the year...at least, in Metropolis," she amended quickly. It was well known that there was an informal competition between Lex Luthor and Bruce Wayne to see who threw the more opulent ball each year. "You're going?" She blushed, apparently embarrassed. "I mean, I know you're with the press too and all but..." She let her voice trail off.
Clark nodded. "I feel like I have to," he admitted as he helped her into her coat. "I've known Lex Luthor a long time. He's come to pretty much all of Bruce's major events. Well, I guess...some of the events were mine too. Some of the charity ones," he clarified. "It wouldn't look right if I didn't go."
"You don't sound too thrilled about going," Lois pointed out. She slung her purse over her shoulder and they began to make their way to the elevators.
Clark sighed. "I'm actually really looking forward to getting to meet some of the people who will be there. Not the celebrities and other rich people," he added quickly. "I mean the other members of the press. I feel like I really missed out on stuff like that when I was doing the overseas reporting for the Gotham Gazette.”
“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully, “I guess you would have missed that kind of stuff, for the most part.
“I mean, I did meet some reporters from other papers but it’s not really the same, when you know the chances are slim that you’ll run into them again.”
“Understandable,” Lois said, nodding to herself. “But the ball is more than just meeting colleagues. It’s a great chance to rub elbows with high society and make those kinds of important connections. I’ve nabbed a number of exposes just from talking to people at the ball. And this year, I’m going to nail the one that really matters. I’m going to get Lex Luthor himself to agree to an interview with me.”
“He never talks to reporters,” Clark said with a visible shudder.
“I’ll be the first if it kills me,” Lois vowed.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Clark replied, not bothering to hide his disdain for the billionaire.
“Whoa,” Lois said, stopping dead in her tracks and spinning on her heels to face him. “You have something against him?”
Well,” Clark hedged with a shrug.
“Oh, come on, Clark! You can’t leave this without an explanation,” she demanded.
“Okay, fine. To be perfectly honest and blunt with you, I really don't like or trust Luthor."
Lois looked almost like his words had physically slapped her. He tried to ignore the look and kept walking as she spoke. "What? Why? He's a great man, from all accounts. He's a self-made billionaire. He gives a ton to charity every year. His company employs tens of thousands..."
"I know," Clark said, gently cutting her off before she could truly get started babbling. He stabbed a finger onto the Down button at the elevator bank once they reached them. "There's just...something about the man, Lois. Something I can't put my finger on. But I get extremely uneasy when he's around. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. It's like...like what a prey animal must feel like in the presence of a hunter."
Lois looked at him in surprise. "You're...kidding, right?"
"I wish I was. Look, Lois, I know evil when I see it. I've been through a lot in my life," he began. A second later, the elevator softly dinged and the silver door slid open. They boarded and he pressed the button for the parking garage. When the door shut again, he spoke. "I've met a lot of really great people, and a lot of people who are really, really great at pretending to be great people. Luthor is one of the latter. I just...I can't prove it. One day, perhaps."
The door opened again and they exited into the underground parking garage. Lois was parked right by the elevator bank, which Clark was thankful for. It had been a freezing day, and was steadily growing colder. The forecast was even calling for light, scattered snow flurries. He didn't want Lois to be cold. They hurried to the car and Lois unlocked it swiftly. They climbed inside and Lois cranked the heat up, while the car idled in place. After a few minutes, as the heat began to slowly make the car more bearable, she turned to him.
"What did you mean just now? About seeing evil and being through a lot in your life?"
He sighed as the memories flooded back to him. His heart hurt and he grew sad. "Not in the car,” he pleaded. "Let's go somewhere and get some food. Then, if you still want to know, I'll tell you everything."
Lois appeared to mull it over. She nodded slowly. "Fine. Your place. Call Tony's while we drive. We'll pick up dinner on the way."
"Fair enough. And...thank you, Lois."
She nodded again. "I do want to know, you know." He voice was soft, concerned, curious.
"I know. I promise to tell you. And I always keep my promises."
To Be Continued…
