Disclaimer: Superman and his fellow characters are the property of Warner Bros. Studios and DC Comics, and created by Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel.
A/N
I know -- surprise -- that was quick -- but you poor readers were so confused I buckled down to get this out to you ASAP.
We are coming to a resolution soon. Perhaps this chapter will make more sense. if not, I apologize. If you are confused AND tantalized, I've done my job.
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23 Double L Trouble
The Daily Planet bullpen bustles with activity, its joyous chaos a familiar balm to Kal-El's ears, as he and Lois exit the elevator. For a moment, it distracts him from the psychic turmoil brought about by a glance in a bathroom mirror.
On auto-pilot, he heads for his desk, and bumps into Jimmy, who greets him cheerily, "Hey, Mr. White."
Noting the odd fact that Jimmy seems taller, Kal glances around for Richard -- and comes face to face with himself instead. Clark, without glasses. A rather suave Clark, in pinstripes and tie, not acting like a dork.
The non-glasses-wearing Clark flashes a decided smirk, and punches Kal-El's shoulder. "Hey, Richard… forget your glasses, man? This is my desk.
Correct that, definitely acting like a dork.
Lois grabs his arm with a rush of intensity. Her heart rate just shot through the roof.
I have my powers. I'm still… Superman, but I'm Richard, too?
Dragging Kal-El forward, Lois subvocalizes, "Holy cow, 'Tropolis, you forgot your glasses? Is there a chunk of green K. lodged somewhere I don't know about? You haven't been yourself all morning." Then for the looky-loos, she chirps, "Richard. Come on, let's get your stuff; we have to move it into the new office."
As they tumble into the Assistant Editor's expansive corner office, Perry turns from the window with an unusual smile gracing his craggy features. A smile that makes Kal know he's landed on Planet Weird.
"Ah, son – hope you like the office. Check out the easy-release window. I think it's super -- did he just wink at me? -- and, will prove to be an improved base of operations, m'boy."
Lois crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. "Did you get it bug and sound proofed as we suggested?"
"Like it was your idea, Lane. Ricky, here, has been my responsibility since his mother and I spirited him out of that crater in Metropolis Park. And, I think we've done fine since then – right, son?"
"Um, sure… dad." Ricky?
Rushing around like it was Christmas, and he was Santa, Perry tugs a cord to pull aside some make-shift curtains covering the window walls overlooking the Bullpen. "I tricked it out with 2-way glass."
As the curtains part, the trio sees Hermione, from the fashion beat, adjusting herself in her new-found reflection, and Gil inspecting his nose hairs.
Lois casts the stink-eye at Perry. "Blinds."
Kal-El stifles a hiccup as Perry responds, "Check."
A crash resounds out in the bullpen, drawing Kal's attention from the family feud. A tentative knock on the glass door, and he lets Jimmy in, carrying a huge framed print.
"So, Mr. Richard… um- White. I thought an office-warming gift would be nice – um, I had it enlarged. Where would you like the photo of you at the llama rodeo?"
The now-familiar darkness, fierce speed and silence of the transition give him a moment to think.
Something odd, something I'm missing…
The sweet scent of his offspring fills his mind, and he realizes he is flying with Jason in his arms, sobbing into his daddy's neck, his words muffled by baby spit and sorrow.
"I couldn't turn it off daddy."
I was here before…
The ruins of the Kent farm loom in Clark's view as he speeds to find his mother. Smoke mixed with the scent of blood fills the air, and the acrid -- yet familiar -- odour heralds his worst fear.
"Mom?"
"MOTHER!!"
"Sh… sh…ell… bee," Jason's tiny wail trails him as he flies from Clark's arms to a smouldering form by the hay barn.
Flies?
Blinking through his tears, Clark realizes the conflagration has destroyed only the barn. The smoke and flames simply obliterate the view of the house, untouched, but still threatened by the pyre.
"Jason, get back."
Moving quickly, running in a spiral, and rocketing straight up, Clark suctions the air from the flames -- putting it out in an instant. A shot of super-cool breath stops the smoke, and the air clears -- revealing his mother, on the porch, wringing her hands in her apron. "Son, what happened? What have I told you about using your heat vision near the barn?
Choking back his fear, Clark speeds to her side, "Mom, what happened here?"
A blank look from Martha, and sudden tears, startle Clark into realization. "I don't know – did I do something wrong? Was there a fire? Shelby? Where are you, boy?"
Crouched by the blackened four-legged form, Jason sobs. "Daddy, I killed Shelby."
Sharply aware of his mothers need for reassurance, Clark stays by her side, turning his head to direct his x-ray vision on the still, charred remains of the animal. "Jason, that isn't Shelby. It's a coyote. It must have been hiding in the barn when it went up. Thank God, it was the hay barn. With any luck, Shelby…"
"SHEL—BYYY !!"
Jason's shrill cry manages to startle Clark, focused on his mother. However, the sight of the old dog tackling Jason, and the two of them rolling in the dirt, wakes Martha from her fugue, and she laughs out loud.
A rustling in the grass behind Clark causes Martha to turn. Her bright eyes sparkle, and Clark can't help but follow her joyous line of sight. Her voice sends shivers up his spine.
"Oh, look dear… the llama survived too."
Darkness, speed, silence, familiarity, pattern…
There is a pattern here. What is it? Is this why I have not travelled to the PAST?
Row upon row of tiny figures. little soldiers
Dark wood against his hand – wood, smooth from meticulous polishing. The scent of expensive oils assails Clark's sensitive nostrils -- pleasant, familiar, and almost intoxicating.
That scent… someone I know.
Now accustomed to the wrenching lurch into the alternate realities, Clark thinks there is no way he can be surprised, but nothing prepares him for the youthful figure smiling openly at him across an antique war-games table. The sunlight-glint of dust motes give the twenty-one year old Lex Luthor an angelic air, that Clark finds startling and completely unexpected.
When his enemy speaks, Lex's voice is melodious and curious, without a hint of the future cynicism.
"Clark… do you believe a man can fly?"
The last son of Krypton stands, gripping the mahogany table edge as if it will bind him to reality. In his mind, he knows the authenticity may be fleeting. He does not answer Luthor's question, rather, he raises his eyebrows, and tilts his head to fill the space left by his lack of response.
Lex pauses, and then completes the conversation, "I do… After the crash, I saw myself… in the water -- from above. And, when I awoke and I saw you there, I knew you'd saved me for a purpose.
"Luthor. I saved you." Clark's hears his own voice, but something is… different.
"Why yes, Clark, Lex Luthor. Call me Lex. I'd hoped the fact that you saved me from a watery death, would allow us to eschew the formality of surnames."
"Lex."
So young.
Still holding onto the edge, Clark moves around the table to face Lex – to look in his eyes. To try to gauge intent -- and catches his own reflection in the Cheval mirror near the window.
My God, I must be… seventeen – or younger.
Lex takes a step forward, and places a warm hand on Clark's shoulder. His eyes search the other's with an earnest question. Clark finds himself flummoxed by the possibilities in those grey orbs.
What if… we'd been friends? Could I protect him from… his fate? It could change EVERYTHING.
"Clark. You know you can tell me anything…"
The pressure from Lex's hand increases by increments, until Clark guesses he should flinch. He chooses not to, and, finally, Lex softens his grip, giving the shoulder a little friendly shake. "Tell me. You know you want to."
Clark does not break eye contact and they stand as statues until Lex looks down and to the side. "How did you survive a sixty mile per hour impact?" when he looks at Clark again, his eyes are changed.
There it is – the need to know, the desire to own.
The overriding passion that will be his downfall -- of spirit and heart -- exposed on Lex's fresh young face, makes Clark mourn the loss of a friendship he never had.
Stepping away from the hand, which leaves a burning sensation in its place, Clark gazes through the ancient leaden window, wondering where and when they are, here in some mysterious castle.
He sees the rolling gardens, and uses his telescopic vision to focus in on some large animals, grazing.
He smiles.
"I'm sorry Lex, you've lost me – can we go feed the llamas now?"
Darkness, blinding speed – to a sudden stop
then… light, sublime uber-white light, and a voice that tears through his being.
"Enough."
"Kal-El, Clark Kent, you must choose. End this."
TBC
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