NOTE: This story takes place in the Alternate Universe, as established in Tempus, Anyone. I've tried to keep the timeline consistient with that established during the series. Hope you enjoy.
Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 1)
By: AnnNonymous
Story rating: PG
In the corridor of the dormitory, doors seemed to stretch into infinity, most of them tightly closed, but some cracked open ever so slightly, sending slivers of soft yellow incandescent glow into the sterile fluorescent light of the drab hallway. One of those doors was open more than most, an old habit borne from the inviting personality of the room’s occupant. Normally he didn’t have any reason to hide behind closed doors, but as a sigh escaped his lips, he wondered if now might not be a good time to change that policy. To the casual observer, such a sound would normally be lost amongst the din of televisions and casual conversation, but the sigh echoed off the concrete walls and into infinity, its almost supernatural staying power carrying its despair to ears it wasn’t meant for. In fact, it wasn’t meant to be uttered at all, but sometimes even the gentlest of souls couldn’t help but get frustrated. Inside the room sat a handsome, dark-haired young man, a phone clutched to his ear and a defeated look on his face. His lips curled down into a frown as his fingers absently played with the phone cord, the silence on the other end of the line telling him that his friend had heard the sigh, too.
No, she wasn’t just his friend, he amended, she was his girlfriend, and she had been for some time. But there were moments when he just didn’t know what to think about her. Now was one of those times, and as the silence stretched on for several seconds, he found himself wondering just what it was that he had seen between them. She could be so stubborn sometimes, so selfish. Surely she hadn’t always been that way, had she?
“Lana,” he said, his voice rising somewhat, framing the word so that it was almost a question.
“Clark, I told you. You can’t,” she said, her tone almost harsh. Lana had never been one to overwhelm him with concern and understanding, but at least she had always been kind. He realized that it probably took an infinite amount of patience to be involved in a relationship with him, but he didn’t expect Lana, his oldest and best friend, to lose hers so quickly.
“I just want to fly out and visit for the weekend. What’s so wrong with that? It HAS been three months since I’ve seen you.” He glanced over toward his desk, and the framed photograph of his blonde-haired beauty that seemed to be staring at him no matter where he was in the room. Her smile in that picture was sweet, her eyes soft. That picture was more than three years old, but he still saw her that way in his mind’s eye. The only real time he’d spent with her in the ensuing years had been weekends here and there, mostly during the summers. He knew she had cut her hair, and he knew that some of the girlishness had gone from her face, but it was so hard to remember when he never was able to see her. They talked on the phone, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing compared to seeing her in person, to touching her, feeling her, just being in her presence. The frustration of knowing that it was physically possible for him to be at her side in a matter of seconds made the separation that much more painful.
“You might get caught, Clark, and THEN what would happen to you? We’d see a lot less of each other if they locked you in a lab someplace. Just save up some money and visit me the real way, the honest way.” The words seemed so straightforward, but then again they always did. It was an argument that they’d had at least once a month for years, and it was one that she always won with the help of some well-placed and entirely sensible warnings. He just wished they seemed more sincere.
“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, his voice sounding flat even to him. It took a great amount of willpower to stifle another sigh, but somehow he managed. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should just fly out there anyway, just to see if there was a reason she didn’t want him around, but he pushed it away, mentally belittling himself for being so negative.
“I’m glad you understand,” Lana said. “I’m sure you’ll have a good weekend anyway. I love you,” she said, and for a moment, Clark let himself embrace that. Maybe she did really love him, and maybe she did only want the best for him. Whether she did or not, she was all he had, and that was really what mattered in the end.
“Yeah, same here. Bye,” he said. Slowly, he pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at it for a moment before finally placing it back in its cradle. Why did Metropolis have to be so far away, he wondered as he flopped back onto his couch. If it were even in the same time zone, he could visit her and nobody would raise an eyebrow. But trips of over a thousand miles could hardly be accomplished by the average cash-strapped college student who had to be back in class on Monday. Of course, Metropolis was the type of place he could visit and be completely anonymous, blending into the crowds. Nobody but Lana would even have to know he was there, but she’d have none of that, and it was frustrating.
When they had graduated high school, he had been certain that he and Lana would get married someday, and he knew back then that they would’ve been happy in their life together. But for whatever reason, as graduation neared, she had decided to enroll at Metropolis University, even after telling him that she would follow him and a large number of their classmates to Midwestern State. It would be a better opportunity, she had said, and he couldn’t argue with that. If given the choice between a high profile school out east and a public Midwestern university, he would probably take the one out east, too. But he hadn’t been given that choice; it hadn’t even occurred to him that it WAS a choice, because they had plans, a future.
It would’ve been easy to become bitter right then and there, but he didn’t let himself. When life hands you lemons, you have to make lemonade. That’s what his mother always used to say, but it had taken a long time for him to acknowledge that she had a point. Knitting his eyebrows together, Clark reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. The worn photograph that stared out at him showed the smiling faces of his parents. They almost seemed to exude love right through that piece of photographic paper, and for a moment it filled him with warmth. It had taken a long time for him to be able to look at their picture with anything other than sadness. For years after their deaths, it had been hard to go on. Silver linings to dark clouds seem to be impossible to find, not that he had been looking, but then one day he had sought the confidence of Lana Lang, and everything seemed okay.
She had been his friend ever since he could remember, and as she got older, there was just something about her that seemed to call to him. They had grown closer as friends, and she had coaxed him to open up, to share his pain with her so that he didn’t feel so alone. During one of those sessions, he had looked at her and felt something that he hadn’t before that moment. The way she sat there, her eyebrows raised in anticipation of the answer to her latest question, her blond hair bobbing ever so slightly, her pink cheeks giving her creamy skin a welcoming warmth; it had all sought to mesmerize him, stirring something deep down inside that made him do something more impulsive than anything he’d done in his life to that point. Without a second thought, he had leaned in toward her, ever so gently seeking out her lips with his own. What had started out as a gentle kiss rapidly degraded into something deeper, hotter, with the power to take away all conscious thought and just make him feel needed.
From that point on, she was his world, his companion, his lover, and his confidant. After a while, he even summoned the courage to tell her everything, to show her all the things that he could do. The risks in sharing that with anyone were many, and he knew that all too well, but he thought she would love him regardless of what he was and where he was really from. But that gift of infinite understanding that she had didn’t seem to extend to this one thing, and as he told her the whole truth, he saw her eyes widen and her mouth curl up into a smile that looked about as real as the Jackelope hanging on the wall of Maisie’s Cafe. Maybe it had been a shock, he told himself. Maybe she just needed time to absorb it, but something about her eyes after that night told him that there was something deeper going on. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that she made her announcement about Metropolis University shortly after that, but back then, he had chosen not see the correlation.
It was quite a bit harder to ignore it now, though, especially after another phone call filled with quiet disapproval. Sometimes he couldn’t help but feel that Lana wished he couldn’t do all the things he could, and sometimes he couldn’t help but agree. Being normal would be a wonderful thing, especially if it meant the respect and true love of the women he considered the love of his life, and he was sure trying his best to make it so. But being different meant many wonderful things, too, and that couldn’t just be ignored.
The picture of parents stared back at him from the wallet, offering all the support that a picture possibly could. “What do you think, Mom? Dad?” he asked it, waiting for an answer that he knew would never come. His parents had known who and what he was, and they had never thought less of him because of that. They had never discouraged that side of him from blossoming, but they had also died long before most of what he could do had manifested itself. A thousand times he had asked this picture the same question, and a thousand times he just got smiles in response. ‘Don’t be anything less that what you are, son,’ he could hear his dad say. His mom gave smiling consent. Never did they say, ‘to heck with Lana Lang,’ although he had expected it more than once.
With a slight smile and a nod of thanks, Clark closed the wallet and tossed it onto his desk. If his parents approved of Lana, then he supposed he should just stick with it. They would both be graduating this year, so maybe there was hope for them yet. In the meantime, he had a sudden thirst for lemonade. His smile deepening Clark looked over toward the Midwestern State football poster on the wall. Some of his earliest, happiest memories were of warm winter days spent of his father’s lap watching football, and Clark couldn’t help but think that maybe a game would be the perfect thing to chase away his dark mood.
The booming of a stereo began to echo down the hallway and through his open door, the heavy techno beat being accompanied by the groans of those who had rooms closer to the noise. With a grin, Clark got up and pushed the door closed, sealing his sanctuary off. His new, happy mood called for celebration, and what better way to celebrate that to crack open some cream soda and watch movies all night on cable? Sometimes it really was good to be a bachelor.
*~*~*
The sky above the stadium had been steadily growing darker throughout the afternoon. On the field, the players paid no heed to the weather, but the once capacity crowds had quietly left, frightened away by the increasing rumble of thunder in the distance. Even the students, the hardest of the football crowd to scare off, had trickled out. Now only the die-hards, the true fans, or the truly crazy remained. Clark, never one to be frightened off by mere weather, looked appreciatively up at the sky as a ribbon of light jumped from cloud to cloud. Lightning was one of the more beautiful things in nature, its inherent danger and power making it that much more hypnotic. Of course, he was allowed a certain vantage point of lightning that few were able to see, from deep inside the clouds and from high in the stratosphere, and he was able to look upon the storm now and dream of ways he could get closer, to feel that prickly sensation on his skin when a bolt was about to strike. Nobody else felt this need, though, and as he looked around, it became readily apparent that everyone else had long since taken refuge at someplace safer. In fact, there was only one other person left in the upper level, and that was the security guard dutifully keeping watch over the section. He suspected that the guard wasn’t exactly thrilled to have such a close-up view of the clouds, his body language conveying as much as he looked nervously back and forth between the sky and the game.
A pained smile formed on Clark’s face even as a stab of pity sliced through him. The only reason the guard was there was because of him. He certainly wasn’t willing to endanger anyone else for nothing more than his personal pleasure, even if the actual odds of getting struck by lightning were astronomical. Quickly, Clark rose from his seat and made his way down the steps and toward the exit. As he reached the front of the balcony, he clutched the steel handrail a foot or two away from where the guard was leaning against it. The most apologetic smile he could muster quickly flashed on Clark’s face as he looked toward the guard and opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to say something to the effect that they should both probably stake a claim in an area that would be a little drier once the rains came, but the hairs on his arms began to stand on end, and a slight shiver ran through his body. He looked up toward the sky to try and find that telltale sign of an impending strike just as a white bolt of heat shot from the clouds. In less time than it took to blink, electricity arced toward and through him, grounding itself in the concrete at his feet. The force of the bolt threw him backward through the air and onto the empty bleachers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a streak of safety orange flying in the opposite direction, and a sickening feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach.
Another flash brightened the sky as he laid on his back, suddenly feeling slightly short of breath. He’d probably been struck by lightning half a dozen times, and none of those had resulted in any type of adverse reaction in him before. Then again, he had never been grounded before, either, but it was odd to feel so drained. Now wasn’t the time to dwell of that, though, and slowly he forced himself to a sitting position, remembering the security guard who had apparently also been hit. As his eyes scanned the area around him, he could see the limp body of the other man slumped against the railing, his chest moving up and down ever so slightly.
“Oh my God,” Clark said, grimacing as he pushed himself off the bleacher and stumbled toward the other man. The rows of bleachers that separated them proved to be somewhat hazardous to someone who was a little lightheaded, but with each step Clark felt his strength return a little more, and he made it to the other man in due time.
“Hey,” Clark said as he took him by the shoulders and shook him ever so slightly. The security guard’s head flopped from side to side limply before he seemed to catch himself, his eyes opening ever so slightly. Clark let out a relieved laugh as he met the guard’s eyes with his own.
“What the heck happened?” the guard asked. He seemed confused for a brief moment, but gradually recognition came, and he looked around, finally clutching at himself frantically.
“You got struck by –“ Clark started.
“Lightning. Oh, wow,” the guard said, cutting him off. Clark looked down at the man’s raincoat, alarmed to see a small amount of smoke raising from the now somewhat melted fibers.
“How do you feel?” Clark asked, backing away. Behind him, the flurry of footsteps ascending the stairs to the balcony told him that the paramedics would be there shortly.
The security guard stilled his movements, looking down at his smoking jacket, and then back to Clark. “Fine,” he said, his eyes narrowing once again. “Great, actually. It’s weird.” He looked toward where he had been standing once the lightning hit, then back at Clark. “What about you?” he asked slowly.
Clark smiled as wide and reassuringly as he could. “It missed me,” he said, lying. Most people, when flying through the air, don’t have the presence of mind to stop and look around, and Clark was pretty sure that the other man would take what he said at face value. It wasn’t that he though the guard would get suspicious to see Clark in as good of shape as he was, it was just that if any officials learned that he had been struck, he’d be dragged to the emergency room for sure. His secret would be out then, and all of his worst nightmares would come true. The security guard seemed to buy it, though, nodding slightly as he kept his eyes locked into Clark’s.
As if on cue, the paramedics arrived at that moment, rescuing Clark from further questioning. One man asked Clark what had happened, and if he had been struck, but Clark dutifully told him the only truth that he would let anyone know, and the group turned all of its attention to the security guard. Quietly, Clark slipped away, down the stairs, to a nice secluded spot on the other side of the stadium, UNDER the balcony. As the rain began to come down, the game continued on, the good guys pulling away from their opponents, and gradually, Clark forced himself forget his most recent brush with mother nature.
*~*~*
“I really don’t need to go to the hospital.” The sentence brought strange stares from the men and women attending to him, but it only seemed to deter them for a moment. A stretcher clattered its way up the stairs, giving him his cue to move to a standing position. “I feel great, really.”
“Sir, we just need to get you checked out,” one of them said. The general demeanor of the man, combined with his immaculate buzz cut, made his patient think that maybe he was a ROTC in his off hours. Guys like that didn’t often take no for an answer, but this was going to be the exception to the rule.
“Tell you what,” the security guard said as he stood up. “If I start feeling anything weird, I’ll motor over to the emergency room. Until then, I’m good.” The various medical personnel surrounding him looked at each other, then collectively shrugged and backed away, gathering their equipment together and filing one by one down the stairs.
“For your own sake, I hope that you do at least stop by the ER later,” Buzz Cut said, drawing a smile and a thumbs up from the security guard. After a long look, he, too, took off down the stairs, leaving him alone at last in the balcony, just as the cold, fat raindrops began to fall.
What a dreary capper to an eventful afternoon, he thought with a sigh as he followed the procession down the stairs. Getting struck by lightning was one of those things that didn’t happen to very many people, so it was nice in a way to be unique in that respect. Maybe he should ride his luck and buy a lotto ticket, he thought with a grin.
The acrid smell of something burning brought his attention back to the here and now. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the aroma and followed his nose, turning his head from side to side before finally looking down. On the right side of his security uniform, underneath the orange plastic rain poncho, he could see a twisted hunk of plastic letting off the occasional wisp of smoke. Now on the concourse and out of the rain, he slid the poncho off, revealing what was left of his plastic nametag. On their own, his hands reached out for the deformed lump, and he was surprised that it wasn’t as hot as he thought. It might not be hot now, he thought, but it was hot enough to melt earlier. Lightning was annoying that way – it tended to burn and scorch and destroy. Lucky for him, his nametag bore the brunt of destruction on this particular day. He had the sudden urge to find some salt to throw over his shoulder, but he refrained, reminding himself of all the times he had proven to have been born under a good sign.
“Kevin,” he heard, and turned. His boss was striding toward him, rain still dripping off of his bright orange security rain poncho. Normally the boss wasn’t one for niceties, but between calling him Kevin as opposed to the usual ‘Mr. Jones’ and the look of concern etched on his face, it sure looked like this was one of those rare times. “What happened to you? I heard you got hit by lightning.”
“I guess I did,” Kevin replied, looking at the nametag that was now sitting in his hand. His boss looked down at the almost indistinguishable piece of plastic, his mouth forming in an “o” in surprise before looking up again.
“I’d say so,” the boss said, reaching out for the object. “Why don’t you head home. I think we can handle the rest of the game fine,” he said, his face turned toward the former nametag that he was now turning over in his hand. Kevin looked out through the torrential downpour toward what was left of the crowd, and decided that was the understatement of the year. Before too much longer, the security force would outnumber the spectators.
“Thanks, chief,” Kevin said as he turned away from the monsoon outside, drawing an absent nod from the boss. With that, he took off toward the gate, again marveling at how altogether wonderful he truly did feel. Sure, he was a security guard, but nobody had ever described Kevin Jones as the athletic type. Bookish, yes, kind of nerdy, yes. Weird, definitely, but even the weird could do security at football games. His couch potato lifestyle never left him with a whole lot of strength, but right now he felt like he could punch a hole through a concrete wall, or leap over the campus bell tower in a single stride. As he neared the exit, he jumped up into the air, his hand outstretched toward the seating section marker, intending to hit it, but not really expecting to. Almost by magic, he seemed to jump higher that he ever had before, hanging in the air and defying gravity for a second before arcing back to earth. As his feet hit the ground, he looked around with wide eyes, wondering if anyone had seen what he had just done. There was nobody, though – even his boss had moved on to other places. Maybe he hadn’t really done what he thought he had done at all. Lightning tended to fry peoples nerves, didn’t it? It was quite possible that he had just imagined that. But then again, what if he hadn’t? It was just....odd.
His energy to perform daring athletic fates now gone, he walked meekly out of the stadium gates, through the rain, and back toward his apartment. Maybe he did need some rest, after all.
