47
The world finally gives me a break, and everything is quiet on my nighttime patrols, even overseas. I make it home around 1 a.m., shower, and crawl into bed, exhausted. I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately and don’t wake again until 6:30 a.m. An entire five and a half hours of sleep.
I don a baseball cap for my quick morning run, now cognizant of the fact that I need to be careful who sees me coming and going. After all, I’m really no longer ‘Clark Kent.’ As I wend along the shadowed path of the trees and out the other side of the forest, striding easily along at a swift pace, my mind races with the implications of all of this.
Who am I now? I can’t just wear blue, red, and yellow spandex everywhere I go. But at the same time, ‘Clark Kent’ can’t simultaneously be at work at the Daily Planet and swiping his debit card at the supermarket. No, I’ll definitely have to be more careful now, to avoid being recognized. With a start, I realize I may also need to move. Or at the very least, avoid using the front door as much as possible. Maybe do my grocery shopping out of the area. And the simple logistics of it all are daunting—in particular, the fact that I’ve already given Clark back his wallet, driver’s license, and cell phone. I have some cash, but it’s not going to last very long. What will I do then?
My feet stutter slightly on the pavement, but I easily catch myself and keep up my pace. I suppose I’ll have to have him lend me the driver’s license so I can open a new checking account. The advance from the memoir will be enough money to last for a long time, especially if properly invested. But this is a conversation he, Lois, and I have not yet had.
I jump over a small puddle in the path, startling a pair of gray and black pigeons pecking at crumbs near the edge of the sidewalk. They flap their wings and launch up into the sky with an indignant flutter, then land again after I’ve passed by. I nod to a fellow runner, who passes me heading in the opposite direction, and then I follow the sidewalk around to the right. A moment later, my apartment comes into view.
An idea pops into my head, and I let it stew for a moment as I maintain a steady pace for the final few hundred yards of my run. I’ll invite them to dinner at my apartment next week. I’ll have the memoir finished by then, so I can give Clark the draft to review. Plus he can pick up more clothes if he wants, and we can discuss all of these logistics. I nod to myself as I take the steps up to my apartment two at a time and pull my keys out of my pocket. Then, I hurry inside to shower and change before heading to drop off Lois’s birthday present.
Despite all of this uncertainty and a small lingering unease about whether I’ll be able to live here like this going forward, something inside of me feels hopeful and…safe. It’s almost like a little tickle in my chest, like my breathing is no longer weighed down by the constant barrage of self-doubt and insecurity that would normally be assaulting me at any given time.
It is liberating.
Fifteen minutes later, I hover above Lois’s apartment building, her silver-wrapped gift tucked safely under my arm. I land lightly in the alleyway next to her building; spin into gray jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt, and tennis shoes; pull on my old baseball cap; and jog up the front steps. The elevator ride to her floor is fairly quick, and a moment later I find myself standing in front of her door. Swallowing nervously—although, why am I nervous? I’m just here to drop off her gift—I lift my free hand and knock lightly on the door.
From inside the apartment, I hear Lois’s voice call, “Just a minute!” The deadbolt then clicks unlocked, and the door inches open as I shift back a step. Lois peeks her head from behind the door. Her hair is twisted up in a towel, and she holds her toothbrush in one hand. She looks surprised to see me; I guess he had neglected to tell her I would be visiting this morning. I hold my breath as I smile tentatively at her.
“Good morning, Lois,” I greet.
She bites her lip and stares at me for a few seconds before responding.
“Come in,” she says shortly.
I nod and drop my eyes to the floor as I trudge inside. The door shuts behind me, and I raise my eyes and turn to face her. Her gray terrycloth robe is tied tightly around her midsection, and she wears a pair of matching fuzzy slippers. A drop of water trickles down just in front of her ear, and she reaches up with her free hand and brushes it away. She then gives me a small smile and retreats back toward the hallway.
“Sorry, I’ll be right back. Just a minute.”
I nod and move farther into the apartment as she disappears. The gift in my hands feels heavy, as though weighed down by the awkwardness of this odd relationship we now have. Breathing deeply to steady myself, I take a seat on her couch and wait patiently. Several minutes later, a now fully clad Lois Lane emerges from the bedroom, her damp hair falling down to frame her face. She wears a dress suit that is one of my favorites—a burgundy jacket and skirt that falls to just below her knees, with a white, slightly low-cut blouse.
As I stand to greet her, I remember why I have a good reason to be nervous. Last night. Right.
“Clark is still getting ready for work,” she explains as she moves to the kitchen and begins to pour herself a cup of coffee. Her voice is level and unemotional, and her expression is unreadable. “How are you doing this morning?” She leans back against the counter and sips her coffee. I swallow anxiously and lower my eyes.
“I’m good, I think,” I say quietly. With slightly trembling hands, I lift the gift up a bit and step toward her in the kitchen. “Um, I just—I just wanted to stop by and wish you a happy birthday. I, uh, got you this gift. It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”
I consciously stop myself from talking to avoid babbling, and I close the rest of the distance between us and offer her the gift with a lopsided smile. Her expression softens a bit, and she sets her coffee mug down behind her on the counter.
“Oh, Clark, you didn’t have to…” Her voice trails off as our eyes meet.
God, she’s so beautiful, I think to myself, staying aware enough to block my thoughts from Clark.
Her dark brown eyes seem to study me for a moment, and I allow myself to hold her gaze. I see no anger in her, but she is guarded, cautious. My chest constricts slightly, and I bite my lip as my eyes close. I promised I’d never betray her trust, but that’s exactly what I did yesterday when I went against her wishes and took her and Clark back to Metropolis rather than let them follow Luthor with me.
I feel her take the package from my hands, and I open my eyes again. A small smile graces her lips as she scrutinizes the silver wrapping paper.
“Can I open it now?” Her voice is soft and tentative, and her eyes peek up at me expectantly.
I nod. “Yes, please do. I-I hope you like it, I—” Again, I stop myself. “Please do.”
Lois smiles at me and then seems to blink back tears as she lowers her gaze to the gift. Gently, as though to avoid ripping the wrapping paper, she slides her fingers under an edge of the paper, releasing the tape holding the edge closed. She repeats this process for the other side and back and then turns the package over. Her mouth opens slightly as she recognizes the light gray hardcover book. It is well worn and smells of old library shelves, as though it has been sitting unopened for decades. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she flips the book over to the front cover, her fingers running over the etched letters.
Classical Poetry Anthology, Volume 1.“I…I can’t…” She lifts her eyes to meet mine briefly and then looks back at the book again. I grin as I watch her expression change from surprise to awe. “How did you 1find it? I’ve been looking for this book for years.” She opens it up and skims the page.
My right hand reaches up to rub the back of my neck. “Um, well, I came across it at a tiny used bookstore in Bristol, and I knew you had been trying to find it because you mentioned it when we were investigating the death of that poet a couple weeks back. So when I was over in the UK one afternoon, I, uh, popped into a few bookstores. This one was pretty out of the way and tiny. The old man who owned it—”
She raises her eyebrows at me, and I screw my eyes shut as I stop talking abruptly. Her joyous laugh fills the void my silence left, and I slowly open one eye and then the other. She is clutching the book to her chest, her eyes lit up with amusement.
“You are incredible. Thank you, so much, Clark. I love it. This means a lot to me.”
“Well, I—”
She closes the book, sets it next to her coffee mug on the counter, steps toward me, and wraps her arms around my waist in a hug. Her head rests on my chest, and I return the embrace hesitantly.
God, this feels so good, just being so close to her. Just having this friendship. Just having her be in my life.
It is infinitely better. Yes, this…whatever we have here…it is infinitely better than my previous life.
With this realization, I allow myself to relax into the hug, and her arms tighten around me just a little bit more. After a moment, however, I feel Clark’s presence and then hear his footsteps coming from down the hallway. Swallowing, I pull back away from her, and she smiles up at me again as she steps away.
“Good morning!”
His voice sounds cheerful, and I nod to him as I back away from his fiancée a bit. Clark strides confidently into the kitchen, kisses Lois briefly on the cheek, and then turns to me and offers his hand.
“Good morning,” I reply, returning his handshake. He feels stronger still this morning, and I absently wonder if his powers are coming back.
“A little bit, I think.” His thought resonates in my head.
“Slowly though.” My eyes hold his gaze for a moment, and I nod slightly.
Good. I feel a sense of unease from him, however, and I silently ask,
It is good, right? “I should probably be going so you two can finish getting ready for work,” I say quickly, not waiting for his answer. I turn to Lois and smile. “I hope you have a great day, Lois. Happy birthday again!”
“Thank you, Clark.”
To my surprise, she reaches out and gives me another brief hug. I close my eyes as I again allow myself to enjoy the comfort of the embrace.
For a fleeting moment, I remember Lana, my fiancée before my world was turned upside-down by the other Lois Lane, who visited from an alternate dimension and convinced me to use my powers for good. Lana’s hugs—or any touch or kiss or embrace, for that matter—never felt anywhere near as good as this hug. There was always something stiff about her when she was near me.
Freak, alien, abomination. She’d used all of those words to refer to me at one point or another. Oh, she’d usually try to mask it in a way so as to not make her seem like a terrible person. But her words still haunt me sometimes.
I push away those memories and refocus on the present. Lois has never had any of those thoughts. She accepts me—and her Clark—for who and what we are. And this hug is proof of that. But it is over much too soon, and she steps away and back into her Clark’s arms. I give them both a nod again and turn toward the door.
“Hon, uh, why don’t you go finish up in the bathroom, and I’ll walk Clark out,” Clark suggests. I hear Lois answer with a quick, “Okay, sure,” and her footsteps retreat into the hallway as Clark trots up behind me.
I open the door, shifting toward him as I do, and the unease I sensed earlier is now plastered all over his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask hastily, my hand gripping the door handle a little harder. I feel the metal bend slightly under my grasp, and I steady myself with a careful breath.
He tips his head out to the hallway, and we step outside the apartment together. The hallway is empty and quiet this early, which is good since the neighbors might not quite understand seeing two Clark Kents standing and chatting together. I can also see the tension in his shoulders more clearly now, accompanied by a slight tick of the muscle in his jaw. He runs a hand through his hair, another nervous gesture that he and I seem to share.
He glances up and down the hall, and then, keeping his voice low, he explains, “Nothing is wrong, per se, but I’m a bit worried about my powers returning.” He hesitates. I wonder why we’re communicating about this verbally and out in the hallway, but I don’t let him hear these thoughts. He must not be ready for Lois to hear his concerns. I frown, and he senses my confusion. His confidence falters, and his voice trembles as he speaks. “I don’t trust myself right now. I…I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I—” He shakes his head, almost violently, and his eyes squeeze shut.
I understand his apprehension. His reaction when Lois accidentally startled him awake and his uncontrolled rage when Nigel had tried to kill Lois are clear indicators that him getting his powers back could be a bit worrisome. And if I am not around, and he loses control of his anger… The thought lingers in my mind, and his, I realize as our eyes meet.
“What can I do to help?” I ask carefully. “And have you talked to Lois about this?” I add softly. I feel him tense up. Guess that’s my answer.
“I…haven’t, yet. But I will,” he promises, lowering his eyes to the floor. “I’m not sure how you can help, except that, uh…” He trails off and shakes his head. “We’re already asking too much of you, Clark. It’s not fair to you to ask more.”
“No,” I interject quickly, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “No, whatever you need, especially this, I’m here to help. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
He still stares at the floor, and his weight shifts restlessly from foot to foot. When he answers, his speech is stuttering, which I’ve never heard from him before. “I-I think if you c-could just k-keep yourself open to our, um, connection… You can sense when things are wrong, I think.” He looks up at me, and I nod in response.
If you don’t deliberately block me out. I don’t know why I switch to telepathic communication to tell him this, but for some reason, I can’t say the words out loud. He seems to understand, however. His jaw tightens, and he lowers his eyes back to the floor.
Quietly, he adds, “I-I don’t trust myself, but I trust you. If I do or seem like I’m going to do anything that I shouldn’t…I trust you to step in and stop me. At least, until I…” He shakes his head again.
Until you…? I press him gently.
“Until I stop having these panic attacks, or anxiety attacks, or whatever they are.”
He knows my thoughts right now, and I know he also understands the flaws in his plan. First and foremost, since he’s been behaving as though he has a form of PTSD, when and whether he is triggered may be unpredictable—it may be hours, days, weeks, or months until another incident. What actually concerns me more, though, is that once his powers return, I’m not certain my strength would be enough to stop him.
His body shudders slightly, and he switches to telepathic communication.
You are stronger than me. You will always be stronger than me. I trust in that. And I know you will always do the right thing. You’ve proven that to me.”The door opens then, and Lois pokes her head out, her hair now dry and her makeup applied. She looks at us curiously and then addresses her fiancé.
“You okay out here? We should be leaving now if we’re going to be on time to the staff meeting.”
He smiles weakly at her.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be ready in just a minute.”
“Okay,” she answers. She shifts her gaze to me and smiles again. “Thank you again, Clark. I’ll see you around.” And then the door closes again as she disappears back inside the apartment.
“I should probably…” His voice trails off as he motions to the apartment.
“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly. My hands fidget in my pockets. “And, uh, don’t worry about—you know… I’ll stay nearby as much as I can, and I’ll keep an ear out.”
I want to say more. I know we should talk about what he’s doing to reduce his anxiety or understand the root of his panic attacks so we can avoid them all together—and so he can feel better and more stable mentally. We should discuss which of his powers are surfacing. We should talk about all of this with Lois, and probably also discuss whether he’d consider seeing a therapist. But he’s got to get going, and it’s a tough conversation that could be a trigger in itself.
I’ll be nearby, I repeat silently, and then I wave and tip my head to him before retreating down the hallway toward the elevators.
“Thank you.” I feel the gratitude in his words, and I imagine how scared he must be to have confessed all of this to me. A feeling of hope also grows in me as I realize that, despite everything the three of us have been through together, he has learned to trust me, not only with his own struggles but also with her safety.
He knows I will help him
and keep Lois safe.
He trusts me with the one thing that matters most to him in this world. And given everything that he has been through—all of the trauma from New Krypton and all the ups and downs since he’s been back—that trust, that friendship, means so much to me.
As I’d told Lois, I’d never had a best friend before. Yet, somehow it seems I may now have two.
After a quick ride down the elevator, I duck into the alleyway next to the apartment building, spin into the suit, and take off into the chilly morning sky toward my apartment, smiling gratefully for this new life I’ve been gifted.
48
The young boy reaches his arms up toward me, tears spilling out of his wide green eyes. Carefully and slowly, I slide my hands under his tiny body. His eyes squeeze shut, but he doesn’t make a sound. A quick scan reveals two cracked ribs and a hairline fracture in his clavicle.
Brave kiddo, I think to myself. He feels almost weightless in my arms, and as I lift off and fly upwards, I adjust my grip on him to ensure I won’t cause him any more pain. From about twenty feet above us, his mother cries out to him, but he doesn’t respond.
Brave and smart. He knows not to move. His mother, a young woman about 25 years old with dark blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail, edges away from the cliff’s ledge as I reach her level. I step lightly onto the ground next to her. Her son doesn’t move in my arms, and her wild, frantic eyes shift nervously from him to me.
“Is he okay?” Fear causes her voice to tremble.
“Yes, ma’am, he will be,” I say gently. “However, I need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible. He has two broken ribs and a fractured collarbone.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she sobs. Her hands reach up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I-I was watching him so carefully, but he took off chasing a bird and then slipped and—” She shakes her head, presumably to rid herself of the memory. I imagine how terrified she must have been; they’d been hiking alone on this quiet Wednesday morning in a fairly remote region of the Adirondack Mountains, without cell phone reception or other hikers around to help. I’m so glad I’d been flying over on my way home after helping with a runaway train in Montreal when I’d heard her scream.
“He will be fine, ma’am, but I need to get him to the hospital now,” I repeat firmly. The young boy shivers in my arms, and I can feel his temperature fluctuating. He may be going into shock. “What is his name, ma’am?”
“Oliver,” she answers quickly, brushing more tears off her face. “We call him Ollie.”
I nod. “I’ll get him to the hospital and then come back for you,” I explain. Seeing her alarm, I add, “I will only be two minutes at most. Stay right here, and I’ll be right back.” She blinks back tears and then nods a quick response. Her son groans in my arms and buries his head into my chest, and I tighten my grip on him ever so slightly and lift off smoothly into the sky, heading back north toward the nearest hospital.
“Mama?” he murmurs. “Where is mama?” We’re flying quickly, and the hospital comes into view just ahead of me. Oliver opens his eyes as we descend.
“Your mom will be here in just a minute, kiddo,” I reply. My feet land lightly on the ground outside the emergency department doors, and I carry the boy inside. I’m met almost immediately by a nurse, who seems quite stunned to see me.
“Superman, wow, I—what do we have here? John!” she calls over her shoulder. A young man, also a nurse, jumps up from his desk and rushes over to meet us.
“Oliver here took a tumble over the edge of a cliff near Algonquin Peak,” I explain in a low voice. Oliver is shaking now. “He fell about twenty feet. He’s got two broken ribs and a hairline fracture to his clavicle.”
Honestly, he’s lucky to be alive, I think. But I don’t voice this. The boy is scared enough already.
I lean in toward the nurse, whose name tag reads ‘Mandy,’ and I say quietly, “He’s going into shock. Please hurry and get him stabilized while I fly back to get his mother.”
Mandy nods and turns to John. “Go get a gurney, would you, please?” A moment later, John returns, pushing a gurney, and I set the boy down gently. He feels quite cold now, and I warm him with a quick burst of low-energy heat vision. His eyes open partway, and he sees me watching him.
“Ollie, I’m going to go get your mama, okay, kiddo? And these nice nurses are going to take you to see a doctor. Your mama will be here in just a minute, okay?” He doesn’t move, but his eyes close again.
“’K, Superman. Thank you, Superman,” he mumbles, almost sleepily.
I frown. He should be wide awake, not sleepy. I scan him again and am alarmed to find he may have a moderate concussion.
“Nurse, I see now that he’s got a head injury as well,” I state, keeping my voice steady. I describe what I saw, and the nurse nods.
“We see a lot of those types of injuries here, Superman,” she assures me. “Our on-staff ER doctor is also a neurologist. I will pass on the information to him. Oliver is in good hands here.”
“Great. I’ll bring his mother.”
Nurse Mandy nods, and she takes Oliver’s hand and begins speaking to him gently as she and John push the gurney back through the double doors to the ER. I turn and jog out of the hospital, then launch myself back into the sky.
Finding his mother again is easy, but she’s hysterical when I get there. She is pacing back and forth, too close to the edge of the cliff for my comfort, and her hands grip the straps of her hiking pack so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. Tears stain her cheeks, which are flushed red. I land a few feet away from her, and she hurries over to me.
“Ollie, is he…?”
I smile tightly at her. I don’t want to worry her, but the head injury has me a bit more concerned than I was earlier.
“He is in capable hands at the hospital,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “He does have what appears to be symptoms of a concussion in addition to the injuries I mentioned earlier. But the nurses assured me that their doctors specialize in brain injuries just like his.” Her heart races as I describe this new development, but I continue. “Let’s get you there so you can be with him.”
She nods and steps up to me, and I carefully lift her into my arms, extend my protective aura around her, and fly quickly back to the hospital. Nurse Mandy is waiting for us as we land outside the emergency room, and Oliver’s mother almost jumps out of my arms and rushes over.
“My son, Oliver, please take me to see him,” she begs. She is shaking now. Nurse Mandy glances at me briefly and then takes the woman’s hand and starts leading her inside. I watch and listen for a moment as the two women head deeper into the hospital. Mandy is calm and gently explains what is going on with Oliver.
When I’m satisfied that I’ve done all I can, I jump up into the sky and continue on my way back to Metropolis. The mid-morning sunlight peeks through the clouds hovering over the city, and I do a quick sweep of the major freeways on my way back to my apartment.
All is clear, and the city is quiet.
I smile to myself as I float lazily along and remember the loud, unsettled Metropolis I’d encountered when I’d first arrived here. The difference is incredible, and a sort of contentedness grows in me as I realize how my presence here has helped, just like H.G. Wells had said it would.
As I have every morning for the last week and a half since Lois’s birthday, I check in with Clark via our telepathic connection. No words are exchanged; it’s more of a basic wellness check. He is bored, still sitting in a staff meeting, and wishes Perry would wrap it up so he and Lois can get to work. I chuckle and float down onto my balcony.
I spin out of the suit and into my regular clothes as I enter the apartment. Several minutes later, I settle into my chair at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and a bagel and open my laptop to finish up my work on revisions to the memoir.
As I’d planned, the three of us—Clark, Lois, and I—had met for dinner Friday last week, and in addition to learning a few things about our ‘unique’ family history, we’d also had a long discussion about the logistics of me living in their world while essentially being Superman full time. Everything had come together just fine; I’d managed to open a new checking account, and we’d gotten a duplicate driver’s license and made plans for going forward. I’d also given Clark the draft of the memoir to review, and he’d returned it with his comments and revisions late last night. Although he said it had been difficult to work his way through the content without dredging up painful memories, he seems to have agreed with the direction I’d taken, and his suggestions are for fairly minor changes. I figure I can finish up the revisions today, assuming that Superman is not needed for any major rescues.
I close my eyes for a moment and listen out around the city and beyond. All is still quiet. Good. I take a long sip of my coffee and get to work.
An hour and a half later, I stand to stretch and refill my coffee as I reach out to Clark.
The memoir is done. I’m sending the draft to your email now. I can feel agitation on Clark’s end, but no clear response. I wonder what has caused his mood to change from bored and eager to get to work to unsettled and tense in the short amount of time it took me to finalize the draft. I click the send button on the email and then close the laptop as I reach out to him again.
Everything okay? Do I need to stop by?This time, there is a moment’s hesitation before he answers.
“I’m okay, sorry. This assignment we’re on is frustrating. I’ll check out the changes to your draft and get back to you later today.” And then I feel our connection drop.
He’s not okay, that much is clear. But is it just frustration? And can he manage himself?
He’s been pretty open with me about his powers returning this last week; mostly, he’s told me about incremental increases in strength and speed, and his freezing breath has returned as well. He’s also been forthcoming about his anxiety and any disconcerting emotions or thoughts he’s had. He seems to feel most anxious or worried when he’s not near enough to Lois or when he’s unsure about her safety. He also had one incident earlier in the week where he struggled to control his anger after his colleague Ralph made an inappropriate comment directed at Lois; Lois mitigated that by removing him from the situation, and he was able to calm down.
But this seems different.
I stand up and spin into the suit. I’ll do a quick fly-by just to check on him, I decide, and then I’ll do my early afternoon patrols.
A few seconds later, I hover over the Daily Planet building. A light rain has started to fall, which makes focusing my superhearing just a little bit more challenging. But I manage.
Clark and Lois are sitting at her desk, immersed in a conversation about the current story they are working on—something about a strike by the dock workers at Metropolis Harbor. Like he told me, they both seem frustrated, and they can’t seem to agree on which direction to take with regard to the story. As I watch, he takes a deep breath, rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses, and nods.
“Okay, Lois, that’s fine. We’ll—”
I feel a sharp pain in my head, and I close my eyes instinctively. This intense pain, which I quickly realize is his, not mine, is centered at the front of his forehead and is accompanied first by confusion and then fear.
“Clark…?”
I force my eyes back open at Lois’s concerned tone, and I watch as he shakes his head, his eyes screwed tightly shut.
“I-I’m fine, Lois. It’s just a headache,” he says shakily.
But I know he’s not being completely honest with her. I know this feeling he’s having and the fear that goes along with it. His heat vision is returning, and if it’s anything like my experience of getting my heat vision for the first time many years ago, I know it can be painful and hard to control without clear, strong mental focus, which he definitely doesn’t have right now. I can sense that he knows this too.
I want to give him space—to allow him to let me know if he needs my help. So, I stay hovering several hundred feet up above the Planet and watch. However, I feel him start to panic, and I have a sense that he knows he may be about to lose control.
I’m here, I tell him. No response.
“Lois, I need to—” He groans as the pain intensifies. Lois grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet, and they head toward the conference room. She shuts the door behind them and helps Clark to a chair. He quickly removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. I sense rather than see a slightly red tinge to his vision.
“What’s going on, Clark?” Lois asks. She pulls up a chair next to his and places her hands on his knees.
“Can’t control it. Need help,” he mumbles. His hands grip his head strongly, and they then shift to cover his eyes. There is definitely a slight red glow now.
That’s my cue, I suppose.
I fly down through the unlocked window to the newsroom and straight into the conference room. Several people gasp at the sudden breeze as my blue-and-red blur blasts through the room, but I ignore that and focus on Clark.
“I can’t control it. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he communicates to me. His palms are pressed tightly against his eyes now, and his eyes remain shut, but I know he’s only got seconds before he can’t stop it.
Lois stands up and moves out of my way instinctively. I glance at her briefly and nod, but don’t have time to explain. Looping Clark’s arm over my shoulders and my arm around his waist, I speed us back out of the building through the open window and veer to the north. A few seconds and several thousand miles later, I land us in an isolated region in the Canadian territory of Nunavut. He almost sighs in relief as hot red lasers blast from his eyes and onto the open ground, which is covered in a thick layer of snow and ice. The ice and snow instantly melt as his heat vision creates a growing crevasse in front of us. A growl escapes his lips as I feel him trying to control the deadly heat.
I move back a step and watch. I know there’s nothing I can do now to help; he has to remember how to control it himself.
Although… Maybe I can remind him.
I sense his panic as the heat continues to pour from his eyes, and I place my hand on his shoulder and close my eyes as I concentrate on my own control over my abilities. I feel him connect with me at a deeper level, almost like the very first day he’d been back, when I was able to help take away his pain temporarily, and he seems to tap into my steadiness and certainty. Slowly, the red beams shooting from his eyes lose their intensity, and he blinks several times as his heat vision finally shuts off. He falls to his knees in the snow and drops his head to his chest with exhaustion. My hand slides off his shoulder, but he maintains control. We rest there in silence for a couple minutes. He then exhales sharply and looks up toward me.
“Th-thank you,” he stammers, pushing himself back to his feet. “I thought I could handle it by myself, but…” He allows his thought to trail off as he brushes the snow off his pants.
“No problem,” I reply with a tight smile.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I was 14 when I first got my heat vision,” he says. He crosses his arms over his chest and stands a bit taller, but his voice falters. “I remember I was in the barn, doing chores. I was angry because I wanted to be at the high school football game with my friends, but my dad—he insisted that I finish all of my chores first. We had company, so I couldn’t use my speed to get done quickly. My anger triggered it, I think. And then…I couldn’t stop it.” He pauses, a grimace clouding his expression. “I nearly burned down the barn. Scared my parents to death.”
I nod. I have a similar story, but I don’t know if I want to share. He looks up at me expectantly, however, and I purse my lips and lower my eyes.
“I was 12,” I start hesitantly. “The foster family I was staying with at the time, uh, they…”
I shake my head as the memory replays in my mind, and rather than tell him about it, I allow him to see the memory through our telepathic connection. The wife Penny, she yelled a lot. She yelled at her own daughter, and at the dog, and at her husband Bill, and at me. And Bill drank a lot. This particularly evening, he’d come home late, reeking of alcohol. Penny had started screaming at him about being late and drunk, and he’d shouted right back. The noise was too much for my sensitive ears, and I’d tried to leave the house—to go outside to the barn—just to get away from the noise. Bill had grabbed my shoulder and yelled at me to go back to my room, and an intense anger had filled me—anger directed at him and Penny, and at the world and my situation, and at whoever was responsible for my parents having been killed—basically, all of the pent-up feelings I’d had since my parents died. I’d felt heat growing in my eyes, and a sharp pain had erupted right at the front of my forehead. I’d shoved Bill away from me and run outside to the barn. And just as I’d barely made it inside the barn doors, red beams of intense heat had blasted from my eyes. The stacks of hay in the barn had erupted in flames, and the fire had quickly spread through the rest of the barn. Yelling and shouting from the house and frantic footsteps approaching the barn as Bill and Penny ran out to see what had happened had jolted me out of the daze I’d been in, and I’d managed to calm myself somehow and control the heat vision just before they’d busted open the barn doors. I’d suffered minor burns on my hands when I’d tried to stop the heat beams by covering my eyes, but I was otherwise unscathed. They’d pulled me out of the barn and called the fire department and police.
The next day, my social worker had removed me from their home and placed me in a new foster home—my fifth in only two years. No one had believed me that the fire had been an accident, and I was only able to avoid being sent to the juvenile detention center because my dad had been a friend of the judge handling my case.
I swallow back the painful memory and close my eyes.
“Oh, man, that’s rough,” Clark says quietly.
I laugh bitterly and nod in agreement. “Yeah, it wasn’t my best day.” I shift the focus back to him. “Are you good? In control now? Maybe you can test it.”
He scowls and turns away from me toward an undisturbed patch of snow. A second later, a faint red glow narrows from his eyes to a single point in the snow, and the snow begins to melt. He blinks it away and turns back to me.
“I’m good now,” he says. His arms cross over his chest again, but this time, he tucks his hands under his arms and adds, “Although I’m still not completely invulnerable, and it’s freezing out here, so maybe we can get back to Metropolis?”
“Right, of course,” I reply with a crooked grin. I step toward him, wrap one arm around his waist, extend my protective aura to include him, and then launch us up into the air, heading back due south.
