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It’s sweltering, the relentless summer sun beating down onto the city from the cloudless sky above when Kon’s booted feet hit the weathered wood of the old pier at the Metropolis Waterfront. Glad that, for once, he’d decided to ditch his heavy leather jacket in favour of a plain, white t-shirt, he folds his arms behind his head, closes his eyes and turns his tanned face towards the sunlight that makes him who he is.
He takes a deep breath of the hot and humid air, tasting a hint of salt from the water below, and sits down at the far end of the pier; legs dangling over the edge, his feet just a few inches above the glistening surface of the water.
Somehow, the Waterfront makes him feel at home and homesick all at once.
Downtown Metropolis has nothing on Hawai’i, and it never will; but the deep blue of the water reminds Kon of Oahu’s beaches, the gentle breeze carrying over memories of warm, white sand speckled with broken sea shells and the smell of washed-up seaweed drying in the midday heat. It’s been more than two years since he’d left the island for good, but he knows that a part of him will always remain beneath the palm trees and between the waves.
It’s why he comes here sometimes, always alone and only when the city isn’t in need of saving. Like Hawai’i, it’s one of a handful of places where he allows himself to not be a hero, just a boy; not a clone of someone that he’ll never measure up to, just another human; as flawed as any other. Out here, on the outskirts of a city that never sleeps, it’s quiet, save for the cries of the seagulls circling the fisher boats on the other side of the bay and the sounds of his own thoughts reverberating through his head—
—only then there’s a splash of water right below Kon’s feet, and a flash of a red, translucent fin; far too big to belong to the rainbow trouts or the mackerels that call the Waterfront their home this time of year. Kon pulls his feet up and under him on instinct before he leans forward to peek over the edge of the pier once more— and there it is again: a shimmer of bright red amidst the blue and his own hand in the water, reaching for it; inexplicably afraid of letting it slip away from him.
His fingertips brush the smooth, paper-thin fin, warmer to the touch than the water surrounding it; a stark contrast to the rough scales scraping along his palm, sharp enough, surely, to cut human skin. Kon’s about to draw his hand back when he feels strong, slender fingers wrap around his wrist like a vice; holding him there, on the verge of toppling over if not for his TTK.
Before his mind can put the pieces together, a mop of wet, dark curls emerges from the water, and a pair of narrowed, inhuman eyes stare back at him; glowing red in the sunlight.
“And just what the fuck,” the creature hisses through razor-sharp teeth as it tightens its grip, “do you think you’re doing?”
“Um,” Kon says, intelligently, because now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t have the foggiest, “I— you—”
“Oh, delightful,” the creature lets go of Kon’s wrist to cross its arms in front of its chest instead, part skin and part scales; one eyebrow raised in an eerily human fashion that seems so at odds with the delicate, pinkish fins peeking out from under the tangled hair on either side of its head. Voice dripping with sarcasm, it leans a little closer to peer at Kon with pursed lips and mocks, “You’re one of the bright ones, aren’t you?”
“And you’re— holy shit, you’re a fuckin’ mermaid,” Kon blurts out, ignoring the creature’s unsubtle dig at his intelligence, too shocked to even contemplate taking offense, “Or, uh, merman? Merperson?”
Biting his lip, he cranes his neck and tries to sneak a surreptitious glance at the creature’s chest and the part of its body that’s hidden beneath the surface of the water but that is still, unmistakably, a tail. He’s rewarded with a huff and an unimpressed look as the creature drawls, “Ugh, really? Neptune’s beard, what is it with you humans and your weird obsession with what’s between the fins of other fish?”
“Oh, well, excuse me for not wanting to be rude just ‘cause you— ‘cause you’re a—” Kon pouts, and it’s his turn to cross his arms as he fumbles for the right word to describe what, or rather who, is rippling the water in front of what he’s come to think of as his pier.
He lets his eyes travel over the creature’s marble skin; its shoulders and chest adorned with a scattering of bright red scales that sparkle in the sunlight like little diamonds. He finds himself fighting a smile, all of a sudden, at how its black hair is stuck to its forehead, curling upwards a bit at the ends in a way that he’s got to admit is kind of adorable. Now that he’s taking a closer look, he sees, too, that its eyes are blue — like his own, like the sea — with an otherworldly reddish ring around its pupils and red lips to match.
Above all, Kon realises with a start, he can’t deny that, underneath its apparent penchant for derision and disdain, the creature is… devastatingly pretty.
“Merman works just fine,” the creature relents with a sigh and a dismissive wave of its hand, long, delicate fingers with opaque webs between them and pointed claws that could rip Kon apart if he were just a regular guy, “But… I guess you can also just call me Tim.”
“Tim?” Kon repeats, blinking at the merman in confusion, “That’s, um— not what I expected.”
The merman — Tim — chuckles at that, wry and with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He shrugs one, scaly shoulder and shoots Kon a small smile, cautious still, but no longer hostile, “Yeah, well, you couldn’t pronounce my real name anyway— and Tim’s close enough.”
“Okay, yeah, that makes sense, I guess,” Kon agrees even if it doesn’t and he’s still convinced that he’s either dreaming or maybe Metallo managed to hit him over the head a little too hard during their last altercation, “Sooo… is this the part where you sing for me or somethin’ and then, like, drag me to the depths of the ocean to devour me?”
Kon doesn’t know why he said that. What he does know is that it was the wrong thing to say, judging by the succession of emotions that passes over Tim’s face as soon as the words have left his mouth: confusion first, then contempt, and then disgust. He flicks a bit of water into Kon’s face and puffs out his chest as he exclaims, “What— ew, no! I’m not going to eat you, for Triton’s sake— where in the seven seas did you get that idea?”
Pirates of the Caribbean, Kon thinks, but is smart enough to keep his mouth shut this time. Well, almost, anyway, because what comes out instead, his chin raised in righteous indignation, is, “Oi, no need to sound so freakin’ offended— I bet I taste delicious!”
Now that makes Tim pause.
Kon watches, with a sinking feeling, as both of the merman’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ before his lips curl into a smirk that’s nothing short of predatory— and that, somehow, still sends shivers down Kon’s spine. Tim ventures closer then, to the edge of the pier, where the old wood is rotten and brittle; his body effortlessly gliding through the water. He tilts his head to the side and his voice is lower than before when he asks, “Do you now?”
Kon blushes hard, averting his eyes and staring down into his lap as he begins to stammer, “That’s not what— you know that’s not what I meant!”
“Relax,” Tim laughs out loud, bright and clear and enchanting, a siren song in its own right that Kon might just chase all the way to the bottom of the ocean, “I promise I won’t drown you— or devour you, or whatever. Squid’s honour.”
Kon is only a little disappointed at that.
“I’m Kon, by the way,” he mumbles then, in a hopeless attempt to cover up his embarrassment, and holds out his hand for Tim to shake.
Tim gives him an odd look at that, and Kon spies the first hint of insecurity bleeding through the cracks of the merman’s confident façade. Still, with his blood red lips pressed into a thin line of determination, he surges forward and up, nuzzling his cheek against Kon’s outstretched hand. Tim’s skin feels cool in Kon’s palm, and the tips of his hair, dried from the heat of the setting sun, tickle the back of Kon’s hand. When he moves back, there’s a faint, blue tinge to his neck and chest that looks a little like a blush, and he’s eyeing Kon carefully; as if to figure out whether he’s done the right thing— the human thing.
Kon doesn’t have the heart to point out his mistake. Something tells him that, deep down, Tim’s a proud person, the kind who would feel ashamed at having committed a cultural faux pas; so he smiles instead, and adds, “It’s nice to meet you... Tim.”
Tim relaxes his shoulders at Kon’s implicit approval of his reaction. His expression, however, doesn’t revert back to its former, dauntless veneer but it remains open; wary, still, but also shining with a newfound curiosity that makes Kon’s heart flutter in his chest.
“Likewise,” Tim replies, the fins on either side of his head twitching as he gives a small nod, “Even if I can’t help but wonder, if you’re so worried about us evil merfolk serenading and feeding on you— how come you’re still here talking to me instead of running for the lagoons?”
This time, Kon is the one to laugh out loud. Remembering all the times he’d crossed paths with King Shark back in Hawai’i, he winks at Tim and tells him, “Dude, trust me when I say I’ve fought off fish that are way, way bigger than you— I could take you, easy!”
“Is that so?” Tim asks, innocently, with a small smile that’s sweet and not the least bit sincere.
It should have been enough of a warning sign that the merman was up to something, really— and it would have been, if Kon hadn’t gotten distracted by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, or the tiny droplets of water still clinging to his lashes; darker even than his hair, and longer than a human’s. Except he does, and so he’s still grinning, wide and ever so confident, when Tim spreads his arms and leans back far enough that his shoulders touch the water, exposing a set of narrow, scaly hips, and — with one, quick flap of his tailfin — splashes Kon from head to toe.
“What are y—” Kon splutters, spitting out salty water and a bit of seaweed, carried here along the same currents that Tim must have travelled on his way from the Atlantic to Metropolis Bay. He doesn’t, however, get the chance to finish his sentence, let alone use any of the colourful insults that he’d picked up from Rex over the years— because Tim doesn’t miss a beat, and grabs ahold of Kon’s ankles, and pulls.
Kon sinks, feet first and flailing, a few metres deep into the clear, blue water of the bay.
When he comes back up, he shakes his head like a shaggy dog; sending little droplets of water flying everywhere. Then, he blinks his eyes open and Tim’s right there, slinging his arms around Kon’s neck and pulling him close; until their mouths are mere inches apart. He smirks at Kon, pleased with himself as he brushes a few wet curls from Kon’s face and asks, “Still think you can take me?”
Ignoring the somersaults his stomach does at Tim’s choice of words, Kon demands to know, “What the hell was that for?”
“For being specieist, and cocky,” Tim shrugs, all casual, but his cheeks turn a little blue again when his eyes roam over where the wet, white shirt clings to Kon’s chest, his arms, his shoulders, in a way that Kon knows can’t leave a whole lot to the imagination.
Kon hears the merman’s heart speed up, on the right side of his chest rather than the left; beating in a rhythm different from both his own and that of most humans, slow and sweeping; almost like gentle waves rolling onto the shore. With a breathy, nervous laugh, Tim meets his eyes and adds, “Mostly because messing with you humans is just too much fun to pass up.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’tcha?” Kon drawls, a hint of Midwestern colouring his accent. It’s a souvenir from all those weekends that Clark’s taken Kon home to his parents’ farm with him, a mark in the shape of Kansas; etched deeper into his bones with every time Ma ruffles his hair and every time Pa tells him, ‘Good job, son!’ after a long day of working the fields.
Kon licks his lips and leans in close enough to spot the constellation of tiny, indigo freckles scattered all over Tim’s nose and cheeks; darkening further as his cheeks do, until they’re so blue they’re almost black. With one, final wink, Kon makes a show of breathing in a big lungful of air that he doesn’t need— and lets his body sink back beneath the waves.
Tim follows, staring at Kon like he’s crazy for thinking he can outlast him in his own element. He bends his neck to show Kon the gills below the sharp line of his jaw, then jabs a finger into Kon’s chest, smack in the middle; carefully angling his claws away from Kon’s impenetrable skin. He gestures back and forth between them a few times, as if to remind Kon that, unlike merfolk, humans have to come up for air sooner or later. He’s right, of course…
…except for the small but crucial detail that Kon isn’t, in fact, human— not all the way, at least.
So he stays right where is, shrugging his shoulders at Tim, who rolls his eyes, crosses his arms and continues to glare at him through narrowed, gleaming eyes. It takes about three minutes of Kon letting little bubbles of air escape from his mouth, like he’s making underwater smoke rings, for the first sign of doubt to flicker across Tim’s face; and two more of Kon’s soundless giggles, until he starts swimming restless circles around him.
Kon reckons he’s spent a good fifteen minutes in the water by the time the merman breaks, fists one of his webbed hands in the collar of Kon’s shirt and drags him back to the surface. Kon throws his head back laughing as soon as the sun hits his face; the deepest shade of orange, hanging low over the horizon as the night begins its approach. He can feel the water running down his neck and shoulders in rivulets, but he’s grinning from ear to ear and makes jazz hands at Tim, as if he were a magician who’s just performed a trick.
Tim, on the other hand, looks a little like he’s about to claw Kon’s face off.
“What the— what are you?” Tim hisses, his ear fins furiously twitching back and forth in a way that should, perhaps, intimidate Kon but, really, only makes him want to kiss the merman stupid.
“Wow,” Kon says, placing one hand on his heart in mock offense, “Now who’s being specieist?”
“Quit fucking with me,” Tim pushes at Kon’s chest, but there’s no real force behind it this time, not like before, when he’d grabbed Kon’s wrist or when he’d pulled him off the pier into the water, “No human can hold their breath for that long, not without inhaling oxygen first!”
Kon wonders how Tim knows that, if that’s the sort of stuff that’s taught in mermaid school, but satisfying his curiosity will always come second to the joy of getting to reveal a secret himself. So, instead, he decides to use his TTK to float himself out of the water and back onto the pier; watching Tim’s eyes grow wide as saucers, mouth opening and closing again like, well, a fish. Keeping that thought to himself, Kon lets his legs dangle off the edge and props his elbows up on his knees, trying his best to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of wet denim against bare skin.
Then, he looks Tim straight in the eye, smiles and says, “True, ‘cept I never said I was human. In fact, if I recall correctly — and I do — you were the one to make that assumption.”
Tim glares at Kon some more, but he knows that Kon’s right and that Kon knows it, too, “Alright, fine, whatever. You win. Care to tell me what you are then, now that we’ve established that whatever it is… isn’t human?”
“Well, Timmy, since you asked so nicely,” Kon makes an expansive gesture with his right hand, “I’ll tell ya.”
“Don’t call me that,” Tim interrupts, wrinkling his nose.
Kon crosses his arms and lifts his chin at the merman, “You wanna hear this story or not?”
“Go on,” Tim deadpans, giving Kon a look but nevertheless motioning for him to continue.
“I’m Kryptonian. Half-Kryptonian, if you wanna get technical,” Kon says with a casual shrug, “One of my dads is human, and he kinda stole my other dad’s DNA— ‘cause, see, my second dad, he’s the last survivor from this alien planet that got blown up a few decades back, called Krypton. And then he, uh, sorta had me cloned— my human dad, I mean, not my alien dad, he’s a reporter. But my human dad, he’s, like, rich. And I mean super rich, richer than rich, so he had geneticists combine his own DNA with that of my Kryptonian dad and, well, science happened ‘n here I am. Oh, except he didn’t really ask for my Kryptonian dad’s consent. Or, y’know, tell him, actually.”
Tim blinks.
“I know. Talk about an ‘illegitimate child’, right,” Kon snorts at his own joke like a total dope, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering, not for the first time, why no one at CADMUS had thought to include a basic understanding of the concept of oversharing in his programming, “Anyway— it’s a long story.”
Kon turns towards the horizon and opens his mouth again, to apologise maybe; even if he isn’t sure what for— his existence? Yeah, right; it’s not like he asked to be cloned, after all. In the end, he just clears his throat and continues to watch as the sun goes down in the distance; and Tim’s the one to speak up.
“I’ve got time,” he whispers, softly, hands clasped behind his back and a shy smile on his lips, “If you want to hang out for a bit, that is, and tell me the rest of your story.”
“What? I mean— really? I mean— yeah,” Kon blurts out, turning to stare at Tim, a little too fast and a little too eager, but it’s all worth it when the other boy’s smile widens, “Yeah, uh, totally. Let’s hang out for a bit. Cool beans.”
So Kon starts telling Tim all about Superman, and Lex Luthor, and the Newsboy Legion and how they’d helped him break out of CADMUS. About how, at first, he’d thought he was Superman; how, once he’d found out he wasn’t, he’d settled for not yet, only to, eventually, have to make peace with never. He recounts, with pride, his greatest successes from his time as the Hero of Hawai’i; whispers admissions of his many failures. He talks about Roxy and ‘Ex and Krypto, about Tana and Inspector Makoa— he includes a killer impression of Rex, too, if he does say so himself.
He asks Tim if he’s ever been to Hawai’i and when Tim says he hasn’t, Kon offers to take him— he realises as soon as the words are out of his mouth that that’s a weird thing to offer to someone you’ve only just met, but Tim beams at him and says, “I’d like that a lot.”
Hours pass; and by the time Kon’s told Tim all about his decision to move to the Big Apricot, the water of the bay is as black as the sky above it. Tim’s skin looks even whiter in the moonlight, almost translucent, and the eerie, red glow of his eyes reminds Kon of the will-o’-the-wisps in old ghost stories.
“I, um— should probably head back to my pod,” Tim mumbles after he catches Kon looking up at the moon; eyes widening, almost as if he’s only just realised how late it’s gotten.
Kon tries to hide his disappointment — and the fact that he’s got no idea what a pod is — and nods, “Yeah, ‘course.”
“Guess you need to go home, too, right? I mean, I know you don’t live with either of your dads, but I— I bet your, um, girlfriend will be wondering where you are by now?” Tim asks, in a rush. He’s blushing so hard Kon can see his face turn blue in spite of the darkness surrounding them, and his earfins are twitching again.
Kon’s heart melts at the merman’s clumsy attempt at finding out whether or not Kon’s single; so at odds with the confidence he’s carried himself with throughout most of their encounter, but no less endearing for it. Kon bites his lip to keep himself from smiling like a madman, and makes sure to meet Tim’s eyes when he replies, “There’s no girlfriend. And, um, no boyfriend either.”
“Oh. Okay then,” is all Tim says. He nods, just the once, to himself rather than to Kon; and goes back to staring down at the blackish blue water in front of him. Still, Kon glimpses the hint of a smile, and that’s good enough for him.
“Y’know, I could stay a little longer, if you want,” Kon suggests as a sudden thought hits him, “Or I can come back tomorrow, if that’s better. It’s just, we spent all this time talking about me— but I wanna know about you, too, Tim. Where you’re from, what you get up when you aren’t busy tryin’ to drown unsuspecting Kryptonians…”
That earns Kon a chuckle, but when Tim glances back up at him he looks thoughtful, and a little nervous, “Yeah, I mean, I guess I could tell you about where I’m from. Or… or we could go for a swim?”
“What, like, right now?”
“Right now. If you want.”
“Uh, duh,” Kon grins at Tim and wastes no time scrambling to his feet and diving headfirst into the water, much cooler now that the sun’s gone, “Show me your world then, fishboy.”
Tim rolls his eyes at him, but he still wraps his hands around Kon’s arm to pull him further into the water and under; gentle but insistent. The last thing Kon hears him say is, “Try to keep up, cloneboy.”
