Solitude

by lacemonster

A retelling of Clark's early days in the Justice League with a Clark/Bruce twist. When Clark was a baby, he arrived in a spaceship on a farm in Smallville. Now an adult, Clark uncovers a fortress that may contain the key information about his origins. But as Clark discovers more about the wonders of Krypton, he finds himself disenchanted with his adopted planet. [SuperBat]

1. Part 1

Warnings: explicit sexual content; canon-typical violence; implied/referenced child abuse; labor/prison camps

Pairings: Clark/Bruce

Credits: This is a non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. This fanfiction was written and created by me

A/N: This work was intended as a one-shot, but I decided to divide it up into 3 parts due to the length. There is nothing differentiating the parts, they're all part of one story.

The setting for this takes places in the early days of the Justice League. I wanted to explore Clark's relationships with the other League members while everything was fresh and new. As such, Clark is a little more naive, while Bruce is a little more hotheaded. The premise of this story revolves around Clark discovering the Fortress of Solitude, and uncovering the secrets to his identity and past, as well as meeting the sentient Jor-El.

Some stuff is borrowed from canon. I took a lot of inspiration from For All Seasons. But for the most part, just consider it its own interpretation.

Okay. So. Wow. I can't believe I finally finished this thing. This was... hands down, probably the most difficult fic I've ever written.

According to Google Docs, I originally started this story in May 2016. That's not to say that I wrote this fic every single day since that time-but I think this is a clear indication of how badly I wanted to write a SuperBat fic. For whatever reason, this story kept getting put off or pushed aside for other fic ideas, but it was always a project I wanted to do. Finally, over a year later, I have finally finished this project and I can't express how happy I am.

This story is mostly a character study on Clark first, and a SuperBat fic second. Themes of isolation/alienation are some of my favorite themes to explore, and I feel this works with Clark very well. I wanted to tackle themes of racial identity, heritage, alienation, and things of that sort.

The start of this story is a flashback and then resumes into present day, as a heads up.

This story deals a lot with social injustices, and there's a part in this story that deals with a government that utilizes prison/labor camps, and the children who are affected by it. So please be aware of this. Aside from that, I don't think this story hits on any hard topics.

I edited this story entirely on my own so I hope there's no serious mistakes. I apologize if there are.

---

A breeze passed through the cornfields. All of the stalks lightly swayed in the direction of the winds, their leaves brushing against each other. The rustling of dozens, hundreds of leaves, all at once. The air whistling through the spaces between them.

Amidst the disturbance, a fly spun around, leaving a trail of buzzing behind it as the wings cut through the air. It landed on a stalk, its legs grazing on the surface with a thud. It rubbed its limbs together, the sound like two horsebrushes colliding, as each individual bristle on its hand rubbed against one another.

The wind blew again. The fly lifted in the air, its wings beating. The gust tore off pollen from a corn tassel, tumbling downwards towards the Earth, but landed on a leaf-the sound like a broom sweeping swiftly across a linoleum floor.

"Clark, are you paying any attention?"

"What?" Clark said, blinking.

There was a loud creak on the wooden planks as Pete crawled over to the end of the wagon. Clark looked up long enough to meet his gaze, the grating squeak of the metal wheels beginning to slow as Clark's attention was diverted. He heard the tumble of the cart against the uneven earth, the crunch of the grass underneath the wheels, suddenly losing its rhythm.

"Ah come on, Clark, you missed my joke," Pete said, sulking. Lana, from the opposite corner of the farm wagon, giggled. Clark heard the air brush past her lips before the sound could even follow. She shifted in place, the lining of her skirt rustling between the layers of chiffon and her skin.

"Sorry," Clark said, smiling a little sheepishly. "I thought I-"

"You thought what, Clark?" Lana asked, sensing his hesitation.

"I thought I heard something," Clark said, because he couldn't think up a lie.

"You're always hearing things," Pete said, grinning. "I'm thinking you're starting to go crazy. You sure the heat's not getting to you? I could help you push."

"I think I got it," Clark said. And he continued pushing the farm wagon up the hill.

They had done this since they were kids. It was always on the first day of summer-they'd take the old Kent farm wagon up to the top of the largest hill in Smallville. The hill was a long and steady upclimb, before sharply dropping off on the other side. Near the end, Pete and Lana always got tuckered out, so they'd make Clark push it up the rest of the way.

They did it every year so no one questioned his strength.

They made it to the top, the deep slope leading down into the country road. No cars were coming-the only ones who seemed to even traverse these roads were the Kents and the Langs, as this was their side of the country.

"From here, it looks like you can see everything," Pete said, putting up his hand to shade his eyes.

"You say that every time," Lana said.

"Well, it's true," he said.

"Seems to me that it gets smaller every year," Lana said quietly, her expression thoughtful.

Clark could hear the steady pace of her heart. He could still remember the first time he heard it, it was on that very hill. They were younger back then, his heightened senses still new to him. Her heart was hammering with excitement, a million miles an hour it seemed like.

It was nothing like that now.

His gaze lowered a little, wondering if she was still upset with him. She acted as she always did, but as hard as he tried to tune it out, he could catch the way her heart beat nervously every time they accidentally locked gazes.

He quickly climbed up into the cart.

"Come on," she chided lightly, and if she was upset, she certainly did her best to maintain an indifferent impression. "Scoot your butts, both of you, before it starts dipping down the wrong way."

They were eighteen. They had their summers, and their springs and falls and winters too. Clark crawled over to their side of the wagon, feeling it teeter unsteadily, and all their shoulders bumped against each other in the cramped space. It wasn't always like that-when they were kids, they could sit side by side without a problem, and Clark never felt out of place.

"1," Pete said, who was always first.

"2," Clark followed.

"3!" Lana cried out, and they all rocked forward together, the wagon tilting down the hill-speeding all the way down, on the road out of Smallville.

---

The Kents' trademark barn was in sight. Clark, Pete and Lana walked side by side, pushing their wagon with them.

"This will probably be our last year doing this, now that Clark is going to be playing City Mouse," Pete said.

"Oh, hush," Lana said, walking into Pete to bump shoulders with him. She spoke so soon that there wasn't even a chance to let the inevitable loom over their heads. "It's not as if Clark is going to stop visiting. Besides, even college kids have summer vacation."

"Smallville is awful far from Metropolis," Pete said, humming.

"Zip it."

"Wait," Clark said, fixating on Pete's words. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Did you just call me City Mouse?"

"Yes, I did. You know, like the City Mouse and the Country Mouse. You were a Country Mouse and now you're going to be a City Mouse."

"That's not how the story goes, doofus," Lana said, rolling her eyes, but she sounded like she was on the verge of laughing. "The Country Mouse goes back to the country. He realizes that while the city has more opportunities, the countryside is safer. He doesn't become the City Mouse."

"That's not how Nana told it to me."

"Well, your Nana's wrong."

"Stop bullying my Nana," Pete said, and they all laughed. Clark listened to the sound of their laughing, their voices all mixing together as one, and listened to nothing else.

Pete had parked his dad's truck at the Kent farm, where Clark dropped off the wagon. When Pete climbed into the truck, he looked at Lana expectantly.

"I think I'm going to walk back," Lana said. Pete looked at her skeptically.

"You sure about that? Your house is on the way, it'd be no trouble at all," Pete said, looking almost worried. Clark was wondering if he should encourage Lana to take the ride-it was getting late, and their houses were separated by several acres. She had to have been tired, especially after their wagon trip.

"I don't mind," Lana said, shrugging.

"Alright, suit yourself," Pete said, and Clark could detect the faintest trace of disappointment in his voice. Clark glanced away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

Clark and Lana watched as the old truck hiccuped to life. The vehicle teetered back and forth over the uneven grass, pulling up over the gravel and onto the dusty road back into town.

"Lana, are you sure you want to walk back?" Clark asked tentatively when Lana began to cut across the yard toward the fields.

"Why?" she asked, glancing over her freckled shoulder. "Do you want to carry me?"

Clark wasn't sure how to answer that. Couldn't tell if it was a slight, a suggestion, or a joke. He couldn't decide which he would rather have it be. He responded with awkward silence but Lana didn't linger on it.

"You can walk with me, if you want," she said, and he did.

The yellow sun was hanging low in the sky, the glare hitting them as they walked in the direction of Lana's home. The sun seemed to glow through her hair-in her hair were strands of copper and auburn and brown and dark blonde. Each strand seemed to stand out under the last hours of sunshine.

Everyone always said Lana was a redhead. Clark sometimes wondered if that was all they saw. If to them, her hair was just… red.

She always walked in the fields barefoot, for as long as Clark could remember. Her legs were always cut up from branch scratches, her feet and ankles grass stained and dirty. This time was no different and she carried her Sharpie-decorated sneakers in her hands, the soles occasionally tapping together depending on how briskly she walked, the ground crunching underneath her callused feet.

Clark had his hands stuffed in his pockets. He could hear it again. A fly buzzing around. He wondered if it was the same one he heard on the hill. The buzzing was especially grating.

"Clark," Lana said.

Clark looked up in time. He nearly crashed into Lana.

"What?" he said, startled. Lana looked at him for a moment, before shaking her head to herself. There was a smile on her lips but something distant in her eyes.

"Clark Kent, you're always staring at your feet, but your head is always in the clouds," Lana said, smiling.

Clark forced a smile, hoping it'd ease his troubled mind. But it didn't. He had to know.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked. Lana's smile slipped away, a look of thought in her eyes.

"I could never be mad at you, Clark." She breathed, an air of laughter to it. "Getting mad at you would be like getting angry with a teddy bear." Her brow furrowed suddenly, a thought seeming to cross her features. She slowly shook her head to herself, finally murmuring, "No, I'm not mad at you."

"I never meant to lie," Clark said. "I just wasn't sure how you and Pete would react."

Lana looked at him. "About Metropolis?"

"No, the other thing."

Lana looked unhappy. "So that's what you think I'm mad about."

"What else could it be?" Clark asked, but then he realized it the second that question escaped his lips. He averted his gaze, feeling heat rise to his face as he remembered. He could still recall the feeling as she pressed her lips against his-so soft and light they were hardly there at all.

There was an uncomfortable moment of them standing there, their mouths closed but their beating hearts filling the silence.

"When you showed me what you could do, I couldn't help but think of that time when we were kids," Lana said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her red hair. "We had to stay inside of your house on account of a thunderstorm, and a huge lightning bolt hit your Pa's barn."

Clark remembered. Ma had seen the fire first and yelled out. Back then, the Kents still had a horse.

"You and Pa Kent went out to fetch Clover. I remember that your Ma and I were so terrified when you two went in there," Lana said. She trailed off, quiet for a moment. She looked up at Clark with soft eyes. "Were you even scared?"

"Yes," Clark said, and it was the truth. He slowly shook his head to himself. "I didn't know what was going to happen to Clover or Pa-or you two, for that matter."

"I see," Lana said. She shrugged a shoulder. "You don't have to worry about me, Clark. I'm going to walk the rest of the way back home now."

"I just didn't want you to go alone," Clark said. At that, something changed in Lana's eyes. The distance that Clark felt in them were gone, instantly sparking with something warmer.

"Oh, Clark," she said with a heavy sigh. But then her face broke out into a sudden smile. She stomped her feet lightly, like a child. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave."

Clark felt his heart lift, his smile following it, and Lana quickly threw her arms around him. She squeezed hard but Clark hardly felt it at all. He let his hands sit on her back.

"You're gonna be up there all by yourself!"

"Metropolis is a big place. I'm sure I'll be fine," Clark said. "And I'll visit. Just call and I'll fly here-literally."

She laughed against his chest, and when the laughter was gone, she just squeezed tighter.

"Okay, City Mouse," he heard her whisper.

---

A siren off in the distance. A cat yowling. The clanging on fire escapes. Steam hissing from a vent. Aluminum cans dragging across scratchy cement.

Down the street there was the crinkling sound of old newspapers tied around a homeless man's feet. Jingling in a jar. Further down, the low hum of a food truck. The popping and snapping of grease. Further yet, the swish of liquid followed by a woman cursing to herself in Cantonese. And amongst it all, just a roar of thousands upon thousands of voices talking. Yelling. Whispering.

"Smallville, are you even listening to me?" a voice said, amongst it all.

"What?" Clark said, blinking.

He looked over at his colleague, Lois Lane. It was nine in the morning, Clark hadn't even stepped inside of the building of the Daily Planet, and she was already eyeing him with those sharp, fiery eyes.

"Are you going to move it or are you just going to stand there all day, blocking the door?" she said, looking at him. And while Lois claimed she wasn't a born-and-raised Metropolis girl, she seemed to speak the fast and snappy dialect well enough.

Clark listened to the hum of a siren-somewhere a few miles north. He quickly blocked it out, remembering the assignments he had waiting for him at his desk. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Sorry, I thought I heard something."

"Someone snoring, maybe?" she said, eyes shifting to the side. Clark, more than a little embarrassed, quickly opened the glass doors for her.

They stood awkwardly together in the elevator. Clark still hadn't quite broken the ice with Lois, even though they had been working together at the Daily Planet for a few months now. For that matter, Clark hadn't really broken the ice with anyone. The new job was still a little surreal for Clark, who was still used to writing for tinier publishers. Lois, on the other hand, was around his age and as much of a junior reporter as him, and yet her confidence was unwavering and she seemed to fit in just fine.

Clark resolved to keep to himself as much as he could on the flight up, distracted by the whirring of the elevator. He heard a strange noise amongst it all-did the elevator in the shaft next to them break?

"Earth to Smallville. I'm talking to you again," Clark heard. He blinked when he finally noticed the hand waving in front of his face.

"Sorry, what?" Clark said, looking at Lois. Lois shook her head a little.

"You know, for a journalist, you're not very observant. I'm just trying to make small talk here," Lois said. Clark could hear distant talking in the elevator next to them-someone was talking on the phone to the mechanics. Yup, that elevator was definitely broken.

"Oh, sorry, I was just distracted-"he struggled to come up with an excuse"-uh, your shoes look nice," Clark said, unsure of what to say. He immediately regretted the words, realizing how awkward and creepy he probably sounded. Indeed, Lois seemed to eye him for a moment. But instead of disgusted, she suddenly looked enraged.

"Is that a jab?" she said, looking at Clark like she couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth.

Clark, bewildered by her indignation, stared with his mouth hung open in surprise. He quickly fixed himself. "Ah, no. Of course not." His brow furrowed a little, confused. "Why would it be?"

She didn't answer him, because in that moment the elevator dinged open and she was already practically out the door. If she was insulted, she had already forgotten. She tossed out what seemed like a hundred greetings a minute and Clark followed after her-their desks in the same area-at a much slower pace, trying to take up as little room as possible as everyone in the office ran in circles past him. Lois made it to her cubicle first, where Jimmy Olsen was standing in the entryway.

"Ms. Lane? I was told to give this to you," he said, handing her a box. Lois stopped and looked at it and Clark, who had been lagging behind, saw the whole exchange. Lois, without skipping a beat, tucked her things under her arm and opened the box.

From the box, underneath the layers of tissue paper, she pulled out a pair of stilettos.

"Is this funny to you?" she said, waving one of the shoes in Jimmy's face. Jimmy looked down at the shoe, and though he was clearly confused, he also seemed partly horrified at the prospect of upsetting Lois Lane. He seemed to eye the sharpened heel with particular unease.

"No?" he said.

Lois sighed a little. "Who put you up to this?"

Suddenly a head poked up from over Lois' cube. "Morning, Sunshine."

Lois immediately scoffed. She tossed the heels back in the box and tried to pass it back over the cube to Cat Grant, but Cat waved her hand.

"Keep it. From what I heard, you need them." When Lois' face turned red, Cat simply burst out laughing. "I can't get a good look at your whole outfit from this angle-please tell me you're not wearing those white sneakers in the office too."

"This is absolutely ridiculous. Why would I wear heels out on the field?" Lois yelled, exasperated.

"But you will wear a pencil skirt," Cat said, grinning.

One of the reporters passed by Lois' cube and, without even looking at her, said, "Morning, Sneakers."

"Oh ha-ha, very funny guys!" Lois exclaimed, loud enough for some of the neighboring reporters to turn their heads.

Clark, out of the loop, gently pulled Jimmy aside. In Clark's time at the Daily Planet, the office-boy-turned-amateur-photographer was the only person he felt comfortable enough speaking to. "Are you following any of this?"

The teenager shrugged sheepishly. "I've long resigned to my fate as errand-boy, Mr. Kent. I don't know a single thing that happens in this office outside of my orders."

"You two apparently don't do your homework. That, or you don't spend enough time around the watercooler." Clark and Jimmy both looked into the cubicle they were leaning against. Ron Troupe looked back at them from over his coffee mug. "Lois submitted her video interview yesterday."

"Oh, right," Clark said. He had been meaning to watch it but had been… busy. While he and Lois weren't on the best terms, due to her headstrong personality and Clark's… well, not so headstrong personality, Clark did admire her work greatly. "She was talking about the story she was doing-something to do with the stripping of workers' unions, right?"

"Yeah, she went out and interviewed Metropolis construction workers in-person. It's pretty great journalism," Ron said between sips. "But there's more than quite a few shots of her climbing over construction sites-in a pencil skirt and tennis shoes. Social media had a ball with it. The editors had to talk to her about her fashion choices."

"Does that really matter?" Clark asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It does when you're on camera, I guess," Jimmy said. Ron shrugged.

"More specifically, if you're a woman on camera. If that was me out there, you can bet people would just be impressed that I could walk on uneven ground without falling over, much less what I wore on my feet while doing it," Ron said. He shrugged, turning back to his work. "But then again, it might not be such a big issue if she didn't get so riled up about it…"

Suddenly a door slammed open, and all of the talking in the office came to a stop. There was a cessation of noise where the papers, phones, the keyboards, even the bubbling of the watercooler, seemed to go silent.

"Where's Lane?" Perry barked.

Lois' head popped out of the cube. "Good to see you too, Boss. Funny enough, I was just about to talk to you about a story revolving around work harassment-"

"I need you in here now," Perry said, cutting her off. "There's a story unfolding in Gotham. I'm going to see if I can get you down there."

Clark could hear Cat whisper, "Make sure to double-knot, Lois."

"Oh shut up, Cat," Lois said, and there was the sound of something landing on the desk. By Clark's guess, probably the shoebox. Lois quickly scurried into the office.

Clark mentally told himself that he shouldn't eavesdrop. But Lois also worked as a field reporter, and it seemed strange that Perry would suddenly call her in so urgently.

Sure enough, from what Clark picked up on, it sounded like a dire situation.

"...got a tip… some monster tearing up downtown… I'll have the helicopter ready to go, what I need you to do is…"

"Mr. Kent?" Jimmy said, interrupting Perry's voice. Clark looked at Jimmy, who was looking up at him questioningly. Clark must have looked like he was blanking out again.

"I-I have to go," Clark said, taking a step back. He turned to Jimmy. "Can you tell Perry that I'll be back? I just have to stop at my house for something real quick. I forgot-"

"You want me to talk to Perry?" Jimmy said, eyes widening. "He's not going to be happy if you're skipping work." The color was suddenly draining from his face. "And he's really not going to be happy if I'm the one telling him-"

"I'll be back!" Clark said, not waiting another moment, and he ran as reasonably fast as he could to the elevator.

---

The distance between Metropolis and Gotham took about forty-five minutes by helicopter.

For Superman, the trip was about five minutes.

He followed the voices, listening to their conversations for what streets to go to. He listened to people receiving phone calls from worried loved ones-picking up words of downtown, by the courthouse, corner of River and Third-and his keen eye helped him the rest of the way.

He slowed down, cape waving through the wind as he lowered himself gently to the street. Immediately he heard new whispers.

It's Superman. Get a picture. Superman is here. Superman in Gotham? Superman will save us.

The whispers quickly were overtaken by other sounds. Superman turned his focus toward a loud crash. Layers of sounds pierced through his ears-smashing glass, pipes bursting, concrete and limestone tumbling, metal scratching.

There was a smell of something putrid in the air. Clark turned in time, watching what appeared to be an enormous metahuman, hugely proportioned with clammy skin, tattered clothes and white, wiry hair. The metahuman had barreled through the corner of a building and was picking himself back up. Clark calmly, but cautiously, moved toward him.

Clark, who almost literally had dropped in on the situation, needed to choose his words carefully. The nearby destruction and screaming indicated that this person-if it was even a person-needed to be stopped. Still, calmly but firmly, he stated, "Sir, I need you to-"

Clark was cut short when the metahuman suddenly roared-a word, but not something Clark was sure he heard correctly-before picking up the nearest chunk of concrete and tossing it at Clark's head. Clark blinked as the concrete struck his face and fell unceremoniously to the floor.

"I'm guessing you don't know who I am," Clark murmured, glancing down at the concrete that had burst into dust at his feet. It didn't matter if he was known or not, the metahuman was now back on his feet. Clark caught a glimpse of his unhinged gaze. Clark didn't hesitate when the man rushed toward him-he braced himself, unafraid for he had fought much larger things with ease.

Clark quickly learned, however, that the metahuman's throw was not a good example of his strength.

Clark's breath caught in his throat, and there was no time to think when he was quickly pushed back into a building. He actually felt pain in his back as he was slammed up against the wall, the impact cracking the bricks around him.

It was taking a great deal of Clark's strength to push back and keep the metahuman at bay-if Clark was pushed any further, he'd probably break through the building. Not a good prospect, because at this strength, the building could easily be tumbled. Unable to slip past, Clark focused on one of the arms that kept him pinned. He felt the heat behind his eyes, followed by a flash of red across his vision.

The heat vision blast managed to sear across his opponent's arm, creating a deep cut and a distraction long enough for Clark to duck under and gain some distance. But to Clark's amazement, the chunk of flesh that had been burned began to bubble up. The appendage was restitching itself, healing at a miraculous rate.

Clark was temporarily thrown off, but not completely distracted. The metahuman, in a berserk-like rage, came charging after him, and Clark dodged in time. The adversary stumbled into a streetlight, which knocked over and landed on a car with a loud noise. The alarm was already screaming in Clark's ears.

Before Clark could plan his next attack, he heard the sound of heavy fabric catching in the air-a soft, subtle noise, but something Clark caught nonetheless. He looked over his shoulder and found a familiar figure crouched on the post of a building overhead. Batman was alarmingly close-as in, Clark had to wonder when he had gotten that close, and why he had just noticed now.

"What are you doing here?" he immediately demanded. He didn't raise his voice because he didn't have to, Clark could hear him just fine and Batman exploited that. Still, Clark could catch the subtle inflection in his voice. He was not happy.

Though, Clark wasn't sure if he had ever seen Batman happy.

Much like Lois, there was ice that hadn't been broken yet. Yet another coworker that Clark hadn't had time to interact with, and said coworker seemed perpetually unhappy anyways. The only proof that Clark had that the man was even capable of a smile was seeing Bruce Wayne's image on television and photographs.

"I heard about the destruction and I came to help. Are you alright?" Clark called up to him.

Clark seemed to have asked the wrong question, judging by the way Batman's scowl seemed to deepen. But then Bruce raised his chin.

"Behind you-"

Clark turned in time to see the attack coming but not fast enough to avoid. The metahuman's massive arm came flying down. Clark raised his arms in front of his face to take the brunt of the assault but it hardly made a difference-he was planted into the ground. He heard metal breaking, followed by a rush of water-they busted a mainline. He could hear the metahuman muttering to himself in fury, words saying something about the days of the week that Clark couldn't quite pay attention to because he was too busy becoming a single entity with the street. And getting splashed in the face with water-Gotham's water, no less, that had a reputation for being tainted after decades of pollution and terrorists making a game of poisoning it. Clark almost sighed.

Clark heard something cut through the air, followed by beeping. Clark managed to grab the corner of his cape, raising it up in time as the exploding batarangs went off. The metahuman was temporarily distracted, so Clark kicked him off of him, sending the man backwards.

Clark moved in to deal more damage but he was caught by the arm.

"Stop," Batman said, baring his teeth. "Solomon Grundy has fast, regenerative powers-and he always comes back stronger. You're wasting energy-he needs to be captured, not defeated."

"Maybe I could freeze him-"Clark started, but Batman cut him off.

"Your help is unnecessary. I already have a magnetic field-"

There was suddenly a roar, grabbing Clark and Batman's attention. Clark watched as the man, Solomon Grundy, was suddenly wrapped in golden rope. Clark followed the line, his eyes landing on Wonder Woman.

"Oh, great," Clark heard Batman mutter in contempt.

Wonder Woman had a good hold on Solomon Grundy, even as he resisted, but Clark had learned that Grundy's strength was as good as his, and therefore as good as Wonder Woman's. The muscles in Wonder Woman's arms strained as she struggled to hold onto the tied up Grundy. Grundy stumbled around, trying to break loose of the lasso, falling into the streets, cars, and bumping into buildings-leaving craters in his wake.

"You have to push him that way," Batman said, suddenly turning to Clark. Clark looked at the spot Bruce was indicating.

"Why-"Clark started, but then his vision picked up something strange on the ground. He focused his vision to see through the streets and caught a glimpse of something like metal plates. He looked back at Bruce, bewildered. "How did you get weapons built underneath the streets?"

"They're not weapons," Batman said, a subtle hiss to his words. "They're plates that create a magnetic field, capturing overpowered enemies like Solomon Grundy."

Clark could hear the way Batman's heartrate picked up. He eyed the Dark Knight skeptically. "Someone like Solomon Grundy, or someone like-"

"You decided you wanted to get into this and drag the whole League into it with you. So if you want to help, help. Bring him onto the plates and I'll activate the field-and don't get caught in the mix of it."

Clark frowned, feeling a weird sense of indignation. He hadn't called in the League, and Bruce made it seem like it was a bad thing that they arrived. Clark had to wonder if Batman meant the final words he said-if he truly didn't want Clark to get caught in this highly suspicious trap that Batman had concocted. Regardless, Clark rushed over to Wonder Woman.

"Wonder Woman-"

"It's Diana," she said between gritted teeth. It was taking all of her strength to pull.

"We need to drag him over this way," Clark said, but before he could touch the lasso, Diana lightly bumped shoulders with him.

"No, the lasso only obeys me. You could wield it but it would never work the same. I'll pull-and you send him where he needs to go," she said.

"How?" he asked.

"Well, Superman is known for his strength," she said, and Clark had a feeling what she was getting at. Before he could confirm, she suddenly raised her voice. "I can't hold on much longer. Ready yourself!"

She let out a true warrior's cry, pulling Grundy towards them. He was yanked back with such force that he practically flew. Clark prepared in time, winding a strong enough punch that sent Solomon Grundy right where he needed to go.

The lasso was pulled back and the field was activated. Grundy was brought to his knees.

Once captured, Batman walked briskly towards them.

"Are you alright, Batman?" Diana asked, wrapping up her lasso. She had sweat on her temple but made no move to wipe it away.

"I was leading him into that field. Everything would have gone just fine if Superman hadn't distracted him," Bruce said at once. Both Clark and Diana drew back-Clark didn't expect that type of response at all.

"Me?" Clark said, blinking. "You're throwing me under the bus?"

The vigilante didn't relent. "I was very specific when I joined the League that no one was to enter Gotham."

"I just assumed you meant during the nighttime," Clark said. Clark wasn't sure how someone could make him feel so stupid with just a single look, but however Bruce did it, he was damn good at it. Clark shifted in place, feeling uncomfortable underneath Batman's gaze. Still, he wasn't about to let some guy in a batsuit boss him around. "I felt that this was an emergency situation where I could assist. I'm not going to apologize for following my best judgment."

Suddenly, Diana spoke up, "I think what Superman is trying to say is that we were worried. When the lives of civilians are at stake, it's up to the Justice League to help. It would be irresponsible-cruel, even-to not respond to a dangerous situation such as this."

"I know how Gotham operates. Trust me-having you two here only incites more violence."

Clark's eyes narrowed, feeling indignant. "We don't incite violence. If we did, then you wouldn't have a Solomon Grundy tearing up your streets."

"Criminal activity has gone down significantly in Gotham because of Batman-"Bruce started.

"Which we applaud you for. We only-"Diana tried to cut in.

"Having you two catch the criminal makes me look weak-"

"Oh, so you're upset that we one-upped you?" Clark said incredulously. "Are you even listening to yourself? There were lives at stake."

"No one died-I made sure of that," Bruce snapped, turning his head towards Clark. "What's going to happen when you two leave today? Criminals are going to feel confident. They're going to think I'm hurt, or lacking, because I needed to call the Justice League in to do my work. They're going to think I'm crumbling and they're going to be back on the streets, cockier than ever."

"Or perhaps knowing that we will be here will intimidate them," Diana suggested.

"Or they'll take it as a challenge. Gotham is full of dangerous megalomaniacs who are just waiting for the opportunities to prove themselves."

"Well, you're not wrong about that," Clark said, narrowing his eyes. Batman ignored the slight.

"The last thing I need is Gotham's most violent criminals acting like this is an arms race. I made my terms clear when I joined the Justice League-no one touches Gotham but me. If I really need your help, I'll call you in."

"We were just trying to help-"Clark started, but he was cut off.

"I understand now that there was no reason to be concerned. Gotham is safe with you," Diana said, and she bowed her head. "If it is alright with you, I would still like to place this monster under arrest, and take him to Belle Reve myself."

"No," Batman said sharply. "He needs to be returned to Gotham authorities, where he belongs."

"Then I'll take him there."

"After all the additional, unnecessary destruction you two caused to this city?" Bruce said. Clark could hear the sound of the burst pipe behind him. The car alarm had come to a stop but everywhere around them were crushed cars, broken streets and lamplights, cracked sidewalks. All from the heavy hitting. Clark glanced back at Bruce, who was clearly trying to restrain himself from shouting any further. "No thanks. I'll take him myself."

"I'm not your enemy," Diana said, looking tense. Her eyes were faded, like they were looking past Bruce rather than at him. Clark could pick up her heartbeat, hearing it steadily increase. She was getting angry but she was trying to remain graceful.

"I never said you were."

"Then you have no reason to question me," Diana said, taking a step forward. It wasn't until that moment that Clark truly realized that Diana was equal to Bruce in height. But Bruce stared back, unflinching. Diana added, her voice a tad bit lower, "You're so suspicious of me. And yet, of all of the Justice League, it's you that I understand the least. Why so secretive?"

Clark caught the subtle inclination of movement in the corner of Bruce's mouth. He almost frowned.

"My trap. My city. My problem. I'm returning him," Bruce insisted.

Clark could see in Diana's eyes that she disapproved. But the Amazon princess kept her lips sealed shut, even took a step backwards. Bruce, without another word, moved toward Solomon Grundy-his cape flitting behind him. Clark watched him go for a moment before turning back to Diana, who was walking towards a few members of the League, who had arrived with her but had been standing at a distance, likely waiting to see if their help was needed or assisting civilians in their evacuation.

"Wonder Woman," Clark said, catching up with her.

"It's Diana," she said.

"Right. Diana," he said, lowering his gaze. "I'm sorry that the conversation ended like that. For what it's worth, thank you for helping me take that monster down. I know you did the right thing. I hope you won't let Batman's words get to you."

At that, Diana seemed amused. "Do I truly seem bothered? If so, I think you're mistaken. Batman doesn't intimidate me. But in my time, I've learned when to fight-and when to submit. I know we both did what we felt was best-but Batman is an excellent addition to the League, and he is our teammate, and so for the sake of peace, I refused to argue." Diana suddenly turned her head toward him. "You need more practice."

"I know," Clark said after a moment. Diana seemed infinitely wiser in comparison to him. She appeared to be his age but she made him feel like a child. Clark felt a slight flush on his face. "I guess I'm not… used to having teammates."

"Oh, well, that too. I meant with your combat skills."

Clark blinked twice. That was a first. No one ever told him that he fought badly.

"If you learned how to fight properly, you'd be unstoppable," she said. She smiled-it was a small, subtle upturn of her lips, but it belied a personality that he had never seen before. In a way, it almost reminded him of Lana, even though the two were worlds different. In a sense, literally. "If you ever need a mentor, I'd be more than happy to teach you what I know. I'm certain you'd surpass me in no time."

Clark thought about Diana's finesse in taking down Solomon Grundy. She hadn't even been hit once. He tried imagining sparring someone of that power. For once, Clark felt physically intimidated. Smiling almost sheepishly, he said, "I'm sorry, but I'm not much of a fighter. My powers get me by well enough."

"Do not apologize. There is no shame in that. Your gifts are a blessing."

Gifts. Ma and Pa had said similar things. But to Clark, his powers were just a part of who he was.

"You seem to be in better spirits. Talking with Batman you seemed, well, a little frazzled."

She frowned a little. Seeming to choose her words carefully, she said, "I've never met anyone like him before. Not on Themyscira, not anywhere on this planet. Yet, he is a useful ally, and has a brilliant mind."

Clark chortled a little without meaning to. "'Bless his heart'."

She looked confused. "Excuse me?"

"Eh, nothing. It's a bit of a saying here," Clark said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Whenever you have something to say about someone, and it's nothing nice but you mean them no ill will, you end it with 'bless his heart'."

"I don't believe I'm familiar," Diana said, her eyes lowering. She looked far too serious, as if trying to store this tidbit of useless information into her knowledge banks, and Clark felt a little embarrassed that he had brought it up.

"It's just a little country saying," he said, trying to shrug it off. For an example he said, "'Bob is uglier than homemade sin. Bless his heart'."

"Ah," she said, a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

They caught up to the rest of the League.

"Need me to do some roundup?" Hal asked with a big grin, a floating green projection of a jail cell behind him.

"Batman said he will handle it."

"Of course he will," Barry said quietly. He added, "I guess I ran out all the way from Central City for nothing."

"It's a good thing we had Wonder Woman to take care of things," Hal said. He nudged Diana lightly with his elbow. "I know I can always count on my girl to throw around some overgrown zombies."

Barry rolled his eyes. Clark nearly joined him-Hal always had a comment concerning Diana, for every mission they had been on. When Hal was finished chuckling to himself, Diana suddenly turned to him.

"Hal," she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Hal froze at the contact, then did a double-take on her hand, then looked back up at her. Eyes sparkling with kindness, Diana said, "You are hopeless, and I do not find you attractive in the slightest. Bless your heart."

Barry made a strange, strangled sound as he tried to repress his laughter. Clark stared, eyes widening, a flush of heat rising to his cheeks. He felt secondhand embarrassment for having been the one to teach her that. But Diana simply walked off, tall as ever, unfazed by the reactions.

Hal stood there, stunned for a few moments. "What just happened?"

"Something that made the run worth it," Barry said, still grinning.

---

Clark held his cape tight in his hand, preventing it from billowing in the arctic winds. He focused on his body temperature, keeping himself warm, and he trudged forward. Each step sunk his boot further into the snow, reminding him of old school days with Pete and Lana, sledding on the hill near the schoolyard.

Thinking about it, Clark almost felt homesick.

The winds were whistling fiercely, sweeping snow in front of his gaze, but he found the distant shape of his destination anyways.

He really needed to set up some type of marker for the entrance.

This was his fourth time visiting this building and he still was getting his directions mixed up. He made it to the doorway which was slowly becoming covered in snow, though the walls blocked off the winds well enough. He placed his hands on the frosted entryway, the ice quickly giving way to his warmed touch-and then, the surface seemed to glow as the hand made contact with the wall, as if acknowledging his touch, and the doorway opened.

The doors automatically shut behind him and then, everything went silent.

The air felt stale inside of the fortress. The interior remained immaculate, despite that no one had stepped foot in it for weeks, much less dusted, and the further he ventured inside, the more it came to life.

There was no electricity or generator hooked up to the fortress but it came alight anyways. He stepped down the polished, almost glass-like, stairs to the base level.

The high ceilings drew attention to one of the few objects in the room-a monumentally tall statue of a man and a woman who held up a world.

What world, Clark did not know. But he was certain that it was connected to the ship he arrived to Earth in, all those years ago, as well as the artifact he had found from space from which the fortress had unfolded from-both of which he had placed the remainders of into the fortress, against the closed doors that he had yet found access to.

Clark floated to the platform in the center of the room-an almost pedestal-like structure, surrounded by sharp, glassy crystals-placed underneath the shadows of the statues. On that platform, he picked up an object which had been a part of his ship, a nodule of sorts that fit perfectly into the platform, made of the same crystal-like material but with a rounded edge made of a different, almost golden, material. The bottom of the crystal was also emblazoned with the same symbol that Clark, and the statues of the man and woman, all wore on their chests.

The Superman symbol.

Clark was certain that the piece was the key to the whole fortress-that if he could figure out how to use it, he'd find the answer he was looking for concerning his origins, all of which were likely locked in those doors beyond. But the instructions-if they were instructions-engraved on the crystals of the platform was written in symbols he recognized from his ship but could not read or make sense of. He had tried on several accounts to activate the key-he looked over its surface for what felt like a thousand times, even tried seeing through it, tried listening to it, tried breaking it, blasting it with heat, freezing it, to no avail.

The first time he had made the connection between the piece and the platform, he had spent hours, upset and frustrated, trying to figure it out. But over time, he decided it was not something that could be rushed. His work at the Daily Planet, and as Superman, came first and second.

But that didn't mean he never pondered over it.

Clark glanced over the piece once more before setting it back down. The puzzle wasn't why he was there. Though he didn't know the fortress' purpose, he did know that it was the only place that felt quiet to him.

He found a lot of solace on the Kent farm, that was true. But there were still people. Animals. Plants. Out in the desolate arctic there was only the sounds of wind, and the inside of the fortress blocked out most of the noise. It was a silence that Clark had not experienced since he was a child, before he started to hear distant noises and people's heartbeats.

When he first developed the heightened sense, he had trained himself to focus it. To block out all of the noise for fear of eavesdropping-not just on conversations, but the way he could hear a person's heart skip a beat when they told lies. The way he heard Nana's come to a stop on the floor above Pete's living room. The way Lana's raced when Clark showed her that he could fly and so much more.

And the way it hammered against her chest before she kissed him.

And for awhile, he had been okay at controlling it. He could turn a lot of the sounds into mindless background noise. It required concentration, and sometimes he lost focus or became too focused, but for the most part, he had tamed the sound from a roar in his ears to something manageable. Ever since moving to Metropolis, though, he had to retrain that habit.

Metropolis was loud. Filled with people and life. Even to someone normal, it must have been overwhelming.

And then he had to take all of that noise and single it down to just what was around him.

And since becoming Superman, he also had to turn his training from blocking out noise to finding noise. Searching through seas of sounds to listen for distress.

Clark took a seat on the ledge leading up to the platform. He carried with him a bag, which he now opened up, pulling out papers. He had spent the last few nights awake in his apartment, restless between his work and being Superman, and all he wanted to do was sleep but he couldn't. There were people in Metropolis screaming, crying, at every hour of the day, and there was only so much time-even for Superman.

He needed things to be quiet for awhile. He needed to concentrate.

He looked down at the papers. All of the research and writings and Daily Planet assignments that he needed to take care of. Now that he was finally alone, he could just focus.

---

The Hall of Justice needed improvements.

It served its purpose well enough but many of the rooms were vacant or in the process of reconstruction. J'onn claimed to have been working on a better location for them, but he had yet to announce anything regarding the matter. Clark wasn't quite sure what the martian had in mind, and while he didn't necessarily seem secretive about the project, he had been quite vague in answering questions.

The Justice League gathered in their meeting room, which was still stuffed with unopened boxes and dimly lit from the half-installed ceiling lights. The only clear spaces were the table they were seated at as well as the front of the room, where Bruce had set up a series of monitors.

The advanced display could pull up just about any information they needed. Clark stared at the projected images with a small sense of unease. He tried to separate Clark Kent from Superman but it was difficult. The situation in the country of Markovia was affecting everyone on the planet, from all walks of life. It was hard to stay composed as Superman, knowing what he knew as Clark Kent.

Bruce was in the process of debriefing the situation in Markovia-from its political leaders' crimes against its people to the refugee situation-to finally suggesting a change that involved the help of the Justice League.

In the middle of the lecture, a green projection of a hand suddenly appeared.

"Question," Hal said, raising his hand.

"You don't have to raise your hand," Bruce said, frowning.

The light dissipated. "Exactly how deeply involved are we going to get? I mean, this is a foreign country after all. Wouldn't a bunch of American heroes bum rushing a foreign country send off the wrong message?"

"The Justice League has no nationality," Arthur said pointedly.

"Agreed," Diana said firmly. Hal shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. He must have realized the mistake in his words too late.

"Which is a problem in itself," Barry said, shifting in his chair. "We should be cooperating with the UN on this matter. Or… anyone, really. We're free agents, currently. Isn't that sort of dangerous?"

"It depends on how you see the situation," J'onn said, seeming to be deep in thought. "The situation in Markovia is dire. And yet, no one has confronted the Markovian government-including the United Nations. If the Justice League alliances itself with any organization, the League then opens itself up to repercussions-we will be forced to cooperate, as opposed to acting on our feelings." He tilted his head slightly. "Then again, perhaps that is necessary in order to create change. Perhaps being affiliated with the United Nations would change our agenda."

Diana looked around the table. "Regardless on that matter, I do think we can all agree that we cannot stand by while there are people in distress."

"We won't. But Hal makes a good point," Bruce said, speaking up.

"Yeah. Of course I did," Hal said, though he was clearly taken aback by Bruce's agreement.

Bruce ignored him, continuing, "By dropping into Markovia, we could accidentally incite the fear of invasion. The last thing we want is Markovia targeting the United States or the Justice League, which is why I've come up with a more covert way of assisting the people of Markovia. There's a group of volunteers working on the Markovian border, assisting refugees. Refugees run into a series of problems when fleeing the border-not just the risk of capture, but getting to the border itself." He turned to the screen, bringing up the display. Images of injuries suffered by runaways were pulled up-mangled limbs, bleeding faces, charred skin, all results of blast damage. "Surrounding the Markovian border are landmines. Any Markovian that hopes to escape the country must pass through the minefield. The very prospect alone prevents many Markovians from even attempting to leave."

Clark heard the subtle sigh pass Diana's lips. It sounded almost mournful. Everyone in the room's heartrate moved erratically at this reminder. This was not news to Clark-he was covering a story on the Markovian refugees. The landmines deterred most people from even thinking of escaping, yes, but there was more to it than that. He had heard stories of people crossing rivers in the dead of winter and falling through the ice, in hopes to getting to the country on the other side. Of people getting robbed at the border-or kidnapped. Of people picked up by Markovian authorities, forced into prisons and camps.

"We can't deactivate the bombs without stepping onto Markovian territory," Bruce said. "But, hypothetically, we could locate the bombs and draw a map of sorts to help refugees pass the final part of their escape safely."

"What about the people who can't make it to the border?" Clark asked, frowning. "I mean, we're just eliminating a single threat. What about the people starving, or the people who get taken advantage of when they're trying to pay for passage, or-"

"I have already gone ahead and sent the volunteers the supplies they need to maintain refugee camps, including better access to running water and food-"Bruce started.

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that with our powers, we could easily slip into Markovia and help refugees escape, without worrying about all of Markovia's traps."

At that, Bruce frowned deeply. "You mean with your powers. Your powers that, you just announced to everyone, that you intend to abuse."

"Abuse?" Clark repeated, drawing back. This guy, he thought, annoyed. Clark couldn't even breathe without Bruce having an objection. "There are people dying and being tortured-"

"Then why stop there?" Bruce said. "Why don't we just send in Superman and Wonder Woman to assassinate Markovia's tyrannical leaders-"

"Oh come on, that's not what I'm saying-"

"Bruce-"Diana started, frowning.

"You just told me that you not only have the power to sneak past a country's safeguards to enter illegal territory and bypass its military, but that you also would willingly do it."

"It's a suggestion," Clark said.

"It feels like a promise," Bruce said, voice rising. After a moment of pause, he recomposed himself, his voice dropping to its regular volume. "I'll give you credit for one thing: you have more strength than anyone on this team, and probably anyone in the world. But that type of power does not mean that you're limitless. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. The last thing the world needs is Markovia trying to aim a nuclear weapon at Superman."

"This is why I hated group projects in high school," Barry murmured. "No one ever agrees."

"Is that what really bothers you? That Markovia would fail to stop me?" Clark asked, not tearing his gaze away. "Or are you just afraid that you can't control me?"

From across the table, Bruce just looked him in the eye.

"I'm not afraid of you," Bruce said, and Clark believed him.

"We should do more," Arthur said, butting in and trying to get things back on-topic. Clark let him speak, though he could still feel his heart racing in anger. "Sanctions must be respected. But considering the situation, I'm not sure if this aid will be enough. We're capable of doing so much more."

"Perhaps we should discuss this more in a few moments' time," J'onn lightly suggested. "It's been a long briefing. Everyone is tense-and also tired."

Telepathy wasn't necessary in determining that everyone in the room was on-edge concerning the Markovia situation. Clark was almost certain that another argument was going to arise but Diana suddenly stood, leaving the room first. Clark's gaze lowered, still feeling heated, but he briefly remembered the last conversation he and Diana had. The importance of peace. Mouth shut, Clark also got up.

For several minutes, he wandered around the long corridors-finding it a bit easier to pace on foot. What bothered Clark most was that, while he was deeply upset, Bruce was probably completely unaffected by the conversation. He was probably just… strategizing some way to make sure Clark didn't sneak off into Markovia. Clark shook his head to himself, continuing to walk-he needed to cool down.

The Hall of Justice was a large building, mostly unfurnished, and yet Clark couldn't shake off the feeling of being trapped in the space. In times like this, he normally thought about Smallville-usually paired with a sense of homesickness and longing. This time, instead, he thought about the fortress in the arctic. With all the recent days he had spent at war, and all the days spent talking about war, he was in dire need of some peace. Lately, he only found that in the fortress.

Before he could turn a corner, he heard some talking.

"The problem is that they don't know about rules," a voice said. Hal's voice. "You and I? We get it. We're cops. You with your forensics, me with the Corps. We have to do things by the books. But people like Arthur and Diana? They're royalty. They don't have to listen to anybody."

"I agree with you. But we can't narrow it down that simply," Barry's voice responded. "When I put on this costume, I'm not Barry Allen anymore. I'm not a forensics analyst, I'm the Flash. And when that happens, I have a responsibility to do what regular people-what cops-can't do. Think about your life before the Green Lantern Corps-weren't there things around the world that you wished you could change, but knew you couldn't? And now you have the power to make that difference." A heavy sigh. "I don't know. I guess I just think it'd be a damn shame to not take advantage of that."

"But there's a line that needs to be drawn. We have the power to make a difference-but difference doesn't necessarily mean good or bad. We could make things worse."

"I think Arthur and Diana will be willing to negotiate."

Clark could hear their footsteps approaching, sweeping the faintest trail of dust on the floors. Clark thought about disappearing down another hall and focusing his hearing elsewhere.

"What about Superman?" Hal suddenly asked, making Clark pause.

"What about Superman?"

"I mean. He and Batman looked like they were five seconds away from throwing down," Hal said, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

"No disrespect towards Batman, but he seems like he's five seconds away from throwing down with anyone," Barry said. Quieter, he added, "Wouldn't be surprised if he hates all of us."

"Yeah, but not as much as he hates Superman-"

"Because he knows he can't control him," Barry said simply.

"It is a little frightening-where do you suppose he gets all of those powers anyways? I've never seen anything like it. Heat vision, frost breath, super strength, invulnerability, x-ray vision-"

Hal was forced to a stop when he and Barry turned the corner, where Clark was still standing. Waiting.

"Heightened hearing?" Clark suggested, when Hal blinked up at him.

"Whoops," Hal said under his breath.

"It's nothing personal, Clark," Barry said calmly.

"It's not," Clark said after a moment, gaze lowering. "I can't argue with what's true. I suppose I just never thought I'd scare people-not since becoming Superman, anyways. Before Superman, I was always unsure of how people would react if I told them the truth about my abilities. But Superman has been a mostly positive experience."

"You save lives," Barry said, unflinching. "You represent hope for a lot of people." He shook his head a little to himself, looking conflicted. "I do believe, deep down, that you're on our side. Anyone who is afraid of that has something to hide."

Clark wondered briefly what Barry's true opinion of Bruce was, but in the end, he could only sense uncertainty in the speedster.

"But that being said, I am still curious," Hal said, butting back into the conversation. "Where do you get your powers?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Clark said, brows furrowing. He thought briefly of the fortress and his mouth opened, ready to speak, but then he shut it. He hadn't thought to tell anyone in the League about the fortress, and how it may have contained the secrets to his origins. He wasn't, however, quite ready to divulge that information yet. The fortress was the closest thing to privacy that Clark had felt in years. "I do know that when my parents found me, they found me in a spaceship of sorts."

"Spaceship, huh?" Hal said. His eyes widened and he seemed to view Clark with new eyes. "You must be an alien then. But what species? I've never seen any species so close to appearing human-unless you can disguise yourself, in the same way J'onn does when he acts as a civilian. And I definitely haven't seen anyone with your array of abilities."

Clark felt suddenly uncomfortable-the word species was making him frown. It was the accurate term, yes, but it still made him feel… nonhuman.

And the suggestion that he was disguising himself to appear human-

Then again, he supposed he wasn't human. And there was nothing incriminating in the word species itself, even humans were a species, so Clark had to reel back his personal feelings.

"I have no idea," he finally admitted.

"I could find out, if you let me scan you," Hal said.

"Scan me?" Clark repeated, raising an eyebrow. Hal lifted his fist, showing his ring.

"Yeah, with the power ring! It's infused with the knowledge of Oa. I can scan anything and the power ring will tell me what it knows! It helps on space missions, when I travel to foreign planets. It's like a super encyclopedia in one tiny package-Google on space steroids."

"Look at you, being helpful," Barry said. He crossed his arms, smirking, but his voice betrayed a lightheartedness.

Clark's heart began to beat a little faster at the prospect of getting the answers for the questions he had always wondered. But a small part of him was afraid he wouldn't like what he found out. He reluctantly asked, "Will it hurt?"

Hal snorted a little. "Says the guy who can crash through buildings and deflect bullets."

At that, Clark slowly nodded. Hal had a point.

"Let's give it a try, then."

"Alright. Power Ring, analyze Superman's biology for me." Hal pointed his fist in Clark's direction. Green light projected from the ring, moving across Clark from head to toe. Scanning for information. At the end of it all, a strange voice spoke.

"Unrecognized," the ring said. At that, Clark blinked.

Hal frowned. More firmly: "Power Ring, analyze."

Again, the ring scanned Clark. "Unrecognized."

"Huh. Weird," Hal said, looking down at the ring. He looked genuinely concerned. "It's... never said that before."

"Could it be broken?" Barry asked. Hal scoffed.

"My power ring is not broken," Hal said, indignant. "It's made from advanced, magical technology. It's just-"

"Not working," Barry finished for him, smirking a little.

"I'm going to punch you."

Justice League, a voice said. But it wasn't quite a sound-it was more like a thought, inside of Clark's head. By the looks on Barry and Hal's faces, they felt it too. It was J'onn and his telepathy. Please return to the briefing room in five minutes.

"Ugh. Hate it when he does that," Hal said, grumbling. But instead of waiting around, Hal immediately started to head toward the direction of the meeting room. Clark went to follow but felt a hand pull on his arm.

"Hey, I hope you meant it when you said that you didn't take our words too seriously," Barry said. Clark looked at him, feeling a sense of surprise that Barry would be concerned. "If there's one thing I've also learned as a cop, it's that teamwork doesn't come easily-but it's necessary. If we can't trust in each other, what can we trust in? We're teammates-you, Bruce, Hal, all of us-even if we can't personally agree on everything."

In truth, Clark hadn't quite recovered from the conversation. Not just the parts he had overheard, but all of it. The mystery of his origin deepened, and it was becoming more and more of a reminder that he wasn't quite the same as everyone else. Still, he looked at Barry, and saw a sense of trust in his eyes. Clark slowly nodded.

"Don't worry about it," Clark said. As they started to head back to the briefing room together, Clark tried to think of what to say. "You're from Central City, right?"

"Grew up in the suburbs originally, but yeah. Moved to the city when I got older and I've been there ever since," Barry said simply.

"Do you know if Tony's Pizza is still around?"

"Definitely! But they moved. They're on the east side now," Barry said. He looked at Clark with a bit of surprise, as if seeing him in a new light. "So you've been to Central City before?"

"My parents and I would drive up there every other summer."

"Drive?" Barry repeated, blinking. "Central City is a hell of a drive from Metropolis."

"Oh, this was back when I was living in my hometown. Smallville."

"Smallville? Where the hell is that?"

"Kansas."

"You're shitting me," Barry said, grinning. "Superman's a Midwestern boy, like yours truly? Wow. I mean, I sometimes wondered, based on how you talked-it seems like everyone from Metropolis speaks a thousand words a minute-but I didn't figure…" Barry just shook his head to himself, smiling. "I gotta admit, it's nice knowing there's a small town guy on our team. I mean… all those other guys, they're not from around here. Arthur spends half of his life in the water. I've had Diana explain to me twice where she came from and I still don't get it. J'onn is a Martian. Bruce and Hal are from the coasts, which might as well be foreign countries and planets to me. But guys like me and you-we're just hometown heroes."

At that, Clark finally smiled.

It felt good, breaking the ice.

---

The fortress came alight. Clark immediately moved to the platform, lifting up the nodule from the platform. He turned it over, staring at the emblem on it.

Clark's brow furrowed. The object fit in his cupped hands, and was light as a feather. For such a small object, it had caused him a lot of grief and sleepless nights.

He just wanted to know the truth.

Wherever Clark was from, it was far in the outreaches of space. Perhaps not even from this universe at all. Somewhere so far that Hal's ring, which could scan just about anything, couldn't even guess where he was from.

But when he looked down at the key, it looked the same as it always had.

Clark slowly paced around the room, passing the key back and forth in his hands. He looked down at the object in his hands and, in the process, caught the reflection on the polished surface of the floor. One of the faces of the monumental statues, looking back at him.

Clark stopped in his tracks, staring back at the face for a moment longer. He felt a slight twisting in his chest.

The statue of the man and woman were made of a material that Clark could not trace in all of his research-a type of hard stone, it seemed like, but with the luster of gold. He had looked over them as many times as he looked over the key, trying to find some traces of a hint that could help him figure out how to open the doors of the place. The statues were just as answerless.

Clark slowly rose up through the air, stopping before the faces of the statues. He looked into their faces long and hard, studying each and every feature, finding them startling familiar-particularly the man's.

The browline, the shape of his nose, the cheekbones and jawline-it was like looking into a mirror. The similarities belied something of a racial connection, in more ways than the shield that was engraved on the key and their chests. Somehow, some way, Clark knew he was connected with these people.

At that thought, Clark paused.

He looked down at the key in his hands. The bottom of the crystal had a material that was of the same stuff as the statues, that goldish color minus the red.

Clark's brow furrowed slightly as he studied the emblem on the key. Maybe he was crazy for thinking this, but at this point, he was anxious to try anything.

He placed his thumb to his lips-and bit. A knife would never do-not that he had carried one-but his teeth were stronger than his nearly-invulnerable skin. Clark caught a faint taste of the heated, bitter blood as he pierced the skin.

He smeared his thumb over the surface of the emblem, leaving a trace of his blood-his DNA-onto the object. There was no response from the key but Clark lowered himself to the platform anyways. He placed the key back into its slot-the stained emblem facedown, as it was meant to fit.

He waited, hopeful despite the doubts that plagued his mind, but there was no response from the key or the platform.

Clark didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he sighed. He knew he was taking a shot in the dark but with the way that the rest of the fortress seemed to respond to his touch, he thought that maybe the key would respond to his biology as well.

At this point, Clark was ready to bury the project. He spent more time thinking about this place than he spent writing, and he barely slept but when he did-he dreamt of this place more than he dreamt of Metropolis or Smallville. He was more invested in a mystery than what he knew.

He knew he was Clark Kent, a farm boy from Smallville, Kansas. He was adopted and raised by Jon and Martha Kent. And whoever he was before that was a world away, a world beyond him. Now he was just a journalist, and he loved his work, and he loved helping people with both his words and his powers, and that was all that mattered. Perhaps he'd never know the answer to his origins-but he didn't need the validation of an ice fortress.

He was done with being the guy whose eyes were always on his feet and his head in the clouds.

Suddenly, Clark noticed something in his peripherals. He looked up, saw light travelling underneath the glasslike surface of the floors. Spreading like a flower coming into bloom, with the platform as its center, moving outwards. Clark's eyes followed the trail as it reached the doors, which opened upon contact. Nearly soundless.

Clark blinked, momentarily stunned. He moved toward the nearest door but before his feet could even lift off the ground, a voice spoke. It was a neutral sounding voice that seemed to permeate from every reach of the fortress, in words that Clark didn't understand and yet sounded so familiar that he almost felt like he could.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," Clark said, and he felt genuinely sorry even though he wasn't even certain he was talking to anyone. A thought crossed his mind, wondering if perhaps he had done something wrong-if he should leave, considering this place was far beyond his understanding.

He wondered if this place was capable of hurting him and suddenly, he felt vulnerable.

He breathed in, trying to calm himself, and tried to pinpoint exactly where the voice was coming from but after he spoke, there was a sudden cessation, the silence cutting in almost midsentence. Clark listened carefully, anticipation in his chest.

Kal-El. Last Son of Krypton. Born to Jor-El and Lara, the voice suddenly said, resuming its speech in English. And yet the voice seemed to echo of many.

"Jor-El and Lara?" Clark repeated.

Something flashed before Clark-a mixture of blue and white light, forming a projection. A projection with no true source. It floated in the air directly in front of Clark's face, making him draw back in surprise. As he stepped back, he suddenly shifted his gaze around the room. His heart began to race faster. All around him, one by one, another after another, similar projections appeared. His gaze stopped and fixated on one-and he cautiously approached it, almost in disbelief. He stared at the image of planet Earth, sitting side by side with what appeared to be dozens of planets that Clark didn't know the names of. Planets he had never seen or even imagined existed.

Of all the planets with yellow suns catalogued in your ship's coordinates, you have appeared to have landed on the planet Earth. I have catalogued as many of the languages I could from each planet. These languages were studied from afar, compiled from research gathered of other outerworld species. For the most effective communication, however, it would be best to communicate using Kryptonian-

"Wait, slow down," Clark said. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly stressed. His mind was reeling at all of this new information at once. It wasn't just the terminology-these names and places he had never encountered-or the sudden realization of all these unexplored planets existing. What threw him off the most was the personal pronoun-this voice had an identity, and knew him, or at least knew about him. Clark had so many questions.

May… we… please… speak… in…

"No, I didn't mean slow down in a literal sense," Clark said quickly, shaking his head. "I just-I mean, can I at least know who I am talking to?"

There was a pause. The projections of the planets then moved through and around Clark, all collecting into a single entity. Clark stared at the blue and white image before him-an image of a man just barely under his height and was instantly familiar.

"You are speaking to the sentient projection of Jor-El, from the house of El, born to Jor-El I and Nimda, son to the city of Kryptonopolis and a scientist. This projection is infused with his knowledge and memories."

Clark's gaze shifted from the image to the statue. They were identical. He finally had a name. "Exactly how sentient are you?"

It was a vague description. There wasn't anything physical about the person in front of him-in fact, Clark easily saw through him. The person who identified as Jor-El seemed almost ghostlike. But at Clark's words, the projection reacted-his brow furrowing ever so slightly, indicating an almost human reaction. But there was no heartbeat to match with the emotion to prove he was real.

"It's difficult to explain how the technology works without an understanding of Kryptonian engineering-or even without knowing of Krypton's geology and materials. All I can say is that the real Jor-El is certainly dead, but while I know that I am synthetic, being fused with Jor-El's intelligence and memories, I almost…" The image trailed off. The glowy eyes seemed even more mysterious as they looked into Clark's-and yet, Clark could sense something deeply emotive in them. "And yet, I still feel a reaction when I look at you, overjoyed in knowing that you survived."

With the voices pulled from a resonance into a single source, Jor-El seemed almost quiet.

"You don't know who I am." It wasn't a question, Clark realized. Jor-El continued, seeming to change the subject, "Where's Kara?"

"I'm… afraid I don't know who that is," Clark confessed.

"I see," Jor-El said, gaze lowering.

Clark wondered at the deep disappointment in Jor-El's voice. But Jor-El lifted his gaze from the ground, back up at Clark. There was a shift in the projection's face.

"You must have been terribly lonely."

Clark felt a sudden loss of words. Jor-El suddenly turned his gaze upwards, toward the world that the statues held. Each statue seemed to be holding a hemisphere of the planet, lifting it together almost with a sense of pride and honor.

"That is the depiction of your home planet. This fortress unfolded from the Eradicator, as you well know, or we would not be speaking at this very moment." Jor-El and Clark both turned their gaze to the humanoid artifact standing side by side with the ship. "That artifact was tasked with the preservation of Krypton by your ancestor Kem-El, and repurposed by my hand to serve as a house to this fortress which contains my artificial intelligence as well as the remainders of Krypton, before it was destroyed."

At this news, Clark's stomach dropped. This wasn't the type of story he had been expecting-he finally learned the name of where he came from, only to discover that it no longer existed. It was hard to mourn what he had never known, but it was still a difficult concept to swallow. "Destroyed? By who?"

"By no one's fault except the Kryptonians," Jor-El said, turning back to him. "The planet was rapidly collapsing into itself, all because Kryptonians had developed far too advanced and dangerous technology to fight its civil wars-but that is far too much history to go into. In relation to your story, I can say that I spent years studying Krypton and developing a way to evacuate the planet-but my colleagues did not agree with my research. When the time came, I knew I had to at least spare you. You were but an infant, and I felt a great desire to spare you of the crimes of your ancestors, and so I developed a ship that could help you escape. It was highly experimental-but I'm glad to see that Lara and I succeeded."

"Me?" Clark repeated, frowning.

"Yes. You are the sole survivor of Krypton."

"I got that from what you've been saying but-why? Why me?"

"Because you're my son."

Clark stared, unbreathing. Jor-El moved on.

"Your given name is Kal-El. You are the Last Son of Krypton."

Clark's mind blanked, trying to process this information. He had so many questions but couldn't think of a single one. The first place his mind did travel to was Ma and Pa-and the thought of them suddenly filled him with an overwhelming sense of emotion, indescribable and yet reminiscent of fear, anxiousness, and sadness.

He had always known that he wasn't from Earth. And yet, to hear that confirmation from someone-his father-was suddenly too much. He felt guilt for feeling that way, especially when Jor-El seemed to be observing his reaction with a subtle disappointment. This was what Clark had asked for-everything he had ever wanted to know-but learning the truth felt far too heavy.

Mindful of Jor-El, Clark closed his eyes for a moment to recompose himself, and forced himself to straighten. He looked at Jor-El again. "I found the artifact-the Eradicator, as you called it-completely by coincidence. I was… in a dark place, emotionally. I was trying to exile myself from this planet, when the Eradicator tried to destroy Earth. In order to stop it, I threw it into the arctic, where it finally unfolded. Knowing this, I can't help but question your story. How do I know if I can trust you?"

"The Eradicator was programmed by Kem-El to preserve Kryptonian culture and destroy all others. I have worked hard to change that, but it seems in the time that the Eradicator and I have been separated, I could not maintain my control over it. For that, I apologize." Jor-El paused, seeming to consider Clark's words. "I'm afraid I can't give you any proof. You can only trust in my word."

Clark did.

"Perhaps this is too much information. This is not how I expected our first meeting to be like. As you said, perhaps we should… slow down," Jor-El said, and he offered a subtle smile. A gesture that was proving to be more and more universal than Clark had presumed. "How is Earth? Have you… been treated well? Has the yellow sun been effective in keeping you healthy?"

Clark couldn't lie. "Well, for starters, no one calls me Kal-El. They call me Clark. I was adopted by the humans who found my ship. Their names are Jon and Martha Kent. They're…" Clark trailed off, the familiar feeling of grief returning to him, thinking about his parents. Quieter, he confessed, "They're the only parents I've ever really known."

"I see," Jor-El said. "And they raised you as their own?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad," Jor-El said.

Clark looked at him. Jor-El continued to face him, seemingly unafraid, and Clark felt his own fear begin to ebb.

"You are older than I hoped you would be. I wanted to see that you had landed safely, the same age that you were preserved in while you were in the ship. An infant. And now, I see that you are fully grown. But I am still happy that you not only survived, but exceeded expectations and arrived at what seems like an adult age. What is your profession?"

"I'm a journalist."

At that, Jor-El tilted his head slightly. "Is that a highly respected position on Earth?"

"Uh," Clark said, suddenly flashbacking to his early days as a journalist, when he tried to ask an accused criminal a question for a headline he was working on, and he had to pretend to be hurt when they threw their hot coffee on him. "It really depends."

"I find this interesting," Jor-El said, seeming to be deep in thought.

Clark had a guess as to why. "Well, you said you were a scientist. But Lara-I mean, my mother, did she-"

"No," Jor-El said, predicting Clark's question as easily as Clark had predicted his. And yet, he smiled anyways. "Neither of us were writers."

---

"Jesus, Smallville, did you get hit by a taxi last night? You look like a wreck. Jimmy, go grab a coffee."

When Jimmy turned to run off, Clark put his hand up to stop him. He looked over Jimmy's shoulder at the frowning Lois. "I'm alright, Lois. Thanks. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

He had spent the entire night speaking to Jor-El, catching up with him. Trying to tell him everything about himself, and learning a few things in return. The whole encounter was… a strange situation, but not uninteresting. Just thinking about it made Clark suddenly feel less tired.

Lois just placed a hand on her hip, looking at Clark skeptically.

They had decided to meet at the train station-there was a light rail that went straight into Gotham, the most convenient way for them to travel together. Lois took Clark's word for it immediately, spinning on her heel and resuming her trek to the ticketbooth. Clark and Jimmy followed her lead.

When Jimmy didn't enter the line, Lois asked, "Don't you need a ticket?"

"I technically wasn't assigned to this," Jimmy said. Clark blinked at this news. "But I wanted the opportunity to meet Bruce Wayne, so I bought my ticket online." Jimmy stopped and opened up his wallet. "I have it right… uh…" He started to pat his other pockets.

Lois deadpanned, looking at Jimmy with a hopeless expression. "Jimmy… if you weren't assigned to go with us, then there's no way that Perry is going to print your photo. You'd have to take a photo of Bruce Wayne in bed with the goddamned president or something for Perry to even consider making room for a photo that he didn't plan in his printing budget-"

"Oh, this isn't for Daily Planet. See, for my journalism class-"

"Jimmy!" Lois said, guffawing. Her face was turning red. "You are not using my interview with Bruce Wayne for your Junior project!" Suddenly, Lois' eyes darted in Clark's direction, as if just remembering that he was there. She straightened her posture a little and corrected, "I mean, our interview."

"But-"Jimmy started.

"I'm not using the company card to buy you a train ticket to Gotham so you can get extra credit!" Lois cut off. "Perry will kill me!"

"I'll cover your ticket, Jimmy," Clark said, to which Jimmy and Lois instantly turned to him.

"Really, Mr. Kent?" Jimmy said, eyes lighting up.

"It's Clark-"Clark started.

"Seriously, Smallville?" Lois said. "Stop enabling him!"

"Oh come on, Lois," Clark said, smiling gently. "We were both in college not too long ago."

Lois' foot stopped tapping. Clark just noticed that she was wearing heels. She sighed heavily. "Fine. I can't tell you what to do with your money anyways."

"Thank you, Mr. Kent-"

"It's Clark-"

"I really appreciate this, you know. Have you ever been to Gotham? Last time I went, it was for my high school field trip. I got so lost. Hey, can you believe we're going to be face to face with Bruce Wayne?"

"Yeah. It's, uh-"Clark's eyes shifted to the side. "...pretty great."

If Jimmy noticed Clark's failed attempt at enthusiasm, he didn't comment on it. He was distracted by a scene with a family in the distance. He snapped a photo-the strong flash making Clark flinch. It wasn't just him-Lois turned away from the ticket booth long enough to shoot Jimmy a look.

"Jimmy-"she said with a sigh.

"Whoops, sorry," Jimmy said, shrinking in place.

Lois turned to Clark. Clark just smiled sheepishly.

They got their tickets and boarded the train. Jimmy and Clark took their seats first and Lois stopped when she saw the open seat sandwiched between them. Her expression seemed a bit awkward and uncomfortable and she finally took an empty bench across from them instead. Voices in the background grabbed Clark's attention.

"Superman is totally stronger than Wonder Woman!"

"Nuh-uh. Wonder Woman is way stronger. She's like, way, way, way stronger!"

"Allison, keep your voice down," a woman, presumably the mother, said with a sharp look as she boarded the train with her children. Both daughter and son shrank under her gaze but soon started whispering to each other. Even under the loud noises of other trains passing under the tunnels and the voice on the speaker, Clark could catch every word. Superman versus Wonder Woman continued. He smiled a little to himself.

The train was filling up fast. Lois was glued to a tablet she had brought with her until someone took the seat next to her. Lois' nose scrunched up-Clark could also smell the woman's foul perfume but politely withheld his reaction. Lois turned her head, looking ready to slide down to the seat next to her, but someone else took that as well-a man with the body of a football player, who seemed to be taking up two seats instead of one. His leg and shoulder were already bumping up against Lois.

Lois immediately grabbed her things and took the seat between Clark and Jimmy instead, and whether they liked it or not, they all were squeezed together the entire trip there.

---

"Watch where you're going!" a man snapped, and Clark felt a rise in his chest, moving in to defend Lois-but Lois sneered in return.

"You cut me off, so buzz off!" she said sharply, and the young man just shook his head and continued on his way. Expression dark, she grumbled, "Gotta love Gotham."

Gotham was definitely a far way off from the Golden Metropolis, filled with proud people with tough attitudes. The buildings were a mix of hard steel and old limestone, in comparison to the modern architecture and glass skyscrapers that Clark had become accustomed to. The top of the train station even had old gargoyles, which Clark guessed could easily have been as old as the city itself.

In truth, Gotham also made Clark uncomfortable. The smog was so thick that Clark's senses felt a little overwhelmed. And even in the daytime, the whole city was abuzz with sirens and people arguing, making him anxious. At least Jimmy seemed to be enjoying himself-he was snapping some shots of the buildings.

"What a dump," Lois said, rueful.

"I think it has personality," Jimmy said, smiling behind a lens.

"We're here for work," Clark reminded them both gently. Lois hailed a taxi and they all squeezed in. Lois and Jimmy were tiny but... well, Clark did have very big shoulders.

"Wayne Enterprises," Lois told the driver, and the driver took off before anyone could even buckle in their seatbelts. Lois glanced over at Clark. "Aren't you going to buckle in?"

"Oh," Clark said. He couldn't remember the last time he had been in a car-and he was never worried about his safety. He grabbed the belt-it felt so teeny in his hands. "Right. Slipped my mind."

"How?" Jimmy whispered, sounding a little amused. As if to prove his point, the taxi swerved around the corner and nearly crashed into another car.

"A phone interview would have been so much easier," Lois said, sighing.

"Why didn't you suggest it?" Jimmy asked.

"Bruce Wayne only does in-person interviews. God knows why."

Clark had a guess: Bruce didn't want to talk to anyone he couldn't see.

"Cool," Jimmy breathed, when the taxi finally pulled up to their destination-but his gaze wasn't fixated on the office building. His gaze was set on the building across the street. Wayne Tower. Clark had to agree-the tower was the highest point in Gotham. Even as someone who could fly, it was impressive how tall it was.

They waited in the main lobby. When the elevator doors opened, they were all expecting an assistant-not the man himself.

"Lois Lane," Bruce said, moving to her first to shake her hand. "It's always good to see you."

It was strange seeing the normally confident Lois look so taken aback. Professionally, she took his hand. Bruce then turned his gaze to Clark. Clark had mentally prepared himself for how he would react-thinking up words to say or even some type of face signal to reassure Bruce that this interview didn't have to be awkward.

But when they locked gazes, Bruce's smile was as equally charming as it was for Lois, and Clark was so startled and dumbfounded that he almost forgot to grab Bruce's hand. The handshake was firm-a true businessman's handshake.

"And that makes you Clark Kent. Did you all make it here okay?"

Clark pushed up his glasses, feeling suddenly nervous, like he was interviewing for a job at Wayne Enterprises rather than on behalf of the Daily Planet.

"Uh, yes, everything was just fine," Clark said. And it was a good thing that Lois thought Clark was a bumbling farmboy anyways, otherwise his suddenly nervous speech might have seemed odd.

Bruce turned to Jimmy, who stood there with his jaw hanging slightly, and paused.

Bruce feigned awkwardness. "I'm sorry, I don't think-"

"Jimmy Olsen-err, James Olsen-I mean-I'm a photographer," Jimmy said, starstruck.

Bruce deserved some type of acting award. He turned to Lois for help and Clark, used to seeing a man whose eyes were normally hidden behind a owl and his mouth was always a thin line, was continuously shocked by this comparably colorful and expressive man.

"Photographer?" Bruce said, clearly cautious. Lois paled.

"He's…" she trailed off.

"An intern. He's just shadowing. None of these photos will be published," Clark said.

"I see. Still, I sort of have a personal policy about pictures-"

"I don't have to stay the whole time. Ten minutes," Jimmy said quickly.

"Alright. Ten minutes."

Bruce opened the door for them. Jimmy silently shook his fist, cheering for himself.

Bruce's office was as large as Clark's living room-and the furniture was nicer than anything that Clark had ever seen, much less owned. There was no seat for Jimmy, so he wandered around the office, stopping before a black and gray photograph on the wall.

"I like your taste, Mr. Wayne. This reminds me of Ansel Adams," Jimmy said cheerfully.

"That's because it is," Bruce said casually, taking a seat behind the desk.

Jimmy, his heart skipping, clenched his hands around his camera and accidentally set off the flash, taking a glorious picture of the ground.

"Jimmy," Lois started, almost sighing.

"Right, sorry, I-I'll take off the flash," he said, and he quickly disappeared into the corner.

Later, he'd duck out of the room a little closer to nine minutes than ten minutes.

Lois and Clark conducted the interview normally-as they eased into the interview, Clark began to forget that he knew this man before them. In fact, with every answer Bruce gave them, Clark slowly stopped pondering over what were truths and what were lies. He regarded Bruce's words as if he was learning about a different person-Bruce Wayne, instead of the secretive Batman that he worked with.

Bruce Wayne's words had weight. Wayne Enterprises was seeing an exponential growth, propelling Bruce into the world's richest category. This interview was just as important as the rest of Clark and Lois' work-everyone in the world wanted to know what business ventures Bruce had planned, what new products he had in store, down to what damn cologne he wore.

But there was a point in the interview where Lois asked a question that made Bruce laugh, and it threw Clark for such a loop that he suddenly remembered who he was talking to. He couldn't help but wonder why Bruce was so cordial now-but almost unbearable to work with as Batman.

"Any other questions?" Bruce asked as the vintage clock on the wall ticked.

Lois shifted in her chair, looking ready to pack up.

"What do you think about the Markovia situation?" Clark blurted out.

Lois stopped moving. Everything in the room seemed to freeze, save for the Newton's cradle on the desk that kept ticking away. To Clark's surprise, Bruce's face broke out into a smile.

With practiced ease, Bruce feigned embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm not too well researched on politics."

Clark was silenced. Bruce's heart was a steady beat. Lois', on the other, was racing. Her gaze lowered at the recorder and, seeming almost determined, she scooted to the edge of her chair.

"I believe Wayne Enterprises has donated money to the refugee situation," she said.

"Ah, yes. My heart does go out to the refugees. We're also in the talks of a fundraiser, I believe."

"Do you feel like you could do more?" Clark pressed.

At that, Clark sensed a dark flicker in Bruce's eye. But just as quickly, he shrugged sheepishly.

"I'll do what I can to aid and support refugees. Outside of that, I'm not sure what more I can do." In a lighter voice, Bruce said, "But, if the situation arises to do more, you know where to find me."

The conversation finally seemed finished.

"Well thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne," Lois said, packing up her bag.

"Not a problem," Bruce said. Conversationally, he added, "Is there anything you're planning on doing in Gotham?"

Lois pondered for a moment before shrugging. "Oh, I'm not sure. I don't believe we have anything planned. Dinner in Wayne Tower, perhaps? The view of the city is great. It's one of my favorite spots in Gotham."

"If you go, I'll make sure you have a reservation. A late dinner would be the best choice. The view is much better at night."

Lois glanced at Clark, the excitement sparkling in her eyes. Clark forced a smile, for appearances' sake.

When they exited Bruce's office and shuffled into the elevator, however, Lois' cheer disappeared. She punched Clark on the shoulder. It didn't hurt-but Clark looked at her in surprise.

"'What do you think about the Markovia situation'?" she said, slowing her words down and deepening her voice to her best Clark Kent impression. She muttered, "I nearly pissed myself. He never talks about world affairs."

Clark smiled. "I thought you liked the hard hitting questions."

Lois rubbed her forehead-but her face still broke out in a grin.

"You have more guts than I gave you credit for, Smallville, I'll give you that." Her hands dropped to her side and she let out a breath, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "Man. That guy has really changed. He used to be so smart. Quiet, but smart."

Something about Lois' words made her seem like she was familiar with Bruce. Clark couldn't help but remember Bruce's generous offer of dinner as well.

"You know him?" Clark said, frowning.

"Know him? No, definitely not." She tilted her head back and forth, thinking. "Well, I mean, we met once. As kids. Mostly I've just met his uncle a few times, is all. Colonel Kane worked with my father in the military. I met Mrs. Wayne once too-before she died, obviously. I was really young. We were all at a brunch together. He was really quiet, for a kid, I thought he was kind of weird. I mean, I was a reader as a kid too, but I feel like his nose was stuck in a book so he'd have an excuse not to talk to anyone."

Strangely, that was how Clark imagined Bruce would be like as a kid. But for Lois, her tone made it clear that this was all very different from her expectations. For a person who only knew Bruce as a billionaire playboy, Clark supposed it must have been odd.

"How'd his mother die?" Clark asked. At that, Lois' eyes widened.

"Criminy, Smallville. Do they not have the internet where you're from? Or TV, for that matter?" Lois said incredulously. "The Waynes were murdered."

Clark was momentarily stunned by this news. His brow slowly furrowed, wondering if this was actually true. More, he wondered how he could have worked with the guy and not known sooner. "How?"

"Shot dead in an alley. One after another. Bastard who did it was trying to steal money and jewelry." Lois shook her head to herself. "Poor guy saw it all happen-his parents were shot right in front of him. Except he wasn't really a guy, I guess. He was just a kid, at the time." Lois glanced over at Clark, who was too stunned to speak. "Jesus, you really didn't know, did you?"

"I mean, I knew he was an orphan. But I just assumed that…" Clark trailed off.

"Cancer? Car accident? Fire? That might have been merciful, at least in comparison. But no. Shot dead, right in front of a child." Lois' eyes were beginning to shine. She fanned herself lightly. "I need to stop thinking about it-it's one of those stories that makes you tear up every time you think about it. I was just a little girl when it made the news and I remember seeing all of the memorials and people grieving. Mr. Wayne was a doctor and Mrs. Wayne saved abused women and children. So many people depended on them. But God, the most tragic part about it was just thinking of the boy who was orphaned."

Clark reached his pocket and pulled out a tissue. Lois glanced at it once and, to his surprise, laughed.

"I'm good, thanks," Lois said. "Do you always carry tissues on you? Well, aren't you a boy scout? That or someone's grandma…"

Clark smiled a little. "Actually, it's a habit I picked up at Star News. You're always supposed to carry tissues at an interview."

"Even to visit Bruce Wayne? I think that's one interview where you don't have to worry about waterworks."

"And yet-"

"Okay, okay, point made," Lois said, cutting him off.

"Even knowing his past, you weren't expecting a sad interview."

"Why would I? He brings it up in public every so often, when he's doing related charity work involving orphans or when he's picking up his parents' work. Besides that, he seems… okay."

"Okay?"

"I mean, if you ask Cat, she'll give you all the details on what a supposed pervert he is," Lois said, snorting a little. "But I mean, aside from being a bit indecent, as well as a bit clumsy on those vacations of his, he seemed to turn out just fine… all things considered. He seems to have recovered."

At that, Clark went quiet. He pocketed the tissue.

Jimmy reunited with the group.

"Hey, I got some good photos that I have to show you all later-from the interview, of course," Jimmy quickly elaborated. He looked at Lois. "Great job, Lois. It was cool seeing you at work. I've shadowed other reporters before but none that handled themselves like you did."

"Thank you, Jimmy," Lois said, beaming.

"No matter what people may say about you, there's no denying that you're a good reporter," Jimmy said. Jimmy looked down to adjust his camera set, not noticing the double-take that Lois did. Clark tensed in place, hearing her heartbeat begin to pick up.

"What do you mean? What do they say about me?" Lois asked, frowning. Jimmy glanced up at her. Shrugged once.

"Oh, you know. Like people in the office. Like Cat and Steve and stuff."

Lois' eyes narrowed. "People talk about me?"

"Well, yeah," Jimmy said. He was beginning to notice Lois' concern. Almost cautiously, he said, "I mean, it's nothing bad."

"Well, what do they say?" Lois said, blinking twice.

"That you're headstrong."

Lois just looked at him.

"Jimmy-"Clark started, and a look of realization crossed Jimmy's face.

"Oh, no, Ms. Lane-I didn't mean to offend you," Jimmy sputtered out, eyes widening. "I don't think that about you. It's everyone else in the office that thinks that way."

Jimmy suddenly went silent, realizing his mistake only after picking up on Lois' lack of response. Clark sighed a little, adjusting his glasses. That… was a disaster.

But Lois just crossed her arms over her chest. "It's fine, Jimmy. I get it."

"But-"

Without skipping a beat, Lois looked back at her watch. "We got an hour before our ticket back to Metropolis. Let's get drinks, maybe a light dinner, and then catch our seats. We'll skip the tower-I'm not much in the mood for steak and if I'm not mistaken, there's a nice, simple deli right by the station."

Quick as lightning, Lois started the journey-and Clark and Jimmy followed her.

"Jeez, Mr. Kent, you don't think she's mad, right?"

Clark looked at Jimmy dryly. "You… just told her that the entire office hated her."

"I never used the word hate," Jimmy said. His shoulders slumped. "I mean-I wasn't trying to hurt her feelings or anything..."

Clark shook his head to himself. He knew Jimmy had no ill intentions, and if Clark was honest, some of the office's criticisms of Lois were true. But some things felt too harsh to repeat. Clark interceded, "It doesn't matter what they said or what you repeated, Jimmy. It's still going to hurt. To be scrutinized by your colleagues-it makes you feel like an outcast. It makes you feel like you don't belong."

"Of course she belongs. We all work for the same paper," Jimmy said, looking at him.

Clark wasn't sure how to make him understand. When they all settled down in the deli, ordering their foods in turns, Clark made sure to say something to Lois when they were alone.

"It's all just office politics," Clark said as they were seated at a table. "Don't let it get to you."

"I'm not," Lois said quickly. She straightened her posture in her seat. "If I can't handle criticism, then I have no right to call myself a journalist."

"But it is bothering you," Clark said. Lois gave a scoff, shaking her head to herself, looking ready to shrug Clark off like she always did. But her guarded gaze soon seemed lost in thought. After a moment, she spoke up.

"Being a journalist is all I've ever wanted. All that matters is that Perry likes my work, which I know he does. If it was otherwise, he'd never ask me to go on these assignments," Lois said. She was all large hand gestures as she spoke. She huffed a little, her hand finally settling on the table. She tapped the surface with her nails for a moment, gaze lost in concern. "But it's like the rest of the office needs me to prove myself to them. So are they right? Am I too bullheaded? Do I need to take it down a notch?"

"I don't think you have to do that at all," Clark said.

"So what should I do?" Lois said, exasperated.

Clark shrugged. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Lois repeated, deadpanning.

"You said it yourself-all that matters is that you do great work," Clark said. "Some people are just never going to accept you, even at your best."

Lois looked at him deeply for a moment, in a way that made Clark pause. Their eye contact broke when Jimmy grabbed his seat at the table after submitting his order to the cashier. He had his camera out.

"So, wanna see my photos of Bruce Wayne?" He started clicking through the photos without waiting for their answers.

Lois rested her head in her hand, humming a little. "You know, he was a lot taller than I imagined."

At that, Clark eyed her suspiciously. "I thought he was a sleaze."

"Oh shut up," Lois said, her face reddening slightly. "That's what not what I was getting at."

Jimmy finally pulled up the photo he managed to capture. Clark and Lois leaned over Jimmy's shoulders to take a peek at the camera.

"Huh," Lois said before anyone else, her voice quiet. "He looks so serious."