Esther

Now:

Esther hunted for her shoes on the floor of the limousine as the driver held the door open and the others got out. She finally found them, slipping them on as she followed the rest of her party into the hotel. She hated those shoes. They hurt her feet and she wondered if anyone would notice if she went through the reception in stocking feet.

The cocktail party preceding the reception had already started, but that's not where they were headed. Hors d'oeuvres and drinks, in this case soda pop, were served. It wouldn't do for the wedding party to faint from hunger before the buffet started.

The session with the photographer took a while. Adam, Matthew and Rebecca were already tired and cranky.

Finally, the official wedding photos were handled and it was time to go to the reception.

"Ready, boy scout?" Esther asked. It was hard for her to believe it had finally happened. She and Clark were actually married.

Martha Kent, Esther's parents and the rest of the wedding party assembled itself again to enter the reception room: Esther's parents, Martha , the bridesmaids and groomsmen in pairs, Cat and Bruce, Adam and Rebecca, followed by Esther and Clark.

The honor guard assembled itself again in front of the door, waiting. Esther and Clark paused as the rest of the party entered. Waited for the arch to be formed. Esther gave Lieutenant Austin a warning glare and he managed to look contrite. If you dare embarrass me, I'll have your liver for lunch, she thought at him. She knew he couldn't hear her, but he did manage to flinch away from her as she passed.

"Esther," Clark muttered into her ear. "You don't need the scare the kid out of his wits."

"Are you a telepath too, now?" she asked softly.

"No, but it's pretty obvious he's terrified," Clark said, still smiling as if amused. "And you were thinking it pretty loudly."

"Fear is a good thing," she said softly, grinning as she pulled him down to kiss him. "Especially for green lieutenants."

Then:

"Clark, are you okay?" Esther asked. He looked at her, as if not quite sure if he was okay or not. He'd just come back from covering a land slide in China. She didn't ask how he managed to get to China and back so quickly. She knew, even if he didn't know she did. They didn't talk much about Superman and she knew he assumed she thought he simply interviewed the superhero after the fact, or got a ride to the disasters with Superman. She knew that's what his coworkers thought.

I have to tell him soon. Tell him I know about him, tell him about me, about the others.

He'd finished his article on the disaster and had filed it, but he'd also allowed her to read the story. He didn't often do that. She suspected he was a little embarrassed that other people thought so highly of his work, including her.

He'd covered the disaster, both the causes and the results – one hundred twenty-two school children dead, thirty-three teachers and parents. An entire generation in one small town that made its livelihood from mining, gone within a minute. A repeat of Aberfan Wales October 1966, when a hill of coal slag came down and buried an entire school, killing a different generation. Nearly forty-two years later and across the world, there'd been no change, no one learned, no one cared.

As fast as Superman had gotten there, it was already too late. The simple block buildings had collapsed, unable to withstand either the initial quake that started the slide, or the tons of slag that had come down. The earthquake has so minor it had caused no other damage.

He was staring off into space and she suspected he was lost in the horror of his recent experience. Did anyone else know how badly these things affected him? Did everyone else assume he simply walked away from the face of death without feeling anything? That he just flew off to the next disaster?

"Clark?"

"I'm sorry," Clark said. He focused on her face and tried to smile.

It was Friday and it was her turn to do dinner. Usually they went out and then took in a movie or a play. This time she'd made dinner for them at her apartment. Matthew was sitting in his oak youth chair at the table, waving his spoon about as he tried to figure out how to get his spaghetti into his mouth without using his fingers. Finally he gave up and the hands went into the pasta on his plate.

"Oh well, so long as he can use the flatware before he heads to college," she said with a laugh. Her expression turned more solemn as she regarded Clark. "I saw the disaster on the news. It looked bad."

"It was," Clark told her. "I don't understand how the authorities there could have allowed that to happen. Why haven't they learned?"

"Because bureaucrats are the same all over. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah," Clark told her. "It's always bad when there are kids involved. All he could do was help dig out bodies. Bodies of boys and girls Jason's age, kids only a few years older than Matthew."

She took a deep breath. "Clark, let's not go out tonight. We can watch a DVD here."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, taking a sip of wine he'd brought for dinner.

"Something light, unless you want to watch a Bond film," she suggested. He shook his head. "The Producers?"

"Which one?"

"The original?"

He nodded and a little of the bleakness left his eyes.

Matthew was asleep before the movie was over and it was Clark who put him into his crib. Matthew had taken to Clark almost immediately and now after five months, Matthew probably thought Clark was his daddy. When they were out together, people would comment at how good Clark was with his 'son.'

I have to tell him.

She put on some music, Dream, by Kitaro. It was one of his favorites. She sat down on the sofa beside him, pulling her legs under her. He was warm. That was something she'd noticed when she first met him. His core temperature was high enough to be considered fever. It was just how he was.

He leaned toward her, giving her a gentle kiss. He was so gentle. She pulled him to her, their kiss growing in passion. "You know you don't have to go home tonight," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Mom, I've lost him," she said to her mother. Tears ran down her face. Clark had just walked out and he could now be anywhere on the planet. Superman wasn't bound by national boundaries or terrain.

He'd been shocked when he was told that she and her parents were aliens, that there were aliens living of Earth and had been for many years. She'd heard how ragged his breathing had become when he realized that she and her parents knew that he was Kryptonian, that he was Superman. He'd actually gone white when he realized that her father, General Straker, not only knew but was part of the government. The U.S. government knew about him.

He's gone. I've lost him.

"Honey, I know it's cliché, but they do say 'If you love something..." her father said. It didn't make her feel better.

He's gone. I've lost him

He didn't call. She left messages, but he didn't call. Finally, Esther decided to take the bull by the horns. She went over to the Chicago Star newsroom to look for him.

Cat Grant spotted her coming out of the elevators. "Esther?" Cat called, running over to her. "What's happened, what's wrong?"

Esther knew she looked awful. She hadn't slept since he took off last Monday. "Have you heard from Clark?"

Cat's eyes widened. "You guys had a fight? Are you okay?"

"No, we didn't have a fight, exactly," Esther tried to explain. "I'd been meaning to tell him something and I finally did, or me and my mom did. He didn't take it very well."

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Cat asked. "I know he's a little skittish sometimes, but..."

"No, it's not that," Esther assured her. "Nothing like that."

"So, what was it?" Cat asked gently. "Clark's usually pretty level headed..."

"I know, but I'm worried. I haven't heard from him since Monday night and I... He was so upset when he left, Cat," she said. She hadn't meant to start crying again.

Cat led her through the newsroom to Mike's office. Esther had met Mike O'Hanlon once before, on her first visit to the bullpen. She'd liked him. He reminded her of her dad's pal, Alec Freeman, a big teddy bear of a man.

Mike looked up as the two women entered his office.

"Chief, do you know where Clark is right now?" Cat asked him.

"Embedded with the Congress of Nations' WMD team in Tazarastan," Mike told her. "What's wrong?"

Cat nodded her head in Esther's direction. "Clark and Esther had a tiff and she got worried when she didn't hear from him."

"I was wondering why he agreed to go so fast, aside from it being Tazarastan," Mike commented. "I know how much he hates going into war zones... Oh, I know he's no coward. I think it's more the futility of the whole thing that bites at him. I assume he's told you he's on one of the Pulitzer committee's short lists for a prize for his work on background of that whole fockin' mess."

Esther didn't hear him. One of the curses of the Danae kicked in. A vision of horror, a not so distant time that folded into now. A future time, unless the paths were altered. The past had a different feel.

Clark laying bleeding, dying, on pale rocky soil surrounded by the dead in CN uniforms, surrounded by angry men in brown uniforms. 'Call for Superman,' the angry men were saying. Clark shook his head, even though it was obviously an effort. One of the angry men raised his rifle and...

"Esther?" Cat asked, shaking her shoulder. From Cat's expression she knew the horror she felt was reflected in her face.

"We have to get him out of there," Esther choked out. "He's walking into a trap."

Mike gave her an odd look, as though he believed her but wasn't sure why he should. He picked up the phone on his desk and tapped in a number from memory. "Clark has a satellite phone with him," Mike explained. "At least he should have it, I hope." After a few moments: "Clark? Mike... something's come up here..." He handed the phone to Esther.

"Clark, get out of there right now, it's a trap," she said.

"Esther?" he asked, confusion obvious in his voice. "What's going on? How do you know?"

"One of my 'gifts,'" she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I'll explain it when I see you back here. But right now, one of factions is laying a trap for Superman and you're the intended bait." She could almost hear the worry, the confusion, spinning in his head.

"You know that Superman refuses to enter war zones," Clark told her.

"Just because you know it and I know it doesn't mean they believe it," she argued. "Get out of there now!"

In the background she heard voices, then Clark saying to someone: "My paper's just gotten an intel report. This is a trap. One of the factions is in there waiting for us."

"But..." one of the background voices began.

"We're advised to come back with reinforcements," Clark told them. "The main bunker is lead-lined," Clark said into the phone. His voice was low, as if he didn't want to be over heard. "How did you know?"

"Clark, never mind that," she said. "Just get your butt out of there."

"I have a story to write," he argued. "I do know how to be careful."

"Clark, I want you out of there now," Mike announced, taking the phone from her. "I want you to call me from the airport and I want you back here as soon as the next plane can get you here, if not sooner. No story is worth your life. We'll let GNN cover it."

Esther heard Clark sigh on the other end. "Understood. I'm heading out of here. I'll call you when I reach the capital."

"Feeling better?" Cat asked Esther.

"I don't know."

"How did you know?" Clark asked. He'd shown up in Chicago only a few hours after Mike had ordered him back. He'd told Mike that Superman had checked out the area from high altitude and confirmed the 'intel' report. After Clark had left the scene, the WMD team had apparently decided to go ahead with their inspection. They were now dead, the GNN video team with them. The final video feed from the GNN camera confirmed that the faction involved not only had a nuclear device, they had kryptonite as well.

Congress of Nation forces were being mustered to go in a clean up the mess, the Tazarastan government was in shambles – the nuclear device and the 'rebel' forces had been traced back to them.

Superman gave Clark a lift back to Chicago – at least that was Clark's explanation. Esther didn't know how much of it Mike believed.

"My people have 'gifts' too," Esther told him, not meeting his gaze. They were in back booth of the deli not far from the Star.

"A little easier to hide than yours I suspect," she continued. "But occasionally useful. Clark, I saw you die, and the feeling was that it was immanent." She finally looked over at him. He was watching her with open curiosity. "I probably shouldn't have gone to your boss with it, but I didn't see any other way."

"How long have you known?" he asked.

"That I'm not normal? All my life, really," she said. "I had flashes even as a child. Portents of the future, the past. I should have told you sooner. Hell, my father should have contacted you the first week you showed your face in Metropolis."

"Why didn't he?"

"The psychological profile his people put together on you indicated you might not handle government interference very well. At least that's what he told me."

"Your father did a psychological profile on me?" Clark managed to ask.

"Not personally, no," she said. "And before you ask, I haven't seen it. It's classified and I don't have high enough clearance."

Silence.

"Clark?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry I took off like that," he said, finally. "It was just a little bit of a surprise."

"Clark, you turned white," she told him. "I didn't think that was even possible for you."

"We have a lot to work on," he admitted.

"Well, I guess trust is a big issue for us E.T.s. My dad nearly freaked when he found out in '84. That he was an E.T. defending the planet from invading hostile E.T.s."

"I'm not an invader," he said, a touch defensively.

"No, you're a refugee, just like the rest of us," she explained softly. "Some of us have been here for generations, some only a few years. But we're all survivors. And we all bring something to the mix" She smiled tentatively. "Some more than others."

He didn't seem to notice, watching the bubbles rising to the surface of his glass of beer. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Where do you want to go?" she asked.

"I have a bad habit of running, hiding," he said. "When things got strange after high school, I took myself around the world. I left anytime people started to suspect there was something odd. In Metropolis, I had the disguise, but when things got iffy with Lois, I left, again. I told myself I needed to find my roots. I needed to find myself. When I came back, things got even worse and I left again. I'm tired of running away."

"So stop running," she said.

"Easier said than done. A lifetime of bad habits."

"Then let's just take it one day at a time," she suggested.

"Today I will not flake out?"

"That works," she said softly.

He gave her a troubled look. "Esther, you're looking at a man who fell in love with a woman arrogant enough to seduce Superman. A woman who was arrogant enough to tell him to bugger off when he came back and disrupted her life."

"Clark Kent, you are sitting in a deli in Chicago sitting across from a woman who is arrogant enough to prefer an award winning journalist over a superhero," she said with a grin.

He finally smiled at her. "I do know how to pick 'em, don't I?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet covered jewelry box. He flipped open the top. A simple platinum band, a pear-shaped blue-white diamond.

"This isn't exactly the way I'd planned it, but , um, Major Straker, would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?"

"Why, Mister Kent. I would be honored."