A/N: Hello all! What follows is the first chapter of a story which struck me a few days ago and which I started to write up as a welcome distraction from exams and revision. It's been done before, of course – what hasn't on this site? – but I hope I've put a new angle on it.
Setting: Now, I'm not entirely sure where this fits in the timeline since, in a way, there is no 'definitive' Superman. The basics are that Lois is unmarried and without children (cute as he is, Jason does confuse things somewhat), and that Superman has yet to go on his five-year hiatus. I have tried to put a bit of humour into this but, frankly, I was multi-tasking with Chemistry so what I found amusing when writing it may not be so to anyone else!
Hope you enjoy – please tell me what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own Superman. Sadly. Everyone else owns all the best ideas :-).
Chapter One – A Long Day
Clark Kent blearily opened his eyes and was struck by the fervent and worrying conviction that it was going to be a long and tiring day. As he rose, rubbing a head that seemed oddly sore, he tried to pinpoint the cause of such uncharacteristic pessimism. It was only when he entered the kitchen (which currently looked like a bomb had hit it – somehow, he never found the time to clean the plates, despite being capable of doing them at superspeed) and saw the last night's Daily Planet upon the table that he remembered. He let out a groan.
"Why do I do this to myself?" He asked the empty room, wishing briefly that he still had a dog – then at least he'd have an excuse to talk to himself without looking mad. "Why?" He trudged to the washing machine, and pulled out what could only be described as a red and blue mess. To his sharpened senses, it still reeked of smoke. As he brewed a strong coffee (more for the psychology of it for anything else – the caffeine buzz to his system was so negligible as to be non-existent) he absentmindedly cast his gaze on the newspaper and cringed at the recollection it stirred.
"Superman's cape catches fire during daring rescue." He read from the front page. "Geez." He shook his head. The suit was, to a certain extent, fireproof – though not as fireproof as he was. During a chemical fire at a factory the evening before, the temperatures inside the equipment had reached such a temperature that the fire-crews had feared it might explode, but had dared not go near it themselves. So Clark – or rather Superman – had, impervious to the heat, gone in there himself. He hadn't even noticed the fact that his cape was on fire until one of the fire-crew had pointed it out, at which point a snap-happy member of the public had taken a picture of his abject surprise with their mobile phone, a picture which now adorned the front cover of every paper in town. And then, in a complete lack of common sense, he had dived in the nearest swimming pool to put it out – forgetting, of course, that he could have simply blown the thing out. Leading to the photograph on the second page of a sopping wet Superman with a charred cape.
Clark's excuse to himself, later that evening, for the act of idiocy more suited to his brown-suited self, was that he must have inhaled too much of the noxious smoke even for his more resistant physiology. He had been in and out of the burning building for about an hour before finally managing to get everyone to safety and putting it out, resulting the next day in a new empathy with many of his colleagues. He finally understood what a hangover felt like. Except for him, it would probably take at least three bottles of aspirin to wipe the headache out. Rubbing his eyes – he'd have to forgo breakfast that morning, he was already late up – he moved over to the fish tank and gazed at his one, lone fish.
"Y'know," he said casually, looking morosely into the goldfish's wide, unblinking eyes, "you've got it more easy than you can imagine. No responsibility, nobody to worry about but yourself... no embarrassing moments to kick yourself over."
It was at that point, as he glanced at the clock, that he realised just how late he actually was.
"Oh, geez!" He exclaimed, and the fish was left staring in bemusement as a brown-suited blur flashed out of the apartment.
888
At the Daily Planet, the office was buzzing with talk of the previous night's 'incident'. Clark was amazed by some of the sentiments of his colleagues, but also curiously comforted – the main attitude was one of pleasant surprise that Superman was as human as they all were in the fact that he, too, could end up looking like a fool... despite the fact that looking like a fool was something he was more used to doing in his 'ordinary' job.
"Kent!" A voice bellowed even before he had stepped out of the lift, audible even without his heightened hearing from across the lively newsroom. "My office, now!" A few of the nearby workers shot Clark sympathetic looks, telling him that the 'chief' was in a particularly bad mood; the day was getting longer and longer, stretching out ahead of him in a particularly dreary manner.
Added to that, he felt certain that White's ire – which was usually accompanied by high-decibel shouting – would do nothing for his headache.
"Chief?" He asked innocently as he stepped into the office of the Planet's editor-in-chief, hoping against hope that Perry wouldn't have noticed his tardiness, but to no avail; the steel-haired and steel-hearted boss seemed to have a superhuman ability to tell, to the second, the promptness of each one of his employees.
"Have a seat, Kent, before you get any later." Perry White said gruffly, and Clark stumbled (not entirely deliberately) into a chair beside Lois Lane and another, unfamiliar woman with short blonde hair and a somewhat wide-eyed look behind her narrow glasses. Lois' back was stiff – the equivalent of her hackles being raised – telling Clark clearly that something had upset her that morning. The source of her discomfort was soon explained when she burst out;
"But Chief, Clark and I work together, he's my partner, you can't just tie him down to some..." she glanced, almost guiltily, at the young woman beside her "...novice."
Clark briefly imagined using the words of a braver man and saying; "well, Lois, I didn't know you cared," but he didn't. Instead he smiled at the spirit of the woman who would argue with Perry White on Clark's behalf just to stop him being partnered with a "novice" whom he imagined might be very similar to the inexperienced journalist whom Lois had so resented being landed with several years ago.
"Firstly," White said, raising a finger, "don't call me chief. Secondly, you were a novice too, once, Lane, and as I recall it was only due to the tutoring of someone more experienced that you became the journalist you are today. And -" he raised his hand again as Lois opened her mouth to interrupt "– I think Clark is more than ready to manage without you."
Lois sat back, her arms folded, and Clark was both bemused and a little flattered to feel the heat radiating from her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Of course, the heat and the redness of her cheeks may simply have been from her anger at being verbally beaten by Perry, but the small, vain part of Clark took great pleasure in thinking otherwise. It was at that moment that the small, blonde woman leaned forwards, and held her hand out to Clark across Lois.
"I'm Kerry Wilson, by the way." She said softly, and Clark took her proffered hand. Her handshake wasn't firm, but nor was it weak either, and Clark found himself mentally assessing her. Quiet, yet not afraid to interrupt Lois Lane and Perry White, two of the more formidable characters Clark knew. Clark had the instant sense of an individual who could fade into the background and yet be able to stand her own in a quiet way and be happy with such a lot – a lot which Clark envied.
"Clark Kent," he said, flashing her a smile, "pleased to meet you." He glanced at White. "So, what are we on? Domestic beat?" Domestic beat was precisely the beat which Lois had spent years avoiding, claiming that it was "so stereotypically female it isn't even funny". Perry White smiled, a rare and foreboding occurrence.
"No, I want you on city," he said, and turned to Lois as she drew in an almighty, furious breath, "I want you on domestic."
Clark winced as beside him, his newly-demoted partner almost breathed fire. He leant around the back of her and, tapping Kerry on the shoulder, nodded towards the door.
"I think we should better go..." he murmured, as Lois exploded. As the exited, they could hear her protests ringing out. Clark kept an ear on them all the way out of the building, and couldn't help but smile at one of Lois' protests, and Perry's subsequent response:
"But, Chief, the domestic beat is for mothers!"
"Which you may well be someday, so it might be good to get a bit of practise in, Lois."
But it was Lois' snort of laughter at this statement that made him smile most of all.
888
The girl (and for the first time in his life, Clark felt a little old) would make a good journalist, he was sure of that. She noticed things, and being short in stature and quiet in personality she could easily get into places that others couldn't without being noticed herself. Admittedly, Lois Lane was no shrinking violet, and her method – of shouting at anyone and everyone who had anything to do with a breaking story – frequently got her the results she wanted, but Clark could well imagine Kerry Wilson achieving the same thing with much more stealth and much less stress.
But, loath though he was to admit it, Clark found her an annoyance. She was a little too wide-eyed and un-prepossessing for his tastes – almost every question he asked was met with a short, slightly nervous laugh and an "I don't mind" or "I don't know". Added to that, her presence also made it a little awkward for Clark to slip away whenever help from his alter ego was required – though, with his headache still in full force, he wasn't too keen to leave what seemed to be the wonderfully comforting solid ground behind anyway. Fortunately, there had been no urgent cries for help that morning.
As the walked back to the Planet at midday, Clark tried to draw his unnervingly quiet companion into conversation.
"So, how have you liked your first day – I mean, first morning – on the beat?"
Kerry paused slightly.
"Alright, I guess... swell."
Clark laughed out loud at her words. She looked at him askance.
"I'm sorry?" She asked, and Clark shook his head, her words throwing him back to another time... another trainee.
"It's nothing. Just don't let Lois hear you use that word." They walked on in silence until Kerry, to Clark's surprise, broke it.
"Miss Lane is... a little... larger than life." She said, and Clark realised that her lack of loquaciousness was nothing to do with her personality as a whole; it was just her way of covering her nerves. It was probably better, he reflected, than his not-entirely-put-on tendency to go into verbal overdrive when stressed – at least as Clark Kent. Superman, he reflected, was also a pretty quiet person, which was probably why when he returned from a night of rescues he felt the indefinable urge to vent his woes to his goldfish.
"She sure is that," Clark said, remembering how, even as Superman, she had no qualms in telling him exactly what she thought – as Clark Kent, those qualms were completely nonexistent.
"I suppose she has to be – being Superman's -" Kerry stopped short, looking distracted. "I think I've left something behind." She started pawing through her handbag. "My recorder – I must have forgotten it when I put it down in that bar."
"Do you want me to -" Clark was about to say "come with you" but Kerry cut him off before he had a chance.
"No, go on without me – I'll catch you up." And without another word she melted away into the huge sea of humanity that was Metropolis. Clark shook his head, wondering what on earth he was going to do with her and wondering what she had been about to say about Lois and Superman before she dashed off. Not much later, however, something occurred which pushed all thoughts of his new partner completely out of Clark's mind.
888
"Clark, what have you done with the novice?" Lois asked as he entered, her gaze riveted on her screen.
"She forgot something – and don't call her that, Lois. She's a good kid."
Lois looked up at him with something akin to amusement in her eyes.
"Alright – farmboy. You seem to be getting mighty protective over her all of a sudden. Fancy a sandwich?" Lois held out the remaining half of her sandwich – it was a well known fact in their partnership that, when on a story, she would eat little and Clark would eat anything – but with the scent of cheese and ham another bout of wooziness hit him. He sat down, and shook his head.
"No thanks, Lois, I'm not feeling too good." It was only as he spoke the words that their true impact sunk in, because they were words which he never said, a sentiment Lois soon echoed.
"But you're never ill, Clark." Her tone was clearly concerned, a small morsel which did little to assuage Clark's sudden doubts. Smoke – no smoke – could affect him this way unless something else had been present as well. Kryptonite. He closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. Among the many colours of the chemically-fuelled fire there had been a frequent green tinge... but amidst the chaos of his cape catching fire he hadn't even noticed the effects of the poisonous rock in gas form. Now, it seemed, he was suffering from kryptonite poisoning. He had to reach the sun, and soon. He rose to go.
"We've got a sighting!" Someone called, and suddenly the newsroom buzzed with activity. Clark glanced at Lois, confused.
"A sighting of what?" Lois rewarded him with a look she usually reserved for the very old, the very young, or the very stupid.
"Superman, of course. Where have you been the last thousand or so times he's been sighted?"
At work, Clark wanted to say, but he suppressed the urge. Then he frowned again. How could he have been sighted if he was still here? He looked towards the screens, and as he did so a low murmur began to rumble beneath the suppressed excitement of the bullpen.
"That's not Superman." Lois murmured, and she was right – the colours were all wrong, the small speck in the corner of the screen the wrong shape, the hair too light and too long...
Then a camera finally caught a close-up shot and all thoughts of kryptonite poisoning flew from Clark's mind. He felt an irrepressible smile spread across his face. Impossible as it was, it seemed that family had come to visit.
888
A/N: Please tell me what you think and tell me; is it too unbearably clichéd to have this new flying superhero called 'Supergirl'? I'm rubbish at thinking up names for characters, which is probably why the above appeals to me. ;-)