Chapter 5

I push Bruce into a storage room, and shut the door behind us. A roach scurries out of my way and disappears behind a discarded bucket and mildewy mop. In the dim lighting, my scarlet cape sticks out like a traffic light on a stormy day. Bruce crinkles his nose at the mountain of a mess surrounding us and glowers at me, "What are we, twelve, Kent?" he growls. There it is again, that familiar patronizing undertone that speaks volumes. Where have I heard that growl before?

I wince. "You can't call me that," I hiss. "Look," I start. "I appreciate you trying to save my bacon and all. . ." Though I have no idea what in the world could possess Bruce Wayne, of all people, to pose as me. I'm not one to question my luck.

"I seem to be always saving your bacon," he adds his two cents rudely. In what universe is that a reality? I raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. Bruce is off his rockers if he believes that for a second. I swallow down some choice words of my own and refrain from commenting on Bruce Wayne's massive ego. Last time I checked I'm the one who holds the record for most 'saves,' not that it is a competition.

"But you are single handedly blowing my cover," I say in the politest way possible. "I would never say 'bloody' or compare Cat to a vulture."

"You're doing a fine job of blowing your own cover," he says harshly. "What do you suppose she thinks we're doing, canoodling?"

Oh, dratz. I blush all the way to the roots of my hair and squirm under his cold gaze. He's right. "I did not think about that," I say. People would want to know why Superman singled out Clark Kent. And by people, I mean Cat Grant.

"Obviously," Bruce's frown deepens. "Relax Kent," Bruce softens his tone a smidge and claps a hand over my shoulder. "It won't hurt for you to have a backbone for one day."

"That's rich coming from someone who hasn't worked a single day in his life," I grind out. "It won't hurt for Bruce Wayne to have a helping of humble pie!" I match his self-righteous tone to a T.

Without warning his hand shoots out, grabs mine, and starts to shake it vigorously. What are you playing at Bruce? He awkwardly pushes my glasses up the bridge of his nose, slouching over. I still can't figure out how Pete managed to borrow those without my knowledge. "No need to worry Mista - uh Superman," he stutters exaggeratedly, sounding more like Bibbo Bibbowski than Clark Kent. I'm about to comment on his weird shift in behavior when I hear the telltale sign of high-heels stomping down the hallway.

"Men," Cat grumbles to herself. "You think you know a guy, and then he lets Mr. Hyde out to play!"

Bruce clicks a finger to his ear, nodding gravely and says, "Copy that," he says in a low growl. I gape at him. Embedded in his ear is a small earpiece. How did I miss that before? My senses are all out of whack today.

A second later the door slams open and a disgruntled Cat Grant storms through. Her face is red, only in the way it is after an argument with Lois. "If you two are done measuring dicks, I have an interview to finish," she quips.

"Right, Ms. Lane . . . I mean Grant," Bruce stumbles over his words deliberately. Okay, now you're going a bit overboard. There needs to be a happy medium. I am not that dorky. Says every dork ever.

Cat does not dignify that with a response, she drags Bruce out of the storage room by the arm, and shoots me an apologetic smile, nearly melting under my gaze. It's amazing what a cape and tight fitting outfit would do. I float an easy distance at her side. "He's not always this . . ." she searches for the right word. "Obsessive," she decides. "I don't know what's gotten into Clark, it's almost as if he's a completely different . . ." she falls short, eyebrows tweaking together in concentration, and then she narrows her eyes at me. "The important thing is you're still here, I thought he scared you off," she says after a much too long pause.

"I don't scare easily Ms. Grant," I say, slapping on my Superman smile that works wonders on the ladies, and hopefully push any notion of Clark Kent and Superman being one and the same out of her pretty, blonde head. My grin has the desired effect, Cat looks down at her feet, face crimson.

The trek back to the gallows is way too short for my liking. It's not long before I'm back under the spotlight, billions of eyes digging into my side. At least this time the cheers are not so deafening. If I focus on Lois's breathing, the noise is almost manageable. Cat raises a practiced hand and the crowd falls silent instantly.

"Such a pleasure to have Superman here with us today!" she slips back into the role of interviewer seamlessly. "Makes you wonder if he has left anyone hanging?" she teases. Oh, dear. I knew it was only a matter of time before she brought up Superman's love life. "Do you have anyone special waiting for you at home? A girlfriend, or boyfriend?" She looks sidelong at Clark Kent when she says the last bit. Oh dear, Bruce was right. She thinks we're canoodling.

"No boyfriend!" I quickly explain, my cheeks warming drastically. "Nothing . . . against . . . I mean Mr. Kent isn't my type," I say, shutting my mouth before I say anything worse. Cat smiles . . . well, like a cat right before it pounces on a mouse. I do not like the way she is looking between Bruce and I, as if it's just now dawning on her, how similar we look. Nope. I'm over analyzing the situation as per usual.

"A girlfriend then?" she persists. "A certain Demigoddess perhaps," she suggests, not too subtly.

I laugh outright. Of course she'll think two of the most powerful beings on the Justice League would be an item. The entire world has been shipping me with Wonder Woman since the first day I flew onto the scene."Diana is a lovely woman for sure," I relent. She is a literal goddess walking on Earth; being in her presence can sometimes be overwhelming. "But she's more like an overprotective big sis." Besides, I think Batman is more her type.

"I think you just shattered some hearts, mine included," she places a hand over her heart and lets out a sad sigh. "I was really hoping for some news of Super-Wonder babies." The people roar in agreement and a girl holding a Superman/Wonder Woman Forever sign moans despairingly.

"Sorry, to disappoint," I say, but there is only one woman for me. My gaze subconsciously drifts to the front row and I lock eyes with Lois, who wears an identical stupid grin to my own, but it looks better on her. Her lips are as red as blood on fallen snow and as deadly as Red Kryptonite. One touch from her and my inhibitions evaporate like smoke. If I did not have this damn interview, I would already have her. She unzips her red leather jacket, and flaunts her black and red Superman blouse beneath, which of course has more glitter than Jessica Rabbit's dress. She sticks out her chest boldly. I get the message: 'I'm the only glitter Queen in your life, don't you forget it.'

Cat smiles mischievously. "Awe don't be shy Supes," she chides. My face sours at the old nickname Flash started up; it makes me sound like a yummy can of soup. "You don't carry yourself like a loner," she says acutely. "You've got that lovesick grin on your face, and can't seem to stop sighing." she says with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. I didn't realize how transparent I am. "Don't keep us in suspense, who is this mystery woman that has stolen The Man of Steel's heart?"

I hope she doesn't expect me to say Andrina, cause she would be sorely disappointed. I feel Lois's gaze drilling into my skull, silently daring me to answer that with a straight face. "It's complicated," I decide to say, unable to peel my eyes away from Lois.

Cat follows my gaze and makes a disgusted face when she sees who has caught The Man of Steel's attention. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she connects the dots. "Of course it's complicated," she says at long last, her expression stony. "I imagine being you doesn't leave much room for love." Well, she changed her tune real fast. I guess it's only okay for Superman to be in love when it is not Lois Lane in the picture.

"Are you saying heroes can't find love?" Bruce sits up straighter in his seat and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's a tick I've noticed he does when he is holding back unsaid words. I frown at him. I'm usually pretty good at reading people, but Bruce is a blank slate. What are you hiding, man?

Cat presses her lips together thoughtfully. "It would be certainly difficult," she clarifies. "It'll take a special kind of person to be okay with a double life," she puts special emphasis on the last two words.

I'll be lying if I said the thought has not crossed my mind, once or twice, or a million times. Being two people can sometimes put a damper on date night. Superman seems to always be needed at the most inconvenient moments. I left Lois stranded in the rain one time with no way to get back home. Not my proudest moment, but lives were at stake. I was not expecting Cat to be so perceptive.

"Lord knows, if I had Superman in my bed, I won't want to share him with the world," she turns a suggestive gaze on me, puckering her lips. I avert my gaze, cheeks growing warm.

"Yes," Bruce says thickly. "That is exactly why you are off the table." he crosses his arms over his chest. "A hero needs a partner, not a call girl."

"And what makes you the expert?" Cat asks, brow raised in question. "Do you lead a double life, Mr. Kent?" Her words are directed at Clark Kent, but she looks at Superman when she asks. I feel like a raw exposed vein inches from getting poked with a syringe. I've got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Every bone in my body aches to fly away, damn the consequences. Cat lowers the mic and matches Bruce's hard gaze. She leans towards her cohost and whispers into his ear, "Mr. Wayne," with a satisfied smirk.

To Bruce's credit he doesn't so much as blink. I, on the other hand, am freaking out. I feel like I swallowed a nuclear bomb that is T-minus seconds from detonating. Lois knowing is one thing; there are certain benefits to her being in on my secret. Cat, on the other hand, will make my life a living hell. Every second I spend with her would turn into hot topics for her Gossip Column.

"No expert," Bruce says in a calm, even tone, that does not match the direness of the situation. "I just know Superman likes his women with a bit more brains," he explains. "I'm sorry to inform you, darling, you are lacking a few brain cells." A few of my fans let out a chorus of laughter. It's not funny, Bruce is an arrogant bully with no concious. This is not a laughing kind of moment.

Cat Grant lowers the mic and glowers at Mr. Wayne. She leans towards her cohost and whispers in his ear, "And I'm sorry to inform you, love, that you are a terrible Clark Kent." I tighten my grip on the armrest, certain any second now, someone in the audience is going to scream, 'imposter,' or 'liar,' but then I remember I'm a member of the Superhearing Club, and relax my knuckles. Thanks to yours truly, the tip of the armrests now resemble molded clay. I'll pay for that later. Actually, it can come out of Bruce's pocket. It's his fault I'm having a melt down. How hard is it to be a mild mannered reporter? Clearly, Bruce Wayne flunked acting school.

She turns away from Bruce, effectively dismissing him, and faces me again with renewed fervor. "Superman," she says in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone that makes me wonder how pissed she actually is. If we weren't on camera would I have a shoe thrown at my face? Is it my imagination, or is she saying my name differently? "I apologize for my partner's behavior. He can be a bit of a loose cannon." You can say that again. I pity the woman who marries the likes of Bruce Wayne. He's about as tame as a leopard.

"It's quite alright," I say, deciding it's safest to play along and not let on that I know she knows. "Not everyone can be a Superman." I frown, when no one laughs.

"Which brings me to my next question, what do you do when you're not putting the fear of God into criminals, or saving people from burning buildings?" She asks all serious-like.

You know what I do, Cat. I dodge you in the bullpen, chase story after story with Lois and pray she doesn't get shot, and duck when Perry White screams my name. She can't expect Superman to share all his secrets. "Busted," Dick coughs into his fist to hide his laughter.

"What Ms. Grant is trying to ask you, and failing miserably at doing so, is how do you unwind after a long super day?" Bruce sweeps in for the save.

I let out a strangled breath. I silently thank Bruce and his quick thinking. This route I can handle. If I survive this interview, I'm going to buy Bruce a nice drink and kiss the floor he walks on. I'll never call him a lazy playboy ever again, at least not to his face. "Sammy and I usually play board games or watch tv." I say. "Sleep is also a favorite pastime of mine," I say, laughing.

"Brilliant," Bruce says in a chipper voice, that is decidedly very un-Bruce-like. "What shows do you watch?"

"The usual," I say. "Star Trek, The Office . . . Star Wars is a favorite of Sammy's. He can quote all the movies word for word," I explain, slowly warming up to this track of questions. This isn't so bad.

"Hmmm," Bruce grunts. Cat watches the two of us with growing dismay as if she can't believe she's let Bruce Wayne, of all people, steal her glory. She opens her mouth to rein me in, but Bruce is faster. "If you could watch only one movie for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

Huh. That is a hard one. There are a trillion movies to choose from. Indiana Jones. Billy Madisson. Casablanca. To Kill a Mockingbird. Gladiator. The list would be longer than both my arms put together. I'm a bit of a movie snob. "I guess, I'll go with my childhood favorite, E.T The Extra-Terrestrial," I decide after much pondering. "It never fails to lift my spirits."

Bruce's eyebrows knit together in confusion; he looks about as lost as a bat in a swan's nest. "Wait, don't tell me you've never seen it?"

Bruce looks heavenward and shakes his head at me in disbelief. "I've got better things to do than sit around on a couch watching TV all day." Wow, okay Grandpa.

"But E.T. is a classic!" I protest. "You were robbed of your childhood!" I say without thinking. Bruce's smile twists into a frown.

Oh wait. Right. I suppose he won't have much of a childhood considering . . . I can't even stomach the thought of losing my parents. I get all sweaty and panicky at the mere suggestion. I'll starve if it weren't for mom's weekly meals. Come to think of it, it's high time I visit the folks and restock my fridge. Couldn't hurt to bring the laundry home either. Yep, Superman is a super spoiled Mama's boy.

Bruce hesitates a few seconds too long. Cat sees an opening and pounces on it. "I'm willing to bet all my life savings that you love it because you are E.T."

"Yep," I pop the 'p.' "I'm an alien, so obviously I love alien movies," my voice drips with sarcasm, and I win a couple chuckles from my fans.

"No, no!" Cat quickly amends. "I just mean, he's a stranger in a foreign land who is adopted by a kind family, just like you."

I see what she is trying to do and it ain't gonna work. "Technically E.T is a child's pet," I pin her with a stony glare, imploring her to drop the subject of my upbringing. "I'm nobody's pet."

Cat does not get the memo. She barrels on like an angry bull. "You are adopted, are you not?" she asks. "Tell me about your Earth family," it's not a request, it's a demand. She has me right where she wants me.

"Metropolis is Superman's family, everybody knows that, Kittycat," Bruce sneers.

"Zip it, Prince Charming!" Cat snaps. She lowers the mic again and whispers in his ear, "Unless you want me to tell the world your ex-fiance is a mobster killer." Please tell me she's joking. Bruce Wayne is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. How could he fall for a murdering banshee? Not after what happened with his parents, surely. How did I not know? I'm a reporter for Christ's sake!

"Shut up and answer the damn question Ken . . . Ken doll," he stutters, nearly slipping up. Cat does not miss a single second of his misstep. He all but confirms what she suspected from the moment she caught Superman making moon eyes at Lois.

"I didn't say anything," I smirk at him, relishing in this newfound knowledge of Bruce Wayne. I can hold it over his head the next time he decides to bug my barn.

"That being the problem, Boy Scout," he grumbles. "Cat swallow your tongue," he laughs at his own joke. I can't quite place it, but I've got this funny feeling telling me Bruce wasn't thinking of Cat Grant when he said that. "Earth family," he prompts.

Fine. "I'm afraid there's not much to tell," I finally say. "I was raised by a kind couple, who taught me right from wrong, and how to make a mean chicken pot pie," I sound like a boring cartoon character from the thirties. Bugs Bunny is more interesting than me.

"Mama K has nothing on Alfred's super cooking," Dick says with conviction. Lois elbows him in the side and shushes him. Pete mouths 'TMI' over and over, shaking his head at me. You sir, have no right to speak. You got me in this damn mess to begin with.

"Nonsense," Cat waves her hands amiably. "It makes you more human. I bet your white haired mother made your suit. Am I right?"

"Actually, she's silver haired," I say. "And no, Mom has many talents sewing ain't one of them."

"Don't tell me," Cat slaps a hand over her chest, and widens her eyes comically. "You sewed it yourself?"

"Well," I scratch the back of my neck, unsure how much to give away. I'm 99% certain Jill Kent made it for me, but she still hasn't bothered to show any proof of life. I'd thought her dead till a year ago when the suit appeared on my doorstep, with not so much as a note, but it had her hands written all over it. Growing up, I let my cousin dress me up in her outlandish creations enough times to recognize her handiwork.

"It's a long story . . ." I start. "Actually, it really isn't. I'm not sure who made my suit . . . it was an anonymous gift from a friend," I am making things way too complicated. I finger the edge of my scarlet cape, and hold it up so they all can see. "Fun fact, this is my baby blanket."

"Takes a whole new meaning to the phrase 'flying in your pajamas,'" Cat says.

I laugh. "There are worse things to be flying around in."

"Do you sleep in your suit?" Cat asks curiously.

"God, no!" I explain. "Do you have any idea how dirty the suit gets?" I shiver. "That would be like sleeping in my enemies' sweat." For some reason Bruce looks down at his feet guiltily, a sheepish blush coloring his cheeks.

Dick bursts into uncontrollable laughter. "Batman -could ah. . . learn a thin' or two about personal hygiene from Superman," he says through a mouthful of giggles. I frown. Dick seems to speak from experience. I hope I'm wrong and just reading into something that is not there. Bruce isn't psycho. Batman is psycho, so therefore Bruce Wayne can't be Batman. Besides, he would never needlessly put a kid's life in danger. I get chills just thinking of little Dick leaping off rooftops. Yeah, no. The idea is preposterous.

"Thank you for that vivid picture of you sleeping naked covered in sweat," Cat smirks.

If she is trying to make me uncomfortable she is succeeding. "I don't sleep . . . I mean you know, I wear pajama . . . why am I still talking?"

"More like Super Awkward," I hear someone chuckle in the audience.

"Does a Kryptonian even need sleep?" Bruce asks curiously.

"Yea," I say. "I'm not Batman." I watch Bruce carefully, waiting for a sliver of a reaction. Nada. Zilch. Not so much as a blink. Well, he is Batman . . . If he is Batman, I correct myself, he would have a mean poker face. Nah. I shake my head. Bruce is no vigilante. He wastes the day away in bed or picking up exotic chicks from around the world. I try to imagine him going toe to toe with the Joker, and swallow down laughter. The idea is preposterous. I don't even know if Batman is human. He could be a vampire with a fondness for leather for all I know. Bruce is decidedly human.

"Funny, you should mention Batman," he says. "I hear he's almost as popular as you," he grumbles. "Some would even say he is the leader of the Justice League."

"In his dreams," I scoff. "Batman is as crazy as the criminals he locks up. He's no leader." His methods are beyond cruel. I shudder to think of all the people he's dropped off buildings or scarred for life. There are criminals missing fingers because of him.

"Ouch," Dick mumbles. "You wound me, C.K. that's my hero you're dissing!"

"Then, would you say, you are the League's appointed leader?" Bruce asks.

"Well, no - I don't know, yes?" I mumble. I did bring us together originally, that counts for something.

"Spoken like a true follower not a leader," he says. "My vote is with Batman. He seems to know what he is doing." Of course, you would say that, Bruce. You're a Gothamite, through and through. "You still have a bit of growing up to do before you lead an army, Kal," He says with a satisfied air.

"Speaking of growing up," Cat draws the attention back to her. "What was your first job?"

"Huh?" I gape at her.

"Do you have wax stuck in those super ears of yours?" Cat asks rudely. "It's a simple question, want me to repeat it?"

'Bite ya' tongue missy!" a familiar gruff voice snaps. Bibbo Bibowski's big frame towers over a couple of kids in the back of the theater. "That my pal Sooperman ya talking to! SHOW SOME RESPECT!" Bibbo roars, drawing the attention of Bruce and Cat. I can't stop the smile that breaks out. I never get tired of seeing that old sap. I wave at him and Bibbo tips his fisherman's hat my way in greeting. Bibbo isn't my favorite fan for no reason. He's a gentle hearted giant with a big heart.

"I heard you the first time Ms. Grant," I say, facing the banshee in green. Technically my first job was working for The Smallville Gazette, but I am not about to paint a target on my parents' backs. Anybody with a brain would be able to see the truth. "I was a lifeguard at Met U, back in college," I admit begrudgingly.

"Is it safe to say Met U is your alma mater?" Cat wonders.

I nod. "'Knowledge breeds heroes'," I quote our school motto proudly. I have many fond memories of college. I wish it never ended, but all good things must come to an end eventually.

"Funny, I don't remember seeing you at the university," Cat muses. Really? That is a surprise, seeing how I remember a certain blonde fake drowning on numerous occasions, in the hopes I'll give her CPR. Either Cat is playing dumb or she is trying to trick me into a false sense of security.

"I kept to myself, for the most part," I elaborate.

"Clearly," Cat marvels. "You do not have a face that is easy to forget."

"Thank you?" It's unclear if that was a compliment or not.

"Where are you from really?" she continues with her questions. "You have a bit of a Midwestern drawl, Smallville bred, perhaps?"