The ring road along the bay ran straight through the landscape, and ended abruptly here. Marco pulled the Cherokee onto the roadside, killed the engine, and stepped out. The moment his boots hit the pavement, it felt as though he had crossed into a different world.
Bright sunlight poured down without restraint, so intense it made him squint. He raised a hand to shade his eyes and found himself staring at a massive billboard.
Welcome to Metropolis.
The cheerfulness radiating from that billboard was almost aggressive. A cartoon sun grinned. Beneath a deep blue sky, in front of skyscrapers, a smiling family of three waved enthusiastically at everyone entering the city.
Marco leaned against the warm hood of the Cherokee and stretched, letting the sunlight bake the stiffness out of his muscles. A kind of relaxation he hadn't felt in months spread slowly from his spine outward, seeping into his shoulders, neck, and limbs. He could feel the knots in his shoulders loosening under this unfamiliar warmth.
The air smelled dry and warm. On a small viewing platform nearby, a group of cyclists in neon gear were resting and chatting. A blonde girl on roller skates zipped past him, stirring up a breeze and leaving behind a trail of laughter.
"So this is what spring feels like."
He turned to look back the way he'd come. The sunlight stopped abruptly in the middle of the bay, splitting the water in two. On the far side, dark clouds hung over Gotham.
"That's just weird."
He climbed back into the driver's seat, restarted the engine, and followed the flow of traffic toward the city ahead.
He rested his arm on the window frame, fingers drumming against the door as the wind whipped past. While waiting at a traffic light, he watched a pickpocket get caught red-handed by his victim, and instead of pulling a gun or running, the thief put his hands up and surrendered without a fight.
Marco couldn't help himself. He laughed out loud.
"Metropolis citizens really are something else."
His gaze drifted toward a skyscraper in the distance, still under construction, towering into the clouds. For a second, he thought Bruce had decided to expand his real estate empire beyond Gotham. Then he spotted the massive green L logo at the top of the structure.
Oh. Right. Lex Luthor's playground.
Wonder if Superman's kicked his ass yet.
---
He parked near the Daily Planet building and walked into the lobby. The receptionist at the front desk looked up, and her face immediately lit up.
"Oh! I remember you! You're Clark's first fan, right?"
Marco gave her a sheepish grin. "Uh... yeah. Sure. That's me."
Fake fan or not, a fan's a fan.
He touched his face self-consciously and followed her directions to a meeting room. A few minutes later, footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Clark's broad frame appeared in the doorway.
"Hey, Marco."
Clark extended his hand with a warm smile, showing no sign of annoyance at the unannounced visit.
"What brings you to Metropolis? Here to see Waylon?"
"I'm here to see all of you." Marco shook his hand and dropped into one of the chairs. "I'm on administrative leave for a while. You heard about the terrorist attack in Gotham a while back, right?"
"Yeah, I saw it in the paper." Clark nodded. "There were a lot of casualties."
"Yeah. It was a shitshow. Bullets everywhere. But I helped drive them off, so the department gave me a month to decompress." Marco spread his hands. "How about dinner tonight? We can call Waylon and Lois, make it a group thing."
"Lois is in Central City right now. There was an accident at one of the S.T.A.R. Labs facilities yesterday." Clark hesitated. "And, uh... I've got a relative staying with me for a few days..."
"No problem. Bring them along. The more, the merrier, right?" Marco figured it was probably Martha. "You've got Waylon's number, right?"
"Yeah, I do." Clark pulled out a notepad, scribbled down a string of digits, and handed it over. Marco glanced at it and stuffed it into his pocket. "Why don't you call him? But don't tell him I'm here yet. I want it to be a surprise."
"Uh... yeah. Sure. No problem."
Marco tilted his head, studying him. "Hey, Clark. You okay? You seem distracted."
"Oh. Um..." Clark looked at him for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. "If you ever run into a situation that dangerous again, you can call me. Or... or my friend. He could help."
"A friend?" Marco raised an eyebrow. "Clark, that was a several-hundred-person firefight. Unless your buddy's FBI or Marine Force Recon, I don't see how he'd make a difference."
"He's not a soldier. You know Metropolis has a guardian, right? Someone called... Superman?"
"Yeah, I know who he is. I've read some of your articles about him." Marco kept his tone casual. "Red cape, blue suit, underwear on the outside. Seems like a good guy."
Clark leaned forward slightly.
"Really? You really think so? You're not just messing with me?"
Then he seemed to realize how eager he sounded, quickly leaned back, and pretended to adjust his tie.
Marco stood up, walked over to the door, glanced into the hallway, and quietly locked it. He turned back to Clark.
"That guy's you, isn't he? Or if it's not you, then he's definitely more than just some random friend."
"What? No. Of course not. How could it be me?" Clark's hands flew up defensively. "I can't even fly. Why would you think..."
"It's not that weird. Don't forget what I do for a living." Marco sat back down and picked up his coffee. "When you're investigating cases, there's an unwritten rule: if someone keeps showing up at crime scenes as the person who reports it, or as a concerned citizen, or as a convenient witness... they're either the perpetrator or they're connected to it somehow."
He took a sip.
"Look at the Daily Planet's coverage of Superman. Eight out of ten times, it's you who just happens to run into him saving people, stopping runaway trains, catching falling planes. Or does he wait on street corners for you to show up so you can get the scoop? Unlikely right?"
"That's just coincidence. You have to believe me..."
"Alright. If you don't want to talk about it, I'll pretend I don't know anything. But I'm probably not the only one who's had suspicions. Other people might've noticed too, they just don't have proof. If you really want to keep your identity hidden, you're going to need to cut back on how often you write about him."
"Okay. Thank you. I will." Clark let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing.
The relief lasted about two seconds.
"Oh, by the way..." Marco grinned. "So it is you."
Clark froze.
"No. No, that's not... I didn't mean... I'm just an ordinary..."
He stood up abruptly, letting out a laugh. But then he thought about what Marco had said, and slowly sank back into his chair.
"Is it really that obvious?"
It was as close to an admission as Marco was going to get.
"To me? Yeah." He sat across from Clark and leaned forward slightly. "But I'm a cop. And I'm from Gotham. We're trained to doubt everything and everyone. To most people, you're just a big, friendly reporter from Kansas. Your cover's solid. But if someone wanted to go after your other identity... if they were looking for it... they might already suspect."
Clark's hands clenched together tightly.
"Marco..." He spoke with difficulty. "Martha, Jonathan, Jimmy, and Lois... This secret is not just about me. If the wrong people find out, I can't imagine what they'd do to them. I can't take that risk."
Marco held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged.
"I've got enough problems of my own. I'm not looking to add yours to the pile." He stood up and stretched. "But if you want to keep your identity under wraps, you're going to help me out tonight."
Clark blinked. "Help you with what?"
"Book us a good restaurant. Somewhere nice. You're paying."
Clark stared at him for a second, then let out a laugh.
"Yeah. Okay. I can do that."