I.

The first time I saw my father kissing Clark Kent, I was eight years old.

I woke in the dark of my room, the clock ticking softly by my bed and a funny feeling in my tummy. I wanted a glass of water.

Tucking Peter Panda under my arm, I padded down the silent hall to my father's room. The door was open and I crossed the threshold quietly. Daddy's room was a sanctuary to me, steeped in his masculine scents and full of his fascinating obsessions. Tidbits of everything that was important in the world, scraps of notes where my father scribbled his midnight ideas, old photographs, older books, various pieces of maudlin history that Dad cherished like talisman, everything heavy with weight and meaning.

Usually at that hour my father would have been in his bed either asleep or bespectacled with notes, books and laptop at hand. That night the room was empty and the funny feeling in my tummy turned to sick apprehension.

I rubbed my sleep swollen eyes and tried to remember what Daddy had told me about fear, but I couldn't recall. Then, a balm to my pounding heart, I remembered that Uncle Clark had been at dinner that night. Uncle Clark--my favorite--with his silly glasses and goofy smile. He had big hands that would swoop me up effortlessly, not even grunting as he tossed me in the air to catch me close, hugging me tight. Uncle Clark made Daddy laugh and smile. And sometimes he made Daddy very mad. Sometimes they yelled at each other and I would hide and cry.

I wondered if Daddy was awake because Uncle Clark was still here. Maybe they were fighting over Daddy's business or Uncle Clark's newspaper and that was why Daddy wasn't in bed. But I didn't hear their voices, the whole house was silent.

My stomach lurched at the sudden fear that I was alone. That maybe Daddy and Uncle Clark had decided to check out heaven, decided that where Mommy was would be better than here. Then I laughed because I knew that Daddy would never leave me and that Clark had promised my mother to take care of me and to protect me. Daddy and Uncle Clark weren't liars.

I hugged Peter Panda close and tripped down the hall, lights from the kitchen glowed up the back stairway and I stepped down the tall risers silently.

The bright light of the kitchen bloomed around me as I entered. Peter Panda hit the floor--

Daddy had Uncle Clark pressed against the wall, his body flat against his and his hands on the wall at either side of Clark's head. Uncle Clark's messy hair hung in his face obscuring his eyes; the silly glasses were broken under Daddy's feet. Daddy's mouth moved on Uncle Clark's and I watched silently as Clark's knees buckled and he began to slide down the wall. Daddy's hands moved to grasp his shirt, holding him fast as he kissed him like a movie star. Only, in the movies the men kissed the women, not the other men.

I dragged my eyes away, picked Peter Panda up from the floor and took my time dusting him off. I looked back up.

Daddy was *still* kissing Uncle Clark.

I took a deep breath, hugged Peter Panda close and said, "Daddy? May I have some water?"

Uncle Clark jumped, regained the use of his knees and shoved Daddy away--hard.

Daddy had to catch his balance and he looked startled, but after he ran the back of his hand over his mouth quickly, he smiled softly at me.

"Yes, Lena. I'll get some water for you."

Uncle Clark wouldn't meet my eyes and even as a child, I recognized shame.

Daddy crunched Clark's glasses under his feet as he turned on his heel to the cabinet and sink.

Uncle Clark began to slide away, his eyes fixed on the door. Daddy, using the eyes in the back of his head, the same ones he uses when I was being bad, reached out and grabbed Uncle Clark by the wrist, stopping his escape.

"Uncle Clark, will you read me another story?" I asked.

Clark licked his lips nervously and glanced from the floor to the cabinet to the chair to the door.

"I…it's late, Lena. I need to, um, go home."

I frowned. I pouted. I stamped my little foot.

"But there are monsters under my bed!" I lied. I didn't believe in monsters. Just my grandfather. "And you promised my mommy you'd protect me! You have to stay!"

Daddy knelt beside me with the water, silent but there was knowing in his eyes. He knew that Lena Luthor feared no one, least of all monsters.

"Yes, Clark, you did promise that Lena would be safe. You wouldn't want her to be eaten by a monster with razor sharp teeth and a penchance for blood, would you?"

Daddy's eyes twinkled at me and he ran his hand over my hair. I drank from the glass he'd handed me.

"Lex…" Clark began.

Daddy interrupted. "Yes, I think the monster infestation in this house is so dangerous that if you intend to fulfill your promise, you may need to spend the night."

Clark's eyebrows shot up. "Lex--I--don't know--we--I--"

"Have wanted to check for monsters under my bed for years." Daddy grinned. "I think Lena is right. You need to stay here--to protect us both."

I nodded slowly as I finished my water. I knew my father didn't need protection from anyone or anything--except maybe Superman.

Superman and Daddy didn't get along.

Clark's face turned so red that I thought he might explode. I wondered if that ever happened--like on cartoons.

"All right, Lena. One story." Clark promised.

I smiled in triumph and grabbed Clark's hand. He pulled me up to his chest and I clung to his neck as he carried me back to bed. I looked over his shoulder at Daddy following behind us.

I whispered to Clark, "Maybe Daddy will give you another goodnight kiss if you are good and read the story that I like best."

Clark blushed again and Daddy chuckled.

Clark had to check Daddy's room for monsters nearly every night after that. And I saw a lot of goodnight kisses.


II.

The first time I saw my father kissing Superman, I was sixteen.

My summer job as Dad's minion in training was a feast of boredom. Assigned yet another shift observing the purification of Kryptonite, I strode into his office prepared to pout, frown, stomp--whatever it took to get a different assignment. Or better yet, convince Dad to let me work at Clark's paper this summer. That request was guaranteed to produce a conniption fit that would at least be entertaining to watch.

Instead, I stopped dead in my tracks, the doors open behind me, and my jaw on the floor.

My father was slammed against the wall of his office, his arms pinned by the strong, brilliant-blue clad alien, and he was being kissed as though the world's supply of oxygen could be found in his mouth. His knees had buckled and the alien held him effortlessly.

I slammed the door shut behind me and exclaimed, "Oh. My. God!"

Dad and Superman leapt apart. The blur of blue sped behind my father's desk in a heartbeat.

Dad smoothed his shirt and ran the back of his hand over his mouth and looked nervously between me and Superman. Superman just stared at my father angrily.

"I repeat. Oh. My. God." I threw my father a look of disgust. "What the *hell* do you think you're doing?"

Dad blinked at me, opened his mouth, looked to Superman, to the floor, closed his mouth, and adjusted his shirt until it fell perfectly again.

"Daddy!"

When he didn't answer, I turned to glare at Superman for a moment. He didn't look very impressed with my fury.

I rolled my eyes at him and turned back to Dad. "And what about Clark? What are you *thinking*?"

Dad looked at Superman and said, "Lena, this isn't the way it looks."

"What? It looked to me like you were making out with Superman." I pursed my lips and threw out a hip. "Are you going to tell me that was mouth to mouth resuscitation?"

Superman stepped forward. "Lena--" His voice was deep and commanding.

I whirled on him. "Shut up. I don't want to talk to you." I looked pointedly at my father. "I want to talk to Clark."

Dad sighed and moved toward me, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "Lena, please, just calm down."

Superman moved toward me as well. "Lena, listen to your father. Clark--" Superman broke off for a moment and then continued, "Clark knows about us." He gave Dad a meaningful look.

"Yes. Clark knows, Lena. He's okay with this."

I shook my head in disgust, my eyes narrowed.

"Lena, you need to listen to your father," Superman said. That voice so commanding and deep--it pissed me off to be standing in the room with so many lies.

I took a deep breath and whispered, "Shut up, Clark. Shut up."

Dad and Superman froze.

"Yeah. I know who you are--but I don't want you like this. I want *my* Clark. I don't want you touching him like this." I gestured toward the blue uniform. "You're a big lie and--" suddenly I was five years old, motherless and angry. "I hate you!"

"Lena--" Clark's voice, not the alien. "Lena, I'm sorry."

I covered my face with my hands and started to cry. Dad's arms were around me and his rough voice soothed in my ear. Superman didn't try to touch me. Clark would have--

But he wasn't Clark in all of that blue.



III.

The last time I saw Superman and Clark Kent kiss my father was the day of my father's second inauguration. The sun shone like an omen of all that was good and beautiful in the world, much like Clark's smile and my father's happy eyes. They held hands, preparing for the moment when Daddy would step up to the podium.

I smoothed my hands down the front of my white dress, and admired Daddy's white suit. It was oddly warm for November, and we had both laughed and chased each other through the White House garden earlier, joking about turning the hose on each other, but Clark had stopped us, yelling that it was time to go.

I was remembering that and smiling at my daddy when I found out that it's amazing how the world can change in an instant. Like in the time that it takes for a snipers bullet to be stopped by Superman's hand. Clark exposed himself to the world with that move.

All for nothing.

A second bullet shot simultaneously felled my father before both of our shocked eyes. I screamed and fell to the ground beside him, the thunder of Secret Service feet all around, the whirring screech of sirens, and the wails of the crowd.

The blood was copious and instantaneous, spreading everywhere like a river. It was on my hands, and on my dress, but I couldn't seem to stop it. No one could. I turned to Clark, begging him to save my daddy, but the world slowed down and stopped as I took in Clark's pain and rage, the chasm of it swallowing me whole. And I found myself terrified and empty, lost, as I watched him cradle my father's body and rain kisses on his lifeless face.

He turned to the Secret Service, barked, "Keep her safe until I return." There was a whirl of blue and red, a final blood-smeared kiss to my father's blue lips, and Superman was gone. I pulled my father's body onto my lap and waited for the ambulance to arrive at the hospital. I pressed my own last kiss to my daddy's head and closed my eyes against the shining sun.

THE END