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It was Wednesday morning in Gateway Bay. The sun struggled through gray clouds, trying to shed some light upon the wind-swept waters of the bay. It succeded, just barely.
But you keep at it, thought Diana Curry, as she moved briskly about her kitchen.
A casual observer would have been struck by Diana's appearance. By every possible yardstick of attractiveness, the tall blonde woman was beautiful. But her beauty was more than skin deep. She moved with grace and certainty, her every motion around the kitchen economical and precise.
A glance at the ticking cat clock on the wall had her plucking the coffee pot off the stove, just as her expected visitor tapped at the back door. Diana deposited the hot coffee pot onto a crocheted pot holder, and spun toward the back door. She opened it and greeted her guest with a warm grin.
"You know you don't have to knock, John," she chided, good-naturedly.
The broad-shouldered brunette standing outside offered a lopsided grin. "I suppose I'm just old fashioned, Diana."
He offered a white paper bag.
"I brought pastries."
"Yum!"
She stepped back and waved him inside.
"Come inside. Sit down. There's hot coffee on the table. I'm just waiting on the toast."
Even as she spoke, there was a click from the toaster and golden brown bread erupted from its slots.
"Perfect timing," said John, smiling.
He sat the small table and glanced around the kitchen. It was large and airy, sunlight filtering through sheer white-curtained windows. The walls were dark blue, the countertops white formica, the cabinets golden oak. It was warm and cozy, filled with the smell of toasted bread, fried sausages and fresh coffee. The novely cat-clock hung on the wall, eyes sliding back in forth in perfect time to its ticking heartbeat. The refrigerator, a white monstrosity from an earlier decade, hummed loudly to itself. Its door was covered with magnets, post-it notes and a few select photographs.
"Will your mother be joining us?" John asked, depositing his bag on the table.
Diana placed a plate of toast on the table. "No, she's in Boston this week."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Diana turned, depositing more plates on the table, filled with scrambled eggs and fresh-cut tomatoes, steaming sausages and crispy bacon.
"She's been invited to speak at her old college's graduation."
"Is she excited?"
Diana chuckled and went to the refrigerator, liberated a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. She placed it on the table, then sat.
"I don't know if I'd say she's excited. More like pleased and sort of annoyed. She was just starting to make headway on her latest book."
"I'm sure she'll continue to make progress. Professor Curry is an impressive woman."
"I'll tell her you said so," said Diana. "Pass those pastries."
He complied and watched with amusement as she emptied the contents of the bag onto another plate. She took a deep breath and sighed happily.
"These aren't local, are they?" she said.
"I know an excellent little shop in Paris," said John.
Diana laughed and bit into a flaky pastry, filled with hazelnut cream.
"You'll have to give me their address," she said, between bites. "If I get over there, I'm definitely going to check them out."
"Of course."
John poured himself a glass of orange juice and helped himself to eggs and toast. For a few moments, they ate in companionable silence.
"So, how have things been?" John asked.
"Good," said Diana. She pushed away her plate and sat back, slung an arm over the back of the wooden chair. "Things have been good."
"Really?" He arched a slender eyebrow. "I heard about the scrap with Hyena."
"It was a bit more than a scrap."
"I thought as much," he said. "How is Miss Trevor doing?"
"She's recovering."
"I'm glad."
Diana said nothing. Her attention was turned inward. John did not need his telepathy to know that.
"Did my mom ask you to check up on me, John?"
John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No. Why would you think that?"
Sighing, Diana stood and began to gather the plates. "Because, sometimes, John, you're about as subtle as a kick in the head."
"I'm just concerned," he admitted. "You haven't been doing this sort of thing very long, Diana. It can take its toll."
"I know," said Diana, quietly. She began to rinse the dishes in the sink. "And I would be lying if I said I wasn't having bad dreams, but considering all the other things that could be happening, I'm counting myself lucky that that's all the problems I've had."
"You know that if you ever need or want to talk...."
"I know, John." She turned and smiled at him. "And I appreciate the offer, but I'm doing all right."
" I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you."
"That's very sweet," she said. "But if you really want to be here for me, grab a dish cloth. I'll wash. You dry."
He chuckled and joined her at the sink.
"What about you?" asked Diana. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," said John. "Why do you ask?"
"I heard about Harvey Wesker disappearing."
"The police are looking into it."
Diana frowned. "Just the police?"
"No," admitted John. "I'm sure Luthor Wayne is taking an interest as well."
"What about you? You're not going to investigate?"
"There's no need," said John. "Wesker is one of Wayne's creatures. I'm sure he's got Commissioner Grundy and the GPD giving the matter top priority."
Diana frowned. "That's not very reassuring."
John tilted his head, frowning. "Excuse me."
He was gone by the time she turned her head to look at him. Shrugging, Diana continued washing the dishes. Ten minutes later, John returned.
"Sorry about that. A van ran off the cliff road and I had to intervene."
"Was anyone hurt?" asked Diana. She handed him the dish cloth, and he took it, resumed drying the dishes.
"No. The driver was mostly scared out of his wits. But he's fine."
"And now he has a story to tell down at the bar," said Diana, mildly. "About how Omegan saved his life. He'll probably get a few beers for that."
"I doubt it," said John. "I didn't intervene as myself."
Diana frowned at him. "John Kent, what did you do?"
He grinned and his form shimmered, until Diana was staring at herself.
"Oh hell," she muttered. Then added, "My hair's not that long."
"A minor detail," the other Diana said.
A moment later, John was back, smiling.
"You know it's weird when you do that. Right?"
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Diana."
"Uh-huh. Remind me of that the next time you're fighting someone like Madame Zahl."
"Well, someone's been doing their homework."
Diana shrugged. "Traci suggested it."
"Smart woman. I'd like to meet her some day."
"I'm sure you will. It's only a matter of time before DARE has to run an operation in Gothopolis."
"If they do, I'd appreciate a head's up."
"Paranoid?" teased Diana.
"Justifiably cautious," said John. "I had some unpleasant experiences with the government, back in the Fifties."
"Times have changed."
He shook his head. "Not that much."
She let the subject drop and took his arm. "Come on. Let's go for a walk along the beach. I think we could both use some fresh air."
They left the lighthouse and followed the cliff south until they reached the rickety wooden stairs that had led down to the beach for as long as Diana could remember. The sun had given up trying to penetrate the thickening clouds, and the wind coming off the bay was bitter cold.
"Storm's coming," said John.
Diana shrugged. "As long as it's not a supervillain, I don't care."
He snorted and tugged her closer to him. "Careful. It's best not to tempt the fates."
"I've met the Fates," said Diana, blandly. "Trust me. They're just not that interested in what happens down here."
"That's both reassuring and worrying," said John.
They strolled south, along the beach, toward Gateway Bay. The fishing village lay before them, quiet and still. There weren't many fishing boats tied up at the docks, and John remarked on it.
"The fishermen have to go out," said Diana. "They can't let the threat of weather stop them."
"It must be a hard life."
"It is," said Diana. "I grew up on the docks. I knew men who went out to sea and died in storms."
He squeezed her arm. "We can't save everyone, Diana."
"I know, but don't we have to try?"
"If I said no, I'd be lying."
She snorted and pushed her long hair out of her eyes. "One of these days, I swear I'm going to cut all of my hair off."
"I was bald for a while," remarked John.
"Oh? What brought that on?"
"Yule Brenner. I was a big fan back in the day."
"Lord," said Diana. "You sound like someone's grandfather, John."
"Well, I am older than I look," he pointed out.
"Yes, well, I just hope I look half as good as you when I'm your age."
"I'm pretty sure you don't have anything to worry about, Diana."
Playfully, she punched his arm. "Flatterer. Don't start. We tried going down that road."
"Do you ever regret it?" John asked, quietly.
She didn't answer right away.
"No," said Diana. "I think we both knew it wouldn't have worked out."
"Probably."
"Speaking of bad romances, how are things going with your Miss Lane?"
He sighed and gave her a weak grin. "Another dead end, I'm afraid. Sandra and I are just fundamentally incompatible."
"I'm sorry, John."
"I'll survive."
They'd been following the curve of the beach. Now, as they neared the harbor, the gray skies rumbled with thunder. Cold rain drops began to fall.
"Well, it's another beautiful day in Gateway Bay," said Diana, blankly.
"There are worse places you could be living," said John.
Diana nodded. "Or I couldn't be alive at all."
"That too." He unwound his arm from hers. "I should get back to Gothopolis. Thanks for breakfast."
"Same time next week?" she asked.
"Yes, but this time you come to mine," said John, firmly. "Just because we agreed dating would be a disaster doesn't mean I can't cook breakfast for you."
She laughed and stepped away from him. "Fine. I'll see you next week at your place."
He nodded and began to change. His flesh darkened, becoming the color of fresh olives, and his hair went from chestnut brown to jet black. Subtly, his features altered, and his clothes twisted and morphed on his body, until there was no sign of John Kent, only the green-skinned alien hero known as the Omegan.
"I hope no one saw that," said Diana. "Imagine the gossip."
"Don't worry," said Omegan. Even his voice had changed, becoming deeper and more formal. "No one was looking."
"Have a good flight, John."
"Have a good day, Diana. I'll see you next week."
With that, the green-skinned man tilted his head back and shot into the rainy gray sky. He was gone in a moment, leaving Diana on the beach, alone.
She sighed and pushed her fingers through her wet hair.
"I never thought we would be a disaster," she said to the empty sky.
Then she turned and began to make her way back to the lighthouse and the familiar warmth of home.
But you keep at it, thought Diana Curry, as she moved briskly about her kitchen.
A casual observer would have been struck by Diana's appearance. By every possible yardstick of attractiveness, the tall blonde woman was beautiful. But her beauty was more than skin deep. She moved with grace and certainty, her every motion around the kitchen economical and precise.
A glance at the ticking cat clock on the wall had her plucking the coffee pot off the stove, just as her expected visitor tapped at the back door. Diana deposited the hot coffee pot onto a crocheted pot holder, and spun toward the back door. She opened it and greeted her guest with a warm grin.
"You know you don't have to knock, John," she chided, good-naturedly.
The broad-shouldered brunette standing outside offered a lopsided grin. "I suppose I'm just old fashioned, Diana."
He offered a white paper bag.
"I brought pastries."
"Yum!"
She stepped back and waved him inside.
"Come inside. Sit down. There's hot coffee on the table. I'm just waiting on the toast."
Even as she spoke, there was a click from the toaster and golden brown bread erupted from its slots.
"Perfect timing," said John, smiling.
He sat the small table and glanced around the kitchen. It was large and airy, sunlight filtering through sheer white-curtained windows. The walls were dark blue, the countertops white formica, the cabinets golden oak. It was warm and cozy, filled with the smell of toasted bread, fried sausages and fresh coffee. The novely cat-clock hung on the wall, eyes sliding back in forth in perfect time to its ticking heartbeat. The refrigerator, a white monstrosity from an earlier decade, hummed loudly to itself. Its door was covered with magnets, post-it notes and a few select photographs.
"Will your mother be joining us?" John asked, depositing his bag on the table.
Diana placed a plate of toast on the table. "No, she's in Boston this week."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Diana turned, depositing more plates on the table, filled with scrambled eggs and fresh-cut tomatoes, steaming sausages and crispy bacon.
"She's been invited to speak at her old college's graduation."
"Is she excited?"
Diana chuckled and went to the refrigerator, liberated a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. She placed it on the table, then sat.
"I don't know if I'd say she's excited. More like pleased and sort of annoyed. She was just starting to make headway on her latest book."
"I'm sure she'll continue to make progress. Professor Curry is an impressive woman."
"I'll tell her you said so," said Diana. "Pass those pastries."
He complied and watched with amusement as she emptied the contents of the bag onto another plate. She took a deep breath and sighed happily.
"These aren't local, are they?" she said.
"I know an excellent little shop in Paris," said John.
Diana laughed and bit into a flaky pastry, filled with hazelnut cream.
"You'll have to give me their address," she said, between bites. "If I get over there, I'm definitely going to check them out."
"Of course."
John poured himself a glass of orange juice and helped himself to eggs and toast. For a few moments, they ate in companionable silence.
"So, how have things been?" John asked.
"Good," said Diana. She pushed away her plate and sat back, slung an arm over the back of the wooden chair. "Things have been good."
"Really?" He arched a slender eyebrow. "I heard about the scrap with Hyena."
"It was a bit more than a scrap."
"I thought as much," he said. "How is Miss Trevor doing?"
"She's recovering."
"I'm glad."
Diana said nothing. Her attention was turned inward. John did not need his telepathy to know that.
"Did my mom ask you to check up on me, John?"
John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No. Why would you think that?"
Sighing, Diana stood and began to gather the plates. "Because, sometimes, John, you're about as subtle as a kick in the head."
"I'm just concerned," he admitted. "You haven't been doing this sort of thing very long, Diana. It can take its toll."
"I know," said Diana, quietly. She began to rinse the dishes in the sink. "And I would be lying if I said I wasn't having bad dreams, but considering all the other things that could be happening, I'm counting myself lucky that that's all the problems I've had."
"You know that if you ever need or want to talk...."
"I know, John." She turned and smiled at him. "And I appreciate the offer, but I'm doing all right."
" I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you."
"That's very sweet," she said. "But if you really want to be here for me, grab a dish cloth. I'll wash. You dry."
He chuckled and joined her at the sink.
"What about you?" asked Diana. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," said John. "Why do you ask?"
"I heard about Harvey Wesker disappearing."
"The police are looking into it."
Diana frowned. "Just the police?"
"No," admitted John. "I'm sure Luthor Wayne is taking an interest as well."
"What about you? You're not going to investigate?"
"There's no need," said John. "Wesker is one of Wayne's creatures. I'm sure he's got Commissioner Grundy and the GPD giving the matter top priority."
Diana frowned. "That's not very reassuring."
John tilted his head, frowning. "Excuse me."
He was gone by the time she turned her head to look at him. Shrugging, Diana continued washing the dishes. Ten minutes later, John returned.
"Sorry about that. A van ran off the cliff road and I had to intervene."
"Was anyone hurt?" asked Diana. She handed him the dish cloth, and he took it, resumed drying the dishes.
"No. The driver was mostly scared out of his wits. But he's fine."
"And now he has a story to tell down at the bar," said Diana, mildly. "About how Omegan saved his life. He'll probably get a few beers for that."
"I doubt it," said John. "I didn't intervene as myself."
Diana frowned at him. "John Kent, what did you do?"
He grinned and his form shimmered, until Diana was staring at herself.
"Oh hell," she muttered. Then added, "My hair's not that long."
"A minor detail," the other Diana said.
A moment later, John was back, smiling.
"You know it's weird when you do that. Right?"
"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Diana."
"Uh-huh. Remind me of that the next time you're fighting someone like Madame Zahl."
"Well, someone's been doing their homework."
Diana shrugged. "Traci suggested it."
"Smart woman. I'd like to meet her some day."
"I'm sure you will. It's only a matter of time before DARE has to run an operation in Gothopolis."
"If they do, I'd appreciate a head's up."
"Paranoid?" teased Diana.
"Justifiably cautious," said John. "I had some unpleasant experiences with the government, back in the Fifties."
"Times have changed."
He shook his head. "Not that much."
She let the subject drop and took his arm. "Come on. Let's go for a walk along the beach. I think we could both use some fresh air."
They left the lighthouse and followed the cliff south until they reached the rickety wooden stairs that had led down to the beach for as long as Diana could remember. The sun had given up trying to penetrate the thickening clouds, and the wind coming off the bay was bitter cold.
"Storm's coming," said John.
Diana shrugged. "As long as it's not a supervillain, I don't care."
He snorted and tugged her closer to him. "Careful. It's best not to tempt the fates."
"I've met the Fates," said Diana, blandly. "Trust me. They're just not that interested in what happens down here."
"That's both reassuring and worrying," said John.
They strolled south, along the beach, toward Gateway Bay. The fishing village lay before them, quiet and still. There weren't many fishing boats tied up at the docks, and John remarked on it.
"The fishermen have to go out," said Diana. "They can't let the threat of weather stop them."
"It must be a hard life."
"It is," said Diana. "I grew up on the docks. I knew men who went out to sea and died in storms."
He squeezed her arm. "We can't save everyone, Diana."
"I know, but don't we have to try?"
"If I said no, I'd be lying."
She snorted and pushed her long hair out of her eyes. "One of these days, I swear I'm going to cut all of my hair off."
"I was bald for a while," remarked John.
"Oh? What brought that on?"
"Yule Brenner. I was a big fan back in the day."
"Lord," said Diana. "You sound like someone's grandfather, John."
"Well, I am older than I look," he pointed out.
"Yes, well, I just hope I look half as good as you when I'm your age."
"I'm pretty sure you don't have anything to worry about, Diana."
Playfully, she punched his arm. "Flatterer. Don't start. We tried going down that road."
"Do you ever regret it?" John asked, quietly.
She didn't answer right away.
"No," said Diana. "I think we both knew it wouldn't have worked out."
"Probably."
"Speaking of bad romances, how are things going with your Miss Lane?"
He sighed and gave her a weak grin. "Another dead end, I'm afraid. Sandra and I are just fundamentally incompatible."
"I'm sorry, John."
"I'll survive."
They'd been following the curve of the beach. Now, as they neared the harbor, the gray skies rumbled with thunder. Cold rain drops began to fall.
"Well, it's another beautiful day in Gateway Bay," said Diana, blankly.
"There are worse places you could be living," said John.
Diana nodded. "Or I couldn't be alive at all."
"That too." He unwound his arm from hers. "I should get back to Gothopolis. Thanks for breakfast."
"Same time next week?" she asked.
"Yes, but this time you come to mine," said John, firmly. "Just because we agreed dating would be a disaster doesn't mean I can't cook breakfast for you."
She laughed and stepped away from him. "Fine. I'll see you next week at your place."
He nodded and began to change. His flesh darkened, becoming the color of fresh olives, and his hair went from chestnut brown to jet black. Subtly, his features altered, and his clothes twisted and morphed on his body, until there was no sign of John Kent, only the green-skinned alien hero known as the Omegan.
"I hope no one saw that," said Diana. "Imagine the gossip."
"Don't worry," said Omegan. Even his voice had changed, becoming deeper and more formal. "No one was looking."
"Have a good flight, John."
"Have a good day, Diana. I'll see you next week."
With that, the green-skinned man tilted his head back and shot into the rainy gray sky. He was gone in a moment, leaving Diana on the beach, alone.
She sighed and pushed her fingers through her wet hair.
"I never thought we would be a disaster," she said to the empty sky.
Then she turned and began to make her way back to the lighthouse and the familiar warmth of home.
