Chapter Text
Clark slowly came to. He was pleasantly warm. The sun was in that sweet spot that cast its light directly onto his bed through the window. It wouldn't last long, but he lay there, eyes closed and his mind foggy, and decided to savour the feeling. He burrowed the side of his face further into the pillow, his faculties slowly returning to him. There were heartbeats - strong and sleep-slowed. Breath fanned onto his neck on one side, and a back shifted against his side on the other.
That was not how his mornings went. Clark froze. Panic started to clear away some of his fogginess. He could tell his glasses were absent from his face. He lay there, fearing that opening his eyes would awaken the other occupants. He took in a deep breath. The smell of wood oil and artificial green apples were the strongest. He took another breath through his nose. The underlying smell of sweat and sex solidified the panic into a ball that sank to his stomach.
Clark opened an eye, momentarily blinded by the sunlight. The world came into focus. He stared out the window; there was no cityscape, just a partially clouded horizon. He didn't recognise the scenery outside. The large windows flanked a balcony door, and he could make out wrought iron railings. The curtains were tied back. Was the bed shoved up against the windows?
His memory was spotty. He'd been feeling under the weather; had he gone to Gary for a diagnosis? He couldn't remember. The ghost of memories flickered in and out. A train ride. The assault of the polluted air almost knocked him off his feet. A grimy rooftop. A fancy oatmeal. Muffled, warm voices.
None of it helps his current situation.
He tried to use his hearing, but all he could listen in on were the two bodies he was sandwiched between. The sound of the pumping of blood through veins, air being pulled in and out of lungs by diaphragms, and other bodily noises filled his ears. There was some electrical buzz, but it was oddly muted.
He had to leave. His glasses. He had to find them. They weren't easy to come by. He had to find out who he was in bed with. His identity was compromised, the safety of his parents and Lois, everyone at the Daily Planet, was at risk, never mind his own. First, he needed to calm down, take stock of himself, and leave without being discovered.
On the bright side, Clark had to admit that something like this was not part of Luthor's tactics. Pocket dimensions and torture were his wheelhouse. His lower back and abdomen were achy, but there seemed to be nothing broken. No signs of kryptonite either. That was... good.
He looked down. A head of grey-streaked brown hair was tucked under his chin. The smell of green apples was in their hair. The body pressed against in very naked and very much male. An arm was slung across Clark's chest and a leg tossed over his. His own arm was wrapped under the stranger and across his back, fingers hooked onto a small love handle. His other arm was stretched out, pillowing the other stranger's head. He could feel the pinprick scrape of stubble from the man's jaw pressed into his shoulder. From the sheer expanse of the body pressed into his other side, Clark would assume they were a man as well.
Belatedly, Clark realised that he was very much naked himself. He could feel his face heating up with a blush. He had to force himself to remain relaxed. It would be easy to jostle the people sprawled over and next to him.
It was difficult. he'd only been intimate enough with three people to be completely naked around in a sexual setting. Now, that number bumped up by two. Nothing to be happy about. He clenched his pelvic muscles. His cock twitched, partially outside its sheath. Ok, that was fine, that was normal for him.
He lay there, feeling the soft bedding under him and the thin sheet at his waist. There were no scratchy fibers, no trace of artificial material blends. Clark stared up at the high ceiling. The piece of the cornice that wrapped the junction between the wall and ceiling was nice to look at. The repeating whorls of leaves were soothing. He could see that the woodwork was old, no plaster dressed up to look old. Was this a resort? Someone's house? Why was there a jacket hung on the beam between the bed's four posts?
If only he could remember how he got himself in bed with two strangers. Clark slowly pressed his thighs together. From what he could feel and smell, he wasn't leaking fluids down there. The ghost of memory came to mind. A muscular body at his back, hands palming down thighs. It frustrated him that that was all he could recall.
Clark was effectively pinned down by his bed partners. That didn't happen often. He turned his head away from the window. A large muscular back was indeed male. A litany of scars littered the pale skin. Bruises of various stages of healing were splotched along his shoulder and upper arm. A new wave of panic rose. He could easily have made those bruises. The scars, however, were the remnants of a variety of injuries, some newer than others. He could see the puckered circle of a gunshot wound, the silvery lines of knife wounds, and a patch of shiny skin, mostly likely from a bad burn. It looked to have been chemical in nature. The worst was a glimpse he got of a long surgical scar that might just be down the length of their spine.
Had he fallen in bed with a former member of the military? Not ideal, but better than some other alternatives that were possible. It was all the more reason that he had to leave. He had to remember how he'd gotten here and how many hours or days he'd lost.
Clark would start with the man to his right. He worked to free himself slowly, pausing at the slightest hint of waking from the others. It was the slowest drag of time he'd ever experienced. Carefully, he pushed the man away from him and onto his back. The face full of light didn't affect his sleep in the slightest. Clark quietly sighed in relief and - oh. He was handsome.
The man was older, if Clark had to guess, likely in his mid to late forties. The stubble along his jaw and cheeks wasn't just a morning shadow; it was a few days worth of growth. The man had the largest concentration of grey hairs by either temple, spreading out to the back of his head. The grey hairs now turned silver in the sun. Clark had never paid much attention to older men, but this man was making him stare just a few seconds longer.
His eyes wandered across the frown lines on his forehead to the branch crow's feet at his eyes and down. For an older man, he sure seemed fit, nothing like the larger man on the other side of the bed, but still. Clark quickly looked away.
The man on his left would prove more challenging. From his vitals, he could tell the man wasn't in nearly as deep a sleep as the other one. He spied the band of a sleeping mask around the back of his head. Sensitive to light. Good to know.
With his newly freed arm, he lifted the man's head off his arm and slipped it out from under him. Clark pulled a pillow closer and laid the man's head down on it. His breathing was still deep and even. Good. he pulled it off. He scooted up to the headboard to free his feet from the top sheet.
Clark eyed the naked expanse of his body. No marks or blemishes. He was clean too.
For the first time, he got a proper look at the room he was in. He'd been right, the bed was flush with the windows and balcony doors. Definitely not his usual placement, judging from the bedside tables by the far wall. The room was large, and frankly, it was a mess. Empty energy drink bottles and snack bar wrappers littered the floor. A white sheet was haphazardly pulled over the top of the four-post bed. Pillows were piled in one corner, with a purple robe draped over them.
Clark found no sign of his clothing. He needed to change into something fast and find his glasses. Had he come here with anything else? Surely his wallet, maybe his laptop bag? He floated up and set himself down once he cleared the bed. The men remained sleeping. Clark crept around, slipped into the purple robe, and scanned the room with his x-ray vision. No hair or hide of his belongings, but he'd found a large lead-lined safe in one bedside table and another, small one in the walk-in closet. Beyond the bedroom was much, much larger than Clark had anticipated. There were small webs of blind spots. Defunct lead pipes would be his guess. He saw other people; household staff, a child, and a few animals. The network of lead pipes got denser the lower he looked, until he saw nothing.
It was odd. He could see beyond the room, but not extend his hear further. There was nothing overtly present that seemed responsible for it.
Clark found his wallet in a bedroom of an entirely different wing of the place. Was he a guest here before he'd fallen into bed with these people? Not knowing worried him. He'd never not been able to recall memories when he wanted.
Carefully, he tiptoed between the trash littered on the floor. It would have been easier to float, but that ran the risk of the other two waking and spotting him. Clark stopped at the bedside tables. He could find some identifying things to find out about the strangers. A phone or maybe a wallet. Identical lamps, but contrasting contents were scattered on the surfaces. One held a battered copy of In Dubious Battle. Clark blinked. Steinbeck. He liked reading Steinbeck. He was sidetracking himself; he inched closer. There was a ring box.
Clark lifted his hands, and breathed a sigh of relief when they were ring free. Ma would have his hide if he had gotten hitched to a random person without introductions. Still, he was curious. He used his x-ray vision. Nestled inside was concentrated, contained energy he seldom saw. Green Lantern energy. Hardened light.
Clark took a step back. He stepped on a wrapper, the crinkle of foil was deafening. He jerked towards the bed. They were still asleep. Who were they? Why was there a Green Lantern ring here? Which one of them did it belong to?
The longer he stayed, the more questions weighed him down. Clark needed to leave.
He snuck out. Opening the door barreled a wall of sound to his ears. Clark scrambled for purchase on the door frame as his knees threatened to buckle. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, but the barrage of the sounds of daily life was immense. Going from a cocoon of relative quiet to this, where he could hear the creak, groan and shift of the building itself put him in a sensory overload.
The usual coping methods weren't going to help. Clark forced himself to step out of the room and close the door behind him. He couldn't manage more than that. With his back to the door, he sank down to the floor. He tucked his head between his knees. The two in the bed. Clark could use their heartbeats as a filter. He tried to focus, to isolate sounds.
He failed.
He couldn't find them. They were sleeping in the room right behind him and he couldn't find their heartbeats. Clark swallowed back a distressed noise. He didn't understand. Was whatever that had blocked noise outside of the bedroom also blocking him from hearing anything inside the room?
A concerned whine caught his attention. Clark lifted his head. A large dog stood before him, its wet nose bumping into his knee. It whined again. He shifted his focus on the dog. Its heart was healthy. It smelled faintly of lavender and wet earth. Clark offered his fingers to be sniffed.
Slowly, the world narrowed down to the hallway. the dog, a large German Shepard, sniffed his knuckles and sat back on its haunches. Clark noted she was a girl. He fingered her yellow collar for the tag. Ace.
Ace stood and crowded Clark's space, wedging herself between his bent legs and his chest. He let her force her way onto his lap and hooked her chin over his shoulder. Clark was thankful. It was the grounding point he needed.
"My word," a voice exclaimed.
Clark flinched. He was in an unknown place, naked but for a robe he stole with a dog bearing her weight down on him. He looked past Ace's large ears. An elderly man came down the hall bearing a laden tray.
"Everything alright, Mister Kent?" he asked.
Clark blinked owlishly at the man. "I..."
Ace whined.
"I see," the man said. "Ace, heel. Come now, old girl, we'll get Mister Kent to his room and you can do your job properly."
"Her job?" Clark asked.
The man said nothing more. He put the tray down on a sideboard to snap his fingers. Ace whined and climbed off Clark.
"Yes, sir," he answered. His expression was carefully managed. "Off record, she's Master Bruce's Service Dog."
Clark nodded. So, he was here in the capacity of his job, or he was meant to be. He used the door to help him stand, making sure the robe was still securely tied.
"Good, if you'll follow me," he instructed, "we can get this one to doing what she needs to do."
Clark looked down at the dog at his feet. A Service Dog. She wouldn't be of much use. If she'd been trained for deep pressure therapy, he wouldn't be able to register much. It made him think of Krypto. For such a dog that size, he out weighed the German Shepard.
Quietly, he followed the older man. He didn't intend to stay long. He'd get his belongings and leave. As soon as the door to his guest room was closed, Ace tried to tug Clark to the bed by his sleeve. He let her guide him there.
On the bedside table was his notebook. Ace tried nudging him closer to the mattress with a decisive but on her head to his thigh. Clark didn't budge. He flipped through his notes.
There were scribbles here and there, reminders to reread articles Cat had written. Notes to Jimmy to photograph specifics. There were names, ages, and occupations. Notes on the architecture of Wayne Manor. Clark would see it all loop together, but none of it jump started his memory.
Was he here covering for Cat? He vaguely remembered her saying something about her boyfriend suddenly spoiling her with a vacation. Was that right, he wasn't sure and it frustrated him to no end.
Ace grew frustrated herself and gave a short bark. She jumped up on her hind legs to try and push Clark down from his back. Clark barely noticed it. Another bark snapped him out of his stupor.
He scratched behind her ears. He had to wonder what about his triggered her to start working. He didn't release the same stress pheromones humans did. Maybe it had been his posture? Whatever the case, she was a sweet dog who was trying her best.
Clark patted the mattress and Ace jumped on. He told her to stay and she laid her head down, large brown eyes watching him. He poked through the wardrobe, found his suit and other clothes hung inside. He stuffed everything into his suitcase.
He raided the bathroom for his toiletries. He found a violet, plastic-like pill bottle by the sink. It wasn't his. Clark picked up, his haste forgotten, and the pills rattled inside. The label was printed in a language he didn't know, but the glyphs bore some resemblance to Kryptonese. These had to have come from whoever the Lantern ring belonged to.
Clark tried focusing his vision to study the pills' molecular make-up when a cramp rolled around his lower abdomen in waves. He pitched forward, he lost his grip on the pill bottle to catch himself with the hard edge of the counter. It was far worse that the aches he had woken up with.
Ace had him in the bathroom, bumping her nose to his leg and huffed at him impatiently.
"I'm ok," Clark tried reassuring, looking down while bent over the counter. "We're ok, Ace."
The dog didn't believe him. She whined and groaned. Clark had to smile at the fruitless attempt she made to get him to leave the bathroom. He tried placating her with pets and scratches. Ace stayed by his side while the cramps ran their course. Clark slowly straightened his posture to use the sink, washing his face.
He eyed his reflection. His skin was damp with sweat, his face pale, but swollen bumps on his neck had taken on a flushed purple colour that looked ghastly against the orchid purple of his borrowed robe.
Gingerly, he pulled the robe open. The area around his collarbones was swollen, purplish, and glistening in the bathroom's light. He pressed down on them, and fluid oozed out of his pores, wetting his fingertips. Clark looked at them, rubbing his fingertips together. The oil-like fluid became somewhat tacky and spread a scent that reminded him of his Ma's marjoram patch.
That had never happened before. Clark swallowed back the thickening feeling that built up in his throat. He stared down at the glossy tiles. He felt small yet too large simultaneously. He'd never felt so alien in his life. He was scared.
He thought about going straight to the Fortress. He didn't. He stood in his shower, at home, in Metropolis, using up all his hot water just to stand there and watch it run down the drain.
His phone rang. Clark ignored it. Someone had been using his phone in his stead for the last six days. He could tell from the choice of words that it wasn't him who had sent them. He'd found some photos in his camera roll, one a selfie with him bundled up with a hot water bottle. The rest were mostly random shots. Ace, a Great Dane, some tulips, and a high tea layout that he most likely wanted to send to Ma.
He swept his hair back from his face and angled his face up to the spray of water. The humidity relaxed him, against his wishes. He hadn't showered to relax, he wanted to be clean.
He'd lost eight days, according to his phone's planner. Eight days and seven hours. Clark ad spent hours cross referencing his planner, the photos, call history and his notes. Some of his notes. His small black notepad was missing, along with his Dictaphone. He'd been able to establish a rough timeline of the first few days he'd lost.
Cat had called in a favour. Rare, but he did owe her one. It was nothing beyond his means or capabilities, but entertainment and celebrity news weren't his beats. Clark found Cat's notes on questions for the interview and her past articles from a series of celebrity at home interviews.
That answered the question as to where he's been; Gotham, Wayne Manor specifically. Clark hadn't found a receipt for a hotel to comp from the Planet during his stay there. Had he been in the Manor all eight days? That was uncertain.
Another question answered, who he'd been in bed with. Bruce Wayne and Hal Jordan, who, according to his notes, was the former's partner of five years. Clark had, naturally, consulted the internet for more information on them both. The breadth of information was clearly in Bruce's favour and easier to find - billionaire, philanthropist and owner and Chairman of Wayne Enterprise. What he'd managed to find on Hal was a service record of tie in the Air Force, some awards for test pilots and that industry, and an article on the tragic accident that resulted in the death of his father.
In his search, Clark found no evidence that Bruce and Hal's relationship was public knowledge. It didn't make sense that he'd make note of it, if not use it in the article, but that was not the tone of the article. Unless they had wanted him to work on a separate story, perhaps pre-emptively to a forthcoming press conference. It was a good way to control the narrative.
There were more flashes of phantom touches, memories, that ghosted over him. It made him dizzy.
Relax, sweetheart.
Those words were spoken softly, and Clark could almost feel fingers massaging his head, playing with his hair. The memory stoked his arousal. Clark closed the tap and let the water run down his body.
He heard keys jingle in the lock. Clark hastily wrapped a towel around himself.
"Hey, bitch!" Kara greeted from the door. There was something that squished against the door frame as she walked in.
Clark let his head hang back and look at the damp ceiling. "Hey."
He had to rethink the spare key situation. Clark paid more than he should, considering his salary, for his apartment, and he had his reasons for it, but he liked it and he didn't need Kara dragging another squishy something into his place again.
"What're we celebrating with?" Kara bellowed from the kitchen.
Clark towelled excess water from this hair and let the wet mess flop and curl where it wanted. He walked out of the bathroom, intent on dashing to his bedroom to pull on some pants and stopped when he saw a large corduroy beanbag chair in the middle of his living room.
"Uh, what are we celebrating?" he stressed. There wasn't anything in his planner for a Kryptonian holiday or something of the like, that he had pencilled in for the day. "I don't have much of anything right now; I was out of town."
Kara's head appeared from behind an open cupboard door. "What do you mean you were out of town?"
Clark shrugged. Hands grabbed his shoulders and turned him around. Clark blinked down at Kara as she scrutinised his collarbones.
"Ok, celebrate later," she said, pulling him into the living room. "We're going to the Fortress."
"Why?" Clark didn't want to go. "And what are you here to celebrate?"
Kara shot him a scathing look. "See, you might be older, Kal-El, but spending your khuluf dehdh outside your home is stupid."
Clark stopped letting his cousin pull him along like a child. The context of Kara's use of those words made little sense to him.
"I really don't want to repeat myself, Kara, but why do you need to take me to the Fortress?"
Kara gave him a yank forward. "Look, I don't know what knowledge Jor-El sent with you, but I'm hoping you know the basics of Kryptonian physiology."
Clark felt offended. He liked learning. There wasn't much left of Krypton's knowledge for him to learn. Vague historic events, emphasis on Krypton's space exploration, colonisation of planets and sudden withdrawal from all intergalactic politics and trade and the planet's direction from then on. Large quantities of scientific data, nothing that was easy to understand at first, but made a hell of a lot more sense to him than most human mathematics. Biology was limited in what it focused on.
"Our base line for basic is different, I think," Clark conceded. He adjusted the towel that had started to ride a bit low on his hips. "Can I go put some pants on?"
Kara let him go and groaned into her palms. Clark rolled his eyes. He dressed in comfortable house clothes, but each shirt he tried on left odd against his collarbones. He looked at the mess he'd made of his bed. Flannels were too heavy, and the cottons were too scratchy.
Gently, he touched the hollowed divot between them. It was warm to the touch, and damp, and sensitive.
"Stop messing around, put your suit on," Kara ordered, barging into the bedroom.
Clark watched the robots examine him. Kara stood off to the side, chewing on her thumbnail. That was a nasty habit he hadn't been able to get her to stop.
"Really, there was no need to bother us automatons with this," Gary complained.
"It's not normal," Kara countered.
Clark just lay there, starting at the crystalline ceiling.
"Perhaps not uncommon, but we have a yellow sun," Gary reminded her, "and while it does wonders for Kryptonian solar cells, other biological cycles might be hindered. You're both the first Kryptonians to live off of Krypton in millennia."
Metal fingers pressed down from one end of a collarbone to the divot where the other started. Clark could feel the oils wet his skin. Luckily, it wasn't painful, merely uncomfortable. He was hesitant to ask what, exactly, he was experiencing.
"Kal-El left his house during khuluf dehdh," Kara told the automaton.
"How scandalous," Gary tutted. "Most unseemly."
Clark could tell his cousin was getting annoyed with Gary. That lifted his mood a bit.
"It's just a weird rash with some brain fog and cramps," Clark listed. "Would be great if this never happened again."
Gary's visor narrowed. "A rash?"
Clark gave an exasperated huff. "Well, what would you call it?"
There was a beat of silence.
"Pheromone withdrawal," Gary replied.
Clark went back to staring at the ceiling as Kara argued with the automaton. He'd read about it; pheromone withdrawal. Never thought he'd ever have to suffer through it, though. He thought the fact that Kara being a blood relative would make sure that didn't happen. Can't miss what you never had - that had been how he reasoned it anyway.
He reasoned away a lot of things when it came to his body. Others might say it was denial or wilful ignorance. It very well could be those; Clark wouldn't deny it if asked, but, no one ever did.
Kara assumed he knew the same basics of Kryptonian physiology she did. Ma and Pa had done the best they could, and offered up the nearest human counterpart, and had raised him with love. The birth certificate, and all subsequent papers, listed Clark's sex as male. He identified as a man. His physical appearance, to human perceptions, aligned with his gender. His reproductive organs did not, and could never as a Kryptonian.
Clark sighed as he remembered the long trips to the State Library of Kansas so Pa could find books on how to explain the physical changes of his body. He never liked causing his parents to worry about him. When they sat him down the one day and told him that if anyone asked why his privates were different, he should tell them that he was born intersex. Clark had accepted that. For a long time, that was part of who he was, it made sense.
Things made less sense now.
Fingers snapped in his face. Clark jerked, his eyes finally leaving the ceiling.
"What?" he asked.
"Did you go to Lois?" Kara demanded.
Clark shook his head. They'd gone their separate ways a few months ago. They had wanted different things from their relationship, and Clark had changed since they had first started dating. He'd also gotten the sense that he might be the one holding Lois back. Their love did survive platonically.
"No."
Kara pulled a face at him. "Where were you during your khuluf dehdh?"
"Gotham." Should be be more specific? "I was working."
"Oh yes, brain fog and working are a great combination," Gary observed from the side.
"Were you with anyone?" Kara pressed.
"Why is this important?" Clark countered. "You never explained what you wanted to celebrate or what this khuluf dehdh is."
Kara was stunned. She looked at him, not blinking. From her reaction, Clark would have thought he'd grown a second head.
"Myself and the other automatons will be vacating the area to recharge," Gary announced.
Clark knew that wasn't necessary. Gary just did not care for whatever was about to happen.
"You're telling me, I'm freaking out and you don't know why?" Kara demanded.
"No."
"Oh Rao," his cousin exclaimed, pacing away from Clark. "I was worrying about you getting yourself pregnant."
Clark sat up and stared at his lap. "And?"
"You're not," she confirmed. "If you'd been with a human man, they used protection."
Clark rubbed his hands over his face. That had never been a possible concern, to his mind. He was an alien; why would he have to worry about pregnancy on a planet with humans? Men didn't get pregnant. It'd been stupid for him to go through life thinking that, he admonished himself. His parents wouldn't have sent him here, with that message, if cross species procreation wasn't possible.
"I-" Clark's voice broke, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. "I don't know more than my status as an... uhmydah."
He had butchered that word if the snort that it elicited from Kara was any indication. The meaning came across, it seemed. Clark watched Kara open her mouth, pause and continue pacing.
"You're an ahfah," Clark said, the word felt awkward in his mouth. "A female ahfah."
Kara nodded. "Yeah." She went back to pacing. Her face was pinched then slackened with a sad look. "I'll give you the Academy run down, then, I try and rehash the lecture Vai-Uy got from her carrier about khuluf dehdh."
Clark wondered if they had been Kara's friend or something more. Either way, there was a bitter-sweet use to the memory. He actively listened, nodding and asking questions when some was unclear. The varying dynamics were covered, the genetic throwback variants were glossed over quickly at his request. He didn't want to think about laying eggs.
A series of cramps stabbed at his lower abdomen. "Do I need to get pads, or something?"
"Pads?" Kara frowned at him.
"For the-" he had to stop talking and bent forward with the intensity of the next cramp. "For the bleeding."
"You're bleeding!?"
Clark groaned and shook his head. "Not yet."
"Why would you bleed?" she demanded.
Did womb-bearing Kryptonians not menstruate? Clark considered using his vision to see what was happening inside his body, but it seemed ill-advised.
"Uh, am I not going to shed my uterine lining?" he asked tentatively.
Kara's face was awash with shock, then disgust. "No!"
"Humans are very inefficient in this manner," Gary commented as it entered the main room again. "You will reabsorb it, Superman."
That was good. One less new thing to deal with. He waved for Kara to continue talking about the sociocultural differences between dynamics. Some of it was more progressive than the general view between sexes on Earth, but others were odd to say the least.
"Can we skip to the part that explains why I have pheromone withdrawal," he pleaded once dynamic fashions got involved.
"You shouldn't have it in the first place," Kara told him.
"Unless," Gary started, "Superman formed an emotional bond, thus making his body expect the presence of pheromones. Therefore, even if sexually satisfied, he would go into withdrawal due to human pheromones being under evolved."
Clark stared at the automaton. An emotional bond. Was it permanent? Various questions rattled around in his mind.
"Who did you go to, Kal-El?" Kara insisted. "Don't dodge the question this time."
"I really did go to Gotham for work."
Kara threw up her hands. "Clearly you had sex with someone, and unless it was, I don't know, Lex Luthor, I don't see why you're being so cagey about it."
"Because I don't remember!" Clark shouted. He hadn't meant to. "I-"
"Not uncommon for a presentation, according to the records," Gary interjected.
It was not helpful.
A large bouquet crowed his desk. Clark stared at the arrangement of gardenias and edelweiss with its skirt of ferns. He could see the card tucked between bunches of marjoram that peeked behind the white flowers.
"Clark!" Cat squealed as she appeared next to him.
"Yeah," he said dumbly.
He knew who the flowers were from. The fancy, curling B and H were not hard to put faces to. Cat had taken a hold of his shoulder and shook him, unable to contain her excitement.
"I just finished your article," she told him. "I don't think Vicki even got a bouquet this big when she interviewed Brucie the first time."
"Did you ever get flowers?" he asked.
Cat sighed. "No."
Clark plucked the card out and handed the flowers to Cat. He quietly persuaded her to take it, citing his desk being too small and his apartment not getting enough sun. She didn't take much convincing. He knew Jimmy and Lois were watching him. Clark went through the motions of unpacking his bag, sipping his coffee, anything to continue about his day.
"You're not going to read the note?" Jimmy poked, rolled his chair closer.
Clark smiled sheepishly. "Nah."
"You're not even the slightest bit curious?" Jimmy needled. "That this was bigger than Cat's torso!"
"Like I said," Clark conversationally replied, "too big for my desk."
"Did you miss the part where Bruce Wayne's butler hand delivered it?"
Clark forced himself to keep his air of nonchalance. He hadn't known that. Why send the sweet old man all the way to Gotham for some flowers? At that, he remembered how sweet Ace had been. Those nice fluffy feelings popped when he remembered that Bruce likely knew his identity.
"Farm boy is the billionaire's flavour of the week," Lois added from her desk. "He'll probably be chasing something else by Friday."
Clark knew she was trying to get Jimmy to back off. It worked. Clark smiled at her. If only his problems were so simple. He went about his work day, most of it spent with Cat to edit his article, and go through the photos he'd supposedly taken to accompany it. Clark knew those weren't taken by him, they'd just been on his laptop when he'd powered it on the day he got home.
He spent his lunch stopping a fire a bushfire in Southern Africa, then evacuating passengers on a sinking cruise ship. Clark finished his regular work day by eating an early dinner at Bibbo's.
He ate his food, contemplating how and when to approach Bruce and Hal. Was it smarter to do it as Superman or Clark Kent? Did they even know he was Superman? Clark munched on his fries with a sour face.
It had been three days since he fled Wayne Manor. There had been no contact from Bruce and Hal since this morning with flowers. The card still sat in his inner jacket pocket, unopened.