Firefighter!Simon who, miraculously, has the night off. He decides to stay in the hospital until you wake: thinking it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to make sure your friends or family were made aware of the devastating fire. But when you finally blink awake and Simon asks all his questions, he’s stumped when you hit him with a ‘I don’t have any family’. Simon can’t stop himself from blurting out ‘You c’n stay with me. If you want.’

It takes a full day for you to be cleared before Firefighter!Simon picks you up from the hospital to take you to his (more than) humble abode. He finds that you quickly find happiness in the kitchen, but are more than disappointed to see he has barely anything to cook or bake with. “A damn shame” you say. With the remaining daylight hours, Simon finds himself driving you to a little supermarket in the corner of the city he hadn’t had the time to be explore. You insist on buying everything, telling Simon (a man who you really knew nothing about) it was the least you could do since he saved you from homelessness. And dying.

The rest of your first day in your temporary home with Firefighter!Simon is spent cooking. You whip up a marvelous pasta dish with hearty meatballs that almost make drool seep from Simon’s lips. He sits at the island watching you move around his space like you’d been there millions of times, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his gut similar to fondness. Since picking you up some new clothes, Simon had learned a little bit more about you than Simon thought healthy. It was unfortunate enough for him to have been unable to get laid in over three months, but it was even more unfortunate that he had such a pretty bird in his apartment making him food and insisting on being near him when he sure as hell couldn’t make a move on her.

Firefighter!Simon who gets comfortable in his routine with you. On the days he’s not at work at assfuck 0200, he’s up making a simple breakfast for you and him before rhe day starts. You’ll eat and concerse a little awkwardly but that wont stop you from asking all about how he slept and if his buddies wanted more of those monster cookies you’d made to thank them for saving you and your fellow tenants. Simon had to relay many praises of your work in the kitchen, only ommiting the details and sly jokes about how ‘Simon’s girl’ was already taking care of the family. You’d go to work by bus or train- depending on how you felt- and then come home and make dinner or reheat leftovers. If Simon was at work, you’d laze on the couch in the main room and watch television and read. If Simon wasn’t at work, you’d bring the softest blanket from the room Simon had placed you in and watch a movie. More often than not, you would scoot closer and closer to Simon before falling asleep against him. When you woke up, you were in your bed- undoubtedly carried by Simon. Oh well. Its what friends do.

Firefighter!Simon who sees you as a friend. It’s basing your third week in his home and he feel comfortable around you. You’re good at reading his silence- the set of his shoulders and the future of his brow say enough- and he can’t be more thankful of that. For someone so new to his life, you seem to know exactly when to let a comfortable silence fall between you and when to start chattering about them things that come to your mind. But when you are the silent, short-tempered, and fatigued one, Simon is more than scared to get in your way. “Needa talk?” He offers, sliding you a cup of steaming coffee when you level a glare at the mug that had irritated you at such an inconveniently early hour. You heave a sigh and your head crumbles down into your arms. “I’m a mess, Si,” you tell him. Though your voice is muffled, Simon hears the shakiness in your throat trying to escape. He rounds the corner of island and places a large palm on your back in his attempt to comfort you. You are wrapping your arms around his neck and buring your face into the frail fabric of Simon’s shirt before he even knows what’s happening. And- as avoidant as Simon is to physical touch that doesn’t occur during work hours or when you fall asleep on him or when you slid your hand in his gloved hand during The Ambulance Ride- Simon didn’t mind your arms and warmth around him. When you started shaking in his arms was when Simon had to clench his jaw. It pained him that it pained you- and he didn’t even know what was ailing you! Simon tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that he was giving you the best comfort he could offer.

A day later you wake up to a crime scene in your underwear in the middle of the night so you decide to take a midnight trip to the convenience store a literal block away without letting Firefighter!Simon know. I mean, hey, he needs sleep and you were not going to wake him up to let him know you would be gone for a total of five minutes! But when you were on your way back to his house, you noticed someone following you. As you turned right for the third consecutive block, you finally fumbled for your phone.

When the cold winter air finally hit your face was when you decided to open your eyes. You could barely see who it was carrying you, face obscured by heavy equipment and breathing apparatus. You hardly have time to ask what happened or say thank you before you're being placed on a stretcher and surrounded by a group of paramedics, flashlights being shined all over your face as an oxygen mask is firmly placed on your mouth and your arm is already being prepped for an IV.

Through the chaos, you catch a last glimpse of your saviour, the shiny yellow letters on the back of their uniform: MCKAY. Even in your dazed state you tell yourself to store the name in your memory, promising yourself to find them and thank them personally for quite literally saving your life.

Thankfully you hadn't been in the hospital long and after a few days you found yourself parked outside the Pittsburgh Bureau of Fire. You feel stupid now that you stand in front of the big brick building, and suddenly this whole idea feels very unnecessary. But your guilt is much bigger than your embarrassment and before you can back out, you will your feet to drag you inside, the container of treats clasped tightly under your arm.

The first person you see is an older woman, grey hair pulled into a loose ponytail and readers sitting on the tip of her nose as she reads the file in her hands, face pulled into a very unsatisfied expression. When she notices you, she's placing said file back on the nearest table and making her way to where you stand near the entrance, too scared to make your way any further into the building then necessary.

"Can I help you?" she asks briskly, not necessarily mean but like someone who doesn't have enough hours in the day to stand sill for too long. The words you've been rehearsing all morning get stuck in your throat for a few seconds, the older woman's unwavering gaze beyond daunting. "I'm looking for one of the firefighters that work here, I think?" you finally manage to force out, voice uncertain and small. Her lips press together in thought as she mulls over your words. "Okay," she says, "which one?"

The name echoes in your thoughts, and you hope for your sake your oxygen deprived mind hadn't just conjured up a false memory. "McKay?" you say unsurely, and you watch the way recognition washes over the older woman's face, followed by scepticism. "Uh-oh," she muses, "what did she do this time?"

"Nothing!" you quickly say, "nothing bad, at least. I just wanted to thank her for helping me a few days ago. She kind of saved my life."

"Kind of?" the lady asks through a laugh, smile widening at your petrified face, mouth opening and closing as you think of a way to redeem yourself. "I'm just playin' with you sweetheart, I'll go see if she's in the back, wait here." She's gone before you even have the time to thank you, and that leaves you standing in the middle of the lobby feeling stupider by the second. It's not long before she returns with someone not far behind her. You feel a little uneasy all of a sudden, shifting your weight onto the balls of your feet as the now no longer unknown firefighter approaches you.

She's hot you think to yourself when she's finally stood in front of you. Really hot actually, with auburn hair pulled into a ponytail and bangs that look like they've had fingers ran through them frantically. Her uniform fits her almost too perfectly, making her biceps look like they're trying to escape from her shirt. She spares you a small smile, dimples barely visible as she gives you a quick once-over, making you a little nervous under her steady gaze.

"Hi, uhm," what the hell were you going to say again?

"I just wanted to say thank you for, y'know, saving my ass," you say with an awkward laugh, cringing so hard as your heart beats rapidly in your ears. If the earth were to swallow you whole right now, you'd thank it. She looks like she's trying to remember what you're talking about, brows furrowed slightly even though the smile never really leaves her face.

"The apartment burn, from Tuesday night?" you say in hopes of jogging her memory, and it takes her a few moments of recollection before her face is lighting up, and she's nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, I remember!" she says, "there's no need to thank me though, just doing my job." She has a nice voice, you think, soft and smooth, and you reckon she's probably amazing at calming people down during stressful situations. "I know, but I still wanted to," you say, shifting the container under your arm into your hands before you're presenting it to her like some kind of trophy. "I also made these, to say thank you," you probably sound like a broken tape by now.

She takes the container from you, taking a quick peak inside before she's pulling back with an impressed expression. "I'm gonna have to hide these from the rest of my team," she says, looking around like she's genuinely scared they might catch a whiff of the cookies and come running. "Thank you, this was very sweet of you," she says once again, and her smile almost has a giggle escaping you.

You can only manage a nod in response, followed by about five more rapid nods, smile so wide it makes your cheeks ache. "You're welcome," you finally say, "I uh, yeah. I hope you like them."

"I'm sure I will," she says, sparing the container another glance. There's a very awkward pause after that with the two of you just staring at one another, smiles both still stretched across your faces. "Okay well, I have to get back," she says after a moment, thumb shooting behind her and pointing to nothing in particular. "Yes, of course! Yeah, obviously." You're really on a roll of sounding stupid today, but she has that effect on you, it seems.

Now, Clark would never admit to reckless use of his x-ray vision, but you and your ankle seemed perfectly fine to him. But with the imminent danger gone, and his colleagues already tending to other civilians, he had time to spend. He just got lucky that this one was real pretty.

"What’s the matter, miss?"

And your heart's already fluttering, rushing in your ears when he looks through you with those big, glassy eyes.

"My ankle. Twisted it on a crack," you say, gesturing behind you at the uneven pavement.

"Damn useless infrastructure," he hums with a voice smooth as silk with just a sprinkle of playfulness, "Here, let's get you to a bench."

And he flashes this glimmering, pageant-worthy smile that makes you think he ought to be doing anything but fighting fires and serving the community. This guy must have a serious heart of gold to ignore the call of a full-time modeling career.

"Can you put any weight on it?" the large and conveniently handsome fireman cradles your elbow carefully, helping you onto your 'good' leg.

"You are really beautiful," you huff.

He’s startled by the compliment, flushing pink while guiding you to the closest park bench.

"Why thank you, miss." There’s a subtle southern drawl there that you'd miss if you weren't prematurely infatuated with him. You’re starting to think you might have to become a serial arsonist just to see him more often. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

He’s suddenly knelt at your feet, holding your calf and slowly rotating your foot to pinpoint the pain. Or at least, he hopes that’s what it seems like he's doing. He’s really just entertaining whatever motive you must have for faking an injury. He’d never admit it, but he'd take any excuse to receive compliments from a pretty girl like you.

"D’you have a first name, mister Kent of Metropolis Fire Department?"

He chuckles at the formality in your tone, ducking his head trying to mask the heat rising to his cheeks. He’s never felt more like a giddy schoolgirl.

"Clark. Clark Kent of Metropolis Fire Department," he says.

"It’s a pleasure, Clark Kent," you coo, "Come here often?”

“Believe it or not, I do. There’s always some rogue bicycle incident or explosive extraterrestrial that requires our presence. City center seems to be a popular breeding ground for emergencies.”

“Maybe I’m the one who should come here more often,” you tease, cocking a brow when he glances up at you through his dark lashes.

He grins, and you’re blinded. He’s the kind of beautiful that makes your heart race no matter how used to it you think you might be. The dimples in his cheeks only stand to mock you. Clearly, the universe is playing favorites.

“I’ll get you an ice pack. Don’t go anywhere.” Your firefighter stands, blocking the sun until it halos around his dark curls, painting him an adonis.

“Wait!” you plead, “I have to tell you something.”

He turns to you, hands planted squarely on his hips as a sly smirk graces his expression.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

And oh, how the butterflies stir in your stomach. Suddenly, you’re nervous to tell him, but you feel like you’ve wasted enough of his time flirting and damsel-in-distressing.

“I didn’t really twist my ankle,” you admit with a disappointed sigh. He looks confused with a raised eyebrow, scrutinizing your guilty face with a quirked smile.

“Oh, really?” he teases.

“Yeah,” you huff, “but it was a pretty good excuse to spend time with a handsome firefighter.”

He holds out his hand with subtle and half-hearted exasperation. His smile gives him away, and it’s even better from up close when you let him pull you to your feet, catching a gentle waft of his woodsy yet sweet cologne.

“How about I give you my number and you can spend time with me whenever you want. Off the clock.”

It leaves you stunned for a second. You can’t do much more than gaze into his deep blue eyes thinking it’s not a bad view from here. Your heart races when you check back into reality.

“Clark Kent, that was incredibly smooth. You use that on all the ladies you rescue?”

“No, just the ones who don’t need rescuing at all. Or give me small, individually wrapped candies from their purse.”

“Well, good thing this worked out because I forgot my candy purse at home today.”

“And what a disaster it would’ve been if you had remembered! I’d probably just have to marry you all over again.”

You giggle when he slips his hand around your waist and across your lower back. It truly never gets easier to be away from your civil servant sweetheart, so you came up with this ruse one day just to see him more often (and promptly made him promise to play along). So long as it wouldn’t get in the way of those in need, you reasoned. But timing was always on your side when it came to Clark.

“In the middle of the city center?”

“Right here, right now, sweetheart. I was just on one knee, we’re already half-way there.”

“We’re making great time, maybe we should take a little detour,” you whisper, slipping your arms up over his shoulders. He hums softly under his breath. You take an indulgent tug of his curls, and he gets this subtly stern look on his face that makes your stomach flip just enough. “A little something for the road.”

“I think we’ve got time for that,” he says. He dips his head, tilting to fit himself against your soft mouth. You smile into his kiss and feel yourself press closer to his warm chest. Metropolis melts away at the beat of your hearts together. You think you ought to convince him to run away with you. But you know these musings are only a symptom of Clark kissing you silly. And they all vanish into thin air when he presses his tongue to the seam of your lips.

“Kent! You’re on call, no time for kissing strangers!” his chief hollers.

“She’s my wife! Gimme two goddamn seconds!”

He turns back to you with that sweet excitement that’s typically reserved for overzealous puppies and babies in candy stores. He takes your face in his big hands and gives you a handful of wet, farewell kisses until you’re a giggling mess in his grasp.

And he can’t stop himself from pulling away just to look at you. Hands dropping to your jaw and waist, giving him a perfect view of your well-kissed lips and softened expression.

“See you tonight, hotshot,” you tease. And with that, he gives your ass a pat goodbye before jogging back towards the engine. He smiles to himself all the way back to the station.