Unable to take my eyes off the new and improved Clark Kent, I fly headfirst into the stage's curtain. I have enough time to think uh-oh before tumbling out of the air, the black curtain trailing behind me. I crash land on the stage, and there is now a decidedly Superman-shaped dent on the floor. I swallow down a curse. There are kids in the audience, keep it PG.
My head spins as I groggily pull myself up. There are a few half-hearted chuckles. They don't know what to make of me. If I were Flash, it would be just another day in the office. Flash is always running into things and making a fool of himself. If I wasn't blushing before, I definitely am now. A million lights flash in my face, blinding me. The entire universe is never going to let me live this moment down. The audience is shocked into silence, questioning eyes boring into me from all angles. I realize they think I'm drunk.
Superman isn't supposed to be clumsy. I'm their hero; I'm not supposed to be a buffoon. My shocked face is displayed across all six bigger-than-life screens. I look like deer about to turn into roadkill.
"Your dorkiness is showing," a familiar voice says in the front row, below a whisper but I still hear her all the same. Her smug voice is all it takes to unfreeze me. Lois sits squeezed between two foggy figures, her expression scrunched in pain from trying to hold her laughter in. Gee, I'm really feeling all the love, Lois. I blink and the other two figures zoom into focus. Sam Lando sits on one side, trying to disappear into his seat, covering his eyes as if he's stuck in The Shining. On the other side of Lois sits a young raven-haired boy in stitches. His laughter rings as loud as an elephant's roar. Well, Dick, I'm glad Bruce hasn't completely ruined your childhood. Little Flying Grayson is one of the only ones laughing. My parents sit on Dick's other side. Mama does not look amused. She keeps shooting the exit worried looks as if she's waiting for a robot to attack me.
"Sorry about that," I say lamely, my voice echoing. I try to come up with a decent excuse for my behavior and hit a wall. The spotlight blinds me.
"That is quite an entrance," Bruce comes to my rescue, more or less. "Superman hardly needs an introduction, or should I say Klutzman?" A wave of laughter flows through the audience for real this time. I did not realize being a comedian is one of Bruce Wayne's talents. Dick seems to agree and eyes Bruce as if he's grown a third head. Yeah! You're talking to the world's favorite hero! Have some respect, Mr. Playboy Billionaire. Dick Grayson clearly has the brains in that dynamic duo.
"Tell me, Superman, do you make a habit of drinking while flying, or is this a special occasion?" he smirks at me, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's the smile of someone who has forgotten how to smile. The laughter shifts into uneasy chuckles. They were all thinking the same thing, Bruce just has the balls to say it, or should I say Clark Kent. I scowl at him. I can't really fault him for his question; it's exactly the sort of question Clark Kent would ask under the circumstances. Maybe not that exact wording though.
I slip into the seat opposite him, folding my cape beneath me, secretly glad to be able to rest my shaking limbs. "I never drink and fly," I say, keeping my voice even, but I am screaming inside my head. I can't get wasted even if I wanted to, but they don't need to know that. Barry and I are the best fake drunk buddies out there.
"Then how do you explain?" he makes a whooshing motion with his hand and then slams his fist into the opposite palm. You're really going to make me spell it out, aren't you? I take back what I said about Pete. Bruce Wayne is pure evil, not Pete.
I look down at my feet. "I sort of have stage fright," I admit, cheeks going red. It's more or less the truth. There is a chorus of oohs and ahs from the crowd. 'I love you even more now Superman!' somebody screams loudly in the audience, 'Marry me!' loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
"She better keep her panties on," Lois grumbles in the front row. My eyes flick to Lois, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. "Or she'll find my fist in her face." That's my girl. Cat watches me critically from the corner of her eye, and I school my expression back to normal.
"So, the Boy Scout has a chink in his armor," Cat jumps right in.
Oh shit. Cat knows. She knows Lois is the chink in my armor. My cover is blown! I knew this was not going to work. This was a terrible idea! She's seen Clark Kent flirt with Lois way too many times to not recognize the signs. All it would take is for her to look toward the front row to connect the dots. Lois is hard to miss in her scarlet leather getup.
"What other fears do you have?" Cat asks, handing me the mic.
I let out an involuntary sigh of relief, and it's a struggle to keep my 'Superman' face on. I want to run to Mom and pretend this whole 'Andrina' thing never happened. My identity is safe, for now. I can relax. Fear. This is one question I can handle.
Where to start? Closed-off places make me nervous. The criminal population would have a field day with that. I hate snakes as much as Indiana Jones, which is hardly newsworthy. Half the population is afraid of snakes. I'm ashamed to say a man dressed as a bat scares the bejeezus out of me. Not really. I simply don't trust him. He's more alien than me. There is one constant fear in my life that would never change.
"I'm afraid of losing control and hurting those close to me," I say in a rush, ready to be done with this interview.
"Have you ever hurt anyone close to you?" Bruce leans forward in his seat, all serious. Of course, the playboy asks the hard questions. I lock eyes with Pete and quickly look away, guilt-stabbing me in the gut. That is ancient history. Pete has long since healed, and has the use of his legs again, but some days it's easy to forget with him masquerading as my crippled brother. Every time I look at Sam Lando I can't help being reminded of The Dark Days known as high school.
"I try not to, but sometimes accidents happen," my larger than life face blinks back at me across all the screens and I look about as guilty as I feel. Sam Lando holds up a whiteboard with 'TMI' written across the front, and he pokes his head over the board scowling something fierce. I glare right back at him. What was I supposed to do, lie? He's the one that promised Superman would tell nothing but the truth. I'm just following the rules.
"Define accidents," Cat prompts, smiling triumphantly at the other Clark. Pete burrows deeper into his seat and Lois looks at me as if she doesn't know whether to kiss me or scream. I never told Lois about Pete's near-death experience by my hand. There's a lot I haven't told Lois. I am treading on a slippery slope.
"Well," I start. I'm too far in to go back now. There's no way anyone is going to read between the lines unless your surname starts with L and rhymes with pain. "I was on the high school football team - this was way back before I could control my powers -" I quickly add. "I just wanted to fit in and be like everybody else, but I learned the hard way that wasn't possible," I say. This next part is hard to say."I injured Sammy during the game. It wasn't pretty."
"No freaking way," Cat explains, her eyebrows disappearing in her bangs. "Superman went to high school!" I literally told her my darkest secret, and that's all she cares about. Typical. She needs to sort out her priorities.
"No, I went to E.T. School and shared lunch with little green men." Bruce's mouth quirks up into an amused smile. I get a few chuckles from the audience. Who's the comedian now, Brucie boy?
"Cute. The Man of Steel has a sense of humor," Cat marvels, winking at me. "Sammy seems to be doing pretty well for himself, legs aside," Cat observes, her gaze gradually shifting towards the front where Sam Lando sits between Lois and Dick. She presses her mouth into a thin line when she sees Lois. Lois waves, grinning conspicuously.
I laugh. "You could say that again," I agree with her. "Sam isn't one to let an injury slow him down." Even in high school when he was paralyzed, he never failed to find something to smile about. It could be worse Clark, I could have been beheaded - I'm very fond of this head. It's a lady's magnet. Part of me wonders if he put on such a brave face for my sake. Would we still be friends if he never healed? I guess I'd never know.
"How long did it take him to forgive you?" Bruce asks. Again, with the hard questions. I want to ask, 'Are you sure you're not related to Lois Lane?' But bite my tongue.
Pete Ross was a bit preoccupied with the knowledge of his best friend being an alien, to think clearly. "You'll have to ask him," I decide that is the safest course of action. Bruce's eyes narrow into slits and he glares at Sam Lando.
An awkward silence stretches between us. Cat's heart flutters nervously, and it dawns on me: this is her first major interview. Been there, done that. Let's get this over with quickly, please. It'll be best for all parties involved. Cat continues to stare at me mouth agape as if she can't believe she's breathing the same air as Superman. Newsflash! You breathe the same air as Superman on a daily basis. Pull yourself together, Grant! I'm sure Bruce has a brunette waiting for him in Gotham. Speak of the devil, Bruce elbows Cat in the side, jolting her back to attention.
"So Kal . . . you don't mind if I call you Kal, do you?" Cat asks.
"It is the name my parents gave me," I say, but to be quite honest, I've never quite warmed to the name. It's an echo of a dying world, a reminder of the culture I would never know.
"Right, your alien parents who sent their only son to Earth to be our salvation," She says unhelpfully. We all know the story.
"Cat's bit off more than she can chew," Lois insists. "She should be asking you about Nightfall," she mumbles under her breath, knowing full well I can hear every word as clearly as if she stood right next to me. "Are you okay?" she whispers.
I lock eyes with her across the room and give her a quick, subtle nod. I was able to make it across town without falling out of the sky, I call that a win. I still can't hear beyond what is in the near vicinity, but the fact I can hear Lois in the front row is a sign I'm healing.
I focus back on Cat. "I wouldn't say I'm Earth's salvation," I say, trying to move the interview along. "As you know, Krypton exploded," I explain. "My parents sent me here for only one reason, to save me from sharing in their fate."
"Do you resent them?" Bruce asks in a low voice, his gaze hard as steel. The question seems to come out of nowhere. "Resent them for leaving you alone on this planet?" he clarifies, a flicker of anguish twists across his features, but it is so quick that only someone with my keen eyesight would see it. I don't think we're talking about me anymore. He puts on such a charismatic front, that I forget deep down he is still that lonely boy in the alleyway waiting for a miracle that would never come.
"Once, maybe," I admit truthfully. My waking hours in my youth were consumed with the parents I never knew, and wondering why they didn't want me. I thought I was a monster. "But I've made peace with their deaths." Besides, I had loving parents. I'm Clark Kent, son of Martha and Jonathon Kent, so much more than The Last Son of Krypton.
"How?" It is the small plea of a child lost in the dark. From the corner of my eye, I see Dick tense, knuckles taut against the armrest. I'm surprised Bruce hasn't opened up to his family.
That is a loaded question for an interview. How did you find peace? How did you outrun your past? How did you find it in you to forgive yourself? There is no easy answer. I shrug. "I suppose I've learned to be grateful for what I do have and not focus on what I've lost," I decide after a pause. "I do wish I had a chance to know my parents. I have no memories of them." I say, my voice sounding distant and moody to my own ears. At least Bruce had his parents, even for a short while.
"No memories of Krypton whatsoever?" Cat raises an inquisitive brow at me. I shake my head, no. "What is your earliest memory then?"
It's a pretty straightforward question, albeit a bit too personal. Cat sees me hesitate and subtly takes her phone out, flashing the screen towards me; I catch a glimpse of Andrina and me. I get the message loud and clear: Talk or I publish. Alright then. Blackmailing Superman; color me impressed. She might have the makings of a reporter after all, or at least the kind Lois Lane approves of.
I reach back far in my memories. I am in pre-k, and the other children are swinging from monkey bars and playing tag in the hot sun. Suddenly the air shifts and I'm bombarded by skeletal figures, hearts pumping in their chests grotesquely. I climbed up a tree and refused to come down till I saw Mom. She carried me home all the while whispering words of comfort. When Dad heard what happened he sat me down and calmly explained we will figure this out together. You are not alone. I swallow hard. Superman does not have supporting parents, Clark does.
"I'm sorry Ms. Grant," I say. "I don't remember."
"I thought you had total recall," she says with a coy smile. "Isn't that right Mr. Kent?" she turns to her cohost. "You wrote an article on Superman's powers as I recall."
The look Bruce shoots Cat could raze buildings. It's a small miracle he doesn't have heat vision in his arsenal. "Right," he says curtly, not bothering to elaborate. Cat per usual is oblivious to the impending danger.
"Seems a bit convenient you remember zilch," she observes. "Almost as if you have something to hide, a traumatic experience perhaps?" She's ruthless.
"I'm sorry," I apologize. "My memory is a bit foggy after Nightfall." Which is true enough.
Cat winces sympathetically. "That was something else," she shudders. "You suffered from amnesia after Nightfall," she recalls Lois' article.
"Amongst other things," I relent, involuntarily shuddering. The cold Alaskan winter wasn't exactly good for my health. It also didn't help an Intergang member had convinced me I was his long-lost son Joseph.
"What was the first thing you remembered?"
Finally, a question Superman can answer. "Elvis," I admit, albeit a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck.
"As in the King of Rock?" Cat frowns.
"Is there another Elvis Presley?" Bruce snaps.
"The one and only," I say. "One of his songs was playing on the radio and it helped me remember someone close to me," subconsciously my eyes skid to the front row where Lois sits.
"Tell me, who's this special somebody?" Cat asks. "A girlfriend, or boyfriend?" She looks sidelong at Clark Kent when she says the last bit and then glances between the two of us meaningfully. Oh, dear, I grimace. I can slowly see her jumping to conclusions.
"No boyfriend!" I quickly explain, my cheeks warming drastically. "Nothing . . . against . . . I mean Mr. Kent isn't my type," I say, shutting my mouth before I say anything worse. Cat smiles like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. I do not like the way she is looking between Bruce and me, as if it's just now dawning on her, how similar we look. Nope. I'm overanalyzing the situation as per usual.
Bruce balls his hands into fists."If he had somebody he certainly won't tell the likes of you!"
I wince. Well, there goes my cover. Bruce couldn't be a mild-mannered reporter if his life depended on it. Lois conveniently forgot Bruce Wayne's dodgy reputation with the press.
"You reporters are bloody vultures," Bruce growls. I swallow down a chuckle at his word choice. There is no doubt in my mind Bruce was raised by a badass, British nanny. One of these days I need to pop in and say hello to Alfred, and thank him for blowing my cover today so royally.
Cat's mouth falls open at the blatant display of animosity. She lowers the mic and narrows her eyes at Clark Kent, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Clark, need I remind you you're one of those bloody vultures," she says through a thin smile.
Bruce crosses his arms over his chest, looking more like me by the second; it is unsettling, to say the least. "Last time I checked, I'm not the one exploiting a broken hero," he says stiffly.
"I am not broken!" I protest.
"See, he's fine," she tilts her head toward me.
"He is not fine. He is an idiot."
"He's not wrong," Mama says in the front row, worrying her lower lip. "He should be resting."
"Hush," Dad whispers. "He's old enough to make his own mistakes."
Cat flicks her gaze nervously towards the audience, who are watching Bruce and Cat with mixed reactions, ranging from horror to amusement.
She lifts a hand, and waves tentatively, sensing the uneasiness in the air. "We will be back after this short commercial." The cameras click off and the screens go dark. The spotlight gradually dims, and I can breathe easily again. I let out a sigh of relief when I see the crowd slowly thin, people eager to stretch their legs. "Don't stray too far, we will return in five."
"Wait, we're not done?" I ask.
"Of course not, I've barely scratched the surface," Cat winks at me. She pointedly turns her back on Clark and turns her attention to me. Bruce doesn't know her enough to know she is giving him the cold shoulder. "Off the record though, how did you and Andrina meet?" She says the last bit in a hurried whisper in case there are any eavesdroppers in the audience.
"Jeez, why don't you ask her?" I demand a bit testily. "I hear Lan --Andrina loves talking about herself." I thought the deal was I'll give her the interview of the century and she'll drop the whole Andrina/Superman fiasco.
"So, you admit it?" She squeals. I turn my head toward the crowd and am relieved when no one seems to be paying attention to us. Most folks are too busy fiddling with their phones to notice the catastrophe unfolding on stage. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "You are having an affair with the future Mrs. Luthor."
"All I admit to is helping a friend in need," I say.
"You mean like helping a friend out of her bathrobe?" She persists.
Bruce intervenes before I have a chance. "Piss off!" he growls through clenched teeth, and I shudder; there is something eerily familiar about that growl. "Have you no shame? The man was shot only three days ago. You should be thankful he's here at all."