#star labs

You remember standing outside the Daily Planet, thinking about how clutching your laptop in your purse and trying not to shake wasn't what you wanted to do that day, but after what you had done in the lab, after seeing the cars following you down the street, what you wanted wasn't really an option. 

You wanted to disappear, you wanted to get back to your five year plan: become the youngest lead coding engineer for S.T.A.R. labs, at least at their Metropolis branch. You wanted a seat at the table with the most brilliant scientific minds in America, and at one point, that goal seemed within reach.

You were so young when you stepped into the building, being told you were a prodigy, a genius, that you were the future of engineering development; all the things executives say to the impressionable to keep the actual backbone of the labs working for the goals of shareholders rather than for the sake of pushing knowledge further. You remember the elevator with buttons for floors ten stories beneath the earth, floors you couldn't reach without the right tenure, without unwavering loyalty to the company. You remember seeing those buttons, knowing you would earn that trust and do nothing but work towards completing projects that coders twice your age couldn't. 

The day you got access to the basement labs was the same day you rushed out of the building and ran to the cops, unaware of the black car that was tailing you to the station. 

“Im sorry, ma’am, but there's nothing we can do to help you.” The officer sitting at the intake desk eyed you with concerned curiosity, half trying to believe you and half trying to believe that your concerns were the ramblings of a lunatic, “if you think there are people down in the basement, they're probably willing volunteers for studies.” 

You paced in front of the uniformed man, his badge reading MPD and Adakai; your laptop sitting on the desk in front of him, open, illuminated with pages of results from attempted human cloning and outlines for adding code and directives to minds the labs have been growing in test tubes. The files of the latest project they assigned you. 

Was he even reading the files? Does he have no curiosity?

“Trust me,” your pacing comes to a halt as you lean forward and scroll down to CAT scans and MRI’s of developing brains and bone mass, some of the scans belonging to people who could only be children based on their development and size, “S.T.A.R. labs isn't just plucking people off the street, some of the things I saw down there could only come from kidnapping, o–or from some kind of fuckin’ human farming!”  

“Ma’am…” Officer Adakai slowly stands up, closing your computer and sliding it back over to you, “have you been sleeping alright? Do you have family you can–” 

“Stop,” you grab your laptop quickly and take a step back from the desk, “you think I'm crazy?” you look him in the eyes, his furrowed brow and quiet resignation a far cry away from your bloodshot and frenzied gaze. “How can you not see it? Or do you just not want to see it?” 

Part of your switch to hostility came in how officer Adakai watched you. You saw his eyes, green, the rarest color they could be, tick from side to side as you moved across the room, carefully. Like he was trying to keep you from filing a report for more reasons than thinking you were an unreliable source, his dismissiveness made less and less sense without factoring a fear of your employers into it. But there was something else itching under your skin that caused your further unhappiness with the interaction. He wanted to send you to your family, or find out if you had family. Was he in on this? Was he looking for something on you?

The officer walked around his desk, sat against it and leaned forward close enough for only you to hear what he was going to say next, “you want some very off the record advice?” your eyebrows scrunched together but you nodded slightly, “S.T.A.R. labs can't be stopped. Others have tried, this precinct has seen more attempted whistleblowers than any captain or commissioner would like to admit, but the key word is attempted. What you have here,” he tapped your computer, “would demand a warrant, but their lawyers would slow that process down for weeks, and if by some miracle you got officers to the labs and the evidence was still there, you would be tampered with before you ever got to testify.” 

His words hit you like a downpour of gravel, all at once and with a million points of impact. His kind, pitying tone was mixed with exhaustion, the kind that made you realize that this man had tangoed with S.T.A.R. labs before, and they were more than willing to step on his toes, or even break his legs to keep their usual dance going, they would just switch him out for a more compliant partner. 

He couldn't do anything to help you, and he wished he could. 

Adakai watched your posture change, he saw the deflating righteousness in your shoulders and the quiet retreat that made you ashamed of yourself. You couldn't fight this, not on your own, not with what you had. Your head hung low as you nodded once more, “...Thank you for your time, officer.”

Turning to leave, you gave officer Adakai one more curt nod before he spoke again, “if you ever feel unsafe,” he held out his hand to shake, “if you feel like you yourself are in personal danger, please call us. If we can't help, give me a ring.” you took his hand, olive skin with nails picked at and a wedding band on his ring finger. You felt his card in the shake, his grip tightened and definitely crumpled the paper. Why he didn't just hand it to you was something you weren't too keen on asking about, but you were curious. 

Walking out of the station, you took a breath and wished you had a cigarette in your bag, but you knew you threw them out months ago, even your spares. Part of the contract you had signed with your new promotion at the labs was to quit potentially fatal habits such as smoking. The explanation for this clause as it was explained to you by a room of lawyers was that they couldn't risk hospitalization or unexpected loss of a chief coder at the expense of S.T.A.R. labs’ projects. But there was a feeling you had that another reason was to see if they could control you, to keep you from a small personal decision. A feeling that they wanted to own your mind, body, ideas, all of it; a feeling you ignored as you signed the contract. 

You didn't know where to go. You told the labs you were going to lunch but you doubt they believed that, you were shaking when you left. You didn't want to go home, that would raise more eyebrows. You didn't want to go back to work, but it was the only way you felt to move forward. As the soles of your shoes it the pavement, you became increasingly aware that the car moving behind you was moving far too slow for the road it was on, that it stopped moving then you bent down to tie your shoe, how it made 4 right turns around the block when you did it to see if it was following you. That car followed you to the police station, that car's driver had a S.T.A.R. labs key card that they used to get into the parking lot when you got back to the building. They were following you.

They knew you were scared of them. They were going to make sure you stayed compliant.

You spent the next several weeks in the basement you worked so hard to earn your way into, though at that point it didn't feel like an honor. You didn't go home anymore, sleeping in the on-call rooms the labs provided. You spent your days away from the sun, too scared to step outside; you woke up in an uncomfortable bunk, sometimes alone but usually with other scientists and coders residing in the bunks beside you, often running on two hours of sleep(never mind that health clause you agreed to), you would get a stale muffin and cup of coffee from the cafeteria and you would get to work. 

Not talking to another soul, sitting at a computer surrounded by developing organisms floating in tubes. The job they gave you was continuing the work of a predecessor that was ‘put out of commission’, as you were told. S.T.A.R. labs was trying to program metahumans they developed. Your job was to figure out how; through codes with sequences of electric currents and chemical releases, you were supposed to create a series of patterns in the synapses of those unborn, the ability to influence thought and create memories that would not be organic to the people they were trying to birth into weapons. 

It took you awhile to realise that they were trying to create adults with full comprehension fresh out of the tube, to raise children that have intelligence, wisdom, interpretation far beyond their years; all with safeguards built into their neurochemistry to shut down if they descended on the wrong parties. 

You weren't even really qualified to deal with a lot of this. You were a computer scientist, your study of biochemistry was left behind in your second year of college. You wondered if this gap in knowledge would hurt the people they had you work on, though you didn't dare question your new position. They wanted you to get this done, so you'd try until it was.  

Was this really what you spent your life working towards? Shutting out your family, hiding from any friends you might have had, missing out on joys vital to human survival just to be self imprisoned by your employers? Hiding in their house. Pathetic.

“Sometimes, i wish i was in there with you,” you mumbled to the illuminated body floating in front of you, not even looking up from your several monitors, “if im doing my job right, you’re dreaming of something warm, something safe.” 

so far you could only figure out how to generate the simulation for feelings in the subjects. memories and knowledge can't be uploaded into people, you tried to explain that at some point to a man in a suit checking on your progress. He just walked to the elevator and said, ‘not yet’. 

Sick of staring at your screens, you stood up and walked closer to the woman in a dream. She looked dead, no activity behind her eyelids, her head was shaved; they always shaved it when they took her out for scans, but she had red roots when it grew back in. you wondered what her eyes would look like, the color, if they would be kind, or scared. You wondered if she was capable of wanting things, or coherent thought. If you somehow got her out of that fluid and she woke up, could she speak? Could she run? Would that be an instinct in her, to run?

“Im projecting,” you whispered against the glass, “i want to run, but i wont, and im not even stuck in a tube.” You sat back at your desk, squinting a bit when the monitor lit up. The light made your head tilt upwards and you caught a glimpse of the camera directly above you, “maybe that why i wish i was in there, no excuse for my stagnant ass,” You kept typing for the rest of the day, noting any twitch that the woman’s body made while you filled her mind with chemicals. You didn't even realise you were crying until a tear hit your hand on the keyboard. Its warmth was a stark comparison to the temperature the labs were mandated to keep. Sometimes you felt your body temp reaching those levels. 

God, you wanted a cigarette. 

Maybe it was that need for indulgence, the human, living desire you often took for granted, that had you stepping out of the building for the first time in weeks and grabbing a pack from the gas station two streets down. And maybe it was the rush of smoke in your lungs, the breath of nicotine that made the next inhale of air feel like its own high that had you trekking down to the public library with your laptop. 

You printed the most extreme pages, the ones that had fetal tissue scans, nameless people put under microscopes, pages with S.T.A.R. labs’ logo on it; ten pages, that was the library's print maximum and you doubted you would get another chance to do this again, you had to choose carefully. The printed pages fit neatly into the manilla envelope that had been floating at the bottom of your purse since you went to the cops and were told no, when this idea first planted in your head, and you put the envelope in a mailbox 3 blocks away from its destination: Lois Lane at The Daily Planet. For whatever reason, when you read her articles they had bled trust from you. This objective, critical quality that had her check everything, be thorough with any curiosity she had. You just prayed that the envelope piqued her curiosity.

You stood looking up at the building, tremors moving through you as the black car you've become used to waited on the other side of the street for you to start walking again. You were watched as the envelope slipped into the letterbox, you were watched when you stepped into the library, though no one came in while you were printing, and you were certainly watched as you broke your health clause with that damn cigarette. 

And though you knew all of these actions will lead you to be punished by your employers, or worse; you were truly grateful that the flash drive tucked so neatly in your new pack of Marlboro Reds resembled a lighter. Hopefully, it would be safe if anyone looked. 

Lois Lane was tired. She was always tired, her job demanded it, her brain demanded it. Any free time she had, any quiet moment she was afforded was always ruined with her mind running through unfinished stories, headlines she had written months ago that she had to follow up on, thinking about the people in her interviews that she couldn't help in any way outside of getting their stories out there. Lois Lane considered herself a cynic, someone who will always question an answer that was too easily found, knowing that further context is right below the surface. Nothing worth it can be that easy.

So Lois knew that when the spunky new reporter by the name of Clark Kent kept getting interviews with the Man of Steel, it wasn't just because he liked him, it wasn't that easy. She badgered, bothered, endlessly needled her new colleague about how he did it until he finally(it was two weeks) told her about his double life. His alien origins, his midwest upbringing, his inability to resist jumping into danger, his faith in his parents' message to serve the people of earth. When Lois found out, she felt this wave of fear. An instinct that this well meaning man would definitely get himself killed or weaponized by putting faith in a species that can cause great damage to their fellow man. 

But it wasn't as if she didn't trust Clark to make decisions, either. He had proven himself to be smart, kind, and strong beyond Lois' own comprehension. She vowed that day to be the hand on his shoulder that had him question motives. Not just see the story in front of him as Superman, but to dig for context before jumping into action. She was his guardian skeptic, and he was the man capable of stepping out of line and helping the people she spent her nights worried about. They were a team, so when you sent those files to Lois Lane, you unknowingly sent those files to Superman. 

“Hey Clark, check this out,” Lois dropped a file on the desk the man in question was currently resting his head on, the thud of the paper causing his body to shoot back up.

“Jeez, Lois, can't a man take a nap in peace?” he took off his glasses for a split second to shake his head almost like his dog would, trying to shake off the surprise he was struck with.

“Ooh, cursing,” Lois smirked and crossed over to her own station, putting one leg over the other as she leaned back in her chair, “if you think this is the place to take a nap,” she gestured to the screaming of stories, facts and headlines from their coworkers around the room, “you are sorely mistaken. Just read the file, the mailroom dropped it on my desk a few hours ago. It's not enough for a full story, but I think your buddy Superman would find its contents interesting.” Lois shot him a knowing smile and turned her chair back to the mess of papers in front of her. 

Clark opened the file and his eyes shot open the second he saw where they came from, his Xray vision carefully sped reading through every page without flipping through the paper. By the time he was done, Clark rolled his chair over to Lois with a gobsmacked look on his face, “how are you not freaking out over this? You're not gonna publish these?” he waved the paper at Lois, almost trying to fan her for attention.

Lois rolled her eyes with a light smile and stopped typing, swiveling her chair and leaning over to Clark, "I'm not going to publish it yet, those are a great start but there's no surrounding evidence. We can't even verify without knowing where these came from.” She pulled the now opened envelope and showed it to Clark, “this was an anonymous tip sent directly to me, and only ten pages? Of metahuman testing? Whoever sent this is in deep and doesn't want to get in trouble for it. We find them, we find something more to publish.” Lois slid the envelope over to her friend and continued, “if these are real, we can't go knocking on S.T.A.R. 's door, that could put who knows however many people in danger, this is why i think our buddy could help us out with further investigation.”  

“Why do I have a feeling you're only involving me because you hit a dead end in the last couple hours?” Clark grabbed the envelope and stood up with the rest of the papers, his question paired with a lopsided smile.

Lois snorted and turned back to the her final draft on Lexcorp's unethical mining operations in Indonesia, “just get to work, Clark,”

Oh, the work Clark Kent could do on his coffee breaks.

But so far, he was stumped. Clark could fly around the world in an hour or two, but he couldn't find somebody who was trying so hard not to be found. As a reporter, he hit every dead end Lois came to days earlier. He called in Mr. Terrific to scan for finger prints but they found nothing but remnants of latex gloves; even the water used to wet the envelope’s glue and stamp could be traced back to the Metropolis reservoir. The papers came from the public library, but there were dozens of locations, 4 near S.T.A.R. labs facilities. And snooping around those too often might alert the wrong people. 

“I hate to say it, man, but I'm stumped, and I don't joke about that shit,” Mr. Terrific grumbled and typed at his systems core at the hall of justice, trying to look into the S.T.A.R. labs systems, but it was hard to do that undetected, and Superman begged for discretion. “The Lab’s firewalls are easy enough to get past, but they have a closed internal system, nothing gets in or out unless you physically take equipment from the building. If you want this to stay under wraps I can't help you without a few days of work. And even then…” Mr. Terrific turned back to Clark with a deadeyed stare and a small shrug.

“Shoot,” Clark was rubbing his hand over his eyes as he started to walk back to the entrance of the marble vestibule, “Do me a favor, keep at it for a few days and let me know if anything changes?” 

“I’ll try, Superman,” Mr. Terrific yelled, now focused back on his screens, “but I'm not a bloodhound, I'm not sure I can sniff this one out. And there's little shit I'm not sure about.” Little did he know that his comment struck through Clark like a bolt of lightning, the realization dawning on him that he hasn't used all his resources.

 With a new idea in place, Clark took the envelope and shot off to the arctic circle. 

You felt small sitting alone on one side of a never ending conference table, a good 15 suits sat across on the other side, looking like one organism of contempt. They whispered to each other, humming like an engine revving up to run you over, and there you were, hoodie zipped up to your neck, hoping it would shield you from the impact. 

After a few minutes, which you're sure they planned to have you squirming, the man in the middle of it all spoke. His hair was white and thinning, thick glasses sat on his crinkled nose, the frames of which matched his pocket square and tie; he looked like every other man sitting beside him, “it’s needless to say we’re disappointed,” your name slipped from his mouth, running a shiver down your spine, the first time you heard your name said in weeks. It sounded venomous coming from him, every word did, “you hold such potential, and here you are, ruining your mind and body, defying the agreement you made.” He leaned back in his chair, the plush leather rolled back a bit, earning a small squeak that bounced around the room, “if we can't trust you to follow small agreements we both set, what else can’t we trust you with?” every set of eyes was trained on you now, almost rehearsed, “Is there anything else you want to tell us?”

The air in the room went still, his final question taking up more space than it should have. Suddenly, they were all waiting on you. You tried to keep your face as blank as possible, mentally wrapping your body with cord to keep it from shaking. Thinking about what they knew, you weighed your options for a response. They know something else has to be happening in your head. They know you went to the police your first day of your promotion, that nothing ever came out of it, no report, not notes. They know the first time you left the labs after you went to the library and dropped something off in a mailbox, and walked over to the daily planet but never went in. 

There was room to lie, but there had to be something they didn't want to hear to be believable. 

Inhaling a large breath, you tried to start small, something true. 

“When you offered me the job of chief R&D coder, I thought I would be working with your automated branch. programs for health robots and digital nurses, y’know?” you tried your best to keep eye contact, but it was hard to give each set on you equal attention, “I was over the moon,” you let out a sigh with a bittersweet smile, “I don't know if you're aware, but my mother needed help in her later years, and those beta tested automotive helpers i've seen at your conventions would have been a great asset to our family. It might have even saved her life.” you looked down at your hands, they had begun grasping at each other like old friends reuniting for the first time in years, looking for any form of comfort you could find, “But when I saw what you wanted me to do, what you’ve been having me do, it scared me. The first time I saw those… things we’ve been researching in the basement, I felt sick. I tried to go to the police with the files you gave me my first day, but they said I was crazy, that I was imagining this world where people were torn to shreds and built back up again. And oddly enough, the longer I thought about it, I started to feel grateful.” This caught many of the men watching you off guard. Whether they were surprised by your admission of trying to involve the MPD or your change of heart was unclear. You kept going, their visual shift of curiosity spurring you on, and after the first few you already told, the lies came easy. “The longer I thought about it, the more I realized I was being crazy. The work we have here, it’s important. The life we’re creating as a community will create a safer, more controlled world.” You sat up straighter in your chair, combed your fingers together and made a point to look at someone new with each word. “Ive spent the last few weeks pouring everything I have into these projects. I believe in the metahumans we’ll create. Strong, perfect beings with nothing but our sights in their minds. But I got lost in it quickly, this kind of dedication can get ahead of you, and it got ahead of me. The day I broke the health clause was the day I realized that though this work is important, my personal life is a vital part of my survival here. How can I program our subjects to want, to feel, if I neglect those feelings in myself? It was a breaking point for me, but it had me reach out to my sister for the first time in months, and if I hear back from her, I know a rekindling of our connection would only improve my morale here at the labs. Although that's still up in the air, no one really sends letters anymore.” you shrugged, earning a small chuckle from a few men on the other side of the mahogany moat that separated you. The only suit that seemed unsatisfied with your answers was the man in the middle. 

His eyes hadn't moved from you since you started talking, his scowl had remained firmly planted, the fluorescent lights in the conference room giving each line marking his frown a stark contrast to his pale, illuminated skin. 

“And there’s… nothing else?” his distrust radiated off him, you figured he made a business out of distrust and backstabbing, why would you be any different?

You figured everyone else was happy with your confessions and self-proclaimed loyalty, and most men in the room would be enough to keep you alive today. You would figure out how to survive tomorrow when it came. “No, nothing else,” you shook your head with a controlled earnestness you weren't aware you were capable of, “i failed you the other day, for that, i apologize. But nothing will keep me from progressing our code. Everyday I get closer to creating the future of our species, nothing will convince me that this work isn't vital.” you kept your eyes on his. As far as you were concerned the iced stare of the man across from you was the only gaze in the room. Convince yourself, convince him. 

After a beat, the man in the middle sighed in resignation. “Alright, there's no denying your abilities and knowledge of our projects are useful, but our trust in you has been damaged. In this business, trust is everything.” He looked around the room, eyeing his colleagues for support he knew he already had, “you are suspended for 5 business days without pay. We’ll see how the work continues in your absence. If we make steady progress, you will be terminated. If not, we will welcome you back with open arms and stricter stipulations. Is this clear?” you had half a nervous nod out before he continued, “please keep in mind that this offer we’re giving you is out of generosity and gratitude for what you have already given us. The progress made with you at the helm is far more drastic than your predecessor, but he was disposable. And as much of an improvement to him as you are, you are also disposable.” Your name slipped past his teeth for a final time, sounding more like a threat than anything he had said before. “We’re done. You may leave your badge at the front desk, have a restful week.”

It took all the restraint you had left to keep from laughing right there.

When you got home, you locked every bolt you had on your door, shoved your dresser in front of it, opened the window at the far side of your apartment and lit up a smoke. With every inhale you stared up at the brightest dot in the sky, unsure if it was a satellite or venus, and wondered what the hell being terminated meant in the eyes of S.T.A.R. labs. Though you were kidding yourself, you knew. 

Maybe you could get out of the country? Although S.T.A.R. labs has a facility on every continent. 

Maybe you could fake your death? But how could you get that together in 5 days?

Maybe–

“You know those things can kill you?” the man shouting below you cut off your brainstorming. He was in a white button up, sleeves rolled back to his elbows. His hair covered his forehead in a mop of black curls with thick glasses that met his bangs at his eyebrows. The stranger stood there with a white dog on a leash, which barked up at you. You swore the man was standing on his dog's tail to keep him from jumping up. 

You couldn't see him very well in the darkness, though from the second floor you could hear his dog panting between barks and his quiet attempts to hush his pet, “Maybe mind your own business?” for all you knew, this guy worked for S.T.A.R. labs, seeing you break your contract after apologizing for the same transgression hours ago, “And get your dog to stop yapping!” At this point, you didn't care, you just wanted it all to stop. 

“The smoke bothers him,” the man sighed out, shaking his head, “he can smell that stuff from a mile away, I swear,” 

Done with the conversation, you stubbed your cigarette and blew your last lungful of poison out the window, “there, happy?” 

“Thrilled!” the man smiled back with a genuine enthusiasm that left you feeling nauseous.

You closed the window and started to brush your teeth. The one part of cigarettes you couldn't stand, what they did to your pearls. You were a minute into scrubbing the smoke out of your canines when a playful knock came at your door. You nearly dropped your toothbrush. 

Weapons weren't really a specialty of yours, but creativity was an ally, and a frying pan could be useful. Armed with your cast iron skillet, you crept towards your door, looked into the peephole over the dresser and was surprised to see the man with the dog warped in the view of the fisheye glass. The barking of the mutt on the other side of the door was far louder than it was down on the pavement.

“Go away!” You huffed, “It's weird you came looking for my apartment!" 

“I–im sorry to bother you, miss,” your name coming from him sounded light, normal. Almost too normal for a second, though the fear of how he knew it struck quickly and had your knuckles on the skillet handle turn white, “my names Clark Kent, Lois Lane sent me,”

The way your eyes widened had your whole sense of vision change, shoving the dresser out of the way, unbolting every lock on your door as you opened it and pulled the man and his dog inside, “how does Lois Lane know about me?” you reset your locks and spin around in a panic. But when you really got a look at the man in front of you, the dilemma you were in seemed easy to forget.

‘Fuck me’ you thought, ‘hes cute.’ and he was. 

Clark Kent was attractive, distractingly attractive. He stood tall, not in a way that crowded you, but in a way that urged you to walk towards him for protection. His posture was relaxed yet polite, a gentle warmth radiated off of him that told you he knew this was your space, and that he had to earn his time with you. Clark shot you a small smile that had his sharp jawline turn soft, the lines framing his lips made his presence feel inviting. 

The whiplash from horror to whatever this was made you dizzy, staring at a stranger that was approaching you like a friend. and shockingly a loud part of you felt comfortable having him there, it all demanded questions. 

Little did you know that as he stood in your apartment, trying to keep Krypto from trashing the place, Clark Kent's thoughts were rather similar to yours. As you stood there, eyeing him down with your heart going a mile a minute, Clark felt an odd sense of peace. He had spent his whole life chasing after answers. What kind of man he was, how his powers fit into this world, how he could serve this planet with his abilities; every time he thought he found the answer to one question, a new one popped up in its place. There was always something more to do, more help to give, more answers to find(Lois taught him that); but standing there with you in front of him, his world and questions shrunk down the size of your apartment. If you were the sender, if you were scared because you tried to do the right thing, your paranoia became something strong in you. He saw a fighter in front of him, and as you continued your staring contest, his questions for this story became less about the papers and more about you.

“Im really sorry I scared you,” Clark's earnest words through your train of thought, “and this is going to sound strange, but do you have any raw meat in your fridge?” His question had an urgency in tone that only confused you more. You were starting to wonder if you were in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

 “Uh.. why?” your voice was quiet and scratchy, like you were speaking for the first time since waking up. Suddenly, you were feeling far more self conscious, realizing anyone who saw you would know you were a disaster. You wanted to send him back out and change your ratty sleep shirt, run your face under cool water, keep the puffiness down. But it was too late to change where you were.

“This is Krypto,” Clark gestured down to the hyper ball of fluff beneath him, clawing at your floors with eager restraint, his tongue nearly touching the linoleum while he panted, “he’s not very well trained, it might be a good idea to keep him busy while we talk. I don't want him to break anything, trust me,” Clark let out a humorless laugh and shook his head in disappointment. His voice had a hint of a drawl, it dripped from his words like honey falling from the comb. It had you wanting to jar it up and keep it in the pantry for times of comfort. That thought sent a wave of confusion through you. 

It was alarming how quickly you felt at ease with him, how hearing his voice lowered your heart rate, despite the reason for his presence. “How do you know Lois Lane?” you walked slowly to your fridge, pan still in your grip. “How does she know who I am?”  

Clark's eyes were still on you when the light of your refrigerator bounced off your frame. His eyes traced the lines of your face carefully as you looked for something to keep his dog dormant. The lines along your eyes built shadows the size of scars across your cheeks, the puff and irritated color of your eyelids suggested little sleep in recent days or violent sobbing. Perhaps both. Clark saw the fear and the instinct to stay on edge as you moved; as you looked at him, as you kept the door in sight and your skillet in hand.

Clark watched you throw Krypto a hamburger patty, jumping in your skin as he tore at the offering. You radiated something that screamed ‘all wrong’. like you were a hostage in your own home. He wondered who kept you in this state, and his wondering turned into something uglier. This instinct to make sure whoever made you this way couldn't keep doing it to you or anyone else.  

“Hello?” you prodded Clark lightly with your pan, his eyes had drifted elsewhere, though still in your direction. His tongue ran over his teeth in a frown; he was thinking of something that upset him. “Kent, right?” you poked at him again, finally regaining his focus, “how does Lois Lane know who I am?”

Clark blinked back to you, finding your figure standing a few feet away, eyes darting back and forth between his own, like you were trying to find something beyond him. 

“Well, that's the thing, she doesn't know who you are. She sent me out to find you,” your brows furrowed, and Clark sensed that response left you with more questions than answers. As you opened your mouth to speak, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his press pass and, to your surprise, a familiar manilla envelope, “I work with Lois at the Daily Planet, were you the one that sent her this?” his hand extended, not moving a step closer, he wanted you to come to him, not get cornered into a response. 

His badge swayed lightly on the lanyard, the envelope taking up the rest of Clark's hand. They found you, you were so careful and they found you anyway. “Did you see anyone watching you downstairs?” you asked quickly, your gaze trained on the contents of his grip.

“No.” His response was just as quick, his surety apparent.

“Did anyone follow you up here?”

“No.”

You walked back to the door, looking through the peephole once more. Your vision of the hallway was empty, “how do you know?” you looked back at him.

“I would know, I promise,” Clark nodded towards your couch, “can we sit? Why do you think I was followed?” 

“You can’t promise that,” you hissed, “why did you come here? Is the envelope not enough?”

Clark's eyes widened, “so you sent this?”

Your lips pinched together, trying to keep anything else from slipping out before you were ready. Walking closer to Clark, you held his press pass in your hand, looking at the photo, then looking at him.

You both stood there for a moment, the dim lights in your living room had you move a step closer to observe the man in front of you more thoroughly, but also to confirm the suspicion of the feeling in your gut. He looked confused, a little frazzled; his lips were parted slightly though he was breathing though his nose and his eyes stayed trained on your expression as you took him in. He looked vulnerable, and your eyebrows raised in amazement when you realized what the feeling in your gut was. 

You had butterflies. A crush on a man you met a minute ago.

Your pathetic streak continued.

You dropped his badge and moved over to the couch, collapsing to one end, “you might want to grab your dog another patty,” you nodded your head to his now empty handed pet, “this is gonna take some time. We both have explaining to do.” 

Clark followed your suggestion, throwing Krypo another slab of meat before walking slowly across the room to sit on the other end of the couch. He pulled a pad of paper and pencil from one of his apparently bottomless pants pockets and leaned towards you. You were willing to talk, he wouldn't take that for granted. 

“You sent those to Lios,” Clark pointed his pencil at the papers now residing on your coffee table, “how did you get them?” 

You huffed through your nose, and turned your head to the pack of reds next to you, “does your dog really hate smoke, or was that just your ice breaker?” 

Clark chuckled and shook his head, “no, he's not, but how else would I have gotten your attention?”

Your cigarette was already lined up in your teeth when you responded, “you could have knocked on my door?”

“You would have answered?” Clark's eyes followed your hand as you sparked your lighter and took your first drag. Chipped nail polish, all at the tips, blisters resided on the pads of your fingers. You were working with close hands regularly, but what for? Maybe a mechanic, seamstress, carpenter, casino dealer? Based on your behaviour, the last one felt most plausible to him.

You turned to see another cheeky smile coming for the reporter next to you, constituting a smirk of your own, “no, probably not.” you took another drag and draped your non-smoking hand over the back of the couch, posture becoming more relaxed. “How did you find me, anyway? I was careful.” 

“I know, it took forever to find you, I had to resort to an archaic method,” Clark joked and pointed over to the white furred lunatic that was throwing up scraps of beef with his nose and jumping to catch them. Jumping far higher than any dog should, you noted. “No return address, fingerprints… saliva,” Clark winced at his last word, the extent he goes to find answers often feels invasive when said out loud. It was a part of himself he wrestled with regularly, “Krypto here had to sniff you out. He's got an impressive nose, makes up for his lack of manners,” 

You decided to humor his answer, though you didn't believe it completely, you kept pressing, “does Lois know about your wonder-dog? Does she know you're here right now?” you kept your gaze locked on him, the cigarette barely leaving your mouth. 

“Lois trusts that I can handle these situations… delicately. She's a lot smarter than me, but she knows I have skills she doesn't. I'll bring her whatever you give me, she’ll trust that it's true. Then she’ll take that and bring back something better. We're partners in this, that doesn't come without faith.” the way he spoke about his job, if it felt foreign from your own. A system based on trust at the labs would get you killed. The Daily Planet sounded like a paradise in comparison. “Besides, i think the term ‘superdog’ fits Krypto more,” 

You snorted when the last thought tumbled out of Clark's mouth, though the rest of his explanation left an unorthodox curiosity in you. One you selfishly(or foolishly, take your pick) felt the need to ask about, “Lois Lane, she's your partner… only on this? You speak pretty highly of her for a colleague.” 

you tried to voice your inquiry as casually as possible. It was harmless, in a way. You probably wouldn't see this man again; hell, you might be dead before you got the chance. It was rare to find yourself wanting anything, but you liked his attention, and you wanted to forget about what waited for you outside your apartment for a minute. He had convinced you to talk based on kindness alone, a little flirting couldn't hurt, right?

The question had Clark choking on his next breath, his face growing warm at the change in your tone. When did you become so friendly? Why was his relationship with Lois important? And when did you start looking at him like that?

“Uh, n-no, we’re partners on a lot of projects,” Clark looked down at his shoes, but he felt your amused smile radiating from the other end of the couch, “Lois took me under her wing when I showed up at the Daily Planet. She helps me when I'm lost, kind of like my mentor." He took a deep inhale and faced you, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose before he spoke again, "I think we’re friends, we know a lot about each other. And we’d both like to know more about you,” his last statement came with that boyish smile that seemed encoded in his personality. You shook off the idea of him working like a machine, realizing the lab's work had buried itself in you more than you thought. 

If there was ever a time to reverse the damage you had done, it was now. 

You sighed, realizing you couldn't afford to want anything, it's just not in the hand you were dealt. You took a long drag, nearly reaching the filter before you spoke.

“Those papers, they're mine. It's part of the work I do at S.T.A.R labs,” your eyes found a home staring at your rug. The color faded from the years of sun passing through your window. You didn't doubt it saw the light more than you did. “The lab I work at is underground, the company is working towards cloning and programming their own metahumans. For what, I'm not sure, but they don't want me talking about it.” you stubbed out what was left of your cigarette and lit another. Clark wanted to take the pack from you, to convince you to stop poisoning yourself, but that was a battle he couldn't fight right now. If this is what you needed, he had to let you do it.

You hadn't realized you started shaking, and Clark could tell the nicotine had nothing to do with it. Your body temperature had risen, your heart beating at an irregular rate. When he zeroed in on your lungs, the breaths were shallow. The only deep ones you took were when you were inhaling smoke. It made sense, you had barely said a thing, but every word out of your mouth was an avalanche of evidence against S.T.A.R. labs, and a damning reason for your paranoid behavior. 

“You work there,” he started slowly, trying to stay calm and hide the scribbling of his pencil against the pad. the less noise he made, the better, “but you don't seem like you want to. Why are you still there?”

This time, you felt the tears boil to the surface before they came. Biting your lip to keep the sobs from slipping out; but the second you saw Clark, the earnest reporter with eyes that projected nothing but worry… it all came out.

You two talked for hours that night. You told him everything, the floodgates had opened and you couldn't stop. 

You told Clark how you hadn't expected your promotion, or what the new job had entailed. You told him about officer Alakai, how resigned he was; how the system built by the men who sent you away hours ago had taken any chance at justice you had. You told him about the nameless people in the tubes, how you watched lifeless clones get poked and prodded, and how you were sent the leftovers to study and improve. You told him about the cars that watched you, about your possible termination. You told him about your trust in what Lois had to say, how when you read her work you felt safer. The proof of people fighting for the truth was a far cry away from your own line of work. You told him how desperately you wanted to get out, and how you feared for your life.

Somewhere in all of it, you both had slipped to sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. Krypto, having gone through all the meat in your house, was laying belly up, lightly snoring. You occasionally reached out to rub his tummy. 

All the while, Clark kept writing; kept reassuring you that your identity would remain anonymous. Every time he did, you told him it didn't matter. They would know, it would be too coincidental for them not to. You told him if he wanted, he could publish your name and picture and your chances of staying alive would remain unchanged. You meant it as a joke, a bitter laugh coming out with a puff of smoke(you had nearly gone through the pack), and to your surprise, he gripped your hand and promised that you would be safe no matter what. 

Your knuckles felt warm under his palm. They steady reassurance he kept through the entire interview. And as much as you wanted to believe him, you couldn't, “you can't promise that,” you rolled your eyes, “you keep doing that shit, making promises to a stranger." you pulled your hand slowly from under his, savoring the brush of his fingertips against your wrist.

The longer you talked to Clark the more charmed and annoyed you became by him. He was sweet. So fucking sweet. It was easy to learn things about him from how he talked, from what he had shared with you. The interview felt less one sided as time went on. You learned he got the twang in his accent from Kansas, how his parents and their farm taught him the importance of hard work, caring for details, valuing life even when it's lost. He was a believer in justice, accountability, saving those who can't save themselves. 

It was cute, but a bit naive. Thinking everyone had a bit of good in them, it's just not a sustainable way to live. People hurt people, many times on purpose; but you know that even when someone has the best intentions, plans can still crash and burn and your fellow man can still betray you. 

Even when they don't mean to. 

“I’d hardly say we’re strangers now,” Clark leaned back and rested his head on the couch cushion, "I don't usually talk with strangers until five in the morning,” he took his glasses off and gently kneaded at the bridge of his nose. He once again adorned a goofy smile as he tilted his head to look back at you, his sunken eyes resembling yours more and more by the minute. The thought of him growing your tired traits made your heart sink. No one should have to grow exhausted from your problems. 

But he was right, you weren't strangers anymore, it felt stronger than that. 

You left your cigarette in the ashtray before leaning over and brushing the hair from his eyes, a bittersweet smile accompanying your gesture, “you should sleep, clark.” 

You were a bit too out of it to realize how you were affecting him, but Clark felt like he was ready to combust from the feeling of your hand, half-polished nails lightly scratching at his scalp. It felt electric when you touched him, your eyes unguarded and looking at him like his well being mattered. It had his pulse quicken, this softer side of you, but he should have seen this coming. This effect you had on him, it reared its head several times over your hours together. In quieter moments, when the confessions lightened up for a second so you could breathe; you asked about him, and he asked about you. 

He told you about his small high school, how the football team felt like family to him. You told Clark about growing up in Metropolis, a city so big you could never be alone and yet could still feel so lonely. He told you about feeling different his whole life, in ways he admitted he couldn't tell you. You told him about how your dad fucked off when you were 14(your words) because your mom was diagnosed with cancer. 

You told Clark about how your sister left when she turned 18; about skipping school so you could take your mom to chemo appointments, how she got hooked on oxy and turned to heroin when the tumor in her pancreas grew in spite of the doctor's predictions. 

You told this stranger how your mom died with a needle in her arm while you were at coding camp when you were 19. How you found her on the floor of your childhood bathroom a week later. 

You told him everything, like it was your last confession. 

And he listened, watched you as you talked, how the topics turned darker and more personal as you tried to forget about your current predicament. You told him all you knew was loss, and how you wanted to keep that from being the case for others. Clark listened to you recount cutting everyone out of your life, not that you had many people to begin with. Concerned professors, wary students. You were a national merit scholar who graduated college 2 years early, with no one to clap for you at graduation. 

Clark saw what they did to you, what S.T.A.R labs saw when you got recruited. They saw a brilliant mind they could run like a machine. Take your good intentions and twist them to fit their agenda. You were halfway through your story about how they recruited you when that realization dawned on him. He gripped the couch arm so hard, he would've broken it without the conscious effort to control himself.

Sometimes, it felt like he was living in a world of cardboard.

Clark saw how you listened, too. When it was his turn to share. He found himself telling you things he hadn't said to a living soul. Maybe Gary, once or twice. You listened as he told you that he sometimes got scared of himself, of his habits and strength. You nodded your head in recognition as he explained his pathological instinct to push things farther than they should go, and how he, trying to solve problems, often made bigger ones. 

He felt your genuine admiration as he told you about his life at the Daily Planet, how Metropolis took a long time to feel like home, how making friends is easy, but keeping them is far more difficult and painful for him. 

“But you're still doing it,” you said, leaning back against the sofa, “all that doubt, all that experience, and you still hold out hope and fight for the better. That's hard, but you do it. Thats fuckin’ impressive, Clark. You should take pride in that.” your admiration shouldn't have sent shockwaves through his system, but it did. Your attention on him felt like a high, filling his brain and flooding his body. He didn't know compliments could feel that good. 

“You could do it too,” Clark reassured, leaning closer, his voice soft as to not wake Krypto. “you tried to, you just landed in the wrong place.”

When he said that, you started to cry again, and the only time Clark left your side was to get you tissues, the gum from your purse, and a glass of water. 

No. You weren't strangers anymore. 

So there you were, two non-strangers sitting on the floor, exhausted.

Your hand was still resting against him when an idea popped into your head. You weren't one to make bold choices, but you hadn't been acting ordinary these days. So you asked the question that had rooted in your mind for the last few hours.

 “Come to bed with me?” The question was quiet but spoke volumes as your hand shifted from his forehead to cradle his jaw, softly directing his head to look at you. His stunned but not disgusted expression kept you going, "I don't want to be alone, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of not asking for the things I want.” 

Clark's mind was racing, but his body remained frozen. Had he heard you right? It almost felt like a dream, the way such odd questions in succession could feel ordinary, how he didn't even feel like questioning the situation he found himself in. 

You were beautiful, and you learned more about him that night than others find out in years, and you asked him to join you for the night. He didn't want to question it, but he knew he had to. This wasn't a dream, after all.

When he spoke, Clark's words came out in whispers, not moving as your face slowly started to lean in, "I'm not sure if this is what you want. your scared and–”

Your lips crashed into his, cutting off his words and silencing his concerns. You tasted like smoke and watermelon bubblegum. Clark could have sworn he felt a buzz from the nicotine leftover on your tongue as it swiped at his bottom lip. Clark, on the other hand, tasted like spearmint and something deeper, something chemical in him that brought out a subtle sweetness. 

So he's sweet everywhere. You noted and smiled lightly into the kiss. 

You pressed your weight forward as your hand combed through the hair on the nape of his neck, earning a gasp from Clark. That had his body jumping into action, trying to steady himself with a hand on your hip, leaning into your advances like a man starved. Opening his mouth to satiate your curiosity, you pulled him in closer, pressing against his chest and exploring the warmth behind his teeth. His attempts at retaliation were soft but persistent, his tongue swirling around yours and reversing the dynamic between you. You let out a whimper when his teeth lightly dragged along your tongue, reminding you that there were benefits to letting people in, allowing the chance for another person to surprise you.

And the way Clark Kent kissed, well, it surprised you.   

You nipped at his lower lip as you pulled away, looking down at your non-stranger. His pupils were blown, his chest heaved with attempts to regain air, and you smiled with a warmth you can only assume you contracted from his infectious charm. “Doing that, and seeing you like this is the only thing I'm sure I want.” You pressed your forehead to his, breath still catching up with you, “now the only question left is, do you want me?”

Clarks grip became lighter, not leaving your hip completely, but reducing pressure to rub small circles into your side, he chuckled softly, almost to himself, “I do, I promise,” there he goes again. “But this isn't how I want to do it. I don't want to be something you ask for only if you think your world is ending.” he pulled his head a bit to get a better look at your eyes. They were wide, remnants of tears still blinking on your lashes, the stress from lack of sleep more noticeable than the last time he checked. “Maybe sleep is the best advice for the both of us,” 

Your eyelids closed lightly as you sighed out your nose. He was right, of course he was. It was all too fast, and he was a creature of care. Your health seemed to be his priority, “would you still join me? I don't feel safe by myself,” you didn't know if Clark would say yes just to be polite, for all you knew, he had plants to water at home. But you were feeling selfish, you were feeling greedy; and under his gaze, you found yourself feeling safer than you had in weeks. You didn't want to say goodbye to him yet.

And luckily enough, Clark found himself feeling the same way. wanting to hold you, feel your heart slow as you found sleep, to wake up with you beside him when the sun came up. It was hard for him to justify wanting those things, to feel like he wasn't harping on someone desperate. But you asked for this, you said it and meant it. And when you looked at him so honestly, how could he ever think of denying you? 

“Alright, I'll join you,” Clark leaned into the nape of you neck and brushed at your ear with his nose, “but you're brushing your teeth first,”

You barked out a laugh a little too loud with Clark’ ear that close to your mouth, astounded he could chastise you with such a caring tone. You slapped a hand over your mouth as you tried to stand up, using his shoulders as leverage. Clark didn't miss how you griped at his muscles, but he was courteous enough to not mention it(It had nothing to do with how his ears started to heat up, no siree. He was normal and levelheaded about all of it, totally).

“I have an extra toothbrush if you want to freshen up,” you called as you stumbled your way towards your bathroom. Clark was close behind, making sure if you fell, he would be there to catch you.

“Are you asking me to move in already?” Clark joked, "I thought we were strangers,” 

You watched in your mirror how he leaned against the open door frame of the bathroom, arms crossed. He took up the entire doorway, and you knew you were staring, but you didn't stop. 

“Nah, I only ask people to move in after I know the dick is good, not just in theory,” as the steady rhythm of you scrubbing your teeth took over the room, Clark wondered if the ground could swallow him whole. 

He looked away, finding the trim of your baseboards interesting, clearing his throat, “you got a theory, huh?” 

You spat the toothpaste into the sink and nodded your head, turning around and leaning against the basin, "I mean, based on how your making me wait for it, I assume it's quite the showstopper,” you padded out of the bathroom, squeezing past the statue of a man frozen in place. 

“Are you always this forward?” he called, walking into the bathroom himself and finding your extra toothbrush behind the door of your medicine cabinet. “Or am I just special?” 

You were glad Clark couldn't see the smile splitting across your face as you picked up your nearly empty pack of reds. The last cigarette and your contingency plan rattled around inside the carton.

“Id say it has more to do with the unique situation we find ourselves in. though you truly are like no one I've ever met,” walking back to the bathroom, you mirror Clark's former position. Leaning against the door and watching him bend over the sink to spit out the last of the toothpaste. It did feel oddly domestic, a feeling unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

His eyes met yours in the mirror, staying locked on each other for a second before his eyes caught sight of the carton in your hand. “Are you really about to ruin all your hard work from a second ago?” 

He raised an eyebrow and turned towards you. You shook your head lightly and held your hand out to him. “This is in case I don't see you when I wake up. I want you to have this,” 

Clark looked into the contents of the pack you were holding, and he saw it. The inside of the device next to your last cigarette. The shape of a lighter, the wiring of a usb drive. You still had more to give him, and his heart swelled at your discretion. 

Clark knew what this was, but he couldn't tell you how. Opting to try and get you to tell him yourself, "I don't smoke.” 

“No, of course you don't," you smiled back at his furrowed expression, “but you'll need this, I promise,” you shook the carton a bit, relieved when Clark took it with caution, like the cardboard would dissolve in his hand.

“Now who's making promises?” he tucked the pack into his shirt pocket before he started unbuttoning the fabric. Your mouth went dry as his shirt fell from his shoulders and he hung it on the back of your bathroom door.

“Jesus Christ man, you're trying to kill me before S.T.A.R. labs does,” you started walking backwards towards your bedroom, not taking your eyes off of Clark for a second.

“Thats’s not funny,” Clark chastised, though the amused grin on his face indicated otherwise. As embarrassing as it was, he really liked your blatant attention. You were starting to hide fewer and fewer things from him, and it made Clark wonder if he could start hiding less and less from you. “So… bedtime?"

You nodded, "I'm starting to wonder if we’ll both fit.” 

Clark pulled back your comforter and sat down on the left side of your bed. You watched him get comfortable like it this was the only place he should be, “you could always just lie on top of me if it's that big of an issue,”

“I know you're joking, but don't tempt me,” you warned, sliding in next to him on the right side.

“Im not joking.”

You now lay face to face with a man who you didn't know a few hours ago, his impatient dog still snoring in the next room. Heat radiated off of Clark, the warmth trapped under your sheets, you prayed it still lingered when he left. 

“You smell like my toothpaste,” you whispered, eyelids growing heavy. You fought to keep them open just a bit longer.

“Go to sleep,” Clark murmured back, exhaustion taking over his body. Holding onto your waist and pulling him closer to him was the last thing he remembered before darkness took over. 

You woke up at 9 a.m. with an arm around your waist and the sound of shredding metal coming from your kitchen. You shot up, causing Clark to stir beside you, hair somehow even more fluffed up than it was the night before.

“Clark, someone's out there,” you whispered, shaking him violently.

Clark propped himself up on his forearms and craned his neck towards the door, still feeling the effects of sleep. He squinted a bit before his eyebrows shot up and he leapt out of bed at an inhumane speed, “Krypto!” 

“The fuck-,” you flipped your covers over and rushed through your now open door to the kitchen. You didn't know what shocked you more, the fact that a dog was tunneling through your refrigerator or that Clark knew what he was doing with a door blocking his vision. “Oh, my security deposit is so fuckin’ gone. Kent!”

Clark took the cue and grabbed his dog by the scruff of his neck, moving Krypo to lay on the floor, “You can't do this,” Clark used his free hand to point to the fridge. The dog, unaware of his scolding, continued to smile and pant up at him, “this isn't our house, boy! Do you know how rude this is?” 

“Why are you not surprised by your dog's ability to break through metal?” you stood next to your broken appliance, taking a closer look at the claw marks that cut through the door. The cold air was disappearing, the wiring clearly gnawed through. “Clark, how did you know he did this before seeing it? Has he done this before?” 

“Yeah, he's torn my place to literal shreds before,” Clark answered absentmindedly, still trying to keep Krypto from flying though the roof, “I should've known he would do this, but I didn't plan for us to stay this long.” he started to rush his words. Talking to himself, more than anything, "I thought we would be here for three hours at most, then we started talking and then- oh gosh- you kissed me and I was a goner I didn't even think about-”

“Clark, how can he do this?” you cut through his words, crouching down to his level. He finally looked up from his dog to you with a face full of guilt. It made your heart swell. “Dont hate yourself, last night didn’t go as anyone expected. im just curious about this… superdog of yours,” you sat down on the floor, scratching behind Krypros ears. As if he recognized you, Krypto rolled over, giving you an expecting look.

You scratched at his stomach and shot Clark a similar gaze of expectation, waiting for an answer.

Around the third hour of talking the night prior– around the time he should have left– Clark decided he would tell you he was superman. Not then, but soon. He liked you, he respected you, he wanted to get to know you better for as long as he could. And he wanted you to know him completely. Clark wanted your opinion on superman, he wanted you to ask for his help, he wanted to see the look on your face when he told you he could fly. You were hard to predict, and that's why he wanted you to know so badly. 

Clark Kent was down so heckin bad. 

To have the opportunity present itself, it felt like an act of God.

“Krypto’s from my home planet, we have extra strengths here,” Clark smiled shyly, watching the gears turn in your head.

His smile turned to entertainment as he saw it click.

“Krypto… Krypton,” you looked from Clarks dog to Clark, astonished, “you’re– oh my god im so fuckin stupid,” you slapped you palms to your eyes, groaning, trying to reboot your system, “oh my god, of course you are, you look just like him–you,” your palms slide down your face as you put more and more of the pieces together. Clark had joined you and Krypto on the floor, he started to laugh lightly as you malfunctioned, “Holy shit, that's right! You're the Daily Planet guy that gets all those quotes from Superman! Jesus Christ, am i blind? Does everyone at your job know? they must, right?” 

Clark picked Krypto up and held him in his lap, holding him hostage in the politest way possible, “Only Lois,” Clark shook his head, his boyish smile lining his features yet again. ““You only see the resemblance now because I'm not wearing my glasses, it's tech that tricks your perception a bit. Also from home,” his gaze shot upwards. And it was there that you realized that Clark Kent was exactly the same in the daylight: sweet, thoughtful, and distractingly attractive. 

It made sense that he was from another planet. 

“That fear you were talking about last night,” you said, “it was heavier than you let on. I can't imagine how hard it must be to be as gentle as you are.”

Clark turned his head back to you, his smile becoming bittersweet, "I try to be, but sometimes there are mistakes, miscalculations. It's hard.”

You slide over next to him, nudging his shoulder, “But you still do it. You recognize your power and you use them with integrity. That's kind of crazy, if you think about it.” you chuckled, "Believe me, I know what a misuse of power looks like; we need as much benevolent strength as we can get. That's you, Clark.” you poke his bare chest, forgetting that's how he went to sleep.

But it all came back to you then. with context. 

“Superman saw me in my ratty ass pj’s,” you murmured to yourself. Clark shot out a bark of bubbly laughter. “Did I really make out with superman last night?” you turn to Clark, who was still shaking with humor. “And I asked if you wanted to fuck me, oh my god. Actually, S.T.A.R. labs, if your watching me, you can just take me out right now–”

“Dont joke like that,” Clark chastised, calling your name as you stood up and quickly made your way to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you, “Nothings different, i wanted to, its fine-” 

Clark cut himself off when he saw that you closed your door to change your clothes. He blinked and spun around, heat creeping to his face, cursing his Xray vision.

Sometimes he didn't know how to turn it off. 

He turned back to look at you when he heard your door open, cheeks still on fire. You, now in a t-shirt and boot cut jeans, were standing there with his shirt, notebook, and press pass in hand, “You wanted to, huh?” 

Cark took his shirt as you knelt down to pet Krypto, giving him a moment to slip his arms through his sleeves and buttoning up. “I said I did, didn't I?" Clark murmured at his feet. He found it hard to look at your face. The amusement in your voice was already overwhelming.

“You promised you did.” you said with the dumbest grin you've ever had. “Do you still?” 

Clark nodded, “more than before,”

“Really?”

“Its nice to see your face in the daylight. I was wondering.”

“Wondering what?” you stood up, passing Krypto back to his guardian when his items were back in their respective pockets.

“How happy I would be when you looked at me properly,” Clark hoisted his dog in one arm, meeting your eyes once more. “I didn't know I could feel like this with a stranger."

Suddenly you found yourself feeling as shy as Clark did earlier, but you kept his gaze on his, “We’re not strangers anymore, Clark."  

And like the night before, you two stood there, staring in silence; the only sounds coming from Krytos wagging tail hitting Clark's side, and the slow wheezing of your dying kitchen appliance. His eyes were blue, not like ice, like a lake in the summer. Sparkling, inviting, assuring you that the water’s fine, it was warmed up by the sun. a deep blue you could find yourself sinking into. 

Then there was a third sound, Krypto barking at Clark with urgency. The man in question looked down with recognition, and then back to you with a look of apology. “He has to go to the bathroom. It's actually kind of a miracle he hasn't gone already,” he looked around the room, as if to double check. “Do you think you'll be okay for a few minutes? I'll be back in a jiff, i promi-” 

You cut him off once more by tugging at his collar and pulling him down for a kiss. It was quick but filled with intention, like you were trying to send a message. Clark didn't hesitate to respond this time, using his free hand to hold you by the waist, angling his body to keep Krypto out of it. Morning breath be damned, you swore it was one of the best kisses of your life.

You pulled away as quickly as you came, “you promise, I know. I believe you. Go walk your dog, man.” 

Clark’s grin grew so wide you were worried his jaw would fall off. He was right, it felt good to have him look at you in the daylight.

“Superman, actually.”

“Just go walk him, dumbass.”  

Your door clicked shut, your three locks clicked after it. You stood with your back to the door, leaning your whole body weight on it. The smile on your face had not dissipated, because the room still had the energy of the moment before floating around. 

This was good. This was amazing.

Not just because Clark Kent was a trusted employee of Lois Lane, not because he had your flashdrive, not because he was Superman. but because Clark Kent looked at you in a way that made you feel stupid. And for some fuckin reason, you made him feel stupid, too. His lips were soft and eager, and you couldn't remember that last time a kiss left your lips prickling with the electricity of ‘what’s next?’

You would have stayed that way, pressed against the door, waiting with a smile, hopeful for the future; but that's not how your life tends to go. It's never that easy.

The far more likely scenario happened, the one you were expecting last night. Something heavy was thrown through your bedroom window, something emanating teargas that filled the apartment far too quickly. 

They had come for you, of course they had.

Your eyes began to sting as you grasped for your phone, rushing to find the contact you made weeks ago. S.T.A.R. labs smoking you out, and as much as you knew you were falling into their trap, you tugged the door open and rushed down the hall. Tossing your phone back into your apartment, gasping for a clean breath with the dial tone still ringing. The second you turned the corner, everything went black.

Clark knew he shouldn't have stopped for bagels. He knew it would add more time to his absence, but Krypto ate all your food and he figured it had been awhile since someone had taken care of you. And Clark knew you wouldn't take care of yourself. He walked back with food in his grip and a spring in his step, already imagining the smile on your face when you saw that breakfast came back with him. 

As usual, his best intentions came to bite him in the neck.

As soon as your open door came into his field of vision, his joy was quickly replaced with panic. He dropped Krypto's leash and left him to dive into the bagels as Clark ran into your apartment to find it empty, turned over, and filled with a thinning smog. Your keys and wallet were all still there, but your laptop was missing from your coffee table. Your phone was laying in the middle of the floor lit up with your contacts page.

“Dont move,” a voice behind him spoke sternly, “put your hands behind your head and get on your knees.”

Clark shot his hands up and turned around before lowering himself to the ground. The man in front of him was in uniform, body camera on, and his gun drawn.

“How do you know the woman in this apartment?” The officer's voice was deep, heavy with distrust, but Clark heard a tremor being masked in it all. 

“Im her friend,” he started slowly, “my name is Clark Kent, I was bringing her breakfast. I think she was abducted.”

The officer sighed and holstered his gun, “do you have I.D. on you?”

Clark nodded quickly and fumbled for his press pass, "I think her company did this to her–”

“S.T.A.R. labs, I know,” the officer, whose badge read Alakai, looked over Clark's pass and handed it back, “she came to me a few weeks ago, I told her this could happen if she kept going. She called me.” 

“You talked to her?”

Alakai shook his head, “no one was on the line, but it makes sense with this scene.” He walked through your apartment slowly, pointing his camera at the state of your home. “I called for backup. We couldn't do anything with the papers she brought us last month, but this is now an abduction case. We don't need a warrant for this investigation,” Alakai offered Clark a hand up, and as soon as he was on his feet, he was out the door. 

“Im going to try to get a camera crew down there,” he called out, grabbing Krypro's leash, "I don't want any funny business.”

Clark left the building and rounded the corner, he would regret flying without his suit later, but he had to be quick. He shot off to the fortress, dropped Krypo off, gave him a pat on the head, and flew back in a new outfit. 

Running into the Daily Planet, Clark was visibly sweating. The second Lois caught a glance of droplets on his forehead, she knew he had something good to give her. 

The stakes of the situation were what she wasn't prepared for. 

“She just gave these to you?” Lois rushed after Clark after he slapped the drive on her desk and turned on his heel. 

He tried his best to explain quickly. How he found you, what your job was, how you were in trouble. Lois took it in stride, knowing her lingering questions could wait.

“Not exactly.” Clark pressed the button for the elevator, his hand tapping against his leg for an anxious outlet, “it took awhile for her to trust me enough. Makes sense given what's happened,” the door slid open with a ding! Clark stepped inside, Lois following him in. 

“And our buddy’s gonna do something about it?” she whispered at him, there were a few other people in the elevator; albeit, caught up in their own worlds. 

“She’s probably scared,” Clark justified, though he doubted Lois needed much convincing on this, “and she thought I was coming back. I promised.”

Lois eyed Clark with suspicion, quickly turning to intense disappointment. “Oh my god, Clark, you can’t sleep with a source!” she hissed through her teeth. Her attempt at secrecy was fruitless, a few heads in the elevator turned at the sound of a scandal.

“I didn’t!” Clark kept the hushed tone, a bit offended. The elevator reached the ground floor, “but… she matters. I care about her, and if it was anybody else, I would still do this.”

Lois shook her head with a smirk, "I don't doubt that. I'm sending Jimmy and 2 camera techs to the labs, he's actually excited to do some field work.” She followed her protégé off the elevator, Clark nodding absentmindedly. “And you guys better promise to stay PG until the exposé is published, you hear me?”

“Got it!”

Clark rushed out the lobby and around the corner before he shot off to your facility.

He just prayed that's where you were.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the smell. It was a combination of sterile cleaning products, dust that lingered on the vents, and cryogenic fluid. It smelled so fucking familiar. Opening your eyes, you found yourself staring at your monitors, the woman you were used to being parallel with was gone. A small creature resembling a humanoid lizard had taken her place. You tried to reach out, try to confirm where you were, but your hands were zip tied to the arms of your chair. Your legs had a matching set around the footrest.

“Where is she?” you croaked out. Not sure if anyone was around to hear you. 

You were surprised you weren't dead. When the reality of your abduction set in, you expected the next thing you would see was the barrel of a gun, maybe a silencer if they wanted to keep it neat, surrounded by tarps. You didn't consider that they would bring you back to work.

“Who were you expecting?” a cold voice rang behind you, the scratched baritone rang across the steel walls on one end of the room and landed flat against the concrete walls on the other. You recognized it, you had heard it only yesterday.

“Man in the middle?” you asked, “Is that you?”

“Mr. Slate.” He said simply. His tailored frame walked into your field of vision, sitting at the edge of your desk. He refused to bend down to your level and you refused to look up at him. You stayed looking forward, you stayed silent. He continued, “Quite the trick you pulled yesterday. Pandering to us. Tell me, where did you learn to lie so well?”

Your eyes stayed on the creature ahead of you, your mouth stuffed with cotton and sewn shut. 

Slate took a sharp inhale through his nose, amused by your insolence.

“When my grandfather founded this research organization, his philosophy was very similar to that shit you spewed yesterday.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked around your desk. He took his time weaving through the cryogenic vessels, admiring his legacy. “Building a future he could control, creating perfection out of imperfect beings. If he saw all of this though,” he waved to the tubes, "I'm honestly not sure if he would think his work had gone too far.”

Knowing he was enjoying himself too much, you broke your silence. “Where’s the woman you had in there before?”

“What woman?”

“5’ 6”, redhead, muscle mass always under 30%,” you listed off everything you could remember about her: mechanics, wiring. It made you feel like a monster. “You had me pump her full of norepinephrine, you guys wanted her angry.”

Your tone became whiny at his silence. Slate was losing patience as fast as you were, “I don't concern myself with every test we have down here. She's probably incinerated at this point.” 

Your eyes closed in resignation, your heart dropped to your stomach. Of course they killed her. Hell, they would just grow her anew, stuff her with shit no one should be near and kill her again when it didn't work out. If at first you don't succeed… 

“Dont cry for her,” Slate reprimanded, spotting the water littering your lashes, “whatever you thought you saw in that woman, it wasn't real. She was a failed hypothesis, and with your help, we can take what we learned from her failure and build something better.”

Slate sat back down at your desk, this time moving your keyboard and placing himself in front of you. “We can look past your transgressions. The smoking, the lies, spending the night with the reporter. A very stupid move, by the way. You think a correspondent in print media will stop all we've done?” your blood ran cold. You knew they were watching, but god, it was humiliating to hear out loud. Slate carried on, fueling his own ego as he ramped up to his final request. “No, as it turns out. The only thing blocking our progress was your suspension.”

He moved for the last time, sliding your keyboard back to its rightful place in front of you. 

“Your coworkers spent the last twelve hours trying to figure out how the fuck your system works. You have very complicated measures in place, they had no idea they were draining the tubes though your sequences until there were visible level drops in them. I have to admit, I respect your dedication to secrecy, whether you'd like to hear that or not.”

You didn't like hearing it. You didn't like where this was all going. As ashamed as you were to realize it, it was true that death was a consequence you could look forward to. It would be final, all of this would have been over. But Slate wasn't trying to kill you, he was trying to keep you here for as long as you remained useful. And he was telling you your value.

“Heres what's going to happen. You're going to stay here, you're going to keep working on the experiments assigned to you.” Slate said all this as he dug into his pocket and slowly unfolded a small hunting knife. You flinched as he moved closer to you. “You’ll never see the sun again, and the day you fulfill all projects, or teach someone to do them better, we’ll put you out of your misery.”

The serrated edge of his knife cut through the plastic restraining your wrists. It could be so easy just to reach out and grab it, the gleam of the polished blade started to glimmer like hope…

“And if you think of doing something else ridiculous, if you refuse to do your job, we can always contact your sister and bring her down to motivate you. Did you know she has a son now?” 

You turned your head to face Slate for the first time, scanning his face for any clue that might tell you the validity of his statement. Curious, desperate; that's how he wanted you, on the edge of your seat.

“No, of course you didn't, you haven't spoken to Angela in years.” Slate chuckled as he folded his knife back down and rolled you over to your monitors, “she has a lovely little house in New Jersey. Yellow with a sage green trim. My best inquirer said she makes a killer cup of coffee.”

Any thought you had to get out of the lab disappeared as white-hot rage bubbled through your system. Your attempts to fight back were pathetic, trying to swivel around and hop closer to the architect of your biggest fear. Fears you didn't even know you had. 

“You fucking bastard, dont you dare touch her! You hear me? i’ll fucking kill you!”

“Thats adaroble, but so very untrue,” Slate shook his head, a pitying smile on his thin lips. “You don't want me to interfere with Angela's life?” he turned you back to your desk and pushed you in so hard the edge hit your ribs. He leaned down you your ear, wrinkled hands clutching your hunched shoulders, “Do your fucking job.”

He gave you a harsh pat on the back before walking out of the lab.

And there you sat, plastic digging into your ankles, weighing your options. They had your family– and fuck– Angela had a kid. Of course she did, she always wanted to be a mother, not that she had much care for the one she had. Your mind shot back to the tea parties she begged you to be a part of, introducing her teddy bear as her kid, asking if her “aunt” would be able to refill the cup. ‘She’s a baby, she could burn herself.’ Angela always reminded you how delicate younger people could be. 

Now you felt too much like that teddy bear: patronized, stuck to your seat, this close to a fire that could burn not just you, but family you've never met.

It broke your heart that you would never get to. 

But Slate never mentioned the drive, and he never mentioned Clark's secret. You had checked your apartment for bugs when you got home, the labs had ample time to plant some. You found nothing, but that didn't hinder your suspicions. But now, you knew they didn't have audio, they didn't hear your conversations. 

And Clark would have seen the mess they left behind in your abduction. You knew he came back, he wouldn't have promised otherwise. Superman knew you were missing, Lois Lane would soon know everything you did, and S.T.A.R labs and Slate seemed to be none the wiser. 

You were going to die, but there was a good chance Clark could help your sister and her family before Slate got to them. 

And just like that, a new plan formed in your mind. You were going to break everything.

Your monitors lit up, unsurprised to see you back. It didn't shock you that the others couldn't see past your systems without tripping safeguards, you were a careful person. Your skills in coding were underutilized at the labs, putting you in with the bioweapons division. You were a hacker, you could build worlds with a few lines of directives. Or you could topple empires from the bedrock. 

Within minutes, you were inside the building's internal alarm system. The sprinklers, the lights, the elevators, you owned it all. Keeping those directives to one monitor, you focused your work on the tubes in front of you.

The fluid they kept these people in, it was expensive. You saw on a revenue report two weeks ago that it cost $3,200 an ounce to produce. It would be a huge dent in the company's budget to lose any of it, and you were about to realize all of it.

But you had to get your legs free first. Chaos was often about timing, cascading failures caused the most damage when the plane was 30,000 feet in the air. At this point, you were still on the ground. You had to cut yourself loose. 

You rolled around your desk, clutching to the wood for leverage, they lab had no pens, no blades, the fuckers cleared out the sharp objects before you came back. But there had to be something.

Angela's voice rang in your ears. C’mon bitch, get creative. 

You gave yourself a resounding push, rolling over to the appliance table. Materials used to patch up physical malfunctions. Scanning the contents, you lit up when you found thin copper wire.

Jackpot. 

You ran the wire back and forth against your ties until they snapped loose, the blood rushing back to your feet. You stayed sitting while they woke up, rolling back to your monitors all queued for your suicide mission.

Showtime. 

With a few strokes of your keys, the lights above you turned red, a blaring siren echoed throughout the basements, and the glowing basins before you started to drain slosh all over the floors.

You unlocked the large doors holding you hostage, grabbed your laptop that had been left for you, and started to dash for the exit. 

The alarm you triggered was for a chemical leak. An emergency that demanded evacuation. A monotone voice rang out from the ceiling. 

Attention, a malfunction has caused a toxic gas to spread past its holding, please make your way outside in an orderly fashion. 

Anyone who had the lab's schematics in front of them knew it was bullshit, but you made it so no one could shut the alarm down or take over the PA system to correct the warning. 

Everyone else was rushing with a panic, including the guards taking station outside your lab. They would be radioed soon, told of the trick, being berated to see where you had gone. But you figured you had a 30 second window, and you would use that time wisely. Everyone was heading for the stairs, running up as fast as they could; you grabbed a lab coat hanging off the back of a chair and joined the crowd. Two stories up, the entire building shook. Everyone around you screamed and got down, and you joined them. That wasn't you.

For a moment you thought back to the tubes. Did they all wake up, were they tearing the labs down? It wouldn't be the worst thing, but it might cause a much larger problem. One that could hurt the innocent.

Against your better judgement, against everything screaming in your head to get out, you started to run back down to your floor. 

You learned quickly that the creatures weren't conscious yet, hallways leading to your lab undamaged. You also learned that Slate and 4 armed guards were waiting for you. You heard him before you rounded the corner, his once teasing tone filled with panicked contempt, “Find her! I want that cunt’s head on a fucking stick!” you heard objects being thrown alongside a hurried chant of yes sir! Boots were hitting the ground and you were out of time. 

Another rattle to the building hit, with the ceiling bursting open and a blur of red and blue coming down. “Y’know, you shouldn't talk about people that way, Mr. Slate.” 

His tone was one of genuine suggestion, and the second you heard it your heart fluttered. He came for you, of course he did. Your head peaked from behind the corner and as if he had a sixth sense, Clark turned around to meet your eyes. 

Goddamn, he really was Superman. 

“There she is, fucking fire!” Slate pointed towards you, screaming like a spoiled child, completely ignoring the superhero in the middle of it all. Shots rang out as you ducked back behind the wall and covered your ears, shrapnel nicking your clothes and skin. 

Before the next round went off a gust of wind blew through Slate's army, Clark speeding by and taking the automatic weapons from their grip. 

“You should know, Mr. Slate,” Clark started, bending the guns in his grip, “Local and state police are outside, your employees are rushing out the front door, and a camera crew is covering it all, more undoubtedly on their way.” Clark's smile made its way up to his eyes, the early starting of crows feet becoming prominent. “And the only way she's leaving is with me, alive.” 

“Shut the fuck up you goddamn alien!” Slate looked about ready to pull his hair out. You watched his breakdown as you came out of hiding, taking your place behind the man who had done nothing but fulfill his promises. “You can't stop this! Nothing has changed! I’m the fucking future!” 

His grandiose claims left you rolling your eyes as you took a step forward. You were starting to wonder if all billionaires acted this way. “Angela, you have her address. I want it,” your eyes stayed on him as Slate's head shot to your direction.

He started to rush towards you, Clark taking a step forward but you held your hand up. “You bitch, you'll never see her again. You sister, your nephew, they're going to die. I promise you.” Slate was an inch from your face, trying his best to intimidate, but all you saw now was a man who was told his whole life that money was power. This was a man who didn't like losing, and you had won. His temper tantrum was a flagship of your victory. 

“Superman?” you called playfully behind you, “could you please take his phone?” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Clark smiled at you, eyes meeting for a quick moment. His hand touched your back gently as he walked in front of you, giving a small squeeze to communicate, I'm glad you're okay. He leaned into Slate's ear. “You could hand it to me, or I could shake it out of you.” 

The man from the middle kept his eyes on you, nostrils flaring, teeth grinding against each other. It reminded you of your time at the police station, outrage slowly melting into resignation. Slate was entitled, but he wasn't stupid. Reality was setting in and his company just got tanked by some girl with a laptop and a being with power beyond his wealth. 

With a huff, Slate handed you his phone, and Clark held him by the wrists and began to walk him towards the elevators. You walked with him. 

“Hey, would you be able to release the lockdown?” he asked you, a shine of admiration in his eyes, "I don't really want to fly him up there.”

You blinked, forgetting for a moment the chaos you caused. “Oh! Um, yeah, I can. Sorry,” you typed on your laptop hurriedly, a bit embarrassed as the blaring overhead stopped.

“Dont be sorry,” Clark reassured, pressing the button to go up, “It’s insane you did all that from a computer.” 

You both walked through the elevator doors when they opened, Clark dragging a now more reluctant Slate in. The way Clark looked at you, like he was sincerely curious and amazed as to how you did it, had you feeling the butterflies in your gut from yesterday. With or without the suit, Clark Kent still looked at you like you were far out of his league. 

“It wasn't too hard actually, I was already in the network, so I just had to open a new browser and put in Slate’s IP address and port number,” you explained, “those were easy to find, too. Seriously man, what kind of password is your birthday?”

Slate stayed silent, but his posture shrunk a bit.

“Once my monitor thought I was him, it wasn't hard to own the system.” 

Clark's smile was all teeth and sunshine as you explained, "you're absolutely remarkable, you know that?”

God, his happiness was contagious, "I was told a long time ago, but it's nice to hear it said now.”

“I’ll just have to keep reminding you,”

you two kept looking at each other like idiots as the elevator reached the ground floor. “That’d be nice,” 

“Oh my god, shut up!” Slate whined as he was pushed out the doors.

“You shut up,” you shot back, "you're going to jail.” 

Clark's laughter bubbled up as the three of you walked down the steps of the labs, your vision caught officer Alakai among the uniforms. You sent him a nod of gratitude, he sent you one right back. 

“Excuse me,” you heard your name called out in the crowd. Behind the cameras and a gangly ginger boy, a dark haired woman pushed to the forefront, “Lois Lane, Daily Planet. I've been waiting to meet you,” she stuck out her hand with a cheery grin. You took it without hesitation. 

“The feelings’ mutual, as I'm sure you know,” you assured, “and as much as I would love to talk to you, it's gonna have to wait.” 

You eyed Slate as Clark lowered his head into the back of a cop car. Pulling his phone out of your pocket, you took a wild guess and put his birthday in as his passcode. It unlocked. 

“Hey, Superman!” you ran up to him, waving to the gutless man in cuffs as he was carted off, “could you give me a ride to… Washington Township in Jersey?”  

“Not a problem,” he grinned, hoisting you up by the waist and wrapping your arms around his neck, “hold on.” 

You wouldn't dream of letting go as he shot off into the sky. 

As much as you hated to admit it, Slate was right. Angela had a lovely house. She was shocked to find you in the front yard, even more shocked by your company. Clark nodded to you and then flew back up, going to help with the mess you made. 

He checked the perimeter before he left, telling you no one was hiding in the bushes. He was so thoughtful, it had you swooning unironically. 

You sat in your sister’s kitchen. Her son, William, was at camp for the day, so it was just you and her at the table. She had let you in, and a few hours of explanation later, you still sat, now with cold coffee in your cups. 

“Im kind of glad he's not here,” you remarked, "I don't want his first impression of me to be this.” you gestured down to yourself: covered in debris, small cuts littering your face and body. You looked like a disaster, which, to be fair, you were.

Angela nodded, still processing all you told her. 

“So, the man checking out the gas line, he would have killed us.” It wasn't a question. She was letting reality hang in the air, “Because of you.” 

“Because of them.” you clarified. Angela did this, even as a kid. The world would hurt her, and she would find a person close to take that pain out on. It happened with her old boyfriends, with your mother, with you, and now it was happening again. “I didn't even know where you were, or that you had a kid. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

You loved your sister, you would sooner die than have anything happen to her. But fuck, years of resentment and unsaid regrets bubbled to the surface quickly. 

“I didn't tell you about Will because your mistakes always backfire on me.” Angela didn't back down, “And I would be damned if your mistakes blew back to my son.”

“Dad leaving wasn't my fault,” you got out through gritted teeth, “mom getting sick wasn't my fault. But if you were there, maybe her death could have been prevented. But she's gone now, and that's on you.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she spit out your name like a curse, “She was dying either way. I saw her Xrays after you cleaned out the place. She was a fucking goner, at least she went out on her own terms.”

“With a needle in her arm? To be found a week later by her kid? You think that’s how she wanted to die?”

Angela held her cup of coffee to her lips and shrugged, “the woman was a mystery.” 

“She’s only a mystery to you because you weren't there!” you slapped the table, and winced at the sting of contact. 

All the shit you had been through today, and this was somehow the most taxing.

Angela stayed silent, watching for your mood. She was always better at reading people than you were, sometimes it made you jealous how she could control a room with a look.

You sighed, “Look, I didn't come here to fight about mom, or the fact that you have a son that I didn't know about. I came here because you're potentially in danger. I think it would be safest for you to take Will and find someplace to hide, just for a month or two.” Angela opened her mouth to protest, but you stood up before she could. “I have a new friend in law enforcement, he can contact the local PD here, help you with protection. I love you Angela, I don't want you or Will to get hurt.” you found a pad of paper on her kitchen counter, scribbling your number onto the top page. 

“I’ll get out of here before your son comes back.” Angela stood up and walked you to the door, "congratulations, by the way. I know you've always wanted to be a mom. I don't doubt you're a good one.” you didn't know if that was true, but you knew it would mean a lot to come from someone who knew her as long as you had. And you wanted this to end on a positive note.

Your sister nodded with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, opening the screen door.

“Hey,” she called for you as you stepped onto the grass, leaning against the doorframe, “are you fucking Superman? Ya’ll seem chummy.” 

You rolled your eyes but your grin was one you couldn't stifle, “Not yet, though I’m optimistic.” 

You shot your sister a wave before heading to the train station.

It wasn't hard to find, Washington Township was small. A far cry from where your sister grew up. You sat at the station, a ticket to Metropolis in hand. You wondered if this was the kind of town Clark grew up in, though with the shine of the east coast being absent. Almost as if thinking about him caused his summoning, a shadow appeared in front of you. Well shined dress shoes with pressed navy slacks sat next to you, and you knew it was him before you ever looked over.

“How’d it go?” Clark asked with that sincere curiosity he never seemed to lose.

You leaned back and kept your eyes on the tracks, “she heard me out. I think she’ll take it seriously, though you can never know.” you turned your head over to him, “she asked if i was fucking you,”

The sun caught on Clark's cheeks, dimples forming as he leaned his smile in closer, “and you said..?” 

“That I had begged him to, but he had to be a goddamn gentleman.” you huffed in faux annoyance, earning a chuckle from the man brushing his shoulder against yours. “How’d it go at the labs?” 

“Still going, a bunch of people in hazmat suits are combing through everything. Did you know they had a morgue down there?” 

You shook your head, unaware but unsurprised.

“they found all these bodies waiting for dissection or incineration. And they found all the people in your tubes flopping like fish on the floor.” 

You let out a quick burst of air from your nose, “Jesus. And Slate?” 

“Arrested with charges of attempted murder, abduction, obstruction of justice and a million other felonies. No bail. He called in some good lawyers so we’ll have to see, but it's kind of hard to refute the ten floors of evidence. Plus, a lot of the documents on your drive have his signature. Lois told me to hug you for that, by the way.” 

You look up at him expectantly, “So… where's my hug?”

As soon as you asked the question, Clark swept you up in his arms, lifting you from the bench and holding onto you with an endearing caution. You squealed with excitement, feeling lighter than you had in years. Clark holding you had little to do with it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and Clark could feel you smile pressing into his ear. 

“You did it.” he murmured, squeezing you a bit tighter. He could smell the sweat and gunpowder that encrusted itself into your hair, the scent of your shampoo hiding at the base. "You're out, and contrary to popular expectations, you're not dead.”

Clark finally put you down, and to his surprise, and yours, you began to jump and skip around the empty platform. You shot your hands in the air multiple times as you smiled and laughed. Clark loved seeing you like this. Still exhausted, still bleeding a bit, but doused in possibility.  Victory was a fabulous look on you. 

You moseyed your way back to him, a splitting smile still on your face, and put both of your hands on either side of his jaw, pulling Clark down into a warm and eager kiss. You hoped the gratitude you were pouring into it made its way through. Clark held you at the waist, but his hands didn't stay there for long. They started roaming with mindless greed. No destination, only the goal to feel more. His fingers eventually found a home in your hair, scratching at your scalp a bit as you pulled away. Not far, though, your breath could still be felt on his lips as you whispered, “I couldnt have done any of this without you, thank you so fuckin’ much, Clark.” 

“It’s nice to be appreciated," Clark hummed, before his eyes shot open with remembrance, “Oh! By the way, I got you a ‘thanks-for-taking-down-S.T.A.R.-labs’ present.” 

Clark pulled away and took a small, neatly wrapped package out of his pocket. The paper was deep green with small christmas trees printed on it. You snorted at the off season wrapping, but loved him for the gesture. You pulled at the tape and revealed the pack of nicotine gum under it. 

It made your heart skip. You held the pack like he had given you a diamond. 

“For the ride back,” Clark nodded to the train chugging towards the platform, “and hopefully for the future.” 

You stood there, looking at the man who had saved your life, smiling nervously awaiting your answer. Clark handed you that gum like a promise, asking you to see him in your future. How could he not know the answer already?

“You know, my house is kind of trashed,” you started, opening the pack and unwrapping the first stick you got your hands on, “and I don't want to be alone tonight…” you popped the stick of gum in your mouth and chewed silently, waiting for Clark to take the bait.  

Luckily for you, it didn't take too long for Clark to pick up what you were putting down, answering you with confidence you hadn't seen from him yet as you walked onto the train.

“Come to bed with me?”

You sat side by side at the train pulled out of the station, you took his hand and intertwined your fingers, grinning like an idiot. 

“I thought you'd never ask.”

The second his locks clicked back into place, you spun Clark around and pushed him into the door. It was hard to keep your lips off his on the train ride over. You sat there, talking, filling in gaps of things unsaid the night before. And you loved talking to him, learning things about him; Clark was fascinating, but the more you listened the more you craved having his body pressed against yours. You were getting used to taking what you wanted, what you knew he wanted, too.

You just had to wait for too long.

The way Clark kissed here was different. He kissed like he knew he had the time to do it right. He responded immediately, no hesitation, only hunger. He knelt down a bit and reached for the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to jump up. You didn't need much convincing, being lifted and spun until your back was fitted between the wall and Clark's chest. Your arms slid down from his neck and your hands reached impatiently for the buttons of his dress shirt, Clark let you, using the moment to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth and grew frustrated with the fabric, opting instead to just tear his shirt open, a few buttons falling to the floor. 

“ –Hey,” Clark protested, though not very hard. Your chest heaved against his, a strand of saliva swaying between you as he pulled away to assess the damage.

“Dont care,” you panted out, cheeks red, “come back.” 

You tugged at him to you and buried your face in his neck, pressing soft, eager kisses against his pulse. Eventually you found a spot you decided satisfied you and lightly nipped at it,  soothing it with your tongue. 

Clarked groaned and his head fell against the door, pressing up into you and having another aspect of the night ahead on full display. You felt him half-hard through the layers of fabric between you, and you felt like surprising him. Opting to have one of your hands slither down his body and give him a squeeze, Clark's knees buckled a bit, much to your pleasure. At this point, he was a breathless mess in your ear. The fact that he seemed so overwhelmed just added to the impressiveness of holding you.

“Where's this bed of yours?” you whispered against the shell of his ear, running the lobe through your teeth just to see what it might do. You felt Clark twitch against you, biting his lip to stifle a moan. 

He hoisted you up to a proper position before walking towards his bedroom, stopping and getting side tracked as you placed his glasses on the kitchen counter, and placed a filthy, opened-mouthed kiss to his lips. You smiled at how much easier it was to maneuver yourself without the frames in the way. Clark, not one to deny you, pressed his lips back to yours with equal fervor, running his hands up your back and down again.

Getting an idea of his own, Clark set you down on his counter, lips never leaving yours, and moved his hands under your shirt, unhooking your bra with surprising ease. 

“How often have you done this?” you murmur into his lips, pressing them back to him without waiting for an answer.

The truth was, you didn't really care. Clark could have done this a thousand times before and it wouldn't have mattered(though you do think each time was probably well deserved), he was here with you. Touching you, worshiping you like you were the only person on the planet. You were quickly learning that being with Clark Kent meant being properly cared for, right down to how he took off your clothes. You almost forgot about asking the question until he pulled away with a sheepish smile.

“Plead the fifth.”

You scoffed with a smirk and he reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it up. You helped, lifting your arms so he could get it over your head. You had miscellaneous shallow cuts from the shrapnel earlier in the day, Clark took note of those, but his eyes and brain stopped when they landed on your tits. 

“Oh, my.” was all he could think to say, like a man entranced.

You chuckled a bit, you couldn't help it. “You like ‘em?” 

“Have you ever met someone who didn't?"

“Fair enough. Are you gonna do something, or am I gonna have to get creative?” you asked, leaning back up to be face to face with the man whose eyes had yet to leave your chest. 

Instead of answering, Clark craned his head down and took your right nipple into his mouth, mirroring the pattern your tongue left on his neck moments ago. Your head tilted back, smug smile wiped from your face as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, pulling it taught with his teeth before pulling his lips off with an echoing pop. 

“You can get creative, lord knows you're good at that,” he murmured, his voice had grown husky with need, “but I want to take care of you first.” his hand that cupped your breast slowly moved down your stomach, his palm warm pressing into you. When his fingers slipped past the waistband of your jeans, your breath caught in your throat, “Are you gonna let me do that, sweetheart?”

You tried to think of something smart, something competent to say. But all that came out was, “uh-huh,”

Clark grinned like you just gave him keys to the candy shop, “thank you, darling. I promise I'll make it good for you.”

“Of course you will, farmer boy–” your snide comment fell flat as Clark unbuttoned your jeans in one clean motion, slipping his fingers past the waistband of your panties. He groaned to find what was waiting for him.

“Holy– you're soaked,” he spoke into your shoulder. You simply wrapped your legs around him and pushed yourself into his hand. 

“You’re surprised?" you whispered, rolling your hips against his fingers, feeling them catch on your clit and you moaned. Not quietly, not holding back. 

God, his hands were so big. Every part of him was.

“Please Clark,” you batted your lashes at him, "don't make me wait.”

“I wouldn't dream of it, lift your hips up.”

You followed his order, feeling the damaged denim and cotton panties get tugged of you in one fluid motion. You were about to complain how you were fully naked and Clark only opened his shirt, but all words left your brain as Clark's mouth found its way back to your breasts. One hand of his held you steady at the hip, the other one resumed its position between the apex of your thighs. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you whimpered, feeling the pad of Clark's thumb swirl in slow and heavy circles around your clit. His middle and ring finger circled your dripping entrance, barely pressing inside. His tongue continued to swipe across your left breast, sucking at the soft flesh until he was sure marks were left. He kept at this for awhile, lightly toying with you while occasionally dragging his clothed cock against your thigh. “You’re a fuckin’ tease.”

“You like it.” Clark's tone was matter-of-fact. And you were in no position to argue. Even teasing you, Clark Kent had lit every one of your nerves on fire. “You want my fingers, sweetheart?” 

As he asked, he rubbed a particular spot at the front of your cunt, your hips stuttering against him.

“Yes, I fucking want them. I want you, Clark, please–” 

Clark eased his middle finger knuckle deep into you, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. Luckily for him, it was clear that this was just a fraction of what you wanted. You pulled him closer as he worked his way into you, thumb still rubbing your clit. Your lips gasped into his as his finger curled up, hitting a spot deep inside of you that you could rarely reach yourself. 

“You think you're ready for two?” Clark whispered, "You're certainly wet enough.”

You nodded mindlessly against him and he responded to your green light. Working two fingers into you, Clark found a steady pace that had his palm grinding into your sensitive nub while pressing curled digits in and out. At some point, you pawed at his other hand, the one keeping you steady, and took his index and middle finger into your mouth. Clark moaned as you sucked and swirled your tongue around them, before taking them out and pressing them back to your chest. 

Clark looked up for the first time since he’d started touching you. The second he did he was awestruck. You looked so completely lust-drunk: eyes hooded, barely showing your blown pupils, lips bitten at and bruised from kisses he didn't know he was capable of, hickeys along your chest that he barely remembers making. Your chest was heaving, making the thin sheen of sweat sparkle under the dim lights out his windows, and he gripped you a little harder. Your head fell to his shoulder as you whispered about how good he made you feel. About how if he touched you there– just like that, oh fuck, right there– you were gonna come.

Clark had never wanted to see anything more. 

He doubled down on his efforts, moving his hand faster, but easing pressure from his palm. He wanted to watch you go insane. To be teased to the edge and then finally be allowed to fall. He kept going, watching your body start to twitch in ways you couldn't control, listening to you gasp and whine as he felt his hand get flooded with your juices.

“I’m gonna– oh my god, Clark– please, i’m–”

“It's okay, sweetheart,” Clark said, almost begging himself, “Let go for me, I wanna see it.” 

In retrospect, you would be embarrassed that his permission is what did it for you. In the moment, all you felt was a crashing wave of pleasure as Clark slid his hand from your breast to your back, pressing you closer and strengthening the friction between his hand and your cunt. 

He worked you through it, encouraging you to roll your hips into him, begging you to take what you needed as you clenched around his fingers. 

After he pulled his now drenched hand from you, Clark dropped to his knees and licked a long stripe over your pussy with the flat of his tongue like a man possessed. You convulsed against the cool marble below you and you felt the aftershocks of your orgasm being coaxed out of you. 

“You taste so good,” Clark moaned into you, placing messy kisses to the inside of your thighs as he pulled himself back up. “Thank you for letting me do that.” 

You blinked up at him, utterly confused by his gratitude. This man had done more for you in the last 24 hours than most people had done your entire life, and he had the nerve to thank you?

“Take your clothes off, Clark.” 

He did as directed, removing his shirt, slacks and shoes with a grace that you thought would only be reserved for his Sunday best. When he was down to his boxers, you saw it. The outline of his cock; it was huge, throbbing and leaking generously from the tip, leaving a large wet patch against the navy blue fabric.

You felt yourself start to drool. 

“Fuckin’ showstopper.” you said without thinking about it. Clark tried to hide his reddening face with his hands, but you leapt off the counter with a giggle, not realizing how shaky your legs would be. You would have hit the ground if Clark hadn't caught you. You were decidedly unfazed by your lack of mobility. “So your bedroom is where?”

“Um– yeah, no, it's right down the hall.”

“Let's go then, we gotta take care of that problem of yours.” You regained your balance and pulled Clark back to his room, desperate to see what was beneath his boxers. 

Needless to say, you were not disappointed. Clark was huge, not just in length, but the girth of him as well. The second you saw his cock, red and weeping, begging for attention, you dropped to your knees and swirled your fingers around his head. Taking his precome and stroking his base, you stuck out your tongue and attempted to get as much of Clark in your mouth as possible. You were only halfway down his cock when the head hit the base of your throat, gagging a bit as Clark's knees buckled completely, collapsing onto the bed behind him. 

“Sweetheart, if you keep doing that…” Clark's tone was serious in his warning but did nothing to stop you. He actually wove a hand into your hair, pushing you down slightly when you went all the way down. Clark soon discovered that he liked watching come up for air. Watching you choke on only half of his cock had him losing his mind. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and as much as you wanted to keep going, you needed him inside of you.

“Move up,” you panted out, voice hoarse and mouth dripping. You watched Clark twitch at the sound, having the pulse between your legs rekindle with new desire.

He laid there, waiting restlessly, watching you slowly straddle him. You pumped him a few times before lining him up at your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his cock. Clark grabbed your hips and held you idle when he saw you wince, knowing it was a lot. He rubbed smooth circles into your sides with his thumbs, encouraging you, telling you how good you were being for him. His mouth was running on autopilot and he didn't know how to stop. 

“The second you kissed me I started dreaming about this,” he said, “I thought about how you look spread out for me, how you would whimper when I touched you, when you were full of me. I couldn't help it, your lips were so soft and you smelled so good. I swear, the second I touched you I couldn't imagine touching anybody else– Oh!”

His monologue was cut short as you finished inching down and your pussy took him in completely. His head dropped to the pillow, his body arched up to meet your hips. You rolled your own against him, digging your knees into the mattress. 

“Fuck, clark. You're so big.” you managed to say, your brain going blank.

You started a steady rhythm, keeping you body above him, Clark occasionally reaching out to play with your tits. His hands spend most of their time digging into the flesh of your ass, kneading it and helping you bounce more vigorously when he feels your pace become more eager. Eventually, you ended up where you two tended to, with your chest pressed against his, your tongue desperately tangling together. Clark started bucking up furiously into you, the sounds of skin slapping skin filling the room. 

You were close, so was he. You both could feel it.

No words were spoken as you reached your climax, your kisses became stalled as your mouth opened with a silent moan, clenching around Clark's cock. He felt it, the stutter in your hips, the fluttering of your walls around him, and he couldn't stop himself.

But he tried his best.

Clark quickly flipped you onto your back and thrusted into you a few more times before pulling out as quickly as he could, releasing himself on your stomach and over your chest. He collapsed beside you as soon as he finished, apologizing and promising to get you a towel to clean up in a second.

“You’re fine Clark," you laid there beside him, bones feeling heavy, sleep trying to take over. “You’re amazing, actually.”

Clark sat up against the headboard before swinging his legs over the bed and making his way towards the bathroom.

“Nice ass.” you called after him, still trying to catch your breath.

“Shut it.” his playful voice echoed back at you. 

After Clark had cleaned you both up, he slid into bed beside you, pulling you into his chest. As he rubbed circles into your back he asked, “Lois was wondering if you would come in tomorrow. She has a million follow up questions.”

“Hmmn,” you nodded, “can I still be anonymous?”

“I thought you said that didn't matter.”

“It didn't matter back when it was protecting my life, this would be to protect my dignity.” 

Clark let out a small laugh, “Yeah, you can be anonymous, I promise.” 

“Well then, how could I not come in?” you smiled and leaned up to kiss Clark a final time before leaning into his chest and letting sleep take over.

You remembered standing outside the Daily Planet for the first time, wracked with fear, certain of your own demise. It was such a different feeling to be standing outside it again, with a feeling of optimism and a ridiculously handsome reporter next to you.

Your clothes were two days old, you were wearing Clarks underwear, and you were about to be interviewed by the woman you had placed all your faith in to save you. Lois Lane had sent you an angel and she was telling the story that kept you bathed in fear for so long. Life was starting to look up. 

“You ready?” Clark nudged your shoulder, scanning for emergency. You beamed up at him, making his heart flutter as you linked your arm with his. 

“Let’s go.”

Everyone you met at the paper was welcoming and beyond impressed when you met them. Clark walked you around like a celebrity, introducing you and easing you away from conversation that got too intense. 

You would thank him for his kindness later.

Clark walked you to the conference room, Lois waiting with her laptop. He opened the door for you, and you bowed your head with pink dusting your cheeks as you walked in. 

Lois caught one glance at how you looked at each other, how Clark squeezed your arm as he left you for your interview, and she knew. Lois rolled her eyes with an exacerbated sigh and walked quickly to the door, poking her head out and screaming to the entire floor. “Goddamnit, Clark. You promised!”