The restaurant's head waiter led the procession personally, followed by four burly servers. Working in pairs, they carried platters bearing tomahawk steaks of astonishing size. Every diner in the restaurant stopped eating. Conversations died mid-sentence. Silverware was set down with soft clinks. All eyes followed the servers as they moved.
The head waiter's gaze swept across the table before finally settling on the only person who looked capable of conquering such a monstrous creation: Waylon.
"Sir. Your tomahawk steak."
Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.
Applause erupted throughout the restaurant. Murmurs and gasps of amazement rose and fell in waves.
The massive beef rib stretched across nearly the entire tabletop, almost reaching Clark on the opposite side. The deep-brown crust glistened with rendered fat, and the thick slab of meat radiated waves of heat.
"Wow," Marco said, staring at the thing that was bigger than his own head. He gestured toward Waylon with a grin. "Alright. Show us what you've got."
Waylon picked up his knife and fork.
The performance began.
---
When the check came, Clark reached for it first. Waylon moved to pull out his wallet. Marco glared at both of them.
"Don't even think about it."
He pulled out his own wallet and slapped down six hundred dollars in cash. Sure, he didn't make tens of millions a year like some people. But between his salary, that donation from Fries, and the various under-the-table payments that came with being a Gotham cop, he could afford to treat his friends to dinner without sweating it.
He said goodbye to Waylon, reminded him to train hard, and told Kara to study hard and finish her homework on time. The girl shot him an unimpressed look as he climbed into the Cherokee, hit the gas, and drove off into the Metropolis night.
---
Back at the hotel, Marco went through his usual routine: shower, brush his teeth, and check the locks twice.
He patted the pillow and lay down, pulling up the system interface in his mind.
Three skill points remaining.
He stared at the little stick-figure card for a moment, then dumped one point into it.
[Skill Level: 3]
[Required Points: 1/5]
[*******************]
He sighed. Well, habit makes it natural, I guess.
After thinking it over, he decided to keep the remaining two points in reserve. You never knew when you'd need them. Then he closed his eyes and started practicing the breathing exercise, clearing his mind, focusing on nothing, trying to hit that meditative state the system seemed to want. It was harder than it sounded. If he focused too much on counting breaths or thinking about leveling up, it didn't count. But if he let his mind go completely blank, he'd just fall asleep. He drifted somewhere between waking and dreaming.
Thud. Thud.
Someone knocked on the window.
His eyes snapped open. His drowsiness evaporated instantly. He rolled off the bed without a sound, his right hand already reaching under the pillow for the Colt. Barefoot on the carpet, he pressed his back against the wall and moved toward the window.
He took a slow breath, used the gun barrel to nudge aside a corner of the heavy curtain, and looked outside.
What he saw was unexpected.
Kara was crouched on the railing of his balcony. She was still wearing that oversized band T-shirt, fluttering lightly in the night breeze. Her expression showed no awareness, or care, that she was disturbing someone at night on the seventh floor of a hotel.
Marco frowned, lowered the gun, and unlocked the balcony door. He slid it open. Cool night air rushed in.
"Kara?"
He kept his voice low. "Do you know what time it is? And this is the seventh floor."
"I know. That's why I flew up." Kara hopped onto the balcony and peered curiously into the room. "Your room's pretty neat. Not like Clark's. He always leaves his socks lying around."
Marco rubbed his temples and took a deep breath. "Whatever your reason for being here—"
"Clark said," Kara interrupted, turning to face him directly. Her eyes locked onto his. "That you know about him. And about me."
Marco didn't answer immediately. He stepped aside slightly, gesturing for her to come inside where they could talk without being seen. But Kara shook her head and simply leaned against the balcony railing. He relaxed his posture as well, leaning against the doorframe.
"Yeah," he said. "Clark's a good guy. He's not good at lying. And I'm a cop. I notice things."
That was as close to an admission as he was going to give. Kara tilted her head. After a moment, she suddenly asked, "You're a Gotham cop, right? Did you bring your badge?"
"Huh?"
You flew up to the seventh floor in the middle of the night to ask me about my badge?
Still completely baffled, Marco nodded anyway. He did have his badge and credentials in his luggage. Even though he had no authority outside Gotham, carrying a badge could prove his identity and sometimes smooth over problems. As for the fact that carrying a badge and weapon while on vacation was a serious violation of department regulations? Well, whoever wanted to complain about it could take it up with Barnes.
Except Barnes was in a coma. So good luck with that.
"Perfect!"
A smile spread across Kara's face. She suddenly reached out and shoved him back into the room.
Marco felt like he'd been hit by a truck. His feet left the ground, and the next second he went headfirst onto the bed.
"What the hell is this about?" he muttered, rubbing his face as he stood up.
"Sorry! I got a little carried away." Kara gave him an apologetic smile, then urged him again. "Hurry and get dressed. Put on a jacket and wear your badge. I'll wait on the balcony. Trust me, I'm not going to hurt you. Just do me a favor. Clark says you're a good person."
"Clark's been wrong plenty of times..." Marco grumbled as he stripped off his T-shirt, threw on a jacket and jeans, and pinned the Gotham Police Department badge onto his chest pocket.
He stepped back out onto the balcony. "Alright. Now what?"
"We're going to take some pictures," Kara said with a grin, pulling him to the center of the balcony. The night wind lifted her hair.
She pulled a small digital camera out of her waist pouch, set it up on the edge of the balcony railing, fiddled with the timer, then ran back to Marco. One arm looped through his in a way that looked friendly. The other rested lightly on his shoulder.
"Smile!"
Marco stood there stiffly, feeling extremely awkward. He forced what he hoped was a natural smile.
Click.
The flash went off. Kara ran over to check the screen, then shook her head.
"Again. Don't look so stiff."
"Try smiling for real this time."
"Stand a little closer."
"I blinked."
"One more."
The flash kept firing. After more than ten attempts, Kara finally picked a photo she was satisfied with. In it, she was standing close to Marco's side. Marco's smile looked genuine enough, and the badge on his chest gleamed clearly under the camera flash.
"Perfect. That should work."
"Work for what, exactly?" Marco asked.
"Ugh."
Kara's expression soured slightly. "There are these girls at school. They're always mocking me for being from a small town, and not having a boyfriend." She hesitated, clearly too embarrassed to use anything harsher. "But I don't want to date the idiots at my school. They're boring. And since Clark trusts you..."
She grinned and waved the camera. "Now I can show them I've got a cop boyfriend. A tough guy who's been through gunfire in Gotham. Way cooler than their boyfriends who only care about video games and basketball."
Marco's mouth twitched. "You dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night for this? Does Clark know you're here?"
"Hey, it's important!" Kara said defensively. Then she paused. "He's on the phone with a coworker right now. So he won't notice I'm gone for a while." She hopped lightly backward. "Alright. You're done here. Thanks. Bye!"
Before Marco could respond, she shot away like a meteor in reverse, instantly blending into Metropolis' brilliant lights and vanishing into the vast night sky.
"Hey... don't use my photos for anything weird!" Marco called after her.
He sighed and looked up at the empty sky.
---
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