#dcu fluff

Clark didn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

Okay…that wasn’t entirely true. His hearing was just sharper than usual lately, tuned too fine, like the whole world had turned its volume up half a notch. Every clink of the silverware in the drawer, every faint hum of the refrigerator, every subtle change in your heartbeat while you brushed your teeth…he caught it, whether he wanted to or not and that was the problem.

Because your heartbeat had changed. It wasn’t faster, though it sometimes was. It wasn’t just softer, though it lulled him in quiet moments like background music he could never tire of. No, it was something else entirely, something that made the back of his neck prickle the first time he noticed it lying in bed beside you. A second rhythm, faint but steady, tucked inside yours like an echo.

He watched you as you moved around the bedroom, brushing your teeth, setting out tomorrow’s clothes and washing your face. There was a subtle glow about you tonight, the kind of light that wasn’t just from the bedside lamp. Clark tried to pinpoint what was different, your scent, your energy, the way your body moved…every clue was amplified through senses he couldn’t shut off. Nothing about it screamed danger, nothing about it screamed wrong either but it was different and that difference hummed inside him in a way that tugged at every corner of his mind.

He wanted to ask, to reach out and say something but the words got stuck in his throat. This wasn’t a crisis, not the kind he could solve with speed or strength. This was something delicate, fragile… something entirely human and Clark felt more acutely than ever the responsibility of approaching it carefully. So he stayed quiet and just watched. Noticing how your shoulders relaxed as you slipped into pajamas, how the rhythm of your heartbeat subtly shifted with each deep breath and how the air around you seemed just a little warmer, richer, full of a subtle, indefinable promise.

Then, finally, he stood, glasses in hand, feigning the need for a glass of water but really, he didn’t move toward the kitchen sink, he hovered at the edge of the room, staring at the tile floor, trying to reconcile the impossible sound echoing in his head. 

Clark pressed a hand to his chest, heart hammering in quiet anticipation and disbelief. He was a man who had faced threats that could destroy cities, who had held the fate of the world in his hands and yet here he was, completely unmoored by something so ordinary and extraordinary at once. Something so…human.

And in that quiet, midnight kitchen, he realized just how much he wanted to understand it, protect it and be part of it… even before he fully knew what it was.

The next morning, Clark moved around the kitchen with his usual quiet efficiency, plating up your breakfast with care. The sizzling of the pan, the faint hiss of the coffee machine and the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the space but he barely noticed. His senses were tuned to something else, something subtle and entirely new. As he placed the final slice of toast on the plate, he paused mid-motion, head lifting slightly, nostrils flaring almost unconsciously.

The smell hit him first, delicate but unmistakably different. It was you, your natural scent, familiar and comforting but layered with something else, something richer, warmer and subtly charged. It wasn’t unpleasant, if anything, it made his chest tighten in a way that was equal parts awe and wonder. He set down the plate with a soft clink and took a breath, trying to steady his voice before speaking.

Just then, you walked into the kitchen, the morning light brushing over your hair and eyes still half-lidded with sleep. Clark froze for a moment, studying you without meaning to, before finally giving in to the words that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue for over a week now. “You… you smell different,” he said, his voice almost too quiet, as if admitting it aloud might shatter the fragile truth he’d only just begun to grasp.

Your eyebrows rose in mild amusement and a soft chuckle escaped you. “Different? In a bad way?”

Clark’s eyes widened slightly and he held up a hand in quick reassurance. “No, no! Not that. Not at all. It’s… it’s just… noticeable to…me. In a good way...really good way. I’m sure.” His lips twitched into a nervous smile as he tried to find the right words but mostly he just stood there, heart pounding, hoping you understood the awe in his tone.

You laughed again, the sound filling the room with warmth and padded over to the kitchen island. Clark placed the plate carefully in front of you, smoothing the napkin underneath as if it were a ceremonial gesture, before moving around the counter, brushing a hand over your hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Then, almost instinctively, he trailed a soft kiss to your shoulder and for a moment he lingered there, inhaling, letting the subtle warmth and scent of you fill his senses.

You shifted slightly, sensing the intensity of his attention and looked up at him with a small, curious frown. “Clark… are you okay?”

He blinked, a faint flush rising to his cheeks as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “Yeah, yeah…sorry, told you it was in a good way.” he murmured, stepping back a little, though his gaze never left you. “Eat up,” he said and somehow, even as he stepped away, the simple words felt imbued with awe, as if the breakfast itself was a small celebration of something.

You grabbed your fork, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “You’re not eating?”

Clark shook his head, voice quiet but urgent. “I–uh… first I need to fix something in the kitchen. I just realized the garbage disposal isn’t draining properly.” He gave the sink a cautious glance, then moved to the edge of the counter, eyes narrowing as he extended his vision beyond the tile, past the pipes, tracking the exact point of blockage. His x-ray vision hummed softly in his mind, pinpointing the snag.

“Clark, you don’t have to play handyman before breakfast,” you said, smirking.

“I…I just need to check,” he said, voice tight with concentration until you spoke again.

“Especially if you want me to keep my hands to myself.”

Clark turned to you with the beginning of a smirk that soon twisted into shock, eyes widening in a way that made your stomach flip. “OH MY GOD!” he shouted, jerking his head up.

Your fork clattered onto the plate. “What?! Did you see a roach?!” you said, eyes wide and voice dramatically panicked. “Is there a–are we being invaded? Should I grab a broom?!”

Clark held up a hand, stepping toward you, his expression somewhere between awe and panic. “Sit down. Just…sit down, please.” His hands froze midair near your hips, trembling slightly, while his gaze dropped to your stomach. He tried not to stare, tried not to betray the storm of certainty and disbelief roaring in his mind. “I–I’m sorry,” he murmured, quickly shaking his head while repeating in his mind ‘I’m not a doctor… I can’t be sure of what that is’… Still, he was barely keeping himself together, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.

“It was just– I thought it was one pipe but then there were…uh…bonus pipes. Surprise pipes...You know what? I don't know what I saw. I’ll go get the toolbox,” he blurted, moving quickly toward the hallway. In his flustered state, he misjudged a step, his shoulder clipping the kitchen arch frame hard enough to crack the wood with a loud splinter.

Clark froze, eyes darting back to you, then cleared his throat nervously. “I–I’ll fix that too, just…eat. Do you want another plate? You must be hungry from…sleeping…no? You…just tell me if you need more food, I’ll make you anything…anytime.” he added, before disappearing into the hallway.

You blinked at him, fork now poised midair, trying to process the mix of chaos and utter Clark-style disaster unfolding around you. Even before you could ask what he meant, it was clear something monumental had just happened and Clark…Well, Clark was already panicking in the most endearing way possible.

He managed to get you both out the door hours later without unraveling, though it felt like every second was stretched thin by the secret buzzing under his skin. You kissed him goodbye with your usual warmth, completely unaware of the way his heart jackhammered in his chest. He smiled, waved and promised himself he’d act normal.

Instead of heading straight to the Planet, Clark detoured. The public library had just opened and he stood there in his work clothes like a man on a mission, scanning the shelves until his arms were stacked with books on early pregnancy, human development, fetal growth, and, he winced even as he grabbed it, What to Expect When You’re Expecting. He checked them all out at once, earning a raised eyebrow from the librarian.

By midmorning, half the Daily Planet staff had assumed Kent was having “digestive issues” because he disappeared into the bathroom so often. In reality, he was crammed into a stall with his glasses sliding down his nose, flipping pages so fast they blurred, his long legs folded awkwardly against the tiled wall. Every paragraph felt like it pulled him further into awe and panic at once. 

At his desk, he checked in on you more than usual, sending you small texts, calling under the pretense of “just hearing your voice.” Perry nearly chewed him out twice for being distracted and Clark swore he’d keep it together at home.

And he did. Over dinner, he laughed at your stories, clinked his fork against yours when you teased him and kept his gaze from lingering on your middle no matter how badly his chest ached to. By the time you fell asleep curled against him, Clark looked like the picture of calm but once your breathing evened out, he slipped away.

The living room lamp glowed low as he settled on the couch, laptop open, books spread around him in a messy arc. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to recall exactly what he’d seen that morning with his x-ray vision.

It had been small, smaller than his fingertip. Just a cluster of faint, translucent shapes tucked deep inside you. He remembered how it seemed half-formed and yet so precise: the thin shadow of a yolk sac, the faint outline of tissue that wasn’t yours but carried its own rhythm. That tiny echo he’d heard the night before pulsed faintly in his memory, soft but insistent, perfectly in time with the image he’d caught.

Now he sat hunched over diagrams of embryos at 2-3 weeks, comparing what he’d seen with medical illustrations: descriptions of implantation, how cells began dividing and how a faint flicker could already be the start of a heart. His glasses slid down again as he scrolled through forums and medical articles with feverish focus, trying to ground the impossible in fact.

He ran a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the reality sank deeper. If what he saw was right, then you weren’t just different, you were carrying the beginning of something extraordinary and Clark Kent, the man who could hear a thousand heartbeats at once, was suddenly terrified of how he could ever keep his own steady long enough to tell you.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, scrolling back and forth over the first article that had popped up after his frantic search: “What does an embryo look like at 3 weeks?”

He didn’t notice the soft creak of floorboards or the faint shuffle as you padded in from the bedroom. He didn’t even notice when you perched yourself on the back of the couch just behind him, chin resting in your hand as you peeked over his shoulder.

“…‘Three weeks after conception, the fertilized egg is now a tiny ball of cells…’” you read aloud, your tone making the words sound absurdly out of place.

Clark jumped so violently he nearly knocked the laptop off his knees. “Sweetheart!” He slammed it shut with a snap, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes and a nervous smile. “I–I didn’t realize you were awake. Are you okay? Do you need something? Are you hungry? I can–uh, I can make something.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. Slowly, you leaned forward a little, your gaze drifting past his side toward the coffee table. Clark followed your eyes with dawning dread.

The table was a battlefield: pregnancy manuals stacked three deep, a glossy medical diagram of fetal development half-sliding off a page and a scribbled notepad where Clark had scrawled bullet points in his quick, clumsy handwriting.

You arched a brow at the sight, lips quirking into something between disbelief and amusement. “…I’m inclined to believe you didn’t suddenly have a change of heart and decide you want to become a doctor.” Your gaze flicked back to his face, sharp but curious. “So… is there something you want to tell me?”

Clark opened his mouth, then shut it again, his throat working like words had been caught halfway up. His hands hovered in the air, halfway between gesturing and covering the books, as his pulse stuttered out of rhythm in his ears.

Finally, his mouth opened, words tripping out of him before he even realized he’d started talking.

“It’s just–you…you’ve been looking a little different. Not in a bad way! In a…glowy kind of way and then this morning you smelled different, again, not bad, just…different. And your heartbeat, it–it isn’t the same, it’s like there’s this second rhythm, like an echo and I swear I didn’t mean to notice but it’s just– my hearing’s tuned too sharp lately and I catch things without trying and then, God, I didn’t mean to look but I was using my x-ray vision on the sink and I–I glanced at you and there was something there. And I know we never really talked about how we’d find out when it happened and I know we only just started trying, so it feels way too soon, but this morning–.”

He realized he was speaking too fast, words tumbling like a dam had cracked, his voice rising as though he couldn’t quite breathe. Then, suddenly, he froze, every muscle in him tightening as the truth pressed its way up his throat and out.

“You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like they didn’t belong to him, like he’d borrowed them from someone braver, someone who didn’t feel like the room was tilting under their feet.

Your eyes widened, lips parting in stunned silence.

“Well–well, no need to panic, right?” Clark rushed on, hands lifting helplessly before dropping again. “I mean, I’m not a doctor. It–it could be too soon to tell. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything and maybe you didn’t want it to happen this quickly, I know we only just started talking about this and trying–”

He faltered when he saw it, the shine in your eyes, the way your lips curved into a trembling smile, tears gathering faster than you could blink them away.

Clark finally, blessedly, shut up. His throat closed around the rest of his rambling and his whole chest softened, every ounce of frantic energy collapsing into something tender and fragile.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, voice breaking as he reached for you.

You slid off the back of the couch and into his arms before he could move and Clark caught you like he’d been waiting his whole life for this one hug. He buried his face against your temple, clutching you close as if he could keep both of you, all three of you, safe with sheer willpower alone.

His big hands spanned your back like he was terrified you might slip away if he let go. His voice was soft but trembling with something raw and his lips brushed the crown of your head as he spoke.

“Are we…happy about this?” he asked carefully, almost timidly, as though your answer carried the weight of his entire world. “Because–I am happy. If that’s alright with you. I just…want to make sure.” He pulled back slightly, enough to see your face, eyes darting over the tears on your cheeks, his own brow furrowed in concern. “These are happy tears, right? They’ve got to be, because your heart is beating so fast and–and I don’t think I got to that chapter yet.”

The last part slipped out with a nervous laugh, his attempt to lighten what suddenly felt so huge.

You let out a shaky laugh of your own, swiping at your damp cheeks before leaning back to look him in the eye. “You realize you’ve been giving yourself away all day, right?”

Clark blinked, confused.

“Bonus pipes,” you teased, repeating the first odd thing he’d blurted out that morning. Then you ticked them off on your fingers, mocking his earnest tone. “‘Look four times before crossing the street.’ ‘I’ll make you anything, anytime, even the weird combos and I’ll even eat them with you…’” You grinned through the tears, shaking your head. “Clark, I should’ve known.”

A blush crept over his ears, his sheepish smile tugging wide as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, your strange husband was acting strange,” he admitted, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. “Nothing weird about that.”

You arched a brow knowingly, the corner of your mouth still curled in a smile.

He let the silence hang for a moment, his thumb brushing absently over your hip before his face softened again, the weight of it all crashing back into him. His voice dropped, quieter, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be. “I might be wrong about this,” he said, though the words didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

You held his gaze, steady and sure, your smile gentler now. “We both know you’re not.”

Clark’s chest rose and fell with a shaky breath, like he’d been waiting for you to say it, waiting for that permission to let the joy take him under. His arms tightened around you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real, then suddenly, he was sinking down, his knees pressing into the floor as though pulled by something stronger than gravity. His palms spread reverently over your hips, gaze locked on your stomach with a mixture of awe and disbelief before he bent forward and pressed a trembling kiss there, his lips lingering like a promise, like a prayer.

You laughed through fresh tears, threading your fingers into his hair. “Clark…”

“Just–just let me stay here a second,” he whispered against you, voice hoarse. “I can’t believe it. I don’t deserve this.”

It took more than a second to convince him to get back up. When he finally did, you coaxed him toward the bedroom, tugging his hand until he climbed in beside you. You lay down first, rolling onto your side with a small, tired sigh and he immediately started fussing, smoothing the blanket over you like you were made of glass.

“You need a better pillow,” he muttered, already eyeing the one beneath your head like it offended him. “Maybe we should think about replacing the mattress, too…something with better support, right? I can run out tomorrow morning–”

You burst out laughing, cutting him off. “Clark, it’s fine.”

“Except it’s not, I want you two to be more comfortable and…actually maybe it’s time to move–”

You cut him off with another laugh, covering his mouth with your hand so he’d listen for two seconds.“Clark Kent, if you don’t stop nesting like a six-foot-four golden retriever and just sleep, we’ll have more issues than a suddenly uncomfortable mattress.”

That earned you the lopsided grin you loved most, the one he could never quite hide when you teased him. He looked unconvinced but settled beside you anyway, still mumbling half-formed plans as his hand rested on your waist with a sigh so full of peace it was almost boyish. Eventually, his breathing slowed, your laughter softened and the both of you drifted into sleep.

In the morning, you woke to an empty bed and a neat little note left on the nightstand in Clark’s handwriting: Had to step out. Don’t skip breakfast, please. I love you both. 

With a tiny doodle of a cape flapped off the edge of the page.

You smiled, pressing it to your chest before getting up. After making yourself something to eat, you decided you couldn’t sit still and wound up at the flower shop downtown, filling your arms with soft, bright blooms that already made you imagine them in the kitchen vase.

The bell above the shop door jingled as you stepped out, your mind still lingering on Clark and you only made it a few paces before realizing the sidewalk had gone still. Strangers were frozen in place, their necks tilted back, pointing and whispering.

Curiosity prickled so you followed their gaze upward. 

The clouds were shifting. Not drifting like usual but moving in precise strokes, curling and unfurling across the blue expanse. At first, it looked like a trick of the light, wisps pulled thin by the wind. Then the shape became clearer, sweeps of white carved into deliberate curves. It was a heart, etched against the morning sky.

Your breath caught.

Inside that vast heart, a smaller one appeared, tucked just off-center, its edges brushing against the larger outline until they overlapped. Interlinked. Two hearts bound together, one enfolded within the other. Subtle enough that anyone else might see it as nothing more than a flourish of artistry but to you, it was unmistakable. His way of telling the world without really saying it in a private message disguised as a public marvel.

Around you, the crowd murmured in awe, some even clapped, convinced they’d just witnessed Superman putting on a show but you knew better.

“Subtle.” Your lips curved as you clutched the bouquet tighter to your chest, warmth blooming in you that no one else could see. You tilted your head back toward the sky, whispering to the clouds he’d left behind, “We love you too.”

Clark hovered in the sky, looking down at the crowd but more than anyone, at you. Even from that height, your voice reached him, a sound only he could hear. Before you could blink again, he tilted his head toward the clouds, then, like a streak of silver lightning, he shot upward, weaving joy into every curve until he disappeared into the cotton-white heights above.

You stood there, bouquet pressed tight to your chest, smiling to yourself, realizing he just turned a simple morning into a memory that will last forever. The clouds shifted in his wake, leaving beautiful patterns etched into the sky, like a secret trail left just for you to follow.

And in that moment, with the world watching but none of them knowing, you knew in your bones he’d always find a way to show the world you were his.

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!

You were sitting on Cat's desk, chatting with her and occasionally annoying jimmy. One leg over the other while you laughed at something silly or hid before Perry realized that you had left your desk alone just for a minutes. "What? Why would you kill Flash?" You giggled at Cat's answers— Marry green lantern, Kiss Aquaman and kill flash

"Just not my type," Cat shrugged, taking a sip from her cup and raising her eyebrows with a smile in your direction. "Your turn, missy"

"Okay. We take for granted that marry is an extension of fuck?" Cat nodded. You stretched your head as if you were about to enter into a complex physical and mental battle: Marry, kiss or kill— Clark Kent, Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne.

Clark didn't need much of his super hearing to be able to hear you from his desk—or well, it's not like he's paying any more attention now than before when he hears his name considering he's been listening to every one of your words since you went up to his floor. You don't know, but it's a way to know the things you like so he can have a conversation with you in the elevator afterwards.

But hearing his name makes things a little more interesting

"Clark? You're definitely playing your cards right girl" You look to the sides as if making sure the reporter wasn't listening. Oops. "Okay, give me a second."

"Kill— Oliver" You shrugged simply, it had been the easiest part to choose. "Because he's handsome, but I think Clark is more handsome, you know?" Clark smiled to himself and scratched the back of his neck as if he were looking at you instead of Perry, asking him for to do an interview. "Kent? Kent, are you listening to me?"

"Kiss— Clark" at this Cat gave you a small pinch on the knee that made you both chuckle "Because I think it would be super cute, you know? Like, an elevator kiss or something super rom-com coded. He would apologize or something like that"

"And definitely fuck Bruce Wayne— or well, marry him"

"Now we're talking" was the last thing Clark heard, because as far as he's concerned, he entered another reality since he heard the words Fuck and Bruce Wayne from your mouth in the same sentence. The rest of your words just felt like a kryptonite arrow stuck in his jugular. You? Marrying the Bruce Wayne instead of him??? Why? He can be a much better husband!

"It's just that he has this whole aura of— like bad boy, you know? The handsome bad playboy" You bite the tip of your finger, fantasizing a little without realizing it. "its so freaking sexy. He reminds me a lot of Edward from Twilight, you get it?"

So freaking sexy. Clark knew you thought he was handsome, more handsome than Oliver Queen at least. But apparently not as freaking sexy as Bruce Wayne. You've called him handsome, sweet, super nice and super cute but never sexy.

He tried not to dwell on it, but the thought crept in anyway—Bruce Wayne with his sharp suits, his confidence, his mystery, while Clark was still the farm boy who sometimes tripped over his own shoelaces. What could he offer that a man like Wayne couldn’t? Clark has super powers, and knows how to fix a tractor.

Clark looks at the ink running down his chin with a grimace of disgust. So, you'd be willing to kiss him but not marry him (And don't fuck with him either, but that idea made him blush more than he'd like to admit) and you like bad boys. I'm a little bit of a Bad Boy too, Clark thought almost as a consolation, thinking of that time he swore to Ma Kent that he wouldn't eat so many hot cakes anymore but he kept doing it. A real Bad boy

"She likes Bad Boys, Jimmy." Clark is putty on his friend's desk—and Jimmy is certainly starting to get annoyed about the fact that this is the third time he's heard Clark say the same thing over and over again. "She likes guys like Edward Cullen. Why wouldn't she want to marry me? Lois, why wouldn't she want to marry me?"

"Maybe because Bruce Wayne is a millionaire and you're not?" Lois has definitely reached her peak with this "she wouldn't consider marrying me" discussion. "Why does it matter? It's just a high school silly game"

Later, Clark is in his apartment, just picking at something he defrosted himself with his heat vision for dinner—he didn't really feel like cooking. He had Kara on the phone "Um, hey, I know this is a weird thing to ask but—" Clark tried to laugh at his own words so as not to sound so stupid "Do you happen to think I'm the same vibe as Edward Cullen or Bruce Wayne? You know, the vampire and—"

His cousin hung up the call

It may be a silly high school game, But thinking that your type is more like Bruce Wayne, like Edward Cullen's vampire, and not like Clark's clumsy farmer puts him off. And well, considering that this morning he was one hundred percent sure that today would be the day he would ask you on a date he would have to seek his trust because he really doesn't remember where he left it.

"Hypothetically speaking," Clark took a breath before emphasizing the word hypothetical. He was helping you log reception calls, staying late with you so you wouldn't have to go home alone. "If we were the only people in planet. Just you, me and Bruce Wayne"

"Bruce Wayne?"

"Yes. Bruce Wayne" Your smile made Clark smile. "Well, since there are only the three of us, we'd have to reproduce, you know. So here's the question—who— who would you choose to reproduce with first?"

"What?"

You laughed out loud while Clark tried not to laugh too— this is serious for him "Come on, this is serious. Me or Bruce Wayne?"

"Okay, okay," you shook your head, trying to think about the situation—Clark's eyes made you realize what he wanted you to answer. It was so obvious "Considering I don't know Bruce Wayne personally at all, I'd choose you."

"Really?" "Yes"

Clark is dumbfounded and lets out a silly laugh just like Goofy from Mickey Mouse "You're making me blush" You rolled your eyes as you headed back to work. Clark pulled at your sleeve to get your attention again.

"And hypothetically speaking again" too many hypothetical questions for your liking "If I asked you to have dinner with me tonight, would you say yes?" Clark couldn't look you in the eyes, and the red of his ears told you why. "You don't have to reproduce with me on this one. Unless you want to, although I think it would be weird to do that on the first date, I mean—"

You chuckle and steal a kiss on Clark's cheek. You definitely hadn't killed Oliver Queen, or married Bruce Wayne, but you had kissed Clark Kent. And that's enough for him.

Clark Kent was searching for the courage to ask you out.

       He'd been interested in you ever since Perry White introduced you as the newest addition to the Daily Planet. He read everything you wrote, listened to everything you proposed, smiled every time you struggled with the printer, and thought of you whenever he should've been focusing on something else.

       You were the most precious thought that had ever inhabited his mind.

       Lois had been encouraging him for weeks, but he could've sworn that every time he got close, you'd put an invisible wall between you. He honestly didn't understand. You'd never been rude, but he could see how you placed a subtle boundary every time he tried to get to know you.

       And he would have taken it as a clear rejection and walked away immediately if it weren't for the way your heart raced and your face flushed when he was close.

       On Monday, as always, he arrived at work rehearsing in his head how he'd approach you. He wasn’t arrogant, but he wasn’t a complete fool either, not enough to screw it up just by asking the girl he liked out. But you made him nervous. Your smile made him nervous. And your unreadable attitude made him even more nervous.

       But on Monday, you didn't show up.

       Not five minutes later. Not fifteen. Not thirty. Not an hour or two later. Not even when he sadly glanced at the door, hoping you'd be the one walking in. And never—since you'd arrived months ago as the new reporter at the Daily Planet—had he regretted not asking for your number as much as he did then.

       He knew he wasn't the only one who noticed your absence, or who worried when Perry explained you were sick and had taken the day off. But he truly felt like a lost and abandoned puppy.

       Was this a sign from the universe that he shouldn't ask you out?

       Still, his mind wandered elsewhere: how sick did you have to be to miss work? You hadn't missed a single day since you arrived. In that moment, he wished he'd approached you sooner, maybe then, he could've helped.

       He was distracted all day, and no one missed it.

       After all, it wasn't like it was a secret to anyone in that office that Clark Kent looked at you like you'd painted every sunset in the sky. Everyone knew it.

       Except you, of course. Obviously.

ꫂ❁

On Wednesday, against all odds, you arrived at work 15 minutes late, with a scolding from your boss and a huge thermos that took Clark no more than 5 seconds to figure out had coffee in it, not water, as usual.

      His happiness at finally seeing you was overshadowed by concern when you gave him a soft "Hi" an attempt at a smile that looked more like a grimace, and then walked straight to your desk.

       Your hair was a little—maybe more than a little—disheveled, as if you'd rushed to get there, but also like you hadn't even tried to style it in the first place. You had dark circles under your eyes that your concealer did little to hide, your nose was still red, and you wore the dullest, saddest look he'd ever seen on you, or any human.

       He hesitated, but after exactly seven minutes of staring at his desk, he sighed, stood slowly, and walked over with a thin cardboard box you'd recognize anywhere.

       "Hey," his soft, low voice filled your ears, making you look away from your phone.

       The familiar object in his large hands made you immediately raise your head to stare at him in disbelief. Your heart practically leapt out of your chest when you saw his tender smile and shy gaze.

       "You always say the cookies from that coffee shop are your favorite," he explained, slowly bringing the box closer to you. "I thought you might feel better." He shrugged a little, as if he hadn't just forced you to blink multiple times to keep from crying.

       "Clark..." you whispered, your surprised gaze still fixed on him as you took the box of cookies, almost flinching when his hand brushed against yours. "Clark, I don't know what to say. Thank you so much, I really, really appreciate it."

       Normally, you wouldn't have been so sentimental about it, but your cat, whom you had rescued three years ago, was missing. You'd been searching high and low for him, without success. You still hadn't recovered from your cold. Your emotions were terribly unraveled. And the fact that the small gift came from the charming man you were silently pining for... Yes, you were justified.

       "It's nothing, really. I knew you were sick, and it was the least I could do," he assured you, still with that smile but with a more serious expression.

       Clark leaned forward a little, resting one hand lightly on your desk without invading your personal space, as if he were going to tell you a secret—which was partly true, but it was more so you wouldn't have to crane your head to look at him and end up with a sore neck.

       "I know we're not very close," he began again, and you could almost hear the disappointment in his voice as he said those words, but you chalked it all up to your imagination. "But... Are you really okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned, staring at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his that nearly made you break down.

       It took you a few seconds to answer.

       "Yes..." your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm fine, Clark, thank you. I'm not that sick anymore." You tried to smile amused, but he didn't notice a hint of amusement in you.

       "That's not what I meant..." he replied, not sounding insistent, just... kind, genuine.

       You had to hold your breath and blink quickly again so you wouldn't cry right there. You really needed to vent to someone about the nightmare your last few days had been. Clark inspired confidence, and just as you were about to speak-

       "Clark, don't you think she already has enough work to do for you to distract her with desserts and 'love serenades'?" Perry's voice, a few feet away, froze you both for a moment. You felt your face heat up, and the dark-haired man in front of you opened his eyes as if he'd been caught red-handed.

       "I-I..." He shook his head, letting out a nervous chuckle and adjusting his glasses, but he didn't find the strength to deny with his own words what the older man had just said, so he avoided the mocking glances of his coworkers and looked back at you, ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you troubles."

       "It's okay, Clark, really." You looked at him with a smile that, while meant to be reassuring, didn't reach your eyes. "Thanks."

       "I should go, but..." He straightened and gestured his thumb behind him. "If you need anything, anything. I'll be right there." He pointed at his desk, which was a few feet from yours and that you definitely saw every day.

       Then he walked away, leaving you alone with your sadness, your thoughts, your cookies, and the memory of his smile.

       And it was just that Clark Kent struck you as the most attractive man you'd seen in a long time.

       And no, obviously it wasn't just his gorgeous face, his height, and his strong body. It was everything: from his passion for his work to his kindness and kind heart. His entire personality made you believe you'd met a damn unicorn.

       But you did nothing for your little crush. You smiled at him and were as friendly as you could be with a man you didn't really want to get to know for fear of discovering he was more perfect than you thought, and that would turn your little crush into a real crush.

       And how would you allow yourself that in your new job, where you weren't indispensable and still had to prove your worth?

       You didn't try to get his number, a date, or a conversation beyond whether or not the coffee pot at the Planet should be replaced.

       But now he was really making it difficult for you.

       Clark spent the rest of the time wondering if he should approach you again. He couldn't help but notice how you dropped everything to check your phone—which you never let go of—every time it buzzed.

       He wasn't trying to be weird, but since he couldn't see you because of that, he focused on listening to make sure you weren't crying or just still breathing because you hadn't spoken to anyone.

When he strained his ears, the only sounds he heard coming out of you were a quiet "Shit" every time you unlocked your phone and the way you sniffled occasionally because of your cold.

       And although he was a little confused and curious, he was more concerned.

       But he did not approach again.

       No matter how much he wanted to comfort you about whatever was bothering you. You didn't seem to want company, and he would never push you.

ꫂ❁

It had just started raining when you left work.

       The sky had been cloudy all day, like it had been all week, but the downpour with brutal force arrived in seconds just as you were getting ready to leave.

      "No, no, no..." you muttered under your breath as you stepped out of the elevator and headed for the building's entrance.

       You pressed your palm to your forehead, letting out a heavy sigh as the icy wind leaking through the door sent shivers down your spine. Your long-sleeved shirt wasn't thick enough to keep out the cold, or the stares once it got soaked and turned see-through.

       And there was no way you were asking the receptionist for help, he was the same one who always acted like paying attention to you was a personal favor.

       You didn't need this. You definitely didn't need it pouring. Not when your whole week had already been a mess.

       You shook your head and hugged your arms around yourself. It was already getting dark, so you didn't think it was a big deal. You had just stepped away from the glass walls and were heading for the door when someone called your name.

       You didn't even have to turn around to recognize the tall, cute guy behind you. It was Clark Kent. Clark with his messy black hair. Clark with an umbrella in one hand and his briefcase in the other. Clark without a smile, but still with that face full of kindness. You'd recognize him anywhere.

       You'd both stayed late that day. You did because you were buried under a backlog of work. He... you weren't sure why. It didn't really make sense.

       He approached you with a slight frown, clearly confused by what you were about to do.

       "Are you going out like that?" he asked, not rude, just... concerned. And even a little shy.

       "I have to get home somehow," you said with a shrug, your lips curling into a faint smile.

      "But you're still sick. Don't you have a coat? A sweater? Something...?" He glanced over you, clearly noting you had none of those things, though he still seemed to hope you'd magically pull one out of your bag. You didn't even have an umbrella.

       You looked down, a little embarrassed. "No... I forgot. I had to rush to get here."

       But Clark didn't judge. He set his briefcase down and started taking off his blazer, then held it out to you.

       "You don't have to-" you began, but he just shook his head and gave you that charming smile only he could pull off, nudging the blazer forward.

       "Please."

       You couldn't help a weak smile as you slipped your bag off your shoulder to take it. How could you resist? You didn't have the energy to argue. You were exhausted, stressed, and sad. And Clark saw it all.

       His blazer was far too big on you; it swallowed your hands completely. But the moment you slipped it on, the scent of his cologne surrounded you, warm and comforting. Heavenly. He heard your heart race, just like his, but that didn't stop the worry in his eyes.

       Then he said your name softly, making you look at him. He was close, but not invading your personal space, and when his blue eyes met yours, you had to remind yourself to breathe.

       "What's wrong?" he asked, gentle, but full of concern, and your heart skipped a beat. He tilted his head slightly, like a puppy trying to understand commands. You secretly cursed him for making you feel so much.

       You sighed, struggling to find the words. "I didn't... miss work because I was sick. I mean, I am a little sick, but... I was looking for my cat. Lucifer. He... went missing."

       Clark felt his heart sink when he heard the sadness in your voice. Of course it was about Lucifer: your cat, your baby. Your little pet with oddly perfect fur and, in your words, a receding hairline so dramatic it made him look funny. And those huge, cartoonish eyes that always looked like they were judging everyone. You talked about him constantly. You even had him as your wallpaper on your work computer.

       You looked away and rushed to explain, not wanting him to think you were careless with your cat.

       "S-Sometimes I leave the window open 'cause he likes the air. Sometimes he goes out, but he always comes back. Always. He's been doing this for three years. He always comes back. He has a collar, and his tags have all my info in case this ever happens, but..."

       You took a shaky breath. His free hand gently touched your shoulder as he leaned closer.

       "Hey, hey. You don't owe me any explanations," he said calmly.

       "I spent the whole weekend looking for him. Monday, Tuesday too. I put up signs everywhere, whistled for him every night, left some windows open in case he came back, and... he hasn't."

       You finally let out a sob, and that was all Clark needed to pull you into his arms.

       You covered your face with your hands and leaned against his chest as the tears came. The warmth of his body was like a shield made just for you.

You didn't know how long you cried wrapped in his arms, you only knew that you let out what you had kept inside for a whole week, and that you did it with the right person.

       "I don't know what else to do. I've run out of ideas. And now it's raining, and he's probably out there, soaked and cold." You sobbed once more, trying to breathe. "I really miss him."

       Normally you wouldn't allow yourself to be so vulnerable, even if you weren't surrounded by people. But there was something about Clark Kent that made you feel safe and trust him blindly, and for the first time in days, you felt a little calm, only in his arms.

       It felt like your tears were burning his soul and breaking his heart as he felt you tremble. In that moment, he knew one thing for certain: he never wanted to see you sad again.

       "I know. I will help you." His low and warm voice filled your heart with comfort. You tried to calm yourself, shaking your head as tears still ran down your cheeks.

       You thought you looked like a mess. Clark thought you probably made the stars feel insecure.

       "You already helped me today," you said with difficulty, pulling away while wiping your tears. Your breathing was uneven, and you sighed, trying to stop sobbing. His hands moved gently to your arms, not wanting to pull away or distract you. Before he could answer, you added, "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or..."

       "You didn't." He smiled softly despite the slight disappointment at losing your touch. You felt a little self-conscious under his tender gaze but forced yourself to wipe your tears once more.

       "I know it must seem stupid to cry like this over a cat, but..." You sniffed, biting your cheek to keep from breaking down again, this time unable to hold back. But he was already shaking his head.

       "No. It's not stupid." He lowered his head slightly, looking at you fully so you'd know he was genuine. When he saw your expression soften and your attempt at a smile, he glanced up at the sky, noticing the rain still hadn't stopped.

       He slung his briefcase over his shoulder and picked up his umbrella from the floor. "You should take this." He held it out to you, looking shyly at you.

       "No, Clark... You'll get wet, and you could be the one to get sick now." Even though you immediately felt cold where his hands had been, you found the strength to refuse.

       He let out a barely audible nasal chuckle, not mockery, but tenderness—which showed in his flushed cheeks and lowered gaze—. He wouldn't get sick, he knew that, but you didn't, and he imagined what you were thinking.

       So he seized another chance.

       "Will you let me walk you back to your apartment, then?" His hopeful eyes met yours, glistening with both tears and surprise.

       And who were you to deny Clark Kent anything when he looked at you as if you were the meaning of his existence?

       The walk home felt peaceful—for you. He had to keep asking you questions, just to focus on your voice and not the racing heartbeat—which he wasn't sure was yours, his, or both—that thundered in his ears every time you leaned too close to stay under the umbrella or avoid bumping into strangers.

       You told him how you'd rescued Lucifer a few years ago; how tiny he was, how unruly his fur used to be before turning into the exact opposite. How you'd fed him milk with a syringe, or the baby food you made just for him. Clark already understood why you missed your cat, but the more you talked, the more he understood you.

       Even if it twisted his stomach to see you so heartbroken, talking about how much you missed your kitten, Clark had never been more certain of his feelings for you, that he truly liked you. After all, he once let himself be arrested just to save Krypto—and Krypto wasn't even his. Why wouldn't he help you find your cat?

       Once you reached your building, still under the shelter of his umbrella, you looked at him with a weak but genuine smile and sighed.

       "Thank you, Clark."

       He smiled softly.

       "You don't need to thank me... but, if you'll let me... Can I ask you something?"

       His question caught you off guard, but you nodded, eyes curious.

       "Don't go looking for Lucifer. At least... not tonight. It's late. Let me help you," he said soft, pleading, yet with a firmness that made your breath hitch.

       "Clark... you're very sweet, but... I don't know. You probably have better things to do than help me find my cat." Your voice trembled, uncertain, because deep down, you wanted his help more than anything. But you'd already done everything you could think of. What else could he possibly do?

       "I don't have any, and even if I did... I wouldn't want to. I wouldn't offer if I didn't think I could actually help," he assured, though he hesitated, knowing he couldn't explain how. So he spoke again, not with arrogance, just clumsily: "Besides... I've got some friends."

       There was something tender in his attitude, but it was his quiet determination to be there for you that truly moved you.

       Still, you couldn't help but joke, "What? Cop buddies or something?"

       He chuckled and shook his head. And of course you thought about it; after all, Clark Kent had interviewed Superman more times than anyone else at the Daily Planet... —not that there were many— but you dismissed the thought just as quickly. There was no way he'd even think of asking Superman to find your cat.

       "No... but sometimes he wears a red cape and flies, if that helps"

       Okay. He thought about it.

       "Superman?" you asked, incredulous, genuinely surprised. "You’re going to ask Superman to help you find my cat?"

       He'd do anything for you.

       "He will," Clark said, firm and confident in a way you’d never seen before. So confident, it almost felt suspicious. "He... he’d never say no to something like this. He saves squirrels, after all, doesn’t he?" he added with a nervous, amused smile.

       Of course you were surprised. Superman surely had far more important things to do than help you find a lost cat. So did Clark. But the absolute certainty in his voice almost sounded like a promise.

       Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him tight, careful not to knock yourself with the umbrella.

       Now Clark was surprised too, and more than surprised, he was completely smitten. In that moment, he wasn’t a man who could bring down buildings with a flick of his wrist. He was just a man melting under your scent, knees weak from your body pressed to his, heart racing as your thanks vibrated through his chest and turned his cheeks a soft shade of pink.

       But before he could react—before he could properly wrap his arms around you—you pulled away.

       "Thank you, Clark. Really... thank you so much. If... if he agrees, I have thousands of pictures of my baby," you said, fumbling through your bag for your phone.

       "I—I don’t really know how his powers work, but… maybe he could hear him? He’s really loud. Or maybe he has a super sense of smell. I could give him one of Lucifer’s sweaters..."

       You unlocked your phone, and then froze, realizing what you had just said. "Not like he's a sniffer dog or anything, I mean..."

       Clark's chuckle silenced you instantly. Your cheeks burned even more when you realized he wasn't laughing at you. He was touched. His smile, his gaze, were filled with something you hadn't seen before... something that made you forget how to breathe. And when he reached out again to place a hand on your arm, it was your heart that forgot how to beat.

       You wondered if he had always looked at you like that or if you had just never noticed.

       "Don't worry about that... He will. I'm sure he'll bring Lucifer back to you." He dared to stroke your arm with his thumb, and his reassuring smile widened when your lips curved upward and you let out a soft sigh.

       You held yourself back from throwing your arms around him again; you didn't want to be reckless anymore.

       But it was almost physically painful not to properly thank the man who looked at you as if he was waiting for you to tell him to fly around the world just to ask "When?"

       And while, to you, it was simply his way of offering peace and hope, Clark was making a promise.

       After all, Clark Kent was Superman. And he wouldn't let you suffer one more day.

ꫂ❁

After finally exchanging numbers with Clark you walked into your lonely apartment, for the first time in days, feeling hope.

       Hope that this time, your cat would actually come back to you.

       You also allowed yourself to believe a man, because he wasn't just any man. He was Clark Kent, and that's why you trusted him when he assured you that Lucifer would be found, and kindly asked you not to go out looking for him at night.

       Clark wouldn't admit it to you at the time, but even for someone like him, it was incredibly difficult to find an animal as small and elusive as a cat in a city like Metropolis.

       But he always knew that teamwork went a long way, and that there was a group of other superheroes perfect for helping him.

       Back in your apartment, when the rain stopped, you set out your cat's food and left it by the window, just as you had been doing for the past few days.

       The television was playing a crime series that didn't interest you, but you kept your eyes on it anyway, trying not to stare out the window.

       You'd made dinner, but you'd devoured the pasta dish out of anxiety, not hunger, because you didn't have any.

       The hours passed slowly and torturously. At that point, you couldn't remember a single moment when your leg wasn't bouncing up and down and your fingernail wasn't scratching the armrest of the sofa.

       You wanted to go out, to find Lucifer on your own and try your luck, but Clark was right. Even though Metropolis wasn't nearly as dangerous as Gotham, it still had its own dangers.

       So you channeled your nerves into cooking. You made cookies. You'd had enough cookies for the day, but you knew you didn't have to eat them, so you baked as many as your kitchen's ingredients allowed.

       You were listening to pop songs, the kind where the singer never shuts up, to help you avoid overthinking and just sing along quietly.

       Then, a noise from outside stopped you just as you were taking the cookies off the tray.

       You practically threw it onto the counter next to the spatula and rushed into your living room.

       You gasped when you saw the balcony of the emergency stairs, and two figures you knew like the back of your hand.

       There he was: Superman, in red and blue, with a little dirt on his face and a small smile as he gently placed your cat on the window sill, right where his food bowl was.

      And there was your kitten.

       Superman's smile grew enough to crinkle his eyes when he noticed you, but even so, you could see the shyness in him. And it was so familiar it made your chest swell with affection.

       But before you could even try to remember who else had made you feel that way, he simply raised his hand, waved goodbye, and flew away.

       You were stunned for a few seconds before you heard Lucifer's chewing grow louder, and you didn't hesitate to run to him with a smile and watery eyes.

       "My baby," you whispered with tenderness and a joy that you couldn't describe in words upon finally seeing your kitten. "I missed you so much." you picked him up and separated him from his food for the first time without any guilt.

You placed several kisses on his head while repeating "I love you" over and over again. The cat snuggled up to you as always, and you leaned closer to him, sniffing. "Don't ever do that to me again. That was stupid. What's wrong with you? You scared me so much." You pulled away slightly to look at him, already prepared to lecture him, until you saw a strange piece of paper stuck between his neck and his blue collar.

       You held Lucifer steady with one hand as you took the paper and unfolded it.

"The Justice Gang (temporary name) also helped save Lucifer.

If it happens again, don't put yourself at risk. You can always ask me for help :)

- Superman."

       You hugged your cat tighter as you put the paper back in your pants pocket with a smile. Lucifer finally had enough of all the affection, and you left him to eat again.

       "I had to ask the same superheroes who saved the city from being cut in half to find you. You're grounded, Lucifer." You pointed your finger at him, speaking firmly, causing the cat to look at you for about two seconds before going back to eating.

       You sighed, moving closer to the window and and stuck your head out a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of your hero flying by, but you saw nothing but a beautiful sky full of stars.

       "Thank you, Superman..." you whispered, petting your Lucifer and smiling into space, unsure if anyone would hear you. You just needed to say it.

       And he heard you, of course he did.

       That night, you slept with your cat on your pillow again, and for the first time in a week, you truly rested.

ꫂ❁

The next day, Clark arrived fifteen minutes early. So did you.

       You'd both been on each other's minds that day, much more than usual.

       He had just finished giving directions to an intern downstairs when he saw you walk in, wearing a radiant smile that made his heart swell.

       Your eyes landed on him, and your smile widened. He forced himself to say goodbye to the intern, though his voice was shaky and he was suddenly out of breath. You were glad to see him.

       You ran—really ran—toward him, not just smiling, but laughing. You had his umbrella and blazer in your hands, your purse hanging from your shoulder, but none of it mattered when you grabbed his wrist and let out the most excited "Come!" he'd ever heard.

       He was never happier to follow someone.

       You quickly led him to a slightly more secluded spot on the ground floor: the hallway leading to the storage rooms and basements. Anyone paying attention might still see you, but at least you wouldn't be in plain view.

       And before he could make a sound, you launched yourself at him with a force that should have knocked you both off your feet.

       But Clark didn't flinch even a bit. This time, he immediately wrapped you in his strong arms as you threw yours around his neck.

       "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Clark, thank you!" you exclaimed, your eyes closed as hard as your heart was beating, because thanking him through a message did not come close to showing your true feelings. The happiness in your voice lit up his soul and he couldn't help the silly smile that formed on his lips.

       It almost hurt to pull away from him, but you needed to see him. So you leaned back just a little, your hands resting on his biceps, silently lamenting that you couldn't see them without those elegant shirts and blazers.

How was he so strong?

       His hands rested above your waist, not wanting to overstep, but not letting go either, because you hadn't. And that alone made his brain short-circuit.

       He was completely stunned when your eyes finally fell on his. You took in his cheeks, now tinged with red, his slightly parted lips, and the furrow in his brow, like he couldn't believe he had you in his arms like that.

       You forced yourself to speak, before you gave in to the urge to throw your arms around his neck again and kiss him until you both lost your minds.

       "You have no idea all the crazy things I've done. I put his litter box outside because someone said he'd come back if he could smell it. Left his food on the window sill. Looked through every trash can of the streets. I talked to every cat I came across and asked them to look for him because an old lady told me to and..." You took a deep breath, thinking of how much you'd missed your cat, then forced yourself to stop and look at him.

       Big mistake. Your knees faltered for a second at the sight of his affectionate smile, the kind that made his eyes crinkle, while his grip on you waist tightened ever so slightly.

       "I think they're the cutest things I've ever heard anyone do."

       And it was as if the world around you slowly faded away, just to appreciate this one moment between the two of you.

       After seconds of silence and staring at each other as if you'd designed summers at the beach and he'd designed winters in front of the fireplace, the only thing that came out of your mouth was your slightly high-pitched voice saying, "I brought you cookies."

       His eyebrows lifted and his eyes lit up, as if you'd just offered him the whole world instead of just some homemade cookies.

       Though he forced himself to find the willpower to let go of you, that his hands now hanging at his sides, felt strangely out of place, like once they'd been where they belonged they had no longer a purpose.

       First, you handed him his blazer and umbrella, which he took with a soft "thank you" and that familiar kind smile of his.

       Then you held out a small—well, small for him—red container with a clear lid that revealed the neatly stacked cookies inside.

       He took them gently, his eyes flicking up to yours with a mix of surprise and tenderness.

       "You didn't have to, really," he said with a shy smile, his voice low. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

       You forced yourself not to be inhibited by his sweet attitude and continued. "I wanted to get something for Superman and the... Justice Gang too, but it was like leaving cookies and milk for Santa, so... If you ever see them, tell them that when I'm not at work, I can make decent desserts," you shrugged, and you both giggled.

       "I'll see what I can do," he assured you, amused, still staring at the cookies in his hands as if they were the eighth wonder of the world.

       "I'm no expert baker, but... I needed to thank you with more than a hug," you sighed. "And even then, cookies don't seem enough."

       Clark shook his head, looking into your eyes with a reassuring smile. His gaze suddenly changed, scanning your face as if trying to read something in your expression, and you felt your cheeks warm.

       He opened his mouth slightly, but before he said anything, he took a deep breath, looking for courage.

       His smile faltered a little nervously, as he looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to you and finally spoke.

       "So what about a date?" His voice came out barely above a whisper, filled with shyness and longing.

       But your silence didn't help, and this time he kept talking. "Only if you want to... I mean, anything: dinner, breakfast, lunch, coffee, tea... Or nothing, obviously you don't have to..." he stammered, his face burning all the way to his ears.

       And now you interrupted him.  You had no idea, you couldn't imagine how long I'd waited for this.

       "When?" you asked with a bright smile.

       And Clark Kent had never been more grateful to an animal.

       But don't tell Krypto.