-Chapter Five-
She was aware that she looked fabulous. Tired, but fabulous, because, as they were leaving, she had glimpsed herself in the plate glass of the restaurant. It was not something she could control; they had come straight from dinner in Beijing and changing back into the combat boots and fatigues just for the briefing had seemed overly excitable, or, at least, premature. She would have re-worn the silver number Bruce had provided but that was a few days ago and they had crammed a lot in since then; what was for certain was that they had been unable to find the dress in the fortress but it was definitely on a bedroom floor somewhere. So she arrived wearing three inch heels and a new smart black evening dress and she assumed they assumed she had picked out a new outfit especially for the occasion. Sweetly, no one had said anything but as a tableau it must have appeared odd and needlessly glamorous; like an eve-of-battle inspection of the 101st Airborne carried out by Katharine Hepburn.
The focused red dot of a laser pen circled a specific area on the holographic projection that was playing to her right. "At the moment of impact, structural integrity is lost and the entire forcefield is rendered useless." For the purposes of demonstration the projected animation of the Earth faded away and segued into a larger off-white mesosphere in which a small spidery crack appeared, new fissures immediately forming and spreading outwards until it was shattered, like glass. The lights had been lowered for this part and while she talked the undulating flicker and glow from the projection cast mirrorball-like shapes onto the surfaces of the room and created artificial movement on the faces gathered before her.
She had never got this far, to the briefing stage. Had never actually used the briefing cache. To her relief and acute sense of professional pride, it had worked- it was on the floor at her feet now, a tiny plastic compact case emanating a triangle of light, the images it showed were clean and clear. It all seemed to have gone well. Still, she was nervous.
Arranged in two rows of a three and a four, the team sat facing her, attentive, listening, curious. Clark was at the back on his own. Hands in pockets, leaning on a console, not in a chair like the others, and looking unfeasibly and unwittingly handsome in his suit and dark unbuttoned dress shirt. She caught his eye often during the ten-minute talk and every time she did she felt her confidence bolstered by that untroubled air of conviction and the channel of silent support transferred directly to her.
Next to her, Earth, replete with the forcefield mesosphere, vaporized back into being, a beachball-sized semi-opaque image reappearing suspended at her shoulder. All eyes were concentrated on it. J'onn's eyes were nearly concealed, shadowed by the great shape of his brow and making him look even more thoughtful than usual. He spoke first, "It's a ram-raid?"
Lois nodded. "And that's when the JLA," for extra clarity, she paused and placed her palm to her chest before readdressing the animation, "my version, will launch coordinated counter-strikes, here, here, here, and here." As the projection performed a corresponding series of spins and zoomed close-ups, Lois's pen x-marked specific points on the forcefield. She shifted her gaze to Clark, "Superman will deliver the coup de grâce of the rebellion, here." Without looking her closed fist flicked back at the hologram. The hologram changed again and refigured itself as a glittering citadel where the White House should be.
John said, "No civilian involvement?"
"Not directly. Not for the first phase, the initial attack. Bruce's model predicts zero casualties amongst the general population."
Bruce said nothing but from the merest tensing of his bottom lip it was possible to tell he concurred with the forecast and was almost impressed with his other self.
Beside him, Diana looked anxious. "In that case, if the first phase is successful, how do you know you're carrying the will of the people with you?"
"Hearts and minds?" Lois sighed that it was a good question. She shrugged, "It's impossible to know for sure, of course. It has been seven years. But lives were lost all over the world fighting Luthor's takeover, thousands more imprisoned and placed under house arrest- including members of the previous administration and other uncooperative governments. Away from our cell, resistance networks exist; ordinary people involved in anti-Luthor literature, secret meetings, street-level insubordination and civil disobedience, things like that."
At this Diana looked even more concerned- her friends' immediate safety happily out-weighing self-determination every time, "The second phase," she used Lois's word; "'consolidation', it will be dependent on public reaction?"
There was no point in trying to hide the risks, Lois knew that better than anyone. But she could only be honest, "We believe there's a groundswell of popular support for ousting Luthor. We believe there's a desire for the return of the basic right of freedom to humankind, and that, with our help, humankind can deliver it." Simply, she said, "We believe that people want their heroes back."
Arms folded, Wally rocked on his chair, "Damn. I wanna go, too."
"The sudden reappearance of Clark Kent and Superman-" Kara inquired, reasonably, "how will you account for that?"
"Kryptonian technology in the second instance," Lois said. "Luthor's internment camps in the first. Clark Kent has never officially been declared dead, we'll stagger his return by a couple of months so the coincidence is unremarkable."
"What if it doesn't work?" Dick's voice rang quietly but starkly around the room, asking the question that had been avoided. "What if the first phase doesn't work?"
"It'll work." Clark's answer was velvet soft, devoid of bravado or belligerence. It was the first thing he had said since she had started, and Lois locked gazes with him. She searched, again, for the lie, the misgivings, the cracks signaling any self-doubt. They weren't there. Instead, his expression was calm and serious and he exuded belief.
"What if it doesn't?" Bruce's attention traveled from the hologram to settle on Lois.
For a moment she was silent. In a measured tone she offered, "Then we'll fight and fail, and we'll know we tried." She pushed the hand holding the pen into her other palm. "I wish I could say something else."
The group greeted this news with the stoney-faced reaction of those well-versed in and used to danger and sacrifice and aiming for victory within the slimmest possible terms. Although far from happy, Lois could detect a jaw-clenched appreciation that the hard truth had been laid out, shorn of false comfort or reassurance, and by a fellow warrior. Clark pushed himself off the console to join her.
"Of course," J'onn added obligingly, noticing Clark slipping his fingers through Lois's, "the argument's academic, since, regardless of circumstance, Clark decided he would return to World Zero the second he knew his help was needed."
Stifling a smile Lois squeezed his hand and Clark was left to eye-blink away this unsolicited but nevertheless faithful cross-sectioning of his most private motivations while the others could get on with the business of being reminded, not for the first time, how immensely satisfying it sometimes was to have one's deepest but unaired suspicions confirmed by a telepath.
Bruce sniffed. The thumbs of his clasped hands lifted, "Well. In view of the fact that we've all just sat here and listened to how we have," he flicked his wrist to check his watch, "approximately thirty-six hours before the best and brightest of all of us is leaving our side, probably and most likely, forever, I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say," he released another short breath, fixed Clark and Lois with a solemn stare, "good luck, and is there any way we can help before you go?"
Lois glanced at her feet, experiencing as a physical sensation the wave of unanimous support Bruce had articulated and she was humbled and slightly undone by it. The lights in the Batcave began to flicker back on. The low mumblings of broad agreement and the sound of chairs scraping back intermingled with well-wishing as the group prepared to disperse, either to attend to normal duties or head for the elevator where Alfred had appeared with a tea-tray of hot drinks and homemade refreshments.
Diana and Bruce stayed behind and Lois thanked them and admitted that any ideas, or technologies, or advice she could pass on to her side would be welcomed. Bruce told her he'd have something ready for them.
Lois nodded. "There's also the public announcement to organize."
Bruce stuck his hands in his pockets, his gaze darting from Lois to Clark, "How do you want to handle that?"
Unruffled, Clark said, "I'm going to notify the United Nations and hold a simulcast; tv, internet and radio, on all the major networks."
"A press conference?"
"No," Clark told Diana.
Lois confirmed, "Just a speech."
Bruce regarded them again. "People will have questions."
Without looking at each other they nodded in agreement. Softly, Clark said, "We know."
Now Diana turned circumspect as they came under her scrutiny, "Are you going to tell the truth?"
"Yes-" Clark allowed, simply.
With her hands open Lois stressed, "for now, everyone can sit tight-"
Clark finished, "we'll tie up the loose ends."
Lois and Clark nodded, and Bruce and Diana nodded back, and to Diana there seemed little point, and certainly no fun, in continuing to pretend that no one had noticed the way the other couple gazed at each other, or were so at ease with each other, holding hands and standing close and, now, finishing each other's sentences. All in such marked and telltale contrast to the nerves and nervousness of the previous evening. She teased, "Maybe you should get some rest?"
"And a shave," Bruce advised Clark, reading Diana's mind, joining in, and prompting Clark to run a hand over his face. "Must have been some party over there, last night."
Finishing with a calculatedly bright flourish Diana added, "You two look as though you haven't slept in a week!"
Flushed cheeks from Lois and Clark's on-the-spot shoe shuffle had them both appearing more guilty than either Bruce or Diana felt a night shared between two consenting adults warranted. Until Bruce twigged first. One eyebrow took off, immediately, towards his hairline; "I take it you gave Lois a practical demonstration of the time machine?"
Lois didn't quite meet Clark's eye. "Once or twice."
...
Later that morning, having updated Mr Kent's diary, proof-read two dozen finance application documents for his approval, filed the day's first batch of invoices, and signed for three complimentary crates of organically produced mung beans which were currently stacked as a sort of avant-garde art installation in one corner, Marie Manguel was interrupted in the middle of sorting the mail when the door to her left was opened and she was asked by her boss to step inside his office.
She was extremely proficient at maintaining an outward appearance of unflustered poise when submitted to these kinds of requests from Mr Kent. Only she knew the truth; that despite working together for years, and since the beginning, simply being in a room with him was enough to set her on edge and an extraordinary amount of self-control was required during any order of interaction.
And it was not just that he was kind and held doors open, or that he really listened when you had something to say or meant it when he asked after your family. It was not even that he was intimidatingly smart or so outrageously good-looking that it was hard not to find yourself mesmerized and staring. Although all those things were true.
She had never known him before, of course. But, even after all this time, she was aware of a distance being strictly kept, between him and everybody else. A sense of being allowed so far, and no further. This in itself was not a frustration to her, she accepted it, but it meant that her everyday dealings with him, no matter how banal, remained brief and at surface-level and therefore fraught with a rawness and a newness which threatened her capacity to do a good job. And doing a good job, above all else, was what mattered to her.
She alone knew the long hours he spent at his desk filling a day with meetings and speech re-writes and phone conversations and split screen video links. When it got dark outside and the meetings closed and the conferences ended and everybody went home, she alone knew that a mask was removed- but only so he could begin again, ready, for the next time. The Institute had saved him, and she took great pride in it. She had never, wouldn't ever, let it down.
The letter opener and the half-open envelope were replaced gently onto the desk and she left her chair and until she had walked past him she didn't take her eyes off his face. Something had changed there. He closed the door behind her and she felt a growing confidence that it was not her imagination; his entire manner was different. Less studied, somehow. Then he gestured behind her, to his couch, and she turned and there was a lady. The lady rose to her feet, stretched out a hand, introduced herself and Marie understood. Before Mr Kent could say anything more, Marie had clutched the hand between both of hers and offered up a tearful rush of divine thanks.
...
Although only Europe and South America were still within official office hours, all the bureaus were contacted at once. One by one, wide-eyed, sleepy-eyed, from London, São Paulo, Johannesburg, McMurdo, Tokyo, and Sydney, the aides were brought by Clark to collect outside his office. When Clark was ready all seven were invited in together. Having processed the bodyshock of meeting Lois Lane and being told everything, Clark took enormous pleasure in introducing them to the new CEO of the Lois Lane Institute and more pride in the spontaneous round of applause that broke out amongst the group- and there, surrounded at its center, emotional, elated; Miss Manguel.
...
They waited until it began to get dark before they went. She didn't want to lay flowers and he didn't either so they went straight there. Lit by the soft lights they held hands in the dusk, walked along the path, up until they came to the place that was his. He held back then, lowered himself to his seat as she went forward.
'LOIS JOANNE LANE' in Roman script that she crouched to trace with her fingers. To walk on your own grave; she had braced herself for an impact, a Dickensian moment of bloodcurdling epiphany or morbid self-reflection. But there was none. This place was peaceful, and beautiful, and she stood before it, moved. They said goodbye.
...
Above them the great globe whirred sonorously within its fittings. Left and right, they scanned the horizon, the panorama of Metropolis bright and blinking against a clear midnight-blue sky. The older, thicker, more round-shouldered of the two men hunched his jacket collar and pulled it tighter to his neck. Typically, despite the practice, they only noticed his arrival when Clark strode out of the shadows to greet them.
Perry shook his hand first. "This better be good, Kent. My office has the twin benefits of great city views and underfloor heating."
Clark was grinning. "Sorry, Perry. I just wanted a little privacy."
Jimmy looked worried, his cell was pulled back out of his pocket. "Your message sounded urgent?"
Instead of answering right away, Clark glanced out across the city as if searching for something. Carefully, he said, "I'm going to need you to write a story. A story about me. It's an important story, the most important one you'll ever publish." His eyes, alive with the possibility of the moment, relishing it, returned to dart back-and-forth between them. "And that's why you have to write it."
"Why can't you?"
Perry waited. Clark said, "Because I'm not going to be here."
Below a pair of low heavy eyebrows old eyes, eyes that had seen everything, considered Clark. "This isn't about another 'Save the rainforests' campaign by the Institute, is it?"
With a twitchy, graceful smile, Clark looked down at the floor. "No." He opened his shoulder so that they could see. Behind him a figure cloaked by silhouette moved one step forward into the light.
A harsh, "Great Caesar's ghost," was snatched between Perry's lips and he felt his chest constrict.
The apparition, tall and chic in a trenchcoat, unfathomably unchanged and wondrous, and now obscured by tears, said, "Hey Jimmy." Its voice stumbled and broke, "Hi Chief."
He hadn't run for years, but Perry White did then, a sprinter out of a starting block and Lois was clutched and enfolded into the arms of the people who had missed her the most.
...
Like a child's drawing of a sunbeam with the marbled rostrum at its center, the banked aisles and rows of the General Assembly Hall stretched out in gradiated lines in front of him. Every seat was taken, every available space filled; dignitaries, diplomats, heads of state, the press corps, translators, tour guides- crammed together in the auditorium, in the media booths, pressed up against the glass windows of the public gallery.
Two giant screens high behind each shoulder and between them, him, at the lectern, and a prickling, pervading, electrified silence focused entirely on his face and his words until he uttered a final understated thanks and left the rostrum. The hall erupted, a flash-photographed clamor of thunderous applause and uproarious acclaim that seemed to carry him on its sonic energy.
The sound funneled through the wings and followed him into a small anteroom where she was waiting. They walked straight into each other's arms and she took his face in her hands and kissed him. Dressed in all-black, back in her uniform, it was like being met after a particularly taxing campaign speech by a ninja-First Lady. Which in a way, he supposed, was exactly what she was. Exhilarated, he rested his forehead against hers and thought, I could get used to this. "How'd I do?"
She lent away to stare at him, looking a little lost for words. Her head shook, "You were brilliant." One eyebrow quirked, "I think there're a lot of lumps in throats, back there."
"I locked eyes with the President and there was definitely a man tear." Clark let go so he could find her hands. He thumbed across her fingers, confiding, "I thought I was going to go myself."
The knowing amusement in her gaze told him she didn't believe it for a second. "I guess you're a real pro at these kind of things these days?"
He gave a quiet, self-deprecating scoff, before eyeing himself up and down. "Not like this."
Lois squared up and held a deeply drawn breath before releasing it. "How did it feel?" With her hands she began to smooth the fabric against the muscles of his chest. Her eyes followed the movement of her fingertips, and he watched her concentrating, weighing him up with the expert-eye of a connoisseur.
"Good." Bashful, he reconsidered to admit, "Better than good, actually." His smile was small, a little unsure, "How did it look?"
A wide delighted grin broke out and her eyes shone at him. Nodding, thickly, she said, "Pretty great."
He placed his hand to her cheek and they leaned to kiss each other again, a sweet, slow kiss that began to deepen with every touch of the lips.
The room had a second doorway, a fire exit that was now opened and within which an Institute aide had obediently appeared. The aide put his fist to his mouth and coughed but it was not until he cleared his throat with a full-on 'A-hem' that Lois and Clark could bring themselves to be interrupted. Heads still touched together they both twisted to look in the aide's direction. Clark was half-delighted, half-chastened to discover the aide was from the Sydney bureau. Off to one side, diligent and polite, and forever having to tie himself in knots not to mete out the justified exasperation he must have felt with Clark, Clark hoped the young man would have better luck, and enjoy a greater degree of professionalism, in dealing with his new boss now that he had been promoted as Miss Manguel's number two.
With a fingertip pressed to an earpiece, the aide said, "We have the roof clear for you, Sir."
They both dipped their heads in appreciation. Softly, Lois said, "Thank you, Owen."
Clark sighed, re-linked his hands with hers. "Everyone?"
"They're ready," she told him. "They're waiting for us."
Exiting through the fire escape and along a narrow access corridor, they made their way up several flights of stairs to the top of the United Nations building. As Clark led them through the door and out into the evening air, Lois slowed her step.
"Clark, wait."
Clark glanced down behind him to where she was tugging on his hand.
They stopped and she dropped his hand completely. As if she were unable to entirely meet his eye she gazed out before coming back to look at him. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Playfully, he said, "I just made my weepy goodbyes to a planet of seven billion people, Lois. I don't think now's the time for cold feet."
She smiled but winced and it was because he knew she wanted to hear him say the true thing, not the right thing. Her eyes closed. "I mean it."
He moved in closer so she could see the truth. The blue of his eyes reflected, intense and resolute, as they caught the lights of the city. "So do I."
"Your life will change so much. Back to hiding, hiding who you are, being Superman in secret." An eyebrow raised and she half-turned and held her hand, briefly, back towards the exit; "No staff, no people holding doors open for you. No VIP treatment, or privileged lifestyle. You're giving up all of that. Going back to just Clark." A faint, crooked smile flirted with her lips, "And me."
Clark didn't smile back. "That is a privileged lifestyle."
Her eyelids fluttered, "I just." Again, she looked away and back, lifted and dropped her shoulders. "If you changed your mind. It would be okay. If you want to stay." She nodded at him, "It's okay."
The determination in her face made him uncomfortable. "Lois-"
"No, Clark. Please," she insisted, quickly. Her hands spread open in a dampening down gesture and her lips touched lightly together while she found the right words, but, with her sober expression, and her dark eyes fixing his, all Clark could think was how obliviously attractive she was when she was being this grave. She said, "I don't want you to feel beholden."
His eyebrows raised in surprise. Amused by the word, and by her, he repeated it with relish. "Beholden?"
Lois flinched away. "Just because we... Just because..." A frustrated swaying of one shoulder was transferred into a nervous jiggle of her leg. Eyes that had been scrunched tight opened as Lois dredged up; "You don't owe me anything."
The thought having not crossed his mind, Clark's face turned from blank to troubled.
"If I went back without you, I could handle it." There was a stoic rolling of her lips, a gesture Clark took as aiming toward reassuring. "It would be hard, but I promise I could handle it."
Standing on the roof, alone, they looked at each other. She meant it, Clark thought. Or she was trying her very best to mean it, and the scary part was that she was probably right. He shook his head and simply shrugged, "I couldn't." He sighed, "Lois," and moved in to pick up her hands, entwine his fingers with hers. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear this morning," his lips twitched, a slow-burning smile beginning to form there, "or last night, or the night before that, or the night before that." She was still frowning but he'd got her to smile too, at least. He brought her right hand to his chest and placed it there, flat, covering it with his own hands against his heart; "This doesn't belong to me. It belongs to you."
She let her eyes drop to where their hands were. He could feel her caressing the material underneath. He watched something impish enter her expression, warming it, "The suit?"
His withering look was delivered with eyeroll implied. "The everything. I come in kind of a package deal."
"Does that include the spit curl?" Their eyes met.
Clark frowned and correctly and officiously informed her, "The spit curl's nonnegotiable, obviously." It provoked a wonderful, hard-won grin. Still holding her hand to him, he explained, "Wherever you are, that's where I need to be. Otherwise a part of me is missing." He gave a small shrug, "The question is can you handle that?"
"Yeah, I think I can," she breathed, nodding. "I just needed to say it."
"You're an amazing woman," he said, lifting up her other hand and pulling her closer. "Infuriating and amazing." She chuckled, touched the top of his knuckles with the tip of her nose. "And I think you're the most courageous person I ever met."
She lifted her chin to meet his gaze and sparkled, "Turns out that's a defining trait."
In the cool of the evening air, they sobered. "I love you."
"I love you, too." The widest grin dimpled her cheeks, creasing her eyes; "Turns out that's a defining trait."
He nodded back and they said nothing, enjoying the headiness of the moment, before Clark dropped his voice and squinted, "I hope, Miss Lane; universe-hopper, alternate-reality adventurer, international woman of mystery," his hands slid off hers, trailed down the outside of her forearms and settled at her waist, on her belt, where his fingers fidgeted and hooked inside the strap, "that this isn't you making your timely excuses now that you've had your way with me?"
She circled her arms loosely and proprietorially around his neck, "You found me out. I did all this just to see you naked."
He told her lips, "It was worth it." And then he kissed her.
...
For the second time in two days, and only the second time in its history, the basement floor of the WayneTech building in Metropolis had been cleared of all high level security and technical personnel.
In the abandoned lab, people were stood together in little clutches, talking, commiserating, dispensing sturdy shoulder-gripped thumb massages while Lois and Clark worked the room, saying goodbye.
First in line were John and J'onn with warm handshakes for Clark and a couple of bear hugs for Lois. The boys were next, Wally and Dick's red-eyed but brave-faced backslapping of Clark giving way a little afterwards until Kara, standing between them, sighed and wrapped her arms around their necks and pulled them both in for a cuddle.
When it was his turn, Perry had difficulty letting Lois out of his grasp and he kissed her hard against the sweep of hair across her forehead. Sternly he instructed Clark to take care of her and Clark promised him that he would.
They were interrupted by Jimmy, clearing his throat to call, "Hey, guys. Say 'Fromage'."
At the unexpected flash of bright light Lois started and cringed and, despite her tears, she managed a cross, "Little warning, Olsen!" that warmed Jimmy's heart. Then Jimmy stopped. Taken by an idea he scrambled to extricate the 35mm film from his Nikon, rummaged for a new canister in an inside pocket, loaded the new film and removed the strap from around his neck to press the Nikon into Lois's grip.
Clark said, "What's this?"
Lois looked up, face open, eyes wide as if she had just been presented with the photographer's firstborn. "Jimmy, it's your camera?"
Jimmy pushed the camera back into her hands. "No, it's not. It's yours, now. Take some pictures. Good ones." He swallowed. "Maybe one day you can show them to me."
Whatever she was going to say was stopped at source and a long imploring look was held. For once, ambiguity was welcomed as a friend, and this was not lost on anyone. Lois nodded- "Maybe."
Finally Lois and Clark turned to Bruce and Diana. On the floor between them was a substantial pile of extra luggage- a large, bulky, canvas gym bag and two gleaming attaché cases, standing ready. The equipment was manoeuvred around so that Diana could hold Lois and Clark close and Bruce could kiss Lois. An awkwardly offered handshake between Bruce and Clark was observed until Clark ran out of patience and pulled Bruce in for a manly farewell embrace.
They backed off to stand apart so that Bruce could grill them with a last, quick run-through, "Okay listen, you've got the new armor vests; triple-weaved, nano-tube fiber, fire-insulated, bulletproof?"
Diana rolled her eyes. Like a young couple about to head off on vacation, humoring the overprotective in-law, Lois and Clark bowed their heads gracefully, "Yes."
"The hi-vo Bat tasers?"
"Yes."
"Smoke grenades?"
"Yes."
"The laser shooters?"
"Yes."
"Now, with the shooters, remember; it's a plasma charge and they're prototypes and therefore it's essential-"
Having heard enough, Diana exclaimed, "Bruce!"
Without losing his concentration, Bruce continued, "to keep pumping the trigger with the first round; sometimes, the mechanism sticks."
"They'll take care of it."
Bruce raised an acknowledging hand to Diana but he didn't remove his eyes from Lois and Clark, "It's just important not to panic."
"They know what they're doing."
"There's a difference between knowing what you're doing," Bruce's hand crunched into a fist, "and achieving resounding success, Diana."
"That's why the Joker's still running around Gotham, I suppose."
"He's not in the White House, is he?" The fist was turned into an open palm again, "No offense, Clark."
Affably, Clark shrugged that there was none. He shared a look with Lois, "I guess we'll leave you guys to it."
While Clark bent to shoulder the gym bag, Lois programmed the wristband, wondering, "They're exactly the same on my side." They each reached to pick up one of the attaché cases, "It must work," she mused. "On my side their marriage is solid, too."
A gasped "-What?" "-What?" was heard before the room was whitewashed by a pure saturating light.
At their sides, Lois's hand slipped easily into Clark's. Their fingers found all the right gaps and locked. In the moment before they were gone, she felt the rub of his thumb over the knuckle of hers and then a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
The light intensified creating a dancing corona effect around the edge of their bodies until, in an explosion of light, they were obliterated entirely.
The hollow muffled sound of air being expelled, of a candle flame being extinguished, echoed into the silence. The sound issued away and the room was normal again.
...
World Eight-two-one. The present day.
He blinked. "And that was the last I ever saw of them." Pale evening sunshine streamed in at the window and cast shadows onto the wall of the apartment. More servings of coffee and some sandwiches for a snack had been pushed back on the table to make way for a fifty-year old edition of the Daily Planet. Jimmy Olsen removed his glasses to hold them and pivot them idly by the stuck-up arm of one frame. The thick bold type of the headline read SUPERMAN RETURNS. "A fairy tale." Jimmy hooked the glasses back on, raised his gaze to his guests. "That's as much as I know." He witnessed another loaded stare between boy and girl. This time it seemed to settle something.
The girl turned to Jimmy, her expression set. "They kept trying to perfect the return matrix. Full-proof it for double jumping."
Between thumb and middle finger, the boy angled his watch. "It took a while."
The room was quiet. Somewhere outside, in the street, maybe over in the park, a dog barked. Jimmy inhaled a breath. "Who are you?"
The girl leaned over to the floor and hoicked up her bag. Resting it in the groove of her lap she flipped open the front flap and pulled out an object that had been swaddled in an expensive-looking cashmere scarf. When the material was peeled away it revealed an old-style Nikon F-mount camera, complete with detachable zoom lens, its original strap wound round neatly. The girl placed the camera on the table. Her hands went back to the bag and she produced a thick leather-covered photograph album. She stretched over and the photo album was carefully lowered and left, provocatively, on the paper in front of Jimmy.
He could hear the too-loud draw and rasp of his own unsteady breathing in his ears. Reaching forward he picked up the album in both hands and brought it to him to rest on his knees. As if it were a relic, ancient and sacred, he allowed his thumbs and fingertips to run up its spine and covers.
"When the lab told them everything was ready, they wanted to come themselves." The girl stopped. "But my dad..."
"My mom," the boy finished.
"Our parents." A tentative pulling of the lips made at forming the start of a smile, "they don't like it. I guess they're kind of like your wife."
The boy confirmed, "They worry. They think, at their age they should know better."
His hands were trembling. Jimmy opened the album.
"So Grandpa and Grandma swore to them they wouldn't jump."
Along the top left-hand corner of the inside cover, a note, in Lois's handwriting, said, 'For James.' "But conveniently mentioned nothing about sending their grandkids?" Jimmy glanced up and a moment of magic occurred then. Five like-minded souls, joined across the void, thick in the aiding and abetting derring-do of it all. In the faces of these children, Jimmy could see them both. Their loyalty, bravery, mischief.
Reverently feeling the corners of each page, barely touching them as he turned them, Jimmy worked through the album, traveling through history, observing the richness of a life unfold. A story, a narrative, just like his own collection, his own mantelpiece; pictures of a church, a wedding, babies, toddlers, a little boy and a little girl standing proud next to a sandcastle with their front teeth missing. A high school ball game. Graduation. Leaving for college. More weddings and babies. He turned the pages. Except it wasn't his story. There was another Perry, another Planet. Another him. Hot tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Swallowing the lump away, Jimmy nodded, "That sounds like them."
The boy's head lifted to regard the window and the world beyond, "They think Gramps has taken us into the city to see the bugs exhibition."
"They did it." Jimmy closed the book, wiped his face. "Luthor, they beat him?"
The children, their grandchildren, nodded unguardedly, cheerfully. It was lovely.
Jimmy's eyes creased at the corners. In a tender voice, he asked, "And they're happy?"
"Happy?" The girl loudly retorted, like this was something of an understatement. "Disgustingly. They kiss each other. All the time."
"On the lips," the boy's grossed-out disapproval was obvious both in expression and tone.
With narrowed eyes, the girl confided, "And they're old."
Jimmy laughed. Dabbing his eyes with the back of his hand it was all he could manage. He swiped his palms down his thighs, "There's so much I'd like to tell them. There's so much they should know."
The boy's wrist began bleeping. Pincering the watchface with his fingers, he silenced it.
"You have to go?"
The boy nodded, "They'll be worried."
The children packed away the touchtablets, stood and politely waited, and followed Jimmy down the hall back to the door.
After opening the door for them Jimmy huffed and held up a hand. "Please. Wait."
The children watched him shuffle away into the living room again, heard him moving around the room, obviously searching for something. When he returned the camera was back in his hands. With a speed and a deftness that impressed them, Jimmy locked a new roll of film into the camera and handed it back into the girl's hands.
The children looked at him.
"Tell them- tell them everything worked out here. It all worked out great. Everything the Institute started. It carries on, still." Something else kicked in then, an instinct that overrode his emotion, made him smile, and those old eyes gleam. "And tell them, for next time, they'll get better depth of field if they use the aperture settings and they'll avoid lens flare if they're careful of the angle of the light." Jimmy grinned. "But tell them I said they were good."