9. Cocktails and Confessions
Coordinates: Orbital bar-discotheque, Rann.
Mission status: Successfully completed.
Neon lights flash everywhere, and holographic walls display stars, black holes, and quantum explosions. Music is loud. Clark and Kara sit in a corner with a couple of bubbling drinks. Clark’s is purple, sweet-smelling, and promises a slight dizziness. Kara’s is yellow, steaming, and promises more than just “slight.”
Kara: You’re going to love this. I never thought something like this could exist for us until I found it.
In a human gesture, they clink glasses and smile. They bring the drinks to their lips and sip. Whatever Clark is drinking keeps bubbling in his mouth and tastes better than expected. Kara’s… well, her face scrunches up and she sets the glass down forcefully on the table.
Kara: Ugh… delicious, but strong.
They laugh and chatter a bit as the glasses empty. A Rannian waiter approaches and offers more. Clark repeats, Kara changes. When the waiter returns because their round is finished, Clark changes, Kara repeats.
Clark’s third drink is cooler than sweet, something like mint, and in the unfamiliar haze of “buzzed,” it gives him a sense of clarity that pushes him to change the conversation.
Clark: Are you okay with what you saw at my apartment?
She squints. Clark can no longer tell if there is haze in her eyes or if his words are slurred.
Kara: The laundry bag? The one you take to… Martha to wash?
Clark: No… not that. I mean Bruce.
Kara: Ohhh… You mean if I approve of Bruce?
Clark takes a deep breath, another sip, feels the warmth give him courage, and nods.
Kara: Sure. I like Batsi.
In Clark’s blurry mind, that approval carries the weight of parental consent. Of the consent of the whole family. Of all Kryptonians since the beginning of time.
So he holds his glass with both hands and begins to confess:
Clark: Before all this, I felt… attraction. His dedication, his companionship, his responsibility, his charisma…
Clark: His pecs… well, yes, but more the other things. And it was platonic.
Kara: Noticing his pecs isn’t totally platonic. His thighs are impressive too.
Kara tilts her head doubtfully and tilts her glass as well, almost empty again.
Kara: I suppose his jaw too. If that’s your thing.
Kara: The jaw. And… “I’m serious, I’m Batman, come and fulfill my wishes.”
Kara grunts, imitating Batman’s voice, and Clark feels like applauding—but doesn’t, realizing he is holding the fourth glass the Rannian waiter has just delivered. This one is blue and has a sharp tang that hits just right.
Clark: But it doesn’t matter. Because it is all platonic, and we are World’s Finest… But now… now that we have spent time together, that we have removed the layers of… well, something I can’t tell you—Kara, always curious and bold, does not seem to care at all—, I have started dreaming of something more than the initial attraction. More than the platonic companionship I felt before. Because before, it was platonic, you know? Now I feel it could be… more than admiration.
Kara: Admiration for his jaw.
Kara: You’ve got a nice jaw too, but I think he’ll be the one eating you up.
Clark, either not hearing or not fully comprehending: I also admire who he is. And what he does as he is.
Kara: You want to shag him.
Clark: I want to shag him.
Neither of them really remembers what happens after that.
Clark has flashes, dirty clothes, and prefers not to investigate further.
Kara has photos, but Batman is protective, and if her cousin and he end up together, Kara doesn’t want to be the one who took Clark to a bar where her cousin participated in a wet t-shirt contest and ended up riding a kind of intergalactic mechanical bull in his underwear.
