Free Falling, Part 4
By: C. Leuch
CJ’s first though as the darkness around him started to fade was that he was cold. And, he realized, he probably was not wearing much clothing, and whatever he was laying on was not exactly soft and warm. Without opening his eyes, he tried to summon the last thing he remembered, but all he got was a vague sense that something was wrong. The coldness, he realized…while it certainly was coming from the air and the hard surface beneath him, is was also coming from his arm, entering his body and following it upward toward his shoulder. Scrunching his eyebrows together, he weakly flexed his warm arm, intending the reach over and feel for the source of the coldness, but he found that that hand was already occupied. His efforts were greeted with a gentle squeeze.
“There he is,” he heard Jen say from very close by, and that was enough to cause a smile to form on his face and his eyes to open. There, sitting next to him, was his lovely wife, her hair gently pulled back to show her full face, which looked relieved, and very tired. She looked like an angel, his very own angel, and the warmth radiating from his heart at that moment made all the coldness vanish instantly.
“Here I am,” he said, his voice raspy. “And you are so beautiful.” That caused a smile to spread across her face, which only enhanced the effect. He tore his eyes away from her face and looked around, noticing that he was in the cave, probably on the table at the center, by the computer. With that realization, the memories of what had happened before he arrived came. He’d been shot! He tried to sit up a little to get a look at his shoulder, but the simple act of tensing his abdominal muscles caused a surge of pain, and he flopped back on his back with a low growl.
“Well, you look like death warmed over,” Jen said, standing at his movement and putting her free hand on his chest, gently applying pressure to keep him lying down.
“Gee, thanks,” he said, his eyes finally finding the source of the coldness in his arm: an IV line, which was entering his body through a large needle stuck in the inside of his elbow. He raised his eyebrows. How was it even possible that he could have an IV? But then again, how was it possible that he could’ve gotten shot?
Jen followed his gaze. “You, ah, lost some blood. Bruce thought that giving you fluids would help things out. It’s not like we could give you a blood transfusion.” He nodded gently and their eyes met. With a sly little smile, she leaned down and kissed him briefly, straightening up far too quickly. “Of course, the plus side of you being vulnerable is that we can give you some drugs that might actually help with the pain.”
“Oh, so that’s why everything seems a little…fuzzy,” he said, and chuckled. “You know, I’ve never been drunk before.”
Her hip leaned against the table and she took her hand from his chest. “You’re not drunk, you’re medicated. Drunk is more fun.”
“Okay, I’ve never been medicated before,” he amended himself, bringing his hand up and running it through his hair, and action which brought an unexpected ache, which only really went away once he was no longer touching anything. He then brought his hand back in front of his face and stared at it for a moment, noticing the dark bruise which was forming beneath the palm. “I don’t think I like this feeling. It’s like the sensation is delayed as it goes to my brain.” He wiggled his fingers a few times, then turned toward her. “Pain’s no fun, don’t get me wrong, but this is it’s own problem.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand again. “Bad for your reputation to be a little slow on the uptake?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Worse for my reputation to not be bulletproof.” That caused him to frown. Whether from the influence of the drugs or the bloods loss, it seemed that thoughts kept hanging around the periphery of his brain waiting to be fully formed, thoughts that were probably profound - deep insights into how it was, exactly, that he found himself with two bullet holes in his body, or what it would mean to him if the situation with his powers became permanent – but try as he might, none of those thoughts seemed to want to develop. Feelings, however, seemed to be somewhat enhanced in his current state, and aside from the strong affection for his wife, he was beginning to feel a growing sense of guilt. It was nothing new, he supposed, though in the past the guilt came from time not spent with the ones he loved. Now, though, the feeling was much stronger, probably because the stakes were higher given his lack of powers. This time being Batman didn’t just mean that he was out of the house instead of reading books to the kids, it meant that he could’ve died. Mortality, real mortality, not just the loss of identity, wasn’t exactly something that he’d ever had to contemplate, certainly not while playing around in spandex after hours. But tonight he had gotten hurt, badly, and Jen had been there for him. She helped to make sure he had made it safely home, had probably helped to play nurse while Bruce dug a bullet out of him, and had stayed by his side as he found his way back to consciousness.
He disengaged his hand from hers and brought it up toward her face, lovingly tracing her jawline, then up her cheek before brushing up against her hair and tucking a strand behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said, locking eyes with her.
“You don’t need to apologize for getting shot,” she said, putting her hand over his. “What in your history would indicate that could ever happen?”
“True. But when you contemplated life with me, I’m sure late night emergency surgery and the specter of losing me to, of all things, a third rate gangster fencing guns stolen from a police impound were the furthest thing from your mind.”
She shrugged. “I knew life would be interesting. I would say that I’m definitely getting my money’s worth in that respect.”
“I love you,” he said, and her smile returned.
“I know you do. And I know why you do what you do after hours, even if you don’t exactly know yourself.”
That thought amused him, although he wasn’t entirely sure what she was getting at. “I’m stopping bad guys…usually. Bringing the guilty to justice, providing closure for those who were wronged, all that stuff. I’m making the city a better place for everyone. It’s not that complicated.”
“You’re right, that part is very straightforward,” Jen said. “But that’s not WHY you do it.” He looked blankly at her, waiting for the punchline. His mind wasn’t exactly helping him out at the moment, and she seemed to sense that, giving him a crooked smile. “You live a charmed life,” she said, meeting his eyes with hers after a moment. “You were born with almost everything that a person could want – loving parents, family, a sharp intellect, a nice selection of superpowers, and devastating good looks.” She smiled suggestively. “We found each other and fell in love so easily. And even after your name was taken away, you still had everything you had before, and you were handed all this,” she said, gesturing to the cave around them.
“So, you’re saying I feel I have to atone for all the good things in my life?” he asked, connecting the dots to their only logical conclusion.
“No,” she said thoughtfully, shaking her head. “That makes it sound so negative. I think you feel grateful, and your way of showing gratitude is to give of yourself.” She ruffled his hair. “It’s a very Kent family thing to do, actually. You help out because you have so much love in your heart. And every time I see that, I love you even more.”
His heart swelled as the words sunk in, and he realized that it really was pretty obvious in retrospect. The awe he felt at her brilliance was making it hard for him to speak, and it took a moment before he was able to find his voice. “Well, you’re right that I would never have thought of it that way.”
“No, it’s not exactly macho, is it?” She made a face. He smirked back.
“How’d you get so smart?” he asked.
“What can I say? You rub off on a girl after a while.” They smiled at each other for a few long seconds, and he wondered again for the millionth time how it was that he had gotten so lucky in love. He managed to find someone who understood him fully and loved him despite his flaws and the difficulties that came with being his wife. She sighed, bringing him out of his introspection, and he realized that her teasing smile had faded, now replaced with a little frown. “We’re going to need all our combined brainpower to figure out how all this could’ve happened,” she said. He quirked at eyebrow, sensing that there was more information forthcoming. “Your mom called while you were out. Your dad lost his powers while at a comics convention in Australia.”
CJ snorted. The medication probably made that situation seem funnier than it actually was.
“Your brother’s in Texas. Guess he got burned pretty badly. And Laura… she lost her powers while flying and crashed to Earth. To top it off, there are reports of coordinated crime waves coming out of all the major cities….”
“Yeah, one of the goons at the warehouse mentioned that a criminal free-for-all was coming tomorrow,” he said.
“Which is now today.”
“Someone has to be masterminding this. They somehow found a way to strip us all of our powers so they could take advantage of our absence.” He shook his head with a frustrated growl. So many half formed theories floated around in his head, and he just couldn’t grasp any of them. “These drugs need to go away,” he muttered, drawing a sympathetic look from her.
“It was a one-shot deal,” she said, reaching across him to disconnect the IV. “I’m sure your brain will be back to its old self in no time. Until then, take it easy. The rest of us are on the case.”
“Any way I could take it easy someplace a little more comfortable?”
“Only if you think you can handle 52 steps up to the mansion.” She held out her hand to him, and he looked at it for a second before reaching up and taking it. She snaked her other arm behind him, supporting his back as he sat up, though it didn’t help the pain. He grimaced as he finally reached a full sitting position, then pondered if this really was the best decision. As he was contemplating 52 long stair steps, Jenny sat down on the table next to him and pressed herself against his good side. Her lips were quickly on his, and all conscious thought ceased while they kissed hungrily. Despite the pain in his shoulder, he wrapped his arms around her and got lost in the sensation of their kiss. He badly wanted to take things further, but he was acutely aware of his current limitations, so he drew out the moment as long as he could. All too soon it was over, and she was pulling away, though her hand stayed in his. Newly revitalized, he forced himself off the table and to a standing position, then, slowly, he made his way across the cave and up the stairs.
Jenny was a model of patience during his walk. There were no teasing remarks, just gentle encouragement and small talk, and he found himself drawing strength from her. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, he made his way to his bedroom, and the soft, welcoming mattress waiting for him. Almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, he slipped into a deep sleep, and by the time he came back to consciousness, the bright morning sun was streaming through his window. Opening his eyes again, he noticed that his wife was bed with him, her arm wrapped around his midsection. For a moment he was puzzled about what had woken him up, but then he noticed a little person crawling toward him from the foot of the bed.
“Hi, Daddy,” Adam said, wedging himself between CJ and Jen. CJ winced with a twinge of pain at the contact, but Jen just rolled onto her side, giving Adam more room to wiggle into.
“Hey pal,” CJ answered, attempting to awkwardly put an arm around him.
Adam wiggled closer to CJ, his head coming in contact with the bullet wound. CJ sucked in a sharp breath, causing Adam to look more closely at him. “You have an ouchie,” he said, pointing to the large gauze square taped over CJ’s bullet wound.
“Yeah, I do,” CJ answered.
Adam’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Did you get it from bad guys?”
CJ smiled and held off a chuckle. “What makes you think that?”
“Because bad guys hurt people,” he answered, very matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, sometimes they do, I guess,” CJ answered, wondering how he could explain the situation. He didn’t want his 5-year-old son scared of hypothetical bad guys coming to hurt his family, but he also didn’t feel comfortable lying. As he was internally debating what to say, Adam spoke again.
“I see Grandpa on TV sometimes fighting bad guys,” he said, and all of CJ’s internal thoughts ceased, replaced with raw shock. Beside him, he saw his wife stir, her head turning so that she was looking at their son.
“What do you mean?” CJ asked slowly.
“On the news and stuff. Sometimes if a bad guy is hurting someone, Grandpa Clark will come in and save them. He’s Superman.”
Jenny rolled so that she was facing CJ, and the two of them just looked at each other for a few long moments before they both turned their eyes toward Adam. “What makes you say that?” CJ asked.
Oblivious to their shock, Adam laid down and snuggled into the space between Jen and CJ, hugging his blanket close to him. “I couldn’t sleep one night and I was looking out my window when I saw Grandpa walk out of the house and into the yard. Then he became a blur and suddenly he was Superman. I yelled at him and he came into my room faster than I could blink, and he told me I was having a dream and should get back into bed, but I know it wasn’t a dream.”
CJ squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, bringing a hand up and running it through his hair. “Ugh, Dad,” he groaned.
“You know he’s Superman, right?”
CJ opened his eyes again and glanced at his wife, before turning back toward Adam, mustering a smile. “Yes, I was aware of that.”
“And he can fly! Can you fly?” he asked CJ, looking at him eagerly.
“No, I can’t. But Uncle Jon and Aunt Laura can.” Adam seemed momentarily surprised, then he smiled and nodded slowly. “I can do most of what he can do, just not the flying or the going fast thing,” CJ continued.
“So you can shoot laser beams out of your eyes?” Adam said, sitting up, excited.
“Yeah,” CJ answered with a nod.
“Can I see? Can you zap something on the ceiling? Maybe Mommy’s smelly candle over there?” he said, pointing to her chest of drawers and the candle on top that they tended to only light up during special occasions. Not that the kids knew that.
“Well, see, something happened…I can’t do any super stuff right now,” CJ answered. Adam, looking disappointed and a little confused, laid back down.
“Is that why you’re hurt?” Adam asked, and CJ nodded. “But Superman can’t get hurt,” he said in a small voice.
“Not most of the time,” CJ said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Honey, you haven’t told any of your friends about Grandpa, have you?” Jen asked, changing the subject to something a little less uncomfortable.
Adam shook his head vigorously. “Grandpa said it’s our little secret. But I almost told Tommy one day when he said Batman was better than Superman.”
CJ couldn’t help but smile. He looked at Jen. “Should I tell him?” he asked her, and she quirked an eyebrow.
“I don’t know why not at this point,” she answered.
“Tell me what?” Adam asked.
“Who Batman is,” CJ answered.
“It’s you. Duh,” Adam said, rolling his eyes. “But you don’t fight bad guys on the news, and Grandpa does, so he’s cooler. Plus he has a movie.”
“That movie’s a bunch of made up stuff, none of which is true” CJ said, suddenly grumpy.
Jenny seemed to find humor in the situation. “Well, Grandpa’s right about it being our secret, okay? You can’t tell anyone about it, no matter what.”
“I know,” Adam said, wrapping his blanket around his arm, then unwrapping it, repeating the motion a few times out of nervous habit.
“It’s not just his secret or my secret, it’s our family’s secret. Maybe someday you will be a super secret hero, too, but you can’t do that if everyone knows who you are already,” CJ said, trying to cover a serious message with a little bit of humor.
Adam seemed thoughtful. “Can I be SuperAdam?” he asked after a moment, and CJ couldn’t stop a chuckle.
“I think that kinda defeats the purpose of a SECRET identity,” Jen said, giving Adam a little tickle, which caused him to squirm and laugh.
“Maybe I can have a comic book, too, like Grandpa.”
“Or pin-up posters in teenage pop magazines, like Uncle Jon,” CJ said.
Jenny laughed and smacked him on his shoulder. Even Adam managed a giggle, despite the fact that he probably had no idea what CJ was talking about. They had officially entered a strange new world, and all the planning and thinking and worrying he had done about his son and how he would react once the family secret was out was now officially moot. Maybe when the time came, he would bring Adam down to the cave, let him play with some of the bat toys, give him a ride in the batmobile. Maybe someday he could fill the role of Robin, assuming that he would also likely be bulletproof…and assuming that whatever was affecting him would correct itself eventually.
“Are you going to go back to sleep for a while?” Jen asked Adam, and he shrugged after thinking for a moment.
“Can I just stay here?” he asked.
“I think Daddy needs to sleep a little more so he can feel better,” Jen said, glancing at CJ. “Maybe you and I can go get some breakfast and leave him alone.” She leaned closer to Adam. “I can tell you about flying with Grandpa,” she whispered to him, and Adam’s eyes lit up.
The two of them got out of bed a moment later, but not before CJ reached over to hug them both tightly. “Love you, pal,” CJ said to Adam as he skipped out of the room.
“Love you, too, Daddy,” Adam said without turning around.
CJ looked toward Jen and thanked her, which caused her to give him one of the smiles he found so beautiful. As they had left the room, he heard Adam start asking more questions and Jenny giving answers that he couldn’t help but smile at.
“Mom, who would win in a race between Grandpa and the Flash?”
“They both move so fast, I bet nobody could tell.”
“What’s the heaviest thing that you’ve seen Daddy lift?”
“A skyscraper.”
“Where’s the fortress of Solitude?”
“Grandpa and Grandma’s house in Metropolis.”
“Do you think that Batman will ever have a movie?”
“If he does, I’m not going to let you see it until you’re a teenager.”
CJ found himself drifting back to sleep as the questioning faded down the hallway. This time he knew it would be accompanied by dreams of his son helping with the family business. The thought was scary and comforting at the same time, but, CJ decided as he finally succumbed to the darkness, there was a lot to be said for not keeping secrets from his son.
***
Spencer North walked into the hotel bar, his eyes adjusting to the relative darkness. Tables skirted the perimeter of the room, and a long bar ran the length of the back wall. Behind the bar, shelves of liquor alternated with large-screen televisions. One television appeared to have a drama of some sort on it, the closed captioning relating the words being said, a small crowd gathered eagerly around, watching in rapt attention. The second television behind the bar had a soccer game on, drawing its own small crowd of somewhat rowdy onlookers. On the third television…. Spencer almost did a double take. The third was showing an American baseball game, and one lone individual sat in front of it. Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a baseball game – probably the year before – and right now it sounded positively relaxing.
Without another thought, he made his way over and sat next to the man watching the baseball game. He was unremarkable in almost every way, probably thirty-ish, wearing a polo shirt and jeans, his hair a dark black, and glasses on his face. In front of him was three quarters of a beer, though as Spencer watched, he took a heaty drink, lowering the level in the glass significantly. He then looked at Spencer and raised an eyebrow as recognition burned in his eyes. Spencer fought back a sigh. Now that he was a big shot movie star, it was almost impossible to go anywhere and not be recognized, even in Australia. Under normal circumstances he would probable hole up in his hotel room and not bother with confronting the crowds, but tonight he just had to get out.
“Spencer North,” the man said. Well, thought Spencer, at least he didn’t call him Superman.
“In the flesh,” he said. He started to turn away from the man, maybe try and deflect the inevitable small talk and try to enjoy the game and consume some adult beverages, but something about the man’s face caused him to do a double take. There was something…familiar about him that he just couldn’t place. “And you are?”
“Clark Kent,” the other man said. When he said his name, Spencer couldn’t help but think that he had been expecting him to say something else. The name was somewhat familiar, though.
Spencer nodded, still trying to place Clark Kent, to figure out when they’d met before. “So what brings you here tonight, Mr. Kent?”
“Oh, I’m stuck in town on an assignment and got a little lonely, I guess. Figured I’d see if they could tune in a game for me,” he said, sticking out his thumb toward the television. “Looks like I got lucky.”
“Who are you rooting for?” Spencer asked. The game was between two west coast teams – the Giants and the Padres.
Clark shrugged. “I have no rooting interest in this one. It’s just…I have so little time to sit down and watch a game anymore….”
“I know how that goes,” Spencer said. He had spent long enough in Australia, all things American were beginning to feel…exotic. “So who’s your team, then?” he asked, summoning the bartender. In short order he received his beer, then took a long sip from it and gave a contented smile. Beside him, Mr. Kent just look amused.
“I’m a Royals fan myself, though I hold out no hope of seeing one of their games down here. I can’t even get them in Metropolis.”
“The Royals? Really? If you’re from Metropolis, I would think you were a Metros fan.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ll root for the Metros if they’re playing. But I’m from Kansas, and the first baseball game I ever went to with my dad was a Royals game, so they’ll always have a special place in my heart.
Spencer felt himself relax somewhat, let his guard down a little. “The Royals are my team, too. Grew up in the Kansas City area myself. Small world, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Mr. Kent said, something ironic in his expression.
They talked a little about memories of going to games at Kauffman Stadium as kids, about where they were when the Royals won the World Series, and each managed to finish his beer and order another as their conversation progressed. And he figured out where he knew Mr. Kent from, too – he worked as a reporter for the Daily Planet, and had been featured in some of their advertising not too long ago. It had been a long time since Spencer had met someone who hadn’t broached the topic of Superman within the first sentence or two of their conversation. Of course, Mr. Kent was from Metropolis, and had undoubtedly interviewed Superman more times than Spencer could count, so he was probably old hat to him, too. It felt good, really good, to be able to hold a real, normal conversation like this, drinking beers and watching baseball. Eventually the topic transitioned into family.
“My wife brought the kids down for a week. They just left last night,” Spencer confided in his new friend. “When I’m out shooting a movie, that’s all we ever seem to get – a week here or there where we can be a family. It’s hard, but then, once it’s over, I can give them my undivided attention for however long they want. They’ll probably end up getting sick of me and begging me to do another one.”
Clark laughed gently. “So how old are your kids?”
“Two and five. Not really old enough to appreciate a vacation in Australia, but we took them to see some kangaroos and koalas anyway.”
Clark looked off in the distance for a long moment. “Enjoy them while you can. Kids grow up so fast. One day you’re changing their diapers, and the next they’re going off on their own.”
“You have kids?”
“Three,” Clark answered quickly. “And five grandkids, if you can believe it.”
“I absolutely cannot,” Spencer answered. “What, did you start when you were five?”
Clark gave a sly smile. “Thirty. Guess they just kept me young,” he said.
Spencer shook his head and regarded Clark Kent more closely. There was no way he was as old as he was alluding to. There was no gray in his hair, no wrinkles around his eyes. He looked fit and healthy, and, Spencer realized, he looked more than a little like the famous hero that Spencer made his living portraying. It could be the alcohol talking, but it sure was a strong resemblance. He mentally shook himself, almost laughing at the absurdity of that notion. “I think I need photographic evidence,” he said, trying to keep things light.
Clark looked like he was going to decline, but after a moment, he gave a small groan and pulled out his cell phone. “I don’t usually keep photos on this phone,” he said, turning it on. He pushed some buttons, brought up some programs, and after what felt like an eternity, he brought up a picture and turned the phone toward Spencer. “My granddaughter with my daughter on Memorial Day,” he said. On the screen was a beautiful woman with dark hair gathered into a loose braid, holding the hands of a toddler, who looked to be walking unsteadily. The woman resembled Clark Kent – her coloring was the same, and there was a lot of similarity in their faces. The toddler had a fairer complexion, and her hair was almost blonde.
“Adorable,” Spencer said, sincere.
Clark turned the phone back toward himself and swiped the screen a few times before pointing it toward Spencer again. “That’s my oldest, Jon, his wife, and their twins.” Jon looked like he could practically be Clark’s double. He was pushing one twin in a swing, while his wife pushed the other, and everyone was smiling. It was the prototypical happily family, and Spencer felt a twinge of jealousy.
“You’re a lucky guy,” Spencer said, taking a sip of his drink.
“I try not to take it for granted,” Clark said quietly. His expression flashed for a moment, and Spencer suspected that there was an undercurrent of something else there, but it went away as quickly as it came. “So, come on, you have to show me your family photos,” he said, his expression once again pleasant.
Spencer pulled out his phone, and his photos were only a touch away. He showed Clark pictures of the excursion to the zoo, of the kids on the movie set, his little boy dressed in a Superman t-shirt with Spencer in the full suit. In one of them, Spencer held up his son, making him “fly.” That one caught the eye of his companion.
“What does he think about the fact that you’re Superman?” Clark asked, using his fingers to form quotation marks around his character’s name.
“He knows it’s just pretend. He’s seen me maim myself pretty good while trying to be handy around the house…that tends to disillusion a kid, even if all his friends keep telling him about all the cool things his dad can probably do.” Clark laughed at that. “But I’ve seen him give me some funny looks when the news comes on about something the real Superman did. I don’t think he grasps the fact that daddy’s playing the fictional version of a real person. He actually asked me what Superwoman is like the other day.” He cocked an eyebrow and looked at Clark. “I bet you’ve met her, being a reporter and all. What IS she like?”
Clark fingered his beer glass, looking like he was going to take another drink, but hesitating. “She’s in Gotham, I’m in Metropolis, so I haven’t really met her professionally.”
“But Superman must’ve said something about her. I know you and your wife get your fair share of interviews with him.”
“He’s really proud of her,” Clark said, his eyes far away, and a smile on his face. “I mean, he’s proud of all his kids, but there’s something about fathers and daughters, and she’s his little girl….” He seemed like he was going to say something more, but he looked wide-eyed at his beer for a second, then sighed. “I really shouldn’t have gotten a second drink,” he said with a shake of the head. “I am feeling this way more than I’m used to.”
Spencer sloshed is beer around a little. “I think it’s a little more alcoholic than its American counterpart.”
“No, I’m just a bit of a lightweight right now,” Clark said, that ironic expression flashing on his face again as he stretched his left shoulder back and winced slightly. “And damned if I’m not starting to feel my age.”
Spencer glanced over at him with a more critical eye, but nothing really seemed amiss. He didn’t have a ton of experience on the bar scene, but he had been a bachelor once, and he knew what someone looked like when they were in the bag. “You seem okay to me.”
“All the same,” Clark said, pushing the bar stool away, “I should probably call it a night. It’s been great speaking with you.”
Disappointment knifed through Spencer. He was having a good time, really enjoying the conversation, and it was a shame that the evening was ending so early. “It was great talking to you, too, Mr. Kent. Hopefully we’ll meet again sometime,” he said, holding his hand out.
Clark shook it eagerly. “Likewise. Take care of yourself, Spencer North,” he said, then stood up and turned to walk away.
His words shook something loose inside Spencer, and he flashed to the last thing Superman said to him earlier that day. It was the exact same phrase, said in the same way with the same inflection, and almost a twinge of fatherliness. He remembered that it had caused a feeling of warmth to wash over him when it was said earlier in the day, and that same feeling was asserting itself now. And his voice…it was the same voice. Abruptly he stood, making a mental note that Superman was the same height as Clark Kent, had the same hair color, the same general build. It had occurred to him earlier that Clark Kent looked a lot like Superman. What if it wasn’t just a resemblance? The thought caused his heart to race. “Clark?” Spencer said, causing him to pause and turn, his eyebrows raised in question. “Are you…?” he started, at first intending to ask if he was Superman, but he just couldn’t do it. This wasn’t the place, and anyway, he wasn’t all that sure at that moment that he wanted that confirmation. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked instead. If Clark was Superman, and he was affected by the beer, feeling aches and pains, then he couldn’t be okay, could he?
“I’m…fine,” he said. “Feeling normal, I guess.” His smile was kind, though Spencer could now see a bit of a gloss in his eyes.
“Even so, if you need anything, even someone to talk to, feel free to knock on my door.” He reached for a cocktail napkin, wrote his name and room number on it, then handed it to him. Clark looked it over quickly, then folded it, put it into his pocket and nodded. With that, he walked out of the bar, an odd hitch in his step that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.
Spencer sat and turned back to the baseball game, but he didn’t really see it. His mind was reeling, going over their conversation, and he couldn’t help but question himself. All of a sudden, it felt like up was down, black was white, right was wrong…Superman was a guy just as outwardly normal as any guy off the street. Clark Kent couldn’t be Superman, could he? He talked about growing up in Kansas, he had a family, grandkids… he was a well-known reporter. He had an attachment to the Royals that just couldn’t be faked; he told stories about bringing his kids to games, and later about his son playing collegiate football, following in Clark’s footsteps. One the face of it, none of those things could ever remotely pertain to the Man of Steel. But…it was known that Superman was a father, and kids weren’t generally raised in a vacuum, certainly not ones who were as sociable and well-spoken as Crimson Superman and Superwoman. And if Superman could have kids, then who’s to say that his children couldn’t, too? He could be a grandfather and nobody would know, at least not until one of the grandkids started flying around. Nobody had ever found anything resembling the Fortress of Solitude, and if it couldn’t be found in an age where satellite mapping covered every square inch of the planet, then it probably didn’t exist. It all begged the question: Why couldn’t Superman just be some normal guy with powers, living a normal life in a normal city? Spencer knew how much of a burden being Superman was to him, how much getting out of that suit improved his mood…why couldn’t the same be true for the real Superman?
Spencer had at least half a glass of beer left, and he downed it all in one long drink, then ordered another. He felt almost like crying, but the more he thought about it, really thought about it, the more resolute he became. Superman, the real one, was a real person. In many ways he was an actor just like Spencer was. And he was in trouble, he had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a hotel bar in Australia, just trying to watch a rebroadcast of a baseball game. Spencer wasn’t sure if he looked forward to or dreaded the thought of Superman seeking him out, knocking on his door, but maybe, if he didn’t…. Maybe Spencer would find him in the morning, offer his help, one Superman to another.
