Cat

Now:

Cat Grant had seen receiving lines like this before – celebrity weddings where they'd gone all out to flaunt their fame, the wealthy and influential with families showing off and returning favors. This wedding and reception didn't fit any of those categories, really, but influential came closer to any other description – at least for the bride's family. But having to stand through a receiving line for the rich and famous was something else again.

Following Esther's lead, Cat had also shed her dress pumps in favor of a pair of low dancing shoes.

The line was thinning out and Cat took a moment to check on Martha, standing beside her. The poor woman looked worn out, gamely keeping a smile on her face as she shook hands with people she'd never heard of, people who wouldn't recognize her tomorrow, much less next week. Heck, Cat didn't know many of them and that was her job.

On her other side stood Bruce Wayne, looking as cool and dapper as ever. The millionaire, make that billionaire, was in his element here – the concealed warfare of the social event. Again, she marveled at how one of the wealthiest men in the country, one who was well known for his dislike of the press, happened to be close friends with one particular member of the press. Close enough friends to be his best man.

The receiving line was breaking up. Clark had taken his mother's arm and led her to the family table near the wedding cake and the neatly stacked piles of tiny boxes of groom's cake.

Clark nodded to the DJ in the corner, who turned up the music. On cue, Bruce moved to stand in front of the family table. "Ladies and gentlemen, if we could clear the floor…" His deep voice carried well and the floor began to clear.

"First, a toast," he said, holding up a champagne glass. "Here's to the bride and the groom. We'll ask their success in our prayers, and through life's dark shadows and sunshine that good luck may always be theirs."

The audience lifted their glasses.

"Now it's time for the first dance," he announced. "May I present, the bride and groom, Esther and Clark Kent."

The light jazz piece that was being played was turned down as Clark took Esther's hand and led her to the center of the floor. The first dance song started its instrumental intro and he took her into his arms.

You know when you give your love away
It opens your heart,
everything is new.
And you know time will always find a way
to let your heart believe it's true.

There was no trace of the clumsy farm boy who had moved to Metropolis, the one who tripped over his tongue and feet in the newsroom of the Daily Planet. Clark and Esther spun together across the dance floor, flawlessly in tune with one another. "I learned from a Nigerian princess who studied ballroom dancing in England." Clark had told Cat once.

You know love is everything you say;
a whisper, a word,
promises you give.
You feel it in the heartbeat of the day.
You know this is the way love is.

Amarantine...
Amarantine...
Amarantine...
Love is love is love

Cat looked around at the audience. Perry was standing on the far side of the room, watching the newlyweds. He was smiling.

You know love may sometimes make you cry,
so let the tears go,
they will flow away,
for you know love will always let you fly –

how far a heart can fly away!

Amarantine...
Amarantine...
Amarantine...
Love is love is love

Cat spotted Lois and Richard not too far from her. She couldn't read Lois's expression, but there was pain in Richard's face as he stood behind his wife, arms around her waist. He seemed to notice he was being observed and put on a neutral expression as he watched the couple dancing in the center of the polished oak floor.

You know when love's
shining in your eyes
it may be the stars
falling from above.
And you know love
is with you when you rise,
for night and day belong to love.

The dance ended and the audience applauded. Clark and Esther separated, each stepping over to the parents' table.

"The bride and groom, and parents," Bruce announced. Esther went to her father. The general stood up and took her hand, heading out onto the dance floor. Clark took his mother's hand, speaking to her softly. Finally she accompanied her son to the center of the room. Clark towered over her. He started to slouch and Martha hit his arm. He straightened up, a sheepish grin on his face as the music started.

It must have been cold there in my shadow
To never have sunlight on your face
You've been content to let me shine
You always walked a step behind

I was the one with all the glory
While you were the one with all the strength
Only a face without a name
I never once heard you complain

There was no doubt in Cat's mind that Clark had chosen that song. It was just like him.

Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I'd like to be
I can fly higher than an eagle
But you are the wind beneath my wings

It might have appeared to go unnoticed
But I've got it all here in my heart
I want you to know I know the truth
I would be nothing without you

More time to observe the audience. Jimmy and Penny were standing beside Perry. Jimmy had his hand around Penny's waist and they were both swaying to the music.

Cat looked across at Bruce. There was a pensive, almost sad, look on his face as he watched the two couples. Like Richard before him, he realized he was being observed and smiled for his audience, but Cat noticed that the smile didn't extend to his eyes. Poor man. Does Clark know that Bruce is jealous of him?

Did you ever know that you're my hero
And everything I'd like to be
I can fly higher than an eagle
But you are the wind beneath my wings
You are the wind beneath my wings

The song ended and Clark kissed his other on the cheek, murmuring something to her. Cat didn't need to hear to know what he was saying: Thank You.

Clark was just too good to be true sometimes. But then, so was Bruce.

Then:

The judge at the family court in Gotham City agreed that, in the face of incontrovertible evidence that Joseph Morgan had been involved in Intergang's criminality, custody of Adam Morgan should be given to his mother, Catharine Grant. The judge ordered the boy be turned over to his mother. The fact that his mother lived in Chicago was irrelevant – she had a good paying job, references, the support of her employer and friends.

Lilliana Morgan, Joe's mother, had been caring for Adam on behalf of her son. She glared at Cat when the judge announced her decision and ordered Adam be brought to her chambers the next day to be turned over to his natural mother.

Lilliana did not appear the next day. An arrest warrant was sworn out on her. Police and child protective services were sent out, but Lilliana had cleared out. There was no sign of them.

"Clark," Cat said over the phone. "Even the FBI can't find them. What can I do?" Cat knew there wasn't really anything Clark could do. He'd been in Tazarastan for the past two months. But he was a friend, and he had friends.

"Cat," Clark said. "There are two people you want to get hold of. First, Archbishop Ryan over at the cathedral, then Alfred Pennyworth in Gotham City." He gave her both numbers and she jotted them down.

"Why them?" Cat wondered aloud.

Clark chuckled on the other end of the phone line. "The Archbishop has a reputation as a problem solver as does Mister Pennyworth. Tell Alfred that Clark referred you and he'll point you in the direction of some serious help."

"Do you think Kal would be of any help?"

"Get Blackie and Alfred on it first," Clark advised. "Then if it needs Kal's talents, we can bring him in. In the meantime be careful, Cat. I don't think I like the games they play in Gotham City."

"Who does?" Cat asked. It was a rhetorical question. Even with Batman in residence, Gotham City wasn't the bright beacon Metropolis was.

"Keep me posted, Cat," Clark said.

"I will," she promised, hanging up her phone.

A dark-skinned teenage girl ushered Cat into a comfortable sitting room inside the rectory of Holy Name Cathedral. Cat sat down in one of the over stuffed chairs, wiping her hands on her skirt. She was more nervous than she ever wanted anyone to know. The last time she'd been near a church had been during the wait for Superman to save Earth from Nightfall. That hadn't been the proudest moment of her life.

After a few moments, the teenager returned with a compact man wearing a black shirt with a crimson-edged roman collar and thick glasses that reminded her of Clark's. He smiled at her benignly. "Megan here says you're a friend of Clark's and you need some help."

"Um, yes, Your Reverence," Cat said.

"Call me Blackie," he instructed. He seemed all right. Innocuous, in an impish sort of way. He had curly brown hair streaked with silver and bright eyes peered out at the world from behind his thick glasses.

She told him of her ex-husband and her problems with him, his death and now her son's disappearance along with her ex-husband's mother. "Clark seemed pretty sure you'd be able to help," she added.

"Indubitably," the little Archbishop said with a smile.

"Clark also gave me the number of someone in Gotham City, an Alfred Pennyworth," Cat told him.

"I'm told he's already at work on the case."

The Archbishop invited her to tea at the Reilly Gallery. The owners, Mike Casey and his wife Anne, were charming and attentive, asking questions that would be appropriate for a police detective, assuming there were any detectives in Chicago who were actually willing to help her. The two FBI agents that were supposedly on the case had left her cold.

Mike Casey was a tall, lean man with silver hair trimmed close to his scalp. Anne, his wife of twenty-plus years was one of those women who aged well, thanks to a combination of excellent genetics and attentive personal care. She kept Cat's cup filled with herbal tea as Cat told yet another person her story.

"Miss Grant, aside from Clark and now us, who else knows that you were Clark's source in Metropolis for the Intergang exposé?" Casey asked finally.

"Superman," Cat told him. "But I was one of the people known to be in the building just before that bomb went off at the GNN building and I moved to Chicago almost immediately after."

"So it could be anyone," Blackie observed, taking a cookie from the plate Anne held out to him.

"I'm going to arrange to have protection for you," Casey announced. "Even a crippled Intergang isn't anybody to mess with and I've no doubt that's why your son was taken."

"If that's true, he may already be dead," she pointed out to them.

"If he were dead, they would have made sure you knew about it," Casey said.

"So there's still hope?" she asked.

"Arguably," Blackie said, taking another cookie. "Our friends in Gotham are on the case and have high hopes of a successful resolution."

"I hope so," Cat told him.

"Miss Grant?" Cat looked up to see a tall, distinguished looking elderly man standing in the door to the society page office. Cat was alone in the office. Her three co-workers had either gone home for the day or were preparing for their evening assignments.

It was nearly a month after her meeting with Mike Casey. An off duty police officer still drove her to and from work. Security at her apartment was been beefed up, including a monitored alarm system. At work, Mike O'Hanlon had 'promoted' her to society page editor, a job that kept her in the office during normal working hours. The regular editor was off on maternity leave and hadn't yet decided if she wanted to return to work.

"Yes?" she asked.

He stepped forward. "I'm Alfred Pennyworth. And I have someone here who would like to see you." He had a smile on his aged face as he stepped aside, allowing a tall dark-haired man enter the office. Cat recognized the man from his society page photos – Bruce Wayne, the handsome, debonair, playboy prince of Gotham City. In his arms was a small boy with strawberry blond hair. Behind him stood the little Archbishop, smiling benignly at her.

"Adam?" She couldn't believe it. Bruce Wayne was bringing her son to her. He's alive. He's okay. "How?"

Bruce smiled, handing the boy over to his mother. Adam grabbed his mother's neck tightly and Cat discovered she was crying as she ran her hands over his body, confirming that he was unharmed, that he was real, that he was here with her.

It was the Archbishop who spoke. "I told you our associates in Gotham were on the case," he reminded her.

"I happen to be one of those associates," Bruce said. "I'm also one of Clark Kent's friends and he asked if I would help out."

"He's never mentioned you," Cat told him.

Bruce chuckled. "I don't mention him to my acquaintances either," he admitted. "But we have been known to help one another out on occasion."

"How could he possibly be of help to you?" Cat wondered aloud.

"You'd be surprised," Pennyworth told her. "Master Clark has many unsuspected talents, as does Master Bruce."

"Indubitably," Archbishop Blackie agreed.

"Such as?" Cat asked. It wasn't just her reporter's instincts. She was genuinely interested in finding out how mild-mannered Clark Kent happened to be on a first name basis with one of the wealthiest men in the United States – one with an open disdain for the press. And how was said playboy-millionaire involved in the rescue of her son?

Bruce laughed again. He had a nice laugh, a genuine laugh. "He warned me you were as curious as your namesake," he said. "Let's just say that as an investigative journalist, Clark is more than a little bit of a detective. He's pulled my fat out of the fire more than once, while sticking my nose in places it probably shouldn't have been."

"Does it happen often?" Cat asked, disbelieving.

"More often than I care to recall," Bruce admitted.

"And you have helped Master Clark more often than he cares to recall, I'm sure sir," Pennyworth said with a small chuckle.

"Yeah, for a smart guy, he does tend to get into trouble," Bruce said with a grin.

"At least he came back before he was declared dead," Pennyworth reminded him with a smile.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"No, sir."

Cat held her son tightly in her arms. No one was going to take him away from her now. Having him here, now, was a miracle. "Is there anything I can do to repay you for your help?" she asked Bruce.

"You can come with me to the Founder's Ball in Gotham City in two weeks."

The Founder's Ball was as grand as Cat remembered. Bruce flew her to Gotham City in his private plane. Adam was being watched by Mike Casey and his wife.

Bruce was a marvelous dancer and he knew all the socialites, introducing her to them, filling her in on all the latest gossip.

The party was over too soon.

"I enjoyed tonight immensely," Bruce told her, driving her back to the plane that would take her home to Chicago and her son.

"So did I," Cat admitted. "I'm a little surprised you didn't make a move on me though."

"Disappointed?"

She shook her head. "Just surprised."

He smiled at her in the dark. "Clark is too good a friend for me to put the moves on a friend of his."

"One of these days, I'm going to find out how the two of you got to be friends," she promised.

"Let's just say that in a godforsaken part of the world, we found out we had a lot more in common than either of us realized," Bruce told her. "Good night, Miss Grant. And say hi to Clark for me."

"Good night, Mister Wayne. I hope to see you again sometime."

"I've no doubt we will, Miss Grant," he said. "I've no doubt at all."

Amarantine, © Enya, from the album of the same name

Wind Beneath My Wings, © Larry Henley/Jeff Silbar