DAILY PLANET: 

You stood in the corner of an elevator with your fingers curled around a brown paper bag. The contents of the bag was just a club sandwich, a protein bar, a red apple and a sticky note with some silly profession of love for your husband. (He loved that part the most.) 

Being the knight in shining armour of a wife, you watched the numbers of the floors within the building climb up, up and up, to reach the floor in which your husband, Clark Kent, and the band of Daily Planet journalists resided in for the day. In a mad rush after Clark had spent more time on his back with you lazily—and most importantly, nakedly—atop of him rather than spending his efforts looking presentable for his 9-5 shift at the Planet; he had forgotten his lunch that you had made as a minuscule ‘thank you’ for the night prior; where he had spent most of the night on his knees whilst requesting you to read a chapter of the book you were reading. 

There hadn’t been an occasion in which you had visited Daily Planet prior to this. Much more, you hadn’t met Clark’s co-workers turned friends, due to clashing of schedules and general lack of enthusiasm once you had cosied yourself up on the sofa. 

(There was simply no budging you. Clark had learnt that the hard way.) 

So, for someone like you, this was exciting! Clark had raved so passionately about Lois Lane—the Cronkite of this generation—and Jimmy Olsen, the photojournalist with an impressive roster of women under his belt. Cat Grant had also received some praises, and Steve Lombard? Your husband wasn’t someone to speak poorly of another person.

So, you’d decipher that one yourself. 

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open to reveal Clark already in waiting. His hair a mess, tie loose and leaning to the right, he was the picture of a man that hadn’t inspected his appearance in a single mirror. 

He gave you a lopsided grin. You gleamed. 

“Hi, baby.” Clark muttered against your lips when he had reached you, his hand firm against the elevator doors to ensure they remained open during your departure. He greedily pecked at your lips, “I missed you.” 

You pulled back enough to give him a firm look. “Clark. It’s been all of an hour and forty minutes.” 

“Your point?” He retorted with a grin. 

“Your separation anxiety is getting worse.” You shook your head before waggling the brown bag in front of his face, “One lunch delivery for the hot guy in fake glasses.” Clark hushed you, and you scoffed a laugh, “Oh, please. No one can hear me. 20/20 vision, right here.” 

Clark gently nudged the finger pointed at his chest downward with a chuckle rumbling in his chest. He took the bag from you, hand coming to rest against to small of your back as he began to walk you into the Daily Planet bullpen. 

Part of him just assumed you would want to meet everybody. The other part, selfishly, wanted to show you off. 

And you happily obliged, no matter the intentions. 

The room opened up and you witnessed a handful of employers to Daily Planet waltz around the room with papers, notepads, pens and a mouthful of questions. Others were leisurely sat in their chairs, attention drawn upward to the multiple TV screens dotted around the room with the news channel broadcasted on. 

Clark guided you in amongst it, his heart beating ten times as fast when he spotted Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen at the coffee station. 

Lois was the first to turn her attention as you both approached, her brows furrowed before she put two and two together; only then did a friendly smile break out onto her face. Jimmy followed her redirected attention, double taking when he spotted you stood closely next to his co-worker. 

His brows nearly shot up into his hairline. 

“Holy—” Lois smacked air out of Jimmy’s chest before he could finish his remark. 

“Hi. You must be Clark’s wife. I’m Lois Lane.” Lois offered you a hand to shake, her eyes filled with well-placed adoration. She let go of your hand and stepped back, “Although, please don’t think that’s what we refer to you as. If anything, I call Clark your husband, before being a journalist.” 

“I appreciate that.” You laughed softly. 

“This is Jimmy.” Clark gestured to Jimmy who was aiding a sore spot from where Lois had hit him. 

Jimmy gave you a tight-lipped smile and wave, “Olsen. Hello.” 

(Oh, boy. Lois was going to enjoy the debrief after you had left.) 

You were none the wiser. 

“I was just dropping off Clark’s lunch that he had forgotten.” You explained, missing the way Jimmy was grasping onto every word that left your mouth with his own lips parted. 

Lois elbowed him. 

“Ow—Wow. Yeah. You’re, you’re a really pretty—good wife.” Olsen managed to string out under Clark’s glare. He swallowed harshly, “We can see why Clark loves you.” 

“Alright.” Clark grabbed your shoulders, “I think that’s enough. I don’t want you being late for work, honey.” 

You nodded along as Clark began to guide you away from his co-workers, looking back to give them a wave. Lois and Jimmy almost knocking their heads together, as they tried to catch a glimpse of you as you departed the bullpen with your husband. 

“Shit.” Jimmy blinked. 

Lois nodded, “Yeah. I mean, I got it before. I definitely get it now.” 

A third voice entered the little bubble that Lois and Jimmy were floating in. “Is that Clark’s wife?” Steve Lombard asked with powdered sugar dusting his thick moustache. He glanced at Lois from his peripheral, who bobbed her head in confirmation.

Steve almost applauded Clark.  JUSTICE LEAGUE: 

The fight hadn’t lasted long. 

Sustaining very few injuries, Clark allowed himself to catch his breath whilst the Justice League reconvened close-by. Hands on his hips, he let his head fall back with his eyes shut momentarily. 

As he did this, Clark missed when Green Lantern bent at the waist and plucked something from the asphalt. The male gave a low-whistle as he inspected the piece of—what seemed like—paper in between his thumb and forefinger. 

Clark peeled an eye open. 

“Look at this bombshell.” Guy strolled over to Clark, wrist twisted to show him what he had stumbled upon. 

Clark’s eyes almost popped out of his socket. 

The image was of you. One that Clark kept in his boot whenever he had to spend time away from you and your secret married life in the hustle and bustle of Metropolis. He had cut himself out of the photo, leaving just you beaming at the camera with a smile that had Clark head over heels every single time. 

And now, he had to try pry it out of Guy’s hands without making it obvious that you were very much his wife. (That none of the Justice League were aware of in that present moment.) 

Clark cleared his throat, “Let me take a closer look. Please.”

He went to reach for the photo, and Guy pulled it back out of his reach. 

“Woah. Finders keepers.” 

“That is ridiculous.” Clark countered, “Just—Just let me see it close-up. How do you expect me to see what the lady looks like?” 

He knew exactly what you looked like. Angel incarnate. However, Guy didn’t bite the bait, Clark was so desperately laying out for him. 

Guy’s eyes narrowed, “Don’t you have telescopic vision, or something?” He tilted his head, “You’d be able to see this bombshell from thousands of miles away. What’s the deal?” 

“Nothing, Guy.” Clark gritted his teeth, “Just give me the photo.” 

“Why? You know her or something?” Guy taunted and moved the picture out of Clark’s reach again. His lip curled, “Can you introduce me to her?” 

That was it. 

“That is my wife.” Clark declared. His confession gave him enough leeway to snatch the photo of you out of Guy’s grasp and back into safe-keeping. As he slotted the photo back into his boot, he shot Guy a warning glance, “Don’t mention it. Please. I want to keep her safe.” 

Guy shrugged and patted Clark’s back in passing. His voice low, “You’re one lucky bastard, Superman.” 

+1 LEX LUTHOR: 

“What do we have here?” Lex mumbled, amused by his findings.

Lex had breached the Fortress of Solitude for one sole purpose: prove that Superman was, and always has been a threat to humanity.  Androids handled, the dog muzzled, Lex stood amongst the dust he had kicked up when he infiltrated the facility, with a fulfilled smirk upon his face. It was when Engineer had begun hacking into the mainframe to retrieve date files that compromised Superman’s reputation even further, that Lex caught hold of something that was never intended to be seen. 

Superman’s Achilles heel. 

A photo that had been cutout from its original place within a much larger photo, taped to the top of the desk within the Fortress. A woman. Pretty, and genuinely smiling toward the cameraman.

Lex had tore it from its place, pinched between his fingers to inspect it. His tongue poked at the flesh of the inside of his cheek, an amused chuckle rumbling from his chest; as if he had just hit the jackpot on sweeping the rug beneath Superman’s feet with one swift tug. 

He turned to the Hammer of Boravia with the photo, his eyes still set on the smile, “Pity. She is rather beautiful…”

Lex shrugged with a frown when he handed the image over to the Hammer of Boravia, with all ill intentions at the forefront of his mind. 

When Clark saw your name light up his phone, his initial reaction had always been the same. His heart would swell, a smile splitting across his face as he would refuse to let it ring more than three times before sliding his thumb across the bottom of the screen; pressing his phone to his ear to hear the sweet symphonies of your voice; prepared to hear the events of your—as you would call it—mundane day in comparison to his. 

(It was never mundane to Clark. Kept him grounded.) 

However, nothing had prepared Clark for when he answered the phone to you, to be met with a tone he feared hearing from you. 

“I’m mad at you.” You said bluntly, without a greeting. 

Clark paled, “I’m thousands of miles away, honey. What did I do this time?” 

You sighed dramatically, head dropping onto the plush pillow of your bed as you looked up at the ceiling, “I had this…horrible dream. All this tension between you and Lex Luthor has clearly began to seep into my subconscious.” 

“Tell me more.” 

“He decided to use me as bait. Against you. I was tied up in a dark room with duct tape over my mouth. He would taunt you with videos, or photos of me. And—” you paused with your eyes narrowed, “—You just never came. You left me there. To rot away.” 

Clark frowned, “Oh, honey. You know I would burn the whole of Metropolis—” 

“Till death do us part, Clark.” You interjected sardonically, “Was this your way of parting with me?” 

“What? No!” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose and paced the floor of the Fortress of Solitude. Despite being Clark’s entire centre of gravity, you weren’t opposed to occasionally giving your husband a dull headache from your flair of theatrical display. He dragged a palm down his face, “Never, honey. It was just a dream. I promise I would save you. Even if it meant my life.” 

You hummed, “Tell your dream-self that then.” 

After that, you gave up the topic with ease, and to be quite frank, you were only toying with your husband—understanding that the dream was out of some deeply embedded fear within you, rather than Clark’s ability to protect you. However, the further you conversed about your day, and the gossip that had whirled around your workplace; the quieter Clark had become. 

His usual self was upbeat, keen to engage in heart-to-hearts with you seeing as you had been apart for far too long. (It had only been two days.) 

This time, Clark was quiet. Engulfed in his own thoughts whilst you talked his ear off about the fight that broke out over the coffee machine in the staff room. A new wave of guilt began to gnaw away at his thoughts, creating a three-headed monster that was growing to be a problem by the minute. 

All because you had brought up your dream, where he was incapable of saving you. 

But, that was his whole purpose? Saving people. Tilting the world upright each day at a time. Citizens looked to Superman as a beacon of hope, to bring them to justice and protect them from harm. So, why all of a sudden did it fall short with you? 

You had once told Clark over breakfast, that dreams meant something, if you had the time to look it up. This came after he sleepily mentioned that he dreamt that you had replaced all of his teeth with Kryptonite. Obviously, you were only prodding fun that it could’ve meant something deeper than it really was…but, Clark latched onto that piece of information.

And now, he was beginning to run wild with it. 

There was obviously some underlying cause as to why your mind would have ever conjured up such an absurd outcome to a hypothetical kidnapping by Lex Luthor. Clark didn’t want to dwell on the imagery of it all, because it made his stomach churn at the thought.

However, he could think of a million reasons as to why that particular scenario happened.

Clark had been more occupied than usual. Far away from the one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Metropolis, far away from the warmth of the kitchen with the toaster that nearly always burnt his toast in the morning, far away from the soft sheets and ambient lighting of the bedroom; and most importantly…far away from you.

Albeit, only being two days on this particular occasion. It still didn’t account for the four days from the week prior, and the month stretch when he had flown himself to Jarhanpur. 

It was evident what was needed. 

Clark needed to be with you. To regain the trust to make you believe that he would save you. (If you didn’t save yourself in all your strong-headed excellence.) 

“Clark?” Your voice tugged at his strayed thoughts on the other end of the phone. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Yes, honey.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke. 

You paused, incredibly in-tune with your husband. Two peas in a pod. 

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” It wasn’t so much a question, as it was a statement; an accurate one at that. When your husband didn’t reply, you spoke again, “Clark, I’m not really mad at you. It was just a dream. It meant nothing.” 

“But, you said—” 

“—I said dreams meant something deeper. Yes. But…more along the lines of if you dreamt we had a baby!” You waved your hand about, “It means, you probably would like a baby. Or, if you dreamt about Ma’s cooking. You miss the farm. That sort of stuff. This was just me being subconsciously scared of Lex Luthor.” 

Clark’s jaw set at that. “I’m coming home.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“Yes. I am.” Clark gave a nod to Gary who was loitering around the area he had been pacing in, “I will be there soon, alright?” 

You rubbed at your eye with the heel of your hand, frustrated with yourself, “Why are you doing that? I promise, I was joking.”