(Making use of Batman vs Superman, Justice League and Batman comics - Earth-2.)
Excuse me?â Clark stared at the reporter as if she had kryptonite in her hands.
âLet me repeat again,â Vicky Vale smiled like a shark scenting blood, âWhenâs your first kiss, Superman?â
âAhh...thatâs...uhmmâŠâ Clark stuttered, mind frantic.
It wasnât embarrassment that had him all tongue-tied. It was just that he couldnât remember. There were so many gaps in his memory â the side effect of returning from the dead. And even though he could only remember recent events well, those from the past â his childhood, his youth â he only had snippets of them, jumbled and not in chronological order.
So to be honest, Clark truly had no idea and he didnât want to lie. The idea of giving fake information just didnât sit well with him, especially since he was a journalist too.
The out-of-the-blue answer had both Clark and Vicki staring at Batman in surprise.
âNext question, please,â Batman cut Vicki off and the other reporters immediately clamoured to be heard, drowning out her attempt to pursue the matter.
Clark heaved a sigh of relief as the press conference shifted back to its main focus â explaining the Justice League to a world that was ambivalent towards them. Their battle against Steppenwolf had brought about much awe and respect. But it threw up tons of conspiracy theories as well, and Bruce thought it best to address the issue as quick as possible. Hence, the press conference, but with only Batman and Superman in attendance so as not to âscare the massesâ.
Though Clark was much relieved, he couldnât help but cast curious glances at Bruce.
What does he mean by nine? Is Bruce withholding information again? Clark was gripped by an anxious uneasiness, feeling as if he had forgotten something important.
When the conference ended, Superman waylaid Batman before he could slip away.
âIf you canât remember, thereâs no point in telling.â
Bruce brushed him off and attempted to walk away. But Superman grabbed his arm instead, stalling him.
âShouldnât you be telling me, precisely because I canât remember,â Clark whispered fiercely, not wanting to draw attention from the backstage crew that were dismantling the stage.
Instead of a reply, Bruce forcefully wrenched his arm out of Clarkâs grasp, knowing that Superman would let go to avoid making a scene. With a swish of his cape, he stalked off, leaving Clark gritting his teeth.
That night, Clark had a dream.
He was back in Smallville, among swaying wheat and twinkling dots decorated the night skies. Besides him was a boy, foggy and indistinct. They were talking when all of a sudden, there was a loud crack and Clark yelped, in surprise rather than pain.
He stared at the boy who had just whacked him with a branch picked from the ground.
âWhy did you hide it? Youâre stronger than you let on. Stronger than anybody.â
And Clark couldnât breath, heart constricting in fear. Had he been found out?
The dream shifted, slipping into a scene with him standing by a black limousine. The boy, his eyes now distinct, blue as the ocean waves, was bidding him goodbye. Clark was devastated, feeling as if he had made a dear friend but now they must part. Impulsively, he pressed his lips against the boyâs, clumsy and butting their teeth together. There were chuckles in the background but Clark only had eyes for the boy who was gaping in shock.
âPlease donât forget me. I will remember you so please, remember me.â
Clark woke with a start and was amazed to find tears wetting the corner of his eyes.
Is this just a dream or a piece of memory?
That same night, very much later, at the Lake House.
Bruce pulled open a drawer and drew out a worn baseball. He squeezed it tight, pain, sharp and anguished, halting his breath and breaking his heart.
He had forgotten so how could he tell.
Sliding the glass door open, he stepped out onto the balcony and stared at the lake, still and dark beneath a new moon. Raising a hand, he threw it hard, intending to sink the ball into the deepest depth available.
However, someone caught it instead.
âWhatâs this?â Clark muttered, rolling the ball in his palm.
âGive it back, damn it!â
Clark narrowed his eyes at the agitated man who was turning pale at the sight of him. He had come because he couldnât go back to sleep, and it seemed that he had come at the most opportune moment.
âYouâre hiding again, arenât you?â Clark clutched the ball, extremely annoyed, âAnd Iâm not leaving until you tell me the truth.â
(For Clark's dream, I borrowed some of the dialogue from the comic. You can read it here.
And this is the last of the lot for Superbat Week 2029. Thanks for reading them and the next to tackle will be Writer's Month, starting today as well.)