Clark

Now:

The limousine was waiting to take them to the reception at the Lakeside Westin. The driver and Clark both waited as Esther fell into the back seat, pulling off her shoes. Clark followed her into the car, settling in beside her as Bruce and Cat climbed in with Adam and Matthew.

"So far so good," Bruce announced. "Now it's just five hours of reception to get through."

Clark turned to his new bride. "Remind me again why we didn't elope?"

Esther giggled. "My mother. For some bizarre reason, considering how long it took for her to get sanctioned by the church and state, she decided her daughter's wedding was going to be a no holds barred affair. For that matter she's still not completely convinced we didn't have to get married. Dad doesn't really care. He's just glad I found somebody he can tolerate and a party means he can show off to all his old buddies."

"Your father tolerates him?" Bruce asked with a grin.

"Let's put it this way," Esther told him. "I'd better make this work because I've already been warned. If we break up after all this, they're keeping him."

"Somehow that worries me," Clark told her. "Maybe we should have waited until we had to get married."

"Do people even do that these days?" Cat wondered aloud. "I mean, getting married because they have to? I know they're doing the other stuff."

"I have no idea," Clark admitted. "I'm just glad Lieutenant Austin didn't decide to swat me with that blasted blade and welcome me into the Air Force."

Esther giggled again, swatting his arm. "Welcome to the Air Force, Mister Straker... He was thinking it really loud."

Clark raised an eyebrow at her.

"I was not reading his mind," she protested. "It was just too obvious."

The limousine pulled up to the main entrance of the hotel. The car was abruptly surrounded by men and women with cameras and microphones.

"Time to smile for the photographers, boy scout," Bruce announced.

"Have I told you how much I hate paparazzi?" Clark wondered aloud.

"Incessantly," Cat commented, as the chauffeur opened the door and let them out. She smiled and flirted with the cameras. "Come along boys and girls. It's show time."

Then:

"Cat, how are you?" Clark asked as she walked into the newsroom of the Chicago Star, carrying her travel bag. She gave him a tremulous smile, then pulled him into a hug.

"Thanks for sending Kal to help, Clark. He saved my life, you know," she said.

"So I've heard," Clark admitted. "So, are you okay?"

She nodded. "I've been reading your series. When I suggested going after Edge, I never imagined what else he was involved in. Joe's dead, you know. He was in the building when the bomb went off, in the office below Edge's. Who knows what he was doing there?"

"Kal didn't mention seeing anyone there," Clark told her. "But he did say there was a lot of lead paint in the building."

"And Kal doesn't do so well with lead," Cat added. "Yeah, I read everything Lois wrote about him. He's cute, but I kinda' think I like your type better."

"My type?" Clark managed to say. Cat could be completely outrageous at times.

"Yeah, the quiet, wholesome, shy type," she told him with a grin.

"I have somebody," he reminded her. "I'm meeting her parents tonight."

"Oh, well," Cat said. "At least she knows a good catch when she sees him, unlike other people I know."

He was trying hard not to show the pang of pain he felt at the mention of 'the other woman,' but the softening of her expression told him he had failed miserably. She patted his arm gently.

"By the way," she continued, obviously changing the subject. "With Joe dead, my lawyer is working on getting Adam away from Joe's mother. It's looking promising."

"Glad to hear that," Clark told her. He really was glad for her. Cat Grant, for all her past reputation, was a good woman, and a good friend. "So, what are you doing in Chicago this time?"

"I can't stay in Metropolis, too much has happened," she said. "Perry put in a good word for me with Mike, so here I am."

"Mike's office is right over there," Clark told her, pointing out the office of Mike O'Hanlon, editor of the Chicago Star.

"Wish me luck."

"Cat, you know you make your own luck," Clark told her. She gave him a cheeky wink and sauntered into Mike O'Hanlon's office. Clark couldn't help but notice the eyes that followed her into the office and he allowed himself a grin. Windy City, here comes the Cat. Chicago will never know what hit it.

The Chicago Star building didn't have the panache of the Daily Planet. The building itself was plain, no art deco guardians, no ornate globe announcing its presence to the world. It was utilitarian, with little flair beyond its massive stone and glass facade. But like the Planet before it, Superman made the top of the building his perch as he watched the city.

He wasn't Chicago's guardian like he'd been for Metropolis. Metropolis had survived his moving on, away from it. He wasn't going to get caught playing favorites again. He still wasn't sure if Luthor's attempt to destroy Metropolis nearly eighteen months before had been an insane attempt at revenge against the city for seeing the madman as he was or if it was punishment for his, Superman's, presence there. He was inclined to believe it was a little of both.

Lex Luthor was dead. He'd confirmed that much personally. The Cuban ambassador to the Congress of Nations had come to the Daily Planet, looking for Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Lois had been out of the newsroom on a breaking story. Clark spoke to the ambassador alone, promising to contact Superman for him.

It was Superman who went down to Cuba – Clark Kent would never have been allowed. The Feds were still doing a half-hearted attempt to verify his presence in South America for five plus years, but he'd planned his story fairly well. Small mountain villages kept lousy records and weren't inclined to cooperate with their own governments, much less the U.S.

He verified that the body in the Cuban prison morgue was in fact Alexander Luthor, the sociopathic criminal mastermind that had tried to destroy the United States not once but twice. The current U.S. regime was labeling Luthor a terrorist, but that wasn't correct. Terrorist had political agendas, terrorists could be understood if you tried. Luthor hadn't cared about politics. He hadn't cared about money, really, except for the power it could buy.

What Luthor had craved was power, the power to create fear, the power to create awe. Awe in his alleged superior intellect, his superior ambition. He had considered himself a Nietzschean superman, so far above the common herd that morality – law – had no binding on him. Would-be tyrants loved Nietzsche, Clark mused from his perch.

In return for confirmation that the man they'd killed was in fact Lex Luthor, a Cuban official had given Superman the crystal Luthor'd had hidden in the lining of his coat. The crystal had glowed green at Superman's touch – the Father Crystal containing the knowledge of twenty-eight galaxies in compressed and encrypted form. He knew the official had seen tears in his eyes at the sight of what he'd been sure had been lost forever.

"What would you like me to do for you?" Superman had asked.

The Cuban had looked at him solemnly. "I am sure you have heard that El Presidente is ill?"

"Yes," Superman said.

"He is not expected to live. Six months, a year perhaps," he was told. "It is hoped that upon his death, the United States government would feel that talks are in order."

"I'm not a member of the government," Superman reminded him. "But assuming El Presidente's successor is amenable to talking, I'll do what I can to bring that to the world's attention."

"That's all we dare ask," the official told him before he flew off, back to Metropolis, back to face Lois and her growing hatred of Clark Kent. He hid the crystal within the Fortress of Solitude, burying it with the structure. He would come back later and recreate the rest of the lost memory crystals, power up the Fortress.

Clark wrote the article detailing Luthor's death at the hands of the Cuban Navy, including the exclusive interview with Superman on his dealings with the Cuban government, the fact that the Cubans had been able to do what the U.S. government had failed to do so many times. They'd put a stop to Lex Luthor's depredations, even if it had required a summary execution. He also mentioned the recovery of one of the stolen crystals. He didn't specify which one, or what Superman had promised in return. The article was on the front page, above the fold, again. Lex Luthor Is Dead, the headline screamed.

Lois had been furious, again.

From his perch on the Chicago Star, Clark Kent reflected on the past fifteen months, since his move to the Planet's sister paper. Was the world a better place? His was, that much he knew.

I need to tell Esther about Superman, he decided. I won't do to her what I did to Lois, even if it means losing her. I can't keep living the secret.

"Esther, do you really think they'll like me?" he asked her. He'd met and interviewed presidents, prime ministers, dictators, tyrants of all stripes, psychopaths, sociopaths, perpetrators and victims, but none made him nearly as worried as meeting his girl friend's parents.

"Just stay way from U.S. politics and they'll love you," she advised him with a grin. He marveled at how beautiful she was – not the dark-haired winter that Lois was, hard and edgy, strong yet brittle in her strength. Esther was Spring. Soft warmth and promises of newness coupled with the storms that cleared away the detritus so the land could renew itself.

"Esther, later, there's something I need to talk to you about," he told her.

"Cat's moving to town and she wants her boy toy back? Not happening, boy scout," she told him.

"It's not that, I promise," he assured her. "She has to find another boy toy. I'm taken." I hope.

Dinner was at Chez Bon, at the top of one the skyscrapers overlooking the lake. The general and his wife were waiting for them in the bar.

Clark had seen photos of them in Esther's apartment. Elizabeth Straker was a stunning woman, tall with auburn hair streaked with silver, green eyes. If Esther was Spring, her mother was Autumn.

General Edward Straker had finely sculpted features that would have served him well at the box office. He had been a fighter pilot in Viet Nam, a test pilot, an astronaut, a film studio executive, head of EPRAD. For her part, Elizabeth Komack Straker'd had a notable career in scientific research as well as business. She'd spent many years managing the film studio her husband had founded, although Clark suspected there was more there than was publicly admitted. He suspected the same was true for her husband – military career officer to business man, then back to military officer was not the usual career path for a four star general.

"You must be Clark," General Straker said, getting up and shaking Clark's hand. He was shorter than Clark had expected, only about five-ten, then he recalled that the men chosen early on to be astronauts were not tall men. "Esther's told us so much about you."

"Some of it good, I hope," Clark managed to get out.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Oh yes." She was watching him with a peculiar expression, almost as though she was trying to place him, as though they had met before. Clark was certain they hadn't. One of the advantages of an eidetic memory.

Dinner was pleasant. At least they didn't hate him. Lois's general father had held Clark in open disdain. They asked about the newspaper business, his travels. He hadn't realized how much he'd told Esther of his travels before college, or how much she remembered. They stayed away from politics.

After dinner they went over to their suite at the Majestic.

"Esther, have you had a chance to tell him about what we've talked about?" Elizabeth asked her daughter as the general swiped the key card to open the door.

Esther looked guilty. "We were going to talk tonight."

"Hmm." Elizabeth gave Esther a sidelong glance as they entered the hotel suite. She turned to Clark. "I'd offer you a drink, if I thought it would help."

Clark chose not to comment as Elizabeth went to the suite's bar and poured two drinks. She handed one to Esther. She glanced at her husband who shook his head. Clark recalled Esther saying her father didn't drink.

"So, what did you want to talk about later?" Clark asked. There was something odd going on. He knew he had secrets, at least one big one, but he hadn't suspected Esther of having any. He'd thought they were friends at least and had hoped they were more.

"Probably the same thing you wanted to talk about," Esther said, watching him carefully. "At least I suspect so. You know there are aliens on Earth, don't you?"

"I know there's one," Clark said. "Superman."

"You're not the only one, Clark," Esther told him. "There are at least five other humanoid races that have taken refuge on Earth. The Danaen, the Rokan-shou, the Aurisans, the Chou-chin, and the Mell-da'ash. Mom and Dad and I are Danaen."

"You look perfectly human," Clark observed. You're not the only one, Clark.

"We are perfectly human. Our ancestors originally came from Earth," Elizabeth told him. "As I suspect yours did."

"Mine?" Clark squeaked, pushing his glasses up his nose. He didn't believe what was happening. There were other aliens on Earth and Esther and her parents were among them? You're not the only one, Clark.

"Clark, you can't hide your aura. It's unique, and it's Kryptonian," Esther told him. "I can even see the scar Luthor left on your back. It shows as a sort of gray spot in your energy field."

Clark straightened up and took off his glasses. He knew that he was admitting they were right. It no longer mattered. He couldn't hide. They know. "How long have you known?"

"I figured it out the moment you walked into the bar with Esther," Elizabeth said.

"And I figured it out the second time I met Superman," Esther told him.

Clark sat down in one of the chairs. He looked over at Esther's father, the only one who hadn't said anything. He was simply sitting and watching.

"And how long have you known?"

Edward shrugged. "Oh, I've suspected since about 1976 or so. But officially, I found out just now. I don't see auras they way they do. I'm not sure if it's a sex-linked thing or not."

Clark swallowed hard. "What do you intend to do?"

Edward raised one eyebrow. "Absolutely nothing. Superman's been on my watch list since he first showed up in Metropolis. Nothing malevolent. It's just nice to know where the players are and what they're up to."

"I... I need a little time to process this," Clark said. He couldn't decide if he was hurt, angry, disappointed, or all three. In the space of five minutes, his world had come apart again. Not as bad as when Lois decided she wasn't merely rejecting Superman but hated Clark as well, but bad enough. The government knows who I am. I have no place to hide.

"Clark, if you're worried that this information will get out, you don't need to be," Edward told him. "My people keep an eye on over a quarter million extra-terrestrials and their descendants living on Earth. It's nobody else's business who they are so long as their technology doesn't get away from them. And I understand that in your case, Luthor took extraordinary measures to steal it and misuse it. You're not being held responsible for his actions."

"Thank you, sir," Clark said. "Look, this has all been a bit much to take in... I... I have to go." He headed for the door.

"Clark?" Esther called, worry in her voice

"I'll call you later," he promised and closed the door behind him. He could hear Esther crying inside the room, could hear her mother trying to comfort her.

She didn't trust me enough to tell me she knew and that she was different too? She didn't trust me.