Fly With Me (Superbat)

1 - An Ill Fitting Suit

      He isn't much. He slouches and combs his hair in an unflattering way. His glasses look worn and sit crooked on a surprisingly handsome nose. It stands out as the kind of nose you'd see on a roman sculpture, proud and strong. But it's one of the few charming characteristics he displays at a glance. 

      If you spoke to him he'd sound gentle and awkward. Like a boy on his first date. Hesitant, insecure, with a small smile. He's trying to hide in plain view, slouching in his oversized thrift store suit like he's trying to collapse in on himself. But the suit only dissuades you from looking at his surprisingly toned body, it can't quite hide it. And maybe if you looked closely you'd see that he's a bit too toned for someone who can't afford a gym membership.

     But it's just Clark, so no one looks and no one suspects. Not when he suddenly seems to loom over them when he fully straightens his back, listening to something that no one else hears. Not when he makes a hurried, bumbling exit randomly and returns looking a little unkempt with his suit oddly wrinkled. And not even when little, nerdy, awkward Clark catches the eye of the owner.

. . . .

    Cornflower blue eyes blink at a computer screen. Large hands ruffle dark hair and he huffs in exhausted frustration. "This story... I don't- can't - ugh." He pushes his keyboard away and closes his eyes. "Lois, what am i not seeing here? This all fits and makes coherent sense somehow- but I don't get it." Clark opens and then pleads with puppy dog eyes towards his colleague. 

  Lois pushes a strand of hair out of her face and rolls his chair aside with her foot. "Well, maybe if you got some sleep you'd be able to see that this-," she moves the mouse to one paragraph, "is part of your other story and you have been mixing up the documents pretty consistently for the last hour and a half."  He jerks forward, eyes wide in horror, only for Lois to giggle and pat his shoulder reassuringly. "That sure woke you up. No, in all seriousness you just need to look back at the trial notes and re organize your interview notes and it'll probably work itself out for you. That usually helps when I get stuck tying ends together for an article. It's amazing what you'll miss at 1 am when the coffees gone." To punctuate that she turns her empty mug over above her desk and shakes it. With a defeated grin Clark checks that it is indeed 1 am and begins gathering his things and shutting his computer down. 

   "Thanks Lois, you're right. A little sleep and a good reveiwing of all my notes should help me plenty." He stretches, for a moment you can see how really massive his broad shoulders are and then just like that he's little Clark, under rolls of cheap, baggy cotton and polyester again. 

     He waves goodbye as he leaves into the sea of desks between him and the door. As soon as he's outside he wishes he could duck into an alley and remove his hot, itchy suit so that he could fly! He shudders pleasantly at the thought of the cool wind in his face as he soared. And sighs in resignation as he makes his way to the bus stop. He can't fly around carrying his suit and briefcase if he wants his secret identity to remain secret. 

     On the long, boring drive to his stop he looks up towards the inky blur of the sky and longs for Kansas. For nights without light pollution, where the stars are so bright and clear. For fields as far as you can see and no worries about flying. Because no one lives near enough to Ma and Pas farm to see him. He smiles, a little sadly, thinking about home and Ma and Pa. His microwave dinners and lonely, dinky apartment aren't the same as their cozy farmhouse and the hearty meals Ma makes. 

   He finally gets off the bus and makes his way up to his building, then up several flights of dirty, old steps to his very humble home. Eating a poorly cooked microwave Salisbury steak meal before collapsing into bed.