A request was made for Martha taking Clark shopping...
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A second trip to the hospital in just twenty-four hours, Clark groused to himself. At least he was conscious for this trip and his mom was with him. That was at least one bit of comfort although he did feel vaguely unsettled that Lois hadn’t come with him. But then, Lois was probably as weirded out by the whole gender switch as he was and wasn't sure what was and was not appropriate behavior for her.
The EMT fussed over him, taking his blood pressure and checking his vital signs, while Martha looked on from the front seat of the ambulance.
Yesterday everything had seemed so clear – rescue Lois from a madman and get on with their lives together. Now nothing was clear or straight forward and Lola, poor child-like Lola, was dead. He hadn’t been able to save her. Of all the people he had failed to save, including Mayson Drake, Lola’s death was actually the most painful. She had run out to protect him and her rival Lois, and had died for it.
Superman is dead and Lola paid the price for it too.The EMTs explained Clark’s condition and turned him over to the ER staff. Apparently it was a quiet evening in Metropolis – there was no waiting to get treatment.
“With Superman dead, the MPD has beefed up their patrols,” one of the nurses explained. “So, tonight’s been quiet. Plus I guess we keep hoping that the reports on Superman’s death were wrong. I mean, he was Superman, right?”
“Yeah, he was,” Clark said. “But even a superman can die.” It was heartening to know that his work had been appreciated in Metropolis and that Superman would be missed.
Shortly, the nurse left and Clark was alone with his mother for the first time since all of this happened.
“Mo…” He caught himself – no one could know about Alexa’s real relationship with the Kents. “Mrs. Kent, why would anyone want Lola dead?”
“How about ‘Aunt Martha’?” she suggested with a smile.
Clark nodded, returning the smile. “Aunt Martha.”
“What makes you think she was the target?” she asked.
“Morris had plenty of time to get me before she ran out,” Clark said. “I don’t think he cared if he killed me, but I don’t think I was the target.”
“Assuming you’re right, then I would guess that someone was afraid she knew something about something and didn’t want whatever it was to get out,” Martha said. “Luthor had coached her to access the safe deposit box at the bank. Maybe she knew how to access more than just that safe deposit box.”
“That makes sense,” Clark agreed. “Luthor wouldn’t have left himself with just one cache. He might have even put the other instructions as a post-hypnotic suggestion, so she couldn’t tell anyone that she knew.”
“She may not have known that she knew,” Martha suggested.
The curtain to the cubicle was pushed aside and the ER doctor walked in. “Well, your X-rays came up clear, so I see no reason why you can’t just go home,” he said. “But have your personal physician check on the wound in a few days and don’t hesitate to come back if the pain gets worse, or if there’s any sign of infection.”
“I’ll make sure she does that,” Martha assured the doctor.
Detectives Reed and Wilkerson were waiting for them as they left the ER.
“This time, someone really is assigned close protection duty for you,” Reed explained. “Plus, we never did get to take your statement.” Reed gave Clark a pointed look as she opened the car door for him.
“Sorry about that,” Clark said. “I just have a really serious aversion to doctors and hospitals. And after what’s happened the last couple days…” He let his voice trail off, hoping Reed would take the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, he had no idea what Lois had told them about that happened.
“So,” Reed began as Wilkerson started the car. “What were you doing in Luthor’s bunker?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Clark said. He didn’t want to lie to Reed but he doubted she would believe the truth – that he had gone there as Superman to rescue Lois. “The first thing I remember is waking up in that canister and seeing Superman and Lois Lane dead on the floor.”
“How do you know they were dead?” Reed asked.
“Their chests had large holes in them,” Clark said. “
Very large holes.”
“Was there anyone else there?”
“Um… Martin was in a canister like mine and Luthor was standing over the bodies with some sort of weapon. Then the police came, ordered Luthor to drop his weapon, he didn’t and he was shot.”
“When did you first meet Mister Luthor?” Reed asked.
“I never did,” Clark said. “The first I’d ever even seen him in the flesh was in the bunker.”
“But wasn't he your father-in-law?”
“I’m told that the police found documents to that effect,” Clark said. “But I had no knowledge of Luthor’s relationship to Martin prior to this morning. And I don’t think Martin did either, not really.” It was weird referring to Lois as ‘Martin’. The name didn’t fit the person he knew but it was the name he was stuck using thanks to Luthor.
“How did you meet Mrs. Kent here?”
“Through Clark Kent,” Clark answered. “Martin had some crazy idea that we could help him find his fiancée.”
“And what gave him that idea?” Reed asked.
Clark just shook his head. He had no idea what Lois had told the police.
“So, you’ve been married, what… a week?”
Clark nodded.
“Detective, why are you asking so many questions about Martin and Alexa?” Martha interrupted. “She’s told you what she knows about that happened in the bunker.”
“I don’t like unfinished puzzles,” Reed said. “And the Alexanders are definitely an unfinished puzzle. I checked. Despite the documents we found – and they appear to be utterly authentic – Martin and Alexa Alexander didn’t exist until just this week. They have no cell phones, no credit card charges, and the clothes in their suitcases had never been worn. So, either they’ve just been processed by the Feds for witness protection – in which case somebody fell down on the job in briefing them on their new lives – or someone else, probably Luthor, arranged all new identities for them. And if it was Luthor, well that begs the question of why, since neither of you show up in any of our databases, including federal ones, as persons of interest. So, what gives?”
“You won’t believe me,” Clark warned.
“Honey, don’t,” Martha said. She placed a hand on his arm.
“What won’t I believe?” Reed prompted.
“You know that Luthor was behind Mamba’s cloning of the President, right?” Clark asked.
“That’s what Mamba told us before the case was handed to the feds,” Reed said.
“Luthor also commissioned Mamba to create two other bodies,” Clark said, “designed to his specifications. He had some bizarre idea that he could transfer his consciousness into one of the bodies and so escape justice. Needless to say, it didn’t work.”
“You’re trying to tell us that you were manufactured like the president’s double?” Wilkerson finally spoke up.
“Al Capone, John Dillinger and Bonnie and Clyde went on a bank robbery and murder spree only fifteen months ago,” Clark reminded him. “Is it such a stretch to think that Luthor manufactured his own heir?”
Reed snorted. “You’re right. I don’t believe you. I’ve met Mamba’s other creations and you’re not one of them. Which leads me right back to the feds, and I know they won’t admit to diddly squat, or some shenanigan of Luthor’s and you’re too scared to talk about it.”
Wilkerson stopped the car in front of the Imperial. Clark had attended meetings in the grand old dame of Metropolis hotels. It wasn't as brightly modern as the Lexor but it had its own charm and a recent remodeling had given it all the modern amenities. Clark wondered a little at who had chosen for them to stay at the Imperial rather than the Lexor – Lois or Henderson?
Reed got out of the car with Clark and Martha. “My orders are to get you to your suite in one piece,” Reed explained.
“Do you think your boss will mind if we make a couple stops on the way?” Martha asked, eyeing Clark’s clothes.
Suddenly Clark felt self-conscious. He was still wearing the scrubs he’d ‘liberated’ from the hospital that morning, only now they had blood on them and the blouse had a tear where the bullet had torn through.
Reed looked Clark up and down and nodded.
“Just don’t tell my wife about this, okay?” Wilkerson said when told of the change in plans. “She’ll make me go shopping with her. And I hate shopping.”
“Well, you can wait by the door,” Reed told him.
To Clark’s horror, their first stop was the Victoria’s Secret which opened just off the hotel lobby. Martha grabbed a sales clerk. “My niece’s luggage was stolen so we need to replace everything,” she explained.
“And what sizes are you?” the clerk asked Clark.
Clark gave his mother a horrified look.
Martha chuckled. “She needs to be measured.”
At least Reed didn’t laugh when the clerk brought out the tape measure and the experience wasn't as horrific as Clark had feared. The woman was able to do the actual measuring over his clothes.
“You know, you have the same measurements as Marilyn Monroe,” the clerk observed. “Do you have a preferred style for the bras?”
Clark shook his head.
“Underwire, padded, uplift, convertible, lacey, barely there…?” the clerk went on.
Martha answered. “Cotton, simple, two underwire, one black, one nude, a couple suitable for sports and one convertible in nude.”
“And panties?”
“Half a dozen cotton hip-huggers in nude,” Martha told the clerk. She turned to Clark. “You can always get something more daring later.” She pointed to the clothing. “Go pick out some sleep bottoms and tops, a robe and some leggings and exercise tops.”
“There’re some really cute sundresses over there, too,” Reed chimed in. Clark gave her a horrified look before going to choose the simplest fabric patterns he could find for pajamas and exercise clothes.
Reed found a brightly colored sundress and held it to herself. “Heck, I should pick some things up here.”
The pile on the counter was getting larger as Martha picked out some shirts and several pairs of loose pants for him.
Clark picked out a long halter-top dress in black. It would have looked good on Lois.
“Honey, go with the navy,” Reed instructed. “The black is just too much for your coloring.”
Clark put the black one back and pulled out the navy one. He had no idea what Reed meant by black being too much for his new coloring, but it wasn’t worth arguing about.
“That blue tie-dyed number would look great on you, too,” Reed added. Clark added it the pile.
“The green one would be a good color on you,” Martha told Reed.
“Yeah,” Reed agreed. “I really have to come back here and do some shopping.”
The clerk brought over the bras Martha had specified. “The dressing room’s over there,” she told them.
“Do I have to?” Clark complained.
“Yes,” Martha told him. “We have to make sure they fit right and give enough support.”
“But…”
“Honey,” Martha lowered her voice to a near whisper, “that madman didn’t do you any favors by giving you so much up front. Breast tissue is delicate and breaks down. You don’t want ‘em down at your waist now, do you?”
Clark opened his mouth then shut it again. He hadn’t realized until now exactly how complicated his life was becoming. Lois had never talked about bras or breast tissue breaking down and Lois hadn’t been exactly small breasted.
Clark grabbed two different styles and went into the dressing room. To his horror, Martha walked in behind him.
“I can do this myself,” he protested.
“Honey, the closest thing to a bra you’ve ever worn was a sports cup,” Martha told him. “And there’s nothing you’ve got that I haven’t seen… in a mirror.”
“Mo… Aunt Martha!” Clark hissed at her. His cheeks felt warm and he was sure he was blushing.
She simply laughed and handed him the underwire.
A/N: Marilyn Monroe (according to the studios) was 5’ 5 1/2”, 115-120 lbs, 37-23-36.
