Clark carefully opened the door to his apartment, ensuring that the two large cardboard boxes he was balancing didn't tip over. Not that a spill would do the contents any harm. It was, after all, just a bunch of fabric suits. But it felt somehow wrong to even think of the boxes tumbling over. Whatever was inside - whatever design Alfred had concocted - it was his new identity - at least as far as when it came to helping save people's lives. In his mind, it was almost as if a living, breathing person was contained within the cardboard he held, and he felt a certain amount of reverence for that.
As soon as he'd worked the door open enough, he slipped inside and used his foot to kick the door shut again. He headed straight for his couch and gingerly deposited the boxes on the plush cushions. Then he went and locked the door again. He was itching to open the boxes and see what Alfred had created for him, but he felt dirty from having been in Lex Luthor's home. Sighing, he went into his bedroom and striped out of his tuxedo, placing the pieces of the garment to the side to bring to the local dry cleaner. He couldn't help but to smile to himself a little. Lois had seemed very appreciative of the tailor-made tuxedo. True, he'd had it made several years before for one of his and Bruce's charity dinners, but there was something about a tux that never went out of style.
Naked, he strode through his apartment, heading for the bathroom. Normally, he'd shower at super speed, in order to get that much closer to delving into the boxes awaiting him in the living room. But not tonight. Tonight he lingered under the hot spray of water and methodically scrubbed his skin until he no longer felt the phantom sheen of slime that always coated his body each time he'd ever been in Luthor's presence. After fifteen minutes, he finally shut off the water and stepped out of the shower stall, his skin tingling with cleanliness. He toweled off slowly, making sure to get himself completely dry, then he used his heat vision to ensure that any stubble that had dared to start growing was seared away.
In short, he was stalling.
And he knew it.
"Why am I so nervous about this?" he asked himself in a near-whisper.
It was true. As excited as he was about seeing what Alfred had created for him, there was a very real part of him that was nervous about it. Oh, he was sure that Alfred had come up with something amazing, but there was something that felt very permanent about all of this. He knew that, whatever character he found waiting in those boxes, this was it. This would be the last alter ego he would ever adopt, in an effort to help the people of Earth. There would be no going back from this. If it worked out, he would forever be whatever name came to be associated with the uniform. And if it didn't...well, Clark knew he didn't have it within himself to start over again and create yet another brand-new superhero. So, whatever he found inside the two boxes Bruce had given him, it was all or nothing.
Clark sighed, trying to calm his nerves, then he seared away the last few stray patches of barely-there stubble. Satisfied with the image he saw staring back at him in the mirror, he hung up his towel and retreated to his bedroom. He pulled on a pair of boxers and some fresh socks, then went to the couch. Carefully, he opened the first box, his hands nearly trembling in anticipation. He sucked in a gasp and then let out a low whistle as the contents finally came into his view. He reached in eagerly, and gently extracted the first blue unitard. He stood, holding it up before him, to get the full effect. His heart skipped a beat to see the stylized S crest on the chest. Then he turned his attention to the rest. Out came a pair of red briefs, followed by a rich red cape, with the same S on the back in contrasting gold threads. He was glad to see that Alfred had barely used any yellow – just a few hints of it – as he’d promised. For a long moment, he admired the cape. It would reach nearly to the ground when he wore it, making it look regal. And, more importantly, it would provide him plenty of coverage in the back.
Clark opened the second box and was greeted by a collection of red boots, which perfectly matched the color of the cape and briefs. He took a pair out and looked them over, impressed by the quality. He set them aside after a minute and turned his attention to a note that lay in the box. He opened the envelope and immediately saw Alfred's distinguished handwriting.
Master Clark,
I hope the costumes meet with your approval and live up to your expectations. As we’d discussed, I took the basic design of the Nightwing outfit and modified it. You may have also noticed, all of the protective armor has been removed, giving you a broader range of motion and making it easy to wear even under a business suit, if you so choose. Besides, the armor always was a bit unnecessary, in light of your unique aura, wasn't it?
I have sent you several copies of the costume, as one can never be too overly prepared for fighting crime, as I am sure you are well aware.
With this note, I have included my initial sketches for the costume, in case you might be interested in them. I dare say that you are more than ready to get out there and show the world who you are. You need only to decide your new identity.
I wish you the best of luck once you make your public debut, sir.
Alfred
PS - Stop by in uniform sometime. I should dearly like to see the final result on you.
Clark smiled to himself. It was funny. When he'd first moved into Wayne Manor, he'd been shy and withdrawn around Alfred. It had unnerved him to have someone constantly calling him "sir" or "master." But the older man's personality and good cheer was infectious, and soon Clark had felt like Alfred was the grandfather he'd never had. He'd even been able to overlook Alfred's refusal to stop using such formalities with him.
Setting the note aside, he looked through the boxes again. All totaled, he had half a dozen complete suits. Clark shook his head, awed and amused. Alfred had out done himself, as usual. Six suits were definitely more than Clark thought he'd need, but he was grateful all the same.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, "time to try one on."
He'd long ago perfected the art of spinning into and out of his Nightwing uniform, and knew he could do it with this new, still unnamed costume. But that felt wrong, somehow. In the future, he would definitely use the spin to change, but for now, for this first time, he would take it slowly and savor the sensation of transforming from a mild-mannered reporter into a super powered alien hero.
After consulting the sketches Alfred had enclosed, he pulled on his cape first. The shoulder harness was meant to sit beneath the blue unitard, so it made the most sense to put it on first. With the cape snuggly and comfortably in place, Clark then pulled the tight spandex suit on and zipped it closed. It was a hair snugger than what he'd grown accustomed to wearing as Nightwing, but he knew, from talking with Alfred, that the tighter fit would cut down on the wind resistance as he flew, which could make all the difference in getting to a disaster in time to save a life or not. The briefs were next and the boots were last.
When he was at last fully dressed, he strode confidently into his bedroom to check out the end result. What he saw took his breath away. He'd tried to imagine what he would look like in his new uniform, but seeing it in person exceeded his expectations. The outfit was imposing, yet approachable. The bright colors stood out, like a beacon of hope. Even the cape - which had only been there as a practical way to afford Clark some modesty in the back - looked dashing, like the cloak of a revered knight out of legend.
Clark smiled. "You've outdone yourself, Alfred," he said to the empty air around him. He glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight. "Plenty of time to take this out for a spin," he told his reflection.
He went out onto his terrace and stood for a moment in the chill night air. He breathed in deeply, savoring the moment. He wasn't ready to attempt a rescue as this new, still unnamed hero - not yet. He merely wanted to fly around and get a good feel for the suit. Already, he was used to the snug fit of the material against his body. It was like a second skin and it gave him a sense of sleek purposefulness. He stretched and flexed in the outfit, getting a feel for the range of motion it afforded him. Without the built-in armor, he could move freely, no different than if he was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. The Nightwing costume had been much the same, but the armor had cut into his range of movement, even if only minimally.
The light breeze snapped at his cape, urging him to take flight. Clark closed his eyes for several heartbeats, then opened them again. Resolve came over him and made him feel as if his very heart beat differently than before. He was ready.
This felt right.
This alter ego - regardless of the name he would eventually choose to call it by - was who he was meant to be.
Of course, he knew the costumed character would never replace Clark Kent. Clark was who he was, inside and out. It was who he'd always been, and always would be.
This character was meant only to be the physical representation of his powers. It symbolized everything he could do, not unlike how Nightwing had showcased a portion of how he could help people.
"Clark is who I am," he repeated to himself, his breath misting lightly in the air. "This costume is what I can do."
It was an important distinction in his mind. He'd learned long ago that keeping the two aspects of his life was vitally necessary for his mental health. It could be almost too easy, sometimes, to lose himself to the avatar of justice he'd taken on.
"This is it," he continued, whispering into the night. "Nightwing was a test run...my training wheels. This suit...this is the real deal, the character I was always meant to take on."
Without another thought, he shot up into the sky, careful to ensure that he didn't accidentally break the sound barrier. He wasn't ready for the world to know that an alien walked - or flew, as the case might be - amongst them. Not yet. Soon. But not on this night. All the while, he laughed mirthfully at the freedom he had to fly around his sleeping city. He could scarcely wait to introduce the world to his alter ego, in the broad light of day, instead of skulking around the shadows of night as Nightwing.
He circled the city twice, angling his path toward Lois' apartment building. He wanted to make sure she'd gotten home safely after dropping him off at his own apartment. The light was on in her windows, and he slowed to a halt, half a mile above the building. He tuned in his hearing and heard Lois rummaging around in her kitchen. He winced at the cacophony of sound that assaulted his ears as she opened a cabinet and a pile of what sounded like pots and pans spilled out onto the floor. She swore once and Clark severed the connection, satisfied that she was safe and sound at home.
He began to move again, pointing himself in the direction of Gotham City. It was still barely twelve-thirty at night. Alfred could very well still be awake. And Clark wanted his friend to see the results of his handiwork first hand, before anyone else in the world met their new protector. Even Bruce would have to wait. Clark owed it to Alfred to go to him first.
With that decision made, Clark zoomed off into the night, punching through clouds and racing the moonlight.
***
"Looks like Alfred is still awake," Clark said to himself as Wayne Manor appeared on the edges of his vision. With his sharp eyesight, he could see the warm glow of the mansion's lights spilling out through some of the windows. He grinned. "Wait until he gets a load of his handiwork."
He pushed himself to fly even faster, still keeping well below the danger of tearing the sound barrier. In the span of mere seconds, he crossed the distance and landed without a sound on the front porch. He rang the doorbell, then stepped back so Alfred would immediately be able to see the suit in all its red and blue glory.
Inside, he heard the man's exclamation of surprise. The television shut off and Clark heard footsteps coming closer. There was a heavy clunk as the first of the door locks was opened. Then the familiar scrape of the chain lock being drawn back. Finally, the jiggle of the doorknob as Alfred opened the door.
"May I help..." he began, then stopped and gaped. "Master Clark?"
"What do you think, Alfred?" Clark asked, spreading his arms and turning in a slow circle to show off the costume.
"I think we've definitely achieved our goal of creating a distracting outfit," the older gentleman said. "Not a single person will be studying your facial features all that closely. Not with an outfit that tight." He grinned as Clark's face went scarlet. "But come in. Let's talk in the living room, sir."
"You think it looks bad?" Clark asked, embarrassed, as he followed Alfred inside.
Alfred shook his graying head and closed the door. "It looks fabulous. Truth be told, sir, I feel like it's a bit more...you...than Nightwing ever was."
"I agree," Clark said, nodding. He took a seat on the opposite side of the couch from Alfred.
"Have you decided on a name for the suit yet?" Alfred asked.
"Not yet." Clark shook his head. "Whatever it is, it'll have to be really good. This..." he gestured to the outfit he wore. "All of this has to work, from the outfit, to the name, to whether or not the public accepts me or fears me. If it doesn't...this is the last costume I want to ever wear, Alfred. It's the last one I ever will."
"It will work, Master Clark," Alfred assured him. "Despite Master Bruce's fears about the public's acceptance of such a powerful being in their midst, I know they will welcome you with open arms."
"How can you be so sure? I’m not even all that confident." He crossed his arms over his chest protectively, as if it could conceal him from phantom eyes.
"Because, Master Clark, it's not the name, nor the outfit, nor the powers. It's the man inside the suit that matters. As soon as they see the kind of person you are, the people will love you." A wry grin twisted his lips upward. "Except, for course, for the criminals. They will loathe you with a passion."
Clark chuckled. "Yeah, well, you can't please everyone," he joked.
Alfred laughed in turn. "Very true, sir."
"So," Clark asked after a minute had passed. "Any ideas on a name? After all, you nailed it with the idea of Nightwing. And this new outfit is your creation more than it is mine."
Alfred shook his head. "I'm sorry to report that not a single name crossed my mind while I was creating the costume. With Nightwing, it was too easy. The name came first and the design of the suit followed on its heels. This time, I have no name to offer."
Clark shrugged. "That's okay. I'm sure some idea will come up sooner or later. Hopefully sooner but it's not exactly a requirement for going out there and helping people."
"And when might that be? I'll keep my eyes glued to the news, searching for a glimpse of the hero wearing blue, red, and yellow."
"I don't know," Clark admitted, standing up again. He felt too worked up to sit. "I love the suit - you really outdid yourself, Alfred. And I love that I'll have the freedom to use it in broad daylight."
"But?" Alfred prompted.
"But the first time this costume makes its appearance, it has to be something newsworthy. I want the world over to be introduced to this new avatar of mine in one fell swoop. And I know, I know," he said, waving the air before him and beginning to pace, "it sounds really conceited. But I'm not doing it for any personal gain. I just...I think it might be easier for the world to come to terms with the fact that a powerful alien wants to help them, if that first appearance is shown all over the globe. Saving a cat in a tree might be easy and make me feel good, but it's not necessarily going to make people fear me less than if I...I don't know. Stop a nuclear reaction from melting down or stop a plane from crashing."
"Rip the Band-Aid off swiftly," Alfred agreed with a vague gesture. "It may sting more, but it gets the ordeal over all the quicker."
"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better myself," Clark said, grateful for the metaphor Alfred had provided. It accurately summed up his feelings on the matter. He paused as a thought struck him. "What did Bruce have to say about the outfit?"
"He thought it to be a bit too...colorful. But then again, Master Bruce does tend to prefer a bit blander of a color palette, doesn’t he?" He shrugged, unfazed. "Does it bother you so much if he likes it or not, sir?"
"No," Clark said, shaking his head as he stopped pacing. "I've made up my mind about this. I'm an adult and I don't need his approval to take on this new identity. But...there's a small part of me that still feels like that same recently homeless kid, desperate to please my generous benefactor."
"Perhaps you need to speak directly with Master Bruce," Alfred suggested.
"I will. We're meeting for brunch tomorrow."
Alfred nodded. "Good, sir. And, for what it's worth, I think you've made the right decision...about using your powers and no longer living a life in the shadows. There are times when I almost wish Master Bruce would do the same."
***
"You're here early," Clark commented as he approached the little table where Bruce sat, already enjoying a cup of coffee and reading the morning edition of the Daily Planet.
"And you're late," the billionaire grinned. He folded the paper again and put it to the side.
Clark checked his watch. "By two minutes. There was an accident on Tenabross Avenue and the cab had to make a detour."
Bruce nodded and gestured to the seat across from him. "How'd you enjoy the packages last night?"
Clark knew that his eyes lit up as he slid into the booth. "The suits are fantastic, Bruce. Thanks again for letting me borrow Alfred to create them. It means a lot to me."
"The more I've thought about it, the more I understand why you want to do it. And I'm proud of you for making that decision."
"Really? Did you talk to Alfred this morning?" Clark wondered.
Bruce frowned for a second. "No, why?"
"Just...nothing. I stopped by your place last night so Alfred could get a look at what he made. And I happened to mention that while I know I don't need permission to...do what I'm planning to do, that there's a part of me that kind of wants your approval anyway. Stupid, I know."
"No, it’s not stupid. Actually, very understandable," Bruce replied. "When I first started out, I knew I was an adult and that I was the master of my own house. I could do as I wished. But I still wanted Alfred to approve. After all, he'd raised me ever since my parents had died. He’d been there from the moment I was born. He’d seen my first steps, tended to me as I cut my first teeth, ran out in the middle of the night to pick up medicine if I needed it. So, believe me, I understand that desire to hear someone else say ‘you’ve made the right choice and I support you.’ So, I’ll say it to you now. I think you’ve made the right choice – a brave choice. And I support what you’re about to go out there and do."
"I appreciate that," Clark said, just as the waitress appeared.
"Morning, handsome," she said, winking at him. "My name is Tracy and I’ll be your waitress today. What can I get for you?"
"Coffee, please," Clark said. "Bruce, you ready to order?"
"Yeah," came the reply, with the accompanying nod in the affirmative.
"Perfect,” Clark said. “I’ll have the two egg meal, sunny side. White toast and bacon. And can I swap out the hash browns for fries, please?"
"You got it, sugar. And for you, stud?" she asked, turning to Bruce as she jotted down Clark’s order on her pad of paper.
"The Belgium waffles, please. And another coffee."
"No problem. The kitchen's not busy so it shouldn't be long. If you need anything, just let me know. Anything at all," she stressed.
"Thanks," Clark and Bruce said in unison as Tracy swished away.
Bruce watched her go. "You said you like this place? The waitresses all seem a bit...borderline inappropriately flirty."
Clark shrugged. "True, but the food is worth it. Are you complaining? I thought this place would fit right in with your playboy reputation," he teased.
“Not at all. But it seems a bit…not your style. You usually shy away from overt advances like that.”
“This is different. She’s a waitress, looking to boost her tips. It’s not like she’d actually want to date me or anything. So, I can overlook the flirtation.”
"And Lois?"
"What about her?" Clark asked guardedly. "She's the one who introduced me to this place. She's nuts about their Ruben sandwiches."
"That's not what I meant. And you know it."
"She and I are friends," Clark began slowly. "I've never know what it's like to have a best friend like her. No offense, that is. I consider you to be my brother, you know that."
Bruce nodded. "Mmm hmm."
"With Lois, it's different. I can't explain it properly. I just...my parents would have said it was like I found my soulmate in her."
"You love her." It was not a question.
"More than my own life," Clark admitted. He laughed ruefully. “I’ll probably regret telling you that at some point. But…there it is.”
The waitress chose at that moment to return with their coffees. Clark took his gratefully and immediately dumped in three packets of sugar and a couple of drops of milk.
Bruce looked appalled, as he usually did when watching Clark prepare his coffee. "After all these years, I still wonder: how do you drink it like that?" he teased, adding one sugar and stirring it.
"I ask myself the same question every time I watch you drink yours basically black," Clark shot back in a playful tone.
"Fair enough. Now...have you asked her out yet?"
"No," Clark said, a bit too quickly to his own ears. "I mean, not yet. We've only just come to terms with our friendship. I think we both need a little time. She's been hurt by coworkers she's dated before. And I've never been in a relationship that's lasted more than a couple of months. I've always been too afraid to let a woman get too close to me, because of who I am."
"Your abilities, you mean." Bruce’s voice barely broke the level of a whisper.
"Yes. I'm not...not even human," Clark replied, dropping his voice and only mouthing the word 'human.' He sighed. "What kind of sane woman could ever look past that and want to be with me?"
"You'll never know unless you give it a chance." Though he didn’t move, there was a definite shrug in Bruce’s voice.
"I know. But the thing is, once the knowledge is out there, there's no...putting the cat back in the bag, so to speak."
"The world will know soon enough. Maybe not that it's Clark Kent out there in the blue, but that there's someone not like them in the world. And trust me, you're an attractive man. Women - and probably some men - will be throwing themselves at you regardless of where you were born."
Clark thought it over. "Maybe," he agreed. "But there's no one I could possibly want who isn't Lois. And I don't want to be wanted for the things I can do. I want Lois to love me for who I am. So I have to be careful, Bruce. I need to make sure that, when I eventually do ask her out on a date, that she's accepting the invitation from Clark, not...the man in blue."
"Don't you think she'll be just as prone to falling for the icon you'll create?" Bruce asked thoughtfully. "That she may well have stars in her eyes that'll blind her to the average Joes all around her?"
"It's a risk I don't want to take," Clark agreed, looking down at his coffee and stirring it idly. "But it's one I have to. She's not ready for me to ask her out. She's only just accepted me as her work partner and best friend. So she can't know that it's me out there in the suit, once I introduce my new alter ego to the world. It’s too much, too fast, and I need to know it’s the real me she likes." He looked up sharply, cupping his mug with both hands. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"
Bruce looked pained. "Probably. I told you once that Vicki Vale and I have dated here and there. I loved her. I still do, in my own way. But my own secret? It's too great a wedge between us. That's why it never worked out. She got tired of me never being around, making up excuses for why I couldn’t be there when she needed me. I broke her heart, Clark. I broke her heart but, somehow, she found it within herself to remain my friend."
"Did you...did she ever find out?" Clark asked. "I mean, if she knows, she's never let on."
"No. I think she may suspect it but, as far as I know, she's never known for sure."
"If you love her, why haven't you told her...everything?" Clark asked carefully.
Bruce shook his head. "The same reasons you just gave. It can never be undone. And while I trust Vicki in most things, I'm not sure she'd take the news of my hobby well."
Clark nodded thoughtfully as he sipped at his coffee. "Yeah. She's a good reporter. It would tear her up, deciding to keep the secret and not print what's truly newsworthy, or to print it and destroy you in the process."
"Is Lois so different?" Bruce asked softly. There was no accusation, no judgment, only pure curiosity.
"I..." Clark paused and thought for a second, hanging his head. "I'm not sure. I want to say no, she would never betray my secret if she were to ever find out - and I know she'll need to know if we were ever to date and get serious - but...she's also the most driven, dedicated reporter I've ever met. It's no coincidence her nickname is Mad Dog Lane. And let’s face it, my story could well be Pulitzer material, if my debut goes the way I hope it will."
"Just...whatever you do, be careful," Bruce warned.
"Believe me, Bruce, I will."
To Be Continued…
