Kryptonite (Belle and Father)

[Belle Dujour]

“The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” - Homer, The Illiad

When there is no guarantee that peace had actually been attained - or worse that it was lasting - there was no chance for Metropolis to heal in the wake of the battle between the Justice League and Project FairPlay. The Justice League had been officially cleared, sure, but then who carried the blame? Certainly not President Waller. Certainly not the innocent humans who merely wished to protect themselves against these understandably frightening gods of wonton destruction and intergalactic infamy. So who did that leave?

Well in the year since the official termination of Project FairPlay, the public opinion longed for a monster to chase, and put 'them' on the other side of the line from 'us'. Who cared if there was a public pardon and a retraction from the most powerful woman in Metropolis media? That was then. This was now.

And now Jessamine "Jessie" Olson was officially screwed. Said most powerful woman - in the wake of what she personally called 'a disgraceful lack of judgment' - had retracted her retraction (was that even a thing?, Jessie wondered) and now Editor Lane was out for blood. How dare they fool her, how dare the 'bane of Metropolis' convince her that he was anything less than 'the Man of Destruction'?!And one perfectly timed shot of the attack one year ago had not only earned Jessie an award, but the position of the primo photo journalist at The Daily Planet. The photo - which had captured Superman striking down the last of the metal monstrosities unleashed by FairPlay - was not only commended for the excellent lighting and the use of angles, but because it was understood she herself must have had to put herself in incredible danger to be so close to the public menace...and the evil giant robot.

But now that meant when the lovely Lois Lane decided to join a not so secret collective of Metropolis elite determined to capture something of the remnant Justice League to re-open the open hostilities. And if Jessie Olson could get a photo showing the Superman being a hero, certainly she could catch one of him committing a crime worthy of such anger.

"So...anything?" asked the familiar voice of her long time, long distance friend Barbara through the ear piece of Jessie's cellphone.
"Not even a little bit," Jessie sighed.
She was laying on the bed of her matchbox apartment, her long, bright ginger hair dangling off the edge of the mattress as she held her camera over her head while scanning through the day's pictured. "Ms. Lane is going to kill me."
"Ooooor she could get off her pretentious ass and carry out her crusade against Captain Trench Coat on her own," Barbara snapped.
Jessie laughed and lowered her camera. "Ha. That's so funny it makes me almost forget my impending doom."
Barbara was quiet a moment before continuing. "You don't think she's going to fire you, do you?"
Jessie shrugged, causing the cellphone perched on her shoulder to jostle dangerously. "I don't fuckin' know. It's been months since she put me on this and it doesn't matter where I go...it's never where He is. And she's getting mad. Like 'hella mad. I got a five minute shouting lecture today. Apparently if I can't get my shot, I could go be a fifteen minutes of fame failure at another paper."
"Well then tell her to dangle herself out of the edge of a building or something and I bet he'll come run-er-flying."
Jessie grinned. "I volunteer to push her."

"Nah don't do that - cuz then I'd be forced to arrest you," Barbara muttered. "And that's not something I want to endure on my vacation."
Jessie blinked and set the camera down beside her. "Come again?"
"Knock knock," Barbara said and she hung up.
At that moment Jessie heard a knock on her apartment. Leaping to her feet she ran as carefully as she could in her socks and opened the door. Standing there was a young woman slightly shorter than she was with darker red hair, bright blue eyes, and a bright smile on her pretty face. Jessie gasped and reached out to hug her.
"Holy crap! You didn't say you were coming!" she shouted.
Barbara laughed. "Isn't that the whole point of a surprise, Olson?!"
Jessie let her go and took a step back. "I didn't think your Dad would give you off of Police Training!"
"Believe it!" Barbara grinned. "Now come on, let's see if Metropolis holds a candle to the Gotham night scene."
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Thirty minutes later and dressed in a little, black dress that showed off a fair bit of her fair skin and complimented the bright tones of her hair, Jessie and Barbara arrived in the entertainment district of Metropolis. Littered with coffee shops, clubs, and theatres the glitterati frequented, there was certainly plenty of places to see and be seen. Reports of two serial rapists on the loose in the area hadn't dampened the attendance of these clubs, and Jessie felt a little more certain being linked arm in arm with Barbara. Standing outside the biggest club around - the Emerald Room - the two girls chatted about work and boys. Barbara had met a young man named Dick who worked as an intern in Wayne Enterprises, and was already received excellent marks in her training at the GCPD Academy.

"And that night he brought coffee to the house and you should have seen the look on my Dad's face! I thought he was going to pull out his pistol when Dick showed up at ten p.m. with my latte!" she grinned.
"Thank God he didn't. That'd be one cliché too many!" Jessie laughed.

The little clutch Barbara was holding began to vibrate and she reached in to pull out her cellphone. "Ha! Speak of the-" she muttered and then looked up at Jessie. "It's Dick. Mind if I take this?"
"Nah, I'll meet you inside," Jessie said.
Barbara smiled and turned to take a few steps away from the line and the pounding noise. Jessie leaned against the wall and resisted the urge to start bobbing her head to the beat of the music like the very definition of a tool.

Something caught her eye just out of the corner of her gaze. Something that moved way too fast to be human. Jessie turned around and stared at the corner behind her. She was sure she'd seen it...but what was it? Curiosity gnawed at her insides like a restless tapeworm and she felt her heart skip. No, she thought. This was exactly the kind of thing common sense told her to avoid...but the last time she'd seen anything move that fast it was...Him.

Her fingers began unzipping her clutch and she pulled out her new IPhone 6. Time to put that excellent camera to good use! Leaving her spot as the last person in line she slowly began walking towards the corner. Just a peak. That's all she needed. Just one last chance to save her job...

 

[Father Figure]

Nobody understood him and that was the true nature of the Man of Steel, the one that separated him from all others beings on the face of the planet known as Earth. It was heart wrenching to be so separated from the people that you grew to care for, so different to be defined as something greater than a man. Human beings realized early their mortality and that enabled them to come to understand their lives in a way that he never could. It gave it flavor, it gave it meaning, and it provided for it a measure of pricelessness. Pristine and beautiful. Yet he was barely in his middle age but already wondered if he was truly immortal. He had faced so much in his short life and had come through it untouched, as he was untouched by all things, yet that was only physical. Emotionally he was decimated at the leaving of friends, at the betrayal of the world, at how everything he had invested and given had turned to ash before his very eyes. It held an irony for him that he had come to this world and had sought to bring it hope, and instead brought nothing but despair.

He was Heman Guerra, Lor-Zod.

Superman.

The title was not lost upon him. Some viewed him as a man beholden to the laws of the land, some as a god, and increasingly by the nations of the world as a monster. It had instilled him a bitterness that had not been there before. Before he had been hard that was to be sure, before he had been brutal in his application of justice. He understood that, understood that he was short-tempered and withdrawn from the humanity of the world. It had been with his friends, with the Justice League, that he felt he had done some good. Yet now the League was gone, the moment over, and he felt a cold lingering bitterness towards the world around him. It ached deep inside of him, wearing him thin, leaving him with sleepless nights wondering when he would finally give up doing any of it.

Terribly he could confide in none of them. None of the humans of the world could accept what he was, nor could they accept his pain as their own. He would never divulge it, never offer it up as part of his sacrifice. He had sacrificed far too much. This pain was his own. He would never give it up. So now he flew, he moved through the world, a timeless entity at the beginning of his eternal life trying to sort through the problems that being above mankind created. Surely there were those who envied him, surely they did not understand how easily he would give it up. As he moved, he saw...he noted the three men in the alley. He watched with detachment as they kicked the man to the ground, stomping on him, and then they turned on the woman...and began to do worse. Cold fury took over him, cold and unrelenting, and he moved.

He punished. Unknowing that the brutality of his own assault might very well be caught on camera.

 

[Belle Dujour]

Now far enough away from the night club opening, Jessie could hear the distinct sound of a woman screaming. The heart wrenching sound made her stop mid step. Cold terror washed over her as she neared the corner of the alley and peered around it. There were distinct shapes - someone on the ground writhing in pain, one cowering against the wall, and three that approached her. She heard the poor woman crying out for help and saw one of the advancing shadows reach a hand up to strike her across the face. Nausea broiled in the put of her stomach and Jessie took a cautious step in. For a moment she weighed her options - trying to decide what to do. Did she fight or did she fly? Whatever - or rather whoever she thought she saw obviously wasn't real. There was no Superman. But this woman still needed help. Jessie clung to her phone as though it was a bludgeoning weapon and dialed 911. She took a step forward - about to call out to the attackers - when another shadow landed in front of her.

And suddenly the woman was no longer screaming. Instead her attackers were shrieking and blindly stabbing into the darkness, trying to attack the one attacking them. The woman dropped to her knees in terror, but Jessie never dropped her gaze. One by one the attackers fell to the cacophony of bones snapping, blood splattering against the stone walls, and howls of agony. The 'hero's' cloak swept around his body as he fought them, the edges of it stained in their blood, and in the distant moonlight Jessie could just make out his face - the deep blue eyes devoid of any light, warmth, or mercy.

She recognized those eyes.

From her phone she could hear the sound of the 911 operator trying to ask what the emergency was. As she glanced down at the phone in her hand she could perfectly remember Ms. Lane's harsh demanding tones, promising Hell to pay if she did not deliver that picture. Jessie's eyes looked down at the cowering couple and they seemed alright. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea to... Slowly lifting her hand she angled it perfectly to capture the Superman's profile and she pressed the center button. There was no 'click', but in that moment he looked up at those with those inhuman eyes. Jessie's own hazel eyes widened for a split moment and she imagined she looked like a proverbial doe in the headlights...and she felt as though he could see all the way through her, peeling away her skin with his gaze and see the still beating heart in her chest.

Sirens blared in the distance. Jessie thought she saw the weight in his body shift. Was he going to come for her next? She drew in a breath ready to scream, but then the shadows behind Superman moved and one of the attackers launched himself at the Man of Steel. In the ensuing scuffle, Jessie turned on her heel and took off running. In her haste she didn't realize she had dropped her clutch, but she held onto her phone tightly as she ran back towards where Barbara was looking for her frantically.
"Jessie!" she sighed in relief and ran forward to hug her friend. "A-Are you okay?!"
"Y-Yeah," Jessie panted and looked down at her phon, her trembling fingers dialing 911 once more. "Hello?" she asked as she began walking away from the alley as fast as she could, an uncertain pit forming in her stomach. "Yes, I need to report an assault at the corner of Silver Way and Main..."
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Barbara hadn't wanted to leave Jessie that night, but she assured her friend that she would be alright. She just needed a long, hot shower, and a big glass of wine...then it all would be fine. Jessie fished her apartment keys out of her pocket when a dreadful realization slowly crept over her. Her clutch was gone! She must have somehow dropped it...and that meant her credit cards, her I.D., her Java Jane Coffee Shop loyalty cards were all gone. Jessie groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead as she moved to turn on the hot water. While she waited for it to get hot she reached for her cell phone and flipped through the pictures.

The shot was there. The shot was good. Now that she got a better look at it she realized what she had in her possession. She'd managed to capture Superman mid strike with one fist tight around one of the criminal's neck, the other buried deep in the wretch's face - pummeling the bones and cartilage until it was a bloody pulp. In other words...exactly what Ms. Lane wanted. Jessie spent her entire time in the hot shower trying to tell herself that it was the right thing to do to send the photo in. It would save her job, it would mean a raise, it would mean...it would mean another war in the streets over Superman. Did she really want that? As she stepped out of the shower and dried off, she thought about the horror of a year ago. She thought of the horrific violence, the panic, the hysteria...would that all start up again?

Dressed in a pair of dark navy sleep shorts and a black tank top she walked out into the kitchen with her phone still in hand. Her ginger hair hung down to her elbows. She's brushed it but already the strands were starting to kink back up into soft curls. To keep her hands busy she started making herself a chai latte as she continued to think about what she should do.

 

[Father Figure]

Thinking about what you should do was normally code for most people. It meant that they knew they were expected to do something but that deep down they did not want to do it. Because doing it was wrong. What had Superman done in those few moments? Had he been wrong in his application of force? Would the men who were about to rape that young woman in the alleyway have held back? What about the young man who had been on the ground near death, having tried to protect his girlfriend? Had he been given some measure of mercy? No, none of that was true. Those men would have violated, would have been far crueler than the Man of Steel had been to even them, and then they very well might have killed the two victims. No eyewitnesses. Superman had spared them that, and that was the quandary faced by Jessie. What had he really done other than saved lives?

Evil did not hold back. Why should he?

Once the anger was over however he had remembered that he'd noticed motion out of the corner of his eye. Once he had calmed down and looked down at the blood spattered everywhere, the fear in the woman's eyes, the heaving sobs of the men in that alley...he realized that something was out of place. No other man could have noticed it, no other man would have seen, yet he did. Something had changed and once it was all over he realized that someone else had been there. Quicker than the eye could see he picked up the stray item, the one thing that did not fit, a woman's clutch. He moved upwards and into the sky, slowly opening it and realizing that the world was perhaps about to be given the smoking gun. Olson had seen him, Olson who worked for the Planet and very well might have turned over the information to Lois Lane.

There was a line between vigilante and wanted criminal. He had crossed that line in the alleyway and he knew it. At least one of those men might not live. Perhaps...perhaps he could persuade her not to turn over the evidence? It was a stray thought, but it was the only one that he could imagine would change the current course of events. His features hardened, that jaw tightening as he realized that the very planet might become his enemy. He was a man willing to fight, but would he be willing to fight the very people he had been protecting? His hand slowly crushed the clutch in his hand. Snapping the ID's and credit cards, obliterating it with the pulverizing brute strength of a Kryptonian. He had her address. It was time to talk.

Some people entered through the door when they visited someone. Only one man came in through the window. He was there with her, standing there as she looked up from her drink. He said nothing, he merely waited. Watching her. She would know exactly why he had come.

 

[Belle Dujour]

The tea boiled and Jessie reached for the almond milk she'd already gotten out for the latte. As she poured it into the hot drink she watched the little white lines forming on the surface of the tea and smelled the sweet aroma. Closing her eyes a moment, her back to the window, she took in a deep breath and thought. She had that picture, she had exactly what she needed...so why was she being hesitant? The people of Metropolis needed this...or so said Editor Lane. They needed their villain so that they could offer him up like some pagan sacrifice and attain a measure of peace. But what if the villain was the hero? It wasn't as though she'd caught him roughing up some little old lady or tormenting kittens in a tree somewhere. He'd been saving a woman from horrific rape, and punishing the real criminals of this city. If Superman hadn't been there...the thought made Jessie's blood run cold and she reached for the cup, pressing it between her little, fair skinned palms to try and warm herself up.

Then she realized it wasn't just her blood running cold from the dreadful imaginings of what could have happened. Since when had it gotten so cold in this place? Was the window open? Jessie blew on the surface of the liquid as she slowly turned around.

And there he was.

Jessie stood incredibly still for a moment as though she was a mouse trying to avoid being spotted by a snake. Thank God her first instinct wasn't to jump - otherwise her latte would have been all over her hands and that would have been incredibly painful. Slowly, never breaking eye contact, she turned and set her mug down right next to her phone on the kitchen counter. She tried to find the right words - 'what are you doing here?' 'Who the Hell do you think you are?' 'You know I could call the cops...' But all those led to less than ideal scenarios and those she certainly wanted to avoid. So, she very calmly took in a trembling breath and summoned her courage. She wasn't a mouse, god dammit.

"You know, if you'd told me you were coming I might have set out two mugs instead of one," she offered, her voice was small but it was steady. "Assuming you like chai. I'm out of everything else."

 

[Father Figure]

There was no humor in the features that stared at her. Perhaps he was not human at all in some ways. Being raised among them did not mean he was like them, not in any sense, and that was something so few ever tried to understand. The neurophysiology, the biochemical, the pheromones. Everything about Superman was different than that of the homosapien species that he happened to share the planet with. He had refrained all attempts at studying him, denied all attempts at coming to understand him. What did the Man of Steel need with a Doctor? He had no wish to pursue his past anymore than he had a wish to be beholden to the laws of this land. He was what he was, an unstoppable force...that had yet to meet an immovable object. He watched her try to set aside her nervousness with those cool eyes, not sharing in the slightest in the worry on her face.

Though he was worried.

He looked around, his vision swift as he scanned for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing he could not see through, including the woman's clothing, and though she was breathtaking it was not something that would overly burden him with the lewdness of it. He had seen quite a few women in his long time, either through happenstance or in frankly their offering of themselves to him. He had turned them all down, for a variety of reasons. Now he gazed upon her after that sweep of his eyes and his jaw tightened for a moment before he spoke. The voice was rough, unrelenting, the kind of voice criminals heard. There was no option given by this man, he made no hint at an "or else". He said his words matter of factly.

"Did you record what happened in that alleyway, Ms. Olson?" She could claim inside not to be a mouse, not to be a prey, but there was no greater predator than Lor-Zod on the planet, no greater threat that could have been standing in the room with her. He did not make any threat however, his hands rested on his hips, his body held straight and tall. The features never changed, stark and demanding of her. He expected an answer to the question and he expected the truth.

 

[Belle Dujour]

Jessie let out a long breath she wasn't even aware she was holding in. The edge of his tone reminded her of the glaciers she had seen on her recent trip to Alaska. Cold. Strong. Relentless. Capable of obliterating anything unlucky enough to be in its path. She was certain there was nothing she could say to bring them on the same level, no humor, no logic, nothing could make him understand her nor she understand him. But then again, if the frantic people of Metropolis were to be believed that was a very good thing. In fact, according to them she should not have been trying to be a little light toned - she should be cowering and nearly incapacitated in the weight of that gaze of Steel.

And Jessie had seen how frightening Superman could be even before tonight. She had been there on the ground level a year ago where she had seen the horrifying lengths he was capable of when destroying those machines. In that moment she had been afraid - as afraid as she had been standing in that alley moments before he arrived that night. There was the conflict - to fight or to run away, and the utter grip of terror so strong that you couldn't move. Jessie remembered wanting to run to the aid of the woman, to dial 911, and hardly being able to make her chest move enough to breathe let alone any of those things. If Superman hadn't come, the couple - and perhaps Jessie too - would have been in mortal danger. She had been paralyzed in that moment and now...

Now something in her mind told her that if she wanted to run, to move, at that moment she could have. She felt surprisingly calm, collected, and in control of her capacities. Whatever she was feeling right now - the anxiety, the nerves, and the anticipation - there was none of that icy terror.
And she had her answer.

Slowly she turned away from him so she could take a hold of the phone resting on the counter. As her fingers began working the screen, she turned to look at him through her red curls and caught his gaze once more. "Not a recording, per se," she replied, "but a photo? Yes." And without more ceremony she turned and showed him the screen with the photo she caught. And it certainly was as bad as it could be. She knew he knew that. But before he could advance on her or even move, her finger reached to the bottom of the screen and hit the trash icon. The photo disappeared and the screen went black once again.

 

[Father Figure]

He stared at her with those inhuman eyes, taking the time to watch her moving her fingers. He did not stop her and that was perhaps the most telling point of why she felt so safe. With his superhuman speed, with his unearthly strength, he could have moved across the room and flicked the phone out of her hands with the barest minimum of efforts. It would have sailed through the air, shattering through the wall like a bullet fired from a gun...yet he did none of that. Not a single thing to harm her, to put her in harms way. He might be intimidating but that intimidation was used on the perpetrators of crimes. Not the innocent. Instead he just watched her as she stood there, his sharp features austere as he tilted his head towards the screen. Whatever he had expected to see it had not been that at all.

No, he had not expected her to delete the picture. It would have represented everything to the young woman. It would have represented being promoted, not just promoted but recognized worldwide as the photographer who brought down Superman. It might have meant awards, it might have meant money, it very well could have written her professional ticket. Yet she had deleted it, truly deleted it, and his eyes narrowed for just a second. He could ensure deletion, he thought, he could spear that phone with his vision and remove any danger of someone recovering the information...yet he stopped himself, his hands tightening on his hips as he tried to find the words to convey how he felt. For a second he seemed unable and then he asked the inevitable and only question.

"Why?"

It held all the weight of a cannon blast. Why? Perhaps it held more weight for this man than for any other. Much of his life had been situated around why. Why had he fallen from the skies? Why had his father, a General amongst his people, sent him away? Why had he been found and raised by illegal immigrants who struggled so hard in a world that seemed unwilling to accept them? Why had Bruce and Bekka left? Why was he so terribly alone? There was a reason he had created that far off place that some called the Fortress of Solitude. It was because he was always asking why, and those alien eyes looked down into hers as if hoping she might have the answer he sought.

 

[Belle Dujour]

Why?

Why indeed. What had she just done? As she stared down at the blank screen on her phone she could almost feel the bits of fame and fortune that photo would have brought her slipping away as though it was beads of sweat or hot water dripping down her soft skin. There went a down payment on a house, a car, maybe her own office, and Ms. Lane being officially off her petite ass for the rest of time. She should have been outraged, she should have been mentally (and maybe physically) kicking herself in the leg for what she had just done. And while she mourned for a moment the things she had lost, she found she didn't dwell on it too much. Instead she looked up at the person in front of her. Because no matter how different he might be - how alien or not - this individual in front of her was a person. She saw the question in those eyes, the tension in his shoulders as it seemed for a moment like he was debating the fight or flight question himself.

After a moment of silence she finally spoke up. "Because I know what really happened in the alley way tonight," she began in a quiet tone as though placating a raging bull. "I saw what those men were doing moments before you arrived...I wanted to step in. God, you have no idea...but somewhere deep down I knew I couldn't. I'm just a twenty year old young woman. But not only could you...you did . What you did to those..." she paused here and her voice dipped low in tone to convey her disgust, "those things ...I can't condemn you for it. I just...wish I could have done."

Jessie paused her as she averted her eyes to the ground a moment. She was breathing life into a very deep dna dark part of herself that no one was supposed to see. There was a part of her that almost wished she could be an avenging angel like the Medieval images she saw in museums - righteous souls striking down the worst of them all. In her eyes they weren't the demond and bizzare animals of centuries past...the demons for her to slaughter were the murderers, rapists, cruel sons of bitches that working for the Daily Planet gave her unlimited access to see. Every time she had to come in with a photo of a crime scene or of a purp the MPD landed, she felt rage simmering in her stomach like searing acid...and quietly admitted to herself how sick it was that those fuckers would only get jail time when their victims got so, so much worse.

"So," she said, looking back up at him with a long sigh, "what I'm saying, Sir, is that I don't know you...so I don't know if you're worthy of what I just did or not. But I'm willing to give you the benefit of a doubt - because I can't hold what you did in that alley way against you. Given your speed, strength, and general 'Steel-ness'...I probably would have done the same. And hey, if you can't admit that to a practical demi-god from outer space, then who? So I'm not going to condemn you because of it. I never would."

 

[Father Figure]

His eyes barely changed but perhaps they softened for her? Perhaps they showed some measure of humanity that he had been lacking before in his features. He had learned much of the world from those he had worked with, yet most of what he had learned came from the downtrodden and the fallen. From people who had been the outcast of the world, his immigrant parents, the criminals with which he fought, and the other members of the Justice League who were perhaps not the best teachers he could have been. This was the way of things for the man, and when she called him a demi-god he gave a small wry smile. He could not express how odd that was for him. He knew there was once a world that he came from, he knew that his people would have been considered such a thing here, but he also knew that there were many things in this universe. Perhaps some greater than the Man of Steel.

Though he had yet to meet them yet.

Yet here was a woman who was trying her best in a moment of moral quandary, and she was picking the right side. At least in his opinion. The side of good. Perhaps he was a vengeful angel, the type to smite his foe more than bring them to justice, but he was still an angel. This was something that frightened most, his ability to be outside of the law, but what could one be expected to do? Jessie had faced that decision, with her mortality and with her fear. With her worry over being punished legally and losing what she cared about in life. His features as he thought did grow softer, did grow caring, and he slowly offered her his hand.

"My name is Heman." He held his hand out for her for the moment, sharing in that brief comraderie between two people who had faced a tragedy together. His eyes searched hers and he continued to hold that hand out to her as he realized what it might mean as a step between the two of them. The benefit of the doubt for her was more than just going out on a date with someone she'd just met, or giving an person a job who might not have any experience, this was something far different. It was trusting that he would not only accept her but have her back, would support her in all of this, and his voice continued as he whispered.

"I think maybe we should have that tea, don't you?"

 

[Belle Dujour]

Jessie took in a very slow breath as she saw some minor changes in his features. His eyes softened from being so narrow, his shoulders eased from their tense stiffness. She wasn't entirely sure what to do and then she saw him lift his hand and heard the words he spoke. Then it was her posture that changed. She could feel the tension uncoiling in her shoulders like tight iron wires coming undone. Her hazel eyes slowly widened in shock. The idea of reaching out to take his hand was suddenly daunting, as though he was asking her to reach forward and touch fire itself. Or - which was perhaps the more apt metaphor - touch the divine. To touch and to know the name of the closest thing to a God that Jessie permitted herself to believe in. And yet it was also the offering of an implicit promise - she had risked it all for him and in doing so he was offering her a place on his side of whatever line stood between him and the fear of Metropolis. It was by no means the winning team or the easier choice...but refusing never even crossed her mind.

Instead she reached forward and took his hand. His skin was warm - warmer than Jessie had felt anyone hands be - and his finger tips calloused. This was not the marble touch one might associate with a divine like visage. No. The touch of his skin was tangible, surprisingly earthly and beyond all else...very real. Her fingers, which she was sure had to feel weak and a little shakey, gripped around his hand with a surprising amount of confidence and assurance that came from a deep conviction that she had made the right choice.

"Heman," she repeated and nodded as a smile spread across her features, "I like it." Right, she thought, because he gives a damn about that. "My name is Jessamine Olson, but please just call me 'Jessie'." Only one person constantly called her Jessamine and that was Editor Lane, even though Jessie had asked her plenty of times to call her Jessie, Editor Lane seemed to refuse and the way her voice sounded out Jessie's name made it sound like a nonchalant slap to the ego. When he mentioned the tea she smiled brightly.

"Yeah, sure," she said as she finally let his hand go and turned towards the kitchen cabinets by her little fridge. Getting up on her tip toes she opened the cabinet and pulled out a larger mug - some might call it a soup mug, but Jessie referred to it as a 'Monday' mug - and set it down on the counter. "Would you like some almond milk in your tea?" she offered. She adhered to what he said and then brought him the tea, carefully handing the mug to him. She couldn't help another smirk at herself when she said. "Careful, it's hot." And once he had taken it she reached for her own mug. "Do you want to sit down?" she asked as she turned and walked past him, carrying the calming scent of her jasmine scented shampoo, as she went and sat on the couch in her makeshift living room that faced a medium sized television. Once settled she looked up at him and hesitated a moment, biting down on her bottom lip, before she asked, "so...what do you know about where you come from?" Her voice was calm, caring, and curious - hardly the harsh, demanding tone he must have expected when asked that same question.

 

[Father Figure]

Her smile was radiant enough that for a moment it reminded him of the sunrise. How often had he seen the sun breach the clouds on a terrible day? Breaking through the storms and shining down upon him? In those few moments when he felt the brightness touch his skin, he would often close his eyes and remember the good times in his life...the love of his mother, the camaraderie of community, the sound of music. It was only there, flying above the world and feeling the warmth on his face that he was reminded that there were things worthwhile in this world. It was not surprising for him to feel that way, so many people did when greeted by the dawn, and for him a Kryptonian who fed off the radiation of that very sun....it might be reasonable for that feeling to touch something deep within him. But for her smile to gain that for him, for her beautiful smile to stir those same emotions, that was not something he had been prepared for.

It was not something he could guard against.

He was vulnerable for the moment when she took her hand from his, and it troubled him in a way he could never have expressed. When she turned his features narrowed once more, the brow coming together in worry. Others had offered their affections, time and again he had never felt a response to it. Yet this had made him feel something and it tore him up for a split second inside. Damn it, what was it? The sound of his name, a name which he had trouble decided it if was his own, upon her lips? Was it the smell of her? When she turned around however the puzzled look slowly slipped away as he moved across to sit down in one of the chairs. He had long since gotten past feeling uncomfortable about his clothing, the way he presented himself. People need symbols and he had decided to be one.

It was hardly comfortable attire for tea-time however. His voice held a measure of amusement to it as he realized how absurd he looked sitting there, his hand holding the tea. He did not quite address the silliness of referencing how hot it was, merely raising an eyebrow at her as he spoke.

"I...know very little in all honesty." He paused to take a small sip of the tea, giving a wane smile as he tasted the warm liquid and he sighed. "I know of my Father, that he was a rebel against a corrupt government. A government who brought the planet to the brink of destruction. I know he saved me, fought for what he believed in, and I know my people are now gone. It's strange isn't it...implausible really, some would have called me a madman I am sure, that is if I could not fly."

 

[Belle Dujour]

Jessie was quiet and took long, slow sips of her tea as she listened to him speak of what he knew of his father and the nature of his real home. There was a sort of emptiness he must have felt, Jessie thought, particularly when he spoke of the fact that his entire race of people had been destroyed. What must it have felt like to be the last of something? To know that even if you searched to the ends of existence there would never be someone like you? To be so utterly alone that nothing - no amount of power - could amend that state? Jessie pressed her lips to the rim of her mug and let the thought pass through her mind like a restless specter bringing with it surges of pity and anguish for him.

Now that was something new. If she'd known she was going to end her day feeling sorry for Superman himself...well...she probably would have thought she was crazy. Though, given what she had just done with the photo, Jessie wasn't ready to rule out that verdict yet.

"You know that was my answer when I was asked 'if you could have one power, what would it be?' as a kid? Being able to fly," she admitted with a smirk as she took a long sip. After swallowing her drink she set it down on the coffee table and paused, looking up at him as the smile disappeared from her face. "My father fought for what he believed in too...when I was young he always said he worked for the Government. Of course he couldn't say how...but when he died on the job in Iraq last year, I learned he actually worked for the N.I.A.," she admitted, her eyes drifting to the liquid in her cup as her fingertips drummed against the mug as a nervous twitch. "It was a very nice funeral...even President Waller came. Mom was a wreck - Hell, she's still a wreck - and all the platitudes about how he worked to make our country safe didn't touch her one bit. But it touched me." She finally turned and looked at him again with a somewhat half hearted smile. "I guess that's where my whole 'if I could help them, I would' monologue comes from..."

She hesitated for a few moments, as though waiting for confirmation that if she searched those strange, blue eyes long enough that there could be some camaraderie - at least an understanding - between them. Between what was earthen and what was cosmic - mortal and divine. But then she blinked and looked down at her mug with a nervous little laugh. "Wow, I did not mean for the night to take such a morbid turn!" she laughed softly as she took a much longer sip of her drink.

 

[Father Figure]

He watched her as she spoke, meeting her gaze as she looked at him and he understood everything she was saying. Loss was something that he experienced, had experienced, but he had a perspective which was indeed alien was it not? He could very well live his entire life to watch everyone pass away, they truly were uncertain whether he was immortal or not...Krptonians had grown old, but on this world it might be different for him. Though that was truly not the frightening thing in his eyes, not in the slightest, and he did not say it. Yet it could be seen though, for the briefest of moments as she spoke, the terror just slightly beneath the surface. For Superman had seen war, had seen it and understood it, and the human race had come to be capable of destroying themselves. They could wreak such havoc as no creatures before them had been capable of, and while some people dreamt of death...

...the Man of Steel dreamt of standing on a barren irradiated world, the last man on earth.

The very thought was terrifying to him. However, he set it aside. It would be something he would work against if necessary, something that he would try to prevent...but the world seemed much more hellbent on preventing intervention than it ever was in stopping the atrocities of life. He searched her eyes for a moment before looked away and he gave a small nod of his head in understanding, his voice quiet as he gave his condolences. "I did not know your father, so I will not give platitudes like others, but I do appreciate his service...all servicemen in fact who give their lives for their nation, but more than that....I am very sorry for your pain."

He turned his gaze downwards for the briefest of moments before deciding perhaps he had overstayed his welcome, this was not what should have been happening. He had come here to confront her and instead found himself trying to comfort her. It was something that was completely new in his mind. Something he had a hard time fathoming. He straightened, trying to ignore the look of that smirk which had briefly flitted over her face, once more feeling touched in a way he had not been with others. If he'd had more experience in the matters he would have said he was smitten with her, but instead he just felt...uneasy.

"Perhaps, perhaps I should go? If you'd like?"

 

[Belle Dujour]

Jessie did not avert her eyes nor blink when she saw something strange glimmering in his eyes. There was something just beneath that look, something her perhaps wanted to stay hidden, but Jessie was a keen observer. This was a part of the job description. She was meant to gaze, meant to see the minute details others did not. And as she spoke of death, there was something in his eyes - something that she couldn't give words to if she tried - that made her want to reach forward and touch him...nothing too crazy and not a lingering touch, but just something that would speak more than platitudes ever could.

He moved before she could summon the will or perhaps the courage to do so, and she hesitated before she could touch him. Instead she merely watched him stiffen and suddenly become a bit uneasy. Asking him about where he came from had been a mistake, she knew that now, and perhaps it had severed the chance they had to communicate more. But...then again...why would he want to speak more with her? Jessie had no hesitation about her self confidence - she knew she was a pretty damn awesome - but how could she compare to someone on such a different level than her that the difference literally was cosmic? Maybe trying to talk to him had been a mistake...

"If you want to go - obviously I cannot stop you, but...you don't have to," she offered gently. "Thank you for what you said about my father. That was very kind." She shifted in her seat so that she faced him as though he were a friend she'd had for years and not someone she had met minutes ago. "If you wish to go...then go knowing that I'm going to keep the promise I made to you tonight when I deleted that picture. I've no intention of using it - or anything else like that - against you. I...truly don't think you mean us harm. I just also think you're smart enough to know that while the whole Boy Scout routine works for the city Metropolis likes to think it is - it fails for the truth that no one likes to see. And I think that's what you'll be most to us - a reflection of the truth that could either help us or destroy us. I hope...I believe that you'll help us more than hurt us, Heman."

Her words and her tone of voice conveyed the warmth and sincerity of that belief and throughout her entire speech she did not break eye contact once. She did not stammer or blink the way other girls might have. No. She was calm. She was confident. She was sure of this - sure of him. And after a moment of silence she smiled once more and stood up, offering her hand - for his hand or his mug she didn't make clear. Perhaps it was because she was seeking for him to define it. "So if you wish to stay, then stay, if not then I'll take the mug and we'll call it a night," she said softly.

 

[Father Figure]

He stared at her for a few moments as she spoke, accepting the words and knowing the truth of them. The failure of what he represented to the populace of the city, even to the world. The reflection of what they could have been, but were not. He had not expected that when he sat out to follow this path. He had not expected it to be that way, though perhaps some nagging part of him...something left over from his father suggested that he was being naïve. That trying to be an icon never gave the return that it should have, but instead only brought about envy and jealousy in those who could not be what you are. it had them trying to tear you down, trying to break what you were, and trying to sully you. That was what was happening already and as she spoke he felt that cool bitterness sweep back through him. His emotional landscape was often bleak and austere, often close to being enraged, but for humanity they were lucky he had as much control as he did.

A tantrum from a being such as he would be devastating.

His hand shook for a moment, the cup vibrating before he sat it down and stood. It seemed indeed that this night might be over. No matter how much he would wish it were not. The eyes upon him made him feel that there was a connection, an intimacy that should not exist between them. It made him far too comfortable about sharing of his past. Made him far too willing to show her a side of himself that he had kept hidden even from his most trusted allies. His body was tight, brooding as he turned and moved towards the window as if to leave. Silence having descended upon them, and yet he stopped there and stared out over the night sky for a few moments. He looked up to gaze at the stars, piercing anything that could prevent him from seeing their perfect light and he spoke. His face was hidden, hooded, no telling what emotions might be upon it.

"Have you ever wondered if the rumors were true about me, why things would not be different? Have you ever wondered what it would be like if I just gave up control of myself, if I decided to truly make a difference?" His hand clenched, tightening, the crackling of his strength felt as his words lowered to a whisper. "What if I took away the will of this world, if I stopped all wars? If I brought about a peace through my power? Would it not be the right thing to do to save the lives of this planet, to protect them by take their freedoms from them?"

He turned look at her, gazing back over his shoulder with those alien eyes. "How many people have to die before I decide to no longer restrain myself?"

 

[Belle Dujour]

The evening had turned South far quicker than Jessie could have anticipated. Before she could have said something - anything - to salvage what she had done, she felt the room around her shift. It was almost as if through some power of his, the room had been transported to the arctic and every bit of warmth in the room was stolen away. The cup in his hand began to shake, and for a split moment - really the first this night - Jessie truly felt the gravitas of the person in her apartment. This was the person who had nearly levelled the city, who had in the course of a single day had nearly brought the entire country to its knees...this cosmic force entrapped in a person was getting angry. At something she said.

And for the first time, Jessie understood why people were afraid of him. She was afraid.

As he stood and made towards the window, she realized how much she had been shaking. The hot chai liquid had spilled over onto her fingers, burning them, and she had utterly ignored it in the wake of the sudden surge of anxiety and fear he elicited. As he spoke she set the cup down and winced in pain as she pressed her fingers into her mouth. When she truly began to listen to what he said she felt a cold grip on her stomach. He...had a point. He *could* do everything he threatened, he could unravel the thin fabric that held their society together. As he painted this world with his words, she felt the urge to sink onto the arm rest of the chair, but...she couldn't sink away. She knew he could sense her fear - ignoring it was not an option with how she looked, how wide her eyes were. And when he looked back at her he would see she was as stiff and rigid as the grave. He was asking her a question, expecting a reason...would she be enough of a reason?

"Yes I have thought about it," she admitted. There was no point in lying. "And it frightens me...and though I cannot speak for the rest of the world, for humanity, I can...tell you what I think." She took in a gentle breath and pushed away her fear. Very slowly she walked towards him, keeping his eye contact as if to silently proclaim the fact she was taking perhaps one of the bigger leaps of faith in her life. "I think you could very well do all that you say...and though it would sate your urges for a little while...I don't think you would like the person you would become. And you know how I know that? Because of last year. You had every reason in the world to do all of those things...I was there that day. I remember the look on your face. And yet..." she had some up to him, closer than they had ever been, and she reached her slightly burned hand out to gently touch his arm. She could feel the power of his arms beneath the fabric and it made her shiver slightly, and she looked up at him. "You didn't. Because deep down I think you know that that would only lead to your own misery. And I think that restraint says more about your strength than anything you did on that day."

 

[Father Figure]

There was power there, frightening power, but her answer did not seem to ease him. No, her answer caused thoughts to flicker in his eyes, caused him to see the world differently but only added to the complexity of it. These were the emotions and rationale behind what he had done to the men in the alleyway, these were the outgrowths of a mind that was wrestling with the true problems of power. He was not delusional, no madman with dreams of grandeur who was impotent in his castle on high. He was no God being prayed to that did not answer, for when people screamed in the names of that which they believed...it was not angels that answer, but he did. He answered. His features hardened the tiniest of bits as those thoughts radiated, making him stark and austere, making him frightening with the angles of his form. He looked ready to engage, a guided missile without a target, and the thoughts seemed to be easily read by Jessie. At what point in life did the needs of the many outweigh his own feelings, even his own morality?

At what point did service require true sacrifice. Not of effort but of self.

Yet her arm eased him, pausing his struggle and clearing his mind. It made him not feel a sense of clarity but a sense of transcendence and let him step outside of those thoughts permeating him. It was the kind of feeling when one came home, came to realize they were welcome somewhere. He would have given so much to have a home. It was known as solace, and this man had not had such feelings since he was a young child. His arm moved beneath her hand and came up, reaching to touch hers as well and he stood there staring down into her eyes. There was really only one thing left to do. He wanted to thank her, to show gratitude, but the act of saying it was so trivial compared to his sudden need to just feel touched. To feel like he belonged.

He kissed her.

Whether it was the reason he had been needing, or the wish of someone just to feel something other than desolation, none of that mattered in that moment. His head lowered and lips touched hers, moving with slow deliberate caresses. For her it might have been a bit rough, a bit demanding, but for him it was an exercise in caution and control. His body tried to relax, tried to ensure she was safe as his hand came up to touch her face. A slow trace along her jaw as he continued, hoping that she would accept. Perhaps knowing so. He was the Man of Steel, he had no ego in knowing women everywhere would have wanted to take Jessie's place. Yet it was to her he provided that kiss, her alone.

 

[Belle Dujour]

His silence was perhaps more deafening than his words or any shout his voice could provide. It felt as though the air between them was heavier than if they were miles into the stratosphere, and Jessie for a moment thought about just letting him go. She could feel her fingers start to slowly release him when she felt his hand reach up to touch hers. A surprising amount of relief coursed through her body and she felt her shoulders unwind as though her muscles had been wound in light bulb tight coils. As he looked at her she smiled softly. The idea of a word formed in her thoughts and she felt the voice rising up from her throat ready to speak.

And then he was kissing her. And everything else stopped.

The stars halted in their celestial alignments, the moon held still in its orbit around the Earth, and the world outside of this one little apartment on a forgotten street in a too crowded city melted away like old paint on a canvas. For what must have only been half of a moment, but felt like on half hour, Jessie stood as still as Pygmalion's stone statue. And then as he brought his fingers up to touch her cheek he brought with it that spark of desire that willed her marble heart to beat. Suddenly the universe began spinning once more in its spiral formation, the world back on its axis, and Jessie felt vividly alive. In a move that was fast for her but probably a snail's pace for him, she wrapped one arm around his neck, the other around his waist, and pulled their bodies together as her lips responded to his call.

For all the 'Steel' titles that had been given to him, his lips were supple - firm but very much flesh - and warm with a heat that was entirely his own. Jessie sighed softly into the kiss as she felt her own heart beating so fast, she thought it might batter against her rib cage. Could he hear it? Could he feel it? She almost hoped he could. For there were all her emotions. Her surprise that he would kiss her, a bit of her nervousness - it had been a while since she'd kissed or been kissed by anyone -, and a lot of her excitement in kissing him back. He was no lofty thing high on his pedestal amongst the stars anymore - he was in her arms, as secure and sure as she could hold him - and for her nothing else mattered.

 

[Father Figure]

He could hear everything.

The sound of her heart pounding in her chest, the rush of blood through her body, and the hair on her skin prickling upwards. The scent of her hormones, her adrenaline, the smell of her permeating the air and filtering upwards into his brain. Whatever might be happening between them it was different than anything he had experienced before. The alien chemistry of his body interacting with hers, bringing about an intense arousal inside of him, a need that just transcended anything else he had been part of. This was why he had stayed away from others, this was why he had never been willing to connect with another. It was not just the aloofness, but the requirement that he remain free from such constraints. Anything he did with a woman could bring consequences he might not be willing to accept. Anything he created, a relationship, a life, a connection...would make him vulnerable, would put her in danger, and more than that...there was no telling how his alien physiology would interact.

None of that mattered with her though. She took all of that away from him. It was not just the fact that she had gifted him with her willingness to protect him. Not just the fact that she had placed herself in his hands and offered to be something for him. Not just the fact that she had shared her pain, her dreams, and her uncertainties. It resonated on a level that was beyond mere attraction between two individuals. This was something real, he could feel it, and perhaps that was silly to think of it like that. Mere infatuation, mere childishness to believe in love at first sight. Yet when she had smiled, when she had smirked, when she had playfully spoken to him and offered him tea even while scared...he had felt a stirring of emotions that was not arousal but something deeper. A wish to protect her personally, a wish to know her, and a wish to have her in his arms.

Like he had her in his arms now.

His other hand moved, slowly touching her hip as he traced over it, caressing slowly to slide back and grip her firm backside. The fingers were not quite like the small kiss, instead taking hold. He was not cruel in the grasp, not painful, but it was an unyielding touch like the namesake he had been given. Perhaps his lips were gentle but his hand was going nowhere. They stayed in that kiss for a few moments, slow and soft, steady and breathing into one another's lips...and finally as the kiss began to break it was easy to realize in the headiness of the moment that perhaps in her arms he had not been a god, but in his...she had risen above all others. In his arms they floated in her living room, a foot above the ground, the shadows of the feet the only things touching the floor.

 

[Belle Dujour]

If Jessie had told herself this morning that before the day was through that she would be kissing anyone...let alone these lips...she would have thought it was a sick joke. Oh and crazy. Can't ever forget crazy.

And in those first few moments in the kiss, Jessie had felt practically weightless and the whole world seemed to slow down as though she were standing in a sweet, waking dream. She almost couldn't grasp that this was truly happening. Every sensation was slow and warm as it moved through her, filling her with life, with desire for this not to be a dream. But this was not a dream. She was not crazy. No dream could be as vivid as his lips tightening against hers or feel as real as the strength of his arms wrapped tight around her smaller, lithe frame. The slow, warm radiating sensation that seemed to dull her senses evaporated like steam and left her with the smoldering facts about his body. How tall he was, how strong, how he towered over her practically and held her so tight that it obscured her from everything, from the rest of the world. He could envelop her in those strong arms til there was no separation between them.

No one who had ever kissed her made her feel like this.

As his hand brushed against her hips and then further around her body, she felt the strength of his arms now in his lips in the way they were relentless in their need to taste hers. Her reaction was instant and primal, her hands reached up into his hair as she responded with her own need. And she realized that it was his strength, the power in his touch and his kiss, that drew her in...and aroused her like no one else ever had. Or would again. And so when he pulled away from her very slowly she was already planning how she would kiss him next...and how many times she desired to kiss him again and again and...

And a very cool breeze touched the side of her bare leg. Her eyes averted down from his for only a very brief moment, and she realized they were floating. Elation. Shock. Surprise. Delight. Adrenaline. All of them rushed through her and all she could do was gasp and tighten her arms around him as she glanced down at the ground with a soft laugh. "Holy fuck!" she gasped as she grinned widely. "How did-? I didn't even-! Holy fuck!" She laughed at herself softly and then turned back to him, warmth touching every part of her body - her cheeks, her chest, her lower abdomen...He'd heard her childhood wish and turned it into a reality. "I...can't even remember any other time I've kissed someone before right now," she said softly, her happiness showing through her voice. "You've blown them all away..."

 

[Father Figure]

Perhaps what she said was meant to be a compliment, a sincere level of flattery to let him know that she was appreciative of those lips of his upon hers but for him what she said was the sincere truth. He himself did not remember a time that he had ever kissed another, not like this. He realized whether swiftly that such a thing was not a lie, such a thing was the very truth for him. When had he ever held someone lovingly in his arms? When had he ever kissed a woman deeply, sharing with her, showing her that he was something more...? His life had not been prosaic, had not been kind, and other than a few fumbling attempts as a teenager he had always realized deep down how distant he was from others. Once he had grown, once he had become the man he was going to be, he did not bother with affection or intimacy. Not that it was out of reach for him, but that he felt it was perhaps...underserving. There were so many thoughts, so many fears, and yet all of those were truly blown away by her in his arms.

She took all those thoughts from his mind.

For once he felt peace and he slowly smiled at her words, letting her take away all that pain for just a few moments. His fingers tightened on her, sliding from her backside to her hips so that he could lower her down towards the floor of the apartment. He bent over her in doing so, giving a last lingering and stolen kiss before he placed her down and he straightened. He himself did not lower, he remained held there in the air as he tried to fathom what to say. He wanted to apologize to her, to tell her that he was sorry for daring to touch her like that without her permission. For not having asked. His features tightened as if once more he had done something wrong, and that was the strangest feeling...

Vulnerability. Fear.

He took a slow steadying breath and floated away towards the window, pausing there for a moment to gaze back at her and he whispered very quietly, barely heard. "Yes, that...that was wonderful. Forgive me, Jessie, I hope you know that I am very thankful for your willingness to protect me. To show me a kindness. It is rare and...I will never forget it..." his voice trailed off like he was going to say something else, say something that might be more intimate than just those words, yet he felt the fool for feeling so connected to her. So quickly emotional over a woman who he barely knew. Instead he shook his head slowly and then...

Then he was gone.

 

[Belle Dujour]

Well that was...unexpected.
But then again, Jessie hadn't known what to expect from the moment he came into her apartment...so that was par for the course. Still, she couldn't help but feel like she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her when he let her go and disappeared out of the window. Jessie thought about calling out to him, saying or doing something to get him to stay...but that was stupid. He was...well...who he was. And Jessie was who she was - mortal, temporary, a speck of dust to him perhaps. A momentary distraction. Perhaps the kiss had been just an attempt to assure she wouldn't talk, a lingering incentive. Or maybe it meant nothing. Sometimes a kiss was just a kiss. Sometimes it was an ending instead of a beginning. And the way he'd left - what he'd said - he certainly viewed it so. And the last thing Jessie wanted was to whine or complain - being needy wasn't the kind of person she wanted to be.
Jessie Olsen did not run after a man and beg him to stay. Not even a Super man. So she watched him vanish into the deep, dark sky of Metropolis and slowly reached forward to shut the window.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You know, Ms. Olsen, I would remind you that your ass is on the line but I've heard it so many times I'm giving myself a headache!"

Jessie folded her arms in front of her lap and tried her hardest not to yawn in front of Editor Lane. It wasn't that Jessie was bored - though she agreed that Ms. Lane's lectures were starting to get repetitive - she just didn't do a good job of sleeping last night after Heman had left. This also meant that the fucks Jessie had to give were astronomically low. Right now she was mad at everything - mad at Ms. Lane for yelling at her again, mad at Heman for leaving so abruptly...and mad herself for even being upset in the first place.

"Ms. Lane, I don't know what to tell you," she said, exasperated. "You're asking me for something that does not exist! I can't just waive a magic wand and magically give you a picture of the Superman engaging in a hostile criminal act! Photoshop isn't that good!"

From behind her desk, Editor Lane's nostrils flared when Jessie spoke. Lane was a woman who routinely got what she wanted - she had earned a reputation in Metropolis for getting the stories no one else could, for being relentless in her pursuits, and demanding everything from her staff up to an including blood. And so the look she gave Jessie was the same look she usually reserved for roaches. With her shoulders perfectly stiff and her fingers drumming against each other, she narrowed those eyes at Jessie and the girl could almost see the scales being weighed in the Editor's head. Which was more profitable? Firing her or keeping her around another day to vent at?

"You're exceedingly lucky that you were specifically asked by name to come with me on an assignment at the end of the week, Ms. Olsen, else you'd be shown the door for speaking in such a disrespectful manner."

Jessie blinked. "Specifically asked? By whom?"
"None other than the man himself - Commander Paul Westerfield. He's the new head honcho at Cadmus and wants you there to document their debut as the new and improved Cadmus or some bull shit like that. So you will accompany me, and if I were you, I'd get down on my knee and thank him and whatever god you subscribe to that he asked for you - otherwise you'd not have any more paychecks from me, Ms. Olsen. Now get back to your desk and work on the Red Carpet feature."

Jessie turned on her heels and left the office. For the first several moments the only thing she could think of wasn't 'holy crap my job is safe' or 'I should bring this Paul Westerfield a basket of muffins'...she could only think of Heman. Cadmus had been the one trying to destroy him and his two companions last year...and now they were asking for her. The day after she met him. The day after they...
Jessie shook her head to shake away both the stupid anxiety and even more stupid memories... What she should be focusing on is her gratitude that she still had a job, damn it.

And so she would force herself to focus on that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dressed in a classic black sweater with a white scalloped collar out of the top of the sweater and a tweed skirt that came down to her knees, Jessie tucked a strand of hair anxiously out of her face as she walked with Editor Lane and her assistant and cousin Lucy down the halls of Cadmus. In these few days since Lane had told her of this assignment, Jessie had done a fair bit of research on the "new and improved Cadmus". Which had been easy...since there had been no more late night visits and Jessie's life had gone back to being eerily normal...as though the events of that night were nothing but a very strange dream.

Since the tragedy of last year, Cadmus intel had been next to nothing - silent for the most part - with CEO Paul Westerfield only coming out to say that big changes were in store, and they were hoping to gain favor back in the public's eye. An endorsement from President Waller meant a saving grace for their stock portfolio, and a photo of Westerfield shaking her hand meant 'the promise of a better tomorrow for Cadmus'.

Jessie kept that in mind as they walked through the impressive glass atrium of the Cadmus building, weaving around bits of green foliage and impressive water sculpture fountain, and headed into the elevator. Editor Lane was snapping at Lucy for something but Jessie tuned her out as she looked out of the glass window of the elevator at the floors they rose above. She felt her mind reaching back - to the exhilaration of being in his arms, floating just those few feet above thr ground and -

"Stop it," she muttered to herself.
"Did you say something?" Lucy Lane asked, her dark hair pulled up in a messy bun on the top of her head as her blue eyes looked at Jessie.
"Nothing. Just talking to myself," Jessie replied.
Editor Lane scoffed as she checked her reflection in her compact once more before exiting the elevator and making her way down the hall towards the only door on this pent-house like floor. A door which held a plaque that read 'Mr. Paul Westerfield, CEO'.
Editor Lane reached forward to knock on his door as Jessie double checked to make sure the camera around her neck was ready to go.

 

[Father Figure]

Paul Westerfield, CEO.

The man was a worthy one of note, powerful and prestigious, definitely drawn towards his ambitions. CADMUS represented something largely differently than the government had become engaged in recent years, something that arched away from it's previous incarnations and specifically targeted a driving goal for the military industrial complex. It specifically began to search out, acquire, understand, and reverse engineer aliens and their technology. No that was not improperly stated, they reverse engineered the aliens as well - biology and chemistry were just an important part of the overriding goal as the physics that were being applied in the process. They had begun with great success, exploring all the potential options, but one particular option had stuck out like a sore thumb. One particular option eluded any capture and that was something CADMUS was desperately working on. That was the one piece of the puzzle that Westerfield wanted.

He wanted Superman.

Of course he wanted Superman, what up and coming overachiever would not? Yet that was not something easily doable. Not something that he could ever truly accomplish...that was until one of his biochemists suggested that even though they did not have direct access to Kryptonite, they could try to replicate the chemical processes with what little information truly did exist. That perhaps they could produce, perhaps even mass produce, weapons capable of working against Superman. Not only working, but harming him...maybe even killing him. Yes, that would be something he would want. That would be something that he would need if he were planning to impress President Waller. With the world's emotions turned so high against the Man of Steel...this would be Westerfield's triumph.

So when Lois Lane and Jessie Olsen arrived he gave them nothing but pomp and circumstance. His actions were pomp and circumstance, meant to draw attention to the new and improved CADMUS and it's goals, the drive that would usher in a new generation of peace for the planet...peace brought about through military might. Peace brought about through understanding the universe. There was apparently nothing that the organization would not engage in to lead them to the path of establishing complete hegemony amongst the peoples of planet earth...and after giving them the gilded, in depth, and utterly breathtaking tour there was one final thing left to be seen.

The Pièce de Ré·sis·tance.

 

[Belle Dujour]

Jessie had never seen Editor Lane go through such an incredible shift - from being utterly annoyed with the poor assistant she'd brought along with her to absolutely engaging and thrilled with Mr. Westerfield. Jessie had known the Editor's goals for a long period of time were to discredit the Man of Steel...but Westerfield was talking about something far more deadly than mere slander. As he showed them through his personal stores and spoke of his want to 'understand' the vast peoples we shared the Universe with, and the part that Superman had to play in that, Jessie was already feeling anxious. But when he showed them his strange store of red stones - glowing in a bloodthirsty radiance that reminded Jessie of the collapse of a star - she completely froze.

"And with this you can weaken him?" Editor Lane pressed, her eyes alight with the same gaze a tiger might use when assessing how to leap upon a deer.
"With this," Westerfield amended, but a similar gaze in his eyes told Lane and Jessie all they needed to know. "We can even the playing field, and bring all in this great country to justice. No more shall we as a people cower before what we do not understand like victims beneath a storm, or supplicants before some demonic monster. With the might of our fine men and women in arms - like your father, Ms. Olsen - and the knowledge to unweave the deepest secrets of the Universe, we shall take our stand against the calamities that rain down from the skies above...or even from the corners of our own cities."
"Well what are you waiting for, Olsen?" Lane said, turning over her shoulder to look at Jessie. "Snap a picture!"
Jessie had just enough time to make sure she didn't look too troubled when Lane looked her way and instead she dutifully brought the camera up to her eyes and took the picture.

She had no idea that at that very moment someone was watching her .
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Jessie couldn't drive home fast enough. The uneasy thumping in her chest and the tempest of anxiety in her stomach made her not even want to take Barbara up on a slice of pizza for dinner. All she could think of was getting home. For some reason the idea of home made her feel...safe. But that was stupid! Why should she need to feel safe? She was in no danger. No. But he was. Heman. Superman. Whatever she called him. It didn't change the fact that he was the one who should want to run. Then...why did she feel the want to flee? The eyes of Metropolis weren't on her. There wasn't an extension of the government built just to kill her. And yet she felt as though she was going to be sick with worry.

Even as she walked into her apartment and put her things down, taking off her dark green pea coat and rolling up the sleeves of her sweater, Jessie still felt constricted - as though the air in the apartment itself was trying to choke her. With shaky hands she tried to fix herself some chai - but even that didn't go as planned. By the second time she almost dropped her mug she decided to give up on the whole stupid idea. Making her way over to the couch she tried flipping through several channels from every spectrum of news to South Park to a documentary on space (of course). And even then she couldn't shake the nerves. So finally she turned the T.V off and folded her elbows on her knees as she thought. The documentary's images of super novas still filtering in her mind, her thoughts once more drifted to Heman. And this time - unlike the rest of the week - she allowed herself to focus on him.

And the anxiety slowly started to fade.
Then she understood. She was trying to tell herself something. Jessie needed to keep her promise. But there was no way to do it? It wasn't as though she had his cell phone or some communication device. When he had left he made it evident that there was to be no more communication between them. So now how was she to alert him to the danger? She could always go back to that alley way...but that was stupid beyond all reason. As she racked her brain trying to figure something out, she thought back to what people had always said about him. He was fast. He was strong. He had incredible senses-

Senses!
Jessie stood up and went to her window. She had no balcony, but the window looked out over the city and maybe - if his senses were as good as everyone claimed - maybe her could hear her! She couldn't shout - that would alert everyone in her building and the near by vicinity of their secret camaraderie. So instead she took in a gentle breath and began to whisper as soft as a prayer. "Heman?" she called out. "Heman it's me - it's Jessie. I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can, I need you to find me. Come find me quickly. Please."
Because throwing out the magic word never hurt anybody.