AN: Wow, I am both aware and embarrassed about how long it has taken me to return to this fic. It more than deserves a conclusion, but I admit I was a bit stymied as to how to continue it. Then I remembered that in the movie I found the character of Richard to be quite complicated. Intriguing and maddening—intriguing because he genuinely was a good guy (and therefore more difficult to root against), and maddening because now that he's established as a member of Bryan Singer's new mythology, what the hell do you do with him? So, here's the final chapter.
Reprisals
Chapter 3: RW
By: OneSongKatie
Richard had been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sitting in his office at work, driving through the streets of Metropolis, watching television, making coffee, flipping through his CD collection at home, walking through the events of his day half-present, dimly distracted.
His thoughts would drift of their own accord to replay over and over events and images.
Airplanes, Lex Luthor, and otherworldly stone rising from dark water, green crystal, coordinates.
He didn't usually tend to dwell inordinately on anything, he preferred more active participation in his fate—to confront, or fix, engage directly rather than passively. He didn't like to brood, too sedentary.
But that was before.
Before Superman returned from oblivion and landed with a crashing crimson flourish in the middle of his world. Before Richard began to question the true state of that world.
So much had happened recently to shake the foundations of what used to be a pretty stable life. Or so he had always considered it.
Stable, normal, happy even. But now. Now there were thoughts.
A few years ago he flew around the globe at his uncle's behest, cutting a swath across meridians, chasing stories for a paper, yes, but more also. Though he could not give it a name, Richard knew he chased something more elusive than a headline.
He never stayed in any one place for more than a short time. If he lingered too long finishing a story in some European hotel room, or waiting for a source to show in a Middle Eastern tobacco bar, he began to feel unsettled, impatient.
Deep in his bones an unnamable need rumbled to keep moving, get going. Richard remembered, oddly detached now, how he felt an invisible pull upon his body.
Those were days that played like flashes in his memory, brief frames of image and sound, that actually spanned years. Years of his life that held no more meaning for him than the realization that he wasn't quite happy. Not quite there.
It all changed when he met Lois. The need for perpetual motion, the discomfort immobility caused him, vanished. Dissolved into large, faintly sad gray irises which occasionally shifted inexplicably skyward.
She was his anchor, securing him, completing him.
Richard smiled at the irony, poetic enough, though perhaps more tragic than he allowed. That she would be the one to buoy him swiftly and surely to hard ground, to Metropolis.
When she ever searched upward, watching the cloudy skies for his figure.
Richard was tired. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, took a deep breath. Tried to find some kind of balance. After all, he had work to do.
He sat at his desk, an article open on his computer screen. Nothing of real, vital interest. Something that, truth be told, wasn't even terribly newsworthy in the world he now inhabited.
A world where men, god-like, cradled the fuselages of airliners in their arms.
The cursor blinked, hypnotizing him, blurring his eyesight, unfocusing his gaze. He swiveled in his chair, turned to look out his window. The sun gleamed brightly, reflecting off of buildings and lending warm light to the sharp mahogany angles of his office.
Behind him he could hear the scratch of Jason's crayons.
A day off from school, Lois had said. He needed some time to adjust.
Richard wasn't going to argue. He hardly ever argued, really, but that wasn't the point. The point was Lois seemed to think Jason had something he needed adjusting to.
Richard sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. Richard understood. Obviously when that bald psychopath, Luthor, kidnapped Lois and Jason, the experience must have been terrifying.
But Jason didn't seem terrified anymore. He didn't seem any different at all.
He turned his head slightly to study the little boy. Jason sat concentrating on his drawing, the bright beams of sunlight refracting golden flecks in his hair.
When his head tilted a little the light caught the unnatural blue of his eyes, those eyes that seemed so strangely familiar sometimes. Richard wasn't sure he could consciously consider whom he was reminded of by the singular shade of blue.
He turned once more to face the window, seeking the clear outside sky for counsel. Richard was by no means a pensive man, not given to brooding or living too much in his own head.
Lately though, he found that more and more he remained silent, mulling over past conversations, interactions, silently raking his life through with a fine-toothed memory comb. Sifting, searching.
For what, though? He asked himself, honestly. Why did he now feel as if he were panning the contents of his everyday life for remnants, evidence…of something.
Though he could not (and did not necessarily want to) pinpoint the root of his unease, it was undeniable. After the events of the last few days, his world had shifted, rocked upon its axis until familiar people and things seemed cockeyed, askew.
He remembered suddenly without any detectable cause years ago to his and Lois' trip to Niagara Falls. Five months after the day he met her, he asked her to marry him. It seemed the right time, he loved her, felt so sure about them. He wanted this baby, a family. He wanted to be bound to Lois for his lifetime. He thought then that he was certain about their relationship for the both of them, had enough faith to make it work.
To celebrate they caught a train, arrived right as the sun was setting. It was beautiful, and he felt blissfully happy, thinking he saw in that sunset the harmony that the future surely held for him.
And for his new family. He hadn't quite figured out how he felt about Lois and the pregnancy yet in those days—his mental state ranged from terrified to ecstatic to bewildered beyond comprehension.
Lois exuded much more confidence about it.
Richard smiled to himself, knowing that what she "exuded" and what really went on in her head were usually wholly dissimilar.
No matter how much time I spend with that woman, she's still a mystery to me.
That's what he'd said to Clark a few days ago. A glib comment in passing on that occasion, but Richard could not deny—even to himself—the unquestionable truth in the statement.
Looking back now he recognized so many tiny glimmers, unexplained looks, moments she forgot herself and seemed uncharacteristically wistful.
Standing on the back porch of their brand new trendy suburban home looking out at empty night sky.
Staring at nothing through an open window. Well, nothing he could see.
But that day amid the roaring falls and clear weather, even Lois smiled in a different way. A new smile that meant to his mind that she was happy in her life with him. Maybe, Richard thought, in retrospection it really meant she accepted her life with him.
Still, there was one strange shadow on his memory of their trip. After checking into their hotel that night (he remembered the décor was ghastly, and that was saying something considering his own knowledge of interior design was considerably lacking), they woke early the next morning and ventured out to see the falls.
Some bratty kid was playing on the bars looking over the falls. Lois looked absolutely shaken to the core. It was something he'd never seen before. She was ordinarily so unflappable.
To see her…flapped was unsettling to say the least.
He made a comment, something about parents controlling their kids, our kid will be better behaved. She barely acknowledged him.
She seemed hypnotized, her eyes fixed with a strange intensity on the spot where the kid used to be. Lois walked slowly toward the edge of the path and leaned over the railing. She leaned so far into the rushing air above the water she began to resemble the petulant child, whose parents had just hauled him off with a scolding.
While he watched from where he stood a few feet away, he was frozen, waiting. For what seemed like hours.
She stayed that way, peering over into the rumbling water below, staring at something he could not see.
As per usual.
"Daddy?"
Richard turned away from the window at the sound of Jason's voice. As he faced the boy, he caught sight of Lois sitting with Clark through the glass of his office wall. They were looking at something on a desk together, talking quietly, heads bowed conspiratorially.
He deliberately looked away from the two, turned to focus his attention on Jason, sitting across from him in a chair so large it seemed to dwarf the little boy.
"Daddy, can we get a dog?"
Richard blinked at him. Not what he was expecting. Jason had never expressed interest in owning a pet before now.
"That's a lot of responsibility, buddy." He answered slowly, wondering where this was coming from. "I don't think it's the right time for a pet. Maybe in a couple of years, though."
Jason nodded. Richard studied him for a minute. He glanced at Jason's artwork.
"What are you drawing?" He asked, seeing immediately the answer. The bright red and blue colors could not be mistaken, even upside down and slightly obscured by Jason's shirt sleeve.
"Superman." Jason replied without looking up. He selected a yellow crayon.
Richard leaned forward to view what went with the ubiquitous super hero this time. Jason had drawn little else in the time following his encounter with the man—many of the pictures featuring a less-diligently drawn Richard of course—much to his chagrin.
It wasn't enough that he had a grudging respect and deep admiration for the man, not to mention he owed Superman every ounce of gratitude imaginable for saving his family. But to be faced with his presence at every turn…Richard was resilient, he was a strong man, but the prospect of competing with a god bothered him.
To be reminded that his life was not wholly his own. That bothered him.
Richard tilted his head a little, Jason's picture became clearer. It was Superman with characteristic red cape billowing, standing in what looked like a corn field—the yellow and green stalks were pretty detailed, he noted.
"That guy again, huh." He commented carefully keeping his tone light, careful to quash any sarcasm that might be threatening to darken his interactions with Jason. "You really like him, don't you?"
Jason didn't spare him a glance, just nodded his head, concentrating.
Next to Superman in the picture Richard could make out a series of lines and squiggles shaping what was clearly a dog, complete with wagging tail and drooping red tongue.
He was really a decent artist. Richard appreciated the talent, if he didn't necessarily understand it.
He loved Jason, was proud of how smart he was, how naturally gifted in music and academia, his sharp intellect and curiosity. He loved every drawing Jason cheerfully completed and handed over, considered them the most precious of gifts.
But sometimes in his deepest, quietest thoughts he could not deny the tiny voice that wished the little boy would be more like him, even in just the most minuscule way.
Richard liked sports when he was a kid, throwing the ball outside with his father or brother, shooting the BB gun. Richard would love to play catch with his son, or go fishing, or do anything like that. Anything that they had in common. Something he could have with Jason.
But he would never voice any of these thoughts. Certainly not to Jason. He rarely allowed himself the notion. If he continued to let loose these opinions they would consume his conscious, and that would not do.
Instead he squinted at the drawing, cocking his head. He was curious about this particular work of art, it featured a much stranger scenario than any of his others.
"Why did you draw the dog?" Richard asked, glancing sideways at Jason.
Jason looked up briefly before continuing his work. "It's his dog. His name is Shelby."
Richard frowned. "The dog's name is Shelby?"
Jason nodded, shading lightly over the yellow on the dog's coat with a brown crayon.
Richard was mildly befuddled. "How do you know?"
"I had a dream about it." Jason supplied matter-of-factly, his baby lisp catching on the 'r' in dream. "He told me when he was sad, Shelby was his friend."
"Shelby." Richard repeated
"He's my friend, too." Jason added. He continued imperiously, "He likes it when you throw the ball."
Richard thought about that, felt the need to once more clarify, "The dog does?"
Jason nodded his head again, still meticulously working on the color of the dog. Richard had never heard Jason string this many words together before.
"Yeah, and he likes it when I pet him too." Jason was saying, continuing to be uncharacteristically chatty.
Richard blinked, considered this. "And you dreamed about it? When? Last night?"
Jason bobbed his head, yes. Richard was perplexed. He frowned.
"Does the dog live with him?"
"No. He lives at a farm."
That explained the corn. Richard felt unable to suppress continuing this line of questioning. He was afraid where it would veer.
"Have you had dreams about him before?" He asked, wondering at the significance the boy's answer held for him.
"Shelby?" Jason asked.
Richard shook his head. Felt silly even saying the name. "Superman."
Jason paused, thought about it. "We went to a cold place."
Richard raised his eyebrows. "A cold place? What like a hockey rink?"
Jason shook his head, no. He thought before continuing. "In the snow." He answered finally. He spoke deliberately, trying to find the words in his five year old vocabulary. "He said it was mine."
"He said what was yours?"
Jason frowned. "A big house. It was pretty."
Richard was growing more and more puzzled. "Did you go in the big house?"
"That's where the computer was." Jason was matter-of-fact, as if this weren't strange and a little ominous.
"Computer?" Richard repeated, raising his eyebrows.
"He said it was mine, too."
"What did the computer do?" Richard swallowed, his mouth felt dry as sand paper.
Jason, unperturbed, continued coloring. "I put my hand on it and it got all shiny. Can I have burritos for lunch?"
Richard blinked, at a loss. Slowly, he replied, "Sure, buddy. Burritos it is. First, though, will you tell me what else happened in the dream?"
Jason selected another crayon. "I don't remember. Can I have one with chicken?"
Richard started to answer, but at that moment, happened to meet Clark's stare through the glass of his office wall.
Clark looked away immediately, but not before Richard had caught the glimmer of seriousness in his eyes. It looked like concern.
Strange. Not the strangest thing he encountered today. Jason's bizarre dreams took that prize. But still, Clark had seemed to be watching him and Jason.
Richard filed all this away and turned back toward the window. A cloud had passed in front of the sun, dimming the light and making him feel, oddly, a little colder. There was very clearly a larger matrix of events in play here, set in motion when Superman returned to earth and at work still. A shadow, unseen, had moved into the space his life inhabited and he was only now beginning to understand its total scope.
Richard could not comprehend what all of this meant. What this business with Jason and his prophetic dreams could be about. He felt concern for Jason and fear for all of them, the players in this strange game. Him, Lois, Superman. And now, Richard could not deny that Jason was involved somehow. He felt real fear for what was surely looming on all their horizons, and couldn't shake the sensation that something much larger and darker awaited them.
Richard closed his eyes, once more aware of the scratching of Jason's crayons behind him. He clenched the arms of his chair, making a decision. He resolved that though he could not see the greater intelligence that held all their fates in its grasp, he could fiercely protect Jason.
He turned back toward the boy. "Burritos, was it, buddy?" He asked, swallowing his fear, steeling his resolve.
Jason dropped his crayon and hopped out of his chair. "Yes! Burritos!" He exclaimed, scurrying toward the door.
Richard followed him more slowly, walked to the glass and looked a final time in Lois' direction. He fixed a smile on his face and opened the door.