"The value of identity of course is that so often it comes with purpose." –Richard R. Grant
X
Eleven forty-five. I tap my pen against the beginning of the article I just wrote, crossing out a few words here and there, editing any obvious errors and thinking about anything but work. I wonder if now would be too early to leave for lunch—I normally go at twelve thirty, but maybe no one will notice. I'm so distracted (I can't stop thinking about him). I try to keep my wits about me as Perry walks by and asks me if I've seen Lois.
"No, I haven't," I answer mildly, acting slightly surprised to be spoken to. "Not at all today."
"Thanks, Kent," he answers, and I can see a smile tugging at his lips as he walks away. I know he likes me. I'm a good reporter: honest, fair and never afraid to get my hands dirty to get the full picture. But for all that, I'm also modest (doesn't seem like it right now, Kent).
Fighting against the urge to check the rest of my article at super speed, I stand up at twelve sharp, shuffling my papers back into a neat pile before grabbing my coat and walking out of the building. No one says a word.
I decide to go to the small pizza place not far from the Daily Planet's building when I see them, going into a jewelry shop on the other side of the street. As I disappear into the nearest dark alley, I wonder what the two of them are doing here. I don't know who they are, really, but I recognize them as being a supervillain duo from Gotham. Why decide to come to Metropolis?
I rush back to the scene in time to stop the younger of the two, the girl, from gassing the store's owner with that demented laughing gas and turn to catch the man only to see him taking care of it. I stand by and let him take care of it, watching him fight. It's really something to see (beautiful—he makes fighting an art), and I can tell why the news in Gotham covers so many of Batman's fights. He has a natural grace that I rarely see, and I find it vaguely hypnotizing. I suck in a breath as he just barely avoids being hit with some of that poison (don't let him hurt you), and smile when he beats the psycho—the Joker, I remember, his name is Joker.
As he's tying up the Joker for the police to find, I wonder if he knows I'm there. He must, I figure, since he came in after I took out the Joker's assistant. Then why hasn't he acknowledged me? I decide to say something to him.
"Little far from Gotham, aren't you?" I ask mildly, forcing myself not to smile at him. I know he's going to think that I'm serious, which I find highly amusing.
"I was in the neighborhood," he replies dryly.
"Oh? Business or pleasure?" I ask, fully aware that I'm being nosy. He tucks something back into his utility belt as the bystanders begin to crowd around the shop.
"Meet me in the alley across from the Daily Planet and I'll tell you all about it," he says, and I get the feeling that he's staring right through me. My heart leaps at his words (what does he know?).
"Why there?" I ask, doing my best to sound casual and curious instead of scared and paranoid.
"That building is the biggest building in this area of Metropolis, making it easy for me to find, and I would prefer meeting in the shadows as opposed to the top of the building," he answers simply. I breathe a sigh of relief (he doesn't know).
I nod and promise to be there. He gives a quick nod and is gone before most of the police arrive, staying just long enough to instruct them to have the two transferred back to Arkham Asylum.
I rush back to the office, stopping to pull Clark Kent's clothes on over the suit and almost forget my glasses in my haste. I walk back into the office and run straight into Perry.
"Where were you, Kent?!" he yells. "I was calling you! I wanted you on the jewelry store Batman/Superman showdown and now you've missed it!"
"Gosh, Perry, it's a good thing I saw the whole thing happen then, isn't it?" I say, and he stops and breaks into a wide grin.
"That's my boy, Smallville!" Perry says. "You always manage to get the story. Someday you'll have to tell me how you do it." I laugh and run the back of my neck in a gesture of discomfort that's only half-feigned.
As I'm trying to write up an article about the mysterious appearance of Batman in Metropolis for the morning edition of the paper, I can't stop thinking about him. Why is he here? If he were only here because the Joker came, then he wouldn't stay after apprehending them. Would he really come to see me—to see Superman? I think (hope) so—it's the only reasonable explanation, after all.
After two hours of sitting at my desk, writing and almost immediately scratching out anything I write it's time to leave. I figure that I'll just come in early, after I've solved this business with Batman and finish the article. I'll know more about it then, anyway.
X
It's only been a month since my meeting with Superman, but much has changed in my city since then. When he first came, I was nothing more than a vigilante, a single man working against the system. Now I have the full sanction and backing of the police department, caused by Jim Gordon becoming Commissioner.
The signal had only been in use for a few weeks and still amused me a bit when it lit up the night sky, but there was nothing amusing about what Gordon had to say that night. He told me that the Joker and Harley Quinn had escaped from Arkham yet again and were, for some reason, on their way to Metropolis. He suggested that it might be a good idea to let Superman handle it, an idea that I never even considered.
I flew there, the trip only taking forty minutes by copter. It turns out I was there just in time, as the Joker and Harley were robbing a jewelry store. Their choice of target automatically made me suspicious, it not being the Joker's usual sort of mark. I grew even more wary as I took down the Joker with ease. It was never this simple, catching the Joker. I knew there was something wrong.
I told Superman to meet me at midnight, which I thought would give me enough time to figure out what was wrong with the whole situation. It was.
I'm waiting for him now, standing in the shadows of the alley. I'm five minutes early, but he's there less than a minute after I am.
"Come to see me?" he asks. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and fold my arms over my chest instead.
"Something like that," I respond. His smirk turns into a smile and I can tell he understood that to be a "yes." I scowl. (I can't have anyone thinking I'm actually nice, now can I?)
"I'm flattered," he says, and he's so sincere about it that I can suddenly see why he's considered the "ultimate hero" by nearly everyone in America. "But what specifically made you come here?" Ah, so it's right to business, then. I like that he knows how to be serious.
"Someone sent the Joker and Harley to kill you," I tell him. I don't have any proof of it yet, but I'm certain I'm right. The things the Joker said near the end of his stay in Arkham about "going into a new business" and the fact that he's determined to beat Batman and wouldn't leave Gotham for anything unimportant have convinced me.
"Who?" asks Superman, and I notice that he doesn't sound angry or suspicious, just weary. He reacts exactly as the Batman wouldn't. Instead of standing here talking about it, I would be off gathering whatever evidence I could. That he would trust me to help him when I had told him that would never—could never—work together fascinates me. Maybe that's the difference that makes Superman such a huge public symbol while I cling to shadows: his ability to trust.
"Who?" he repeats, snapping me out of my daze. I return my gaze back to him and the look in his eyes surprises me. (Is that... concern? Can't be. No one should be concerned for the Batman—Alfred excepted, of course.)
"I don't know yet," I admit slowly. "But I intend to find out." I open my mouth to tell him that I'll come back when I have something more substantial than a hunch when I remember Alfred's words. Perhaps you will simply have to trust Superman. Or at least give him a chance to prove himself to you...
I reach into my utility belt and grab a small, metal device. I toss it to him and he catches it easily. He looks at it and raises an eyebrow. "A transmitter?" he says. I nod.
"It uses a secure frequency," I tell him as he stares at it. (I wish I could find out what he's thinking.) "I'm going to give you a chance to earn my trust." He stands perfectly sill, not even the breeze touching him, and then he puts the transmitter in his ear and smiles at me.
"Thank you," I hear him say softly, and I nod mechanically before disappearing into the shadows.