The Cat and the Bullet

Chapter 6

"Are those pancakes I smell?" Pete stumbles into the kitchenette, half-dressed, and plops onto one of the high chairs next to me. He combs his fingers through his damp, curly hair and throws a towel over his shoulders. "Mama K, I love you!"

"Not too much I hope," I quip. "She's already spoken for. But that's never stopped you before."

"Ignore him," Mama shoots me a look of reproach and sets a plate of golden pancakes in front of Pete. He starts to drool. "Clark jokes when he's scared or nervous, just like his Daddy."

"I am not scared!" I protest, my ears reddening. "Or nervous," I add as an afterthought. Superman doesn't get scared.

But she's right. I am terrified of one day not being enough. I am terrified of the truth coming out one day and the people turning their backs on me. No matter how long I wear these glasses or hold down a day job, I would never be one of them. My parents go out of their way to make me feel like one of them. . . and they do, but the fact remains I stand apart from the rest of the world. They'd never understand what it's like to be me.

"Say the word Clark and I'll deal with Cat Grant."

"The same way you dealt with Leslie Willis?" I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. That was unfair.

"Desperate times, called for desperate measures," he shrugs. She didn't deserve to be locked away with the rest of the metahuman criminals. She didn't ask to be different. She didn't sign up for her ex being an alien. "I'm not going to apologize for looking out for you. She got what was coming to her," he defends. There was a time Pete couldn't look me in the eyes without being terrified. How the times have changed.

I drop the subject of Leslie Willis, and gulp down my lukewarm cup of coffee. No point in dredging up the past. As one of my favorite characters says, 'The past can hurt. But, you can either run from it or learn from it.'

Well, I learned not to trust loud-mouth disc jocks.

Pete surveys me carefully, his dark eyes boring into me. "You look feverish," he rests a hand over my brow.

"I am fine," I whack his hand away. It's a miracle Uncle Emil released me from S.T.A.R Lab. He only did so with the understanding my parents would be able to keep me from doing anything too reckless. Talking to Cat Grant is not reckless. It's a necessary evil.

"We're just worried about you son," Dad pipes up from his seat on the couch. He pulls his gaze away from the newspaper he's reading and glances my way. "It wasn't long ago you couldn't remember your own name."

"I am better now."

"You stubbornly flying after every criminal does not help matters!" Mama adds, her hands flying to her hips. She glares at me. Geez, I'm quaking in my boots. "Clark, you should have known better. You heard what Emil said . . . Superman is benched till you're back to full strength."

I am sick of everyone telling me what to do. "Superman is a man of his word," I stumble to my feet. "Now if you don't mind, I have an appointment to get ready for." I dash towards my room and run smack into the wall . . . again I groan, head spinning.

"Do you want me to call a cab?" Mama calls from the kitchenette.

"No!" I scream back. "I'll fly!" I slam the door to the bedroom behind me, but not before I hear Ma say, "He gets his stubbornness entirely from your side of the family."

"I'm not that bad!" Dad protests.

I stumble into the adjoining bathroom between Pete's room and mine. I'm in no hurry to be on time to work today. So what, if Clark is late? Superman is never late. I'm entitled to a peaceful morning before the Cat rips me to shreds.