Damned

She caught the way his smile had flickered at her “I’m proud of you” line, the brief shadow that passed behind his eyes, and filed it away without pushing. Instead she just nudged his foot under the table with her sneaker.

“You did impress me, by the way. Just… maybe next time impress me by not losing a fight with architecture.”

The waitress arrived and Kara barely glanced at the menu before diving in.

“Okay, so—two of the face-sized burgers, medium rare if you’ve got it, extra everything. Then the full taco sampler, whatever the biggest one is. Side of fries. Side of onion rings. And can we get a milkshake? Chocolate. Large. Maybe two, just in case.” She paused, then added sweetly, “And yes, ice for the brave warrior over here who battled a door and lived to tell the tale.”

The waitress blinked, scribbled furiously, then looked at Carter for confirmation. He only smirked and nodded, so she hurried off with a promise to bring the ice first.

Kara propped her chin in her hand, watching him across the table with open amusement.

“See? I warned you about the metabolism. This is still me being polite. You should see what happens after a real fight.” She tilted her head, voice dropping into something softer. “And hey… for what it’s worth? The guy who just ran full-speed into a door to try and make me laugh is already way more interesting than any stuffy fundraiser version of you could ever be. Pride bruise and all.”

This quickly started to feel like a spectator sport. Watching Kara order, as well as the waitress' visible shock, made him tamp back a grin as she spared him a curious look before walking off to place the ticket.

"And is any of that order for me? Or do I just get your leftovers?" Carter quipped, propping his chin on his fist. "I noticed you said 'we' there, but how do I know I won't get in the crossfire if I dare to reach for your food?"

“I warned you about the metabolism. This is still me being polite. You should see what happens after a real fight.”

Carter blinked at that admission, his lips quirking incredulously. "Well, I guess in that case, none of my residual snacking habits from college will serve as an embarrassment here. I'd say you don't have to worry about withholding around me, but maybe we should give that poor waitress a break." Here, he glanced toward the kitchen with a simper. "Something tells me, she'll be running back and forth for the rest of the evening."

Kara's compliment made his cheeks warm, and smiling, Carter shook his head. "The 'stuffy fundraiser version' of me can do some decent karaoke, but other than that, I'm afraid he's always supposed to be on his best behavior."

Fiddling with his paper place mat, he curled and folded the edges before looking up at her again. "You know," he said, an impish shine coming to his eyes, "the best cure for a bump on the head is pretty simple." Here, he tapped the swelling with his index finger. "The phrase 'kiss it better' is world-renowned for a reason. Would you really make me suffer?"

Was he laying it on thick? Perhaps. But before he could further plead his case, the waitress returned and set his promised cup of ice onto the table.

"Enjoy," she said, only to catch her mistake, wince, and amend, "Erm...feel better," before walking off again.

She leaned back in the booth, sneakers brushing his under the table again as she listened to him talk about the fundraiser version of himself and karaoke. The mental image made her grin.“Karaoke, huh? Now I definitely need to see that someday. Stuffy rich guy belting out power ballads? Iconic.”

When he tapped his forehead and hit her with the “kiss it better” line, Kara’s laugh came out soft and genuine. She reached for the cup of ice, plucked out a piece, and held it against the growing bump with careful fingers.

“Crafty is one word for it,” she murmured, eyes bright. “Bold is another. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and you just lost a fight with a door on my behalf.”

She kept the ice there a second longer than necessary, then leaned in across the table, close enough that her ponytail slipped over one shoulder. Instead of a full kiss, she pressed a quick, warm brush of her lips right against the edge of the swelling—light, teasing, and over almost before it started.

“There,” she said, settling back with a satisfied little smirk. “Medical-grade treatment. Strictly professional. Don’t get used to it… or do. Your call.”

Kara stole a glance toward the kitchen, stomach already growling again at the promise of food.“Now ice that thing properly before the burgers arrive. I’m not explaining a black eye to your next late-night patient. And just so we’re clear—next time you want a kiss, you don’t have to get assaulted by architecture first. I’m open to less painful methods.”

“You good? Any stars? Double vision? Sudden urge to sue the door for assault?” Her voice was soft with concern, but the grin kept trying to break through. “That was… impressively dramatic. Ten out of ten entrance. The forehead is going to have a whole story to tell tomorrow.”

When he opened the door for her anyway, still wincing, she stepped in first but immediately turned back, catching his wrist so he couldn’t lag behind.

“Ladies first is cute and all, but you’re the one who just lost a fight with a door. Sit. Ice. Possibly a very judgmental look from me for the next five minutes.”

Inside the warm, low-lit bistro, the smell of grilled meat and spices hit her hard. Kara’s stomach actually growled loud enough to be heard over the background music. She shot him a sheepish look.

“Okay, prioritization update: ice for your face, then face-sized burgers. And just so we’re clear—” she pointed at him, still holding his wrist, “—if anyone asks, you totally meant to do that. Peak comedy. Very intentional. I’m proud of you.”She finally let go, but only so she could gently tug him toward an empty booth by the window.

With her thumb on his chin, he flashed a sheepish smile, flushing beneath her close appraisal. "Will I live, doc?" he teased. "Seeing how it seems we're trading places here..." Nodding after the snickering teenagers, he added, "Wish I'd had the power to see through walls. Otherwise, I might've stopped from trying to beat a superhero in a race. I may be gifted, but I never said I was smart."

Allowing Kara to guide him indoors, he blinked at the ravenous rumble that came directly from her stomach. He bit his cheek to fight off a laugh. "I guess you weren't lying," he said. "Just so long as during mating rituals, your planet doesn't believe in eating the male, I think I can still be amenable."

I'm proud of you...

Even though it was a joke, the sentiment struck a chord in Carter and his smile briefly faded, his chest squeezing as he followed her to the nearest booth. He'd never truly heard those words -- it was more of why can't you be more like Bobby? or Why don't you ever think of this family?

He arguably thought far, far too much about his loved ones, and with a feeble chuckle, Carter reassured, "I think my face will be fine. The only thing that's truly injured here is my pride, so...yeah. I did mean to do that, you're right." He lifted his eyes to her with a simper. "I was hoping to impress you. Guess I won't be trying that again."

Sliding into the booth, Carter ignored the residual throb in his forehead and peered down at the menu. He already knew what he wanted, but he figured he'd at least go through the motions. "So, are you getting the whole front page here, or what?" he quipped. "Our poor waitress might not have enough room on her scratch pad."

As if awaiting her proper cue, a perky middle-aged blonde breezed up to their table, all smiles as she smeared her hands over her apron. "What can I getcha?" she asked. "Those teens almost cleaned out all the chicken wings, but everything else is still available."

Carter arched a brow at Kara with a smirk. "I dunno," he said, "because to my understandable, we might actually end up needing to order 'everything else.'"

"And some ice?" the waitress asked, indicating the knot on his forehead.

She caught the way his smile had flickered at her “I’m proud of you” line, the brief shadow that passed behind his eyes, and filed it away without pushing. Instead she just nudged his foot under the table with her sneaker.

“You did impress me, by the way. Just… maybe next time impress me by not losing a fight with architecture.”

The waitress arrived and Kara barely glanced at the menu before diving in.

“Okay, so—two of the face-sized burgers, medium rare if you’ve got it, extra everything. Then the full taco sampler, whatever the biggest one is. Side of fries. Side of onion rings. And can we get a milkshake? Chocolate. Large. Maybe two, just in case.” She paused, then added sweetly, “And yes, ice for the brave warrior over here who battled a door and lived to tell the tale.”

The waitress blinked, scribbled furiously, then looked at Carter for confirmation. He only smirked and nodded, so she hurried off with a promise to bring the ice first.

Kara propped her chin in her hand, watching him across the table with open amusement.

“See? I warned you about the metabolism. This is still me being polite. You should see what happens after a real fight.” She tilted her head, voice dropping into something softer. “And hey… for what it’s worth? The guy who just ran full-speed into a door to try and make me laugh is already way more interesting than any stuffy fundraiser version of you could ever be. Pride bruise and all.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said softly. “Filter or not, that stuff matters. And for the record? I get it more than you think.”

She glanced up at the dark buildings around them, then back at him.

“People look at the cape and the S and assume I’ve got it all figured out. Invincible. Untouchable. Always the hero. But half the time I’m just trying to figure out if anyone would still want to hang out if I couldn’t fly or stop a bus with my bare hands. Same price tag problem… just a different currency.”

Kara squeezed his hand once, gentle but deliberate.

“You’re still just you. The guy who answers the window at three in the morning covered in god-knows-what and still makes time for a random alien with glitchy powers. The guy who worries about being seen as a spoiled rich kid while he’s out here stitching people back together. That’s not nothing.”

She bumped his shoulder again, lighter this time, the corners of her mouth lifting.

“And hey… if it helps, I already liked you before I knew about the family money. Mostly because you didn’t freak out when I floated outside your bedroom. Low bar, maybe. But still.”

Kara tipped her head toward the street ahead.

He laughed at her very low bar and agreed, "Well hell, maybe that's good news for me, right? And I promise not to turn this into a '3 a.m. shower thoughts pity parade' for the rest of the night. We can save that for the morning."

Oh...

He hadn't meant to imply she would stay over, but rather than retract his words, and thus, potentially embarrass himself further, he latched onto her nod and led the way, where the bistro's neon sign flickered overhead like a beacon near the end of the block.

"I'd say 'race you,' but you'd definitely win," Carter quipped. "Still...my competitive nature is curious." Eyes gleaming, he drew her hand up to his lips, the kiss brief and expressing gratitude, before he slid her palm down to rest over his heart, gently squeezing. "Hell, I'll race you anyway..."

He broke ahead in a mad dash, laughing from what was undoubtedly an accumulation of nerves, late night exhaustion, and the dizzying warmth that had been circling around and around through his veins ever since Kara's arrival. In that moment, he felt young, possibly a touch childish, and as he reached the entrance, he skidded to a stop just as the door swung open and nailed him right in the forehead.

“You good? Any stars? Double vision? Sudden urge to sue the door for assault?” Her voice was soft with concern, but the grin kept trying to break through. “That was… impressively dramatic. Ten out of ten entrance. The forehead is going to have a whole story to tell tomorrow.”

When he opened the door for her anyway, still wincing, she stepped in first but immediately turned back, catching his wrist so he couldn’t lag behind.

“Ladies first is cute and all, but you’re the one who just lost a fight with a door. Sit. Ice. Possibly a very judgmental look from me for the next five minutes.”

Inside the warm, low-lit bistro, the smell of grilled meat and spices hit her hard. Kara’s stomach actually growled loud enough to be heard over the background music. She shot him a sheepish look.

“Okay, prioritization update: ice for your face, then face-sized burgers. And just so we’re clear—” she pointed at him, still holding his wrist, “—if anyone asks, you totally meant to do that. Peak comedy. Very intentional. I’m proud of you.”She finally let go, but only so she could gently tug him toward an empty booth by the window.

The corner of his mouth tugs into an easy smile as he looks back at him. "Although, to be fair, the bar's pretty low. Scrubs aren't exactly known for making anybody look interesting." His hands disappear into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxing now that the conversation has settled into something comfortably light. "Guess I'm glad you approve."

A beat. He lets the silence sit for a second longer than necessary, then tips his head just slightly, the teasing edge soft but unmistakable.

She glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at him, the streetlights catching the soft blue of her eyes.

“And yeah… surviving on ramen and Red Bull is kind of admirable in a tragic, ‘please drink actual water’ way. I’ve been there. Not the ramen part—Kryptonian metabolism laughs at instant noodles—but the running on pure caffeine and spite? Definitely.”

When he admitted he wanted to know her but was worried about asking stupid questions, Kara’s expression softened. She slowed her steps just a little so they were walking even closer.

“Ask the stupid questions,” she said quietly. “I don’t mind. Most people either treat me like a celebrity or a science experiment. You’re doing neither, which is… rare.”

She considered his actual questions for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Do I live like you guys? Kind of. I grew up here. Went to high school, did the whole awkward teenager thing. Prom was… complicated. First kiss was even more complicated. I still pay rent, still burn toast, still have days where I want to scream into a pillow because adulting is hard. The difference is that sometimes my bad days involve stopping a tidal wave or getting punched through a building. But the feelings? The exhaustion, the loneliness, the wanting someone to just… see you? Those are pretty human.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t expected such an admission. He glanced down at Kara, the corner of his mouth quirking as he squeezed her hand. “I don’t know how to behave any other way,” he replied. “I’m kind of…I mean, I’m certainly not a celebrity, but my family’s one of the wealthiest in the city, so I spend most of my time trying to blend in and avoid all that that entails. It’s kind of hard, you know? Never knowing if people like you for you, or what you can potentially give them.”

Or, worse yet, his own friends and colleagues looked at him as if he were some spoiled brat with a silver spoon shoved up his ass.

It was comforting, somehow, to hear that someone as important and seemingly indestructible as Kara could have abysmal days too.

“Don’t apologize,” she said softly. “Filter or not, that stuff matters. And for the record? I get it more than you think.”

She glanced up at the dark buildings around them, then back at him.

“People look at the cape and the S and assume I’ve got it all figured out. Invincible. Untouchable. Always the hero. But half the time I’m just trying to figure out if anyone would still want to hang out if I couldn’t fly or stop a bus with my bare hands. Same price tag problem… just a different currency.”

Kara squeezed his hand once, gentle but deliberate.

“You’re still just you. The guy who answers the window at three in the morning covered in god-knows-what and still makes time for a random alien with glitchy powers. The guy who worries about being seen as a spoiled rich kid while he’s out here stitching people back together. That’s not nothing.”

She bumped his shoulder again, lighter this time, the corners of her mouth lifting.

“And hey… if it helps, I already liked you before I knew about the family money. Mostly because you didn’t freak out when I floated outside your bedroom. Low bar, maybe. But still.”

Kara tipped her head toward the street ahead.

“Please. I have excellent fist control. Most of the time. And for the record, I’ve seen way worse than whatever you were covered in. Alien blood, toxic sludge, the occasional exploding robot… your night sounds almost quaint.”

The bistro suggestion earned an immediate nod of approval.

“Burgers and tacos? You’re speaking my language. Face-sized burgers and a taco deal on a Thursday? Carter, you might actually be dangerous. Lead the way before I start levitating from pure anticipation.”

She kept her arm linked with his as they walked, matching his slower human pace without complaint. When he started rambling about being an RA and cutting himself off from the gravy train, Kara tilted her head, listening with genuine interest instead of just waiting for her turn to talk.

“RA life, huh? That tracks. You have that ‘I’ve mediated one too many roommate fights at 2 a.m.’ energy. And hey—selling blood is a classic med-student move. Respect for getting out of that particular side hustle.”She bumped his shoulder gently again, the oversized hoodie soft against his coat.

When Kara mentioned being so eager that she might levitate, a faint pink curled along his cheeks as he wondered if that applied to other areas of excitement, as well. Clearing his throat, he deflected, "Yeah, uh...I-I'll try not to slow us down too much."

Roommate fights?

Unbidden, Carter laughed at the assessment, his brows drawing together. "More like repairing clogged toilets at ungodly hours," he replied. "You wouldn't believe what people try shoving down those pipes. I once found four plums." Shaking his head, he muttered, "I guess people don't realize that trash cans still exist."

Kara bumped him with her shoulder, and peering down at her, he flashed a sheepish little grin. "What, so are you saying it's admirable that I've survived on ramen and Red Bull for a full year? Not so much anymore, of course, but old habits die hard."

She glanced down at their joined hands, then back up at him, the streetlights catching the soft blue of her eyes.

“And yeah… surviving on ramen and Red Bull is kind of admirable in a tragic, ‘please drink actual water’ way. I’ve been there. Not the ramen part—Kryptonian metabolism laughs at instant noodles—but the running on pure caffeine and spite? Definitely.”

When he admitted he wanted to know her but was worried about asking stupid questions, Kara’s expression softened. She slowed her steps just a little so they were walking even closer.

“Ask the stupid questions,” she said quietly. “I don’t mind. Most people either treat me like a celebrity or a science experiment. You’re doing neither, which is… rare.”

She considered his actual questions for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“Do I live like you guys? Kind of. I grew up here. Went to high school, did the whole awkward teenager thing. Prom was… complicated. First kiss was even more complicated. I still pay rent, still burn toast, still have days where I want to scream into a pillow because adulting is hard. The difference is that sometimes my bad days involve stopping a tidal wave or getting punched through a building. But the feelings? The exhaustion, the loneliness, the wanting someone to just… see you? Those are pretty human.”

She glanced over at him as they headed for the door, ponytail swinging.

“Besides, if I get bored I can always just… you know.” She wiggled her free hand in a tiny floating gesture. “But I won’t. Promise. Tonight I’m just Kara. No meteors, no lasers, no sudden rooftop departures. Just a girl who showed up at your window and somehow talked you into feeding her.”

Outside, the night air was cool. Kara breathed it in, then looked sideways at Carter with a softer smile.

“Lead the way, Doc. Burgers or tacos—your city, your pick. Just know I’m ordering like I’ve never seen food before.”

Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t make jokes like that… But if it was true, at least his stamina would seem much faster than zero seconds.

He looked her way again, and smiled at her admission. Just Kara… Well, at least he finally knew her real name.

“I sure wish I could just fly off anytime someone bored or agitated me,” he said. “I’d be creating holes in ceilings right and left.”

Where he’d been relatively confident earlier, Carter suddenly felt a little tongue-tied. Clearing his throat, he explained, “Before you arrived, I was honestly ready to drop face-first into bed. My shift was pretty nightmarish, and I was covered in fluids you wouldn’t believe.” He hummed. “Then again, maybe you would. If you’re capable of crushing a meteor, a man’s skull isn’t bound to hold up so well against your fist.”

Kara’s choice made him smile. “Why not both?” Carter suggested. “I know a bistro that not only has burgers the size of your face, but a decent array of tacos to choose from. And if you’re really going to order to massive proportions, at least I’ll be getting a deal since they have both Taco Tuesdays and Thursdays.” He drew a hand over his chest with mock verve. “I’m nothing if not frugal. Ever since I had a stint as an RA, I’ve learned to sniff out deals. I, uh…recently cut myself off from the so-called gravy train.”

“Please. I have excellent fist control. Most of the time. And for the record, I’ve seen way worse than whatever you were covered in. Alien blood, toxic sludge, the occasional exploding robot… your night sounds almost quaint.”

The bistro suggestion earned an immediate nod of approval.

“Burgers and tacos? You’re speaking my language. Face-sized burgers and a taco deal on a Thursday? Carter, you might actually be dangerous. Lead the way before I start levitating from pure anticipation.”

She kept her arm linked with his as they walked, matching his slower human pace without complaint. When he started rambling about being an RA and cutting himself off from the gravy train, Kara tilted her head, listening with genuine interest instead of just waiting for her turn to talk.

“RA life, huh? That tracks. You have that ‘I’ve mediated one too many roommate fights at 2 a.m.’ energy. And hey—selling blood is a classic med-student move. Respect for getting out of that particular side hustle.”She bumped his shoulder gently again, the oversized hoodie soft against his coat.

There was a soft whoosh—red and blue blurring for the briefest instant—and then Kara was standing there in completely different clothes.

Dark-wash jeans that actually fit like real jeans, a soft oversized black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, white sneakers, and her blonde hair pulled into a loose, slightly messy ponytail. The cape and suit were gone, neatly folded into a tiny, impossibly compact bundle she tucked under one arm like it weighed nothing.She spun once on her heel, showing off the casual look with a little flourish.

“Ta-da. Civilian mode activated. Super-speed packing is a literal lifesaver for wardrobe changes. No phone booths required.”Kara stuffed the costume bundle into the oversized front pocket of the hoodie, then looked Carter up and down in his actual clothes for the first time, smiling wider.

“Oh…” He gawped at her, straightening as he met her gaze. There was something almost disarming about how she’d chosen to be casual, and yet still very put-together, while most of the women he went out with opted for flash and the most expensive garments they could squeeze themselves into. Even if that was his upbringing as well, it felt nice to shed the responsibility and gear towards very few expectations.

With a soft grin, Carter shrugged. “Well, consider me impressed then,” he replied. “You’ve defied women everywhere, because it took you zero seconds to get ready. Which…was probably a joke that just docked several points from my tally, so let’s go ahead and ignore that one.” Holding out his arm for her, he offered, “Ready to go? Not sure if it’ll feel unbearable having to walk around when you can just fly, but sometimes, it’s nice to slow down and take everything in. I know I certainly don’t get much of a chance for that.”

After locking up, Carter guided Kara out into the hall, and then down the apartment complex stairwell. “Do you even have a place?” he asked. “Or do you like…have a crazy space pod instead?” The corner of his mouth quirked in amusement, and he pressed on the crash bar on the exit door, holding it open for her as they stepped out into the cool Chicago weather. “If I were you, I would’ve chosen someplace more tropical to live. It gets freezing out this way. Unless, uh…are you even from around here?”

If nothing else, someone like Kara could make long distance work. His head was spinning with curiosity, but he figured he should at least try not to be a pest.

She glanced over at him as they headed for the door, ponytail swinging.

“Besides, if I get bored I can always just… you know.” She wiggled her free hand in a tiny floating gesture. “But I won’t. Promise. Tonight I’m just Kara. No meteors, no lasers, no sudden rooftop departures. Just a girl who showed up at your window and somehow talked you into feeding her.”

Outside, the night air was cool. Kara breathed it in, then looked sideways at Carter with a softer smile.

“Lead the way, Doc. Burgers or tacos—your city, your pick. Just know I’m ordering like I’ve never seen food before.”

“Restoril sounds intense. And yeah, tolerance and withdrawal are more of a human problem, so… maybe the non-benzo ones? Something that just knocks me out without making me feel like a zombie the next day. I still have to show up to work looking like I sleep at night.”When he corrected himself to John Carter III, Kara grinned wider.“Third, huh? Fancy. Okay, noted. And for the record, your predecessors missing out on the meteor-punching clientele is their loss.”

Then he made the X-ray vision joke while gesturing at the towel, and Kara’s eyes flicked down for half a second before she met his gaze again, completely shameless.“I do have X-ray vision,” she said, tone light and wicked. “But I try not to use it on people without a really good reason. Consider your dignity… mostly intact. You’re welcome.”The dinner invitation landed, and Kara tilted her head, studying him with open amusement.

“Dinner, huh? Bold move for a guy still in a towel. I like it.” She hopped off the exam table, landing lightly on her feet, cape settling around her. “A walk works too. Less pressure, more chance for you to actually put pants on first. Either way… yeah. I’m in. Just don’t be shocked if I order enough food for three people. Kryptonian metabolism is a whole thing.”

Flushing at his internal musings, he shook his head and agreed, “Yeah, I try not to prescribe that one too often. It, uh…has kind of a mental body count, so to speak. I’ll write you a scrip for the non-benzos.” He blinked at her. “Though I guess for the sake of confidentiality, I’ll give you something from my own personal cabinet. Because in order to write you a scrip, I’d have to know your name — your real name.”

To his surprise, Kara confirmed that she did have X-ray vision, and following her impish gaze down toward his towel, he breathed a nervous laugh and agreed, “Well…I guess I have partial dignity, yeah. Though this isn’t nearly as bad as the time my cousin pantsed me at the country club. As I recall, I was only fifteen. I’d like to think I’ve grown since then.”

Amusement settled within his gaze, and Kara surprised him further when she agreed to his bumbling suggestion — not only to dinner, but for a walk.

Lips quirking into a smile, Carter pointed out, “I’m still in a towel ‘cause patient comfort comes first. Though I guess being underdressed technically isn’t a perk for most consults.” Glancing over his shoulder, he agreed, “I can step out and change really quick. But, uh…don’t worry about the metabolism problem. I’m sure I can cover it. The restaurant, on the other hand?” He looked back at her with a grin. “Let’s just try and not eat them out of their entire week’s supply, shall we?”

After promising he would be right back, Carter slipped into a button-down Oxford, pulled a sweater over top, and then finally wriggled into some boxers and slacks so that he could look less foolish. Or so he hoped...

There was a soft whoosh—red and blue blurring for the briefest instant—and then Kara was standing there in completely different clothes.

Dark-wash jeans that actually fit like real jeans, a soft oversized black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, white sneakers, and her blonde hair pulled into a loose, slightly messy ponytail. The cape and suit were gone, neatly folded into a tiny, impossibly compact bundle she tucked under one arm like it weighed nothing.She spun once on her heel, showing off the casual look with a little flourish.

“Ta-da. Civilian mode activated. Super-speed packing is a literal lifesaver for wardrobe changes. No phone booths required.”Kara stuffed the costume bundle into the oversized front pocket of the hoodie, then looked Carter up and down in his actual clothes for the first time, smiling wider.

“Everything feels normal because it is normal… for me,” she said, voice light. “Kryptonian hardware just runs different. Stronger bones, denser tissue, the whole ‘sun is my battery’ package. You’re not gonna find swollen lymph nodes or whatever you’re used to poking around for. But hey, points for thoroughness. Most people just stare and go ‘wow, you’re really not from around here.’”

She watched him tug at the stethoscope and smiled when he made the lab-coat comparison.

“See? We both do the dramatic costume thing. Yours just comes with more biohazard risk.”

When he mentioned skipping the blood draw and writing a relaxant instead, Kara tilted her head, considering.

“A chill-pill prescription, huh? Not the worst idea. I’ve been running on like four hours of sleep and way too many near-death city-saving moments this week. Powers get twitchy when I’m fried. Heat vision especially. One second I’m fine, next second some poor streetlight is having a very bad day.”

She swung her legs a little, cape shifting behind her, then looked up at him with open curiosity when he finally gave his name.

“John Carter.” Kara tested it out, then grinned. “Okay, that tracks. Very classic, very ‘I fix people who punch meteors for a living.’ And no, I didn’t get your name from anyone. Window was open, lights were on, and I figured the guy who keeps patching up capes without asking questions was a safer bet than the ER. Stranger danger noted, though. I’ll try not to make a habit of the late-night floating.”

Although he didn’t genuinely believe Kara had tricked him, per se, he was curious why she thought he could help if her complaints were nonsurgical, not to mention, inhuman.

Still, Carter had never once turned away a patient, and he didn’t intend to start now.

“I could prescribe some non-benzodiazepine sedatives,” he offered. “Those will help you fall asleep quickly. Or, if you’d prefer, I could get you a scrip for Restoril, which induces sleep and also reduces anxiety, but it carries a higher risk of tolerance and withdrawal.” He shrugged. “Then again, maybe you don’t have to worry about that sort of thing.”

Kara swung her legs back and forth, briefly drawing his attention to the expanse of skin between her boots and skirt, before he quickly snapped his eyes back up to her face. “Er, what?” he asked, breathing an amused huff. “Does it make it better or worse that I’m a third? As in, John Carter III. And no offense to my predecessors or anything, but they definitely wouldn’t ‘fix people who punch meteors,’ for a living, or otherwise.”

Kara leaned forward then, and despite the residual warmth in his cheeks, he grinned. “If you picked me out based on my open window, maybe I should be the one worried about stranger danger. I sure hope you don’t have any X-ray vision…” He gestured at his towel. “But if you do, feel free to thank me anytime.”

It was a joke — he wasn’t that confident in himself — and removing his gloves, he tossed them into the trash while adding, “In addition to a good prescription, I advise plenty of rest, fluids, and a balanced diet…like maybe dinner sometime? I know a place.”

Oh, God…had he seriously just asked her out to dinner?

“Restoril sounds intense. And yeah, tolerance and withdrawal are more of a human problem, so… maybe the non-benzo ones? Something that just knocks me out without making me feel like a zombie the next day. I still have to show up to work looking like I sleep at night.”When he corrected himself to John Carter III, Kara grinned wider.“Third, huh? Fancy. Okay, noted. And for the record, your predecessors missing out on the meteor-punching clientele is their loss.”

Then he made the X-ray vision joke while gesturing at the towel, and Kara’s eyes flicked down for half a second before she met his gaze again, completely shameless.“I do have X-ray vision,” she said, tone light and wicked. “But I try not to use it on people without a really good reason. Consider your dignity… mostly intact. You’re welcome.”The dinner invitation landed, and Kara tilted her head, studying him with open amusement.

“Dinner, huh? Bold move for a guy still in a towel. I like it.” She hopped off the exam table, landing lightly on her feet, cape settling around her. “A walk works too. Less pressure, more chance for you to actually put pants on first. Either way… yeah. I’m in. Just don’t be shocked if I order enough food for three people. Kryptonian metabolism is a whole thing.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low and rough with the hour. “Again.”

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t ask what it was this time. Just stayed close, thumb stroking slow circles over the frantic heartbeat under his palm while his other hand came up to cup the side of Shannon’s face, thumb brushing under one bloodshot eye.

“Breathe with me.” Soft. Firm. The same quiet order he’d given a hundred times before. “In… hold it… out. You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Kara watched the blood-pressure cuff inflate with mild curiosity, then flicked her eyes back up to Carter’s still-flushed face.

“Alien, yeah,” she said, casual as if she were talking about her coffee order. “Kryptonian. Long story short—planet blew up, I got the last-minute space-pod ride to Earth, grew up here, now I punch meteors for a living. The whole ‘looks human but isn’t’ package. And thanks for the ‘healthy specimen’ compliment. Real smooth, Doc.”

She smirked when he scrambled to change the subject, letting the teasing hang in the air a second longer than necessary.

“The cape?” Kara glanced over her shoulder at the red fabric draping off the table. “Honestly? It’s half practical, half branding. Makes the landings look cooler, helps with aerial control sometimes, and people kinda expect the whole ‘flying hero in a cape’ aesthetic. Plus my cousin started the trend, so… family obligation, I guess. Vigilantes can rock the no-cape look all they want. Me? I like the drama.”

She called him “Doc” again, and draping his stethoscope around his neck — he supposed he might as well try and look the part — he reached for her and warned, “I’m going to check for tenderness. That requires a bit of feeling around for lymph nodes and anything out of the ordinary, so I really hope your reflexes won’t send me hurtling into the next room.”

This was assuredly the biggest risk with treating heroes. Carter had been bruised multiple times, but thankfully, had yet to be heaved into a neighboring wall.

Gauging her for an affirmation, Carter hesitated a moment longer, then gently cupped the bottom of her face, feeling around beneath her chin, along her neck, and down around her collar bone. “Everything feels normal,” he reassured. “But then again, if your genetic makeup is completely different from a human being’s, all of this might as well be medical theater.”

Something about the cape being a fashion statement made him smile. “I can’t say the same about my lab coat,” Carter replied. “I mean, it’s white, which allows every single drop of blood, sputum, and vomit to show up in full view, and quite colorfully, at that, so I guess you and I both have the ‘drama’ part in common.”

It was a little startling to learn of her condition — if it could even be considered as such — and clicking his tongue, Carter hummed while deciding, “Well…although a blood sample would be ideal, I guess we’ll have to work around that. At this point, I might just write you a scrip that helps you relax and call it a day, because I’m not sure if I can run any efficient tests since…y’know…they’re based around human DNA. And with each alien being unique, I don’t have any cure-all for a bunch of different species.”

Supergirl…

He instantly felt stupid for not having put two-and-two together. “Right. ‘Cause the ‘S’ doesn’t stand for ‘Satisfactory,’” Carter teased. Tugging his stethoscope back and forth across the back of his neck, he arched a brow at her question. “You mean, you don’t already know?” he asked. “I assumed you must have gotten my name from someone..." Folding his arms, he added, "I know you’re a superhero and all, but I think ‘stranger danger’ should apply to everyone.”

“Everything feels normal because it is normal… for me,” she said, voice light. “Kryptonian hardware just runs different. Stronger bones, denser tissue, the whole ‘sun is my battery’ package. You’re not gonna find swollen lymph nodes or whatever you’re used to poking around for. But hey, points for thoroughness. Most people just stare and go ‘wow, you’re really not from around here.’”

She watched him tug at the stethoscope and smiled when he made the lab-coat comparison.

“See? We both do the dramatic costume thing. Yours just comes with more biohazard risk.”

When he mentioned skipping the blood draw and writing a relaxant instead, Kara tilted her head, considering.

“A chill-pill prescription, huh? Not the worst idea. I’ve been running on like four hours of sleep and way too many near-death city-saving moments this week. Powers get twitchy when I’m fried. Heat vision especially. One second I’m fine, next second some poor streetlight is having a very bad day.”

She swung her legs a little, cape shifting behind her, then looked up at him with open curiosity when he finally gave his name.

“John Carter.” Kara tested it out, then grinned. “Okay, that tracks. Very classic, very ‘I fix people who punch meteors for a living.’ And no, I didn’t get your name from anyone. Window was open, lights were on, and I figured the guy who keeps patching up capes without asking questions was a safer bet than the ER. Stranger danger noted, though. I’ll try not to make a habit of the late-night floating.”

“Relax, Doc,” she said, voice light and teasing as she hopped up onto the exam table without even needing a boost. “I’m not planning on turning anyone into a light show tonight. Especially not the only guy in the city who’ll patch up a flying alien at three a.m. without calling the cops or the League.”

She swung her legs a little, cape pooling behind her, and watched him glove up with pure amusement.

“And for the record? The ‘I figured you’d much rather go there than my bed’ line?” Kara raised one eyebrow, grinning. “Bold. Real bold. I’m filing that one away for later.”

She tilted her head, studying him in the harsh fluorescent light—damp hair, bare chest, towel, latex gloves, the whole chaotic picture—and her expression softened just a fraction.

“Seriously though… I get it. Environment, stress, whatever. I’ve been flying longer hours than usual, and the city’s been extra spicy lately. But yeah. Check the vitals. Do the whole doctor thing. Just… maybe warn a girl before you whip out any weird scanners, okay? Last guy who tried that without asking got a very pointed ‘no thank you’ and a new skylight.”

She leaned back on her hands, completely unbothered by the fact that she was sitting in a secret superhero clinic while the man examining her looked like he’d just walked out of a very confused shower commercial.

“Also? Pants are still optional. Just saying.”

There. That sounded polite and unobjectifying enough…hopefully.

As if to betray his hopes, Kara brought attention to his earlier gaffe, and he blinked rapidly, heat flooding from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears. Although a part of him knew she was likely teasing, he played right into it and stumbled over himself, embarrassed since he wasn’t usually this asinine.

“Um…so what’s with the whole cape thing?” Carter deflected. Clearing his throat, he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm and velcroed it into place. “It seems like every superhero has one. Is that like some type of unwritten law, or something? A way to identify who’s a hero versus a vigilante?”

The woman’s warning made him balk, but this time, a nervous little laugh bubbled in his throat. “Okay,” he replied. “Fortunately for you — or rather, for me — I don’t think I’ll need to whip out any scanners, weird or otherwise. But I’ll likely have to draw some blood.”

Kara watched the blood-pressure cuff inflate with mild curiosity, then flicked her eyes back up to Carter’s still-flushed face.

“Alien, yeah,” she said, casual as if she were talking about her coffee order. “Kryptonian. Long story short—planet blew up, I got the last-minute space-pod ride to Earth, grew up here, now I punch meteors for a living. The whole ‘looks human but isn’t’ package. And thanks for the ‘healthy specimen’ compliment. Real smooth, Doc.”

She smirked when he scrambled to change the subject, letting the teasing hang in the air a second longer than necessary.

“The cape?” Kara glanced over her shoulder at the red fabric draping off the table. “Honestly? It’s half practical, half branding. Makes the landings look cooler, helps with aerial control sometimes, and people kinda expect the whole ‘flying hero in a cape’ aesthetic. Plus my cousin started the trend, so… family obligation, I guess. Vigilantes can rock the no-cape look all they want. Me? I like the drama.”

She gave him a once-over, eyes flicking from the double-knotted towel to the dresser he’d almost taken out, and her expression softened into something more genuine.

“I just… needed a second opinion. My powers have been acting weird the last couple days. Like, random static shocks when I fly, and my heat vision keeps wanting to turn everything into a laser light show. Figured if anyone’s gonna look at me without making it a whole Justice League briefing, it’s the guy who already knows the secret and still answers the window at three a.m.”

Awkwardly, he shifted beneath her playful perusal, attempting to hitch up his towel a bit farther over his hips. "Um..." Head spinning, he made a mental note of her reassurances -- no bleeding, no alien goo, no pending death...all good things, as far as he was concerned -- though once she rattled off her concerns, he blinked at her with growing unease.

"Uh...you don't intend to turn me into a light show with those heat lasers, right?" Although Carter wasn't opposed to giving her an eye exam, he much preferred it if he could avoid being pulverized.

Hesitant, he placed a hand beneath the woman's elbow, then steered her toward the hall.

"I have a special room set up for this," he explained. "I figured you'd much rather go there than my bed."

Internally kicking himself for that remark -- that had not come out right at all -- he winced and amended, "I-I mean, uh...it sounds like maybe you're under some sort of stress? Power malfunctions are similar to the body's general misfires. And, more often than not, our environments are the first cause for concern."

He felt absolutely ridiculous walking around half-naked, and prattling on about potential causation, yet he chose not to comment as he showed her into the exam room and flicked on a light. At the center sat a dual purpose table used for both examinations and surgery, so with a nod, he encouraged, "Have a seat. I can take a look at your vitals. Just, uh..." He cleared his throat, leaning over to grab some gloves. "Try not to roast me, okay? I'm pretty partial to not being barbecue."

“Relax, Doc,” she said, voice light and teasing as she hopped up onto the exam table without even needing a boost. “I’m not planning on turning anyone into a light show tonight. Especially not the only guy in the city who’ll patch up a flying alien at three a.m. without calling the cops or the League.”

She swung her legs a little, cape pooling behind her, and watched him glove up with pure amusement.

“And for the record? The ‘I figured you’d much rather go there than my bed’ line?” Kara raised one eyebrow, grinning. “Bold. Real bold. I’m filing that one away for later.”

She tilted her head, studying him in the harsh fluorescent light—damp hair, bare chest, towel, latex gloves, the whole chaotic picture—and her expression softened just a fraction.

“Seriously though… I get it. Environment, stress, whatever. I’ve been flying longer hours than usual, and the city’s been extra spicy lately. But yeah. Check the vitals. Do the whole doctor thing. Just… maybe warn a girl before you whip out any weird scanners, okay? Last guy who tried that without asking got a very pointed ‘no thank you’ and a new skylight.”

She leaned back on her hands, completely unbothered by the fact that she was sitting in a secret superhero clinic while the man examining her looked like he’d just walked out of a very confused shower commercial.

“Also? Pants are still optional. Just saying.”

for any muse of mine

Send “Oops” for your muse to catch mine in just a towel. @kataramenespsyxes

It had been another long shift of grime, fluids and exhaustion, and after a shower that likely skyrocketed his water bill to mammoṭh proportions, Carter wearily dried off his hair, his limbs, and then wrapped a towel around his waist while practically stumbling back into his bedroom. He planned on falling into bed face-first; waiting to dry off wasn’t quite so important in that moment, but just as he approached his bed like a ship to a siren call, he gave a sharp jerk once an impatient rap came at his bedroom window.

The sight of a blonde woman hanging from the sill — floating? — made him cry out and go staggering back toward the wall. His shoulder clipped the doorjamb, and then he caught hold of his dresser, stubbing his toe for good measure before hopping up and down with an animated string of curses.

Growling under his breath, he finally realized it must be one of his impromptu patients — because of course it was — and dreading the worst, Carter ensured that his towel was double-knotted before he moved over to the window and pushed it open.

“Yes?” he asked, giving the woman a skeptical once-over. She was wide-eyed and beautiful, but he knew this wasn’t some Ƥenthouse fantasy come to life. “I assume you’re here for…a check-up?”

It still struck him as odd. He didn’t know who, exactly, had tipped off every Tom, Dick and Jane in the area that he was willing to not only treat ṣuperheroes, but look the other way and ignore their identities, but more and more, he found himself with the strange and unique knocking on his door (or window) at ungodly hours.

Despite the ever-present weight of exhaustion, Carter sighed and stepped back to allow her entry. “Are you bleeding?” he asked. “What happened?”

She gave him a once-over, eyes flicking from the double-knotted towel to the dresser he’d almost taken out, and her expression softened into something more genuine.

“I just… needed a second opinion. My powers have been acting weird the last couple days. Like, random static shocks when I fly, and my heat vision keeps wanting to turn everything into a laser light show. Figured if anyone’s gonna look at me without making it a whole Justice League briefing, it’s the guy who already knows the secret and still answers the window at three a.m.”

Patrick ordered another drink he barely touched and drifted toward a quieter corner where he could still see most of the floor. He didn’t hover near any one group. He didn’t ask questions. He simply existed in the space the way he always had—familiar enough that no one looked twice, quiet enough that the men around him slowly forgot to measure their words as carefully.

He noted who spoke to whom. Who left early. Who lingered near the back and kept checking their phone. Nothing solid yet. Just the same undercurrent Giovanni had already sensed. Something was being kept quiet, and the people keeping it were starting to relax now that they thought the boss was out of earshot.

Patrick stayed another hour, then another, until the place began to thin out. Only then did he step outside, pull out his phone, and type a short message.

Nothing concrete yet. They’re talking more freely without you in the room. A few of them are tighter than usual. I’ll keep watching. Update you if anything shifts.

Trust had never come easily to Giovanni. Experience had taught him that people were unpredictable, often looking out for themselves the moment an opportunity presented itself. That was why he stayed alert, always watching for cracks before they became fractures. If someone thought they could go behind his back without him finding out, they were making a dangerous mistake.

The sharp buzz of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. Giovanni picked it up, his eyes scanning the incoming message before his thumbs moved effortlessly across the screen. "Good work. Keep an eye out. Have a relaxing night, and meet me at my place tomorrow if you have anything solid," he typed before sending it. A moment later, he pinned his home address and attached it to the conversation.

Good work. Keep an eye out. Have a relaxing night, and meet me at my place tomorrow if you have anything solid.

A second later the address pin appeared beneath it.

Patrick stared at the message for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. A quiet, almost reluctant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Being trusted enough to get the man’s home address wasn’t nothing—especially from someone like Giovanni.

He typed back quickly, keeping it short.

Got it. I’ll keep watching tonight. If I dig up anything solid, I’ll be there tomorrow.

He sent it, then locked the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. His eyes drifted across the room again, sharper now, already scanning for anything out of place. The tension in the air hadn’t gone away, and neither had his focus.