They'll Be Waiting

It was an out, if he wanted to take it, but Scott had already made it this far. It was further than he'd come last time, and nothing was broken yet. That had to be progress, surely? He knew the Pastor wouldn't berate him or think differently if he turned tail now, but he owed it to himself—to his brothers—to sit in that chair.

So he pushed forward, fully entering the room and taking a seat on the wooden chair. It was covered with a soft, pastel blue cushion for comfort, the arm rests long and sturdy. Once the Pastor closed the door, he sat in the seat opposite.

Beside them was a small, round table, a white linen fabric used as a placemat. On top were two mugs and a steaming old-fashioned stove top kettle. Pastor Mathew poured them both a cup, allowing Scott to add sugar and milk to his liking. Only after offering the cookie jar did Pastor Mathew begin.

"I know what I said before but if I'm being truly honest with you, Scott, I was beginning to doubt whether you'd return. That isn't to say I'm not glad to see you. As always, I'm more than happy to help. We can talk about anything, even if you're not ready. It can be tricky, if you're—"

"I think they knew," Scott said blankly. Pointedly. He was here now, he might as well get it over with.

Pastor Mathew sat forward on his seat, elbows resting on his knees. "They as in the Missing?"

He nodded. "They knew. I... I saw it, on my brother's face. Right before he... There was panic. Like he knew what was about to come."

"You were in the middle of a difficult rescue." Mathew reminded him gently. "Perhaps what you saw was something to do with his reaction to that?"

"It wasn't that difficult.

"I was there, Scott. I remember it well." There was nothing but gentle coaxing as Pastor Mathew asked, "Do you?"

For the last year, Scott had tried to block out the memory of that day. That moment. Sometimes he was more succeful than others, but he'd never truly thought about it since. It was too painful, too scary.

Click. Click. Click.

Like a ticking time bomb, the metal grill of the walkway echoed as Kayo took her quick steps. It creaked and bowed, and at one point she was fairly certain a section was about to entirely snap, allowing her to fall five storeys to an early grave.

She couldn't allow that to happen. She had to get to the control room. And fast.

From the rectangular factory windows above her, the sky was slowly growing lighter. Dawn was fast approaching; her deadline was almost here. Her feet picked up the pace, the walkway beneath her groaning at her speed.

They'd been searching for him for three days and three nights. The GDF had given her full reign of the mission after the first, and she'd enlisted the help of Penelope after the second. Parker had secured her a solid lead by the morning of the third, and Kayo had got in contact with the abductor by the evening. Now, on the cusp of the dawn of the fourth day, Kayo was going to end this.

“That’s a shame.” Virgil smirked at his brother. “I’d like to meet this elusive Kat Cavanaugh you’re always talking about.”

His cheeks heated. “I do not always talk about her.”

“Boys!” Jeff’s stern scolding was intended to keep them on track and Scott was grateful. “I take it you’ve tried to talk her out of doing this story?”

“I have. Ned has. Everyone has. But when Kat’s determined to get answers, she won’t stop until she does. She’s kind of hard to influence.”

“What?” Virgil asked playfully. “Does the classic farm-boy Tracy charm not work on Ms Cavanaugh?”

Scott’s leg extended sharply to deliver a swift kick to Virgil under the table.

Jeff arched a brow at Scott. Then he frowned when he noticed the picture his son was holding. “Where did you find that?”

Scott’s heart dropped. No question of what the photo was, no question surrounding why there was a man who looked like him on it, only a question of where Scott had dug up the evidence.

“Does it matter?” He felt betrayed. There wasn’t another word for it. The house had been a no secrets house throughout his whole youth, yet the man who had enforced that rule had been lying to all of them. Scott couldn’t help but glower at his father. “It’s true, then? This is you and Gaat.”

Looking mortified, as though he’d seen a ghost, Jeff quickly ushered Scott into his bedroom. He closed the door behind them, hands finding his hips, his head bowed low. He didn’t turn to face Scott, who stood at the foot of his father’s bed. Scott’s eyes trailed over to his mother’s side. Her bedside cabinet was exactly the way it looked the last time he’d seen it—would that have been three or four years ago now? He couldn’t remember—with the family portrait (sans Alan who was in a heavily pregnant Lucille’s belly at the time) displayed in a dark oak frame. The table lamp was still the same, as were the reading glasses and the book she’d been reading. Even after all those years the bookmark was still in the same place.

A lump formed in Scott’s throat. Jeff still hadn’t turned to face him. He cast his vision back to the photo. “Who was the other man in this photo?” He asked, voice barely loud enough to be considered anything but a whisper. “I don’t recognise him. Should I?”

Without turning to face his son, almost as though he couldn’t, Jeff stretched a hand backwards—a silent request to see the image. Scott obliged, handing it over without issue.

After a moment, Jeff inhaled deeply. “Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker. No, I don’t think you should have recognised him. Our contact has been… limited. And on purpose, too.”

“You have, um…” She pointed to her top lip and then, with the same finger, toward his face. “A milkstache.”

Embarrassed, Scott wiped his mouth with his forearm, frowning at the trail of milk froth he’d inadvertently left behind on his sleeve. Quickly Marion leaned across the counter and wiped down his arm with her dish cloth.

“Well, Metropolis clearly hasn’t taught you any manners.”

“I’m well-mannered, thank you very much! Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget? Scott Tracy, the boy who supplemented the word ‘hell’ for ‘hay’ because he refused to swear until he turned twenty-one.”

If the milkstache hadn’t made him feel utterly humiliated before, Marion’s gentle teasing certainly did now. He felt the flush rise over his cheeks, could hear himself stammering for an answer.

“I’m a farm boy. Saying hay is, like, a joke. It’s funny, Marion!”

“If you say so.”

Their joint chuckle faded into a comfortable silence.

“Remember when you almost got a job here?” Marion asked, seemingly out of the blue.

It through Scott off. “Uh, kind of? Why?”

Marion shrugged. “I was just wondering what it would have been like if you’d never have left.”

The comfortable silence turned more stale.

“Marion, you know why—”

“No!” She quickly held up a hand to prevent him from offering an explanation. “No, it’s okay. That’s not me trying to make you feel guilty. You got out, Scott. No-one could be angry at you for that.”

“I got out? Jeez, Marion, you make it sound like staying here is a life sentence.”

That phrase often amused Scott. The universe rarely ever proved itself to be a fairytale. Every day the world threatened to crack his carefully crafted opinion of it, but, by some miracle, Scott managed to keep the optimism that had blinded his youth. Nothing is ever bad forever. There was always a reason to hold onto hope.

“Earth to Scott Tracy?”

The clicking fingers in front of his face snapped him out of his current daydream. He blinked as the familiar scent of amber invaded his space. Kathleen Cavanaugh, the Tribune’s most intrepid reporter, was stood in front of his seat, her back to his desk, with her legs crossed over at the ankles. Her press pass was dangling from around her neck as she leaned over him, as inquisitive as ever.

Her lips curved into a beguiling smile. “Where were you this time, flyboy?”

Scott had never liked that nickname. He’d never disliked it so much as to ask Kat politely to cease using it — though that could have been to avoid the question of why, which often found itself leaving Kat’s lips — but it had always made him uncomfortable.

No-one in the big city, with the exception of a brother who was rarely home, were aware of Scott’s special gifts. It was a secret he’d been keeping for almost three decades with only his family and a few exceptions also sharing the burden. So, the first time Kat used the nickname, Scott had almost had a heart attack. He’d been so careful when he’d moved to the city, so much so that he rarely used his gifts in public spaces, at least not when he was playing the role of civilian. It was safer that way. But Kat Cavanaugh had always had the talent of picking up the scent of something unusual. If anyone in the city were to discover his secret, Kat was at the top of the bill.

Fortunately for him, however, she had not devised the nickname because she’d found out that Scott was the Man of Tomorrow, but rather in response to learning of his teenage dreams of becoming a real life Maverick and joining the Air Force. The relief he had felt when he’d realised it was not because she knew he could actually fly was immense. He had laughed so hard from that relief that Kat had believed her nickname was a great success and proceeded to use it as often as she could, entirely ignorant to Scott’s actual aversion to it.

“Hello?” She was clicking her fingers again. “I asked you a question, Tracy.”

“Sorry.” Scott mumbled, offering up an apologetic smile. He shuffled himself in his seat, sitting himself more upright and less slouched. “I was, uh, just thinking about my brother’s birthday. It’s next month and I’m still figuring out what to get him.”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar, Scott Tracy.”

Her comment hurt him far less than it should have done, purely down to the fact that Scott knew he was a very good liar actually. If Kat was unaware of that then it was only testament to how good he truly was.

… Though, on second thought, maybe being an expert liar wasn’t something he should have been overly proud about.

Her finger prodded his shoulder hard but he barely felt it. “What were you really thinking about?”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and tried to brush off her continued questioning by turning back to his desk. “Nothing.”

She remained in place for a moment longer, scrutinising his expression. Scott felt as though he was under a microscope and found himself pitying the poor souls who were ever interrogated by Cavanaugh during an interview. She was nothing if not thorough.

“Fine!” With a sigh, Kat leaned herself back into a standing position, her palms lay flat against his desk behind her. “Keep your secrets. I’ll find them out one day.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Hm. Are you still going home this weekend?”

Scott glanced up from his computer screen with an arched brow. “… Yes? How did you know about that?”

“I’m an investigative reporter, Scott. It’s my job.” Kat paused, her shoes suddenly appearing more interesting than him, before further admitting: “I also saw the vacation calendar earlier, where your name is scribbled in for the next few days. You never go away anywhere special so I just assumed, clearly correctly, that you’ll be visiting Kansas again.”

If there was ever a time for Kat to give him reason to doubt her talents, now wasn’t it. Scott beamed at her, impressed by her deduction skills, and let out a laugh. “You’re on the money, Detective Cavanaugh.”

Kat swiped at his arm. “Shut up! I was just curious, that’s all.”

The silence that filled Scott’s cubicle was deafening and he knew that reason wasn’t the entirety of why Kat was snooping.

He sighed, letting his head loll backwards until the base of his head hit the top of his spine. “Kat. No.”

“I promise I won’t gatecrash the Tracy family reunion! I just want to investigate around your fields a little.”

“You know that there was no link between GaatCorp and that chemical leak. My dad was thorough in his investigation and the police—”

“—were bought off by the company, yes.”

From behind his glasses, that were completely unnecessary for his sight, Scott narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t what I was going to say, Kat, and you know it.”

Pushing herself up from his desk to stand straight on her feet again, Kat’s fingers fidgeted with each other. It wasn’t a nervous tick so much as it was an impatient one. Scott noticed the gesture within the first week of working with her; when Kathleen Cavanaugh set her mind on something, she’d see it through, no matter what. It was what made her such a formidable journalist, and it was what scared Scott the most.

“I know that they’re hiding something, Scott. I know it! All I need is to find proof. Just one scrap of evidence!”

Scott spun his seat around to face her. Leaning forward, so his elbows rested upon his knees, he glanced up at her. “Kat, there is no evidence. There is no proof. My dad searched those fields for weeks and came up short. The authorities couldn’t find anything either. GaatCorp, for all that they are, were not the guilty party this time.”

He could see how the questions surrounding the Tracy Farm incident were eating away at her. It was painful to witness, but Scott had watched Kat worry over far more pressing stories over the last couple of years and he’d learned how to tune himself out of it.

Or so he’d thought.

“I suppose… Superman didn’t find anything either.”

Scott’s spine straightened. Her statement had the hint of a question in it, and he noticed it instantly. “How would I know?” He almost stuttered, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

“Because it was your family farm? Didn’t he tell you? Honestly, Tracy, maybe you just don’t trust the guy.”

The question over whether Scott trusted himself was an interesting one, though it wasn’t something he was going to answer in the present moment. He tried to laugh off his swift change of tune but he knew Kat would see through it. “It’s not that. I’m just, y’know, not privy to the mind of Superman.”

“That’s probably a good thing. I doubt any of us mere mortals would be able to cope with the burdens that guy carries around. Having the weight of the world on your shoulders like that? Jeez, being a reporter is hard enough.”

“Tracy, Cavanaugh! I didn’t realise I paid you both to stand around, chatting all day!” Ned Cook’s nasally voice was yelled as he crossed the bullpen to reach the pair.

Like a schoolchild caught out, Scott hastily span his chair around to face his computer again and began frantically typing. Unfortunately this left him with his back to his editor, who didn’t appreciate the sentiment one bit. His chair was soon whirled back around to face Cook who was looking at the pair more curious than he was cross.

“Sorry, Ned. I was just running a story past old Smallville over here.”

“Oh?” He glanced between the two of them. “And what might this story be?”

Scott could feel Kat go rigid at his side. If she told their editor the truth of what story she was still chasing he’d crush it before she even had the chance to prove to him it was worth following.

But Kat didn’t have a choice.

“The chemical spill at the Tracy Farm last month.”

Ned Cook sighed. His eyes rolled as he geared himself up to put her story to bed once and for all.

Kat, however, didn’t give him the chance. “Ned, I know the two are connected, alright? Give me time and I can prove it! It’ll be the exposé of the year!”

“No, what it would be is a heavy legal battle between GaatCorp and the Tribune, Cavanaugh, and we all know which one would be crushed by the financials. Do not chase this story, d’you hear me? It’s dead! Done! Over! Now, get back to work, preferably on stories that won’t bring the lawyers after us again, please!”

Their boss turned on his heels to leave but Kat wasn’t through with her fight. She jumped in front of him, blocking his path back to his office.

“So you’re censoring me? Is that it?”

The conversation was not a new one to Kat or Ned, nor to their fellow colleagues at the Tribune. They’d both played this game a thousand times. Sometimes Ned would pull rank and Kat would eventually heel to his demands. Sometimes it would be Ned who would relent and Kat would see the story through. It was a popular show, one that always had the attention of the office. Occasionally there was a betting pool. Scott rarely participated, but when he did, his money was always on Kat.

“This story is different to the others, Kat.” Ned Cook looked exhausted. Despite the regularity of the arguments, that wasn’t something Scott was used to seeing.

Ned slid past his reporter and proceeded on his way.

Kat continued to march after him, arms folding across her waistcoated torso. “How? How is it different? You let me run the exposé on the city mayor last year!”

“Yes, because you had the proof to go with it! You keep going after this story and Gaat will personally seek to take you down.”

“He can’t threaten the press!”

“He can if you’re trying to defame him!”

Kat opened her mouth to offer Ned’s claim a rebuttal but he cut her off before a word was said.

“Enough, Kat! Back to work! Find another story to write, one that is less controversial and won’t leave us with hefty legal fees, or I'll put you on the high school intern programme again.”

The argument was over.

Ned Cook, Editor in Chief of the Tribune, had won, and Kat Cavanaugh slunk back to her desk.

With the show over, everyone else in the office returned to their work but Scott watched as Kat took her seat across from him.

She may have added to the performance by appearing defeated but Scott knew his colleague.

And, just as he’d expected, Kat began to pull up her research on GaatCorp with a newfound sense of determination.

Scott knew it wasn’t his place to get involved and so he refrained from wheeling his chair over to her desk. When Kat Cavanaugh was on a mission, there was no deterring her from it. If the opportunity came for him to talk to her he might opt to take it.

didn’t need to be at her desk to hear her muttered words.

“The truth will always out, Ned. The truth will always out.”

---------------------

The phrase lingered in Scott’s mind for the rest of his day.

The truth will always out.

It wasn’t Kat’s fault. She could hardly read his mind and see why it was such an uncomfortable phrase for him (and he was incredibly thankful that Kathleen Cavanaugh wasn’t a mind-reader for that very reason). The phrase was an unofficial motto for any journalist and Scott had heard it time and time again, but he couldn’t help but take it as a threat.

Not from Kat, by any means, but from the universe.

The truth will always out.

His secret sat on a ticking time bomb. Scott knew it was childish and naive to have hope in it staying that way forever. Secrets were only ever truly safe with dead men, and Scott Tracy planned on staying alive for as long as humanly possible… or alieny possible in his case. He also planned on his family living their lives to the full as well, thus the weight of that impossibly large skeleton in the closet remained looming over him.

One day the truth would come to light —Superman’s true identity would be revealed and Scott’s life would become even more chaotic than it currently was — and when that day inevitably arrived Scott hoped that he’d be the one able to control the story. It was part of the reason why he had accepted the job offer at the Tribune — becoming the news, in more ways than one, meant he had more control over what was being said about him, over how much of a story was being released. It hadn’t been easy as an intern but his way with words and his farm-boy charm had carried him a long way. He’d been lucky Ned Cook was just as susceptible to the blue eyes and dimples as everyone else seemed to be.

For once Scott finished on time. The clock struck five and he was grabbing his satchel and his jacket, waving his goodbyes to Gallagher and Coulby before heading straight for the elevator.

He’d had to run to catch it, outstretching his arm to stop the doors from closing. Luck seemed to be on his side this evening. The doors slid back open with a welcoming woosh. Scott kept his eyes on the ground as he entered, partly from the embarrassment of being the one halting the elevator, even if by a few seconds, though he shot an apologetic smile towards the occupant. His eyes lifted and that smile of his turned into one of amusement, dimples on full show.

“Stalking me now, Smallville?” Kat Cavanaugh, fully entertained by his arrival herself, had her own teasing grin playing on her lips.

“Who, me?” Scott clasped his hands tightly in front of his body once he’d pushed the button for the reception. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The gentle hum of the elevator descending filled the small space, making Scott acutely aware of how small the elevators were in the Tribune. His hands fidgeted, his feet shuffled; most of the time Scott’s awkwardness was a conscious effort but, after a lifetime of hiding his gifts, it meant his mask was sometimes less controllable. Gallagher once called Scott a liability, a “calamity on legs”. He’d said he had no balance, no grace and was “an accident waiting to happen”.

What were friends for if not to point out the flaws?

At least Gallagher would never be suspect Scott was Superman. Every loss had it’s own win.

Kat Cavanaugh was an entirely different story, however. It wasn’t that Scott disliked being in Kat’s company. On the contrary, he found her often infuriating need for answers about any given matter somewhat endearing, if a little reckless. In her own way she brightened up the Tribune offices with her sailor mouth and her impatient manner. Without Kat, the Tribune wouldn’t have been the Tribune, and whilst Scott was sure that some days passed where Ned regretted hiring her, those days were far and few between.

He chanced a glance at her. She, like him, stared straight ahead, mesmerised by the steel grey of the elevator doors. Scott lowered his gaze to the papers in her hands.

ENVIROMENTAL REPORT .

GAATCORP END OF YEAR BUDGET .

SMALLVILLE PEDOLOGY .

Inwardly he sighed. Though Scott hadn’t held much hope of her dropping the story, actively seeing her still going through with it surprised him.

It really shouldn’t have. This was Kathleen Cavanaugh.

Perhaps he was more frustrated than surprised. She could never know the reason why investigating his family’s farm annoyed him which only made it worse.

“Nothing is going to stop you, is it, Cavanaugh?” Scott almost laughed.

Kat’s head twirled sharply. “There is a story here, Scott. I’ve just got to dig deep enough to find it.”

He’d heard that tone before. Sharp, barbed, defensive. Kat liked to prove her disbelievers wrong and had done so on multiple occasions. Scott could recall the multitude of times Kat had enjoyed telling the naysayers, ‘I told you so’, but she had never liked having to deal with the tribulations she had to overcome before that stage: the nagging, the denial of intel, the lack of faith.

Scott might have been biased but he had always felt that Kat’s blunt remarks were more vicious when it was him expressing his worries. He was aware of her opinion of him and that she saw him as the rival she needed to constantly top in order to impress Ned (or so she believed), but it didn’t mean Scott appreciated the  prickly responses. He was only ever trying to look out for her.

“Just remember: you dig too deep and you’ll run into magma. No story is worth getting burned over.”

The elevator doors dinged open and Scott, without another word, marched out into the lobby and then out onto the Metropolis streets beyond, leaving Kat and her story behind him.

---------------------

Metropolis was different to Smallville in so many ways. Scott wasn’t sure he’d ever truly get used to the city lights, the skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle, the cars and taxis, the clusters of people, the vibrancy of city life. It made him feel alive. In the midst of all the city noise, Scott could hide away. Growing up in the shadow of his gifts, for fear of being discovered, had meant Scott disliked being seen. He didn’t take too well to the spotlight. A small town was harder to hide in than the big city.

But he still found himself yearning for the simplicity that Smallville had given him. It was quieter in the country, not to mention that most of his family was still there. In Smallville there was no mass exodus of tourists every year, no large, blinding billboards, and far less crime. For want of a better phrase, it was a easier life, though Scott was sure his father would disagree.

21:40pm

Scott could have easily ordered the delivery to his apartment. Big Belly Burger only charged a few dollars extra for the convenience and Scott had used the service before, but with it being his last night in Metropolis for a few days, and after the stress of the working day, he had decided to walk the few blocks to pick up his order instead.

His mind kept replaying his memory of Kat in the elevator, so determined to prove to everyone that the story she was chasing was worth the risks the investigation posed. Scott wanted to admire her tenacity but the investigation wasn’t just dangerous for her to pursue; it was also dangerous for him.

The Tracy Farm held many secrets, Scott’s famed apple pie recipe being only one of them, but the biggest secret of all was literally embedded into the land. It had been a hard enough job for Jeff to keep the authorities from digging around too much when the chemical leak had occurred initially, but for Kat to start dredging up the past again? It was a risk far greater than she’d ever be able to know.

The heavens had opened up during Scott’s brief walk of two blocks. Puddles had begun to form on the pavement, reflecting back the bright street lamp lights. Huddled in his jacket, with his hair soggy and dripping, he picked up his pace. The sooner he could get to Big Belly Burger, the sooner he could make his way back to his warm, dry apartment…

CRASH—!!

“I swear to God, I didn’t… I didn’t mean nothing by it! Langley, honestly! I swear!”

With the help of his super hearing, Scott heard the pleas with ease. An alleyway a few strides ahead. He stopped in his tracks, expert ears listening in from the distance.

“I’ve had enough of your lies!”

“No! God, Langley, no!”

The wet crack of a punch. The heavy click of a gun. The slow and steady intake of a breath.

Scott moved through the rain at such a speed that he’d have been a blur to anyone who was passing by. But Scott was usually careful. There was no-one else on the street except for himself and the two men he was running toward. In the heat of the moment, he dove straight into the unfolding scene without changing out of his civilian clothing.

In a flash he arrived at the mouth of the alley and assessed the situation before him. Scott had less than five seconds. The attacker, a man almost the same height as Scott, with a slightly thinner build and clean shaven, was dressed in black. He blended into the darkness of the narrow passage as though he were just another shadow. Even for Scott’s eyes, he was hard to make out.

What wasn’t difficult for him to see was the glint of the glock that was aimed at the other man. Red blood oozed out from his temple, dripping down into his beard. He was barely standing, leaning awkwardly against the alley wall. From what Scott could make out, it appeared the man was being held up by an obscure railing that had been manipulated to keep him in place. He was unconscious now, as far as Scott could tell, and unmoving, completely unaware of the tragedy that was about to befall him.

Three seconds…

Scott hurried into action. He sped forward, the world around him moving in a haze. All he was focused on was the man, the gun and the trigger he’d just pulled.

Shit.

One second…

The sound of the bullet being shot sounded like a canon. In real time, to the human eye, the bullet wouldn’t have been seen until it was too late and was lodged in the unfortunate victim’s sternum. In Scott’s eyes he could see it fly through the air.

The attacker fired again.

Another bullet, then another, and another.

Scott jumped between the two men without a hesitation. He stood as still as a rock as the bullets tore through his shirt but recoiled as they hit his skin. He barely felt the impact. The bullets fell, clattering to the floor of the alley with a tinkle.

The attacker, with his gun now trained on Scott instead of the man who was behind him, faltered. To him, Scott had appeared out of nowhere, in the literal blink of an eye. His expression was one of pure confusion as he glanced down at the spent bullets, flattened and useless, before eyeing Scott wearily.

“What the hell are you?” He snarled, gripping his glock more tightly. It didn’t take him long to pluck up the courage to start shooting again.

Only Scott was faster.

With that same speed he’d utilised before, he reached out and caught the barrel in one hand with ease, twisting the attacker’s hand to point the weapon upwards. The bullets the man fired shoot off into the sky, far away from any other living person in that alley. Then, with his free hand, Scott’s palm forcefully pushed the attacker away.

The man went flying. He could have gone further had the dumpster not got in his path. With an almighty crash, the attacker careened into it and collapsed onto the floor, leaving a human-sized dent in the green metal. There he lay, as unmoving and unconscious as his victim had been moments ago.

Scott turned his attention to said victim who was groggily groaning and waking up from his impromptu nap. He lifted a hand to his aching temple, wincing as he felt the cut. In his effort to unhook himself from the manipulated fencing, the man slipped and fell to his knees.

“Don’t move too fast. You’re going to be alright.” Scott reassured him, quickly crouching down to the man’s eye-line. He assessed the man quickly for any further, visible injures but it appeared the man had been fortunate; from what Scott could see he had only suffered a knock to the head. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened?”

“It looks like you took quite a hit.”

Sirens squealed, crawling closer and closer — someone must have heard the gunshots and called the police. In a way, Scott was relieved. At least now he didn’t need to worry about cleaning up on his own.

Police cars swarmed the entrance to the alley in seconds, the blue lights illuminating the darkened space. Officers exited their vehicles with guns and torches raised, a precaution against any further dangers that remained.

Not wanting to be shot at again, Scott lifted his hands in the air slowly as he stood. Two officers moved forward to assess both the men on the floor.

Another officer, a deputy by the look of his badge, kept his gun trained on Scott.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t move!”

Scott did as he was instructed.

“We’ve had reports of gunshots in the area. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“I don’t know, officer. I was walking by when I heard the gunshots. I came running as fast as I could to find that man barely conscious,” he gestured towards the man he had saved before pointing towards the attacker, still out cold by the dumpster, “and that man entirely unconscious. I was trying to help the wounded man when you arrived.”

After a lifetime of concealing the truth about his abilities and who he really was, lying was easy. It really should have worried Scott. He believed in the truth, fought tooth and nail everyday to present a clear reality to the readers of his articles, and yet he lied almost everyday to those closest to him with such practiced ease.

The deputy exchanged glances with a few other officers, all of them seeming to come to the same conclusion.

Superman.

He was usually the go-to answer when the ‘unexplained’ happened and Scott could hear a few of the officers whispering his name now. Little did they know they were pointing their guns straight at him.

“It was him!” The victim was now up on his feet, with the aid of the police officers, and was pointing directly towards Scott.

Scott blinked, a sudden panic rising inside. The deputy clutched his gun a little tighter, daring Scott to try something. It was madness, to be accused of injuring the man he had gone out of his way to help, but Scott wasn’t in a position to let the police know that. The only proof he had of being the saviour was the attacker who was still lying unconscious, and that would have create more questions than he’d like. If he had to, he supposed he could take down the officers as passively as possible and make his escape but the fallout from such an act wasn’t something he particularly favoured either…

It was to his relief, then, when the man continued with, “He’s the one who helped me. Stop pointing that weapon at him!”

Though the deputy was reluctant he lowered his gun and holstered it back into his belt. Then he turned back to converse with the officers of the vehicles behind his.

Scott smiled gratefully at the man. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

The panic set in again. “Oh! No… No, that wasn’t me! You were… You were already out cold when I arrived, and that guy was… pretty knocked about too. I didn’t, uh… What I mean to say is that I wasn’t the one who saved you.”

The man half-smiled. “Superman did.”

Scott nodded. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “Yeah, apparently.”

“Do you have any contact details?” One of the officers helping the injured man asked him. “In case we need to ask you any more questions about what you saw tonight?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Scott shuffled around in his pockets, retrieving his wallet. He flicked it open, fingers passing over out-of-date coupons and old photos of his family to find a crisp, white business card. “I’m out of town for the weekend but I should still be able to receive a call on my cell if you need to get in contact.”

The officer took the card from Scott with a curt ‘thanks’ before escorting the man to one of the cruisers. The victim waved a hand towards Scott, who obliged in returning the gesture.

With one last look at the attacker, who was finally coming back to the land of consciousness as the police handcuffed him, Scott slid past the police cars and continued on his journey to Big Belly Burger. His hunger hadn’t sated and, after the excitement of all that, he was looking forward to his meal.

---------------------

As the police led the attacker passed his victim, the bearded man did not flinch away in fear as one might have suspected. He eyed him critically, examining the man who had held him at gunpoint. Their eyes met, the victim still holding his gaze as his attacker was led away. He only took his eyes off the arrested man when he had been put inside the back of the furthest police car and was subsequently driven away.

The officer who had helped him to his feet pocketed his notebook and gently gestured for him to enter the cruiser they were standing beside. “We’ll get you to the hospital now, Mister… Uh…”

That phrase often amused Scott. The universe rarely ever proved itself to be a fairytale. Every day the world threatened to crack his carefully crafted opinion of it, but, by some miracle, Scott managed to keep the optimism that had blinded his youth. Nothing is ever bad forever. There was always a reason to hold onto hope.

“Earth to Scott Tracy?”

The clicking fingers in front of his face snapped him out of his current daydream. He blinked as the familiar scent of amber invaded his space. Kathleen Cavanaugh, the Tribune’s most intrepid reporter, was stood in front of his seat, her back to his desk, with her legs crossed over at the ankles. Her press pass was dangling from around her neck as she leaned over him, as inquisitive as ever.

Her lips curved into a beguiling smile. “Where were you this time, flyboy?”

Scott had never liked that nickname. He’d never disliked it so much as to ask Kat politely to cease using it — though that could have been to avoid the question of why, which often found itself leaving Kat’s lips — but it had always made him uncomfortable.

No-one in the big city, with the exception of a brother who was rarely home, were aware of Scott’s special gifts. It was a secret he’d been keeping for almost three decades with only his family and a few exceptions also sharing the burden. So, the first time Kat used the nickname, Scott had almost had a heart attack. He’d been so careful when he’d moved to the city, so much so that he rarely used his gifts in public spaces, at least not when he was playing the role of civilian. It was safer that way. But Kat Cavanaugh had always had the talent of picking up the scent of something unusual. If anyone in the city were to discover his secret, Kat was at the top of the bill.

Fortunately for him, however, she had not devised the nickname because she’d found out that Scott was the Man of Tomorrow, but rather in response to learning of his teenage dreams of becoming a real life Maverick and joining the Air Force. The relief he had felt when he’d realised it was not because she knew he could actually fly was immense. He had laughed so hard from that relief that Kat had believed her nickname was a great success and proceeded to use it as often as she could, entirely ignorant to Scott’s actual aversion to it.

“Hello?” She was clicking her fingers again. “I asked you a question, Tracy.”

“Sorry.” Scott mumbled, offering up an apologetic smile. He shuffled himself in his seat, sitting himself more upright and less slouched. “I was, uh, just thinking about my brother’s birthday. It’s next month and I’m still figuring out what to get him.”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar, Scott Tracy.”

Her comment hurt him far less than it should have done, purely down to the fact that Scott knew he was a very good liar actually. If Kat was unaware of that then it was only testament to how good he truly was.

… Though, on second thought, maybe being an expert liar wasn’t something he should have been overly proud about.

Her finger prodded his shoulder hard but he barely felt it. “What were you really thinking about?”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and tried to brush off her continued questioning by turning back to his desk. “Nothing.”

She remained in place for a moment longer, scrutinising his expression. Scott felt as though he was under a microscope and found himself pitying the poor souls who were ever interrogated by Cavanaugh during an interview. She was nothing if not thorough.

“Fine!” With a sigh, Kat leaned herself back into a standing position, her palms lay flat against his desk behind her. “Keep your secrets. I’ll find them out one day.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Hm. Are you still going home this weekend?”

Scott glanced up from his computer screen with an arched brow. “… Yes? How did you know about that?”

“I’m an investigative reporter, Scott. It’s my job.” Kat paused, her shoes suddenly appearing more interesting than him, before further admitting: “I also saw the vacation calendar earlier, where your name is scribbled in for the next few days. You never go away anywhere special so I just assumed, clearly correctly, that you’ll be visiting Kansas again.”

If there was ever a time for Kat to give him reason to doubt her talents, now wasn’t it. Scott beamed at her, impressed by her deduction skills, and let out a laugh. “You’re on the money, Detective Cavanaugh.”

Kat swiped at his arm. “Shut up! I was just curious, that’s all.”

The silence that filled Scott’s cubicle was deafening and he knew that reason wasn’t the entirety of why Kat was snooping.

He sighed, letting his head loll backwards until the base of his head hit the top of his spine. “Kat. No.”

“I promise I won’t gatecrash the Tracy family reunion! I just want to investigate around your fields a little.”

“You know that there was no link between GaatCorp and that chemical leak. My dad was thorough in his investigation and the police—”

“—were bought off by the company, yes.”

From behind his glasses, that were completely unnecessary for his sight, Scott narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t what I was going to say, Kat, and you know it.”

Pushing herself up from his desk to stand straight on her feet again, Kat’s fingers fidgeted with each other. It wasn’t a nervous tick so much as it was an impatient one. Scott noticed the gesture within the first week of working with her; when Kathleen Cavanaugh set her mind on something, she’d see it through, no matter what. It was what made her such a formidable journalist, and it was what scared Scott the most.

“I know that they’re hiding something, Scott. I know it! All I need is to find proof. Just one scrap of evidence!”

Scott spun his seat around to face her. Leaning forward, so his elbows rested upon his knees, he glanced up at her. “Kat, there is no evidence. There is no proof. My dad searched those fields for weeks and came up short. The authorities couldn’t find anything either. GaatCorp, for all that they are, were not the guilty party this time.”

He could see how the questions surrounding the Tracy Farm incident were eating away at her. It was painful to witness, but Scott had watched Kat worry over far more pressing stories over the last couple of years and he’d learned how to tune himself out of it.

Or so he’d thought.

“I suppose… Superman didn’t find anything either.”

Scott’s spine straightened. Her statement had the hint of a question in it, and he noticed it instantly. “How would I know?” He almost stuttered, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

“Because it was your family farm? Didn’t he tell you? Honestly, Tracy, maybe you just don’t trust the guy.”

The question over whether Scott trusted himself was an interesting one, though it wasn’t something he was going to answer in the present moment. He tried to laugh off his swift change of tune but he knew Kat would see through it. “It’s not that. I’m just, y’know, not privy to the mind of Superman.”

“That’s probably a good thing. I doubt any of us mere mortals would be able to cope with the burdens that guy carries around. Having the weight of the world on your shoulders like that? Jeez, being a reporter is hard enough.”

“Tracy, Cavanaugh! I didn’t realise I paid you both to stand around, chatting all day!” Ned Cook’s nasally voice was yelled as he crossed the bullpen to reach the pair.

Like a schoolchild caught out, Scott hastily span his chair around to face his computer again and began frantically typing. Unfortunately this left him with his back to his editor, who didn’t appreciate the sentiment one bit. His chair was soon whirled back around to face Cook who was looking at the pair more curious than he was cross.

“Sorry, Ned. I was just running a story past old Smallville over here.”

“Oh?” He glanced between the two of them. “And what might this story be?”

Scott could feel Kat go rigid at his side. If she told their editor the truth of what story she was still chasing he’d crush it before she even had the chance to prove to him it was worth following.

But Kat didn’t have a choice.

“The chemical spill at the Tracy Farm last month.”

Ned Cook sighed. His eyes rolled as he geared himself up to put her story to bed once and for all.

Kat, however, didn’t give him the chance. “Ned, I know the two are connected, alright? Give me time and I can prove it! It’ll be the exposé of the year!”

“No, what it would be is a heavy legal battle between GaatCorp and the Tribune, Cavanaugh, and we all know which one would be crushed by the financials. Do not chase this story, d’you hear me? It’s dead! Done! Over! Now, get back to work, preferably on stories that won’t bring the lawyers after us again, please!”

Their boss turned on his heels to leave but Kat wasn’t through with her fight. She jumped in front of him, blocking his path back to his office.

“So you’re censoring me? Is that it?”

The conversation was not a new one to Kat or Ned, nor to their fellow colleagues at the Tribune. They’d both played this game a thousand times. Sometimes Ned would pull rank and Kat would eventually heel to his demands. Sometimes it would be Ned who would relent and Kat would see the story through. It was a popular show, one that always had the attention of the office. Occasionally there was a betting pool. Scott rarely participated, but when he did, his money was always on Kat.

“This story is different to the others, Kat.” Ned Cook looked exhausted. Despite the regularity of the arguments, that wasn’t something Scott was used to seeing.

Ned slid past his reporter and proceeded on his way.

Kat continued to march after him, arms folding across her waistcoated torso. “How? How is it different? You let me run the exposé on the city mayor last year!”

“Yes, because you had the proof to go with it! You keep going after this story and Gaat will personally seek to take you down.”

“He can’t threaten the press!”

“He can if you’re trying to defame him!”

Kat opened her mouth to offer Ned’s claim a rebuttal but he cut her off before a word was said.

“Enough, Kat! Back to work! Find another story to write, one that is less controversial and won’t leave us with hefty legal fees, or I'll put you on the high school intern programme again.”

The argument was over.

Ned Cook, Editor in Chief of the Tribune, had won, and Kat Cavanaugh slunk back to her desk.

With the show over, everyone else in the office returned to their work but Scott watched as Kat took her seat across from him.

She may have added to the performance by appearing defeated but Scott knew his colleague.

And, just as he’d expected, Kat began to pull up her research on GaatCorp with a newfound sense of determination.

Scott knew it wasn’t his place to get involved and so he refrained from wheeling his chair over to her desk. When Kat Cavanaugh was on a mission, there was no deterring her from it. If the opportunity came for him to talk to her he might opt to take it.

didn’t need to be at her desk to hear her muttered words.

“The truth will always out, Ned. The truth will always out.”

---------------------

The phrase lingered in Scott’s mind for the rest of his day.

The truth will always out.

It wasn’t Kat’s fault. She could hardly read his mind and see why it was such an uncomfortable phrase for him (and he was incredibly thankful that Kathleen Cavanaugh wasn’t a mind-reader for that very reason). The phrase was an unofficial motto for any journalist and Scott had heard it time and time again, but he couldn’t help but take it as a threat.

Not from Kat, by any means, but from the universe.

The truth will always out.

His secret sat on a ticking time bomb. Scott knew it was childish and naive to have hope in it staying that way forever. Secrets were only ever truly safe with dead men, and Scott Tracy planned on staying alive for as long as humanly possible… or alieny possible in his case. He also planned on his family living their lives to the full as well, thus the weight of that impossibly large skeleton in the closet remained looming over him.

One day the truth would come to light —Superman’s true identity would be revealed and Scott’s life would become even more chaotic than it currently was — and when that day inevitably arrived Scott hoped that he’d be the one able to control the story. It was part of the reason why he had accepted the job offer at the Tribune — becoming the news, in more ways than one, meant he had more control over what was being said about him, over how much of a story was being released. It hadn’t been easy as an intern but his way with words and his farm-boy charm had carried him a long way. He’d been lucky Ned Cook was just as susceptible to the blue eyes and dimples as everyone else seemed to be.

For once Scott finished on time. The clock struck five and he was grabbing his satchel and his jacket, waving his goodbyes to Gallagher and Coulby before heading straight for the elevator.

He’d had to run to catch it, outstretching his arm to stop the doors from closing. Luck seemed to be on his side this evening. The doors slid back open with a welcoming woosh. Scott kept his eyes on the ground as he entered, partly from the embarrassment of being the one halting the elevator, even if by a few seconds, though he shot an apologetic smile towards the occupant. His eyes lifted and that smile of his turned into one of amusement, dimples on full show.

“Stalking me now, Smallville?” Kat Cavanaugh, fully entertained by his arrival herself, had her own teasing grin playing on her lips.

“Who, me?” Scott clasped his hands tightly in front of his body once he’d pushed the button for the reception. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The gentle hum of the elevator descending filled the small space, making Scott acutely aware of how small the elevators were in the Tribune. His hands fidgeted, his feet shuffled; most of the time Scott’s awkwardness was a conscious effort but, after a lifetime of hiding his gifts, it meant his mask was sometimes less controllable. Gallagher once called Scott a liability, a “calamity on legs”. He’d said he had no balance, no grace and was “an accident waiting to happen”.

What were friends for if not to point out the flaws?

At least Gallagher would never be suspect Scott was Superman. Every loss had it’s own win.

Kat Cavanaugh was an entirely different story, however. It wasn’t that Scott disliked being in Kat’s company. On the contrary, he found her often infuriating need for answers about any given matter somewhat endearing, if a little reckless. In her own way she brightened up the Tribune offices with her sailor mouth and her impatient manner. Without Kat, the Tribune wouldn’t have been the Tribune, and whilst Scott was sure that some days passed where Ned regretted hiring her, those days were far and few between.

He chanced a glance at her. She, like him, stared straight ahead, mesmerised by the steel grey of the elevator doors. Scott lowered his gaze to the papers in her hands.

ENVIROMENTAL REPORT .

GAATCORP END OF YEAR BUDGET .

SMALLVILLE PEDOLOGY .

Inwardly he sighed. Though Scott hadn’t held much hope of her dropping the story, actively seeing her still going through with it surprised him.

It really shouldn’t have. This was Kathleen Cavanaugh.

Perhaps he was more frustrated than surprised. She could never know the reason why investigating his family’s farm annoyed him which only made it worse.

“Nothing is going to stop you, is it, Cavanaugh?” Scott almost laughed.

Kat’s head twirled sharply. “There is a story here, Scott. I’ve just got to dig deep enough to find it.”

He’d heard that tone before. Sharp, barbed, defensive. Kat liked to prove her disbelievers wrong and had done so on multiple occasions. Scott could recall the multitude of times Kat had enjoyed telling the naysayers, ‘I told you so’, but she had never liked having to deal with the tribulations she had to overcome before that stage: the nagging, the denial of intel, the lack of faith.

Scott might have been biased but he had always felt that Kat’s blunt remarks were more vicious when it was him expressing his worries. He was aware of her opinion of him and that she saw him as the rival she needed to constantly top in order to impress Ned (or so she believed), but it didn’t mean Scott appreciated the  prickly responses. He was only ever trying to look out for her.

“Just remember: you dig too deep and you’ll run into magma. No story is worth getting burned over.”

The elevator doors dinged open and Scott, without another word, marched out into the lobby and then out onto the Metropolis streets beyond, leaving Kat and her story behind him.

---------------------

Metropolis was different to Smallville in so many ways. Scott wasn’t sure he’d ever truly get used to the city lights, the skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle, the cars and taxis, the clusters of people, the vibrancy of city life. It made him feel alive. In the midst of all the city noise, Scott could hide away. Growing up in the shadow of his gifts, for fear of being discovered, had meant Scott disliked being seen. He didn’t take too well to the spotlight. A small town was harder to hide in than the big city.

But he still found himself yearning for the simplicity that Smallville had given him. It was quieter in the country, not to mention that most of his family was still there. In Smallville there was no mass exodus of tourists every year, no large, blinding billboards, and far less crime. For want of a better phrase, it was a easier life, though Scott was sure his father would disagree.

21:40pm

Scott could have easily ordered the delivery to his apartment. Big Belly Burger only charged a few dollars extra for the convenience and Scott had used the service before, but with it being his last night in Metropolis for a few days, and after the stress of the working day, he had decided to walk the few blocks to pick up his order instead.

His mind kept replaying his memory of Kat in the elevator, so determined to prove to everyone that the story she was chasing was worth the risks the investigation posed. Scott wanted to admire her tenacity but the investigation wasn’t just dangerous for her to pursue; it was also dangerous for him.

The Tracy Farm held many secrets, Scott’s famed apple pie recipe being only one of them, but the biggest secret of all was literally embedded into the land. It had been a hard enough job for Jeff to keep the authorities from digging around too much when the chemical leak had occurred initially, but for Kat to start dredging up the past again? It was a risk far greater than she’d ever be able to know.

The heavens had opened up during Scott’s brief walk of two blocks. Puddles had begun to form on the pavement, reflecting back the bright street lamp lights. Huddled in his jacket, with his hair soggy and dripping, he picked up his pace. The sooner he could get to Big Belly Burger, the sooner he could make his way back to his warm, dry apartment…

CRASH—!!

“I swear to God, I didn’t… I didn’t mean nothing by it! Langley, honestly! I swear!”

With the help of his super hearing, Scott heard the pleas with ease. An alleyway a few strides ahead. He stopped in his tracks, expert ears listening in from the distance.

“I’ve had enough of your lies!”

“No! God, Langley, no!”

The wet crack of a punch. The heavy click of a gun. The slow and steady intake of a breath.

Scott moved through the rain at such a speed that he’d have been a blur to anyone who was passing by. But Scott was usually careful. There was no-one else on the street except for himself and the two men he was running toward. In the heat of the moment, he dove straight into the unfolding scene without changing out of his civilian clothing.

In a flash he arrived at the mouth of the alley and assessed the situation before him. Scott had less than five seconds. The attacker, a man almost the same height as Scott, with a slightly thinner build and clean shaven, was dressed in black. He blended into the darkness of the narrow passage as though he were just another shadow. Even for Scott’s eyes, he was hard to make out.

What wasn’t difficult for him to see was the glint of the glock that was aimed at the other man. Red blood oozed out from his temple, dripping down into his beard. He was barely standing, leaning awkwardly against the alley wall. From what Scott could make out, it appeared the man was being held up by an obscure railing that had been manipulated to keep him in place. He was unconscious now, as far as Scott could tell, and unmoving, completely unaware of the tragedy that was about to befall him.

Three seconds…

Scott hurried into action. He sped forward, the world around him moving in a haze. All he was focused on was the man, the gun and the trigger he’d just pulled.

Shit.

One second…

The sound of the bullet being shot sounded like a canon. In real time, to the human eye, the bullet wouldn’t have been seen until it was too late and was lodged in the unfortunate victim’s sternum. In Scott’s eyes he could see it fly through the air.

The attacker fired again.

Another bullet, then another, and another.

Scott jumped between the two men without a hesitation. He stood as still as a rock as the bullets tore through his shirt but recoiled as they hit his skin. He barely felt the impact. The bullets fell, clattering to the floor of the alley with a tinkle.

The attacker, with his gun now trained on Scott instead of the man who was behind him, faltered. To him, Scott had appeared out of nowhere, in the literal blink of an eye. His expression was one of pure confusion as he glanced down at the spent bullets, flattened and useless, before eyeing Scott wearily.

“What the hell are you?” He snarled, gripping his glock more tightly. It didn’t take him long to pluck up the courage to start shooting again.

Only Scott was faster.

With that same speed he’d utilised before, he reached out and caught the barrel in one hand with ease, twisting the attacker’s hand to point the weapon upwards. The bullets the man fired shoot off into the sky, far away from any other living person in that alley. Then, with his free hand, Scott’s palm forcefully pushed the attacker away.

The man went flying. He could have gone further had the dumpster not got in his path. With an almighty crash, the attacker careened into it and collapsed onto the floor, leaving a human-sized dent in the green metal. There he lay, as unmoving and unconscious as his victim had been moments ago.

Scott turned his attention to said victim who was groggily groaning and waking up from his impromptu nap. He lifted a hand to his aching temple, wincing as he felt the cut. In his effort to unhook himself from the manipulated fencing, the man slipped and fell to his knees.

“Don’t move too fast. You’re going to be alright.” Scott reassured him, quickly crouching down to the man’s eye-line. He assessed the man quickly for any further, visible injures but it appeared the man had been fortunate; from what Scott could see he had only suffered a knock to the head. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened?”

“It looks like you took quite a hit.”

Sirens squealed, crawling closer and closer — someone must have heard the gunshots and called the police. In a way, Scott was relieved. At least now he didn’t need to worry about cleaning up on his own.

Police cars swarmed the entrance to the alley in seconds, the blue lights illuminating the darkened space. Officers exited their vehicles with guns and torches raised, a precaution against any further dangers that remained.

Not wanting to be shot at again, Scott lifted his hands in the air slowly as he stood. Two officers moved forward to assess both the men on the floor.

Another officer, a deputy by the look of his badge, kept his gun trained on Scott.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t move!”

Scott did as he was instructed.

“We’ve had reports of gunshots in the area. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“I don’t know, officer. I was walking by when I heard the gunshots. I came running as fast as I could to find that man barely conscious,” he gestured towards the man he had saved before pointing towards the attacker, still out cold by the dumpster, “and that man entirely unconscious. I was trying to help the wounded man when you arrived.”

After a lifetime of concealing the truth about his abilities and who he really was, lying was easy. It really should have worried Scott. He believed in the truth, fought tooth and nail everyday to present a clear reality to the readers of his articles, and yet he lied almost everyday to those closest to him with such practiced ease.

The deputy exchanged glances with a few other officers, all of them seeming to come to the same conclusion.

Superman.

He was usually the go-to answer when the ‘unexplained’ happened and Scott could hear a few of the officers whispering his name now. Little did they know they were pointing their guns straight at him.

“It was him!” The victim was now up on his feet, with the aid of the police officers, and was pointing directly towards Scott.

Scott blinked, a sudden panic rising inside. The deputy clutched his gun a little tighter, daring Scott to try something. It was madness, to be accused of injuring the man he had gone out of his way to help, but Scott wasn’t in a position to let the police know that. The only proof he had of being the saviour was the attacker who was still lying unconscious, and that would have create more questions than he’d like. If he had to, he supposed he could take down the officers as passively as possible and make his escape but the fallout from such an act wasn’t something he particularly favoured either…

It was to his relief, then, when the man continued with, “He’s the one who helped me. Stop pointing that weapon at him!”

Though the deputy was reluctant he lowered his gun and holstered it back into his belt. Then he turned back to converse with the officers of the vehicles behind his.

Scott smiled gratefully at the man. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

The panic set in again. “Oh! No… No, that wasn’t me! You were… You were already out cold when I arrived, and that guy was… pretty knocked about too. I didn’t, uh… What I mean to say is that I wasn’t the one who saved you.”

The man half-smiled. “Superman did.”

Scott nodded. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “Yeah, apparently.”

“Do you have any contact details?” One of the officers helping the injured man asked him. “In case we need to ask you any more questions about what you saw tonight?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Scott shuffled around in his pockets, retrieving his wallet. He flicked it open, fingers passing over out-of-date coupons and old photos of his family to find a crisp, white business card. “I’m out of town for the weekend but I should still be able to receive a call on my cell if you need to get in contact.”

The officer took the card from Scott with a curt ‘thanks’ before escorting the man to one of the cruisers. The victim waved a hand towards Scott, who obliged in returning the gesture.

With one last look at the attacker, who was finally coming back to the land of consciousness as the police handcuffed him, Scott slid past the police cars and continued on his journey to Big Belly Burger. His hunger hadn’t sated and, after the excitement of all that, he was looking forward to his meal.

---------------------

As the police led the attacker passed his victim, the bearded man did not flinch away in fear as one might have suspected. He eyed him critically, examining the man who had held him at gunpoint. Their eyes met, the victim still holding his gaze as his attacker was led away. He only took his eyes off the arrested man when he had been put inside the back of the furthest police car and was subsequently driven away.

The officer who had helped him to his feet pocketed his notebook and gently gestured for him to enter the cruiser they were standing beside. “We’ll get you to the hospital now, Mister… Uh…”