Clark met Diana outside the venue: Metropolis' most expensive hotel, the Saint Rita. One of the benefits of having a date who could also fly was that they had not needed to arrange transportation.

He had been somewhat embarrassed, when she had approached him at the Tower about this. He was sure she had heard about it from Bruce.

Bruce had already spoken to him about his choice of date, but Clark was more surprised that Bruce had asked, than about who he wanted to go with: Bruce had asked if Clark would be alright with him bringing Selina.

His reason being that if the businessman who had by unknown means felled Clark once – Clark was grateful this event was not being held at the same hotel that had occurred in – there was potential for something else untoward occurring, and that being the case, Bruce would feel better having Selina at his side, to be an extra skilled set of eyes and ears and fists and fingers, someone that knew who he was and whom he trusted in potentially dangerous situations.

So when Diana approached him, and politely requested that Clark let her come with him, he knew Bruce was not the only one concerned. Even J'onn, who was nearby, seemed, in his silent way, to approve of Diana's actions. He was not so foolhardy as to believe there was no risk to himself, in meeting this man again, yet there was also his pride, or maybe his arrogance – maybe Bruce was right, maybe he did believe himself to be invulnerable – yet it seemed such a small thing to trouble Diana with. Bruce, and even he were expected to be there, as every now and then their civilian lives did cross, but Diana? To trouble Wonder Woman with a guard duty that in all likelihood would not even be necessary? And on top of that, for an evening that he was sure she would find tedious and dull?

Yet there was something in the way she requested this; she showed no pity in her eyes, and there was no hesitation in her tone. That she did not care, if her special strengths were not required. It was worth it to her, for her peace of mind, and for his.

He said yes.

And so the two of them walked in, arm in arm, with Diana already attracting attention, hair beautifully swept upward, in a glamorous silver sequined floor length gown, a slit in the thigh for ease of movement, and a pair of heels that just as Lois had told Perry, only added to her dramatic height, causing her to not quite tower over him, but securing the advantage she already had, and cutting an imposing figure that, to varying degrees, intimidated everyone, but particularly every man, they came across.

Even Lois was not immune, when they eventually, inevitably crossed paths, with whom they had a perfectly polite meeting, and Clark got to lay eyes on the new man he had hints about, the owner of the sandalwood cologne. Chestnut hair and hazel eyes. Studious, elegant, with a slight edge of rebellion.

It was strange though, to have Lois and Diana, who while not having met many times, had always been friendly, were now friendly with a firm line between them, and to not be on the same side of the line as Lois, to be standing with Diana, and not her, and for Lois to be standing with her escort, and not him. And despite his mild manner, he and Diana were an undeniably imposing pair, and he could see that, in Lois and her man's manner towards them.

They did not linger long with each other, though Clark did overhear a rather amusing, if bittersweet conversation between Lois and he afterwards.

"Clark really is a nice guy."

"That's what everybody says."

"And really, I think I had the easier deal."

"What do you mean?"

"He had to get the glare down from Superman of all people. I mean, the two of them were friends, right? That must have been some kinds of awkward. Supes breaks up with you, only to have Kent move in. I only had to exchange pleasantries and shake the hand of your fellow reporter."

As he and Diana continued to mingle, heads turned and the crowd continued to move out of the way for them in a way it never did for him alone, and he continued picking up snippets of other people's conversations. When he focused, he could even isolate Bruce's smooth baritone out of the cacophony.

And though it didn't give him much pleasure to do so, he could also locate Lex and his righteous preaching. He also found the voice that despite having only heard it once, still sent chills down his spine, that deep bass, that black hole hold that Clark had tried so desperately to explain away when no other explanation was to be had. No known magic, no known connection. Just some anomaly, that he'd had to put uneasily to rest, until tonight, when fate brought them back together again.

Just as he'd had the suspicion that somehow, someday, it would.

Until then, he functioned on auto-pilot, notepad in hand, meticulously taking notes, getting official statements when he could, unofficial statements when he couldn't. He and Lois had previously agreed to joint author this article, that they would split up to cover as much ground as possible, then combine their notes at the end. Despite the high profile of this event, neither of them enjoyed writing pieces like this.

They weren't gossip columnists, after all, but there were plenty of reporters here who were, and without those scintillating tidbits, of who was here with whom, what were the latest fashions, what amazing jewels were on bodily display, there wasn't actually a whole lot of news here to be had. Really, it was a gift of Perry's disguised as work. He didn't need to send he and Lois, even though Lois was the star reporter of the paper. He did it so they could represent the paper and have a night out.

And, just on the off chance there was some actual news to be had, the Daily Planet would not miss out on it.

Otherwise, the star charitable contributors to this event were having to say the same bland things they were always used to saying at events like this – like Bruce was at this very moment, to the Gotham Gazette's reporters, though he would slip them a little something extra, he always did, for his hometown paper.

Or what Lex was arrogantly enjoying lording over Lois, on the other end of great ballroom from he and Diana, where he was talking with the CEO of Metropolis' largest chain of grocery stores, and Diana was standing by, most likely bored to tears, after Lois had perfunctorily asked him, "Any thoughts Mr. Luthor, for the readers of the Daily Planet, on this extraordinary meeting of minds and funds?"

"Only that it is an honor to be here among my contemporaries. Tonight, I would like to leave the focus on the great charity work that we and the generous donors spread out amongst our two sister cities are accomplishing together: most notably Lex Corp and Wayne Enterprises, Gotham City National Bank and Trust and Metropolis First Bank, but also the so many other fine donations from the so many companies that chose to call our two cities home, as well as our great institutions of learning, and the families whose wealth has been a bedrock for their growth just as much as the rock beneath our feet. Thank you, Ms. Lane, that will be all."

"No, thank you, Mr. Luthor," was Lois' deeply hidden sarcastic reply, one that Lex, in all his arrogance, would never, could never hear.

And then the sea of people parted, not for Diana this time, but for him, another major charitable contributor to this event, the man who made even Lex Luthor in all his astonishing, unbelievable level of self-assuredness quiver. The same tall, even taller than Clark, and heavily built, even more so than Clark, figure walking astonishingly, with an unbelievable amount of self assuredness right for him, how could that be, that of everyone in this room, he would be seeking Clark out, yet clearly he was, muscles barely contained in the black suit clinging to his shoulders, hair like crude oil and eyes like onyx, hard and unflinching, having made contact with Clark's long before he was standing right next to him.

"That's him?" Diana whispered next to him, as he made his way closer and closer.

"That's him." Clark confirmed, right before the man was upon them, with an intimidating plus one of his own, not in stature, but in presence: a petite – at least in comparison to her companion – woman with short hewn hair, and some of the angriest eyes he had ever seen, and though Lois had expressed the possibility that she and he were a couple, Clark profoundly felt they were not, just as he and Diana were not, that they had other reasons for attending this event, for being together that were not what they seemed.

"We meet again, Mr. Kent." He said, in that voice Clark was eventually and inevitably going to hear again. Deep, and deeply unsettling. Smooth in the way tar was smooth, but Clark had no explanation for his myriad of reactions to it, and to the man once again: the chills and the urge to shake that seemed to come from nowhere; his sudden dry mouth and speechlessness, that he heavily swallowed and forced himself past, as he introduced Diana.

Yet when this man introduced himself to her, he gave a different name. Not the one that was reported in newspapers. Not the one he had given Clark the last time they met.

Clark ran it through his memory, even though there was something in him telling him to be alarmed, he could not help the fog that seemed to envelop him now, that enveloped and disappeared that warning, leaving in its a place a mere mild curiosity. As to why that would be, and he rather listlessly tried to place the name to any place on Earth.

He came up empty.

It did match another place he knew.

But he was the only person from that place. He'd given up long ago that anyone had survived. That anyone was coming, however he looked to Diana, who had such a keen sense of truth, to put his fanciful, homesick ideas to rest. To see what she would do, with this mismatch, yet she only nodded.

She heard this new name as truth, and even still, this at most struck Clark as only somewhat odd, yet the man who now called himself Dru-Zod continued, with a voice that no longer held tar, no longer held much of anything, a voice that to Clark now sounded very most far away.

"I've told you my name; now tell me yours. Your true name."

"I don't understand." Clark said without force, without backbone, with barely any comprehension of what he was even saying, but the man's voice softened in response, though his eyes did not. In his case, that got him to something like molasses, and Clark had a sudden, vivid memory of his mother, baking gingersnap cookies with it. That he had wanted to lick the spoon, but had recoiled at the taste, to Ma's amusement. That she knew he wouldn't like it, yet let him try anyway.

Dark, still so dark, and coming back into focus.

"Forgive me. I did not wish to leave you uninformed any longer than you've already been, but I needed time. For reconnaissance, to get an understanding of this primitive planet and its pathetic excuse of a people. I know you have needed to make do, and I do not blame you for this. You had nothing else to compare to. You did not see Krypton in its glory. Only records that could never do it justice."

"What is the meaning of this?" Clark heard Diana, strong as lightning, and steady as the heavens, the stars travelers had for so long used to guide themselves.

"You know I tell the truth, Diana. Or would you prefer to take out your lasso? Or confer with your associate Mr. Wayne?"

"What is your game?" Diana questioned again, with all the menace of thunder.

"There is no game. Merely an introduction. An honest, introduction. You, out of anyone, should respect that."

"The boy has gone into shock, General." The woman with the angry eyes interrupted, but Zod was quick to rebuke her. "As you might have, Ursa. If you had determined yourself to be the last of us. Remember our madness, when we learned of Krypton's demise."

There were things he needed to be focusing on. Important things. That apparently this man knew the secret identities of Batman and Wonder Woman. That he had already expressed contempt towards humanity, was in possession of a strong militaristic personality, and if what he was saying could possibly be true, was in all likelihood a massive threat to the planet.

That was not what he focused on. What he did, with his weakness and the weightlessness in the pit of his stomach, was reach out waveringly, disbelievingly and take hold of this so called general's hand, to feel it in his own, and to perhaps finally hold the answer to his question, what his terrible bond was to him.

"Are you real?"

The eyes as hard and black as onyx softened, from mineral to plant, to charcoal, and become more alive in the process, and Clark found a hand on the back of his neck, surprisingly warm, burnt, pulling him forward, so that his forehead rested against his, and a voice that he only belatedly realized was speaking in Kryptonian, but with an accent he had never heard before, and only even more belatedly realized was speaking to him specifically.

"I am. And I warn you. This will painful. You will object to my methods. But you will understand why I did things this way in time. I am doing what needs to be done."

"Why here, why now? Why reveal yourself like this? This is no place to have this discussion. What do you want?" Diana commanded, fervently disliking this latest exchange that was for Clark's ears only, and the man further proving who he was interested in here, only spared her a single word.

"Watch."

"You know who I am. What makes you believe I would simply watch?" Diana challenged, unaccustomed and intolerant to anyone ordering her to the sidelines.

"Because if you don't, I will reveal the identities of every member of the Justice League. Right here. Starting with you and Wayne. Along with feline pseudonym of his current companion. For good measure."

"What do you want in return for keeping this knowledge?" Diana questioned, voice level despite the gravity of what had just been revealed.

"Only what is mine."

"I have little patience for cryptic answers."

"I give you my word this is the better deal for you. And I honor my word. The choice however, is yours. Remember, any interference, and I will out you all."

"Wait!"

But he did not wait, and it was surreal, to be lifted into the air by someone else, to be flown across the heads of the crowd as though he were light as a feather, and up onto the now empty stage all in the blink of an eye, to the at first astonishment, then growing fear of the now audience.

"Ladies and gentleman, your attention. Particularly the newspapermen here tonight. I have three pieces of news for you. One, my name, despite the one I supplied you, is Zod. You do not need know my first.

"You can also see that I have what you on Earth deem super-powers, but I simply call myself superior. In fact, I have the same powers as your beloved Superman, because we are from the same planet. Everything he can do, I can do."

At this, his eyes grew an ominous red, to further emphasize and demonstrate his words, and there was a single moment, when time stood still, when Zod looked to him, and Clark knew what he was about to do, and also knew there was no stopping him: if he did nothing, they would know; if he tried to flee, they would still know.

One instant, he was standing in his suit and tie, the next they had been ripped from him, revealing his family seal for the whole world to see, and there was Zod, holding his glasses aloft in the air for the whole world to see.

"Second. Superman revealed."

Then those glasses were smashed, coke bottle lenses shattered, bridge broken, and temples torn asunder from their hinges. Completely irreparable, on the floor of the stage beneath the soles of Zod's dress shoes.

For the third piece of news, Ursa appeared on stage beside them, holding Lex Luthor an unwilling captive. Eyes wide. Looking to Clark, to Superman, with an expression that in his own stunned haze, Clark could not interpret from eyes he'd only ever seen hate in, hate he had become so accustomed to he never expected anything else. And in his inability to interpret that incongruence, he understood far too late was pleading.

"Finally. Lex Luthor, behold the face of your greatest enemy. Revealed, as you have wanted for so long. To yourself, and the world. Cherish this moment."

After a nod from Zod, a sickening crack rang through the silenced ball room, one that Clark also was failing to interpret, even as the silence was quickly replaced by screaming, and even as Lex slumped, and Ursa's hands dropped from his head, a sickening look of enjoyment on her face as she beheld him crumpled at her feet, and she then bent down to him, removing the American flag pin from his lapel and pocketing it for herself, and Zod's voice thundered one last time.

"Let this be a lesson. Attacks on us are not tolerated."

And then they were up in the air, and he was being dragged entirely, except it didn't hurt. Not for him. His arm and his shoulder and the rest of him were able to withstand the force, from where Zod had a hold of his wrist, a manacle of flesh and bone and blood, a terrible chain, the same he'd felt when they first met. The hand he'd known would never let him go, and he'd been right; their fates were intertwined, irrevocably. They couldn't escape it or each other, even if they tried. And Zod had shown he very much did not want to try. He had woven, stitched them together so utterly that Clark saw no way out and no way back.

In seconds, Zod had completely annihilated his identity. Clark Kent was publicly no more, and even his identity as Superman, the trust of the people he had worked so hard to earn, could not have survived that debacle. They would wonder why he had allowed that, why he had not fought, why he had not stopped it. Even if they had guessed correctly, that he was taken unawares, or that Zod held something over him, that would still reflect poorly on him.

Superman wasn't supposed to be taken unawares. He wasn't supposed to make mistakes. He wasn't supposed to be a man at at all. Yet he was, and he had been. Because of something he had found necessary to put to rest long ago. That he had no evidence to support, but was simply too painful for him, to hold out hope.

That someone else had survived.

Also, a painful proof of the old adage.

Be careful what you wish for, for his wish had ripped away everything he'd built for himself, torn his life away, like the explosion that took Krypton, like the tornados that ravaged his home-state, that built and brewed out of sight, underground or high above, out of sight until they struck, like a natural disaster.

And this man, and this hand, and the darkness and pain and rage it contained, were once again causing blackness to creep into the edges of his vision, strangling him as they soared higher and higher, where the air he did not need was getting thinner and thinner, and the only glimmer of hope was that he was sure it was intentional. That it wasn't an extreme emotional reaction to him, it was him, causing him this reaction, the same way that Clark had caused Bruce's scars to disappear, the same way Bruce had disappeared the kryptonite from him, but employed in a more nefarious manner, and he tried to pull his hand away, so that Zod would not succeed in disappearing the rest of him, what he still had left, but it was too late.

He was too weakened, and he would not let go.

"It's easier this way," Zod said to him, in Kryptonian, while squeezing his wrist ever tighter.