A/N: Well, apparently I do Superman a lot better than Batman… oh god, that so did not sound right… I write Superman a lot better than Batman (it is a nice break to get away from the dark and brooding thing), seeing that I got nearly twice as many review for two chapters about Supes than I did for five about Bats. Or, as has been said before, Big Blue's fans are a lot more receptive than the Detective's. Ah well, c'est la vie!

And as I forgot to do it last chapter, I wanted to thank all of my anonymous reviewers- LostSchizophrenic, Shelby, tiberius, and realb- you guys rock. All right, I'll stop yammering now.

Disclaimer: Alas, good friends, it is not yet mine! But I ain't letting parting be any kind of sorrow (sweet or otherwise) until I've had my fun. When I'm done, I'll put the boys back just like they were before… well, they may be a little emotionally scarred…

Mondays

In general, Richard didn't mind Mondays nearly as much as most people did. This one, however, was shaping up to be one hell of a day. He was still incredibly freaked out, but he had calmed down somewhat after talking to Clark (although that in itself had been a unique experience). He had listened Clark's instructions and found both of suits he'd need in the closet. One had been hanging up in all its tweed glory, amongst others of the same caliber. But behind that, in a hidden compartment that he challenged even his wife to find, hung the suit. The Suit, with a capital S. Richard pinched himself, several times, and wondered how loud he would have screamed if he could actually feel it. So he was still unsure as to whether he was dreaming our not, until he registered the slight throb in his back. He reached around, gingerly prodding the area. Here, finally, was a scar. And he himself had been there when it was made.

The pain had been so unnoticeable amongst the rest of it (he was still recovering from the conversation that he'd heard in Gotham a few minutes ago, and he would have to apologize to Clark about the splinters that had once been his nightstand), but it had been there, like a sore muscle- constant and small. He shook his head and looked in the mirror again. He doubted he'd ever get used to the appearance, but then again, he also hoped that he wouldn't have to get used to the appearance. He wanted his face back. He wanted to be shorter again (only by an inch, mind you). And he wanted to have woken up next to his wife.

The Suit was slightly uncomfortable to wear underneath the tweed, but he realized that Clark had done it every day for years. The red cape was folded into a tiny square at the base of his neck. He'd flattened it so thoroughly that it was like it wasn't even there. It made him wonder what other things the nice guy from Smallville had had to put up with. He'd been Lois's partner for years before Richard had even met her. All that time, she'd been in love with Superman, and he'd been right next to her, meekly following up on reports and wondering if she'd ever notice. Great reporter that she was, she never had. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making sure that he was wearing his glasses (Clark had been adamant about that bit) before walking out the door.

Lois was pretty sure she'd never seen Richard this frantic before. And it was… well, honestly, it was kind of funny. But whatever Clark said had calmed him down. He was putting on his shoes, and she had to tell him to switch feet before her tried to force his left foot into the right shoe. She decided to go take a shower while he was getting ready. When she came out a few minutes later wrapped in a towel, he blushed. Okay, she thought, this is starting to get a little strange. He actually pulled away slightly when she tried to kiss him on the cheek.

"Richard!" she slapped his arm angrily, "What's wrong with you?"

He looked ashamed, confused, and downright sorry. It reminded her, strangely, of Clark when he was apologizing for something he didn't do. She smiled and kissed him on the head. This time he didn't pull away, "Today's your day to take Jason into school," she said as she walked back to the bathroom, "Your uncle'll have my head if I don't get in by eight," he didn't answer, but she could see him nod in the mirror, "Good. He's eating breakfast now," she stuck her head out the doorframe once more, "I love you."

He smiled and walked downstairs. Lois crossed her arm indignantly. Why hadn't he kissed her goodbye? He always kissed her goodbye. She sighed and walked back into the bathroom. This was turning out to be one hell of a day.

Jason watched his daddy come down the stairs, carefully tracking his every move. When he reached the kitchen, Jason launched himself out from behind the cabinet, ready to be scooped up in a hug. Instead, his daddy just looked confused.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" he asked softly, "Don't you love me?"

Clark's breath hitched in his chest. His son, his son, was calling him Daddy. He didn't know who he was actually speaking to, of course, but it was possibly the most beautiful moment of Clark's life. He smiled widely, "Of course I love you, Jason," he said, opening his arms, "C'mere."

Jason smiled and accepted the hug, then tugged his hand, "We're making planets today," he said.

"Really! Well, you don't want to be late for that, do you?" Jason shook his head, brown hair swinging back and forth, "Better go finish getting ready, then."

Ten minutes later, Clark, who'd never needed to drive, was wondering desperately what to do. It seemed simple enough when he saw it in movies and watched others do it- he could even tell you exactly what chemical reactions were going on in the engine, but he'd never actually bothered to learn. His salvation came in the form of himself. Jason leaned over and whispered, "What's Mr. Clark doing here?"

Clark turned his head to his son, "I told him to come over. He's going to drive into work with us today."

Jason nodded with all the solemnity of a five-year-old, then a grin split his face, "Cool! I like Mr. Clark. It was sad when he was in the hospital, but mommy kissed him and made it better!"

Clark looked up. His own face stared into the car, pain written over the features. He knew that Richard had heard that. He got out, telling Jason to stay put. His eyes searched Richard's. He'd never realized just how unnerving his own stare was until he was looking at it from the other side, "Hi, Richard," he said softly.

"You better call me Clark," was the reply, "So that people don't get confused."

Clark nodded wonderingly. There was no malice in his voice, only acceptance, "Sounds good. Guess I'm Richard, then," the other nodded, "So, uh… Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind, uh, well, see, I never really learned…" he trailed off, gesturing hopelessly at the car.

Blue eyes widened, and an amused grin split Richard/Clark's face, "Sure. Get in," he turned, "You got the keys?"

Yes, I know that it's going to start to get confusing from here on out, so I've devised a key: Clark and Richard will refer to themselves and each other as their true selves in their thoughts, and as the body that they're wearing in speech. Everyone else will be pretty much clueless for a while, so they will all just assume that the guy wearing Richard's face is actually Richard, and the guy wearing Clark's face is actually… well, you get the picture. If that doesn't make sense, I'll try to make it more coherent when I post next. Oh, and about the driving thing- I wasn't really sure whether our boy ever actually learned how to drive. I just figured it would be too slow for him (his usual pace being faster than your average racecar.)