XI
Supermen

It was not a question of what, but when.

At first I hadn't understood, when Chloe asked with her eyes wide why I thought Lex would want to clone Clark, how she couldn't know. I didn't understand how it wasn't obvious to her — how it wasn't obvious to Kara, who had seen into Lex's obsession, who knew every twisted way he thought of Clark.

I wanted to say it: he wants Clark on his side any way he can have him. And —

"They're his contingency," I had said, unscrewing the lid to the coffee jar, "he knows he'll never take office, not legally."

The jar was empty. I set it back down on the counter. When this is over, I thought, I should cut back. If this is over.

Jimmy had broken open an old camera and the pieces were scattered over my kitchen table. I was starting to understand that Jimmy Olsen was the kind of person who needed his hands to be busy when his mind was in turmoil. But he had put his screwdriver down now, and looked up at me, his mouth open.

"What are you saying?" he said.

I leant back against my counter, arms crossed.

"Nobody commissions a weapon unless they think they'll have to use it," I said, "and we're at war: Lex knows it. His supporters make a lot of noise, and send a lot of death threats, but he knows he'll never hold office."

I had snorted, there, shaking my head and added, "He's delusional, not stupid."

And when I looked at each of them individually, I knew they all understood what I was saying. Lex will take power by force — the question was when.

And maybe it was a question of what: what are we going to do to stop him?

We couldn't be sure whether Lex knew that Jimmy and I had been on his base, but I believed he knew.

I believed he had expected me to break in. Remembering our confrontation at the Planet, part of me felt he had wanted it, wanted me to see, wanted me to choke up all the memories he had tried to distort. And he thought he could afford that, because Lex always underestimated me.

Kara almost stopped talking after that conversation, almost stopped seeing us, almost stopped coming back at night. I knew that she slept on the edge of space, imagining, wondering what part she would play when the reckoning came.

But when she turned her eyes on me, speckled with the dust of a dead world, sometimes I remembered that she was only like human. And then I knew, even if she didn't, that she would stand shoulder to shoulder with Kal-El — my Kal — and fight.

I knew it, and sometimes I thought I saw the sky flecked with their blood.

Lexcorp was in lockdown.

We talked about what to do, in clandestine meetings at the Daily Planet — now some base of operations — and I caught the darkened eyes of Burns and his ilk, but it didn't matter.

The one battle I felt we were winning was that for the Planet's benediction: we had fought so hard to report objectively, and every time I saw the facts go out untouched by corruption I felt strong again, if only for a moment.

We were so powerless. Even if we could have gotten back into Lexcorp, we knew there was nothing we could do, and in the end it came down to one thing: we had to wait. And —

"Blue kryptonite," Chloe said to me one day, sitting by my desk at the Planet. She didn't work there, but Perry would turn a blind — if gruff — eye for all the favours I had done him.

My hands hovered over the keyboard, and I turned my head to look at her. "Blue kryptonite?"

She pursed her lips, and said, "The last time we came across any of that stuff it robbed Clark of his powers, but —" she gave me a look before I could interject, "but it's also one of Bizarro's weaknesses." She paused, and then added, "Also sunlight, but I don't think it's a good idea to timelock our defence. I've seen too many vampire movies where —"

"OK." This time I did cut across her. "So you'll probably be able to pick up some of this stuff in Smallville like any other meteor rock, right?"

Chloe's look was almost apologetic, as if this were somehow her fault: "Not... quite," she said. "I don't think any of it came down with the red and green kryptonite. The blue K we ran across — well, it's a long story, but the thing is, I think we're going to have to go to the Fortress."

I raised an eyebrow, "We?" but she barely acknowledged that I had said anything.

"I spoke to Kara before coming here, and —"

What was this? The Bizarro universe?

"Wait," I said, frowning at her, "you and Kara?"

She shrugged, and looked a little over my shoulder to where Jimmy was working at his desk. "Well, I don't have any connection to Jor-El," she said, "and Kara can't handle the blue K — if there even is any there."

Chloe's mind worked in strange leaps of logic. I could see them laid out before me, bound together by the most tenuous sinew of assumption: one, Bizarro was affected by blue kryptonite, therefore these Bizarro/Clark maybe-facsimiles will be; two, Jor-El seemed omnipotent, therefore we could get blue kryptonite from the Fortress. Oh Chloe, none of this is guaranteed.

And I wasn't happy with the idea of Chloe and Kara — of all people — having to deal with Jor-El: Jor-El who had once saved my life, Jor-El who had once echoed painfully through my skull.

I wasn't happy with it, but I didn't try to stop it, because it was the closest thing we had to a plan.

That was the day I noticed, over Chloe's shoulder, that Kal-El was hugging his own cousin good-bye without hesitation.

And I think Lex was watching us, because that was the night he chose to make the war literal.

I had a few moments on the roof with Kal-El that evening when Kara and Chloe had left. I thought that the air was singing with anticipation, but maybe I just thought that because we felt so cautious now that they had gone — like I said, I'm not much for determinism, and I trust my gut, but not to predict the future.

The way Kal-El stood still, silhouetted against the greying sky, I knew he was conflicted about their mission as well. But rather than say anything, this time I just walked over to stand beside him. And, before I registered what I was doing, I slipped my fingers through his in solace.

It was just a few moments.

Then he turned his head, suddenly, and his muscles tensed.

"What is it?" I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at me.

"People are crying," he said, "and asking me why." He looked back over the horizon, and said, his voice low, "I think it's starting."

He looked back at me again, asking permission to leave. And knowing that his weakness was their strength, he seemed so stripped naked to me in the fading light. I wanted to say no: let me protect you — but there were more lives at stake than just Kal-El's.

So I said, "Go," though I loathed it. "Just go."

He paused for a moment, and looked at me in the way I had just looked at him. Then he looked away, and stepped up onto the ledge. "Stay strong, Lois," he said.

And then I was alone.

I wondered if I would ever see him again.

But I was the soldier, and I was not going to let Kal-El fight alone on the front lines.

Chloe and Kara would be back when they were back: I couldn't count on them even having the blue kryptonite when they returned, or on it working if they did. I had to stop this.

The Planet building was empty except for cleaning staff when I returned from the roof.

Perry kept a handgun in the fake bottom of his desk drawer. When my fingers had brushed against the cool metal that first time, I had decided not to mention it. Although, from the meaning in some of the looks Perry shot me, I had a feeling he knew I'd found it.

I prefer unarmed combat on principle, but I could forgive an old man for wanting a sense of security when so many people wanted him dead. And this time, I was willing to go into battle with a little backup, knowng my enemy had weapons which were so much worse: it was a situation for situational morality; or, at least, that's how I rationalised what I was going to do next.

I called Perry from the office and told him to bring everybody back in. This was also a situation for unbiased news coverage, and the Planet staff were the only people I trusted in Metropolis to provide anything close.

Something in my tone prevented Perry from asking too many questions, although I knew he'd put me in the hotseat later. For now, I had my commander's trust, and that was all that mattered.

The night seemed absurdly calm when I stepped out of the Planet building. I turned my face to the sky, now edged with night, but I couldn't see Kal-El or any of Lex's Bizarros.

I thought I heard something, but it was almost indiscernable.

Maybe it was better that way.

Now that it was starting, it didn't seem such a barrier that Lexcorp was in lockdown. In reality, I was ready to go one step further to jump the fence.

There was one security guard on the ground floor reception at Lexcorp HQ. I disabled him without using the gun, stripping him of his keycard.

This was crazy: even for me this was reckless.

I almost stopped then and went back to the Planet to join ranks with the other impartial observers — but then I heard a crack in the sky, and I thought of Kal: saw him in my mind's eye, saw his blood splattered across the clouds.

And he was fighting outnumbered to protect "my people". Were they just people to him now?

Jimmy would be back at the office by now, and somehow I knew he had taken some degree of control: somehow I knew he was influencing events, unseen, from within ranks. And Perry, Perry White was a leader I never could have hoped for. How could I go back? What would I do?

I had to try.

Lex was in Lexcorp HQ, somehow I knew he would choose that building to witness the destruction — he would call it "transformation" — of a city which had given him no reason for love. I knew him so well.

Whether he heard me enter, at first he gave no indication. He was stood behind his desk, looking out over Metropolis through the large window at the back of his office.

From where I was stood, I could see the whole skyline, and several black dots, which, I guessed, were the Bizarros — and Kal-El — locked in a dance whose true beauty was destruction. How many casualties? How many fatalities would the Planet report? I could just see that parts of the city were on fire already: charring the heart of Metropolis.

And it had seemed so quiet on the way here.

I held the gun firm in both hands and pointed it at Lex's head.

This wasn't him catching me in his office. This time I had the power.

"I don't know what you thought you could achieve, Lex," I said, my voice low, biting, "but it ends now."

He half-turned, and I indicated he should face me, back to the wall. He almost smiled: a dark smile for all his sins commited. When he spoke, his voice was too calm for somebody whose life was at stake: "This is a revolution, Lois."

I felt my lips curl up, taking three steps to close the gap. We were parallel to the window now, and I was in control. I raised an eyebrow, and tried to keep my voice even. "So," I said, "who knew you'd be first against the wall when the revolution came?"

He laughed then: a sharp, sick laugh. "You always had a great sense of humour, Lois," he said. Then he indicated the window, now to his right, "Look."

It was eerie, watching a battle take place and hearing and feeling nothing. We were untouched observers.

"Your 'Superman' is outnumbered by my gods," he said. "And when the dust settles, and I am in charge, I will make the world a much better place to be."

My stomach wrenched. "And thanks to your propaganda machine," I said, "the people are almost ready for the idea. Right?" He could believe it all he wanted. I knew there were more Olsens than Burnses in the general population. There had to be.

He cocked his head, still feigning nonchalance. "Are you really going to shoot me Lois?"

How did we get like this?

I never liked Lex.

"I won't have to," I adjusted my grip on the gun, "if you stop this. I know you can."

He had more to lose than I did. Using the Bizarros to seize Metropolis was only a means to an end, an end he was egotistical enough to believe only he could achieve — whether he believed in what he was doing as an ideology, his plan was incomplete. I believed he couldn't stand the thought of dying now.

But it was better for me if he stopped things, and he knew that bought him time.

My finger itched: I wanted to crack my knuckles. Instead I tightened my grip on the gun and waited for his answer.

I saw his chest expand, heard the intake of breath —

Two of the black dots collided in the sky. One fell towards the centre of Metropolis.

A moment of silence.

"Oh no," said Lex, sardonically, "I hope Clark's OK."

Then the Earth seemed to fall out from under my feet. I swayed and then slammed into the desk, my shoulder colliding hard with the corner.

I tried to steady my breathing against the pain as the world came back into view. Somebody was laughing. What was so funny?

Lex was grinning down the barrel of my gun.

I looked dumbly at my empty hands, realising I was sitting on the floor, leant back against the desk. I had dropped the gun in my pain.

I cracked my knuckles. If this was it, then I was getting that out of the way.

"Lois," he said, and his voice was so calm it chilled me, "I'll put flowers on your grave every year." Then he squeezed the trigger, and I closed my eyes.

They say that, when you die, the last moments of your life take an eternity to pass.

I wouldn't know.

It was at the sound of gagging that I opened my eyes again.

Kal-El. How had he?

His hand was around Lex's neck, choking him. The part of myself I'm not proud of wondered why he hadn't already snapped his neck.

I stumbled to my feet, almost falling against the desk, and grabbed Kal-El's hand.

The last time I had done anything like this, Alicia had died.

"Stop," I said, pulling at his shirt.

He didn't look at me.

I threw all my weight into trying to pull him back, but he stood, still and solid as a statue, holding Lex up by the neck. I could see he was hurt, but burning on whatever Kryptonians had for adrenaline — and even broken, he had the strength of ten.

I craned my neck up to speak into his ear, desperation lining the pit of my stomach: "Please stop, Kal."

He glanced back over his shoulder at me, and said, "Why, Lois?" His voice hardened, and his eyes burned, as he looked back at Lex. "He tried to kill you."

But Kal-El hadn't killed Lex yet and, just like I knew Perry wanted me to search his office every evening, I knew Kal wanted a reason not to choke the last breath up from Lex's lungs.

And I only had one reason to give.

The pain was spreading from my shoulder. I clutched his shirt, "Clark would hate me if I let you kill him."

Those wide eyes were turned on me again, jaded comprehension seeping in at the edges. Then he nodded, and loosened his grip on Lex, who fell in a heap to the ground.

He had a pulse, and he was breathing.

"I saw you die," I said, looking up at Kal, "I saw you die."

I saw then for the first time the bruises lining his jaw, the blood on his face: it shook me. He fell back against the desk.

"One of them," was all he said, and I realised: he had come out on top of that collision. He looked up at me then, and I saw some familiar emotion in his eyes. "I nearly didn't —" he began, "I was nearly too late." He opened his hand, and I saw the flattened bullet, and knew what he was saying: I nearly died.

"I'm OK," I said, although my shoulder was immobile.

He nodded, and stood again. He was visibly better, but moved stiffly. "I should go."

"You'll die," I said, pained. I already lost Clark. I already thought I lost Kal-El.

"Kara will be back," he said, "I can hear her. But the people —"

I got it. "OK," I said, standing up and looking at him with meaning.

His eyes were wistful. "Lois," he said, and reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Deep inside, I hoped it wasn't the last good-bye between us.

It was Jimmy I called to help me deal with Lex: so powerful, now crumpled on the floor under the weight of his own body. I couldn't get him to stop this. I couldn't save the world, not yet.

Jimmy's arm was smeared with blood when he ducked in the room. "Not mine," he said with a weak smile, and somehow I knew the person it had belonged to was dead. "They're rioting," he said, "The cops are trying to deal with it."

I felt so weak: Lex, look what you've done. And for what?

Jimmy looked from Lex, propped up against one of the desks, to me and gave me a congratulatory grin: so you captured the enemy base.

"When do you think the police will show up?" I asked, "Or the medics?"

He winced, and then shrugged.

"That soon," I acknowledged, then sighed. "Kara and Chloe?"

He shook his head. I looked from Lex, to Jimmy, to the gun on the floor. Then I thought of all the people who were dying in Lex's misguided attempts to take control of the city and I grabbed the gun, thrusting it into Jimmy's hands.

"You watch him," I said. "Tie him to the desk or something. I'm going to wait back at the Planet."

He looked from the gun in his hands to me, and gave me a pained look. I smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "You can do it, Jimmy. Make me proud."

I slipped along the back alleys on my return to the Planet: on the way to Lexcorp I had stayed with the crowds, now I wanted to avoid them. I could tell from the shouts and bitter smell of burning that Jimmy was right: people were scared, people were rioting.

Metropolis always rose again but, like Clark, it would be different after this. I didn't know what to think about that.

At first glance the newsroom was in chaos, but it was a chaos that I recognised: layer upon layer of movement revealed a kind of organisation in the madness. We were trying to cope with the constant influx of news — and, stiff and silent, Perry White kept a watching eye over everything.

Several pairs of eyes turned on me as I stalked over to my desk, and a kind of hush fell across part of the newsroom. There was blood smeared across my fingers — from Jimmy's arm, from Kal-El — but they weren't staring at my hands.

I wondered what they suspected of me. Did they think I was guilty of this, because I had known? Because I had been a friend to Superman?

I looked over my shoulder at one of the televisions we had streaming live news.

Every an event was an opportunity for Lex to practise his spin.

There was a blurred picture of one of the Bizarros up on the screen — and on his chest, what looked like the Daily Planet insignia. Did Lex really think people would believe we were behind this? We were a news, not a political organisation.

But then we had many enemies in Metropolis, some who the public might believe were stupid enough to smear us like this, and maybe that's what Lex was banking upon: to be the saviour who rose out of the ashes of Metropolis, after the Daily Planet's irresponsible rabble-rousing had prompted this kind of backlash.

So this was why they were staring at me.

Where was Jimmy when I needed him?

There was a shuffling of feet, and I think some toes were trodden on. Then Perry appeared in front of me. He clapped his heavy hands on my shoulders: a sudden pain cracked through my injured shoulder and I grunted but held his gaze.

"You did your best, kid," he said, "I believe it."

There was some dissent in the crowd: I could hear their whispering, like the storm that rolled out from the bay.

I flicked his hands away coolly and narrowed my eyes at the newsroom. "I'm doing my best," I said. "And don't call me 'kid'... Chief."

And when he nodded, that seemed to be enough for everybody else.

I collapsed into the seat at my desk, feeling more powerless than I wanted anybody to know. How many dead now? I wondered. How many injured?

Then, I looked up. "Chief!" I called out over the newsroom. He half-turned from where he was stood and looked at me. "If those 'Supermen'," I said, "claim to be fighting for us, this might be the only safe building in Metropolis. We need to start getting people in here and giving them shelter." It was the least we could do.

His lips seemed to turn half up, only for a moment, then he nodded, once, sharply. "OK," he shouted, and his voice carried through the newsroom, "I want all the interns out looking for casualties." He seemed to think for a moment, and then added, "And if you can get a doctor or two, well that won't hurt either."

This was the Daily Planet, shouldering its burden to the public.

And, with some of the guilt cleared from my head, I felt I had space to breath and to think.

Then Chloe and Kara came back.

A wave of still fell over the newsroom, and I understood why. They had loved "Supergirl" in the space where Kal-El had found fear and aversion: this one had spread her wings in protection around the city — until the moment they needed it most, when she disappeared. I had overheard their bitter mutterings.

And here she was: and she was just a girl, younger than most of the interns.

And here she was, striding over to me, of all people.

Oh, but they know each other, remember? Lane got the interview.

Lane has her fingers in a lot of pies.

Chloe was unnoticed behind her.

We went up to the roof, where we could talk with some guarantee that we wouldn't be overheard.

There was ash in the air, making it grate, and glow, and sting. A cloud of smoke billowed up from the fires, now consuming whole chunks of the city: glittering in the blackness, and red with the charred blood of ordinary people not living ordinary lives — not living at all.

And where was Lex? Lex was unconcious, tied to his desk, with his life in Jimmy Olsen's hands. What a fucking waste, Lex: you didn't even win.

"I think this is it," said Chloe, handing me a lead box. "Obviously I didn't want to test it on Kara to make sure."

I looked at it. Blue kryptonite: I hope this works.

Kara had stepped over to the edge of the Planet, searching the skies. She looked back over her shoulder to me, and said, "I have to go, Lois." And like Kal-El had, she seemed so small to me. Don't you know? I wanted to ask. Don't you know your kryptonite is like sunshine to them?

I stepped over and pulled her into me with my good arm, hugging her good-bye. "Look after yourself," I said.

She nodded. "You too." Then she stepped off the ledge and into the sky.

I fingered the box Chloe had handed me. Then I strode past her towards the stairwell.

"Where are you going?" said Chloe, starting after me.

I stopped and turned, holding the box up. "Nobody commissions a weapon unless they think they're gonna use it, Chlo. I'm going to end this now."

Chloe closed her eyes and breathed in. Then she stepped forward and said, "OK, I know there's nothing I can say to make you stop, but there is something I can do to help you." She caught my eye, and then grabbed my injured shoulder.

I groaned in pain as she gripped me — but then it wasn't me. It was her. She was the one moaning and clutching her own shoulder.

I touched mine with my other hand: no pain. I had full mobility back. Then I looked at her, now breathing almost normally again. "You didn't tell me," I accused. "You didn't tell me it hurt you — Chloe —"

"It'll wear off," she said, rubbing her shoulder. "And this isn't the time, Lois. I'm going to see what I can do, healing people who've been injured in the riots."

I looked at her: so ready to shoulder the burden of other people's pain. Everybody I loved was tripping over each other to sacrifice themselves — and I didn't want to lose any of them. I couldn't stand it.

"Fine," I said. "But we'll talk about this when it's over." If it's over. If I live.

This wasn't something I could do on the roof of the Daily Planet: I could spare us that one dignity. So I tripped down the stairs into the street, and ran, and I kept running until I reached one of the few wide open spaces there was in Metropolis: Centennial Park — untouched, for now.

Here I stopped. I was burning from my throat right down my lungs with the ash of the city and my own respiration. Then I called, because it was all I could do: "Bizarro! Superman!"

Shouting felt like running daggers down my throat, and I coughed.

No, I thought to myself. Lex wanted Clark on his side any way he could have him. And I grimaced, as I said, "Come here, Clark."

And I wondered if Kal-El could hear me.

Of course, he was always listening.

Just one came: one of Lex's Bizarro-soldiers. His eyes were blank and reflective, his face set and expressionless. He seemed almost more disturbing for being animated, his movements jerky, like some otherworldly puppet or clockwork toy.

I held up my press pass to him. "Do you know what this is?" I asked.

He just looked from the press pass to my face, but didn't walk towards me. I pointed to the logo on the pass, and the sign on his chest, and said, "Do you know who I am?"

I hope this works.

He just stood there. Even Kal-El had been responsive when I had first met him — unlike Clark, but not deathlike and passive.

Without the Phantom which had given Bizarro consciousness, were they just moving corpses? My skin crawled.

And would they obey me, bearing the sign they had been branded with?

"Get the others," I said.

He just stood there.

"Do you understand?" I said forcefully. "Bring them to me. Lex Luthor has been taken out. I am second in command."

He looked again at the pass, his face still blank as if he could not process information. Then he turned, and flew away.

I waited.

When he returned, two others were with him: a trifecta of strange imagery. I guessed the last two were locked in battle with Kal-El and Kara. I hoped they were, and I hoped they were losing.

"Kal-El," I whispered under my breath, "Kara, bring your Bizarros to Centennial park. I can take them out."

The three I had just stood there, watching me with those passive eyes. I wondered how creatures so empty could wreak so much destruction — but far be it from me to question Lex's master plan. I was just one of many who had to deal with the fallout.

But part of me was uneasy, afraid that they might turn at any moment, like a flat sea turned suddenly violent.

When Kal-El appeared, I didn't know what to think. He was beaten, but what was worse, he looked tired: I had never seen Clark tired, I had never seen Clark this weak. His opponent was behind him, and I was satisfied to see that he didn't look much better.

"Listen to me," I said, holding up my press pass. This fourth Bizarro lined up with the other three and Kal-El stepped away — he walked, not flew. That worried me.

It was a little while later, when I had spent more time trying to hide my unease from the voided gaze of the Bizarros, that Kara showed up with hers. Now I had all five. I held up the box Chloe had given me.

My heart was pounding, my blood on fire. I didn't know what would happen if this didn't work. I tried to swallow my misgivings, and they went down like a shard of glass.

I opened the box, closing my eyes in reflex.

When I opened them, all five were on the floor, not writhing, but clearly in pain. I breathed out, one shuddering sigh of relief. I looked over my shoulder at Kal-El and Kara, stood back at a safe distance. Kara had her arm under Kal-El's shoulder for support — the second display of affection between them that night, and it broke my heart.

We had won. We had to have won now.

Whatever happened with Lex, whatever Metropolis thought of me, of Kal-El, of the Daily Planet: it didn't matter, not yet.

It was clean-up. It was communicating with the police. It was finding out how to contain these Bizarro Supermen — they seemed dead to me already, but I couldn't stomach the idea of smashing their Clarklike faces in.

And I was tired.

Kara flew Kal-El above the clouds to where it was noon in the world, while dawn broke over Metropolis. I left Lex's soldiers with a task force from Belle Reve and Lex in the custody of the Met Police, and I went home.

The air in my apartment felt so sparse. I fell back against the door, deflating, sliding down until I was a heap on the floor, and then I put my head on my knees, eyes scrunched up.

I hadn't spoken to Chloe, but I thought she was OK: she had to be. She was my cousin, how could she not be fine?

Oh Clark, if you were here.

Would you put your arms around me? Would we cling to each other as the world spun around us? Would we finally say what we were both thinking?

I ached in every cell of my body, and the dark phlegm in my throat. I was so tired.

I was somehow in my bed when I woke, in an unlit room, at night. How long had I slept? When I saw Kal-El by the window, I realised he must have found me on the floor in my hall and carried me in here.

"Kal-El," I said, my voice hoarse. He turned to look at me as I cleared my throat, his face uninjured again and unscarred.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I smiled at him, and he came to sit next to me.

"You're OK," I said, reaching over and brushing his lip where it had been split earlier.

When I drew my hand away, he lifted his own fingers and touched them to his own lips, his eyes on mine. Dropping his hand, he nodded. "Everyone is OK," he said, and when he looked at me, I knew he meant Chloe too.

I had to close my eyes against the tears welling up from my gut, pressing my lips together and nodding. Then I breathed in, and opened my eyes again.

He smiled at me then, and then leaned over and brushed his fingers against my lips as I had brushed mine against his: experimenting with a touch. And, reflexively, I kissed them.

He looked up at my eyes then, putting his head on one side in the studious pose I would always associate with him. I caught my breath, and I knew it.

I touched my fingertips to his wrist, following the line of the muscle up to his elbow. He was watching me, studying me with those thick-lashed, dark eyes.

"Can you even feel this?" I said, thinking of his invulnerability.

The shadow of a smile passed across his face. "I can feel you," he said.

I put my fingers around his wrist and turned his hand over: it was so human.

He had strength in the tendons which ran down his fingers, strength which could level Metropolis, and yet here he was — brushing his fingertips against mine, making me think a butterfly was walking over my skin.

There was humanity in the Kryptonian. Or maybe Kryptonian in the human. Or maybe there was neither human nor Kryptonian. I had asked that question of his eyes that first time on the roof of my building: are you unknowable, or just unknown? And I wondered now if he had also asked it of mine.

And I knew now: he was not Clark as I had known him, but we were not so different.

My hand guided his, and the butterfly danced down the skin of my stomach. He met my gaze, and I felt my smile as he looked back to where his fingers rested against my abdomen. He leant over and, gently, pressed his mouth to my collarbone, to the hollow beside my neck.

And I knew. Blood rushed through my veins, setting every molecule on fire: bonds were breaking, and I didn't know what shape anything would be when they came back together.

And maybe, for now, it didn't matter.

He gave way when I pushed gently at his shoulder, falling back and looking up at me: did I do wrong? And I just put my head to one side, as he had so often his, and studied him.

My lips were dry, so dry that it tickled when I brushed them against his.

His were softer than I had imagined: invulnerable even to the weather.

And somehow, his fingers found their way to the scars on my back where Oliver had thrown me into the glass table.

My love life was always so complicated.

I made my choice then. We made our choice. And whether that choice was to be human, or Kryptonian, or both, or neither, I didn't care.

Not tonight.