Esther

Now:

Archbishop Blackie Ryan managed to make his way to this assigned place before the altar, not a small feat for the short, stocky priest with thick glasses. He was notorious throughout Chicago for both his brilliance and absentmindedness.

Esther remembered him fondly. He had performed the wedding ceremony for her parents when she was five years old. A Chicago priest performing a wedding in Ireland for two Bostonians living in London. Esther was maid of honor for her very pregnant mother. Blackie had gotten lost crossing the dining room in the hotel they were all staying in.

Now she stood beside her husband-to-be in front of the altar in the cathedral. She marveled that they'd made it this far. He was so gentle, so kind, so sweet. She wondered once again by what grace they'd come together, two wounded spirits seeking comfort. Do angels have to shine so bright? She's here. The one who hurt him. The one who drove him away.

She knew he'd noticed her sitting in the row with Mike O'Hanlon, Sensed that almost imperceptible intake of breath from both Clark and his mother, the almost imperceptible shiver in their auras.

One of the altar servers opened the lectionary to the proper place and the Archbishop adjusted his glasses to read. He seemed surprised to look up and see a filled church. He gave the traditional greeting to the congregation.

From the choir the famed singer Nuala McGrail led the choir and congregation in Love Divine: Love divine, all loves excelling, Joy of heaven to earth come down; Fix in us thy humble dwelling; All thy faithful mercies crown!

The Penitential Rite, the Opening Prayer. Father Leone read the Old Testament reading, the responsorial Psalm, the New Testament reading, the Gospel Reading, all familiar parts of Mass. Blackie Ryan gave his familiar trademarked thirteen minute strawberry homily.

She gave Clark's hand a quick squeeze. It was time. I can't believe this is really happening, Esther kept repeating to herself. I can't believe this angelic being is marrying me.

"Esther Krystin and Clark Joseph, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?" Blackie asked. "Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives...? Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?"

Then:

She had a long weekend off, finally. The initial investigation into the computer failure of her plane had exonerated her. She would be back flying early next week. In the meantime, she had some time. She had called the Chicago Star looking for Clark Kent and was told he was out. She decided to visit the Star in hopes of catching him.

She hitched Matthew, her thirteen-month old son, higher on her hip as she walked into the newsroom.

"Is Mister Kent around?" she asked the first person she saw as she entered the newsroom. The man pointed vaguely at the desk filled room. She spotted the tall reporter at a desk, not far from the doors. He looked busy, but it was close to lunch time. The man had to eat, didn't he?

"Mister Kent?"

He looked up, surprised to see her. "Major Straker. How's the investigation going?"

"Classified, but I was cleared. I thought I'd take you to lunch to celebrate."

"Give me a few minutes to finish this, and we can go."

Lunch was at a new Thai restaurant a few blocks away. This time it was Esther's turn to interview. He had already told her he'd worked at the Daily Planet before coming to Chicago, so she had started her research there, looking up all the articles he'd written, the official bio the Daily Planet kept on its reporters.

She read his work. His style was literate, learned, but he managed to not talk down to the reader as he explained background, personalities, issues. It was like having a conversation with a friend. You didn't have to agree with him, but you always came away with a better understanding of the subject and why it was important.

He was from Smallville, Kansas, a published writer and world traveler who graduated Metropolis University after majoring in journalism. He'd won two Kerth awards, one in partnership with Lois Lane. Then he disappeared for six years. On his return, he went back to the Daily Planet, only to transfer to the Chicago Star three months later. The Metropolis Star's gossip column had him linked to one of the Daily Planet's society writers, but Esther didn't trust the Metropolis Star.

He was a Pisces. Her mother would appreciate that, but she wondered if her mother would appreciate knowing another crystal aura in need, even though his was stronger and brighter than any she'd seen before despite the foggy markings of pain.

"Okay, Mister Kent, I told you about me last time," Esther said as they waited for their meals. "Now, it's your turn."

"First, it's Clark," he said laughing. He had a nice laugh and she had the feeling he didn't laugh very often. "And it's my job to ask questions. So, what did you want to know, Major?"

"Esther. Please."

"Esther."

They talked. When lunch was finished, they walked, Clark carrying a tired Matthew.

"He doesn't usually take to new people. I think he likes you," Esther observed. "I bet you'd make a good dad." She saw his smile falter.

"I have a son in Metropolis," he said with a sigh. "His name is Jason. He was born when I was out of the country. I didn't even know she was pregnant."

"She doesn't want you around, does she?" she asked, suspecting his answer.

"She got married to someone else, and my presence was a 'complication' she didn't want." There was no bitterness in his voice, only resignation.

"And you are much too understanding to confront her to demand your rights," she said.

He shook his head. "It's complicated."

"It always is," she said watching him. "You're still in love with her."

He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

Suddenly his head came up and a faraway listening look came into his eyes. "I have to go."

"Where?"

He shook his head as he handed Matthew back to her. "It shouldn't take too long. I'll catch up with you." With that he ran off down the sidewalk and disappeared around a corner. That was then she heard the radio that was tuned into a news channel. There was an oil tanker in trouble in the midst of a major storm off the California coast. The radio reported Superman's arrival on the scene as he carefully pulled the double hulled tanker off the sandbar where it had run aground during the storm.

Clark reappeared about twenty minutes later, finding her and Matthew, despite the fact she'd kept walking, heading for her car.

"Sorry about that," he apologized.

"Did you get the story?" she asked. It was the only logical explanation. He'd heard something on somebody's radio and ran to check it out.

He just stared at her a long moment. "Uh, um, yeah," he finally stammered out. "Have you got, um, plans tomorrow night?"

"No," she answered. "Do you?"

"They're doing Uncle Vanya over at the Performing Arts Center. I thought... if you'd like to...?"

"I'd love to. What time should I pick you up?"

"You're picking me up?" He sounded surprised, as though he hadn't thought of it.

He's so cute when he does that. "You don't own a car, Clark." She tried not to smirk.

She picked him up at seven at his loft apartment in one of the lower rent neighborhoods on the east side.

"Nice place," she commented. It was simple, walls filled with native art and bookcases. Not much else in the way of furniture, a low table, a few chairs, a credenza with a small stereo system. There was a Persian rug on the hardwood floor and Esther suspected it was a genuine antique.

"No big screen TV?" she asked.

"I don't watch much TV."

She took a moment to look at the books on the shelves. Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Aristotle, Dante, Sun Tzu, Machiavelli, both in their original languages and translations. History, science, politics, religion, fiction, especially fantasy and science fiction, some mysteries, both classic and new. A few techno-thrillers, Tom Clancy mostly.

"My mom would love your collection. How many languages do you read?"

"About twenty or so. I speak a lot more than that, at least well enough to make myself understood."

"How many?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, really. Lots. I have a knack for it. Comes in handy when I'm overseas, or in LA. I don't need translators very often." He gave a faintly puzzled look. "Where's Matthew?"

"I figure Chekhov's a little heavy for a one-year-old," she laughed. "I've got a neighbor who runs a little daycare center and she's really flexible. She volunteered to watch Matthew tonight so I could go on a date." She didn't bother to tell him that her neighbor, Megan, had made it a personal project to get Esther a man. Megan had decided that Esther needed a life now that Steven had been dead over a year. One year, fifteen days, ten hours... I should have been with him on that plane. He wanted me to go with him, to go flying, and I said no. He might not have crashed if I'd gone up with him. I was the better pilot. I might have been able to bring it down. He might still be alive.

"Esther?" Clark asked. He'd noticed her reverie. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she lied. "It's just that I haven't been on a date since... well, Steven."

"We don't have to call this an official date," he offered. "We can just go out, as friends."

The play was well done. She took him to coffee and dessert at a little club not far from the Performing Arts center.

"Clark, I do have a favor to ask," Esther said.

"What?"

"I told you the investigation board cleared me for flight duty."

He nodded.

"There's a little snag in the investigation," she continued. "They want to talk to Superman, only the investigators haven't been able to get in touch with him."

"I thought he gave them a report right after it happened," Clark said.

"They want a few more questions answered. Maybe he saw something he forgot to put in his report, something he didn't think was important," she said. "I've been told they've tried the usual channels, the Daily Planet, Lois Lane, Metropolis PD. Apparently he hasn't gotten the message. That or he's ignoring them, and that doesn't sound right."

"Superman hasn't been hanging around Metropolis much these last few months," Clark said. "Used to be the best way to get in touch with him was to be Lois Lane and yell 'Help Superman.' That doesn't seem to be working anymore, at least, not as well."

"But you seem to get most of the exclusives with him still," Esther pointed out. "Could you try to let him know?"

"I'll try." But Esther noticed there was worry in his expression, as though he really didn't want to do it.

Monday, she found out why.

Superman appeared at the base commander's office at eight AM. Esther was in the commander's office when he arrived.

"Superman, I see our message finally got to you," Colonel Graham said seeing the blue and red clad figure. The older man was obviously impressed.

"Sorry about the delay, sir," he said. "I really didn't hear until late last Saturday that the investigators needed more information from me. I would have been here sooner, had I known."

"I understand, Superman," Graham said. "They're on the third floor, office 314."

"Thank you, Colonel, Major Straker," he said, politely nodding in their directions before turning to leave.

Esther stared after him. She didn't often use her 'gift' while on duty. It was too distracting. But she'd opened that part of her mind out of curiosity, to see what a Kryptonian aura looked like. She saw a multi-hued aura, a familiar aura, strong, and bright despite the markings of pain. Clark Kent's aura.

"He's younger that I expected," Graham said, breaking her bemused train of thought. "And he certainly doesn't look alien."

"He's Kryptonian," Esther told her superior. Clark Kent is Superman. I've been going out with Superman. Oh, dear God, what is he going to think when he finds out he's not the only extra-terrestrial living on Earth? And not one of us thought to let him know?