"How's it going with him." Diana rammed her first through the android's chest

"Not--" Clark hesitated. "Fine, actually."

"You changed your tone quickly." Bruce took stock of his belt, expertly avoiding any attack. 

"Well." Diana looked over their work with pride. "That was fun. We should do this more often."

"Maybe we should meet up for coffee instead."

"Is that the batman suggesting we get afterwork drinks?" The Wonderwoman negged. 

"I can't tonight. Robin is mad that he couldn't come, I'd better set that right."

"As you say." She joined the pensive Clark. "are you and the clone getting along?"

"He... uh... he's got a name now."

Bruce turned to face them in interest. 

"You named him?" Diana queried, taking him by the shoulder.

"Well... he named himself." Clark explained awkwardly. "Conner."

"Conner Kent?" The Bat asked.

"Well, yeah Lois kinda made that connection for us." He laughed uncomfortably. 

"Clark, that's great progress." Diana encouraged. "So he's met Lois?"

"From what I understand she's been more-or-less babysitting full-time."

"Not today, I thought... well she needed room." Clark explained. "I'm still trying to find a babysitter for the week days after... er... what happened on friday." He cast Diana a hopeful look, but Bruce doubled that with a disapproving glare.

"Maybe another time."

Conner woke up with a start halfway out of the bathroom. He dropped to the floor with a thud, curling up against the cabinet. He walked in his sleep sometimes, just a few steps, and only when he dreamed of Cadmus. 

Tonight it was Desmond. Desmond and the yelling, the violently overbearing orders, the touching his chest before he even knew he could say no to such things...

Conner rocked back and forth, breathing deeply and heavily.

Blockbuster just made it worse, because as Desmond he scared Conner, but then he became Blockbuster and he hurt him. He pictured the short pantheon of villains he'd faced, haunted by the yelling and hitting. He knew it was his job to be yelled at and hit... but Conner didn't like it.

Maybe he couldn't handle being Superman.

His mind raced, remembering his first fight, the hands that crafted him attempting to wring the recently imbued life from his body. With cadmus hurting him he fled to the opposite side for help, only for superman to give that look; fear and revulsion and hate in his eyes. He lived his life walking a fine line between the league's disgust and Desmond's abuse.

Conner held a faint hope that the mountain wouldn't get fixed, that he could stay here, but he knew Superman would return him to the headquarters as soon as it was ready. He had to enjoy this neutrality while it lasted. 

There was a creak and light flooded the hall outside, a large figure creeping in, shutting the door. 

"Kid?" Superman hissed. "What are you doing up?"

"Had a dream." He replied. "Woke up."

Superman set a bag on the table. "I'm just going to go to bed."

Conner swallowed hard. "Did-- did you get hurt?"

"No?" Superman replied. "No, why?"

Conner fidgeted nervously. "Do you ever get hurt?"

"Sometimes."

"okay."

"G'night, Conner."

"G'night."

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear over the bustling metropolis, beams resting across Clark's face before he even opened his eyes.

The entire apartment was still, lit only by the rising star and the charging indicators on his laptop in the kitchen.

Conner was sat on the bathroom floor, dead asleep with his cheek stuck against the sink cabinet.

Careful to keep quiet, Clark started making breakfast. Just eggs and toast, nothing special.

Conner rolled off the floor, silently joining him, hovering in the doorway until Clark offered him a seat. 

"What are you doing?"

"Making food."

"You can make food?" The boy asked. "I've never seen someone make food. It comes from boxes or gets delivered."

Clark set the plate down at his spot, hesitated, and slid it across the table to Conner, getting up to make a second plate. 

"...For me?"

Clark nodded curtly, desperately avoiding  his hollow uncanny eyes.

The kid glared holes in the plate, picking at his food cautiously. He nibbled at the edges of his eggs but expressed distaste for the texture of the yolk; he ate most of the whites, though, and all of the toast.

"Did you like it?"

"It was warm." Conner replied. "Most food isn't warm."

"Isn't it?"

He shook his head. "Most food is cold. and hard. The stuff at the mountain always is. This is really soft." He smiled an eighth of an inch. "I like it."

Clark ate, refusing to look at the boy, though he could feel Conner's eyes on him. The eyes were just... difficult to get over, he was much kinder to the kid when he didn't have to look at that haunted, empty face.

"look, uh, Conner..." he began. "I have to go back to work tomorrow. You're not coming."

"Okay." He said. "Is ms. Lois going too?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

"Maybe..." Clark began, shuddering uncomfortably, feeling the kid watching him. "What if I could fix it so  you see one of your friends tomorrow?"

"Really?" Conner asked, heart picking up. "You can do that?"

"Sure." He said, not actually sure he could. Then again, a fifteen-year-old was a lot less likely to react like Bruce if they were ordered to hang out with their friend.

Most of the afternoon went quickly, Conner gravitated back to the TV-- and the static-- and Clark tried to pass time as innocuously as possible, leaving just twice for superman responsibilities, and keeping Lois updated on Conner's good health.

it was around three when Conner piped up: "Superman?"

"Kid, just call me Clark."

"Oh." He said. "Superman?"

Clark sighed. "Yes?"

"Why don't you like me?"

"What?" Clark stumbled. "What gives you that-- how did you-- what...?"

"I know why I don't like me: I'm fake, I hurt people, I'm a bad hero..." He looked up from the screen. "Why don't you like me?"

Clark's brain moved in slow motion while the world around him sped by. "I don't... I don't hate you for what you've done."

"You hate me for who I am." Conner finished, it wasn't aggressive or accusatory, just sort of resigned. He turned back to the tv.

Clark just stared, trying to find the words. The kid wasn't the problem, his existence was. He didn't hate Conner, he hated that he was forced to have Conner. The issue with their relationship was their relationship itself... but the words didn't form, and he just watched Conner pitifully across the room.

On Monday morning, a visitor called at the Kent residence.

"HEY BUDDY!" Wally grunted in pain as he ran into the clone, arms wide. "How's my favorite godson?"

"Fine." Conner grunted, pushing through him, back into the apartment.

Wally gave Clark a glare that could cut through lead. 'What did you do to him' was written all over his freckle-smeared face.
Clark wasn't sure what he did to Conner, he was still processing it himself.

"We're gonna have so much fun!" Wally followed his friend, snapping the door shut after them, leaving Clark alone in the hallway.

Clark cut his losses, and headed for work.