Oboe Variations

Metropolis

The twilight before morning and Clark was awake. He was listening to the sound of Karen's soft, steady breathing. Her head lay on his chest and her arm was wrapped around his body. Her clothes were drying in the bathroom. She was wearing one of his button-down shirts.

The rain had stopped.

The dawn was just a short time away and the night would officially be over. The questions still lingered, her presence adding to them. It hadn't been a night for talking or sex, he thought, just two people that needed someone even if it was for just one night. She seemed so desperate that he understand it was just for the night. Clark still wasn't completely sure why she came or for that matter why he let her in. Part of that frightened him a bit. At their last meeting she had been able to turn his anger into desire with a look and a few words. This time she had been able to turn his anger into compassion without saying anything. It seemed she had a power over him he'd never experienced with anyone else before.

It was frightening, yet holding her like this; he didn't want to give it up. He fleeting through maybe it's biological, something about being Kryptonian on a cellular level that attracted him to her but he dismissed this. Biology only explains so many things and this, this felt like something else.

She made him feel normal.

It was such a strange thing to feel, normal. You walk through your life telling yourself that basically you're just like everyone else, yet there's that part that always feels different. You look at the people around you and can see the things they take for granted, you don't. Part of you wonders if everyone feels like you do or if it is just you. You're part of the crowd, yet you have never really felt part of the crowd. When you actually meet someone that seems in the same place you are it's amazing. You suddenly realize just how alone you've been. All those things everyone else takes for granted suddenly seem possible for you.

It's a frightening thought that someone else, one person can do that to you. Frightening because of what it might mean or not mean. It may only be for a night.

Gotham

Metaphorical dots on a map and the connections between them occupied Bruce's mind. He knew the best and brightest of us share something with everyone else, we all fall into patterns. Routines become such a part of everyone's life. It doesn't matter what your age is, eventually you fall into the comfortable, the familiar and patterns happen at an almost unconscious level. He was always vigilant about this with his own life. If he could figure it out, then so could his enemies. If Batman started falling into a pattern it could be exploited as a weakness. Once someone falls into a pattern, they become predictable.

Helena Bertinelli was the central dot on Bruce's map. He still had more questions than answers about her. The name she's given him at the hotel he was reasonable sure was just another alias. Then again, so was Helena Bertinelli most likely. Bruce had gone over her back-story, running down every available fact about her he could find. It all seemed to jive, but it was too flawless, too well done for his tastes. He drew an imaginary line between Helena and the Huntress. His instincts told him that wasn't a coincidence, there was a connection between them.

He'd read everything from Italy he could get his hands on about the Huntress. She was some sort of vigilante. He didn't have a major problem with that and from what he'd read she had broken up an international arms smuggler and white slavery ring. He'd been surprised that the likely destination for the arms was Gotham. Just what the city needed, more well armed thugs. He probably owed her a thank you for stopping it.

The thank you wouldn't be coming though, as the more he read the story the more disturbed he found it. Several members of the crime organization had been executed and the stories strongly hinted Huntress was the executioner. That went beyond the line. When you become judge and jury you end up no better than the thugs themselves. He could applaud her goal, but still had to condemn her methods. If you murder, no matter how vile the person is, you're a criminal.

Yet he'd met Helena up close and maybe he was blind, but he just didn't see it. She didn't strike him as a killer. He'd been wrong before, but he didn't think he was this time. He couldn't get an exact handle on her, which frustrated him to no end. She seemed like a combinations of very familiar traits, yet an original at the same time. Maybe he wasn't as cynical as he believed, but he thought she was a good person. Good person or not, that wasn't going to stop him from finding out just who Helena Bertinelli really was.

He drew another imaginary line between the Huntress and his stolen money and then another back to Helena. He didn't have a connection between them yet, but the style of the theft and the way the tracks were covered reminded him of her back-story. He'd been running down every possible flaw in the robbery, but still it hadn't led him anywhere. Again, the work was too good to be a coincidence.

There was also the matter of the anagrams. If it was Helena behind it, which he believed it was, then she was directly challenged him. She might think the game was over because she paid the money back with interest, but he didn't give up that easily. He did feel a strange sense of admiration that she'd paid it back with interest. Apparently someone had raised her right. It was almost something he would have insisted on. He wouldn't have condoned the theft in the first place, but if you're going to pay the money back, you do it right.

Bruce sat back for a moment. It was as if something, some alternative thought or idea was just on the tip of his tongue, yet it wouldn't come. He let it roll around in his mind and then followed it back to where it began. The interest, something about her paying back the money with the interest seemed to echo through his brain, yet what unconscious thought it was trying to shake loose, it still wouldn't emerge.

Leaning forward he set that aside and went back to his imaginary map. He drew another illusionary line between Helena and Karen Starr. Miss Starr was certainly an interesting young woman, he thought. He went over her back-story just as closely as he had Helena's. The thing that hadn't been clear with Helena suddenly became clear when he looked at them both side by side.

It was as if your arm wasn't functioning the best it could. If you only had one you really wouldn't know the difference. Fortunately you have two arms, so you have something to compare it to. Matching up their stories, suddenly the last five years became much more important. It was only in those five years that either woman seemed to enter into the collective conscious of the world. Before that their stories checked out perfectly, but all the supporting information he'd been able to gather were files and records, never eye witnesses.

They were two young women roughly twenty-two or twenty-three, he guessed. Where was the Facebook page or Twitter accounts? Where were the friends from high school or college that mentioned them? Everyone leaves something of a digital footprint these days even if they aren't in the public eye. You only need to Google your name to find this out. Something as simple as clicking on a thank you link on a webpage will show up on a search of your name. There was nothing for either of them before five years ago.

There was also Karen Starr's connection to one, Clark Kent. Bruce hadn't mentioned it to the other League members, but he had to wonder if their encounter at the Trade Show hadn't contributed to Clark's outburst in Dallas. She was certainly a beautiful young woman, but Clark was Superman. He met beautiful women all the time. Diana was perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world, yet Clark hardly paid any attention to her. What was it about Karen Starr that caused such a reaction?

Bruce had dug into her company, finding out everything he could about it. He'd heard the rumors about her and Michael Holt. The way their relationship ended made him wonder if there wasn't something to the rumors that she had borrowed some tech from Mr. Terrific. What he found intriguing was while Starr Industries was starting to make a name for itself in a whole host of areas, it was the private project of Miss Starr's that seemed to get a considerable amount of personal attention. They were very secretive about what it actually was, but from what he'd been able to learn it was some sort of Quantum Tunneler. What exactly it was meant to do, only Miss Starr seemed to know for sure.

A very interesting pair, Miss Bertinelli and Miss Starr, Bruce thought. The last imaginary line was in some ways the most intriguing. He'd watched the news reports from Tokyo. The video wasn't the best, but from the descriptions he had a good idea of who they were. Huntress was the one he was sure of, but the other one, the one the press had nicknamed Power Girl raised his eyebrow. Super strength, the ability to fly, heat vision, those were too familiar to him to be a coincidence. He'd read about the young girl dubbed Supergirl and Clark had reluctantly indicated they were related.

That meant there were two Kryptonians on Earth. Could there be three?

Could Helena Bertinelli and Karen Starr be Huntress and Power Girl?

Bruce believed the answers to both questions were yes. That made finding out everything about the two women even more urgent.

Metropolis

Morning, the first light came filtering in through the window. Karen slowly opened her eyes and stretched. She glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar room. She remembered she was at Clark's apartment. She was on his bed, but didn't recall falling asleep.

She was alone.

She glanced down and saw she wasn't wearing her cloths, just one of his shirts. Part of her wanted to close her eyes and go back to sleep and let the world go on without her for awhile. But she couldn't do that. She slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Placing her feet on the floor, she sat on the side of the bed. Karen ran her fingers through her hair and could feel the tangles from being out in the rain last night. She must look a mess she thought. Taking a deep breath, she felt calm now, back to normal. Yesterday, had it only been yesterday, she wondered, she had felt so overwhelmed by everything. The loneliness had hit so hard. She just wanted to make it go away, but couldn't. She'd come to him in desperation. She didn't want to, but there was no one else.

He'd taken her in, dried her off and they'd held each other on the bed. They hadn't talked as being with each other just seemed enough last night. The loneliness had been pushed away. Now it was morning. Karen wasn't sure what she was going to do or even what she as going to say to him. This was what she feared all along, forming an attachment with anyone, with him. The temptation was what she'd been trying to resist by pushing him away. She felt safe, normal in his arms. That was something she hadn't felt with anyone, on either world.

The sad irony wasn't lost on her. She'd been tossed from her own universe and almost everyone she knew only to find someone she connected with. She'd been out with other men and thought she knew how things were supposed to go. It wasn't going the way it was supposed to with Clark. They seemed to barely tolerate each other most times, yet here she was. She'd fallen asleep in his arms last night, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her thoughts wandered to other things they might have done last night, but hadn't.

Karen looked up and saw him in the doorway. She'd been so preoccupied; she hadn't even realized he was in the room.

"Coffee?" He asked.

She slowly nodded. He moved hesitantly towards her, almost as if he were afraid to scare her away. She was nervous as he handed her the cup and sat down next to her on the bed. She felt it shift under his weight and it caused her to lean closer to him. She took a sip, not sure what to say.

"Um, about last night,' he tentatively began.

"Thank you." She interrupted and then added. "For understanding."

He nodded in return. She felt she needed to offer him more, an explanation.

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"It-It just got too much last night, you know?" She said. "That's why I came."

"Okay, I can certainly understand that,' he replied.

"Thank you, again."

"Your welcome,' he offered. "Karen?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not the only one that was having one of those nights,' he said. "Thank you for coming."

She was surprised by his admission.

"You were feeling … too?"

"Yes."

He surprised himself admitting this to her. It wasn't something he usually did, voice his feelings.

"It's been a tough couple of weeks.' He added.

"Dallas." She said.

"That's part of it."

Karen saw the sadness and regret pass over his features. Guilt made her ask the next question.

"Was it because of me, because of what happened?"

"That didn't help,' he said with a small smile. Before she could say anything else, he raised his hand to stop her. "It was a lot of things, really. I guess they'd been building up for awhile. It just happened. I'm dealing with it."

"I'm sorry for my part in it,' she offered. "I didn't want that."

"Thanks."

He reached across her and set his cup down on the nightstand. Karen felt her pulse race just a bit and knew he must have noticed too. She could hear his just as clearly.

"About last night,' he began. "You said it was just last night."

"Yes?"

He moved cautiously closer to her, looking into her eyes. She felt her nerves and fears come back, but she didn't move away. Her eyes seemed to move back and forth between his eyes and lips.

"Do you think it could last a little longer to include this morning?"

"Yes."

Their lips met and the night extended into the day.