Seeing Through
Clark was raised by his parents with the hope that his powers won't get to his head and as far as Jonathan and Martha Kent could tell, Clark was a good kid. He was a normal kid, considering the circumstances.
But Clark didn't feel normal, he never did and he knew he never could. How after all could he feel normal when he had the burden of keeping who he was, or more accurately, what he can do, a secret? How could he feel normal when at every turn he had to hold back?
He kept these things inside and away from them, he didn't want them to worry about him more than they had to. It was his to bear, the temptation to use his gifts for his own good.
Often, he wished he could spend a day as someone else, maybe Lex or Pete, even Whitney. Then he remembered the time he loss his powers, the price he had to pay, how far he went to get it back.
He was addicted to the power he kept bottled inside. Clark lived for the moments he could use his powers for the good of others. To save people from a meteor freak, he, in a way, created.
But there was another reason Clark liked having his powers; he liked having a cup of coffee at Talon.
"Hello, Clark," Lana would smile at him, and he'd smile back. He'd be holding back this early. No need to rush, he would tell himself, he would smile. "What will you be having?" she would ask him, because she insisted on handling his order. She always liked serving her friends.
"I don't know? Can you just bring me anything you like?" he'd say and it was true. Chloe was the coffee girl, she'd know the difference between a mocha-frap-something and tall-latte-something. He'd add a grin and a blush to that.
"Okay?" she'd pause. "How about black with cream and sugar?"
"Sounds, homey."
"Great," and she'd leave smiling her patented Lana smile. That smile that Chloe rolls her eyes over in distaste. And Clark would wait for her to return and when he saw her emerging form behind the bar, just the right distance, he'd turn it on.
That gift to see through objects, he'd turn it on and he'd look for a second, just a second, it was bad enough that way. Lana would give him his coffee, whatever it was she suggested, smiling and he'd be grinning.
"Why are you grinning like that?" she'd ask and he'd stammer about remembering a joke that he can't quite spew out when Lana asked to hear it. "You're an enigma Clark," she'd say.
You're a fox, he'd think, but never, never ever say.