He closed his phone, watching her for a moment before finding the courage to move forward. Another lie for another lie. They had changed the dance steps sometime, or maybe, it finally made sense. Their dance was always off, whether he plodding along with the truth while she weaved through his steps with her lies. It had to be lies, because they wouldn't hurt as much if they weren't.

She asked him about the date, a date that took him more time to remember than he had to try and forget her. A date that really wasn't a date, but a series of lonely lunches and dinners where someone else happened to be there. Fun and uncomplicated were the words he told her, but they certainly weren't the words he would use to describe it. But then again, his mother wasn't the only actor in the family.

He had seen her talking to Scotland Yard, and saw the intrigue and desire written on the man's face. He avoided looking at Ka-Beckett all night, it was too hard too real. And was so sure of himself that she reflected that desire and intrigue, that she wanted to go out with the man as well.

"Yup," he nodded, agreeing with what Jocanda had said. He wasn't quite sure how he had got to the restaurant, or what they were eating. The only reason why he knew what he had given Esposito to have was because he had been there a million times before, and he could read their menu by route. Here, someplace she recommended, the food tasted like ash, but he played his part. They all had their parts to play.

For so long, he was playing the fool. But it was always because of a woman. Kyra, Meredith, Gina... Gina again. The same pattern. No, that was a lie, the last person he actually went out with, that he actually had sex with was Gina. And despite Jocanda's obvious ovations, he wasn't going to sleep with her. When he was younger, yeah, he probably could have quite easily, if just to forget the pain that seemed to surround him, and the simple inability for a woman to fall in love with him. He never was what they wanted, or even needed. And for a long time, sex was just his way to escape.

But the food tasted like ash and the wine like tar. His face stiffened as he held that devil-may-care smile in place, trying to bring that charm out of hiding. He wasn't used to trying, and it certainly wasn't like riding a bike; he felt lost and pained, and torn in all of the places that made this feel so wonderful before her. Before he started going to the 12th and working with Beckett.

He had started picking up comics again, on a whim in September, and the new Superman despite not being the classic and wonderful hero that he grew up with, still seemed to get it right. One persona for the world; for Superman it was the tights (the underwear outside of the suit so made it but this one looked cool too), for him, it was the suit, the playboy smile, the woman hanging off his arm. One persona for his friends; his Clark Kent was normally the role he played with Beckett. A nerdy, awkward guy, but he could live with that. And one for himself; sitting alone in his fortress of solitude, knowing that no one will understand because no one ever does.

And somehow, he was back at the loft. Alone. Flashes of a brief argument with Jocanda and he remembered to make a call down to security to watch his car for the next few days. She seemed way too angry with someone he didn't have sex with and never called again.

But here, in his fortress of solitude, with a glass of whiskey in one hand, he stared at his Kryptonite. And she stared back at him, daring him with those eyes that consumed his soul, his love. That took everything he had given her freely, and gave him nothing but lies back. Her words cut him deeper than he had thought, and maybe that was because he had let her through the layers, through his cape and tights, and all the things that made him. She wasn't the only one with a wall, but he never tried to hide behind his. And she seemed happy to just use him to get out from behind hers, long enough to start going out again with some...some...limey.

No, that wasn't fair. The guy was generally a good guy, or at least seemed so in the few moments that he managed to actually talk to him. Beckett had given into him it seemed right from the beginning, everyone had. Maybe it was the accent; if he could talk with a British one, people may fall for him, and stay that way...

And now the whiskey tasted like ash. He had given up trying to care for the night. He'd figure it out in the morning. Well, maybe, if he managed to sleep for a full night.

The trip to Vegas had been meant to tire him out. He wanted to get away from all the pain, just for a little bit. But that back fired. A call from Beckett once he is back on the ground, and an offhand suggestion to the flight attendant, and here he was, drinking another glass of ash just to try and get some sleep.

"Dad?" He instinctively tapped the remote, his murderboard going dark. He turned to look over at Alexis, one of two women who were always there for him.

"Hey pumpkin," he forced a smile out along with his hoarse whisper. He certainly didn't feel like smiling, but for Alexis, he always had one. She was his sun, the reason for getting up in the morning it seemed. His only reason anymore. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I...I wanted to make sure you're okay." She stepped into his office, hands playing with the hems of pajamas too long but too comfy to give up.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He put down the almost full glass, not surprised that he only taken a few sips. The urge to drink is gone, but the thirst remains. Maybe it wasn't the drink he wanted or the good foods.

"You've been quiet for a few day." She moved over to his desk, and just like did when she was younger, he pulled her into his arms.

"Just working on some things." She snuggled closer, letting out a yawn. She latched onto his arms, holding her close. He was brought back to when she was six years old, climbing into his bed because of the monster underneath her bed. She clung to him in fear, silently ask her daddy to make her feel safe. It made him feel almost like Superman again. "I'll be okay."

"Love you." She wouldn't be comfortable in that position for too long, and he knew that he wasn't young enough to not feel the pains and aches from sleeping in his chair again. But he didn't care. His sun was here, burning brightly in the darkness.

As much as it seemed to distress her, she was the reason he needed to keep going back, to keep helping the 12th. Without her, he would have no reason, and he would need a reason now as he approached the second half of his life.

Before the 12th, before her, before Nikki, life had been easy and he accepted that for what it was: his life. Now, with he found something that mattered, that made him feel like he was doing something good for the world and he played an important role. He planned on sticking around there as long as he could.

After all, if Superman could do fake a normal life, he certainly could as well.