#watchtower

"Is there anything you need?" Flash tries, hesitant and uncertain, when the boy's eyes land on him and stay for a few moments too long.

"From you, speedster?" Tucker lifts an eyebrow, and Danny and Dan, who were in the middle of a wordless screaming match — that is, they've switched to ASL because Jazz asked them to be quiet — stop in the middle of a sentence to stare at him as well. Their eyes are way too blue to be human, in Flash's opinion.

"If you and your entire crime gang would stop breaking the timestream every five minutes, that'd be grand."

"I'm honestly so done with timetravel missions, you don't even know," Dan pulls a disgusted face. "Why is it that Clockwork insists I do all the running around in the jungle parts when you get to go to Coliseum?"

"Exactly because going to a place where people kill each other for fun excites you," Danny points out before turning back to Flash. "Anyway, please don't make more alternative timelines."

Flash blinks. "I- erm, okay, but I meant, like-"

"I'm done!" Sam announces to the whole room, and rips another page from her sketchbook. This one, however, doesn't get thrown away; instead, the girl carefully places it on the floor and steps back.

It's a pentagram.

And some kind of a signal as well, it looks like, because all the kids suddenly start moving around, taking places around the circle or stepping away from it. It ends with only four of them — the 'triplets' and Tucker — standing around the makeshift celebration of occult.

"Are you ready?" Tucker asks, cheerful like he's hosting a birthday party and not stirring some questionable shit up in space with a bunch of heroes watching like they're in a circus. And, maybe just to add to the confusion, throws a long, duct taped cord out so one end of it lands inside the pentagram.

"Aye, captain!" Danny and Dani chorus back, but Dan chooses this exact moment to check his phone, and frowns, "Wait, hold on, I gotta-"

"If it's Paulina again," Danny groans with a roll of his eyes.

"With her 'research propositions',"Dani repeats the movement like a mirror.

"A proposition is what it is, yeah, just not for research," Sam adds, wiggling her eyebrows, and Jazz opens her mouth to intervene, but Tucker gets to it first.

"Can't believe I'm saying it, but no amount of words can describe how little fucks I give about Paulina right now," he snatches the phone out of Dan's hand to his indignant yell, and then commands, "Gloves on, my dudes!"

"Oi!"

"My dudes and their genderswapped replica," the boy amends.

"How come I get a language warning, and he doesn't?" Constantine murmurs to Jazz without much heat to it, but the girl just shrugs noncommittally. She, unlike the three near-identical siblings and one of their friends, stands closer to the crowd of heroes, keeping an eye on both parties.

'Gloves' turn out to be some kind of metal-mittens abominations, with messy wires and blinking lamps all over. The curious part is, however, that no one had seen exactly where they came from: the kids just somehow acquired them between one moment and another. There's a brief device exchange — Dan gives one of his gloves to a gloveless Dani — and then they all wear them before, one by one, taking a hold of the cord that Tucker gives them.

The air feels heavier, somehow, with each of the hands that join the circle.

"What are they doing?" Green Arrow asks, sliding a little closer to Constantine. The question has been hanging in the air ever since the kids have entered, but everyone's been too confused to ask it straight and out loud. Especially when John Constantine was looking so sure of himself.

"Honestly? Hell if I know," the mage, very confidently, answers. Both Jazz and Sam, who joined their little group, snort. There must be a very threatening expression on Arrow's face, because the man then adds, "I mean, I know they're joining their forces, and the runic circle has some protection symbols, so I'm guessing a shield?" John turns to Sam, raising an eyebrow.

The girl makes a so-so gesture. "The circle gives them a general direction, not the finished product. So, yeah, it's supposed to be a shield, but, y'know. Danny." That last part makes all three of them snort.

"What-"

"Ready-steady-go!" Tucker gleefully announces and very dramatically presses a finger to his tablet, cutting off anything anyone was going to say.

Or, rather, it's the sudden shift that causes everyone to stop and stare.

The gloves and the cord crackle with electricity in kids' hands, and the messy, uneven lines of the pentagram suddenly come alight. The glow comes from inside of the runes, pale green, but getting stronger with every passing moment. But that's not the only thing that lights up.

The black hair of all three look-alike kids first fades to gray and then gradually becomes white, strands flowing up in the air. Maybe it's just the static — the air certainly feels electrified enough for that. Or maybe it's not, because aside from their hair, their clothes start floating up as well, and-

Soon enough, all three kids rise up in the air, inch by inch until their feet aren't touching the floor.

At the same moment, all the lights in the room go out at once, leaving three mops of stark white hair and a glowing green pentagram on the floor the only sources of light.

And that's when the heroes see it. Outside, on the other side of the giant windows, a bright green — almost the same as Green Lantern's constructs but not quite — shield is forming itself. A layer or energy just between the space station and Earth, mile by mile enveloping the planet.

"Can we make it spikey?" Dani asks, a grin on her weirdly lit by green light face.

"Sure," Danny shrugs, and the green construct starts getting spikes, or maybe thorns, thrown haphazardly around the surface.

"Oh, how about if the spikes shoot lazers?" Dan offers his own input, and a second later, one of the 'thorns' blasts a green beam into the depths of space.

"Let's not do that right now," Danny grimaces, "Finish the shield, okay? Then you can add lazers all you want, but on your own."

"Spoilsport," Dan huffs but doesn't argue any further.

"I mean, I thought after we do the shield, we can just go munch on the spaceships or something, but if you want to play long range, we can do that-"

"Wait, really?" Dan seems almost excited at the prospect, but Jazz cuts in:

"Excuse me, you were going to what? We'll be late for dinner! Also, you're gonna spoil your appetite," she sounds displeased, but it's hard to tell in the dark.

All three white-haired siblings turn to face her at once, Dani going as far as turning her head backward like an owl.

They all have bright green, toxic vortexes for eyes, which look appropriately nightmarish for the situation. Jazz huffs, not swayed in the slightest.

"You know," Sam starts, almost like she's talking to herself, "Technically, you've just listed two reasons that kinda solve each other."

Being alien was simply something he could never forget. Every girl he ever fell for, every opportunity to do the human thing– from each, he was reminded of the choices which lorded over him. Responsibilities he simply could not shirk, because to do so would be to enable destruction and imbue himself with a deeper guilt than he had the will to bear. So he struggled alone, because it was his only choice. When there’s no one to understand you, you must be at peace with understanding only yourself. And it was hard. It never stopped being hard. Even when Kara came and went, it wasn’t enough. She didn’t understand the weight like he did. He just had to accept that Krypton was gone, and with it went everything that might have been his someday, and he had to settle with the human side.

Chloe teased him in passing about his chronic nostalgia issues, and for being a ‘perpetual lover boy’ under all that brooding mystery... and as we know, there is always a bit of truth in every good joke. He could snicker and brush it off, like dust off a broad shoulder, but it clung to his lungs like smoke when he was alone. Nothing felt right as long as he lived like this. Friendships felt like a game he couldn’t win. Relationships were a masochistic nightmare. Chloe was his exposure, Lana was his crash course, and Lois was his best bet for a long time. He loved them all. Yet, it never worked out. It just… wasn't in the cards. Not in this universe, anyway.

It didn’t help that he wanted these things to be simple so badly. The way that he yearned to be understood made him heartsick, and it was something even his most wonderfully experienced friends couldn’t help him through. He just had to come to terms with the fact that he will always love humans too much, and always be unable to devote himself fully, for their sake and his own. So he’d given up on love.

Even though it had been a lifetime of aloneness, there was something of a comfort in this choice. At least he could navigate it. Living alone is living consciously. Nobody knew the world or its reasons better than Clark. He read once in a philosophy textbook something that Kierkegaard said: “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” He found that to be profoundly true. Maybe he had to suffer, but at least he had the privilege of knowing. People counted on him to know. And if he couldn’t be known himself, at the very least he could provide his friends, his family, and the world, a sense of safety. 

This was Clark’s life. And it was… going. That is, until his house shook one night in his sleep. 

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For a guy who’d stopped alien invasions, he still had a small threshold for shock. 

Clark was tangled in his bedsheets like a monstrous puppy, belly-down, cheek smushed into the pillow. A little pool of warm drool stuck to the cotton casing beside his parted, soft-snoring mouth. He was asleep like a baby for the first night in nearly ten days– because Oliver simply couldn’t handle a snappy Kryptonian at the debrief every morning. He promised to patrol Metropolis and call for backup if need be, for the sanity of the League and friends. 

He was sleeping so well. What a shame.

A thunderous rumble shook the ground somewhere in the fields of the farm, close enough to the barn for Clark to awaken and hear the familiar creaking of its swinging doors. The whole house seemed to sneeze, pictures swaying for a moment before settling, lamps and lights flickering on and off again. The blast only lasted a moment, but Clark’s heart was pounding. He rubbed his eyes and leapt from bed to peer out the window. 

Just beyond the barn, there was a plume of billowing smoke. He focused hard, zeroing in from the second story of the Kent farmhouse, and slowly his vision cut through the haze; behind it, he could see something trapped inside a casing. A body. In something… rounded. The harder he focused, a clear sound came to him, one that made the hair on his neck jump. It wasn’t the frequency he attributed to Kara, or to his father– but it was similar. High, droning, and distinctly out-of-this-world. His stomach felt like it was in his feet, but he moved them light as a feather nonetheless– down the stairs and out the front door in less than a second, flitting to the crash like a lightning bolt. 

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, gaze sweeping over the projectile. 

A silver spacecraft was capsized in the grass, fizzing and sparking, ablaze near the tail. He huffed a gust of air and stamped out the fire, and the droning buzzed louder as he dug his indestructible fingers between the paneling and ripped the ship wide open. 

Inside, was you.

Crumpled with your knees to your chest and clothes that were entirely too small, Clark panicked. He hoisted you from the craft and set you down gently in the grass, inspecting you speedily for any injuries. You were out cold. His mind was firing in a million directions– he had to make sure you were alive, he had to know who you were, why you just landed in a Kryptonian ship, and he had to hide that ship, study that ship, understand… In a frenzy, Clark scooped you over his shoulder and snatched the spacecraft with his free hand. He dragged it down to the trusty cellar that kept his own hidden for so long, hoping it would be sufficient until morning. He’d installed a trip wire and a Kryptonian lock, anyway, which should hold. Clark cradled you once his hand was free, hurrying to get you inside from the biting night air. 

You were alive, he deduced, as he laid you on the kitchen counter. He was less concerned about your comfort as he was about getting your eyes open. You looked his age, which was entirely befuddling. The trip from Krypton to Earth took him three years. Yes, Kara’s ship was knocked off-course in the destruction of Krypton, but she still reached Earth. And worse yet, both her and Jor-El confirmed that the only two ships which survived the blast were his and his cousins. 

So who were you?

You clearly were an adult woman. Young, likely Clark’s age. Your skin was freakishly clear, but somewhat greying where there should be living pigment. Like you were halfway to death. Your hair and nails were spindling. Your clothes looked like children’s robes, the kind he’d seen in his studies at the Fortress, outgrown on your spongey, boundless frame. Your limbs seemed cramped. You’d been stuck in that ship too long, he thought. Whatever happened, you were supposed to be small enough to climb out when you landed. His heart shattered at the sight. 

Clark brushed his fingertips over your hairline, knocking some of the locks back. He could hear your heartbeat, however faint. Resting a palm over your forehead, he lifted your right eyelid with his thumb, trying to see if you’d respond to the light. The pupil dilated and twitched, but that was all. 

Clark rubbed his eyes, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t bring you to the Fortress. He couldn’t leave you here while he went alone. He had to try and find a way to break through your head. He studied the soft bump of your nose, and the way your cupid’s bow clipped, and it came to him. His key. The hexagonal craft key, the one in his loft desk drawer. It emitted his house’s frequency. Maybe it would rouse you, to hear a neighboring call. Less than a moment passed before he zipped across the property and back, holding it gingerly in his palm. 

You looked so broken on that table. He had to get you awake. 

Clark placed the key over your chest and pressed down, truthfully unsure of how to even attempt this. There were no words, no spells, no rituals he knew that might help. But the key seemed to recognize the danger, and it began to thrum under his hand, buzzing and squeaking that shrill tone. The sound filled the kitchen, and almost like the punch of a defibrillator, it delivered a shock– your chest heaved up, and you floundered into a sputtering, frightened state of life. 

“Ah! Ah, God! Woah!”

Clark let out a startled yelp and grabbed a hold of your shoulders. “Hey! Hey, hey, shh! Shh! You’re fine, you’re fine!”

“Get back!” Your head spun as you swung at him, knocking him back with unprecedented force into the sink. In a heavy disorientation, you slipped off the counter and fell, knocking your head against the wooden edge on the way. 

“Jesus,” Clark winced, dropping to his knees. He saw your first rearing and he shoved you back sternly against the island, barking a careful, “Don’t punch! I’m here to help you!”

You panted like a rabid dog as your eyes focused, blinking and screwing your face up in fear. The wood against your back was grounding, the screaming sound was deadened, and his grip was determinate. The room you were in seemed safe enough. Creamy walls, leafy plants, shiny images. A home. 

“Where am I?” You croaked.

“Smallville,” Clark sighed, reluctantly letting go of his restraint on you. He stared at you with anxious awe. “In Kansas. On Earth.”

“Earth,” you grunted, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms. “...So I made it.”

He nodded gruffly, running a hand through his hair. Your eyes darted around in a way that made his stomach clench. “You’re from Krypton,” he stated. He needed confirmation. 

“Y…yes,” you offered, finally meeting his gaze. His face was stately. Strong bone structure, gorgeous, even-set eyes. Sharp teeth. He looked like that famous scientist. “So are you.”

Clark swallowed thickly, and he sat back on his heels. “I’m Clark. Kent. Clark Kent, sorry. Or– well, my– actually it’s Kal-El. My Kryptonian name is Kal-El. I’m–”

“Son of Jor-El,” you finished, eyes fluttering with recognition. “The scientist?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, brows furrowing. “You knew my father?”

You shook your head and winced as the ache ramped up. “No. But he was revered. I saw his photographs in the war journals.”

Clark surged forward on instinct, cradling the back of your head and easing you away from the kitchen island. “Hey, hey, easy…”

There was something innate that responded to his care. Your body let itself be guided by him as he tugged you to the center of the kitchen floor. You blinked again, regaining grip, and asked, “Is the House of El in power here?”

Clark tilted his head. “No. Earth doesn’t really work that way. My identity is secret here.”

“We are not welcome?” 

“...Not in so many words.”

Something complicated passed over your face then. A twisting expression, something like lost hope colliding with expectation. Clark didn’t like it one bit. 

“How did you get here? Only two ships survived the Kryptonian blast. At least, that's what my surviving intelligence said.”

Taking a painful breath and letting it stretch the muscle of your lungs, you offered an explanation. What you could remember, at least. It took you a while, because every breath felt like it whistled through you. “My parents and I escaped to Dheron… when we heard of the impending explosion. There was a military landing base there. I-it was supposed to be covert, we had no extended family… we were a house of little means except for my father’s service pension… We were going to take a ship, all three of us, to Earth. But the Council found out. They came to Dheron, and they bombed the landing site… My mother put me in a small ship before they destroyed the launchpad. I came alone. They’re probably stuck on Dheron as we speak, waiting to watch our home explode in the sky…”

Clark felt an overwhelming sense of pity, not only because of how awful an end your parents had to meet, but also because he knew a few things you didn’t. He unfortunately owed you the truth.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through that. I lost my parents, too, when they sent me away. They did the same thing, to save me. But,” he frowned, “there’s something you should know.”

You leaned in, hanging on his words. You felt the authority in them. “Yes?”

Clark swallowed again. God, this never got easier. “Krypton… exploded. Twenty-two years ago. Your parents, your escape from Dheron… that was all twenty-two years ago.” 

It didn’t click. Not at first. Twenty-two years. You’d been inside that spaceship…

“You crashed in my field tonight. I think you’ve been in that spaceship much longer than you were supposed to be.”

“...How old am I?”

Clark sighed softly, eyes weakened by pity. “Time travel can suspend aging, or warp it, depending on where you’ve been and how long… but I’m twenty-two. You look somewhere around there. Like me. Do you… remember how old you were when you left Krypton for Dheron?”

You zoned out at the cracks in the title floor. “Three.”

“Three,” he nodded. “I was three when I got to Earth. My cousin, Kara Zor-El, she was 13 when she escaped, and her ship got stuck– she showed up, like, eighteen years later, and she was technically younger than me. So you– well, I don’t know exactly how old you are. But you’re young. Between mine and Kara’s age, probably. Do you remember anything? Your name?”

Staring at the torn tunic squeezing your thighs, you chewed your lip. A dark exhaustion settled low in your throat. “No. No, I… I only remember my parents, there was… a video, in the craft… It kept me asleep.”

You shook your head blankly as it all began to sink in. You’ve been lost to space for twenty-two years. You didn’t really know who you were– no memory of home, just what it was called, no imagery to remind you of your past. Not even your name. Your parents have been dead, probably, for just as long. Krypton is destroyed. And there's nothing you can do about any of it. 

Clark admired you for a moment in this light. You looked so… fragile. He wondered what your mother looked like, as he watched you. He wondered if this frame, this hair color, these sad eyes, if they all came from her. What of you was your father’s? What of you was Kryptonian? How much of you was that third, floating option, fostered by a lifetime stuck in a galactic coma, hurtling through nowhere? How much of you was alone? 

When you didn’t speak again, Clark reached his palm out and rested it on your head. He whispered, “You’re safe with me here. I can help you.”

You lifted your eyes and glanced over that benevolent face. A face that could make flowers bloom on dead earth. The face of a life you’d never get back again. Something soft blossomed.

“How?” You asked. 

“Well… I’ll show you. How Earth works and everything. But first, I want to get you clean, in good clothes, and into a bed.”

You croaked, “I’m not tired.”

But he saw it in your eyes. No coma could disguise the weight of grief. 

“Just let me take care of you, and we can worry about it after.”

Who were you to say no? It’s not like you knew where to go after this. You knew nothing but his face and the soreness in your body. So, you let him help you off the floor, because any weight you put on those atrophied legs caused them to buckle beneath you. Clark wasted no time in scooping you up, taking matters into his own hands.

It took a lot of the night from him, but he paid no mind. Clark rid you of your rags, and he folded them neatly on the bathroom counter. He would wash them while you slept. Clark ran you a hot bath, and exposed to you what it felt like to be engulfed in the hug of water, surrounded by good-smelling soaps, things that burned your eyes and softened your hair. A luxury you hadn’t been afforded in twenty-two years, clearly. Clark scrubbed and rinsed that hair for you, passed that sponge over your shoulders and back for you, clipped your nails and combed your tresses, all for you. He did it slowly, so you could see his every move, and assess for yourself that it was all harmless. 

It was without charge, these exchanges. In any other circumstance, his human half might win out, and he might fall victim to the idea that some full-bodied alien girl crash-landed in his lap and needed his help. But there was something reverent about this moment to him. You weren’t just some alien girl. You were the surviving piece of home, of himself, that he had made peace with never finding again. Bodies and formalities meant nothing to him, not now. Only preserving you did. By taking tonight to show you something you’d been dead to, he also began within himself a healing process that was uncharted. What he had always wanted, he had gotten. And he would be a fool not to treat you as the precious, living being you were. He would be the souvenir of a planet he had to live without, so you wouldn't have to lose home, too. 

Clark fed you. He didn’t have much, his fridge was little in the way of groceries, but he had enough to conjure a cheese sandwich and some ice cream, and it was all you needed. You devoured it without thought, and he watched how your tongue darted out, how your nose twitched, how your hands shook just a touch. You were sweet, and albeit quiet tonight, he knew you wouldn’t be forever. 

He gave you some ibuprofen for your bone-deep pain. He rubbed your legs, your ankles, your arms, your neck. He told you about Krypton, about his mother and father, about Earth. About humans. About how you’d come to love them. He got you talking, too. Describing your mother and father, what you could remember of them. Your voice was so soft, like it kept itself in a little box in your throat. It could only go so far up and down in intonation before it grew tired. He couldn’t get enough of it. And you seemed not to mind his attention. You never shied from his touch, or looked at him like he was odd for doting on you so intimately. It seemed something just… meshed about it. Like something inside you recognized you’d found a half. Like it was kismet.

After he spent hours and hours in the dark, making sure you felt in contact with the world you’d just hurtled into, he carried you up the stairs of the farmhouse and laid you down in his bed, where the sheets were rumpled up from his awakening. 

“Tomorrow, I’ll show you around.”

“Around where?”

“Here, at the farm. Then town. And soon, I’ll introduce you to my friends. They know about Krypton. They help me protect the people here.”

“Can they be trusted?”

“Yeah,” Clark smiled softly, the sharp points of his teeth poking from beneath his lips. “They’re a bit wild, but they’ll like you.”

“Clark,” you mumbled, snuggling into the covers he drew over your arms. “Thank you.”

He sat at the edge of the bed. He’d already grown fond of you, no surprise. There was a home in your face that he’d never found in any human. An understanding of who he was. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was the only one living. 

“Don’t thank me. Just sleep.”

You looked up at him, and you asked, “I can stay here, can’t I?’

“Yeah,” he hummed. His eyes glimmered in the dark room like they had their own glow. “I think I’ll keep you.”

He had done a good job keeping his head straight all night, but we can all agree that asking Clark not to fall was like asking the planet to stop spinning. It simply couldn’t be done. So there he went. Thump-thump-thump… 

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Clark didn’t sleep. He was too raptured.

He perched himself in the chair beside his bed and watched you sleep for a while, making sure you were breathing right and sleeping soundly. He didn’t mean for it to be so intense, but he was just so elated by your arrival. After a few hours, he sent a message to Watchtower that he had a breakthrough, and that he needed a few days to work on something, and he’d let them know when he was ready to share with the group. He was going to bring you home. Then, he had to get his house in order. He washed your tunic and folded it up, putting it in his dresser. He zipped to the five and dime for some coffee and things to feed you when you woke up. And then, he went down to the cellar– all the while, keeping out a super-ear for you.

When you rose, Clark was reclined in the chair with a cup of coffee. In his lap lay a copy of the morning’s Daily Planet, and he was silently thumbing through, smirking at a clumsily shot photograph of the Green Arrow swooping into some bank robbery last night. Between his other finger and thumb, he stroked a metal charm. His attention fluttered up at the soft grunting beneath his covers, and he watched your eyes open and close. Clark flipped the paper shut eagerly and slid to the edge of the chair, leaning over the bed like it was Christmas and you were the present. 

“Hey!”

You, on the other hand… were not a morning person. 

The perky sound of his voice made your nose scrunch in an uncontrollable annoyance. It wasn’t that you disliked him, not at all. It was simply that a sound so happy so soon after you woke up made you all the more inclined to fall right back asleep. You huffed grumpily and rolled over, hiding from the honey sunlight streaming through the window. You preferred the warm, dark heat of the pillowcase against your face. 

Clark snickered softly, his stomach flipping. He placed a hand between your shoulder blades and gave a friendly scratch. “Oh, jeez. Don’t look so happy to be alive.”

Your huff was generously muffled by the cotton sheets, and you peeked at him from the corner of one eye.

“How do you feel?”

“Mmf.”

“Good?”

“Mmf…”

“You remember me?” He smirked. 

“Mhm,” you grunted. 

“Good.” Clark could only smile. “I’ve been thinking about your name.”

Lifting your head, you rubbed your eyes. Very slowly, you walked yourself up into a sitting position on your weary palms, slouching with the covers draping over your shoulders. You glared at him, heatless and exhausted.

Clark held up the charm in his palm. It was a polished silver, and there was a geometric engraving, something like a crest, over the front. “I found this in your ship. Which I have, by the way, it’s safe. I’m keeping it in the cellar.”

“What is it?”

“Your house crest,” he grinned, studying it carefully. “Your last name. This letter, the crest, it’s a Kryptonian M. The engraving itself says ‘Mê’. So, we know your last name. You come from the House of Mê. Like May, the month.”

“May?” You mumbled.

“May,” he echoed. “It’s a nice time on Earth. Flowers, rain, warm weather. Beautiful, really.” Clark couldn’t help but feel like there was no name that was a better fit for you. “And since you don’t know your first, you get to choose.”

“There is no way to find out?"

Clark narrows his gaze, smirking a little. “I can try. But I’ve got to call you something in the meantime.” Then, patting your knee decisively, he stood up with a big grin. “Give it some thought. C’mon, get up. You’ve gotta eat. I’m taking you out today.”

You winced at the sun. “Now?”

“Yes, now,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair and then tucking it behind your ear all in one fell swoop. “Want help?”

You grumbled under your breath as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. You wiggled your toes. It was the oddest thing, you were so weak last night that you couldn't bear your own weight, and now…

Clark caught your curiosity and said, “The sun. It heals you.”

You glanced out the window again, and back to him. Well, more like up at him. Then, with one more look at your legs, the way your thighs seemed to generously spread, you muttered, “At least I did not come out malnourished.”

Clark burst into a fit of sweet laughter, grabbing your wrists and hoisting you up. By some miracle, twenty-two years of space travel managed to preserve hills and valleys of soft flesh. You were full in every sense of the word, and his eyes sparkled at the first real daylight sight of you in his t-shirt. “No, you definitely didn’t… Now, c’mon. I got real food. Not just dairy.”

You regained your bearings on the house as he led you downstairs for breakfast. It was a quaint home, full of photographs of him and an older couple, all screaming colors. They must be his Earth parents, you assumed. There were traces of Clark everywhere– weird enough, you could smell them. Everything seemed to be overwhelming your senses all at once. There was a cloud of something minty and spicy lingering in the hall beside his bathroom, and down the stairs you noticed something clean-scented, warm, like clothes. There was a radio buzzing somewhere with news. The kitchen wafted coffee down your throat. You blinked a few times, trying to get a handle on all the disorienting scents. 

Clark scurried around the kitchen like a little kid, opening cabinets and shutting drawers with his hip, pouring coffee, dropping toast into the toaster with spunk. It was only when he  turned around to see you leaning against the wall and rubbing your eyes that he stopped the happy train. 

“What is it?” He worried, coming around the counter to collect you and sit you on a stool. He pried your palms from your eyes and smoothed your hair back from your face. “Tell me what hurts.”

“Doesn’t hurt, just… everything is so…”

Clark understood somehow. You were a developed adult, and your first dose of sun was strong. It was warm today. He should’ve expected that your powers might load up all in one shot. “Stimulating. Right? Bright colors, strong smells?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Alright. That makes sense.”

Clark made sure you could sit upright fine, and he hurried to get a cup of coffee and put it safely before you. Then, with his own, he took the stool beside you. 

“What is this, Kal?” You inquired, peering into the cup.

Clark’s cheeks flushed at the sound of his birth name. Nobody ever called him that, for good reason. But it felt so… right, when you said it. “It’s coffee. It’s sweet, you’ll like it.”

You glanced over and saw the pretty color under his golden skin, and you muttered, “You prefer Clark, don’t you?”

He instantly shook his head, offering a crooked smile. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Smiling came easy to you, apparently. “Okay.”

Clark sipped his coffee to keep busy and started up again. “Well, you’re gonna experience a lot of overwhelm for a little while. Your body is developing its powers from the sun, okay? Do you wanna know what we’re capable of on planets with yellow suns? Or do you just want to pause the alien talk for now?”

Nothing about this made sense, and even less of it was yours to control. Clark knew what was happening. You could only trust him. You wrapped your palms around the mug in front of you, feeling the intense warmth seep under your skin, and you nodded. “I’d like to know.”

 “Okay.” He loosened his shoulders. “So, there’s a lot. Kryptonians are able to smell, hear, and see a lot better than humans can. You’ll be able to look through solid objects. You’re gonna have supernatural intelligence and strength, and the ability to run at the speed of sound, and you’re gonna learn to fly. We can blow cold air, we can shoot fire from our eyes. We can jump high and we can’t be injured by most means. So, you’re lucky. You can do amazing things when you learn how to control them all.”

You swallowed thickly. So many abilities, and so little understanding.

Clark’s eyes softened as he watched you sip the coffee. He put a lot of cream and sugar in it, just in case the bitterness made you bite back. “Is it okay?”

You grunted in the affirmative, rubbing your eyes again. You couldn’t shake the stiffness. Everything he knew was so important, and you were so worried. “Can we… die?”

“Yes. But not easily,” he frowned. “We have one major weakness. When Krypton exploded, pieces of the planet crashed to Earth. It changed in the burnup. It’s called kryptonite, and it’s like poison to us. It makes us weak, enough of it can kill us. But don’t worry, you won’t have to worry about it. I’m going to help you, okay? With all of it. I’m going to show you how to handle your abilities, I’ll show you what Kryptonite looks like. You won’t have to do anything by yourself.”

It was easy to feel helpless. You were, in many respects. But there was no better place you could have landed than in the lap of the last survivor. And he seemed to have it down, didn’t he?

You took a few big gulps of the coffee and wiped your lip, letting out a heavy breath. You closed your eyes, breathing deep, and found things didn’t smell so strongly if you didn’t focus so hard. Clark’s heart twinged as he watched you. He wanted to grab your hands and tug you into his arms, he wanted to promise you that he would take on your burden so you never had to worry or fear ever again. He settled for a soft coax of his fingers though the ends of your hair, and you leaned a little closer by default. Like touching each other was a given.

“I don’t expect you to get it all right now,” is what he said instead. “But I’ll make sure you feel safe. You’re the only Kryptonian on Earth. I’m… happy. To have someone like me.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. He was terribly gentle. Something inside you, in the middle, stuttered. Thump-thump-thump.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, voice soft as a whisper, “but I’m happy, too.”

The smile he gave you was worth every second wasted in the recesses of space. 

Clark rose from his seat to retrieve the toast that was going cold, and you were subjected to the care of a lonely man all morning. He made you pancakes and bacon, and he gave you as much coffee as you would drink. He brushed your hair right there at the table, and wrapped you in hugs, pressing his chest against your back. You discovered you liked them, and so he gave you more. Hugs and pancakes, I mean. 

————————————͙͘͡★—————————— 

Then, he made use of the first full day: he showed you the farm.

It was entirely anxiety-inducing. The fields seemed to never end, even though Clark insisted there were fences just beyond the eye. In the gated parts, he walked you through thickets of sheep who made these jolting noises and passed right behind your legs like you didn’t exist. You tripped and fell right in the dirt, and he was a bubble of giggles as he tugged you upright again, brushing off your knees for you. The cows slobbered on your fingers when he urged you to patt their bulbous heads, and one sneezed on your shirt. You were getting sick of his laughing by then. He took you through the coop, where the chickens pecked your ankles, and you were beginning to think you hated animals. But then Clark saved the stables for last, all in a grand scheme to charm you. The horses bowed to you, and so you liked them best. Not one of them slobbered or sneezed. By the time the sun went down, he’d taken you across every inch of the land, and he yanked you into the grass to see the sky get swallowed up by dark stars. You rested your head on his shoulder, and he felt something swallowing him whole, too. You fell asleep out there. He had to carry you back.

The next day, a rainy one, he brought you to the barn loft and showed you all the surviving history of your shared home– his Kryptonian journal, his crest crystal, his maps of the Fortress, where he promised to take you soon. You had never experienced such a frontload of information, but the longer you listened, the easier it became to remember. It was like his every word stretched the boundaries of your brain until there was room enough for anything. 

“And what’s this?”

“The Kryptonian alphabet.”

“You can read this?”

“I got a shortcut,” he admitted, “from the Fortress. When we go, you’ll get it, too. You’ll even be able to speak it.”

This may have been Clark’s favorite day, because you took it in like you were starving. You plucked every book off his shelf and flipped through them all. He could see that genius little alien brain computing every novel, every article, every newspaper clipping he had hoarded in that hangout. You draped yourself over the rickety couch, surrounded by volumes, his shirt and flannel pants stretching with your every twist and turn. He sat on the floor with his back pressed to the couch, and every time you had a question, you’d lean over his shoulders and drop the book in his lap, and point to the confusion. Your hair fell over him like a curtain. He was taken by how quickly you warmed to him– he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help themselves.

It certainly helped that he was so kind with it all; always touching your back, always pointing your attention to the right place, always smiling so softly as he divulged truths in a voice that was warm and sticky with affection. He made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. That these papers and memories he shared could go up in flames, and you would be the one he grabbed and swept away from the fire. You were wide awake now, and you were thrumming with an excitement born out of initial fear. Clark had everything about your roots to share, and you had been given the opportunity your parents always wished for you: to start life again on a planet that could afford it. And even if you hadn’t led yourself down the mental pathway to admission just yet, something in your flesh knew that you wanted to do that with him. It was biological and deliberate, all at once. 

You loved his journal. You took it with you over the next few days as Clark drove you around town. He took the truck into Metropolis and exposed you to the ridiculous stimulation of the city, and he’d taught you a couple things around the farm, too. He worked on helping you get a handle on the easier powers– your strength, your x-ray vision, your speed. You knocked a hole in the side of the barn on a run, and you accidentally bent a tractor bumper, but it didn’t seem to matter. Clark was on cloud nine being able to pass on his knowledge to someone who could finally grasp it. 

After he felt you were starting to come to grips with everything, he flew you to the Fortress– there, he hacked into Jor-El’s lessons, and he stood in the light of the transmission beam beside you. You were bombarded with history and science, all kinds of Kryptonian intelligence and legend– Clark had given you your world back. Jor-El didn’t have your first name, but at that point, it didn’t matter. Clark called you plenty of placeholders– honey, sweetheart, cutie, and this one time he let baby slip…

That first week was beautiful, and it was all yours. Just you and Clark. But there were a few people who were itching to meet the secret that had kept Clark from Watchtower all week, which only permitted him release after a few major criminal acts in the city (these absences he described to you as “work things”,) and he couldn’t hide you any longer.

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Clark watched quietly for a while as you sifted through his journal on the sixth day, reading the language that now came naturally to your eyes without any lessons. Normally, he would tell himself not to get his hopes up– that a girl in his vicinity did not mean said girl had feelings for him, and that either way, to think so far ahead would only end in disappointment. But your fingers traversed the tracings like they were scripture, and you asked him the same questions again and again, as if you just wanted to hear him explain them one more time. This time spent together was chock-full of moments where you grabbed him and held on, where you exclaimed his name in triumph at a new skill mastered, and when you fell asleep at his side like a bunny in a hole. You two shared a bed now. You wore only his clothes, no desire yet for your own. You stuck to him like glue, and you were happy to do it. That was when he knew that there would be no doubt necessary while knowing you. There were no hopes to get up– something had already happened. He felt it, and he wanted to keep it. 

When the sun was close to its peak, he brushed your hair over your shoulder and said, “It’s almost twelve, cutie. My friends are waiting. You ready?”

You studied yourself. You wore a pair of jeans far too long, and they were a little tight in the hips, so he looped a rubber band through the button hole to give your tummy room. His blue shirt was worn thin and sat like an adorable box on your shoulders, and a grey flannel draped over your fingertips and past your butt like a cape. You were his favorite kind of frumpy, and the skepticism in your face surrounding the clothing was enough to crack him up. 

“You look cute,” he chuckled, “By human standards. My standards, too. Don’t worry, you’re gonna see these guys and wonder what the hell they’re wearing anyway.”

Clark wrapped his paw around your wrist and helped you off the couch, straightening the oversized flannel down your soft arms. The softness in his face made your legs feel weak all over again, despite the beating sun spilling over the cutout in the loft wall. 

“Let’s go get your life started, huh?”

Grinning for real, something unrestrained and first-time beautiful, you replied, “Okay.”

Clark’s ribcage flexed to make room for a growing heart as he walked you down the barn steps. “You know,” he smirked, “I don’t know about you, but I think I picked a good nickname for now.”

You titled your head, cheeks fuzzing pink. “What is it?”

Clark’s smile sharpened. “Bunny.”

It might have helped– or added to your fluster– to know what a bunny was. But you noticed from his tone alone, that whatever this name alluded to, was undoubtedly affectionate. “Oh.”

“Bunnies are these little creatures on Earth. They come out in the spring. They’re soft and fuzzy, and they have these cute little pink mouths, and little tails… but they bite when they want to. We get them on the farm like crazy.”

A new heat creeped under your collar as your feet hit the dirt floor of the barn. An animal. You didn’t like most animals, but this one sounded nice. He clearly has been considering it, by the way his face tinted rose. “And I… remind you of these creatures?”

Clark turned around with mischievous eyes, poking your side. “Maybe. I have a feeling that once you’re settled in, it’s gonna be like having a bunny around. Getting into everything and never giving up. Don't tell me you think you’re not trouble.”

A little laugh slipped from you, and you shrugged. “I don’t know…”

“Mm. Well, let’s just say I have a feeling,” Clark teased. 

Then, with the sheepish confidence only a man so beautifully contradictory as he could possess, he looped his arm around your back and hoisted you off the ground. You let out a squeak of surprise, arms looping around his neck on instinct. Clark felt like falling to his knees as you clung to him and queried, “We aren’t driving?”

He brushed his nose against your cheek and pulled back, blushing like an idiot and smiling like a fool. Smitten beyond repair, he shook his head. “Nope. Hold on.”

The world blurred into a white flash around you as he kicked off the ground. You yelped and burrowed into his neck, watching the ground retreat below as the warm wind whipped through your clothes. Clark soared high into the clouds, headed towards Watchtower, cradling his precious cargo with an unbreakable grip. He murmured against your hair, “Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll teach you this trick soon enough.” 

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

“You were hiding a girl?!”

Honestly, of every friend, Tess was the least surprised.

You were quite disoriented when he dropped you inside the Watchtower. He described this towering structure which loomed over Metropolis as his ‘office’, yet it looked anything but. It was a breathtaking two-story loft full of screens and wires, everything buzzing and beeping in an electronic symphony of data collection. When Clark described that he was something of a man-behind-the-curtain in the city, saving people and stopping crime, you expected something more covert like you’d watched on his television– a lair, maybe. The Fortress, even. When you asked why he didn’t just use that, he laughed about how it’s too far and cold for his human friends. But this? This was an information jackpot. This was extraordinary, and it was populated by a few people– young and gorgeous as him– who were staring at you like they’d just seen a miracle.

Chloe, short and blonde and bouncing on the balls of her feet, squawked in excitement when Clark zipped through the window and presented you to them like a prize. Clark mentioned her a lot– called her his ‘right hand woman.’ Oliver walked circles around you, and you knew it was him because Clark said he smiled like a wolf. He did. Under all that spiky golden hair and sunkissed skin, there was a smirk slicing his centerfold face in half, sniffing you out. The tall and intimidating redhead who could only be the Tess who Clark mentioned stared like she was vetting you with her eyes, and the second-tallest guy in the room stood with his hands in his pockets and the sun shining off his scalp. This must have been the illustrious and cunning Lex Luthor, because he began questioning you instantly about your origins, which Clark intercepted protectively. You twitched now and again in the nose, confused and stressed, and clung to his arm as Clark’s friends swarmed you. 

“Who is she?”

“Kryptonian.”

“Yeah, but who? Another cousin?” 

“No, unrelated. We know her last name is Mê. Like May.”

“So, what, her first is a secret?”

“No– well– I just…”

You interjected, “Bunny. That is what Kal– Clark, um, calls me.” You winced a bit, stumbling over the self-correction. You told Clark you would use his human name around new people, but it seems you hadn’t gotten the hang of it yet.

Lex’s expression of unrestrained amusement and disbelief would’ve made a scene of your insertion, but Chloe was bursting and babbling over the conversation. The two of them shared a mixed expression of Are you serious, dude? And Don’t ask! as Chloe grabbed your shoulders and shook you about.

“Oh my god! Girl Clark! Ugh, finally, after Kara left I thought we’d never–”

“I am not Girl Clark, I am–”

“Oh my god, we could really use you, and look at you, you’re so pretty! Come on, I gotta show you around! This is where we work…”

All the attention and excitement had you feeling like you might explode. It was more overwhelming than the smells of Clark’s little house. Chloe dragged you around Watchtower, showing you things on computers, and you struggled against her a bit, not liking the distance from Clark. Tess asked technical questions about space and your ship that you had no idea how to answer, with Oliver in her ear requesting copies of any potential research files. Clark followed you anxiously, trying to swat off Lex’s intrusive questions as he swooped in by the mainframe closet in which Chloe had cornered you. She was trying to explain a wiring issue, which was so useless at the moment and so utterly her. You looked like a lost lamb.

“Guys, let her breathe!”

“Can you do everything Clark can?” Chloe quipped. “He’s really a whiz with wires!” 

“I– no?”

“No, wait, I have to do a diagnostic on that ship– Clark, where is it?” Tess urged, unsure if she was asking you or him the real questions. 

Oliver teased, “Guys, she’s blue in the face, c’mon!”

Lex cackled from halfway up the stairs, “Bunny! I can’t do it! Jesus Christ, man–”

In an instantaneous build-up, all the kibitzing made your ears ring, and you turned in a circle, trying to figure a way out of this echo chamber of Clark’s friends. Your eyes landed on him as he continued trying to deescalate the group, and you watched in a moment the way his shirt sleeves stretched around his bicep, and did something extremely, uncontrollably embarrassing. 

Slicing through the noise, your irises set ablaze with orange rings, and an intense surge of fire shot from them into the wall just inches from Clark’s head. Clark flinched while the rest of them ducked and screamed, taken aback by the sudden outburst. You clamped your hands over your eyes, panic rushing through you.

Clark wanted to laugh, because he had the privilege of knowing just how Kryptonians develop that specific skill– but the obvious anxiety in your frame led him towards sympathy first. Unafraid, he stepped to you and gathered you up in his arms.

You wriggled at first, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to shove him back. “No! I’ll hurt you!”

Clark cooed softly, overpowering your almost equal strength. “No, no, I can’t get hurt, remember? Neither can you, honey, it’s okay… I told you about that, I told you we can do that with our eyes. Deep breath, bunny, don’t you remember?”

You felt his broad chest rising rhythmically against your cheek, so you followed the pattern, drawing air in and out. His voice had that same quality it took just that first morning, and in it you heard the echoes of his explanations. He did say it, didn’t he… that Kryptonians can shoot fire from their eyes on Earth. That you couldn’t hurt him unless it was with Kryptonite. He showed it to you once, real far away. It made you queasy. A rapid sense of relief washed over you. 

“There it is. I know, I know that was scary… You’re okay.”

Lex got up off the floor with Ollie, and they helped the girls up, and the four of them watched you and Clark with something quieter now. Clark held you like he had the world in his hands. He swayed, shifting weight from foot to foot, taking you with him. His palm smoothed up your spine like he could physically press the stress from your body, and seemingly he could– you melted like butter, forehead pressed to his chest cavity, hands twisted in the fabric of his jacket. You took long breaths, suffocating yourself with his cologne. 

Clark had been with a few girls in their time together, always close friends to the circle… but this? They’d never seen this before. 

You lifted your head and propped your chin against his chest, hair dangling down your back in an upward gaze. “I got scared.”

Clark smiled softly, eyebrows knitting with understanding. He brushed his nose against yours. “I know. But I’ve got you.”

As your eyes fluttered shut, allowing the comfort to wash over you, Watchtower itself seemed to recognize that whatever you were, you clearly were here for him. Whether you intended it or not. 

But of course, the moment had to be splintered with a stifled “aww!” from Chloe, who got elbowed by Tess, to which both Lex and Oliver snickered stupidly. 

Clark raised his head with an eyeroll, but he couldn’t help a sly smile. He dropped his clasp on you and let you step away to get your bearings. You were unbelievably pink. He’d have to help you control that fire power soon, if it was the first to manifest without his help… because clearly, it was triggered. He took some pride in that.

“Okay, now that that’s over… I think maybe I’ll just take her back to the farm. It’s been a big day.”

“Well, wait! No! I’m sorry, we’re sorry, that was probably a lot,” Chloe urged, her sympathetic grin wide. She glanced at you with warmth. “We’re just really glad you’re here! Clark’s been alone for so long and–”

“Chloe!”

“What? It’s true! She’s Kryptonian, Clark, isn’t that why you brought her here? She’s with you, isn’t she?”

You watched as he stumbled over his words a bit, feeling a flutter in your stomach. He was always so confident with you, but right now, he was a fish out of water.

“Well, yeah. B-but she’s only been here a week or so, I don’t want to overwhelm her– and she’s– she’s just– we’re not calling her anything yet, she needs to get settled, okay?”

“Calling me what? Weren’t you calling me bunny?”

Clark groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. The others giggled. It seemed something was happening you didn’t quite pick up on. In terms of human nuance and social context, you had quite a way to go. 

“Yes, honey, I am,” he uttered to you, “They mean, like, who you are to me. Because you’re not a relative, that’s all.”

You flushed a bit. “Oh. Right.”

Clark softened up at your sweetness, and he looped a finger through your (his) belt loop. “Do you want me to take you home?”

You nodded softly, letting your eyes fall to the floor. “Mhm.”

“Okay,” he whispered, bumping his forehead against your temple. He waited until you smiled to look back at his team and state, “I’m taking her back. Everybody needs to relax. Maybe you guys can come over for pizza or something, just… easy. I’ll let you know. Okay?”

The group nodded asynchronously, a bit bewildered by the sight of you and him. Getting over the shock of you was all they needed to see this for what it was. And by the heat in Clark’s face, he knew it, too. 

“Cool. Um… Chloe, just… I’ll call you later.”

You sensed a tension in the air, and you assumed it was you. They were the first people you’d met. They probably didn’t understand or trust you like they did Clark, and you didn’t blame them. When he slipped an arm around your waist and steered you towards the doors, you looked over your shoulder– and they were smiling. If only you knew they were smiles of relief. 

“Bye,” you waved to them, meek as a mouse.

Their hands raised in reciprocity, and Lex shot you a wink. “See you, bunny.”

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Clark set you down at the front door of the farmhouse with a peaceful little smile. His hair was windswept from the flight back, and he took his time then, muttering little apologies for how his friends couldn’t contain themselves and how well you did for your first time around new people. And you clung to him happily, half-listening. In all honesty, something else was more pressing on your mind. You played it back in your head: “She’s Kryptonian, Clark, isn’t that why you brought her here? She’s with you, isn’t she?”

With him. With Clark. Of course you were with Clark. Clark was your world. Clark was all you knew. Any ambition you’d shown this last week about seeing new things, trying anything unfamiliar, he was there beside you, encouraging you. He didn’t consider himself your world– he wanted everything for you, and that was all. You were a newcomer to his planet, you had this potential to do such beautiful things with your life, maybe even beside him when you were ready. He saw you like a shining light that he had the privilege of helping glow. 

But what did you want? Did you want to make something of yourself, like he was the Blur? Maybe you’d want a normal job. Maybe you’d want kids, or a college degree. He couldn’t expect a thing, because there was so much you still needed to see and understand. He could only hope that whatever it is, you would want him to be a part of it. Parting with you would mean saying goodbye to love all over again.

As he unlocked the screen door and let you inside, you chewed the inside of your cheek. Clark had a lifetime of being human to entrain all of those complicated future worries. But you had a much more simple mind, albeit equally intelligent. You possessed a nature of decision in all the ways he did not. You knew what you wanted without having to figure it out. You knew it right now.

“Your friends were… nice,” you started.

“They are. They’re good people, really, I’m sorry about all that. I should’ve told them about you before springing it, they acted completely insane… and it was too overwhelming for you, I could tell. How are your eyes anyway, huh?”

“They’re okay… Clark?” You asked quietly, closing the door behind you.

“Hm?” He hummed, turning to brush his thumb under your eye and pull at the skin, making sure you were unscathed. 

“What am I to you?”

He paused, looking at you with a preciously tilted head. His face was wide open, and you were grateful you asked. He never lacked surety when you were alone. 

“What am I to you?” He countered, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing his arms. For a second, you worried maybe you’d fire up again, but you blinked the heat in your stomach away. He noticed the little spark and smirked.

You swallowed thickly, throat closing up. His eyes were so bright. You walked past him, wandering around the kitchen. “You’re a Kryptonian. And… and you took me in, and you care about me. I…” 

“You also fell right into my lap, though, didn’t you?” Clark hummed, furrowing his brow playfully, stalking after you like a lion. “Like an angel or something. Oh, that’s a good one… throw that into the rotation.”

Never in his life had he been so shameless with his flirting. But then again, what did he ever have that ever felt like a sure thing? 

“Not intentionally. But I am glad it happened.”

“So am I.”

You scooted along the outer edge of the kitchen, finding yourself closer to the corner by the sink. Butterflies clogged your lungs as you added: “I mean, Kryptonians are not immune to love.”

That made him smile. “Love, huh? Is that what you feel, honey?”

“Should it be?”

Clark cornered you in one swift step, curling his hands on the counter and caging you in. “Well, it’s what I feel.”

You smiled, too. “It is?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, letting his palm smooth over the curve of your hip. His eyes traced your lips. “You live with me. You need me, and I need you. And most importantly, you understand me. You know things, feel things, about who we are that my human friends just… never will. So, to me, there’s love there. Because you’re a part of my life that only I get to know.”

God, it almost aggravated you how easily those kinds of statements came to him. He was romantic to the fingertips. He said them like he was born to believe them, and it made you want to know everything there was about those people who raised him, and how you could make him tell you beautiful things like that forever. Something stuttered again inside you. 

“So when Chloe said that you’d been alone so long…?” 

“That’s what she meant.”

Clark hooked both hands around your hips and bumped you up over the edge of the sink. 

He’d done this exactly two times before. The first was on your second day, in the morning. It was early, and he was making coffee, and you wanted to watch. 

“Really? It’s not all that,” he said. 

“You do it. It must be important.”

“It is. It tastes good.”

“Yeah.” You smiled as he handed you a cup. You liked it the first time, and as you sipped it again, you gave him a pretty little flutter of the lashes. “I like this. This is my favorite human indulgence so far.”

The second time was on the fourth day, when you had broken a glass. The guilt made you cry, so he put you up there to calm you down.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, looking at your palms. “It was a nice glass.”

“I can get more, sweetie, don’t cry… Oh, gosh.”

“I wasn't being careful,”

“No one can be careful all the time.”

“You trusted me with that glass,” you whimpered. Clearly, this wasn’t about the glass. It was about feeling like, in Clark’s already understood life, you were a disruption.

Clark rubbed his hands along your thighs and pressed his nose to your hairline, and he whispered, “I’d trust you with my life. Don’t you ever think differently.”

Each was uniquely intimate and entirely Clark-like. That counter was his best way of showing you just how much he looked up to you. And now, he would do it again.

Clark grinned, standing between your legs. “I could go the alien route and remind you that we technically could propagate the entire Kryptonian race together. That’s a perk.”

You scrunched up your nose, giggling. “Ew.”

“Ew? That’s harsh.”

“Say something nicer,” you flushed, bumping his forehead with yours. “Don’t ruin it with your people humor.”

“Fine,” he sighed, and he brushed your cheek with his thumb. “You don’t need your super brain to know that what I feel for you is love. I loved you the day you fell to me. But you also have a lot to learn, and I would understand if you ever wanted to leave, to branch out and try it alone–”

“Alone?” You pulled back, face contorting in an utterly innocent kind of horror. “No!”

“Well, I know you want me there, I know you rely on me,” Clark chuckled, “But one day you might want to have a little freedom. To figure out what you want to do. I wouldn’t blame you, you’re your own person, and–”

“I think you’re thinking me much too naive, Clark. I may not understand everything there is to life on Earth yet, but I know that the one thing I never want is to be without you.”

Tentatively, because you were not typically the one in the pair that initiated anything first, you brought your hand up and ghosted your fingertips across his cheek. And Clark, who clearly was, pushed his face right into your palm like a dog. You giggled and scratched his head, and he smiled up at you. Seeing you smile would be it, forever. 

“So you love me, is what I’m hearing.”

Through a blush, you cooed softly. “Yes.”

“Good. Now we can skip all the stupid formalities and just get to the good part.”

“What’s the good part?” You questioned, tilting your head. 

Clark’s chest seized, and his eyes dilated with adoration. “Christ, you’re cute,” he grumbled, “What’s the good part?” 

He answered his own question by surging forward and monopolizing your face, sealing his lips over yours like a painless brand. He wasn’t surprised to taste coffee in your mouth, because it was the last thing you had. You did say it was your favorite ‘human indulgence’, like a little robot. He looped an arm around your waist to draw you right to the edge of the counter, pressing your torso to his, and you let out a happy laugh against his lips. Clark beamed and kissed you hard and eager, not even worried about being careful. 

You, of course, were his perfect match. Hands roaming and tugging his shirt and hair, clanking teeth and bumping noses in a severely uncoordinated first kiss, one of many. He threw you in headfirst and it showed, but you followed the hinge of his jaw with your hands and studied the motion, and you recreated it as best as you could. The two of you laughed and grunted and purred in tandem, touching everywhere, swapping hearts. It was only when you pushed at his chest to try and pry him off you and get some air that he retreated, heaving with spit-slicked lips and wild eyes.

“Too much?” He panted, smoothing your hair back, tangling his fingertips in it. 

Yes, it was— your smell was warped, you were seeing in and out of walls as you tried to center your focus, and your heart was beating so rapidly it began to concern you. Little flame rings flashed under your eyelids. But it was undeniably the best rush you’d ever felt in your life. So you said, “No. It was nice.”

“Nice,” he laughed, and he attacked you again, peppering kisses across your neck and jaw and digging his fingers into your waist to draw ticklish kicks and squirms out of you. 

You squealed and sang, smacking at him and wriggling like a snake. “Clark! Ah– Clark! Kal, please!”

He slowed his fingers and laughed with you, smooching up your neck until he reached your lips again. “Only you can call me that, you know,” he promised. 

“I know.”

“So you love me,” he repeated. 

“So I love you,” you confirmed. 

Clark ran his hands down your thighs again and flashed his teeth. “I think I’ll keep you. Y’know, since you’re Kryptonian and all. I mean, what would you do without me?”

Softly, between laughs, you swore: “I’d still be lost in space.”

————————————͙͘͡★——————————

Not long after Clark let you off that counter, you realized you’d forever be on a pedestal. Not because he was so desperate for love, but because he’d finally found it, and it was with someone he never expected to reach. Just when he’d given up, there you were, literally crash-landing into his life. 

You were the right fit against him when he slept at night. You said his name like it meant something. You argued with him about the stupidest, most insignificant things on television, even when you were half-asleep. You drank all his coffee. You learned how to feed the animals, even the ones you quarreled with, while he patrolled the city at night. You burned nearly every dinner you made. And he didn’t want to live or breathe without you ever again. He thanked the fates for knocking you off-course every night, because while you were stuck in that ship, you left behind everything Kryptonian except your name and power. You came to him as human as anything else. After one week, you were his home, and after two, he wondered how quick was too quick for marriage. 

Clark’s friends came to the house a few days later. They brought the whole gang this time– Bart, A.C., Dinah, Emile. Jimmy and Lois came. Clark even invited Pete. He threw a little party, just for you, and he called it your ‘belated birthday celebration’. Everyone brought you some new clothes in colorful bags– which you didn’t like nearly as much as Clark’s– and you did much better with human interaction the second time around.

His mother flew home from D.C. to meet you after your first month on Earth. She fed you pie and made you promise to keep Clark under control. She went through her keepsake box full of Jonathan Kent’s things and told you stories about Clark’s father that made you cry. She then showed you all of Clark’s baby pictures, which made you laugh. She loved you, and slipped Clark her old engagement ring when you weren’t looking.

Clark had grown accustomed to otherness a lifetime ago because he assumed he had to be. But isn’t that just how it works? The most beautiful people, losing everyday, all for one very, very big win? I mean, think about it. “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” Looking back, Clark saw it all clearly. Every loss was a sign that you were on your way. One more heartbreak was just one more step towards the greatest galactic arrangement of his life. He read something else in that textbook, too: “When one has once fully entered the realm of love, the world — no matter how imperfect — becomes rich and beautiful, it consists solely of opportunities for love.” And god, if that didn’t turn out to be true. 

Philosophical or not, Clark didn’t have to be alone anymore. He thought it now as he sat beside you in the loft, with yours legs in his lap, watching you flip through that very textbook. It had been a year. The engagement ring glinted in the setting sunlight as you turned to the next page. 

“There’s some good stuff in there,” he said.