A/N: So, my New Year's resolution is to get these story updates out on a much more regular and timely basis. I hope everyone had a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Blessed Solstice, whatever you celebrate. And, Happy New Year 2013 to all. Now for the next installment...

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Chapter 10: Past Imperfect

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Why didn't you tell me about this before? (Clark Kent)
We wanted to protect you. (Jonathan Kent)
Protect me from what?! You should've told me! (Clark)
– from Pilot

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"And this?" Connor asked, running his fingers over the last of the cycle's instruments.

"That's the proximity sensor alert and guidance system," Imra pointed out, "When it activates, a collision warning with spatial indicators will appear here, displayed on the inside surface of the windshield. However, when you're moving at one hundred-fifty to two hundred miles per hour, human reflexes aren't typically fast enough to react to a potential collision. If the driver fails to respond in time when it goes off, the automatic directional override kicks in and steers the vehicle away from the oncoming object or sudden turn in the road. It cannot be deactivated—safety precaution—and you don't want to turn it off anyway. Traffic accidents these days are extremely rare all over the world, and every time one happens it was because the override system failed or some fool found a way to shut it down and did so on purpose. I assume you're no fool, Connor." He just gave her a sly smile and placed over his head the helmet he'd been casually holding under his arm at his side.

Morning had dawned over Legion Headquarters a couple of hours ago, and Imra Ardeen had found Connor Hawke already up and wandering the halls of the citadel. Whether it was due to culture shock at being plunged into the 31st Century without warning or to having to spend the last week or so indoors, Connor had become very restless. So, Imra took it upon herself to give her new friend something constructive to do. They'd just spent the last hour in the ground floor hangar bay of Legion HQ as Imra instructed Connor in the use of several of the Legion's standard vehicles. Connor had shown greatest interest in what he thought of as the Legion's futuristic motorcycles. Imra had to explain to him that people of that era drop the "motor" part of the word since it implies petroleum combustion. Fossil fuels were a thing of the past. The cycle's power cells were energized with a safe, useful byproduct derived from nuclear fusion. As the orientation concluded, Imra—impressed by Connor's ability to quickly grasp what she'd been teaching him, but still skeptical of his dismissive, bordering-on-arrogance confidence—asked him, "You got all that? You're sure you're ready for this?"

"They're not all that different from the bikes I'm used to riding, Saturn Girl. You'd think technology would've advanced more in a thousand years. These things don't even fly," Connor criticized disappointedly as he fastened the cord underneath his chin and slid the visor down over his face.

"Yes, they do. That's lesson number two," Imra countered with a dismissive tone of her own as she turned around sharply and approached the cycle directly next to Connor's. Lifting her leg over the cycle, she straddled the vehicle and settled into the seat.

In wonderment, Connor looked down at the ground to his left and then his right past his legs already straddled over the seat of his cycle. He called over to Imra, "No kickstand?"

As she put her helmet on and secured it over her head, Imra scoffed, "These cycles use subtle electromagnetic fields to counteract gravity and remain perfectly upright, even when not in use. You were saying about our lack of technological advancement since your time?" Connor, perhaps wisely, elected not to respond to that.

The two youths' movements were in near-perfect synchronization as they each lifted their knees and settled both of their feet onto the footrests affixed at the sides of their respective mounts. They both activated their cycles, and the machines came alive beneath them: Data displays lit up the windshields, lights both decorative and functional blazed brightly across the streamlined contours and vehicle surfaces, and the engines with anticipation began their revolutions. Imra reached down and pressed an illuminated control switch on her dashboard console, and the hangar bay doors slid open in response.

"Any last questions?" came Imra's mechanized voice through Connor's helmet radio communicator.

"Yeah," Connor answered, "If your Legion rings give the power of flight to anyone who wears one, what do you need modes of transportation like these for?"

"The windshield will extend over your head and past your shoulders once we're in motion," Imra replied, "Just make sure you keep your whole upper body underneath it at all times. Even with your biker suit and the safety harness, sheer forces will blow you right off your cycle if you don't stay down."

"I guess people like living on the edge in the future, don't they? I like that," the equally mechanized voice of Connor transmitted over Imra's helmet radio. With that, the twin vehicles zoomed out of the hangar bay accelerating to ever higher velocities as both Connor Hawke and Imra Ardeen left the Legion citadel far behind them.

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Kal-El looked down at his best friend still resting in his embrace. Even though she'd been bestowed with the full range of his powers and abilities, she seemed so fragile to him in her current state. With great empathy, Kal-El lowered his lips to Chloe's ear and very gently, quietly whispered the words, "I'm sorry, Chloe…I'm so sorry."

Kal-El hadn't left Chloe's quarters all night. In fact, he hadn't left her side all night. They just lay there on the floor against the wall near the door. She'd cried and sobbed and wailed for hours, and every sound cut him to the heart. In all the time he'd spent as Superman, he'd come to realize that there was at least one constant limitation on him—one thing that all his extraordinary abilities could not do: take away the pain. That required a far greater ability, a far more extraordinary power, than what a yellow sun granted to a Kryptonian.

Chloe had finally cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning not long before dawn. But, she wasn't sleeping anymore. She'd actually been awake for awhile; she just couldn't find the strength to move. As far as Kal-El was concerned, it didn't matter. He was perfectly willing to let Chloe rest for as long as she needed to, forever if necessary. It was the least he could do. Nevertheless, Chloe didn't need to any longer, and she didn't want to. Kal-El opened his arms as Chloe stirred from him and braced against his shoulders to lift herself up. Kal-El followed, and when they both were standing on their feet, he asked her, "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine, Clark," Chloe responded quietly, unconvincingly, looking away, "I'm just a bit stiff. I hurt all over from spending the night on the floor. Not getting any sleep doesn't help any."

Kal-El walked around and stood in front of Chloe. For a moment, he watched her looking back up at him with eyes that were puffy and bloodshot from tears and lack of sleep. Then, he got an idea. Chancing a cautious smile, he told her, "I think I know something that will make you feel better. Come here." He took her by the hand and led her to the far end of her quarters where the wall was concealed behind extensive drapery. Kal-El let go of Chloe and pulled back the curtains to reveal a magnificent sight.

The 31st-century Metropolis skyline met their eyes. Edifices seemingly made of silver and ivory that were taller than any skyscraper Chloe had ever seen in her life scaled the atmosphere to brush the sky. Transports and other vehicles darted at frightening speed through the air and across the elevated and surface streets far below. Beyond the limits of the urban collective, the countryside—green, alive, immaculate—seemed to roll unobstructed in every direction. The one exception was the waterfront, where green was replaced by pristine blue, and in place of meadow and pasture was the rolling of waves. The area above the distant horizon was dominated by a bright-blue canvas inhabited by cumulus clouds of purest white that sailed along without a care. And, crowning the whole of the scene was the newly risen Sun, pouring forth warmth and light, and blanketing everywhere below it with a golden luster that danced across every reflective surface. The crystalline waters that had caught Chloe's eye were gilded with an aurulent runway from which Sol had launched skyward and continued his ascent overhead. As the waves crested underneath, every flash and glint seemed to be a wink in salute to Chloe's arrival. All was a harmony of industrialization and nature—a mutually beneficial co-existence of the man-made and the earth-given. And, that stunning view was only the beginning.

Solar radiance spilled through the vast transparency that made up much of the wall and washed over Kal-El and Chloe. She felt a rush of exhilaration quite unlike anything she'd ever felt before filling up every fiber of her as the Sun's life-giving rays caressed her and him gently, lovingly, revitalizing and restoring them both to full strength and health. Kal-El released the shades that formerly veiled the window and glanced over at Chloe. Momentarily forgetting herself and the tragic circumstances that had invaded her life, she allowed a brilliant smile to slowly grace her face once again. Standing there bathed in the daylight of morning exactly like that, Chloe seemed to Kal-El like an angel no less glorious than anything he'd ever seen carved in stone or painted in vibrant color. Seeing this vision of her and her reaction to what he'd shown her filled him with a sense of grateful satisfaction at their decision to give Chloe a room located right on the east façade of the Legion Tower.

Hesitant at first, Chloe finally spoke up, "Clark, the Sun…I feel…I can't describe what I feel."

Kal-El concurred, "Amazing, isn't it?"

"It's incredible," Chloe answered, referring as much to the view of Metropolis as to the effect Earth's Sun was having on her.

Preferring the sight of Chloe to that of the city, Kal-El verified, "You were born in Metropolis, weren't you?"

Chloe nodded in response to Kal-El's inquiry, "Yes, and lived much of my life here."

Turning back to the view outside Chloe's window, he said to her, "Welcome home, Chloe Sullivan…to the City of Tomorrow."

A long moment of silence passed between them before Kal-El spoke next. "Another twenty minutes of this and you'll be good as new," he said as he pointed out the window toward the Sun. As he turned around and headed toward the door, Kal-El continued, "I'll leave you alone to shower and get dressed. We can meet up later in the dining hall for breakfast and maybe, then, we can—"

"Why weren't you there, Clark?"

Chloe's words compelled Kal-El to stop dead in his tracks. He had been dreading those words, that question, this moment since he saw Chloe again at Belle Reve. Yet, the question was not accusatory in nature the way Kal-El might have been expecting; not a hint of rage or trace of anger could be found in her voice. It was worse. Her tone betrayed deep sadness and bitter disappointment. Kal-El let out a profound sigh that emanated from his very soul. Somehow, he knew she had turned her back to the window and was now looking straight at him. Steeling himself with as much of a reserve of courage as he could muster, Kal-El turned around to confront a despondent Chloe who only a moment ago had been so full of life and brimming with beauty.

"I don't know," was all he could say. To make all this worse, he didn't even have a good answer for her.

"You don't know?" Chloe repeated in abject disbelief.

"I don't even remember that night," Kal-El answered honestly but ashamed, "I don't know if I was working late at the Planet, or on a date with Lois, or dealing with an earthquake in Africa, or trying to stop a volcanic eruption in the Pacific, or taking down Lex Luthor for the two-hundred-and-fiftieth time."

He searched her features for some sign of hope. Her face was expressionless but for her eyes, which communicated all of the anguish and heartbreak and misery that she wouldn't allow to surface otherwise. It was as if Chloe preferred outward desolation to the turmoil going on inside of her. "All I remember is that I wasn't where I was most needed. Where I should have been. I'm sorry, Chloe," he managed weakly.

Chloe turned away from Kal-El back to the view of Metropolis and said almost to herself, "I'm sure you were."

"Pardon me?" Kal-El responded.

"Where you needed to be," Chloe explained, her eyes returning to his, "You always are, Clark. I told you before that if you ever had to make a choice that I hoped you would always do the right thing—for everyone and not just for me. Oliver felt exactly the same way. I know if you at all could have been there, you would have been." She still put such faith in him, even now. Kal-El wasn't as certain that faith was warranted. And he could tell that despite the assuredness of her words, Chloe's feelings were far more conflicted than her apparent stoicism let on.

This was hardly the note that Kal-El wanted to leave on, but he decided he'd rather make himself scarce before he made more of a mess of things than he had already. Chloe, however, wasn't prepared to let him go just yet. As he turned away and began shuffling off toward the door again, she quickly turned to directly face him and called after him, "It was Belle Reve, wasn't it? What I was remembering after I first woke up?"

Kal-El paused and with his back to her reluctantly nodded. Chloe took a few, careful steps toward him, saying as she went, "That's why I snapped. Watching Oliver die was what finally drove me over the edge, wasn't it?"

"Chloe…" Kal-El said, shaking his head, after turning around back toward her. His face was one of painful empathy and regretful sorrow. He looked as if all he wanted to do was throw himself between her and all the suffering of that moment.

"Just tell me one thing, Clark. What happened after Oliver was murdered? Did you ever find who attacked us? Who were those three men? What did they want?" Chloe asked. When Kal-El did not respond right away, she stepped toward him again, this time quickly with deliberate intent. "Please tell me, Clark," she pleaded, "I need to know."

With continued reluctance, Kal-El revealed, "We…suspect…that they were members of Checkmate. We're not quite sure what their motives were exactly. But, they did kidnap him in the past—no pun intended—and try to force him to work for them. They also had a lot of history, particularly when you take into account Oliver's relationship to Tess Mercer. And, they almost killed him at least once before that night."

"That's it?" Chloe asked astonished. Kal-El just opened his mouth as if to say something and looked guiltily away. Underwhelmed by the revelation, Chloe added, "Sounds like you guys are 'not quite sure' about a lot of things. Tess Mercer was long since dead. Checkmate didn't even exist anymore. What made you think they were involved?"

"Because when we finally did catch up to who took out Green Arrow, the only body out of the trio we could identify belonged to Maxwell Lord," Kal-El explained insistently.

"Max…Lord?" Chloe repeated, nonplussed.

"What was left of him, anyway, and the other two he had with him," Kal-El corrected.

"They were already dead by the time you found them?" Chloe inferred.

"After that, the trail went completely cold. And, we put both Bruce and J'onn on it. By themselves, they're formidable investigators. Together, nobody is better—you know that. And, all they ever found were those three bodies. Not to mention the fact that they were so badly mangled that only one could even be identified—barely," Kal-El finished.

"Then, how could you even know they were the assassins?" Chloe asked dubiously.

"J'onn knew," Kal-El answered simply.

"'J'onn knew'?" Chloe echoed, "How?"

"I don't know how. Something about psychic residuals emanating off of the bodies that he claims matched the ones coming from Oliver's corpse," Kal-El attempted to explain, hoping he was making more sense to Chloe than he was to himself, "Look, even though, apparently, Kryptonians do have them, I never did master telepathy or psychic powers or even really understand them—much less the way they work with other people not from Earth. If you want to, go talk to J'onn. I'm sure he can explain it better himself. But, I can tell you that he was dead certain…I mean…he was…"

"I get it," Chloe said. Still dissatisfied with the lack of resolution over the whole matter, she added, "At least justice was done for Oliver."

"Trust me, it was," Kal-El confidently reassured, "Whoever they were that attacked you and killed Oliver, it looked like they had been through a grizzly bear attack or something." He didn't want to push her, but they were already on the subject. "Now, let me ask you a question, Chloe," Kal-El plainly said. He didn't want to have to ask this question, but he knew he had to. "What happened that night? What were you both doing there in the first place? What was Oliver doing as the Green Arrow—and what the hell were you doing in harm's way with him?"

"It wasn't supposed to be like that! There was no reason for anything like that to happen that night!" Chloe shot back in anger. Kal-El dropped his head as if rebuked and cautiously lifted his eyes alone back to hers. She guiltily looked down and away for a moment and tried to quell her emotional outburst with a sigh. Then, returning her own gaze to Kal-El's, she continued as calmly as she could, "Oliver was out on patrol that night, that's it. He wanted to work off some stress as his heroic alter ego. I chose to go after him to cover the story of Green Arrow's return to Metropolis for the Star City Register—maybe submit a copy to the Daily Planet, also. Two goons in suits literally came out of nowhere and just opened fire on us! And, Oliver still had the situation in hand, until Man In Black Number Three who neither of us knew was there took a shot right at me. When that happened, Oliver…he…"

Kal-El moved in immediately and took Chloe tightly into his arms. She buried her head in his broad chest and closed her eyes while raising her palms to rest there also on either side of her just beneath his wide shoulders. Kal-El laid the side of his head down to rest on the top of hers. "Shhhhh…" he tried to soothe her.

"It's my fault he's dead!" Chloe cried out after taking in a broken gasp of air, "If I hadn't been there with him…if Oliver hadn't been trying to protect me—"

"No!" Kal-El declared loudly and defiantly. Then, gently he continued, "Chloe, I'm the one here who has to take on the guilt for everyone we can't save, not you! It wasn't your fault. Don't ever think that. Not ever!" In emphasis of the point he'd just made, Kal-El lifted his head from the top of hers and turned just enough to gently plant a soft kiss amidst the effluence of golden strands there. He quickly laid his head back down in place and gently rocked Chloe back and forth in his arms, swaying her slightly from side to side, to comfort her. When he finally picked his head up from hers again, she happened to look up at him at the same time. Their eyes met and their gazes locked. As they once again began piercingly to search one another out, Kal-El painfully observed the haunted look exhibited in Chloe's eyes.

Were those beautiful, green orbs precious emeralds or were they kryptonite? They could be soothing, revitalizing, reassuring, life-giving. But, they could just as easily be as lethal to Kal-El's soul as any meteor rock that fell from Krypton was to his body. A tear or a sob—one look of anger or of disappointment or sorrow—and those eyes could cut through the exterior of the Man of Steel right to his heart like a hot blade through butter every time.

Kal-El let his eyes fall until they rested on those soft, warm, inviting, desirable lips of hers. They were barely a breath away from his. His downward glance lasted just long enough for him to see how close they were before quickly returning them to her eyes. Chloe must have seen him steal a look, but she didn't flinch or withdraw from him or move in the slightest way. Kal-El knew he had to make a move, now—either back off and let this moment go or take his shot right there and then. Seemingly before he even willed it, Kal-El quickly captured Chloe's lips with his own in a firm but tender kiss.

It began as a soft brush of the lips. He was being cautious at first, testing Chloe, not wanting to force this but allowing her the opportunity to welcome it or reject it. When she didn't pull away—or slap him—he felt emboldened enough to engage her fully. But, even as Kal-El stepped up the passion, he didn't receive the same feedback from her. He cupped her head in both his hands and spread his mouth over hers completely in an attempt to elicit something from her, but it was no use. Chloe was unresponsive, neither surrendering to Kal-El's advances nor resisting them. Choosing again to err on the side of caution, he withdrew his lips from hers slowly, deliberately. With an affectionate brush of his fingers against her earlobes followed by a soft caress of her jawline with his palms, Kal-El finally withdrew his hands from Chloe's face, as well. When his own eyes caught hers again, he held them fixed, immovable upon hers. Outwardly, he did not want to convey even a hint of regret or remorse nor betray any malfeasance or transgression in what they'd just done. Inwardly, however, he couldn't help but question the wisdom of his actions and what was going on in her mind right then.

Her eyes told Kal-El nothing as Chloe casually stepped back from him and informed him, "I should get ready, now. I guess I'll see you later, Clark." Then, she retreated unhurriedly to the bath. He watched her go for a moment before showing himself out into the hall, hoping that he hadn't made an irrevocable mistake with the woman who he no longer could deny to himself was coming to mean more than a best friend to him.

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Several weeks later…

Nearly a month went by and nothing else happened between Kal-El and Chloe. In fact, either of them had yet to even bring up the topic of that day again. Kal-El was unwilling to be the one to raise the issue, and Chloe seemed content to pretend what had happened in her quarters that morning didn't. So, they both got on with work as if everything was normal between them, even though things were far from it—for both of them.

Chloe went about busying herself with the open-ended, non-specific duty of "mentoring the Legion." It was pretty slow-going, at first. Before you can help someone with their issues, you have to know them well enough to have an idea of what they are. Then, they have to trust you enough to let themselves be helped by you. Developing a relationship with these people and getting them to open up to her was going to be daunting enough without the added time factor of the days counting down until Apokolips arrived at Earth. Fortunately, she had an extra ace up her sleeve.

The Legion knew that Chloe Sullivan was Kal-El's closest friend during those critical years leading up to when he officially became Superman, and that's all they knew about her. She was a total mystery, otherwise, just like everything else about Kal-El's ante-superhero days. And, some members of the Legion were quite curious and eager to find out what they could about both of their latest new colleagues: the living legend, himself, and the one who helped him to achieve that status. She hoped to turn that to her advantage, and it seemed to be working, so far.

Nevertheless, Kal-El saw this in a slightly different light. Chloe may be going about her task aggressively and with as much diligence as he would've expected from her, but she seemed to him to be burying herself in work again. It was as if she was using mentoring as a shield against having to face the pain of losing Oliver, in much the same way she used her position as Watchtower to escape the pain of having lost Jimmy Olsen. Kal-El was sure this wasn't the last that they would hear from the ghost of Oliver Queen, either. He knew Chloe too well for that, even after all this time. Far from offering her closure, their conversation about what followed his demise would only fuel her concerns about the past.

In the meantime, Kal-El and Chloe had developed a daily routine that would begin with meeting for breakfast along with Diana and J'onn. Over their meal, they would discuss and plan whatever needed to be: progress reports, the status of Apokolips' journey across the galaxy and that of the Legion's various outposts and planets where they held a presence, the ongoing missions of the Legion and how they were preparing to thwart their impending doom, etc. Afterwards, they would split up to get to work on whatever each of them was doing. They each also made it a point of trying to meet together for lunch and/or dinner whenever possible, and they didn't always take their meals in the commissary. Sometimes they would venture out into Metropolis, but when they did, Chloe did not seem nearly as enthused about seeing all that the city and the future offered as Kal-El and the others would expect. It's as though she had shut down and was operating on a functional level only. They encouraged her to take time, even seek help, in dealing with this latest development in her life, but ultimately it was her choice to do this her way. But, it was worrying Kal-El sick. He was desperately concerned for her. So desperately that his anxiety was interfering with the digestive process. It didn't help that today they were taking in lunch at Legion HQ.

"So, how are things going?" Kal-El inquired in an upbeat manner. His chipper attitude may be artificial, but his interest was not.

"I think I'm already starting to make some progress with a few of them," Chloe replied, with a note of optimism.

"Who are your best prospects, so far?" Kal-El continued.

"Let's see. Uhm…Triplicate Girl, Phantom Girl, Chameleon Boy, and Colossal Boy," Chloe replied, straining her brain to keep their names straight.

"Are you sure it wasn't Ultra Boy?" J'onn questioned with a smirk.

"Which one is best friends with Reep Daggle?" Chloe asked a bit frustrated.

"Gim Allon," Kal-El answered glaring a bit at the Manhunter. His expression softened as he reassured Chloe, "You were right, Colossal Boy."

"What?" the Martian Manhunter asked innocently under the imposing gaze of the Last Son of Krypton, "I like Reep Daggle—shapeshifter, exceptional detective skills—an alien after my own heart."

"We don't expect you to counsel the entire Legion, you know, Chloe. We never did," Diana encouraged, "If you can just turn around the higher-ups, the leaders, the most respected members, we're certain that that alone will have a profound effect across the whole Legion."

"For awhile all they wanted to do was talk about you," Chloe informed, looking at Kal-El as she spoke, "To know everything about the days of yore when Clark Kent was all there was and Superman wasn't even a gleam in anyone's eye. You know, they were amazed that you didn't even find out your real name until you met Dr. Virgil Swann. I tried explaining to them that Clark Kent is your real name, and so is Kal-El—that you're both people, and they're both you. Doesn't seem to get through to them."

"Keep trying. They might even understand that someday," Kal-El remarked, more to himself than to Chloe or the others.

Kal-El's eyes turned downward to his plate, and he began fiddling with his food while Chloe observed him steadily. For really the first time, she was hit with the realization of a thousand years and all that that meant; and she truly began to wonder what it must have been like for him, the unseen burden of what all that must have brought with it, what was going on in his head right now…

Suddenly, so much of what Clark had done and the whole way he'd been acting since she arrived took on a whole new meaning. Even the kiss they had shared in her quarters weeks ago that had taken her completely by surprise and had left her completely dumbfounded, the one that she would have had no idea how to react to even if she had not been shattered emotionally and exhausted physically, the one that she had been ignoring and dismissing and trying so hard to put out of her mind. Even that—especially that—now claimed new significance. Maybe…Don't even go there, Chloe Sullivan. You didn't have the emotional strength or wherewithal to deal with it as it was happening then, and you still don't. This is all still too new and shocking—all of it. The last thing you need is to complicate this situation any further, for your sake and for his and for Connor's and…oh God, Connor! Her eyes widened as her thoughts focused again on her son, whom she loved more than anything. With horror and despair at how she could possibly tell him, her face collapsed into her hands as her eyes began to well up.

"Chloe?" Kal-El spoke softly with genuine concern. She said nothing to him.

Meanwhile, the same Connor Hawke whom Chloe Sullivan suddenly felt such anxiety over was similarly developing a daily routine of his own. While this did include meeting with his mother and Clark, Diana, and J'onn over dinner several times a week, he actually chose to take most of his meals with the top three Legionnaires to whom he was getting closer. He worked with them, learned from them, trained with them, and hung out with them when they were off duty. Other than the facts that Connor was their guest and that they were all more-or-less the same age, each of the Legionnaires had their own reasons to build a relationship with him.

From his arrival, Imra Ardeen had been quite taken with Connor, and he had clearly expressed interest in her on more than one occasion. She had for her part, however, always found a reason to rebuff his advances—whether that was due to her relationship to Garth Ranzz which had recently taken a more serious turn between them and was growing more so as time progressed, or because she questioned Connor's own seriousness and intentions toward her, or simply because his future was not this future, this time, this century and therefore they had no future possible together. Even so, her rejections were never disdainful toward him or, Connor sensed, whole-heartedly resolute. Therefore, he remained undiscouraged. Just once he'd like to turn the telepathic tables on Imra and peer inside her mind, read her thoughts, know what she was really thinking whenever she shot him down. Either way, he knew she cared about him and that she wanted to help him.

Rokk Krinn's interest with Connor was practical. Initially against bringing anyone at all other than Chloe Sullivan a millennium into the future, Rokk had become pragmatic regarding Connor's presence. After all, as the son of the original Watchtower and the Green Arrow, as well as a close if surrogate relation to Kal-El, Diana, and J'onn, Connor had the potential to be a fine ally and great asset in the coming conflict with Darkseid. As long as he was there anyway, Rokk would do what he could to make sure that Connor fulfilled that potential when the time came. The Legion would need every resource available to it.

Garth Ranzz saw Connor Hawke as the long-awaited answer to his avid curiosity about all the legends of the past that the Legion had been raised on. He had been there while history was being made witnessing it as it happened, and he'd been intimately connected to the very people that were the history-makers and the future-builders. I mean, Kal-El's own nephew! And Diana's and J'onn's! Whenever the opportunity presented itself, Garth would try to mine Connor for as much information as he could get out of him—about Kal-El, about Chloe, about Diana and J'onn and the Justice League, even about Darkseid. Of course, his favorite subject would perennially be Superman. Getting his daily dose of firsthand accounts of "The Adventures of the Big, Blue Boy Scout—the Early Years" made Garth's millennium.

Today's topic of intense interrogation in the round over lunch was the exact nature of Kal-El's relationship to Chloe. For someone they'd never heard of before that momentous meeting with Kal-El for the first time in the Kent barn back in the 21st Century, she sure seemed important to him. At least as important as Lana Lang or Lois Lane…Garth could still feel the bruises that Kal-El had left in his arms and shoulders. How did they meet? How long did they know one another? How did they become such close friends? Were they just friends? Were they ever, had they ever been, was there ever a chance that they could have been, or perhaps were going to be, lovers or more? If so, why hadn't anyone heard of her? If not, then why not? They seemed so close; how much did they really mean to each other? How many times had he saved her? How many times had she saved him? Garth Ranzz was an unemptiable abyss of inquisitiveness, and quite frankly it had been getting on Connor's nerves for some time.

"Garth, do we really have to do this, again, today?" Connor pleaded, weary of their daily Q&A sessions.

"Oh, come on, Connor!" Garth urged.

Connor resignedly let out a sigh and allowed his eyelids to close. He was just glad that Mom and the others had finished with their own meal and were done talking shop before he and the Legionnaires arrived to do the same. It would have been embarrassing all around for him to have to talk about them while they were sitting right across the way. He paused only a moment more before answering, "Clark Kent and Chloe Sullivan were both thirteen when they met. My grandfather Gabe Sullivan had just moved from Metropolis to Smallville with his daughter to begin managing operations at the LuthorCorp fertilizer plant. Uncle Clark had been assigned to my mom as her orientation facilitator during her first week at school." He then, with as much patience as he could muster, related how after school, Clark took Chloe up to his original Fortress of Solitude that was his barn loft; replaced her favorite, beloved book Tales of the Weird & Unexplained which had been lost in the move from Metropolis to Smallville; and received as a reward his very first kiss from a girl.

At Garth's insistent behest, Connor then began to expound the highlights of their relationship: Their quickly becoming good friends, the unveiling of the Wall of Weird, their all-too-brief courtship at the end of freshmen year (he discreetly left out the unfortunate friction that arose between them over Clark's adoption and Lana Lang and Chloe's subsequent, regrettable, not-brief-enough collusion with Lionel Luthor). Connor continued with how she'd found Clark in Metropolis the following summer and helped to bring him home, how her "death" after entering witness protection brought her cousin Lois Lane to Smallville for the first time, how she found out Clark's secret (again) and made it her personal cause to aid him in his derring-do's, the second meteor shower and how Chloe came to be the first—and for a time—only human to set foot in the true Fortress of Solitude and probably was its most frequent visitor other than Kal-El himself, their becoming full partners-in-crime at stopping crime and saving the world. Connor hoped that Garth would be satiated for the day after he told the story of how Chloe saved Clark at the Fortress from becoming the vessel of General Zod at the hands of the first Brainiac, but as far as Garth was concerned, they were just getting started. For another forty-five minutes, Garth continued grilling Connor for more. Finally, Connor had had enough.

"So, let me see if I have this straight," Garth sought confirmation with, "The reason why Chloe intervened to prevent Kal-El from sending Doomsday into the Phantom Zone in the first place was that she feared he wouldn't be able to live with himself after doing that to the 'innocent human victim' Davis Bloome?"

"Something like that," Connor answered, having no desire whatsoever to further wade into the details of that particular episode in his family members' lives.

"And then, it was Chloe who tried to save Kal-El by running off with Davis Bloome in an attempt to lead Doomsday as far as she could away from him. And, all that was after she tried to kill him with kryptonite, which instead accomplished the exact opposite result," Garth continued in escalating confusion.

"I doubt she was acting rationally, if that's what you're getting at," Connor defended his mother's actions, "But, yes, everything she did was to protect my Uncle Clark."

"She must have really cared about him to do all that…She's probably the reason why he's still alive at all," Garth commented as realization dawned on his face.

"You know, we've been at this for well over an hour. Don't you guys have stuff to do?" Connor politely but impatiently hinted.

"Wait, wait, wait," Garth implored, "What happened after? I mean, Davis and Jimmy were dead. Chloe was all alone. What did Kal-El do?"

"You want to know what he did?!" Connor flew into an angry tirade as he rose sharply from the table. "He left her! He declared that 'Clark Kent is dead,' said his goodbye, and left his best, closest, most important friend exactly the way you just described: devastated, alone, and broken-hearted to fend for herself while he ran off to the North Pole like frickin' Santa Claus and hid in his Fortress. And when he finally did come back, what did he do when my mother needed him most? He got busy falling for her cousin, Lois Lane. You know, my Mom didn't show it, but she was hurt—for a long time. He flat-out refused to help her and abandoned her. That was cold even by Kryptonian standards. She was so sick of getting her heart broken by him; the only reason it didn't break again was because there was nothing left of it after Hank 'Jimmy' Olsen died. And, it wasn't just Clark—it was Lois, too, and it was the sheer, cosmic stupidity of it all. Uncle Clark and Aunt Lois could not stand each other for something like two years after they first met. My mother stood by him all of his life from the day they met in the eighth grade. And, what did he do for her? How did he thank her? Why do you think she stopped giving a damn and sealed herself up inside of Watchtower for months playing the Justice League's cyber-commando? She just gave up trying with him—waiting for him. She finally realized he wasn't worth all the tears she shed over him. Superman wasn't her hero; the Green Arrow was. My father was. Oliver Queen pulled Chloe Sullivan out of the hell she was in, not Clark Kent."

The level of contempt evident in Connor's voice dropped off as he slung his jacket over his arm and started walking away from the table. Half-turned away from the Legionnaires, he paused and scoffed, "You know something else? Even after all that…after everything he put my mother through, she still thought the world of my uncle. She never blamed him. She never stopped believing in him. And, she was always so proud of their friendship." The contempt returned to his voice backed by scorn as Connor finished, "You people don't know anything in this century…not a damned thing. Does that answer all your questions?" With that, Connor promptly left.

"Satisfied now, Garth?" Imra voiced her displeasure as she too rose from the table and parted company. Rokk just leaned back in his chair, pressed his fingertips together, and silently looked across the table at the other Legionnaire.

No, he thought to himself in response to both questions. In fact, Garth Ranzz had been left in a decidedly unsatisfied state with more questions than ever. And, he decided then and there that he would have to do something about that…something that involved quite a bit more than just picking Connor Hawke's brain.

As Connor slowly made his way down the corridor toward his quarters, sulking as he went, he mulled over where that outburst in the commissary came from. It's true that Garth's incessant prying was annoying at times, but he didn't have anything against him personally. He just couldn't take the constant hero worship. What Uncle Clark said in the infirmary was right. These people really were blind to the fact that while Superman may be a savior to Earth, Clark Kent could be just as morally weak and flawed as the rest of us humans at times.

Maybe things had just been building inside of Connor for a while without him really having been aware of it, and he needed to find some way to deal with them. He had been in this time for weeks with no indication of for how long this situation would go on. And, amazing as the future was, he didn't belong here in the 31st Century. He missed his life in the 21st Century, his friends, and his father most of all. It didn't help that his mother had been somewhat emotionally absent or distant the past few weeks. Clark, Diana, and J'onn had been there for him, but they could do only so much. He knew the Legionnaires meant well, but he wanted to return to the friends he knew—the ones who knew him. And, he was done giving his series of unending history lessons about the past. Garth may never grow tired of it, but Connor had. Now that he'd given it some serious thought, he realized the pressure had been mounting on every side for weeks, and it finally exploded like a dam bursting open all at Garth. He almost felt sorry for the guy…almost. Just shy of his own room, Connor decided to cut short his trip back to his quarters and gave a knock on his mom's room right next door.

The door slid open presenting Chloe right behind it. "Connor," she said with a smile, pleasantly surprised at her son's unexpected visit, "Come in." He entered his mother's quarters and took up his station near the wall. Leaning back against it, he folded his arms somberly and gazed steadily at the floor. Taking note of her son's sober demeanor, Chloe mentioned, "I was just on my way out, but if you need to talk…"

Connor nodded gravely and raised his head to speak, "I'm ready to go home, Mom."

Chloe froze abruptly at his announcement. She opened her mouth slightly, searching for something to say before speaking, "Look, Connor, I know I've been neglecting you a bit lately, and I'm truly sorry for that." She looked up into her son's eyes, speaking every word with sincerity, "But, our job is not quite done here yet."

The truth was that she wasn't so much neglecting Connor as much as being very careful with her time around him, perhaps cautiously avoiding him while trying hard not to seem like she was. Ever since her memories of that night came back, Chloe had been quietly trying to come to terms with Oliver's death while also attempting to think of a way to tell Connor that his father was dead. Where the part about benign neglect came in was that she was afraid that if she wasn't careful around him, she'd make a mistake and let slip to Connor that Oliver was dead in a way she didn't want her son to find out. And, even if she didn't communicate it to him verbally, they'd always been so close, mother and son. He could always tell what she was thinking.

"When will it be done?"

Again Chloe's mouth dropped open with a moment of unbroken silence following. At last, she answered, "Soon, I promise." Chloe faked a smile and suggested to her son, "Try to think of this as a really long vacation."

Connor was dubious at that. "I'm used to taking really long vacations with my friends in either tropical locations or subzero ski resorts in the Swiss Alps."

"Your father and I have really spoiled you something terrible, haven't we?" Chloe attempted to lighten the mood with as she smiled slightly.

Connor returned a half-smile as he stood up from the wall and unfolded his arms. Approaching his mother, he spoke gently but firmly, "Seriously, Mom, I do miss my friends and my father." Connor's facial expression changed to one of perplexity when he said next, "What about Dad? He should be here with us."

Chloe, fearful of where this talk of Oliver and the past would take them, turned away from Connor and pretended to be considering his words while she was really trying to hold back tears. Connor took the last few steps closer to his mother and pleaded, "Let's go back just for a break and get away from all this future weirdness. We don't have to stay, and we can come back the exact minute after we leave. I really want to go home, Mom. I miss my father. I want to see Dad."

"Connor…" Chloe pleaded back as she turned around to face her son. And in that moment, in her eyes, he saw it all: the horror, the sadness, the helplessness, the devastation. Suddenly, unexpectedly everything began to make sense—the absence of his father, the rescue of his mother without his help, all the bitter emotion conveyed in his mother's face—yet, even as all of it started to come together and be understood, Connor still continued in denial of what was so obvious before him.

"We can bring him back here," he persisted, his own eyes turning wet with tears, "Uncle Clark can convince Rokk and the others to let him come back here. If they're worried about changing the past, then Brainiac Five can mindwipe the memories of the future from all three of us before we all left for good after Darkseid is history." He added as persuasively as he could, "You wouldn't have to be alone every night. I know you miss him, too. Please, let's just see Dad, again. I need my father. I need…"

Chloe, on the verge of breaking down, incapable of finding her voice, slowly and silently shook her head at Connor. The color drained from his face as his eyes looked all around trying to find something to focus on. Struggling mightily to hold himself together, he staggered back, stunned. "It can't be true…he's not…Dad can't be…" Connor insisted, his voice quiet yet fervent. Chloe reached out to take her son into her embrace, but he raised his arms to block hers and shoved them away forcefully. The color rushed with a vengeance back to Connor's face as it contorted into a mask of barely contained rage and hurt and anguish. "Why didn't you tell me…WHY? Why didn't Clark or J'onn or Imra?! Why didn't anyone tell me?!" Connor cried out, overcome with intense emotion, as he stormed out of his mother's room and down the hall.

He could always tell what she was thinking. Ever since Chloe Sullivan had learned she was going to be a mother, she desired a close relationship with her son. She'd be reminded of the relationship that Clark had had with Martha Kent, and she'd think to herself, That is what I want for my child and me. And, she got her wish. They'd always been so close, mother and son—Chloe saw to that—even to the point where Connor could always tell what she was thinking. Even when she didn't want him to know.

Not long after, a lone figure wearing a biker's helmet, jumpsuit, and boots—all in black from head to toe, save for some sparsely distributed silver trim and striping—entered the ground floor hangar bay of Legion Headquarters and mounted one of the cycles there. Manipulating the controls on the cycle's instrument panel, he activated the vehicle, revved the engine a bit, and opened the bay doors. Next, he tucked his head and shoulders underneath the windshield which extended over and past them. Then, he lifted his legs and placed both feet securely onto each footrest. Zooming out of the hangar bay with a roar, the cycle carried its rider at great speed away from the Legion Tower. As the rider increased the vehicle's speed and the citadel was put further and further into the distance, a narrow but steady stream of tears could be seen through the visor of his helmet silently falling down his face.