A/N: ...And a Happy New Year! 
TOC: https://www.lcficmbs.com/ubb/ubbthreads.php/topics/269542
From Part 43:
Clark checked to see if Lois was still staring. Fortunately, she was once again focused on her own monitor. 'Of course not! I wanted to talk to you about that plane you just rescued!'
Something cold brushed Clark's spine. '...That wasn't you?'
His arbitrarily-moving fingers stilled over the keyboard. 'Well, no. It was you…right?'
Part 44"It wasn't either of you?!" The confusion in Mrs. Kent's voice was clear even through the phone sitting on Clark's coffee table.
They both paused in their nervous pacing and responded at the same time.
"No, Mom."
"No, Ma'am."
On the ceiling above him, Clark rubbed the back of his neck. The motion loosened his tie from the belt it had been tucked into, and it fell past Clark's face to trail below him as he resumed walking. "Mom, I was at work. I watched it on TV with everyone else."
"And I was with my parents." Michel resumed wearing a trench into Clark's floor. "We heard the ruckus about the plane, but when Superman appeared in the sky, we all believed it was Clark."
Clark stopped and looked down at him, his eyes growing wider, and Michel barely dodged being smacked in the face with the dangling tie. "Maybe…" He held out three fingers, and the globe's messages leapt to the forefront of Michel's mind.
Michel met his brother's eyes and shook his head. "Our father would have said something."
Clark sighed, tucking the wayward tie back into his belt. "I guess you're right."
"Right about what?" Mr. Kent's voice crackled over the line.
The responding shrug jostled the tie loose again. "I was just wondering if maybe we had another brother or something." Clark stepped down the wall and came to stand on the floor by the phone. "I mean, why else would he look like us and have the same powers?"
Michel froze as a terrible thought began to take shape. "Certainly not naturally…"
Clark shot him an inquiring look.
"Suppose he is not a living person at all?" He took a step towards Clark, a shudder running over him. "What if someone has built a—a robot or something to look like you and do what you do? They could do anything with it!"
His brother shook his head. "I don't think we have that kind of technology yet."
"What about your military?!" Michel pressed. "Perhaps they have some kind of secret super-robot technology, and now that Bureau has a hold of it and…and…"
"Michel, breathe!" Mrs. Kent's voice commanded over the phone.
Michel sank onto Clark's couch and did as instructed.
"There's no call for panic," Mrs. Kent chastised. "We don't have enough information to assume this is even a problem. So far, all he's done is rescue a plane."
Clark sat down beside him, his fingers steepled in thought. "Maybe there's a clue on it… I'm going to go look at that plane."
Michel straightened, curious despite himself. "What will you be looking for?"
"I don't know," Clark admitted with a shrug. "Anything unusual or out of place, I guess."
A new wave of panic rolled through Michel, even making Clark flinch. "Suppose the look-alike comes back to the plane while you are looking at it!"
Clark's incredulity nearly pushed him over. "Why on Earth would he do that?!"
"Well, the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime," he pointed out.
His brother sighed. "Michel, this wasn't a crime. It was a rescue."
Mrs. Kent's voice cut in once again. "Honey, If you're worried about Clark, maybe you should go along as backup."
Clark waved a hand dismissively, even though his parents couldn't see it. "I don't need any backup."
"Yes, you do!" Michel insisted. Granted, he had no idea what to do if they were suddenly attacked by a super-robot, but surely there was more safety in numbers.
Clark frowned at him. "And just how are we going to explain your presence in an airplane hangar?"
"Well, how do we explain yours?" Michel countered, folding his arms across his chest.
"I'm a reporter," Clark said flatly. "I'm there asking questions for a story."
"Oh." Michel slumped a little. "Well, perhaps I am there to assist you!"
His brother raked a hand through his hair. "You're a geologist! What sense does it
make to bring you along for a story about an airplane rescue?!"
**********
"...and also, Mr. Kent, Mssr. Delacroix says that he enjoys your articles in the international edition of the Daily Planet, and he welcomes you to Paris."
Clark smiled tightly at Michel as they followed Mr. Delacroix out onto the airfield. "Please convey my thanks."
The plane had been brought out of the hangar so he could personally examine it. Mr. Delacroix gushed to Michel about Clark's "inspiring writing style", which was nice, but then lamented his inability to speak the local language. Clark forced himself not to react to either comment.
When they were finally alone, Clark began his study of the plane's hull.
Michel stayed close behind him, occasionally looking around as though he expected an ambush at any minute. "Where *did* you gain your proficiency?" he asked in English. "Surely if you were here, our paths would have crossed?"
Clark quickly swept his gaze over the surrounding tarmac. None of the airport crew were close enough to eavesdrop even if any had been paying attention to them, but he still kept their conversation in the one language just in case. "I actually did come to Paris once, when I first got the ability to, um, leave home. Saw the Eiffel Tower, had a croissant, then moved on to Italy to see Venice."
"You learned so much in less than one day?" Michel's incredulity lanced through his head.
Clark chuckled. "No. I took two years of French in high school; it was supposed to be a great way to impress girls." He stepped under the nose of the aircraft. A small ladder had been helpfully placed under the fuselage. "Then when I really started traveling, I had to rely on it pretty heavily in some places; especially Africa. Trust me: no amount of tutoring can hold a candle to being lost in Conakry."
"Ah!"
The only crewmember still in sight disappeared into a building, leaving the airfield deserted. Clark turned back to the plane and floated up to run his hands along the underside.
Michel's nervousness vibrated along the base of his skull. "Clark…"
"It's fine." There were indentations in the metal… Handprints! "Michel, come look at this!"
Michel glanced around, then scrambled up the unused ladder. He looked where Clark was pointing, lowered his glasses, then let out a low whistle.
Clark placed his own hands over the impressions, nearly losing altitude when they both fit perfectly inside. He took a breath. "I think we can rule out the robot theory."
TBC...
