Wandering In Wonderland

Your boss trusted you to get hold of a confident of one of the most dangerous men in the city tonight, and you weren’t going to let a random stranger, or your shaking knees, ruin your chance.

Exhaling sharply, you looked at your phone. Your boss gave you instructions and a description of your target. It was an easy task. – Chat the man up, put the tranquilizer in his drink, bring him back to the headquarters in one piece.

The man arrived right on time. He nervously looked around the alley before hurriedly walking inside. You waited a moment longer, hesitating only for a few seconds.

You took another deep breath and walked out of the alley and inside the bar to arrest the man, hoping he’ll rat his boss out, and make your case even more important.

Inside, you tried to ignore the music blaring or that you didn’t feel comfortable in your too-short and too-tight dress.

You made your way through the crowd, keeping an eye on the target as he was ordering a drink. Your target was standing near the bar, his face now nearly covered by his baseball cap.

He was glancing your way when you slowly stepped toward the bar to order a drink. You took the chance and added the little pill to his drink when another woman was chatting him up. Your target soon chased her away to glance your way again.

It was only a matter of time before the man started to sway. You were quick to offer help and guide him out of the bar to get fresh air. Your target ended, just as planned, in the trunk of your car, handcuffed and gagged.

Steven Grant Rogers is untouchable. No one, not even the toughest agents, dared to go against him. His name was only mentioned in a hushed tone. The walls had ears, telling Rogers everything he needed to know.

He believed that his reputation and power were enough to keep people from messing with him. No such luck.

The moment he opened his eyes and tried to move, he found himself restrained to a chair.

He laughed. It was almost comical. The feared mafia boss was restrained to a chair after a girl knocked him out, spiking his drink.

Steve closed his eyes and sighed deeply. For one night, Steve wanted to go out without bodyguards, a hidden gun, and the usual aura telling everyone to back off.

 “You can come out now,” he said, amusement in his tone. “I know you are watching me. Don’t be a creep, woman.”

“It’s agent,” you snapped at the man. “And you will tell me everything about Steve Rogers, his organization, and his accomplices. Or else…”

Steve dipped his head to get a better look at you. “Or else, doll?” He rasped. His mouth curved upward when you stepped closer to look at him. “You want me to rat myself out?”

You swallowed thickly. Back at the bar, you were in such a hurry you didn’t double-check on the target.

“What? How can it be you?” You faced Steve Rogers, the man your boss wanted to take down, realizing you were truly fucked.

Your boss Nick Fowler wasn’t a forgiving man. If he found out that you kidnapped Steve Rogers, not one of his accomplices, you were done for. You just ruined any chance to bring the mafia boss’s organization down. Even worse, you told him about your plans.

Steve smirked. He looked at you, searching for insecurities. “You have two options.” He said, taking control of the situation even though he was still handcuffed to a chair.

His eyes never left your face as you nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

“Options,” you murmured, afraid to even listen to the options Steve offered.

“One,” Steve continued, leaning back as far as the cuffs allowed, “you call your boss and explain that you kidnapped the most wanted man in the city.” He smirked darkly when your jaw clenched. “Or two, you unlock these cuffs and follow me out of this shady hideout.”

You winced because he sounded reasonable. And you hated that he sounded entertained, like your career ending in real time was the best thing to happen to him all week.

“There is a third option,” you said, forcing your voice not to shake. You lifted your chin and crossed your arms over your chest. He didn’t need to know that your heart was thundering in your chest. “I keep you here until I figure out how to fix this.”

Steve’s smile widened. He looked damn proud, and you hated him even more.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re the one in control.” You stepped closer, pointing one finger at him. “You are my prisoner.”

Steve’s gaze dropped to the finger hovering inches from his chest, then slowly lifted back to your face. “And yet you’re the one peeing their pants.”

“That’s it,” you huffed. “I’m going to call my boss, and he will…” Nothing. Fowler would do nothing for you. He hated you. And he was an arrogant asshole.

“You think Fowler will help you?” Steve laughed in your face.

“Fowler will ruin you,” you snapped at Steve, forgetting for a moment that he was, in fact, a deadly and feared man.

“Sweetness, he will ask for more money from me and let you disappear. Do you know why a sweet little desk mouse like you got the assignment? He wanted two things to happen. Fowler wanted you to fail, and to extort me.”

“What? No!” Your legs were about to give in when you looked into Steve’s eyes. There was no arrogance or a trace of a lie in his eyes. Only the ugly truth.

“You!!!” You lunged forward before thinking it through, grabbing the front of his shirt with both hands. “You are enjoying this way too much, Mr. Rogers. Do you think my life is a joke?”

Steve looked down at your fists in his shirt and then back up at you. His smirk only deepened.

“I’m enjoying that you are still trying to find a way out of this situation,” he said quietly. “Most people would have started crying by now or begging.”

“Stop complimenting me,” you hissed, releasing his shirt and stepping away. “I’m not interested in the game you are playing. I know how men like you hurt people like me.”

“This isn’t a game, doll. It’s survival.” Steve shifted in the chair, the metal cuffs clinking against the frame. “Your boss sent you into that bar with false information and no backup. That means either he wanted you gone, or he wanted to fuck with me.”

You shuddered. Fowler never liked you. You hated that Steve’s words made sense.

Steve waited for you to decide on your fate when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You fished it out of your pocket, glancing at the name flashed across the screen.

“Let me guess, it’s Fowler,” Steve concluded. “If you want to survive the night, don’t answer it.”

“You’re not my boss.” You looked at the phone, letting it ring. “Stop telling me what to do.”

“If you pick up, Fowler will know you’re alive. If he knows you’re alive, he’ll send men here.” Steve’s voice lowered. “And they won’t come to save you, doll.”

You swallowed hard. “What shall I do then, huh?”

Steve looked at you, still smirking. “Open the handcuffs and let me handle this. If Fowler wants to play dirty, he will pay for it.”

For a second, you could only stare at him. Steve was right. The protocol said there should’ve been backup. Especially because this was your first mission. If there was backup, they knew you grabbed the wrong man.

“If you lie, I will bring you down myself,” you said, grabbing the keys to unlock the handcuffs with shaking fingers.

Steve slowly rose from his seat. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck before he looked at you again.

You backed away when he lifted one tattooed hand to cup your chin.

“Good. Now let’s get out of here before Fowler finds us, doll…”

the conversation follows him for the rest of the day. you don't like superman. it's such a bizarre sentence that he keeps replaying it in his head. most people love superman, or admire him. or at the very least appreciate him. but you... you genuinely don't seem to.

over the next few weeks, clark starts paying attention. every time someone brings up superman, you smile politely before changing the subject. when kids run around pretending to fly, you smile at them, never the hero they're pretending to be. you never buy into the hype. you never roll your eyes either. it's just... indifference.

eventually he asks carefully. you're walking back from lunch together. "can i ask you something?"

"of course."

"why don't you like superman?"

you look at him. "you really wanna know?"

"yeah."

you think for a second. "i think people rely on him too much."

"how?"

"whenever something goes wrong, everyone just says, 'superman will fix it.'" you gesture toward the city around you. "i don't know." "it feels..." you search for the right word. "...unhealthy." clark stays quiet so you continue. "i'm grateful for what he does. i really am but i don't think one person should have to carry the weight of an entire city."

his steps slow. "what do you mean?"

you shrug. "he's still... someone. people act like he isn't. everyone expects him to save them. every single time."

clark completely forgets how to walk. that's not what he expected. he thought you'd call him arrogant. instead... you feel sorry for him.

after that, something changes. clark starts noticing the little things. every time the news praises superman for another impossible rescue... you don't smile. you just quietly say, "i hope he's okay."

when people complain that superman wasn't fast enough... you immediately defend him. "he can't be everywhere."

when a headline reads SUPERMAN FAILS TO PREVENT BUILDING COLLAPSE you're the first person to look annoyed. "he still saved everyone inside."

"you said you didn't like him." clark points out one afternoon.

you nod. "i don't. but i don't think people are fair to him. those are different things."

he stares. "how?"

you laugh. "clark. you can dislike someone and still think they deserve kindness." his heart melts a little.

he tries. god, he tries. he starts smiling more during rescues. waves at crowds. lets little kids take pictures. helps old ladies cross the street. returns lost dogs. anything. anything that might make you like superman just a little more.

one evening he lands after stopping a robbery. the police thank him. reporters surround him. he answers a few questions. then—

"superman?" he turns. it's you. walking home with groceries tucked against your hip.

his entire face lights up. "...hi."

you blink."hi."

he tries not to smile too much but fails immediately. "everything okay?"

"yeah." you glance toward the reporters. "just wanted to say..." he waits. "...thanks."

his chest warms. "...for what?"

"my neighbor works in that bank. you saved her."

he ducks his head. "a-anyone would've."

"...no." you shake your head. "they couldn't have." there's a brief silence. then you add, "...still don't like you very much, though."

clark's face falls so fast it's almost comical. "oh."

you have to bite your lip. he looks disappointed, like a puppy who just got told he couldn't come inside.

"sorry." he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "guess i've... got some work to do." before you can answer, he smiles politely and takes off into the sky.

that night you're still thinking about his face. not offended. not annoyed. he looked like he'd actually wanted your approval.

a week later you're eating lunch with clark. he's absentmindedly stirring sugar into his coffee. "can i ask you something?"

he looks up. "sure."

"does superman..." you hesitate. "always look that... disappointed?"

clark nearly spits out his drink. "what?"

"last week." you fiddle with your napkin. "when i told him i didn't like him he looked..." you sigh. "really sad."

clark has to look away before he starts smiling. "well..." he says carefully. "maybe.. he just wanted you to like him?"

you laugh. "why?"

he shrugs. "maybe he likes making people happy. i guess."

"if you ever see him." you smile sheepishly. "tell him i don't dislike him as much anymore."

"really?"

"yeah." you laugh quietly. "he's growing on me." clark's grin is so impossibly wide that you stop mid-sentence. "what?"

"nothing." he clears his throat. "just..." he can't help it. "i think he'd be really happy to hear that."

you smile. "you think?"

clark nods immediately. "more than you know."

and later that evening, when superman rescues a cat from a tree despite the owner insisting it wasn't necessary... he's smiling so brightly the entire city notices.

nobody understands why. except one very flustered reporter sitting at her apartment window, looking up at the streak of blue across the sunset. "he really is kind of adorable."

high above the city, clark hears it and nearly flies straight into a billboard.

————————————————————

“Look, I know all of this seems crazy but I promise it's not. Can I come in? Please?”

You probably looked insane standing in front of his apartment, pleading for his help. Fortunately, the hallway was deserted—practically a ghost town, but that was due to change, and you did not need any more people seeing you in the state you were in.

You tilted your head to look up at Clark, an uneasy feeling washing over you. The man in front of you was not your best friend, despite the uncanny resemblance he held to the man. He was nothing but a stranger who wore his face.

You gulped. Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as you thought it would be. You certainly hadn't thought it out properly, only knocked and prayed he would open the door.

Clark stood in the middle of his doorway, his body tipped forward slightly as his hand still gripped the doorknob. From the corner of your eye, you could see his knuckles slowly turning pale.

His gaze made you shiver. You weren't used to him looking at you as if you were a stranger. It felt wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

“Alright.” Exhaustion seeped through his voice, and guilt immediately bubbled up in your gut like acid as you took in his sleep-disheveled appearance. You must've woken him up.

He stepped back and pressed himself up against the tiny wall of his apartment, giving you just enough space to walk in without being crowded. You brushed past him, and the door closed with a soft ‘click’ behind you.

“Oh, wow, I haven't been here in forever.”

The walls, the decoration, even the welcome mat—all of it was the same, just as you remembered.

“Why is that?” You didn't have to look at him to see his confused expression. His voice said it all.

“You and Lois moved in together a few years ago.” You mindlessly shrugged as you struggled to kick off your shoes, stumbling around until both of them were finally off and kicked to the side.

A wave of emotions danced across his face, and you struggled to remain silent. You could unpack whatever that was later.

You wordlessly trudged down to the living room with Clark's much heavier footsteps following not far behind, making an immediate beeline for the couch.

You collapsed onto the piece of furniture with a breathless groan, snatching the nearest pillow and burying your face into it, letting out the loudest, highest-pitched scream your throat could manage. What a release.

Finally, you could relax.

A few feet away, Clark tilted his head as he fully took you in. He looked pensive. Not exactly lost in thought, but just thinking.

“Are you okay?” he questioned.

No, your life was a dumpster fire, but he didn't need to know that. At least not yet. “I’m a little frazzled. Mainly just exhausted.”

“Who are you?”

You turned your head to the side, your cheek being the unfortunate victim of being smashed against the pillow. “I am the best and worst thing to ever happen to you.” Or at least that's what Martha and Jonathan told everyone when they asked about you.

“That doesn't answer my question…?” He now stood next to the coffee table, so close that every time he shifted his leg would brush against the wood.

You sat up, eyes locking with him and hesitantly answered. “I'm your best friend.” You watched in slight embarrassment as his eyes widened and his mouth fell ajar.

“Okay.” He nodded, unsure. “Is there somebody that you can call?”

“Please, just trust me Clark.”

He nodded warily, seemingly content enough, which you appreciated because speaking felt like a chore.

Experimentally, he stepped forward. One step, then another, until he hovered just a few inches away from your upper half. You were almost half unconscious but completely used to the closeness that came with Clark. It never fazed you. Not anymore.

He studied you intensely as if you were a painting in a museum. It might've been your imagination, but it was almost as if he were admiring you.

“Get some rest,” he whispered softly. “We can talk later.”

————————————————————

Later meant that night on the couch while eating takeout. You explained everything to him: how you got there, your history with Clark, anything you could think of. You told him everything, which was a lot. You rambled for hours. It was just as releasing as that scream.

Somewhere along the line, you'd both changed into comfier clothes. He'd given you a familiar sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that dwarfed you—thank Irene for the existence of drawstrings—while he himself had changed into a simple shirt and sweatpants.

He looked sinfully attractive with his pants drawn low and his shirt stretched across his chest, highlighting his muscles.

While you looked like a raccoon who'd just emerged from a dumpster.

“So, do you think you can help me?” You set aside your empty box that used to hold fried rice. He'd ordered it from your favorite Chinese takeout place, although he hadn't known that when he got the food.

He lounged on the other side of the couch, fully relaxed as he sat back and devoured his own food. “Of course I'll help you.” His voice was muffled as he chewed ‌his food. He always had the bad habit of speaking with food in his mouth. Martha scolded him about it all the time.

“Good. We can start talking about plans of action tomorrow.” You beamed brightly, and he sent you a sad, pitiful excuse of a smile back. You could smell his emotional turmoil from a mile away.

“What about tonight?”

You appreciated the optimism, but, uh, no. Your brain could barely function. You were surprised that you hadn't shut down yet.

You shrugged and turned back to the TV. “We’re watching Star Wars—” Your words left no room for argument. "I want to see if anything changed in this universe.” You leaned back, content to snuggle up in the blanket you had stolen for yourself.

It wasn't up for debate.

He perked up at the mention of the franchise, and if he had a tail, you just knew it would be wagging vigorously. Just like every time someone brought up his special interest. “You like Star Wars?” Your heart panged at the sheer hope in which he spoke.

“Uh, duh.”

You almost wanted to be offended. How dare he question your love for Star Wars. Somebody smite him.

“Favorite character?” The question left him immediately, and your grin widened. It wasn't a challenge or a test, as some might assume, only the curiosity of a fellow fan.

“Ezra Bridger, but if you want a really specific answer, it's Hondo Ohnaka. I also love Ahsoka.”

"Oh, you watched the animated media too?” His entire demeanor brightened, and a smile spread across his face, a genuine smile, not the fake, painful one he had given you earlier. “Gosh, nobody ever knows what I'm talking about when I bring the animated stuff up!”

He leaned forward and grabbed the remote, and in his giddiness he struggled to turn it on, although he eventually successfully pressed the power button.

He turned to you. “So, what do you want to watch?”

“The Siege of Mandalore.”

“A New Hope it is!”

————————————————————

Sleeping in Clark's guest bedroom was nothing new to you—at one point in your life, you practically lived there. Neither was the sight of him barefoot and shirtless in the kitchen making himself breakfast.

You barely even blinked.

“Mornin’.” You grumbled, your voice still thick with exhaustion. You were never a morning person, unlike Clark, who woke up whenever the sun rose.

He jostled at your sudden appearance, which was ridiculous because he literally had super hearing. You snickered as he whipped around to face you, his face completely flushed red.

You brushed past him straight to where he stashed the cereal, and you grabbed yourself a bowl and poured yourself your breakfast. When you turned around, bowl in hand, you were surprised to see him still staring at you as if you'd grown another head.

“Do…do you know where everything is?”

You nodded slowly, eyeing him weirdly as you grabbed ‌a spoon. Can't a girl eat her breakfast in peace?

“Huh” he looked pleasantly surprised, which relieved the ever-loving shit out of you. “That's convenient.”

Breakfast was spent in silence. Not an awkward type of silence. A peaceful silence. The type that existed between two people who were content to simply exist together. He watched you the whole time you were eating. Not like a creepy stalker would, although now that you thought about it, maybe it was weird. Meh. It was too early in the morning for you to care.

The rest of the morning was spent showering and collecting your thoughts. It was the weekend, Saturday to be specific, so luckily he didn't have to work. It gave you plenty of time to come up with a plan to get you home.

The meeting took place during lunch. Clark sat on the couch while you paced back and forth in front of the TV.

“Okay, obviously the first thing we should do is find Lex. He's the one who fucked up the multiverse, so maybe he can unfuck it.”

Clark tensed the moment you mentioned the bald-headed demon, and his expression fell eerily blank. “Lex Luthor is dead.” Completely blank. No emotion whatsoever.

You paused in the middle of your pacing, your eyes growing wide at the information. Lex Luthor dead? Impossible. You hated to admit it, but the man would never go down without a fight, and unless Clark killed him—which you highly doubted—there wasn't much of a threat against him.

The journalistic urges instilled by years of hanging around Lois urged you to pry, but the haunted expression Clark wore forced you to let it go.

“What about the Justice Gang?” Visible relief washed over him, and he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“We can definitely speak to them. I can't exactly promise anything, though.”

“Batman…?”

He nodded his head. Oh, thank Irene. “Absolutely, although last time I spoke to him he seemed busy, so it might be awhile before he responds.”

Yeah, that made sense. In all the times you had met the man, he was always occupied with some sort of weird, over-the-top crime case that involved a highly mentally ill person who obviously needed therapy and some tender love and care.

You put your hands on your hips and fixed him with a determined expression. “So, what do we do today?”

He leveled you with the same look of indecisiveness he wore whenever he was trying to decide which fidget to steal from you.

Thirty minutes later, you found yourself lounging in the Justice Gang's building.

They were all the same as when you met them before, during times of urgency in which you and Lois would force yourselves into whatever dangerous situation to help; it was familiar. Comfortable.

You watched as Mr. Terrific tried to explain the science behind the multiverse theory to a totally confused Guy Gardner. They'd been going at it for at least the past five minutes.

It was as irritating to witness as it was amusing.

“If you would only listen—”

“Yeah, yeah." Guy waved him off with a scoff. “Different universes, multiversal collapse, all that fun, world-ending stuff.”

“Do you guys think you can help or not?” Clark interjected. His jaw ticked every time they ignored him in favor of their conversation, and from the corner of your eye you saw his hands curl into fists at his sides. He’d shed his normal clothes for his suit. A reminder of his parents. With its vibrant colors, you remembered watching Martha sew it together when you were younger. The look on Clark’s face when she gifted it to him had been everything. He wore the suit with pride ever since.

You held back the urge to snort at his obvious annoyance. Clark was a saint, but even he had his limits. Although this Clark seemed much more privy to the emotion. Interesting.

“How much time do you think it will take?” You finally questioned, and for a second, you swore you heard the distant sound of doom approaching. Weird.

“Days, weeks, months. I don't know. It could take years for all we know. Without Luthor—” Clark's expression fell. “—and his technology or notes…” You could practically see the cogs turning in Mr. Terrific's head.

You glanced up at Clark, and he returned the unsure look you gave him. Out of habit, you reached out and grabbed his hand. He tensed. Instantly you panicked, and your hand retreated, but his tightened around yours. He didn't let you go. You turned your cheek, hiding the small smile that threatened to show through.

“So it's a waiting game,” Guy supplied, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at the frankly obnoxious blond man. His haircut was a crime against humanity.

Kendra, Hawk-girl, rolled her eyes at his comment, and you internally thanked her for doing what you didn't have the guts to do. “Yeah, I think we got that.”

You tuned out their bickering and assumed Clark had done the same.

It was a start, at least. Definitely better than nothing.

Before you left, they'd offered to help you set up a place to stay. The offer was tempting, but you had already agreed to stay with Clark.

Besides, you wouldn't be here for that long, right?

————————————————————

“Are you sure about this? I can always just wear the clothes you gave me.” You stood in front of the Metropolis City mall, shifting your weight from one leg to another as your mind raced. You didn't mind wearing Lois' clothes. They fit you just fine and gave you a sense of comfort. Like she was there, holding you.

“You deserve your own clothes,“ he insisted next to you, and while the sentiment warmed your heart—your anxiety and sensory issues said no.

Clothes were always…difficult for you. Not because you didn't have any fashion sense, but because the fabric could be so uncomfortable. Jeans, shirts, everything. All of it sucked. Especially those annoying tags that always dug into your skin.

“Fine,” you reluctantly conceded with a sigh. “Three hours, and then we leave.”

Triumphant, he walked up to the entrance, and you followed behind. Much to your relief, the mall was mostly deserted, which was expected, given that it was a Monday afternoon. You guessed that was why he insisted you two shopped today.

————————————————————

“How can you even afford all of this?”

Your eyes darted to the array of bags in his arms, where his biceps flexed with each movement. You forced yourself to look away.

The past two hours had been spent running around, going into each store, and trying on any item Clark told you to at least give a chance. You couldn't deny him. Even the alternate version of him had you wrapped around his pinky finger, and it hadn't even been a week yet!

“I have my ways,” he shrugged, and your eyes narrowed. Bruce was definitely involved in whatever that was. You felt it in your nuggets. You were sure they found each other in every universe. Soulmates in every sense of the word.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed as he pulled you toward the next store on his lineup.

“You cannot be serious,” you deadpanned, staring at the dress Clark held up. It looked ridiculous. Too frilly and puffy, and the fabric looked like it would itch.

He pouted, his eyes glinting with puppy-like innocence. “Please…?”

You tried.

You tried so hard not to cave, and yet you still ended up in the dressing room putting on the dress while Clark patiently waited outside.

To your surprise, the dress was comfortable. It was definitely not your type of outfit, but wearing it made you feel pretty, and that's all that mattered. For once, you stared into the mirror and felt like a princess stared back at you.

You walked out, and immediately all of your confidence drained. You felt his gaze rove across your features, and you squirmed in place, not noticing the sparkle in his eyes or the flush of his cheeks.

“We’re getting it.” He declared, leaving no room for you to argue. You flushed at his unjust determination and hurriedly scurried back to your stall. You wiggled out of the dress and back into your own clothes, and when you came back out, Clark immediately snatched the dress from your arms. He marched up to the front register, smiling widely at the lady behind it as he purchased the dress. He didn’t even glance at the price-tag.

You see, this was why you stopped shopping with him in your universe. He loved wasting his money on you and Lois.

“Can we leave now? We've gotten more than enough clothes for me.” You glanced at the nearest clock you could find. Almost three hours. Soon you would be free.

He glanced at the same clock, his brow pinching in thought. “Wanna grab lunch and then head out?”

————————————————————

“Gosh, I missed this place.”

You bit into your burger, not caring that you were being a total hypocrite by speaking while chewing in front of him. You groaned and leaned back, struck by the deliciousness that flooded your taste-buds.

Clark chuckled as he watched you from the opposite side of the booth. “So this place closed down in your universe. Why?"

His confusion said it all. This place, this beautiful, beautiful place, deserved so much more than what it had been given in your universe. You almost cried when you saw it was still open here.

“Apparently they weren't getting enough customers. Which is bullshit because the food is amazing. It's so nice to know that this place is getting the appreciation it deserves here.”

You ate the rest of your meal in peace, sighing happily as you rubbed your now-full stomach.

“So I'd say this was a successful mission.” Clark finally said after finishing his last bite of burger, and you nodded half-heartedly, totally not distracted by the hypnotizing movement of his lips.

You wondered what they felt like—if they would be soft or chapped, how they would feel against your skin.

He said your name.

You snapped out of your trance, and your whole body warmed as fresh embarrassment rolled off you in waves. “Sorry…just got distracted for a sec," you mumbled. Nevermind how it was a lie.

“Can we go home now?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Your heart warmed at the familiar nickname, and you wondered how he would feel if he knew your version of him called you the same. Wait, that would be awkward. Definitely not.

You rose from the table and leaned over, stacking all the plates at the edge. You would hate it if the server had to spend extra time cleaning up your mess. You weren't a snob, and it was the polite thing to do.

"Do you always do that?" He asked, and he gestured to the table. You saw the way he eyed your work—all the plates stacked upon each other like a community of little towers. It was neat. Your brain liked it

"Of course! It's polite.”

He breathed out a light puff of laughter. “You really did grow up with me, didn't you?”

Your brow raised, and you shrugged. Weird, but okay. "Of course I did; did you think I was lying to you?"

Panic overwhelmed you at the thought, and as you walked out into the parking lot, your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

As if he could hear your inner turmoil, Clark paused and turned to you. His hands landed on your shoulders, and he turned you to face him with a serious expression, one that radiated comfort.

"I was joking." He gently assured.

"Clark, I'm autistic. I don't get sarcasm."

He paused.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

You gawked at him, and his eyes widened. He backpedaled immediately. "Not that you act a certain way or anything; it's just ma and pa were pretty sure I'm like the Kryptonian version of being on the spectrum—”

"You definitely are."

He stilled and his face fell hilariously blank. Oh, wow. No hesitation. He sighed, and you held back the urge to snort, which earned you a look from him.

“Let’s just go home." His shoulders slumped. He even sounded defeated. The poor baby.

Yeah, maybe you could get used to this universe.

————————————————————

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I'm having floor time.”

Clark stared down at your figure lying flat on your back in the middle of his living room. He wound up to ask but paused before any words could leave his mouth.

“I missed this floor,“ you sighed and stared up at the ceiling. The nostalgia was killing you. So many memories, some sweet and others bitter. It brought out feelings you buried years ago. “I missed this apartment.”

He didn't respond. You couldn't blame him.

A moment passed.

“So what you're saying is that my floor is comfortable?” He sounded awfully proud of himself, like having a comfortable floor was a proud achievement.

“Yes, now join meee” you raised your hands toward the sky and gestured for him to join, even resorting to using grabby hands. He chuckled, and your heart skipped a beat. His laugh was otherworldly, but then again, so was the rest of him. Alien. Duh.

You heard him approaching, and he settled down next to you. A peaceful silence fell between you and every few moments his finger twitched—like he was trying to hold himself back, but from what?

“So, you come here often?” You turned your head to the side, offering him a cheeky smile.

“Only when I'm desperate.” Ah. A man of sensibility. You could work with that.

“Fair. As for me, I need at least five minutes of floor time each day. It's enriching.”

Usually by now people would've judged you, but Clark simply nodded along as if you were the most natural thing in the universe.

“Does he ever join you during floor time?”

The question came as a surprise. Although it really shouldn't have. Of course he would want to know about another version of himself. If you had existed in this universe, you would want to know everything about her too, after all.

“Yes, he does, and usually Lois joins us as well. We all spend floor time together.” You enjoyed floor time. It was a pivotal part of your routine. “It’s enriching.”

“Huh” He turned his attention to the ceiling, staring at it while the cogs in his head worked. “You're close with Lois too?”

“Of course. When you, er, he started dating Lois, I kind of pulled away. I never wanted her to think I was trying to steal you or anything. So I hung out with her instead and me and her just clicked, I guess.”

“That's nice.”

“Yeah. He got jealous, though, so he started joining us, and now we all just hang out together. Like three peas in a pod,” you shrugged.

“You all seem close.” He noted.

That's because you were. You could confidently say Lois and Clark were your best friends. They were your people.

“They're like my stars. They light up my life.”

You looked up at the ceiling, and Clark took the time to look at you. Truly, look at you. Like you were once again a painting in a museum—meant to be admired.

“You know, I like this. I think I'll join you from now on.”

Yes. Another one converted. Soon floor time would be a staple in every household.

————————————————————

Lex Luthor was dead.

No article explained it. None. Absolute zilch. Strange couldn't even describe it.

A man like Lex didn't just keel over and die. The man was a genius, as much as you hated to admit it. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight, and whenever you tried to ask Clark about it, he just shut down. It made no sense.

Then came the other blaring question.

Where were Ma and Pa? No pictures. No phone calls. Like Lois, they seemed to have completely disappeared from Clark's life. And every time you brought them up, he retreated into himself. It gave you a queasy feeling.

‘Small town mourns the passing of a couple.

Jonathan and Martha Kent were a staple to the heart of the Smallville community. Their sudden passing, the cause of death still unknown, truly shook the small community. They live on in their son, Clark Kent, and the town continues to honor them.’

Small, with barely any information. That's all you got. Just a single article that barely even skimmed over their deaths. Irene, it wasn’t even an article! Just a section from the local newspaper.

They were gone.

Martha and Jonathan Kent were gone.

You felt sick to your stomach. Martha and Jonathon, they were your family too. They were the ones who taught you how to tie your shoes and didn't judge when it took you a few years longer to learn. Your childhood was literally spent having dinner at their house and sleeping over.

Jonathan taught you how to drive and was the one to pick you up in the middle of the night after you got drunk for the first time. He taught you the gentleness of love. Showed you the kindness of humanity.

Martha taught you how to do your makeup and milk a cow. She lifted you up and showed you how to be strong. Without her, you would never have learned to appreciate life. To see how beautiful it was in each and every thing.

Clark's door was cracked open—a free invitation. Last time you checked, he’d been cleaning, and he was just about to finish making his bed when you rushed in.

He turned to you, and his expression twisted into one of concern as he threw down his pillow and stepped forward.

“Are you okay?”

“They’re gone.” You felt hollow speaking the words. Like saying it out loud meant finality. That they were really, truly gone.

He tensed.

“Clark…I'm…” you were at a loss for words. How did you comfort someone who lost what you still had? Both of them were alive in your universe. Completely healthy and alive.

You had seen Clark sad before, had witnessed him break down and cry, and endured all the times he lost control and accidentally broke something. You watched him get beaten up and defeated. Seen the devastation he felt whenever a civilian died. But you had never seen this before.

“You found out, huh?” He fought hard to keep his voice from wavering.‌ He turned his cheek, jaw clenching. Tears already pricked the corners of his eyes, turning his vision blurry.

He hadn't been paying much attention, but he still heard your footsteps approach in his haze of sadness. Your arms snaked around his waist, and your chest pressed up against his.

Tears already blurred your vision and streaked down your face, leaving your cheeks puffy as you buried your face into his plaid shirt and squeezed him tight. Sadly, you couldn’t give him the bear hugs he usually gave you.

For a moment his hands stayed frozen at his sides. Like he didn’t know what to do with them or himself. But you never let go, and soon his trembling hands rose and wrapped around you until finally he was hugging you just as tightly as you were, if not more.

He buried his face into the crown of your head. His body trembled and his shoulders shook and a sob finally ripped its way from his throat. It sounded painful, as if he were gasping for air. Still, you never let go.

No words were spoken.

They weren't needed. Not in a moment like this. You would simply be there. Ready and willing to hold him as his emotions bubbled over and he broke down.

It didn’t matter how long you both stood there, just holding each other. It could've been minutes, hours before you both finally calmed down from the tsunami of uncontrollable emotions.

“Thank you.” He eventually whispered, and you pulled away to look up at him, but the moment he felt you step back, his arms tightened around your waist.

“I'm sorry for breaking down on you.”

“Clark, never apologize. Your emotions are valid. Your grief is valid.”

“I know.”

“But do you?” He frowned and looked away.

You tilted his chin back down to face you.

“I know,” he sniffed. He stared down at you, his cheeks also red and puffy from crying, and streaked with dried tears. Slowly, a small, trembling smile grew as he watched you wipe away your tears.

“Can we stay like this?” His voice cracked with unsung emotions, yet it was much lighter than it had been before. “Just for a little bit?”

“Of course.”

His hold on you once again tightened, and you relaxed into his embrace, letting your eyes close as you relished in the familiar warmth of his arms. This was nice. You missed hugging him. You think he missed hugging too. Certainly, with the way he held on to you for dear life. Like if he let go, you would vanish.

“Can we do this more often?” He whispered into the silence.

You nodded silently.

Maybe everything would be okay.

————————————————————

Around you, the park buzzed with all kinds of life. One of the many things you adored about the parks around the city. Not only were they beautiful, but life thrived in them. It was truly a gift to witness.

The sun peered down at you, and the clouds danced across the blue-painted sky. The sun, paired with the light breeze, made for a perfect environment. You always loved picnics, and it was the perfect opportunity to wear the dress you'd gotten, seeing as it was a sundress.

Clark lay on his back next to you, face up and completely content to let the sunshine beat down upon him. No sunglasses either, which was brave.

“So, your version of me is still with Lois?” he sounded hesitant when he asked, like he was afraid to upset you—to upset himself.

Until then he'd been pleased to simply bask in the sun and let you read silently beside him while he photosynthesized. Yeah, that's right; you weren't afraid to call it out for what it was.

“Yeah…”

How the hell were you supposed to talk about this with another version of Clark?

“They..they're…really happy.” You smiled bitterly, an emotion you tried to hide. You weren't a bitter person. Both Clark and Lois deserved all the happiness in the world. Even if it came at the expense of yours.

You bookmarked your page and placed the book down beside you with a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You tilted your head down to look at him.

You noticed the absence of Lois in his life immediately. It was a stark difference from your universe, and you were still trying to decipher how you felt about it. You missed her mostly.

Clark closed his eyes and exhaled, a sigh that came from deep within his chest. You could almost feel the weight of whatever issue dragged him down. You wished you could help more. “It just didn't work out.” His gaze fell from the sky and fixed itself upon you.

Mindlessly, your fingers threaded through his dark curls. The first time you'd done it, you both panicked. Now the affection came naturally.

“Can we stay like this? Just for a bit?” The words were achingly familiar. He tilted his head toward you, leaning into your touch. You swore he enjoyed your head scratches more than your Clark ever did.

“Of course.”

The sound of birds chirped in the distance. Mindlessly, you played with his hair, watching as people passed by in the distance.

To you, each person told a story, a different life you could imagine. You could read their clothes and analyze the way they walked. Make assumptions about who they spoke to on the phone and where they were going. All of them fascinated you. They were all so special in their own ways.

The feeling of being watched soon swept over you, and you turned to see Clark staring at you.

“You're beautiful,” he sighed, smiling softly to himself.

You froze, and your mind took a second to process what he'd said. When it did, your body flushed, and you turned away, fighting the urge to swat him when he laughed.

The compliment came out of nowhere, no warning whatsoever! What were you supposed to do, not freak out? Your heart couldn't take it. You might as well have keeled over and died.

“S..shut up!” You squawked, and the urge to swat him only grew as his laughter continued. You were pretty sure the passersby were staring.

Your hand stilled in his hair and receded back to your side. A small look of disappointment flashed across his face, but he remained silent.

Poor thing. It pained you to see him so starved of affection.

You would have to change that.

——————————————————

Whoever said Lego's were just for kids was wrong. Lego's were a beautiful piece of art meant for everyone to enjoy. The people who said differently were just a bunch of bums.

“So you and he are just friends,” he reiterated for like the third time in the past fifteen minutes since opening the box of Lego's.

Was it really that unbelievable that you and Clark were just friends? Literally everyone asked. Heck, most people automatically assumed you were together without even asking.

“Yes. Our relationship is purely platonic.” It still left a bitter taste in your mouth, even after years. “And no, me and Lois are not secretly dating.” You added because, yeah, people asked that too.

“You and Lois?”

“In another life, we were married.” It was true. You felt it in your soul and so did she. You had at least two cats and an apartment with a balcony close to the ground so you could both people watch.

He blinked, and fiddled with the Lego piece in his hand. “I think I'm starting to understand why most people assume you're their third.”

Oh, great. Now you had to deal with him too, how wonderful!

“You're doing it wrong.” You pointed at the legos in his hand, small and frankly obnoxious looking compared to the appendage. You couldn’t imagine the frustration that came with dealing with the smaller pieces.

Clark frowned and his brows pinched as he looked over the directions. Oh, yeah, you were right; he was doing it wrong. “Dang it," he muttered as he tried to detach the two pieces from each other. He failed horribly to the point one of the pieces broke because he accidentally gripped it too hard.

You cackled. Your Clark did that all the time back home. It wasn't his fault; he was just too strong. It was why he kept a bucket of spare pieces.

“Dude, you totally just committed Lego murder.”

“It was an accident!”

————————————————————

Some would say sitting in the shower was strange, maybe even unnatural. You believed otherwise.

Sitting in the shower was a gift, an experience to let the water fall on you and completely drench your senses. The pounding droplets against your skin were a constant weight that grounded you. You read somewhere once that people sat in the shower because it replicated the feeling of being held—which was a major call-out.

To you, a shower was a way to cleanse yourself from the day. All your worries and anxieties would wash away, and you could finally relax while letting the warm water ease all your tension.

You could daydream, or you could simply shave and spend the whole time pampering yourself. So many possibilities, but to be honest, most showers were a mix of both.

You still couldn't fully wrap your head around your situation. Every day was spent around Clark, getting to know him and this new, strange world. Apparently, this universe was years ahead of yours. While you and your Clark were both twenty-seven, this Clark was thirty-six. Which made sense now that you thought about it. He looked older and more mature instead of boyish. He didn't slouch to make himself smaller like your Clark did. Instead, he stood confident, like he was no longer afraid to be strong.

You hated to admit how attractive it was. Your feelings and relationship with ‌your Clark were already complicated, not to mention Lois too. Now you had to deal with an older, highly attractive, more mature version of him. It felt weird. So incredibly weird.

His smile gave you butterflies with a side of nausea. And the low timber of his voice…

Irene, everything about this confused you.

It was different—he was different. You just couldn't explain it. He was still the man you knew who could light up the room with a single smile. He still took time to go around and help people. He even risked his life to save animals.

Gosh, maybe you were going crazy. Hyper-fixating on this needed to stop before you spiraled. Irene forbid you had a meltdown. You didn't want him to see you like that.

You stood with a sigh, turning off the shower and immediately reaching for a towel to run from the cold. Weird. You could've sworn you left the door closed, not cracked open. You seriously had memory issues, probably from all the times you hit your head growing up.

You shrugged the coincidence off and waddled back to your room, making sure your towel was tightly hung around your body just in case Clark suddenly decided to stop hibernating in his room like he'd been doing all day.

The poor thing was exhausted beyond comprehension. He spent the past forty-eight hours assisting with some world-ending issue with the Justice Gang. Usually, you would have panicked, but after years of dealing with crazy world-ending issues, you didn't even blink.

Besides, it all happened away from Metropolis, so you were mostly safe. Clark still tried to convince you to hunker down in the fortress to wait it all out. You denied his offer, though, and refused to leave the apartment. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t win against your stubbornness. Not in this universe or yours.

Anyway, you were just happy he was getting the rest he needed, even if it meant you were lonely for a day while he slept.

You would survive.

——————————————————

Your perfume was missing.

Realistically you knew it was useless to turn over the apartment just for a single bottle of perfume; however, you refused to waste the money.

You were close; you felt it in your nuggets and could practically smell its scent. No, seriously, you could smell it or maybe you were just imagining it. Either way, you were on a mission, determined to find what you had lost. You didn't care how long it took. You would find your perfume and then celebrate by making yourself victory cookies.

“Have you seen my perfume? It's gone and I can't find it anywhere.”

From the couch, Clark shook his head, clueless. “You wear perfume?”

Your face scrunched up, and you turned to him. "You literally complimented how it smelled the other day." You pointed out, and for a moment he seemed to falter, caught off guard. You could've sworn he even looked guilty for a second.

"Oh, yeah…”

You rolled your eyes at his faulty memory. You swore he had the best memory around, and yet he was completely useless. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, but still, your point stands.

“Useless alien…”

"Hm?" He perked up, turning his ear to you. “What was that?” You could practically feel the smirk curling at the edge of his lips. You both knew full well he heard you. The smug bastard just wanted to mess with you, and well, it was working.

“I said you were a useless alien.” You crossed your arms and stood defiant against him. You would not fall victim to his smug ways.

Dramatically he gasped, and like an arrow, your words shot him straight through the heart; he clutched his chest and fell back against the couch. “It hurts," he gasped in dramatic pain. How dare he take this so non-seriously? Your perfume was very important.

“I hope you fall into a cliff of Kryptonite.”

——————————————————

If there was one thing you missed about growing up in Kansas, it was the fresh produce. Nothing could compare. That is until you visited the farmers’ market in the city.

You never expected you would enjoy it so much. Usually, you loathed crowds. That's why the one in Smallville was perfect because it was so small, while the one in the city took up an entire block. But after years of visiting every weekend, the abundance of people became less of a problem as you found new solutions to ease yourself. Now you adored the city's farmers’ market, usually visiting with Clark and Lois by your side.

“Okay, so we just need strawberries and mango's, and that should be it.” You squinted at the crumpled piece of paper you called your grocery list. You and Clark had found a quiet corner to gather your bearings after shopping for so long. He stood next to you, his body practically pressed against yours as he too squinted down at the grocery list.

“There’s a few stands nearby that sell those,” behind Clark trailed a wagon, a clearly old and paint-chipped wagon filled with groceries. It had definitely seen better days. He gripped its handle tightly, like anyone would actually steal that old thing.

“You think you're ready to face the crowd again?” His eyes darted over to you, and you nodded with a grin.

“Yep!” You grabbed his hand with giddiness and dragged him back to the street, weaving through the crowd as if it were a maze for you to solve. You were determined to get your mangoes. So determined that you didn't notice the man heading straight towards you, but Clark did.

His hand wrapped around your waist and gently tugged you away, your feet lifting from the ground by just a few inches as he moved you to his other side where you would be safe.

You hummed along to the song replaying in your mind, content to let Clark take the lead in guiding as you mindlessly trailed along. “I am their fury; I am their patience. I am a conversation.”

You wondered if he ever got annoyed by your stimming, repeating phrases and making weird noises. It certainly seemed like it would, but then again, he never brought it up. Unless it was one of those situations where he assumed you would pick up on his social cues and automatically know he was annoyed, as if you could suddenly read his mind.

You both paused in front of a familiar stand. In your universe, you knew the owner, a lovely old lady who always gave you a discount on your mangoes. You would have said something, but Clark, like usual, had already taken the initiative and was grabbing what was needed.

There was no small talk, simply a hello and a goodbye, and then you were on your way. He never lingered like your Clark did, which was great for saving time, but you couldn’t help but miss watching him so easily connect with others.

Once again, you wove your way through the crowd with him by your side. Luckily, there were no collisions, and you both made it back to the car unscathed and successful in your mission to get groceries.

He opened the car's trunk, and you reached for one of the grocery bags, and for once Clark actually stood back and let you work.

You loved putting away groceries. It was like a game of Tetris where you had to find the right place for every bag, or else the trunk wouldn't close.

“A little bit to the left.” He chimed in, and, like second nature, you followed his instructions. The bag fit perfectly in the spot, and you stepped back with a small cheer, admiring your wonderful piece of art. He walked up next to you, and you snuck a glance at him, your body heating when you noticed the admiration with which he gazed at your work. Like it actually mattered. “It's perfect.”

You preened at the praise, and he shut the trunk, bringing the wagon with him and placing it in the back seat before making his way to the driver’s door. You walked to the front of the car, swinging open the door and plopping down in the front passenger seat.

“What's next?” You turned to him in your seat, and your foot mindlessly tapped the ground. “Tell me, good sir, what is on the schedule for the rest of today?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment he seemed to think. “Nap time?” He leaned forward and inserted the key. He maneuvered out of the spot and drove out of the parking lot and turned onto the main road.

“Nap time,” you agreed.

A man after your heart. Nap time sounded exactly like what you needed. All snuggled up in your bed, comfortable as can be. Just the thought of it made you sleepy.

You watched with subtle interest as he drove. His hands looked way too delicious gripping that steering wheel. Lois once said that they would make a great necklace on you. Of course, she’d been joking, but the moment still lingered in the forefront of your mind.

“You know I saw this post on Tweety talking about Superman and I feel you should know that apparently people find you submissive and breed able.”

He choked on air, and you were concerned you'd distracted him too much, but he seemed fine multitasking. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Yeah, apparently it's a big thing.”

“I'm taking your phone away. "

Your eyes widened, and you gasped at the blatant threat to your livelihood. “Don't you dare!” He would have to pry that device from your cold, dead hands.

He only chuckled as if he were amused by your suffering. “I’m just saying the internet is obviously a terrible place.”

Of course, that’s what he would say. Clark was the single most chronically offline person you had ever met. He literally wrote letters for Lois as if he were in an eighteenth-century love story. You even heard from a little birdy that he also had a secret stash of letters addressed to you hidden away in his closet.

Okay, yeah, maybe you were beginning to understand why so many people believed you were their third.

——————————————————

Once, Clark told you he felt uncomfortable in Wayne Manor. That the paintings hung on the walls seemed to follow him and that the silence haunted its endless hallways.

You thought differently. In a way, the silence comforted you; it wrapped around you like a warm blanket, beckoning you to follow it. And while you agreed some paintings were creepy, they held stories you could only imagine.

To say that the main living room was big was an understatement. It was bigger than the apartment, luxurious too, with a couch that seemed to be made from heaven. No, seriously, it was so comfortable you thought you were sitting on a cloud.

“So you're from another universe?” The man seemed unimpressed for someone who had just learned the multiverse was indeed real, but then again, he probably already knew.

“Yep.”

Bruce glanced at Clark, who stood next to you, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared. He grimaced at the pure, unadulterated light radiating from the man.

“And you need my help?”

You nodded wordlessly, and he seemed to retreat into himself, no doubt pondering your words and deciding whether this was worth his time. “How long have you been here?”

“Three months and fifteen days. "Clark piped in, and Bruce frowned. His expression never once changed, although you could see the way his brows pinched in thought and the slight glimmer of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes.

He turned to you, his brow raised. “And why are you just now bringing this to my attention?”

Clark's happy expression faltered for a split second, a small, barely noticeable action that Bruce was just able to catch.

"Clark told me—”

"You never responded to my message." Clark chimed in before you could finish, which earned him a glare from you, and his lips puckered in a dramatic pout that both you and Bruce frowned at.

"I've been busy, and I do not recall receiving—"

"Soooo, can you help us?" Clark hastily interrupted, and while you glanced around the room, the two men shared a silent conversation, a complexity that you couldn't figure out even if you tried.

Bruce grunted, and your attention snapped back to him. "I'll do what I can but it's going to take time."

You smiled, hands flapping. "Thank you!"

To you, this was a massive win. No offense to Mr. Terrific or the Justice Gang, but they weren't the most reliable people around. The most you'd gotten from them so far was a few crude theories that did nothing to help in the long run.

"If I may," Alfred's voice piped in. Wait, when did he get here?

"Dinner is almost ready, and I made more than enough for all of you."

"Alfred…"

"Master Bruce, I recall you pondering whether to invite Mr.Kent for lunch again."

"Alfred!"

Clark lit up. "You were thinking about me?"

Dang, again? He told you they were close, but you didn't expect this. Your Clark was never invited to the manor for lunch, only for missions. Well, that explained why Bruce actually spoke to you with words instead of grunts.

Friendship truly was magic.

——————————————————

“Look, as much as I love lazing around all day reading and writing, it's not fair to you. At least let me get a job to help with groceries,“ you pleaded to the man who stood towering before you, his arms crossed and his expression serious as he shook his head.

“I make more than enough money for both of us,” Clark insisted, as he always did whenever you brought up the idea of getting a job.

“You're a journalist,” you fixed him with a knowing glare that not even he could argue with. His and Lois' salaries combined were more than enough in your universe, but she wasn't here. And you refused to continue leeching off ‌him like you were when Bruce could easily set you up with a fake identity and the paperwork to allow you to work.

He frowned at your callout. “I can make diamonds with my heat vision and pressure, you know that, right?” He raised a brow, and you hated how smug he looked when talking.

And yeah, you already knew that. You were there when he found out about the possibility during science in middle school. You literally watched Pa almost have a heart attack when Clark actually did it and made a diamond. On a random Tuesday, mind you.

It was a distraction, but what for?

It clicked.

“Bruce bought the apartment complex and forced you to no longer pay rent, didn't he?”

Clark paused, and for a moment, he was about to shake his head but didn't in defeat. “Yeah…”

“He also helped me fix up the family farm,” he added weakly. “I'm plannin’ to move there. Renovations are finished. It's truly just a matter of waiting for the lease to end.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, now that I think about it…it is actually coming up. Oh lord, I gotta start packing and I still need to go visit the farm one last time to make sure everything works before the official move-in. Golly, I almost completely forgot.”

“Do you think I could maybe go with you? I can help with any last-minute projects or issues, I swear! Ma and Pa had me luggin’ hay bales right beside you growing up!” Oh Irene, your accent was peeking through.

Clark's grin continued to widen as you continued to ramble.

“And did I ever tell you that Ma taught me to cook? Heck! I learned everythin’ from her.”

He nodded along to the gaggle of new information that tumbled out of your mouth.

“Ah, so that's why your cooking almost made me cry.”

You nodded proudly. You couldn't count how many hours you spent with Martha in the kitchen learning how to cook and make the most delicious pie. Some of your best memories were spent in that kitchen.

“How about next time I go, I'll take you with me?” Your eyes lit up, and you beamed, jumping in excitement while your hands flapped in front of you.

“Besides, you will probably be movin’ in too if we don't find a solution to get you home by then.” He shrugged, and you paused in your celebration.

“Oh, yeah…I guess so.” You hadn’t thought of that until he brought it up.

You turned your back to him for a moment, completely oblivious to the way he adjusted his sweatpants. A flurry of emotions danced across his face, yet in just a few milliseconds, he was completely back to normal.

“I wouldn’t mind living in Kansas again.” You faced him again, and he sent you a completely innocent smile. The one that made your heart skip a beat and your face flush. It made you throb.

Irene, you needed to get home. Your heart couldn't handle this pain.

——————————————————

You'd forgotten how tedious a process moving was. All the packing and running around. The stress was enough to knock you out, but fortunately, you weren't alone.

“Hey, lemme carry that for you.”

You tried to protest as the box you were carrying was lifted out of your arms by Clark. He'd been doing that all day. You could barely lift your finger without him immediately coming over to fuss over you.

You couldn't really complain, though. This barely counted as a workout for him. All you had to do was watch him haul his ass around and make sure he took breaks to drink and eat, or else he'd forget being so hyper-fixated on moving everything.

“So what made you want to renovate the farm?” He paused, and for a moment you panicked, thinking you'd hit a nerve, but to your utter relief he shrugged and continued on with his ministrations.

“I needed a distraction, and I always knew I would end up back in Kansas eventually—” That made sense. Your Clark told you the same thing. “—It just felt right, I guess.”

You nodded, taking in his words with a slight hum. “And what about The Daily Planet and work?”

“It's a five-minute flight away, and they've already approved my request to take on a more remote position."

He lifted another box over his shoulders, and you pattered after him like a duckling following its mother.

“And what's it like being Bruce's sugar baby?”

He groaned. “Look, he got my bank information somehow. I can't control what he does. I tried. He just grunted and told me no. Alfred told me to accept my fate. I listen to Alfred!”

He set the box down beside the others, and both of you made the journey back.

“I'm just saying friends don't send each other thousands of dollars for no reason,” you closed the door behind you, dodging and weaving through the trail of boxes that laid around the apartment.

“Sweetheart, he's a billionaire. He has absolutely no concept of a normal friendship. I'm pretty sure I'm his first actual best friend in years.”

That actually made a lot of sense. You doubted Bruce got out a lot during the day. Not to mention his social awkwardness and obvious unresolved trauma.

Clark collapsed onto the couch, and you followed after him, dramatically flopping right next to him as if you'd just done a whole day's work.

“You both need therapy.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Trust me, we already know.”

Well, at least he was self-aware.

——————————————————

You recalled the day Clark moved out of his apartment vividly. You, he, and Lois spent the entire day lugging boxes around, although it was truly only Clark who did the work. He insisted he could do it alone while you and Lois hung out.

You looked back on that day fondly. A bittersweet memory of friends and a life you wished you had.

A life with them.

The apartment was so bare you barely recognized it. Without the furniture, it felt soulless, like everything that made it home had been stripped away. It was familiar in a way that made you itch.

“Well, I think that's the rest of it,” his arm effortlessly slipped around your shoulders.

“I'm going to miss this place.” Your eyes darted across the hallway, taking it all in one last time. It felt like ages ago when you first stumbled in, frazzled and confused. It baffled you how many weeks had passed since then.

Clark nodded along, his expression pensive. The way it always was whenever he was pondering something deep. “But you'll love it in Kansas." Well, you obviously couldn't deny that or the deep, almost sinful rumble of his voice.

“You're right.” You sighed. “I will.”

“The flight still sucks, though.” You added with a frown, and you shrugged Clark's arm off your shoulder, an action that made his jaw tick. His eyes grew cold for just a single moment, too quick for you to catch, but you noticed his offended demeanor and snorted. He melted in an instant.

“Do we seriously have to take a plane? Can't you just fly me?” You despised airplanes and, most importantly, airports. The crowds terrified you, and standing in a line to wait was not one of your strong suits.

Clark shook his head, following you out the door one ultimate time. “Nope!” He popped the P. “We can not just rely on my powers for everything.” You hated how correct he was.

You both paused, finality hitting like a brick.

You turned to each other.

“To Kansas?”

You grinned at his barely contained excitement. He was buzzing with it.

"To Kansas!”

——————————————————

Nothing could've prepared you for the mixed feelings that came with living full time at the Kent's house, or well, Clark's house without Martha and Jonathan. There was a feeling of emptiness without their presence. It was still the same house you grew up in, and yet everything felt different. Not exactly in a bad way, just different. You assumed the feeling would dissipate as time went on.

There had been several renovations made to the house. Appliances were all upgraded; everything was repainted to look good as new. The furniture was mostly kept the same, just with some added touches from Clark that made the house more his instead of his parents'. All of it exactly the same as when you visited.

You could definitely tell Bruce funded it all; the new editions were the best of the best, which was kind of jarring because you were used to the guest room's bathroom toilet absolutely sucking, and now it was literally luxurious. Same thing with the shower that had a leaky faucet; all of it was completely fixed.

You didn't miss the chores, though. Although it was Clark who did all the heavy lifting. He refused your offers of help, even after you showed him how far you could throw a hay bale, which was pretty far if you had to say so yourself. Instead, you focused on taking care of the inhabitants of the farm, which you didn't mind. In fact, you always drifted toward the animals. You always had. They were easier to get along with than people.

“Okay, children, one at a time—no, Aph, stop, that's Katelyn's food. Nana stop pecking at my feet.” You shooed the chicken away, scowling right back at her when she fluffed up her feathers and clucked in obvious annoyance. You stuck your tongue out at her and closed the gate behind you.

“Garroth. Lawrence,” you acknowledged the pigs as you passed their pen. Gosh, you'd forgotten how much work it was to keep animals. It kept you busy, offering a distraction from the festering unease inside you.

You found Clark in the barn fussing over Betty, the cow, or as you called her, ‘the princess of the farm’. She ruled her kingdom with an iron fist and a powerful moo. Most of the time she was a grump, and Clark was the only one she allowed to touch her. Apparently his pets were good enough while yours weren't.

You couldn't blame her. His hands were nice, sturdy, yet somehow soft, even after years of farm work. Yeah, Clark Kent had a very nice pair of hands.

“Such a pretty girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his rumble, his words twisting your gut. That cow was absolutely spoiled. You were surprised she wasn't overweight, with how gluttonous she was.

“This is why she's a brat. You spoil her too much.” You glared at the cow.

She glared back.

For a moment Clark paused in his petting, and Betty's tail flicked in immediate dissatisfaction. She huffed and trotted away, not even giving him a chance to redeem himself.

Your hands fell to your waist, and you jutted your hip out as you gave him a look that screamed, ‘I told you so.'

“Okay, so maybe I spoil her. She deserves it. She's my baby” He conceded with a shrug and made his way over to you.

“You're ridiculous—”

“—Ridiculously empathetic and caring toward animals," he finished for you. You swatted the hand away that reached for you and moved away, but he followed persistently. “Nuh uh, don't run.” He shook his head and clicked his tongue in faux disappointment. He caught you almost immediately and dragged you back.

“Let me go, you heathen!” You clawed at his arms, desperately writhing around. “I will destroy you!” He threw his head back and laughed when you turned and pushed him. He didn’t even budge an inch.

His arms slackened, and like an animal being hunted, you scrambled away from him toward the entrance of the barn. He followed leisurely behind.

“Sweetheart, watcha doin’?” His head tilted curiously, but you wouldn't fall for his fake innocence. You saw the mischief gleaming in his eyes.

“You are like a needy golden retriever.” You pointed at him accusingly with a harmless growl.

“What?” He had the audacity to look perplexed by your statement. You had given a whole rundown of character dynamics when he asked about the story you were writing. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“Hey, hey, six feet away! I value my freedom!”

With a smug smirk, he cocked his eyebrow and took a single step forward.

You took it as a declaration of war and bolted back to the house.

——————————————————

You were getting a serious sense of déjà vu tiptoeing through the house in the dead of night, like a single wrong step would wake everyone up. Technically, with Clark’s super-hearing, you weren't far off.

“Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious," you whispered, singing the mantra to yourself like an annoying kid's toy on repeat.

Your mind wouldn't let you sleep, so instead of tossing and turning in your bed all night, you decided to go to the kitchen and get a snack. At least then you would be tossing and turning all night without your stomach rumbling.

You were just tiptoeing past Clark's room when you heard him whimpering. It sounded as if he were in pain, which you doubt was the case. No, that wasn't a ‘help, I'm in pain’ whimper. It was a 'Help, I'm having a horrible nightmare and about to wake up and probably have a panic attack’ whimper.

Look, you were no stranger to nightmares. Although your nightmares weren't exactly normal. Not if being stuck in a crowded mall in a constant state of meltdown, constantly suffering while everyone you love ignores your pleas for help, was normal.

You were confident enough in your relationship with Clark to know that barging into his room, food in hand, at two in the morning was acceptable.

You knew the layout of his bedroom like the back of your hand. The total darkness that encompassed it never hindered your journey to his bed.

However, you made a pit stop to place your snacks on his dresser nearby.

“Clark?” the whisper barely left your lips. The last thing you wanted to do was bombard his super-hearing. You knew how sensitive all his senses got whenever he had nightmares. He once described it to you after you comforted him one night during your high school years.

You knew what it was like to be overstimulated. What he went through sounded worse.

The moment you got close enough, you reached out to him, and as if he could sense your presence, he shot up.

Clark gasped, and a sharp inhale of air flooded his lungs. He panted as he gulped it all in.

“Hey, Clark.”

His head snapped in your direction, and for a moment in his panic, he looked as if he were about to attack. His eyes snapped down to your outstretched hand that now trembled, frozen in place. He frowned and then he registered it was you.

He whispered your name like a lifeline and immediately slumped over. His head bumped against your shoulder, and you struggled to take on all of his weight as he seemed to bury himself in you. Like that was possible.

“Oof,” you grunted and wrapped your arms around him to steady you ‌both. You carefully maneuvered yourself onto his bed, and the man had no issue scooting over to let you in. In fact, the moment you finally laid down on your side, he attached himself to you like a koala.

His body curled around yours, and hands snuck around your waist, dragging you as close as possible to his chest.

In the dark, you had to squint to see him. Fortunately, from being in his embrace, you could feel his erratic breathing slowly calming. You heard him sniffle, and one of his arms unwrapped around you to swipe away his tears. But in just a few seconds it returned, once again wrapping around you.

You let him cling to you. To the point that you almost fell asleep for a few minutes. I mean, how could you not? This was the most comfortable spot in the world. Okay, yeah, it was a little bit warm, but the sweat was worth it!

Soon enough his breathing evened out, and you frowned as a snore left him. Oh, great.

He trapped you and you were really looking forward to those snacks too…

By the time your mind allowed you to sleep, the sun was already rising. Fortunately, its rays of light were blocked by the massive body curled around your body. You weren't even that short, and yet you felt small when he completely encircled you like this.

The moment you stirred and tried to pull away from the living furnace next to you, his arms locked around your waist and forced you still.

“Clarkkkk.” You pushed at his chest helplessly and groaned when he didn't even move an inch. He was fighting back a smile, the corner of his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He popped open a single eye, peering down at you in sleepy amusement.

“What's the magic word?” This is why you stopped sleeping in the same bed with him. Once he latched on, he never let go. Neither did Lois. Both of their sleepover privileges were revoked.

“Let me go, or else I'll never make you a pie again.”

His other eye shot open. “You wouldn't dare…” He was right. You were bluffing. However, you had the audacity not to care.

“Try me.”

His arms around you finally slackened, and you wiggled out of his grip, just barely dodging his attempt to snatch you back. He frowned like a kicked puppy, but you refused to feel guilty.

You rose from the bed and headed straight to his drawer, where you checked up on your snacks and then waddled back to his bed.

What? Your food was important.

“So, you want to talk about last night?” You crawled back onto the bed and finally let Clark pull you back into his arms.

For the first time, he didn't tense up or shut down. You were used to him retreating whenever you asked.

“It was Lex who did it.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Does that mean…?”

He nodded, and his gaze fell as he fought hard to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “He found out. I was too late. By the time I got there, they were already gone.”

Everything fell into place, finally painting the full picture. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice-cold water, and you went tense in his arms. The somber haze that had seemed to have taken over him seemed to clear because his gaze snapped back to you.

“It was you who killed him, wasn't it?”

He nodded, and you noticed the lack of guilt in his demeanor. You couldn't blame him for what he did. Not at all. Still, the lack of guilt irked you. Not enough for you to truly care, though. Lex Luthor ruined Clark's life. You wouldn't feel bad either.

But this was different. The Clark you knew would have felt guilty even if it was Lex, but then again, your Clark never went through what this Clark did.

“I hate to say it, but…good riddance.”

Oh, you felt so guilty saying it, but it needed to be said! Nobody was going to miss that bald-headed demon. In fact, the world was much safer without him. Clark was safer without him.

“Wait, is that why Metropolis is so much more peaceful in this universe.” It all made sense.

He barked out a sudden laugh, and you were glad that even with the sad subject, he could at least find some joy.

——————————————————

Smallville was different in ways you couldn't explain. Of course, you hadn't actually gone into town yet; just the idea of it made you nervous but the farmers market was today and you were finally ready to venture out.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" He stood in front of the door, his arms crossed and his shoulders squared like he was guarding something—probably you.

You rolled your eyes. Ever since you told Clark your plans to go to the farmers market, he'd been insistent he come with. You weren't exactly against it per-say, it's just you wanted to spend some time alone. Get used to being in town again, but then again, you were a complete stranger to everybody, so maybe Clark coming with wasn't that bad of an idea.

"I'll be okay. It's just the farmers market," you reassured the gentle giant, who seemed more than concerned about the idea of you heading along alone. You had to admit it was slightly annoying, all of his fussing, like you couldn't go more than ten seconds without him. But you would be lying if you said you didn't find it a little cute.

"But what if it's too much? I wouldn't want you to have a meltdown and not be there to help." Wait, how did he even know about those? Did he do research?

Clark sighed at the well-earned glare he received and raised his hands in front of him in defense. "Please just let me come with for my peace of mind." He pleaded.

He really wasn't going to let this go was he?

You sighed, finally conceding, and victory flashed across his expression, a smile quickly growing on his face.

"Fine, you can come with, but only because it'll be easier to carry groceries with you around."

"I'll take it." He beamed and stepped away from the door, opening it for you like the gentleman he was.

"Come on, the truck is already ready."

You raised a brow, fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

"Seriously?"

"What? I wanted to go to the farmers market too!"

The drive to town was only a measly ten-minute affair. The whole time Clark hummed along to the songs you had added to his playlist because you refused to listen to Clark's abhorrent music taste.

Finally getting out of the truck felt damning, like there was no turning back after this, which was true given the stares you immediately received from the familiar faces around you. You were surprised you made it out of the parking lot without being stopped by someone. However you didn't even make it past the first stall before Mrs. Mendelev was scurrying up to the both of you. The woman was a gossip—the town gossiper as some would say. She knew everything and anything about everyone. It was pretty impressive.

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little thing?" The older woman squeezed you tightly in a hug. "You have no idea how happy we all were when we heard Clark finally brought home a girl!"

Behind you, the man groaned, the tips of his turning red. “After Martha and Jonathan’s passing, God bless their souls, he just was never the same. It’s so nice to see him smile again."

You smiled softly at the kind words. "I wouldn't say I'm the reason for that." You laughed, waving her off, and Clark's brows pinched together as if he were about to speak but held off at the last second.

The woman only waved her hand and shook her head. "Nonsense. He practically glows when he talks about you."

Oh, wow, you had no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, Clark took the opportunity and muttered an awkward goodbye and dragged you away to the next stall, for which you were eternally grateful.

"Well she hasn't change," you giggled as you leaned over to grab an apple, inspecting it before tossing it into your bag and grabbing a few more.

"Let me guess, she's a gossip in your universe too?"

You nodded. "Yep," you popped the p and moved on to the next stall.

"Why, hello there! You must be the lady Clark won't stop blabbering about!" Your eyes widened as you took in the man before you—Kevin. He was only a few years older than you, but everyone in town knew who he was, at least in your universe. He went down a dark path after his marriage fell apart because of his wife’s issues with fertility. His ending wasn't so happy

"Dad! Amy got into the produce again!" a smaller voice called out from behind the stand, and Kevin sighed, a long arduous groan.

You watched as a little boy stumbled to the front of the stand, a smile growing on your face as you took in the little lad. "You have a child."

No, you were totally not about to cry. That would be pathetic.

"I'm adopted!" A startled, but happy laugh burst from your mouth at the boy’s exclamation and Kevin’s horrified reaction.

“I told you to stop telling people that!”

You let the family be and scurried to the next stall, taking one last glance at the happiness radiating from the man before finally moving your attention away.

"Hey, are you okay?" Clark's fingers brushed over your arm.

"Yeah…I'm just happy. Kevin never really got to be happy in my universe. I'm glad he got it here. He deserves it."

His expression softened. "Well, I'm glad too. He's a good man, and a great father and husband."

The rest of the morning was spent wandering around the market, grabbing what you needed and introducing yourself to every face you encountered. It was nice, tiring, but nice to see everyone again. So much was different, and yet so many things were the same. You didn't know whether you found comfort from it all, and by the time you got back to the farm, you didn't have the energy to care. All you wanted to do was put the groceries away and nap.

"Sweetheart, you looked drained."

He snatched the groceries from your arms; you were a fool to believe he would let you carry them all in. "Get some rest. I'm sure all that socialization was tiring, " he pressed a kiss to your forehead, the action so natural that neither of you blinked at the affection, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

You could kiss him.

You bet he tasted like sunshine and comfort.

Ugh, you seriously needed to get your feeling in check. This wasn't your Clark. You didn't love him, just another version of him. If only your stupid heart would realize that.

——————————————————

You were no stranger to the danger that came with being Superman. You watched Clark get beaten up, thrown into buildings, and smashed with cars. He always survived. It's what he did, but the suit? Oh, the suit was a whole different story.

"This poor fabric." The repetitive motion of sewing was soothing to someone like you, which was why you happily volunteered to fix up Clark's suit because, good lord, it needed some tender love and care.

“In my defense I didn't ask to be stabbed at.”

"And yet it still happened." You pulled the needle through the fabric.

"Hey!" he gawked, offended. "I tried my best to dodge it; it's harder than it looks."

You nodded, pretending that you believed him, but he seemed to recognize your bad acting and scowled.

“Look, I'm sorry” he whined.

“I know you are. I just get concerned.” You frowned and once again threaded the needle through the fabric. You would never get over how satisfying it was to watch as the string tied everything together once again, patching it all up.

“Just be more careful out there. I know you're practically invincible, but I still get worried seeing you get beat up.” Clark sighed, his scowl softening and his body relaxing.

"I know, I know." He didn't exactly wave off your concerns; he would never do that, always too thoughtful, but it still felt like that as he rose from his sitting place on the couch and made his way over to you. He leaned down, placing a light kiss to your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

He leaned back, staring down at you with a soft smile. "Thank you for the suit. I can't remember the last time someone took the time to fix it up."

"Well, someone has to."

"You and I both know that's not true." He chuckled lightly.

You only shrugged, your tongue poking out as you focused on finishing the final stitches. You could feel his eyes on you—a feeling you were all to familiar with. He liked to watch you. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't creepy.

"There." You smiled proudly as you cut off the string and held out the newly patched up suit. "Good as new."

"You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart."

"I know right. I'm amazing."

Peaceful silence fell between you, and you handed him back the suit, the bright symbol almost shining when the light hit it just right.

"Do you ever regret it?"

"Regret what?" He hummed, checking over his newly repaired suit, obviously satisfied with your work.

"Killing Lex."

He froze and you watched as his knuckles paled from how tightly he gripped onto the fabric. His expression fell blank just like it always did whenever you brought up this sort of topic.

Shit.

Had you gone too far? Oh gosh, you knew asking was a bad idea. You should have listened to your brain when it told you to leave the topic alone. It was obvious he didn't like talking about it.

"No, I don't," he finally answered. You slowly nodded, taking in his words. Of course he didn't. Honestly, you wouldn't either in a situation like that, but a small part of you was still surprised. The Clark you knew valued all life, even Lex Luthor's, but then again, this wasn't your Clark, which your brain couldn't seem to register quite yet.

"Would you do it again?"

He looked down at the fabric in his hands, his gaze flickering over the symbol.

"No."

Both of you knew that was a lie.

———————————————————

Martha was the one who taught you how to bake. You remembered the way she would set out everything and go through each step with you, teaching you how to correctly measure and how to roll the dough.

Baking was a process, a process you enjoyed very much.

It was also an escape. It allowed your mind to go numb as you went through the steps, doing the same thing every time. It was as relaxing as it was delicious.

“You know, if you keep on baking these pies, I think I'm gonna die from the sugar overload.” You turned around, scowling at Clark, who stood leaning against the entryway in his usual plaid shirt and jeans. The only difference was the long hair he decided to grow out. It was almost a mullet now, and gosh darn did he look delicious, almost as delicious as your pie.

"Oh hush you love my pies." You turned back to the oven, eyeing the pie that laid inside. Just a few minutes left.

Footsteps approached from behind and his hands landed on your hips.

"Is that my shampoo?" Your nose wrinkled at the familiar scent, and you craned your neck to look at Clark, who smiled at you sheepishly with a guilty expression that said it all.

"It smells nice—like you." He shrugged as if that were a perfectly good reason to steal your freakin' twenty-dollar shampoo.

"You are so lucky that Bruce Wayne funds this household or else I'd kick your butt."

A laugh left him at your obvious threat, and you frowned at the way he didn't take you seriously. You were very scary, just not to him, apparently. "Sweetheart, you couldn't hurt a fly even if you tried." He sounded so sure of it, and you would have been offended if it weren't true.

The oven interrupted any attempt to threaten him more, and you huffed as you turned your attention back to the appliance, tugging it open and groaning when his arms unwrapped around you and sneaked past to take the pie out, his hands completely bare.

"You're a freak of nature," he placed the pie down on the countertop, and you cringed. "You do realize that can ruin it, right?"

"You said it yourself," he shrugged. "Bruce Wayne funds this household."

He turned the oven off, and you stepped back and untied your apron from around your waist. "Touché"

You threw the fabric onto the countertop. "Speaking of which, how is Bruce? Any updates?" You questioned.

He shook his head. "No. Apparently, the multiverse is, uh…complicated."

Even after so many months, the only progress made was a few crude theories, and even those were iffy. But both Bruce and Mr.Terrific knew how to contact you if anything came up.

"I just can't imagine how worried everyone is back home,” you sighed. "I'm sure they're doing everything they can to get me back. "

A small part of you hoped one day a portal would randomly open and out would come your Clark and Lois, most likely rambling about how they missed you and did everything they could to get you back. It was wishful thinking, and maybe foolish, but still, you could hope.

"You know you've been baking a lot; are you okay?”

Aw, dang it, you were hoping he wouldn't notice.

Okay, so maybe you baked more whenever you were stressed; it was a healthy outlet, and in all reality, you weren't fine at all.

It was like a creeping feeling of doom approaching in the distance. You could see the storm, hear its thunder rumble, and watch its clouds invade the sky. Now, you were just waiting for it to hit.

“I'm fine." You turned your back to him, focusing on retrieving a knife to cut the pie with.

He didn't believe you, probably because he could hear your heart beating a million miles per hour.

Something about his gaze felt predatory. The way he watched you flutter around the kitchen like you were some piece of meat ready to be devoured. You noticed that gaze a lot.

Wait, where did your apron go? Oh lord, not again!

——————————————————

You loved when it rained, always have and probably always will.

It was the sound of each droplet hitting the ground, the grounding effect it had on your mind. The way the worms would always come out after, your little army of beloved insects. You adored all of it.

So of course you couldn't miss the chance to revel in it.

"You do realize this is a one-way ticket to getting sick, right?" He leaned against the side of the porch, where he was protected from the rain while you stood a few feet away absolutely soaked and delighted to stomp in each puddle. Your hands flapped in front of you as you danced around, splashing and giggling as you jumped around.

"I didn't realize you were such a party pooper. " You turned, sticking your tongue out at him.

The only thing you didn't enjoy was the way your soaked clothes stuck to you, an uncomfortable feeling that made your skin crawl. But it wasn't enough to ruin your mood. It wasn't often that Kansas had rain, especially during such a dry season like summer.

"Are you going to join me or just watch like a creepy stalker?"

"Oh, no. I'm more than okay staying right here."

You rolled your eyes and turned back around, running and jumping straight in the largest puddle you could find, your hands flapping happily in front of you.

Oh, how you loved puddles. They were always so fun to jump in. You and Clark used to do it all the time growing up while Martha and Jonathan watched from their porch. You couldn't count how many times you got sick from it, unlike Clark, who was never affected, but it was always worth it. Although you swore it wasn't the rain that made you sick, just your immune system fucking you over.

From the porch, Clark watched with his arms crossed over his chest . You were always so excited about the littlest of things. It was cute.

"Sweetheart, you should probably come in soon," he called.

"Only if you promise not to fuss over me."

"I don't fuss over you."

"You absolutely do."

He absolutely did. He couldn't help it. It was just his nature to help, especially for the ones he cared for.

"Fine, I won't fuss but only if you promise to warm up with some towels and Ma's hot chocolate."

You lit up.

"You had me at Ma's hot chocolate."

——————————————————

Ultimately, it was Mr Terrific who revealed Clark’s lies. That's right—lies. In one simple phone call, the small life you'd built with him was torn to shreds.

He'd been lying to you for weeks.

He called off the research.

All of it.

Bruce, the justice gang—he demanded they all stop their research and move on. You didn't know which was worse: that he did it or the fact that they all listened. So blindly loyal to a man who apparently wanted you all to himself, tucked away on a farm in Kansas. But why? You had done nothing but invade his life? Why would he want you to stay so badly that he went out of his way to betray you like this. It didn't make any sense.

"So it's true?"

"Sweetheart—"

Oh Irene, it was. He'd lied to you. For weeks! It made so much sense now that you thought about it. The way he avoided your questions or even just the topic itself. The weird way he'd been acting ever since you both moved to Kansas. The clinginess, the avoidance, red bright flags that you had opted to ignore just because you trusted him—technically not even him but another version of him!

"Clark, why?" You felt one second away from completely breaking, and you hated the way your voice wavered. The weakness that crept in.

"Because I love you, okay!" He suddenly exclaimed. "I love you so much it hurts, and that universe—that Clark—doesn't deserve you."

…what?

In another life, you would've been ecstatic to hear those words. In fact, your heart still skipped a beat, and a familiar warmth spread across your body, but it felt wrong. So terribly wrong.

"Clark, I—" how do you respond to that? For your whole entire life you had thought that Clark Kent would never love you, not in the way you loved him. Yet here he was, another version of him, telling you exactly that.

You watched frozen in place as he took a careful step toward you, like one wrong move and you would just disappear. He looked so fragile, so hopeful. So completely and irrevocably different from the Clark you knew.

"I…I think I want to go home." Yeah. You wanted your apartment, your bed, your safe place. You wanted your noise-canceling headphones and your stuffed animals.

"You are home."

You weren't. This wasn't home. Just a false replica of it.

"No, I want to go home," you repeated, and his face scrunched up.

You didn't know when he managed to get in front of you, but you blinked, and he suddenly towered over you only a few inches away, blocking any escape.

"I need you to calm down." You shrugged off any attempt at touching you, and his expression flashed with hurt.

"You're not leaving. Not me or Kansas." His words felt like a finality you refused to accept, but truly what could you do? He was stronger than you, and if you tried to run, he could easily catch up and just throw you over his shoulder and take you back.

You were stuck.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by his hand taking yours, and you watched in frozen horror as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out a familiar ring—Martha's ring. The same one you would fawn over growing up, wishing that one day it would belong to you.

"I wanted to wait until you were settled down more but Bruce already has the papers forged."

The ring slid onto your finger. It was a weight that felt binding, something you couldn't exactly explain.

"Clark, what do you mean?"

He smiled, soft yet predatory in a way that made you shudder. "It means we're going to be happy," His hand ghosted up your arm, trailing up to cup your cheek with his palm. You would have melted if it weren't for the situation.

"Together."

Once again, in any other scenario, you would've swooned. Unfortunately, this was the one scenario where you, in fact, did not swoon. Instead panic seized you, forcing you to stay frozen in your place.

"Clark, I can't. I have a life. Clark and Lois—"

"—Do not deserve you."

Again with that bullshit. How dare he say that? Your Clark and Lois deserved the world, and you were a part of that world. They most definitely deserved you.

They just didn't want you.

His hands left your body, and you stepped back. Something he obviously did not like with the way he immediately crowded into your space again.

"Stop saying that!"

"But it's true!" He exclaimed. "They don't see you. Never will. Not the way I do, and I can't lose you!" For a moment he went silent before speaking. "Not like I loss them."

Oh, wow. That was a box of emotions you were not willing to open up.

You shook your head, anger guiding you to slide the ring off your finger and throw it to the ground, but before you could even think about doing it, his hand came down onto your wrist, effectively stopping you.

"Don't." He sounded annoyed. It was terrifying. He gave you the ring for a reason, and there was only one reason someone, especially someone like Clark, would give you a ring. His ma's ring, too.

"Clark, what type of papers did you get Bruce to forge?"

The smile he gave you sent chills down your spine, whether it was from the predatory gleam in his eyes or the actual happiness that radiated from him. "I think you already know, sweetheart."

"Welcome home, Mrs.Kent."

Oh.

Oh no.