Chapter 6 – Searching

"Please tell me she didn't listen in on our conversation then high tail it out of here while we were too busy fighting to notice..."

"Looks like it."

"Fuck."

Superman marched into the dark, mostly empty bar with sneer frozen to his face. Any patrons sober enough to notice his entrance were too shocked to speak up. He hated the smell of bars, and this seedy dump was particularly rank. Of all the places to go...

She sat at the bar with a shot of tequila raised slightly in a half toast; her hair still an unwashed, unbrushed mess; wearing one of his old button up shirts, her pajama bottoms and Lois' running shoes. Superman and Diana had spent the last hour searching the city for her and here she was, just fine save the half a dozen or so shots she had downed; he could clearly see six shot glasses turned over next to her.

"Bottoms up," She muttered to the middle aged bartender, who seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes on her face, and leaned back to down the shot. Superman's hand covered over the glass before it got half way up.

"I thought you quit drinking." The words were out of his mouth before he realized their implications and before he had time to consider them, she spoke without looking at him.

"That was before I found out that, let's see... I'm dead, was married to you, and oh yeah..." she rolled her head up till her hazy met his, "You were cheating on me with the Star-Spangled-Dominatrix!" Words rose in his throat, what they were he would never know because she continued. "So excuse me, Cow El, if I make a little exception to my sobriety pledge."

For having downed at least six shots of tequila she was rather eloquent but... Wait, did she just call me cowl?

"Cowl?" he must of blinked because she pounced on the opportunity to snatch her shot back. When her attempt to twist it out of his hand came to naught, she let out a huff blowing the bangs off of her face, and returned to glaring at him.

"That's what the Patriotic-Home-Wrecker called you," she stated flatly now looking at the glass in his hand. At first he wondered what she was talking about then he remembered his last question. Her face took on a nasty smirk, though she still avoided his gaze."Guess she knows you're a farm boy too huh?"

The bizarre nature of the conversation overcame him and reached up to rub his temples. He forgot of course that he was still holding her shot and the glass came tumbling to the ground and cracked apart on impact. She looked at him then.

"You're paying for that one," She then looked back at the dumb struck bartender who's jaw seemed to have become un-hinged. "That was his fault so he pays for it." She repeated.

Now that I think about it... "How are you paying at all?" He asked incredulously.

She smiled a little and said with too much pride in her voice: "I found my purse." She held up Lois' sleek black handbag like a trophy. Before he could even think to stop her, she turned the purse upside down and popped it open, dumping the contents out onto the sightly damp bar, even giving it a slight shack for affect. A coin purse, a box of breath mints, a pill bottle, a tube of lipstick, a ten dollar bill, a few papers and Lois' wallet came spilling forth. He snapped to attention, chasing after the lipstick, that had rolled off the table. He could not lose these things, these tiny bits of Lois. Anger sparked in him. How dare she ruin them! He stood up to tell her just that, to put her back in her place as a Lois fake, when she spoke again.

"Wow I really did make it didn't I?" She held Lois' drivers license in her hands staring at picture. "Gray hair, wrinkles and everything... you know its going to happen but... I never... never really thought about it." Her voice was shaky, her face... he didn't know what it meant. Tequila hazed her eyes making them almost unreadable. His hand was half way to her face before he knew it. He wanted, almost needed, to comfort her. He pulled it back to his side and clenched his fist. Her head tilted as she slipped her fingers into the wallet sliding out a photo. "Me getting chummy with some old guy in glasses..."

The picture she held was of him and Lois, taken maybe 5 years before she died. His memory of that day was filled with sunshine and smiles; they had gone to Centennial park, walked around, held hands, eaten ice cream; just like a normal elderly couple... only they weren't. The lines, the salt and paper hair, the way he hunched himself, was all an illusion to show the world that he was aging. Lois hated the prosthetics. He had to take them off when they were alone together, sometimes he wanted to pretend that he was normal but Lois would never have it. 'I don't like the feel of plastic,' Lois would say, 'besides I've earned my kicks!'

She looked up at him from the picture, "How? Why? I don't understand. I'm supposed to be old, this license expires in 2076 and you're just..." She shook her head, as if it would wash away the haze around her mind and make his youthful appearance add up with the rest of the story she was getting. "What year is this?" She was pleading with him now. Pleading for him to make sense of the incomprehensible, to explain it all to her, but he lacked the answers she sought so he answered just her question.

"Twenty-one eleven, it's the year twenty-one eleven." He spoke evenly, calmly, hoping this would appease her but knowing that it couldn't. Her eyes were wide and slightly hazy as she let the information soak into her mind. Silence fell on them as she stared into his face searching. Was she looking for deception? A way to believe it was a dream? Comfort? he didn't know.

Finally she spoke. Her voice was wavering and unsure. "I need to see it. I need to know... know for sure. Clark I need you to take me there.. to my... to the grave."