-You asked, you waited, and now you shall receive-

He didn't sleep. He just watched. He watched when Superboy ate stir fry with his fingers, when Lois helped herself to the miniature malt liquor in her purse, even when she finally passed out, the kid following not minutes later. They were both asleep on the couch,  Lois slumped over and Superboy sat perfectly upright, his spine fully erect, facing the opposite wall. If it weren't for the soft snores and flickering eyelids, Clark would assume he was still awake. At least his eyes were closed, Clark felt sick every time he had to look into them: pallid, flat, and completely devoid, like an over-exposed photograph of his own with all the depth and details airbrushed away. 

That was a decent way to explain the clone as a whole: his eyes were blank, his skin lacked any wrinkles, tan, scars, freckles, his hair was wild and all black with no silver at all... He looked like if all Clark's history, identity and depth had been scrubbed off with steel wool, leaving a generic slate that could be wrenched into any version of Superman imaginable.

Clark was shook from his contemplation by a buzzing, he jumped and snatched his phone off the kitchen table. Across the room, Superboy clapped his palms over his ears, doubling over. At first Clark worried he woke the kid up, but he didn't move, and after a few seconds his heartrate and breathing evened out and the clone was asleep once more.

Clark took the call outside.

"Sorry honey did I wake you up?"

"No, I was up." Clark yawned, thankful he'd never changed last night as he paced the hall outside his apartment. "What's got you up at this hour?"

 "I just got back from the henhouse and we were just about to pack up for market."

Clark checked the time: half past six, half-past-five in Kansas. He didn't know how his mother was still up so early at her age, but he admired her strength. "It's on the early side... How are the hens laying?"

"Good as ever. Gladys' been a bit soft recently, but If we grind some shells into her meal it oughtta fix that." She paused for breath. "Oh, but you didn't want to talk about the chickens! I was just calling to ask if you were still coming over this long weekend."

"Yes. Of course!" Clark replied without thinking, he always went down for long weekends, and he'd promised this one to his parents weeks ago.

"That's perfect. Everyone down here misses you. Ardeen-- you know-- last week after the service, I was speaking with Ardeen from church..." His mother went on to catch him up on her conversation with Ardeen-from-church, regarding her upcoming grandchild, and how she had asked after him. He hmmm-ed and ahh-ed in the appropriate places,  wandering the halls of the building, almost forgetting his worries entirely as his mother (who 'wasn't one to gossip') brought him to date on all the local happenings. Clark decided to grab his boots and take a coffee run for Lois before she woke up and started snapping at everyone.
"How are your friends?"

"Everyone's alright over here, more or less. We've had some excitement with everyone's-- uh, Sidekicks." He hushed the last part. "But I think we're getting them back in line."

"Well, they're about that age." His mother replied sagely. "How about Bruce's boy?"

"Dickie's doing well, he's gotten so big you wouldn't believe..." The chuckle died on his lips as he remembered the second thrumming kryptonian heartbeat filling his city. It was so loud it felt like it should be rattling windows and shaking the pavement. 

"Hello?" His mother's voice asked. "Are you there? Clark?"

"Yeah. Sorry Ma. I'm still here."

"What's on your mind, honey?

"Nothing. Just... work stuff." god, It was so beyond 'work stuff' or 'family stuff' now... But how was he supposed to categorize this? 

"Work as in...? Which one?"

"The one you're thinking of." He sighed. "I'm working with a... particular client. I can't say anything. there's an NDA, but... Bruce wants me to keep an eye on them at my convenience."

"Well, if you really can't tell me, I'll just remind you not to let this take over your personal time."

They chatted a while, Clark located an open coffee shop and retrieved the bitter nectar, carrying it back home as the traffic stirred and showed the first signs of morning rush. His mother talked, and he entertained, entering the building and then the vacant elevator. They bid sincere farewells, and Clark unlocked his apartment, he stepped in and smacked into Lois. They squeaked in unison and both took turns looking embarrassed about it.

"Where've you been?"

"Coffee run." 

"It better not like the crap in your cupboard" She took the cup from him and and sipped it like a dying man clutching water. 

"Where, uh, where is he?" Clark asked, casting an eye over the apartment.

"Locked himself in the bathroom." She said. 

Clark glanced through the door, the boy was stood Infront of the mirror, staring into his reflection; he wasn't washing up or picking at his pores or tidying his hair, just staring at himself. Clark sat at the table. "When did you wake up?"

"About fifteen minutes ago." Lois said. "I was freshening up in the bathroom when he came in and locked himself in, so I'm not exactly ready for the day." 

"Are you okay driving us to work?"

"We aren't going in," Lois said casually. "Check your email, Perry has been forced by HR not to make us come in when our floor is damaged. You remember what happened when the finance floor was annihilated and poor Isabelle twisted his ankle and got shrapnel stuck in their leg? Apparently PTO is cheaper than health and safety lawsuits."

Clark hummed. "I'm sorry." He knew Lois couldn't stand time off work, she lived off  the adrenaline of story hunting.

She huffed in frustration. "Whatever, we shouldn't leave him alone after yesterday," She slurped her java. "I mean, he just got back from god knows where."

"Right. Right." He muttered. "I expect you'll still want to do your thing?

"Yes, but unfortunately I left all my pinned tabs on the work computer, so it'll take twice as long." she glanced about herself. "...and I don't have my laptop. You don't mind if I use yours?"

"Nope go for it," Clark began checking through the kitchen. "Go ahead and log in, there's no secrets between-- er--"

"I don't want to rub salt in the wound, but I'd say a long lost relative qualifies as a secret." Lois located his junky old computer and plugged it in. It was hardly new, but like her car it was old, reliable, and only needed token accommodations to it's many technical issues. "You should probably check on him by the way." She thought a second. "...Have you ever seen a dog bark at its own reflection?"

The bathroom door creaked open, and a groggy, grumpy, 5'7 boy in 6'3 pyjamas glowered up at Clark and down at Lois as simultaneously as possible without dislocating his eyeballs. He wasn't old enough to grow a beard, but if he was he would certainly be unshaven; his eyes were baggy and he was disheveled as a dishrag. The kid crossed the room stiffly and sat erect on the couch, forcibly frowning at the floor.

The adults exchanged looks and Clark cleared his throat. "Did you sleep well?"

"No."

Clark faltered a little. "Have you... have you eaten?"

"No."

"Do you want to eat?"

The kid didn't reply, but looked angrier and tried to burn holes in the carpet. Considering how much he liked saying no his silence was telling.

"Well, uh, I'm sure we've got something you can have. If you want it, I mean..." He pushed his glasses back and began fumbling through empty cabinets. His mother would scold him for that, say he was living like a bachelor (to be fair he was one), back at home not a shelve was allowed to go empty, but between work and the league and only having to feed himself, he didn't have a lot laying around; at least he had food, Lois seemed to survive off coffee and water crackers.

"You have bagels in the freezer." She piped up. "I already had one."

"Would you like a bagel?" 

The boy didn't reply at first, and then quietly grumbled; "What's a bagel?"

"It's what I ate earlier," Lois explained without missing a beat. "It's bread in a ring shape. It's good, I think you'd like it."

"Do you want me to make you one?" 

The kid shrugged, crossed his arms and ignored them.

"I'll put one on then..." Clark said cautiously. 

"I didn't say I wanted one!"

"Do you want one?"

He huffed. "I don't know. I've never had one. I don't know if they're good."

"Well.... Clark, put one on and if he doesn't want, one of us can have it." Lois said, and slurped her coffee greedily. "Well kid, we'll have to work from here today, hope that won't cramp your style too bad."

"I don't care." He replied, although he seemed almost relieved, like he didn't find any solace in solitude.

The room went quiet except for the sound of morning traffic from the street below and the hazy tick of the toaster's mechanics. Clark's password was his parent's anniversary. Lois logged in and, forcefully ignoring the open tabs, lest she see something she regrets, opened a new window and logged into her email. The toaster ticked. The cars idled and honked. Her coworker and the boy next to her watched each other warily.

The toaster popped. Far below a light turned green and the cars began roaring by like a giant river, almost drowning out the sound as Clark huffed uncomfortably and scraped a butterknife over the bread. He plated the bagel and set it on the coffee table.

The kid stared at it, he bent over for a lateral view, he fell forwards onto his knees and inspected it inferiorly; he wiggled his tempo-mandibular joint slightly as if estimating how he was supposed to bite into the bizarrely shaped food.

"Oh, I guess it's a bit... at first... here." Clark bent forwards, causing the teen to spring backwards to hard he nearly toppled the sofa. Looking unusually shy, Clark hacked the bagel into quarters. "That should be easier to eat, uh, I-- I think." He coughed and backed out of the boy's radius, turning away sharply to wash the knife.

Dubiously, he slid forwards off the couch again, reaching out and grabbing a piece. Then another. He devoured it with the same record-breaking ferocity as before, like taste didn't matter and his soul objective was to swallow all of it in a minute or less incase someone  tried to take it away.

"You like it?" Lois asked, scrolling through her spam folder. The boy nodded, shoving another piece into his mouth defensively. 

The morning passed slow, not agonizingly so, but quiet and steady. Lois tried to find the current address of a victim of  cooperate fraud many years back. Clark sat near her, fidgeting and occasionally offering lukewarm advice about where she ought to check next. The boy moved, sitting on the floor and wringing his hands, poorly disguising his residual sleepiness.

It was just that another LinkedIn profile came up nil that Clark remarked that if he couldn't be of help, he'd go get groceries for the weekend. Superboy sat and watched his idol as he put on his shoes, his jacket, and stuffed a reusable bag into his pocketm venturing out into the overcast afternoon.

"Is this all you do?" He asked.

Ms. Lois took a moment to reply, fussing over the keyboard, by the time she processed his words she just made an amused noise. "Well sometimes it's exciting, dangerous, press conferences, sneaking into black tie events, casual trespassing..."

"But that's illegal!" Superboy exclaimed, wide-eyed. Superman didn't break the rules! Superman stopped people who broke the rules!

The woman chuckled, though why he couldn't imagine: "Let's keep that bit between us."

Superboy frowned at the floor, flooded with complicated feelings; Superman and Ms. Lois were friends, but Superman Follows the rules. Does he know? If he knew then he would have captured herm right? Superman's a good person, he follows the rules... is Ms. Lois a good person?

"...You break the rules for work?"

"Sometimes you have to." She replied absently.  "But yeah, it's mostly a lot of sitting on our butts and citing sources until the computer shuts down."

"So you just do this." He said, a familiar dropping feeling in his stomach. "And you do other things when you aren't working?"

"Your-- Clark does, and I do if I ever get a break. Unfortunately I'm basically the only thing keeping our district afloat."

"He could've been there." Superboy found himself saying before he even realized. "They always said he was too busy..."

Lois drummed her fingers. She set the laptop aside woefully and gave the kid her awkward attention. "I think I get it. You know, I grew up in a military family, and I got the 'he's busy with important work' too. Took me a while to discern being busy from choosing not to be free." The room fell into uncomfortable silence, "That's how I saw it anyways. Seems like a cultural side affect of being a father. I'm sure most of them have their reasons."

The boy of steel frowned. "Fathers?"

She bit her tongue, mentally kicking herself. He. Didn't Know. Then again, why should he? Clark was busy. "A Freudian slip," she explained quickly. "I mean people."

 "Everyone's always busy." He moped, slumped against the sofa cushion. 

"Yeah, seems like it these days," She slid the overheating computer back onto her lap. "Just know; good people do bad things sometimes, bad people do good things sometimes, and it's up to you to find the difference." Surprised by her own sage words, she said nothing else. 

The boy was the next to speak. "I hate being inside." He grumbled, "I'm always inside and everyone else is always busy."

Lois sighed and slid the laptop off again. "Alright. Well, it's about lunch, let's go out."

He stared up, surly look replaced once again with those big dinner-plate eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, get dressed. I doubt Clark will mind."