[Chapter 2: Extend]Clark poured the coffee the next morning, filling Lois' mug. His parents had already departed at dawn and he had immediately gone to Lois' after briefly helping with a pile up on the highway.
"They were both wrong, you know," Lois said, taking the offered mug.
She had been so mortified about what had happened the night before that she had asked for them not to talk about it, so none of them did. His parents were as understanding as always and they had concluded the night with hot cocoa and a simple Christmas movie.
Not how they had intended to end the holidays, but considering everything it was a good recovery.
"Oh?" he asked.
"It was Lucy's social studies project in sixth grade. Our parents, as usual, had failed to take her to the store to get craft supplies, even after promising several times to do so that week. I found her after dinner, crying that she would fail her class," she said.
Clark took a seat beside her.
"So I helped her. We had to pilfer the house for items for her to use, including pieces of our toys, and we barely got it done in time," Lois stated, her voice flat and defeated. "The only thing that Dad got right was us staying up all night."
"I'm sorry for insisting we invite them both," he said.
"It's not your fault. I had hoped they would be able to pull it off once, especially with your parents there. I had even begun to believe we might have one good Christmas as dinner went on, but then . . . . Anyway, thanks for handling it the way you did. The other times . . . well, it only stopped when one of them stormed out. You saw how they had both ignored your parents' attempts to interrupt them. They get so worked up they're no longer aware of anything except each other."
"Yeah," he said, wrapping his arm around her.
"You sure you still want to marry me?" she asked, as serious as she was not serious.
"Without question," he assured.
She relaxed against him.
"So any updates on whatever you and Klein have been working on?" she asked, not so subtly changing the subject.
"Well, we're pretty sure that we've figured out why green kryptonite hurts me. As you know, my cells absorb energy released by the sun, specifically cosmic radiation and the energy within the yellow and blue wavelengths in the visible spectrum. Unfortunately, my cells try to do the same thing with the radiation from kryptonite, but my cells can't process kryptonite's energy.
"Bernie compared it to a machine trying to run off a power source that has too high of an amperage," he explained.
"So your cells, what, fry?" Lois asked, horrified.
"I guess that's a fair description. Makes me even more grateful to Burton for closing that box and relocating all of the kryptonite the way he had. I do not want to ever encounter that stuff again," he said.
"Me too," she said. "What about the red?"
"We're not sure on that yet. From my blood samples we have, it definitely does something, but it doesn't damage the cells like the green. Instead, it almost makes them . . . hyper."
"Would that affect your powers? It sounds like it would," Lois commented.
"Bernie thinks so, which is why we're going to avoid ever exposing me to it. Chances are it would affect my aura too, and that's the last thing I need," he said.
"Yikes, definitely," Lois wholeheartedly agreed.
"Well, I–" Clark began, only to tilt his head. "Sorry. Slick roads. Trapped driver in a bad way. I’ll be back later.”
She nodded her understanding as he blurred and disappeared with a sonic boom.
O o O o O
Lois shuffled through the stack of documents, a trend beginning to appear and indicating to her that her gut was right once again.
Representative Fred Leanings was corrupt and dangerous.
She didn't have concrete evidence, but there were flags and more than a few bread crumbs that connected him to the notorious bomber, Joe Arlo, aka 'Joe the Blow'.
Just thinking the horrible nickname made her cringe.
She refocused on Leanings. It appeared the representative (who clearly wasn't good at actually representing) had hired Arlo to remove or intimidate his political rivals.
That was her current guess, anyway.
She heard the window open and close and knew Clark had returned.
"Not as bad as I expected," he said, referring to the accident. "Everyone was wearing their seatbelts. That always makes a difference."
"That's good," she said as he sat beside her.
"New story?" he asked, glancing at the papers.
"I think so. Leanings is shady," she said before putting the paper in her hands aside. "Anyway, I think we both would prefer to talk about something not related to work.”
“I think you’re right,” he said with a smile, glancing at her ring.
“I’m thinking May. Not too hot and we miss all the rain,” she said, fiddling playfully with her ring.
Clark smiled. “That sounds perfect. May 1st?” he asked.
“Four months away. That should give people enough time,” Lois agreed. “And give us enough time to plan, but not too much time.”
“Not too much time?” he asked, confused.
“Trust me. If we wait too long, my mother will commandeer it. Oh gosh! My mom,” she groaned.
Clark looked at her sympathetically. “That’s something else we should probably discuss.”
She sighed. “Why can’t they be like your parents? Your parents are great.”
“We can always elope?” Clark asked tentatively.
“Don’t tempt me,” Lois argued, smiling before taking a breath. “What should we do? I mean, I don’t want to risk them making a scene at the wedding, but to not invite them. . . .”
“Maybe we could make an ultimatum?” he proposed after a moment of thought. “Ask them to get counseling. They don’t need to get it together of course, but they clearly need to address their . . . self-control issues. If they don’t agree and begin to start something at the wedding . . . well. . . .”
Lois slowly nodded. “I think that’s fair. Considering everything, they should be happy with that option. I know many people would not be as accommodating,” she said.
“Okay,” he said. “So who else should we invite?”
“Hmm. I would prefer to not invite the whole world,” she contemplated.
“Just close family and friends, then? I’d be okay with that,” he admitted.
“I think . . . I think that would be best. We can start the list after we get back from lunch,” she decided happily, getting up.
Clark intercepted her with his aura, draping it across her form like a tarp before physically wrapping his arms around her as he kissed her soundly.
She giggled. "You know, most people in love can't keep their hands off each other, but it's clear we have a bigger problem."
"It's a good thing we're getting married in four months then," he said, grinning, before the grin slipped into a somewhat mock grimace. "Ugh, four months. . . . You sure you don't want to elope?"
Lois laughed.
O o O o O
Clark paused in front of the modest house on the outskirts of a suburb.
He supposed one could consider that crazy, maybe even sad, but all he could think about was how happy he was that his life had settled enough to allow him to finally place some roots and build more personal, normal, friendships.
Since moving to Metropolis over two years before, he had of course gone out to eat with the crew from the police department a few times for lunch (as Clark), but because of his schedule and their own busy lives, finding a moment to actually do something beyond that just never happened.
Well, until Bill Henderson's wife insisted on meeting Clark herself: the man who had saved her husband's life not long after he started working on missing persons cases in Metropolis.
He had been invited by Henderson to watch that weekend's game, the Metropolis Tigers against the Cincinnati Owls. Clark was excited, almost giddy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had watched any game with a friend, let alone at their house with their family.
Admittedly, it was strange to finally do so two years after the event, but Clark couldn't help but wonder if it had taken Bill that long to finally tell his wife how seriously close he had come to taking a few bullets to the head.
He walked up the porch and knocked on the door.
He immediately heard two kids calling for their parents, letting them know someone was at the door. A moment later, the door opened.
"Hey, Clark, just in time. The wife is setting out snacks now," Bill said, stepping aside.
Clark smiled as he entered. "Sorry Lois couldn't make it. She's on assignment."
"I understand and suspected that would be the case due to the short notice. Maybe next time. I know Melissa especially would like to meet her," Bill said.
Melissa was his fourteen year old daughter, and she adored Lois. Not only had Lois helped her dad bring down Lex Luthor, she had named Superman!
Suddenly, a six year old boy dashed from the hall and stopped at the threshold of the entryway. He had bright blue glasses and was Bill’s youngest. He turned and stared at Clark’s chest.
“Hi,” Clark said cheerfully.
“You gonna say hi, buddy?” Bill prompted his son. “This is Clark. He helps me catch bad guys. Remember I said he’d be here to watch the game with us?”
The boy blinked before dashing off again.
Bill sighed, resigned. “Sorry. Paul’s . . . he’s. . . .”
“Shy?” Clark provided, not quite sure what this was about but sensing Bill’s unease.
“I wish that was all it was,” Bill said softly. “I don’t tell many people, but he has some kind of developmental issue. They call it Autism. We’re still getting a grasp on it. He was just diagnosed.”
Clark tilted his head. “I’ve heard a little bit about it. I understand there’s a broad range of possible symptoms. How severe?”
“He was non-verbal until last year. He can speak short sentences now. Donna and Melissa have worked very hard with him. My wife has done a lot of research,” Bill admitted.
Clark heard Bill’s heart rate calm upon learning he was already somewhat familiar with the disorder. Clark could easily imagine how people typically responded and he ached for his friend.
“There’s a lot doctors don’t know about it. I think Donna might know more about the condition than most ‘specialists’ now,” Bill added with a hollow laugh.
“A mother’s drive. I’m not surprised. If I come across anything that might help, I’ll let you know,” Clark said.
“Thanks. I, uh, not many people at the station know. It’s not something that’s easy to discuss.”
“I understand,” Clark said, the unspoken promise clear in his voice.
“Well, the game starts soon,” Bill said, forcing himself to shift topics as well as his tone. "Any drink preferences?"
"Root beer?" Clark asked.
"You're in luck, we have that," Bill said, much more at ease as he motioned him to follow.
They entered the kitchen where Donna and Melissa were. Melissa was sorting the snacks while Donna finished stabbing the meat and cheese cubes with toothpicks.
"Donna, Melissa, this is Clark Kent. Clark, my girls," Bill introduced.
Donna quickly put down her work and went around the island to Clark.
"It's so good to finally meet you. I can't thank you enough for what you did for Bill," she said, clasping Clark's offered hand in both of hers.
"Happy I was able to help," he said, having long since learned playing down saving someone's life was somewhat crass.
"What happened?" Melissa asked curiously.
"Mr. Kent saved your dad's life. It was a few years ago," Donna answered.
"What?!" she asked, appalled at learning her dad had apparently almost died with no one telling her.
"There was no point in worrying you, especially when it had all worked out," Bill said apologetically.
"Is the guy still in jail?" she asked, her ability to make conclusions as sound as her father's.
"Yes, and he won't ever be coming out," Bill assured.
"So what exactly happened?" Melissa pressed.
Donna gave Bill a 'I told you' look but remained silent.
Resigned, Bill answered. "He helped me serve a warrant to a suspect and the suspect pulled out a gun. Mr. Kent stepped between me and the gun, took the shots point blank. Fortunately, Kent was wearing a bulletproof vest, but still."
Melissa gaped at Clark.
Clark tried not to look too self conscious.
"Whoa," she breathed. "Makes sense that he's your friend then."
"Melissa," her mom said, both exasperated and amused.
Melissa shrugged. "What? It was a compliment. I'd want a friend like that." She suddenly blushed and hurriedly returned to her task.
Bill shook his head, doing his best to prevent himself from chuckling as he grabbed their drinks and led Clark to the living room.
Clark stayed for the entire afternoon, cheering on the Tigers right along with Bill and his family. While it was clear they were not as devoted to the sport as Bill, they all enjoyed the game, including Paul. However, Paul had to wear a pair of earmuffs during it. Clark made no comment and shared the bowl of chips with the boy. A few times Clark sensed Bill get nervous about how Paul might behave or perhaps by how Clark would react to Paul, but Clark felt things went well, even though Paul didn't say a word the entire time. The only slightly tense moment was when Paul tried to take Clark's chip from his hand. Before he could touch the chip, Clark gently but directly stated it would be better for Paul to either ask or get his own chip from the bowl, while offering said bowl.
Bill slowly exhaled as Paul deftly sat beside Clark and shared the bowl with him.
It was a very close game with the final score of 32-29, Tigers. A few times, Clark had to consciously control his reactions or he would have had some explaining to do. That, and he didn't want to have to replace his friend's couch.
"We will definitely need to do this again," Bill said as they stepped out onto the porch later. "And hopefully your fiance will be able to come."
Clark smiled. "We'd like that."
"I have to say, Clark, I was a little . . . nervous about how today would go, but Donna insisted," Bill said after a moment.
"Because of Paul?" Clark asked.
"Most people don't know what to do around Paul, so they either ignore him or make things even more . . . awkward. Granted, it's usually Donna's friends so it might just be that dynamic, but . . . I doubt it."
"That must be frustrating. I imagine getting him into situations to really teach him is harder because of that," Clark said.
Bill nodded. "We'd love for him to learn how to behave in a restaurant, but that's not possible right now. I doubt he would be able to even tolerate the noise, and trying to stack teaching manners on top of that?" Bill took a deep breath. "Sometimes it's like trying to teach a brick wall, but there are other moments where I know he hears me. He certainly heard you today."
"I'll do some digging into the condition, if that's okay with you. I have some contacts and there might be other things you and your wife can try."
"Sure, have at it. If anyone can find something helpful, it's you."
“I’ll keep you posted,” Clark promised, before heading out.
O o O o O
The following morning brought snow, but the sky wasn't pristine. Instead, smoke was stretching far into the horizon.
Over half of the paper factory was already engulfed and the fire was unfortunately doing an excellent job of following the building's perimeter walls. If there was anyone still in the structure, their escape was likely cut off.
Kal landed beside the fire chief.
"What's the situation?" he asked as a team worked on guiding a hose to the nearest wall with windows as another team raised the ladder from a truck to spray from above.
"Over seventy people are estimated to still be inside according to their HR department, Superman. We're hoping they've moved to the center of the building since every exit has been blocked as far as we're aware," the chief explained. "The manager told us he believes the fire started in the paper mill near the factory's intercom system, which prevented them from notifying their employees of the danger as well as they would have normally. And, while the fire alarms still worked, they have been having issues with false alarms lately, so people didn't respond as they would have otherwise," he said, sighing heavily. "The evacuation was disorderly to say the least, hence it being incomplete."
Superman frowned grimly. The factory was very large, probably employing over five hundred people. He scanned the building, immediately finding much of the structure already on the verge of collapse. He levitated up, seeking the trapped souls, and soon found them.
They were huddled in a large conference room and had sealed the vents and bottom of the doors with their jackets and vests to reduce the rate of smoke coming in. Inhalation was the largest threat facing them at the moment, but fire was already overhead, licking down the insulation and along support beams.
He quickly landed again, snow crunching under his tread.
"The people are in a conference room nearest the west side. I'm going to try to get them. They don't have much time," he said, before shooting off.
He entered through a broken window and blew out sections of fire where he felt the internal supports could take the sudden load from his breath at speed. Unfortunately, there were not many areas where that was possible, but it was better than nothing. Careful of where he broke through walls, as he didn't want to make things worse, he sped toward the conference room.
A plan – a crazy plan – formed in his mind as he took in the state of the building and quickly surmised the likelihood of everyone surviving if he flew people out two by two. The crazy plan won.
He opened the door and quickly closed it behind him so fast barely any smoke entered with him.
"Superman!" several people gasped.
It was dark, but a few had flashlights and the S-emblem was easily recognizable.
Over sixty people were seated on the floor, doing what they could to limit their smoke inhalation. Most had shirts or scarves over their faces as well.
"There's no time. We must get out as a group. Can everyone walk?" he asked. They all nodded. "Everyone, take the hand of the person beside you, stand up and form a chain," Kal ordered, taking the hand of an elderly woman nearest the door.
Everyone immediately did as they were told, as desperate as they were hopeful – albeit confused.
"Don't let go. This might feel . . . odd," he warned as soon as the last person had taken hold and completed the chain.
He closed his eyes and allowed his aura to extend and flow over their forms, saturating their skin. He exhaled as many gasped at the sensation of his power wrapping around them.
The strain was there, but it was manageable. It helped that he wasn't healing, just protecting.
"Follow me and don't go any faster than the person in front of you. Keep hold of one another. You all will get out," he promised.
He turned back to the door, still holding the hand of the woman who had to be older than his mom but almost as spry.
He opened the door and immediately blew out a rush of fire and smoke.
Part of the ceiling had fallen.
He led them down the wide hall and through crumbled, smoldering walls. He blew away smoke as he went, providing a pocket of breathable air and a frosty path for those behind him. The roar of fire all around them urged them on, but the groan of overstressed steel overhead was what concerned Superman.
He stopped and raised his hand just in time. Flaming debris peppered half of the group as he caught the massive support beam and thrust it away, forcing the collapsing wall away from them all.
The group screamed but the feeling of his strength pulsing across their forms was more than enough to convince them to keep hold of one another's hands, even as embers rolled off of their sides and backs, charring and burning their clothing. But they felt no searing heat.
“This way!” Superman shouted over the din.
Fire licked at the hems of their clothing and in some instances even more as they marched on.
Superman glanced back and blew a cold pulse of air, extinguishing the flaming tendrils reaching out from the blazing walls revolting against his prior ice breath.
"We're almost there!" he encouraged.
And then he shoved down an exterior wall. Sunlight and cold air cut through the smoke and ash as he stepped aside and transitioned his hand from the old woman's to the shoulder of the person behind her so he could maintain contact with the chain as they hurried out to the awaiting firemen.
Only when the last person in the line was out did he move away from the building and break all contact. The drain from his center was instantly severed and he all but staggered to the back of the firetruck as someone came alongside him.
O o O
The crash of the exterior wall startled them all, but the sight of filthy people streaming over and out from the fallen wall was a welcome sight.
An elderly woman stepped out first, and a form who they all instantly recognized as Superman helped guide out the rest of the factory workers one-by-one (interestingly always being sure to contact the next person before letting go of the individual in front of them). All of them were holding hands.
Chief Mitchel quickly motioned for his men to help guide the group away and assess any injuries as he hurried to Superman.
Superman stepped away from the group he had just escorted from the doomed factory and Mitchel suddenly hesitated as he watched Superman all but stumble and catch himself against the back of the fire engine.
“Superman? Are you okay?” he asked, approaching the Kryptonian.
Superman nodded even as he took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. He then tilted his head back and turned directly toward the sun and stepped completely out of the shadow of the ruined building to their right.
The glow of the sun bathed his whole form and within seconds the fatigue that had been plain on his form evaporated. He opened his eyes.
“I’m okay,” he said, his breathing now calm.
Not exactly sure what had just happened, Mitchel took him at his word and returned to business with a relieved nod.
"Thanks, Superman. We're still working on determining who else is still missing. Do you know how many were in that group?” he asked, although he knew his men would provide him with a count soon enough.
“Sixty-seven,” Superman answered.
“Okay, there are five people still trapped in there then,” Mitchel answered gravely.
"I'll take a look and work on extinguishing the fire as I can," he said.
"Alright. We're working from the south and west to hopefully prevent this from spreading to the other buildings," he said, understanding why Superman could not simply blow out the fire with reckless abandon.
Superman could kill survivors by blowing down walls or unintentionally stirring up chemicals stored throughout the factory, which could expand the fire and further endanger those nearby, including Mitchel's teams, through the fumes and not just from the flames.
His ice breath was a wonder, but it required focused attention and, Superman himself admitted, that was difficult to do safely when moving quickly – which he normally did when rescuing survivors.
Superman disappeared, causing the snow around him to swirl up.
Less than two minutes later, Superman returned with two survivors suffering from severe smoke inhalation and minor burns. Once they were safely on their way to the hospital, Superman turned to Mitchel as the remains of the building beside them had little more than embers left to extinguish thanks to their combined efforts.
“I found the last three. They didn’t make it,” Superman told him grimly.
Mitchel sighed. He had expected that. Actually, before Superman had broken through the exterior wall, he had expected there to be over fifty fatalities before it was over.
“Where?” he asked.
“Northern walkway over the main mill chamber. I suspect it fell while they were heading to the north-eastern exit,” he explained. “It’s not much consolation, but it must have been fast.”
“That’s all we can hope for in instances like these,” Mitchel agreed. “We can take it from here, Superman. Thank you. You no doubt prevented things from becoming much, much worse.”
Superman gave a departing nod and shot up, a sonic boom in his wake.
O o O o O
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