“A supbar translation!” She crowed, “by a man who hates you because he’s … He Is!” Her hand is waving in circles above her head, and Krypto is following the pattern with one ear tilted.

“Well it’s not like I could just. Listen on my own, you know -“

“No you don’t understand, it’s not even - it’s not even half as malicious as he could have been - it’s obviously -“ she laughs, then, sharp and angry, if he listens closely. He remembers suddenly that she knew Jor-El, knew his father in a very literal way that he never had. “It’s lazy and sloppy and mean, but its also a child’s attempt at being mean. And you just took it?! Im right here!” She spreads her arms wide, “I speak all five dialects and Traditional!!”

“Because you never offered,” he shouts, finally, heart climbing around his ribs. “You carry every piece of Krypton as if its a stone in your skin and how could i even ask to see when it felt like asking you to dig it out!”

“You never once offered to share krypton with me,” he mourns, “and it felt cruel to ask you to. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to ask?”

She doesn’t answer him.

"I reread Bram Stoker's novel and was surprised when I realized that it told of a great love story: the tale of a man who waited 400 years with the hope of meeting again his late wife."