Chapter Text
MARCH 21st - ONE YEAR AND FIVE MONTHS AGO
The night Superman crash-landed onto her balcony, Daisy Paulson thought she was about to die.
The Midwest was hardly an isolated hellscape of snow and construction, but moving to Metropolis had been a huge step, and she was taking far longer to settle in than she liked to admit. Her roommate, Emma, barely blinked when there was breaking news about an alien takeover happening several blocks away, or if some kind of 15-foot-tall mutant creature lumbered past their apartment. It was terrifying, to put it frankly, to wake up every morning and go to bed every night not knowing if the building would still be standing the next day.
Her parents insisted she come back home, but if there was one thing that scared Daisy more than potential intergalactic turmoil, it was going back to what she’d just left behind.
It was a Friday night in late March when something clanged on the balcony right outside the living room of the apartment. Daisy had been alone, her heart pounding as she tried to make out the shape that was mere feet away from her, separated only by glass and wood. It was big, she knew that much, and big normally meant too many teeth or five minutes to take cover before something exploded. It meant that, if she wasn’t careful, whatever it was would be the last thing she saw before it killed her.
She dug a baseball bat out of the front hall closet and slowly made her way across the living room, ready to dial the police as she flipped on the lamp nearest the balcony door.
That’s when she realized what - or rather, who - had landed less than gracefully in her little corner of the universe.
And suddenly calling 911 was the last thing on her mind.
It was strange, seeing Superman up close like this. She’d only ever seen him on a TV screen, and that had distanced him in a way, made him almost unreal. But now he was brought into focus as she set the bat to the side and opened the balcony door: the ridges of his suit caked with dust, the veins in his hands pronounced and dark, his hair wild from the wind and matted with sweat.
He didn’t look like some untouchable, infallible hero. He looked like a young man in need of someone’s help.
She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder. “Superman? Can you hear me?”
He moved slightly, groaning as he tried to raise himself up on his forearms. He gave the tiniest of nods before hanging his head, his breathing slightly labored.
“Do you need me to call someone?” She cringed as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t like she had the Justice Gang’s number saved on her phone. (Did they even have one?) It didn’t matter, regardless, because she heard him grunt out, “No.”
Daisy had so many more questions running through her head, but she chose to keep them to herself until she could move him inside. She needed to get him off the ground and on the couch; he deserved to rest on something other than the balcony’s rough-spun rug, at the very least. But therein lay the problem: Superman was much bigger than her, and she could barely handle carrying more than 30 pounds worth of anything at any given time.
It didn’t mean she couldn’t try.
“I’m going to get you inside,” she said, placing one of her hands over his, his skin clammy. “Um…put your left arm around my shoulders. Can you…are you able to do that?”
Superman finally looked up at her. She felt a pang in her chest at the cuts peppering his face, but what caught her attention was the piercing blue of his eyes, his expression equal parts in pain and…fear, she realized after a second. It was almost absurd, the idea of someone like him being scared, someone who could shoot lasers from his eyes and move faster than the speed of sound. But that sentiment melted away the longer she held his gaze. He might be a man of steel, but even steel could be worn down if enough damage was dealt.
“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” she finally said. “I’m going to be right here with you.” She leaned forward on her knees, trying to make it easier for him to reach her. He took a shuddering breath before slowly, carefully, resting his arm around her shoulders.
Even with him hardly putting any weight on her, the solid muscle of his forearm was noticeable through her sweater and the fabric of his suit. She made the mistake of trying to stand, unable to do so and feeling like she hit an impenetrable wall, her back screaming in a momentary flash of pain. He looked exhausted, those odd dark veins now visible in his neck and across his face, and Daisy knew he had little energy left, if he had any at all.
If only I were stronger, or taller, or -
Stop. Now was not the time for self-deprecation. She’d be here all night if she let herself spiral.
“Superman,” she said gently, “I know you’re hurting right now, and it’s probably difficult to move.” She took a deep breath, looking him in the eye. “But you’re going to have to help me. You have to stand.”
He didn’t get angry like she expected. He simply gave her another small nod and pushed himself up to his knees, his arm still around her shoulders. Together, they got to their feet and slowly walked through the balcony door, the weight he put on her white-hot and suffocating. She kept her eyes on the couch, letting him fall on the cushions when they reached it before collapsing on the floor, gasping for breath.
Get up. He needs you, Daisy.
She gave herself a moment for the pain to fade to a dull ache and then sat up. Superman was splayed out on the couch, his feet hanging off the end and his forehead beaded with sweat. His breathing was still labored as Daisy stumbled her way into the kitchen, flinging open drawers to find a dishcloth and filling a glass with filtered water from the fridge.
“You don’t have to drink all of it,” Daisy said, kneeling beside him. “Just a little bit through the straw.” She dabbed at his forehead with the dishcloth before holding the straw to his mouth. The glass was empty in the space of a breath, the sharp noise of sucking air through a straw hitting her ears. “Or I could get you more. That’s also an option.”
He emptied two more glasses before she grabbed the first aid kit from the bathroom and dabbed at the cuts on his face, as well as the bleeding on his knuckles. None of his injuries were very deep, but he still hissed when she carefully pressed iodine over the broken skin, making her wince. They both needed something else to focus on, so she turned to the questions she had.
“What happened to you?”
He slowly turned his head to face her, his eyes half-lidded and his lips parted slightly. He coughed a little, the sound harsh in his chest.
“Sorry.” Daisy wracked her brain. “Yes or no questions, then. Tap the cushion twice for yes, once for no. Can you do that?”
Lord, she sounded so patronizing. She wouldn’t blame him if he ignored her. But she saw his left hand curl into a loose fist and tap the cushion beneath him twice.
“Okay. Um…has anything I’ve done been helpful?”
Two taps.
“Do you want more water?”
Two taps. She took the filter out of the fridge and put it on the coffee table for easier access.
After two more glasses of water, she asked another question: “Are you able to make it home tonight?”
One tap.
Don’t panic. “That’s…that’s okay. You can stay on the couch as long as you need to. Do you want a blanket?”
One tap.
“Are you hungry?”
One tap.
She pressed the dishcloth to his hairline again, the dark veins once again catching her attention. “Your veins…is…is that what’s making you so weak?”
Two taps.
“What’s wrong with them?” She forgot her yes or no stipulation as she traced one of the veins raised on the back of his hand. “Why are they so dark?”
Superman grasped her arm with his fingers, strong despite his overall state. Daisy tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding as he tugged her closer. Oh Lord, he was going to…what? He didn’t harm people, from the little she knew about him. But what if whatever was going on with him made him act erratically? What if he siphoned the life out of her to gain his strength back?
He guided her until her ear was right at his mouth, her hair falling across his face. He said one word, so quietly it was almost like he hadn’t spoken at all, but he let her go after, his face twisted in pain before settling again. Daisy watched him for a moment before she grabbed her phone and did a quick internet search, clicking on an interview Superman had done with The Daily Planet not that long ago.
Kryptonite, she read, was some kind of mineral from the planet Krypton, a place no longer in existence, but it had managed to send some poisonous pieces through space and into Earth’s atmosphere as the planet exploded. It was once thought to have been eradicated from Earth, but there were rumors that it had been harvested to sell on the black market. Kryptonite was harmful at best and lethal at worst to anyone hailing from Krypton, depending on quantity and exposure time. Signs of poisoning included discolored veins, weakness, fever, dehydration…
Why would he disclose any of this so it could become widely available for anyone to find? He was the only Kryptonian still alive, she knew that much, so this information becoming public knowledge did nothing but make him an easy target. Superman explained in the interview that sharing something like this was important to him: “I want to remain transparent, to remind everyone that even meta-humans can be vulnerable.” But to what degree did being vulnerable become information to be wielded as a weapon?
Daisy took another deep breath. He was sick on her couch, and she couldn’t change that. What he chose to share with the public was the least of her concerns at the moment.
Her heart sank when she finally read that the only treatment guaranteed to work was sunlight. Yellow sunlight, to be precise. It was barely nine in the evening, and sunrise wasn’t for another ten hours. The couch was at least in a good spot to catch the first rays come morning, so maybe it wouldn’t take long for him to heal and he could be on his way. Until then, she’d have to keep an eye on him.
Daisy kept the TV at low volume, reading in a nearby armchair and taking breaks to give Superman more water and make sure he was as comfortable as his condition allowed. He would sleep for short stretches of time, followed by shifting and coughing before he settled back down. It was the quiet that worried her more than anything, and she found herself watching him until she was sure he was still breathing.
A little after midnight, when mopping Superman’s hairline, Daisy was relieved to see that he was no longer burning up. She pushed his sweat-dampened curls from where they fell across his forehead. “Hang in there,” she whispered, turning to go back to her seat.
She felt a slight pressure around her wrist, and looking down, she saw Superman’s fingers wrapped around it. While his grip earlier had been insistent and desperate, the gentle way he touched her now soothed her somewhat, especially when he didn’t pull her closer. His eyes had opened slightly, and even with kryptonite making him delirious, she saw everything he couldn’t physically say as he gazed up at her. She gave his fingers a slight squeeze before letting go.
She tried to stay awake until sunrise.
It was 2:30 in the morning when sleep dragged her under.
Daisy woke up after nine the next morning, her neck stiff from spending the night in an armchair. Glancing over at the couch, she immediately panicked when she saw it empty. She jumped to her feet, legs tangling in one of the blankets they kept in the hall closet, but she didn’t remember pulling one down to use last night.
After steadying herself, she looked out the window to the balcony, and there was Superman, sitting on the ground cross-legged, facing the street, a steaming mug sitting to his right, as if this were perfectly normal for him.
“Good morning,” he said, not even turning to look at her as she opened the balcony door.
“Good morning.” She shut the door behind her and sat down beside him, immediately noticing that color had returned to his cheeks and the cuts that had peppered his skin had disappeared. His profile was also incredibly nice...Lord, she needed to get a grip. “You’re feeling better, I’m guessing?”
“The sun certainly helps,” he said, his face tilted skyward, “but I wouldn’t have gotten through the night without help.”
Daisy shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Leave you out here in the dark by yourself?”
She’d meant it as a joke, but his shoulders wilted a bit. “There are people who wouldn’t hesitate.” He took a sip from his mug. “I made tea, if you’d like some.”
“Um…I’m good.” Daisy frowned. “How did you know where…?”
His ears turned red. “Once I’d been sitting out here a while and I’d gotten my strength back, I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have asked first before rifling through your kitchen cupboards. Tea helps to calm my nerves.”
“What do you have to be nervous about?”
He looked at her for the first time since the previous night. “Kryptonite poisoning makes me feel…on edge. I know I’m safe, but my body hasn’t readjusted fully.”
"So you've been poisoned before?"
"Once." His mouth was set in a firm line. "It wasn't nearly as severe as last night, but it had the same effect on a smaller scale."
"So the rumors about it being harvested are true."
He raised an eyebrow. "You read the interview I did a while back."
Daisy huffed a laugh. "I googled it right after you told me what it was. How else was I going to know how to handle what was happening with you?"
"...That's fair. And good thinking on your part."
“Thank you." She paused, taking in the fact that she was sitting next to Superman, discussing kryptonite poisoning like it was the weather. She shook her head to clear it. "Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“I might need to sit here a while before leaving.” He smiled suddenly. “But I think I should know the name of the young lady who was kind enough to let me sleep on her couch and steal her tea.”
“I honestly don’t mind,” she said. She tentatively stuck out a hand. “Daisy Paulson.”
He shook her hand, and Lord, his were so much bigger than hers, so much so that his palm cocooned her entire hand for a moment. “I wish we had met under better circumstances, Ms. Paulson, but I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.”
“Just try not to go crashing onto anyone else’s balcony and we’ll call it even.” She had no idea where this confidence was coming from; normally she’d be tripping over her tongue, afraid to look silly in front of a man this gorgeous.
Superman gave her a serious look. “I promise you, Ms. Paulson. When I’m in need of help, your balcony is the only one I’ll crash. You have my word.”
His lips twitched, causing Daisy to snort, and the two of them dissolved into laughter, the deep-chested kind that Daisy hadn’t felt in forever. They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Superman giving her one last nod of thanks before launching into the air ten minutes later. She watched until all that was left of him was the white streak he left in his wake, piercing the clouds like an arrow.
About two weeks later, Emma ran into Daisy’s room and shook her awake, that day’s edition of The Daily Planet crinkling in her hands. “D, you won’t believe this!”
There was an interview with Superman on the second page, written by a journalist named Clark Kent. It was brief, only a few questions long, but the length did nothing to disguise the emotion behind Superman’s words.
“I was poisoned by kryptonite recently and couldn’t make it home, landing on a stranger’s balcony. She had no obligation to do so, but she helped me inside and made sure I stayed hydrated until I could recharge the next morning. The world can be unforgiving, but she reminded me that kindness is something that can never be erased. That’s what I want to keep doing: making the world a little brighter in any way I’m able to."
“He talked about you,” Emma said, squealing. “You’re famous!”
“No one’s going to know who he’s talking about, Em, this is hardly me being famous.” Daisy hated the way her cheeks were turning red, regardless.
“I’m so framing this. I’ll tell my grandkids this is how their Auntie Daisy met her husband.”
“Emma…”
“Oh don’t worry, D, I’ll get another copy and laminate it for you.”
“Who said I’m getting married to Superman?”
“Relax,” Emma said, nudging Daisy with her elbow. “You’ll obviously date him first before he proposes.”
“Emma!”
“Hey, if it ends up happening, I get infinite rights to say ‘I told you so’.”
Daisy rolled her eyes, heading back down the hallway to her room. “Fine. Subject change, please.”
"You just don't want to admit I'm right!" Emma called after her.
Later that evening, when Daisy was brushing her teeth, a laminated copy of the article slid under the closed bathroom door. Five minutes later, it had found its home in the center of Daisy’s bulletin board that hung across from her bed, easy to see and reread whenever she wanted to.
Maybe she'd been the one to save Superman that night, but his words had more power than he probably realized. Daisy was still working part-time and struggling to find a full-time position, still feeling unmoored in a city that could be scary and bleak, holing herself up in her room most of the time since she didn't have anyone aside from Emma to talk to. She felt small, insignificant. She worried that her parents had been right all along about her.
"The world can be unforgiving, but she reminded me that kindness is something that can never be erased."
She hadn't realized how badly she'd needed to hear that.
She hadn't realized that maybe, in his own way, Superman had saved her, too.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Thank you for being patient. Updates are going to be inconsistent for the next month or so, but I won't have too much to edit. Enjoy the world-building chapter that takes place during the movie.
A message from Mario: if you're able to catch the very obscure reference I've included, you get his infinite love.
Chapter Text
MAY 20th-25th - ONE YEAR AND THREE MONTHS AGO
About two months after Daisy’s encounter with Superman, billionaire Lex Luthor launched his campaign to turn the public against him.
That entire month of May was something Daisy didn’t like to remember. She’d been desperately sending out her resume to any job she was remotely qualified for, never getting past brief phone interviews. Emma had mentioned the rent going up slightly, but assuring Daisy that groceries and utilities were all she needed to worry about covering, and while Daisy knew that Emma made insanely good money at her parents’ dental practice and would never ask Daisy to contribute more than she was able to, it didn’t stop her from putting pressure on herself every time she got a rejection email. Even the news had been depressing, both local and national channels predicting some kind of invasion of Jarhanpur by neighboring Boravia out in the Middle East due to the latter suddenly acquiring access to US military-grade weapons.
Emma’s boyfriend at the time, Brian Bloom, had certainly not made things any easier. He was an aspiring writer and was decent enough, but he’d lately been obsessively following Lex Luthor’s rise in popularity, claiming the man was a genius and commandeering the TV to watch an eight-part documentary on Luthor’s life thus far and how LuthorCorp had changed the field of technological advancements. Daisy couldn’t understand what was so special about Lex Luthor; to her, he just seemed like a smug, entitled asshat who lorded his wealth and intellect over those he deemed inferior. But she knew better than to say anything in front of Brian, so she’d shut herself in her bedroom and crank the volume on her headphones whenever he brought up Luthor in conversation.
It was the third full week of May, and Daisy and Emma both had the day off. Brian technically did, as well - Daisy couldn’t even remember what it was he did when he wasn’t feverishly writing and sending in samples to publications - and he had parked himself in the middle of the couch. He had one of the national news channels on when the report of the Justice Gang defeating some kind of monster was interrupted out of nowhere. Brian became glued to the TV as a special edition of talk show The Sphere came on, with host Cleavis Thornwaite welcoming special guest Lex Luthor. Daisy was getting to her feet when she heard Luthor claim he’d found some kind of message that proved Superman meant to do the people of Earth serious harm. She sat back down, hard, her full attention suddenly on the TV.
“How do we know it’s even a real thing?” Emma asked from the kitchen. “This sounds so over-the-top and fake -“
“Would you shut up?” Brian cut in. Daisy saw his lips curl in disgust. “I always knew there was something off about that alien.”
It felt like a blow to the gut. Alien. Deliberately chosen to separate Superman from the rest of them. To belittle. To dehumanize.
She didn’t remember everything the message said, but she gathered enough to form a horrific picture: weak-minded humans, world domination, passing on superior genes, a secret harem of women. It was a sinister look into what Superman was capable of, if he chose to do so. And given how often he appeared in the news, how often he saved Metropolis from all sorts of danger, Daisy knew it would be easy for him to become the unstoppable tyrant his parents clearly wished him to be.
“Brian, don’t tell me you’re buying any of this.” Emma stood next to the couch, hands on her hips.
“Didn’t you hear what Luthor said? It’s authentic. He had several linguistic professors look at it and they confirmed it’s real.” He pointed at the screen. “Look at him, acting like he didn’t know about any of it. It’s disgusting.”
Luthor and Thornwaite were still speaking, but the picture had changed to show a live feed of downtown Metropolis. The camera zoomed in and focused on Superman, face hard as stone, walking through a crowd of jeering citizens. Daisy winced when a brick was thrown at the back of his head, but he didn’t seem to notice, which made everyone there even angrier, if that were possible, their loyalty shifting like tectonic plates. Daisy’s chest felt tight at the storminess in Superman’s eyes, the numbness that showed in the slump of his shoulders. No one was reaching forward to offer him condolences of any kind.
“Why haven’t the police shown up yet?” Brian asked no one in particular. “Someone needs to call them in, or the National Guard. We’re not safe with that freak running wild.”
“That freak keeps us safe from actual threats to the city, Brian,” Daisy snapped. “Or did you forget that?” She shrank back as soon as the words were out. Good Lord, why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut?
Emma and Brian both whipped their heads over to look at her. “Are you serious?” Brian asked, eyes narrowed. “How much money has he cost Metropolis in the past few days alone? Is that keeping us safe?”
“Would you rather be pinned under a fallen building instead?”
“Why are you even defending him? Because he talked about you playing doctor for two measly sentences in a newspaper no one bothers to read?”
“You mean the newspaper that’s sent you five rejection emails?”
Brian scoffed. “Don’t change the subject. My point is you don’t even know him.”
“Neither do you.” Daisy stood up, her fingernails digging into her palms. “Has he ever done anything like what that message said? No, because he chooses to help. He chooses to do good.”
Brian barked a laugh. “This just proves my point. You’re brainwashed, Daisy. Wouldn’t surprise me if you became part of his harem.” He gave her a hard stare. “Or maybe you already are.”
Emma shoved him in the shoulder. “Brian, what the hell is wrong with you?!”
“What? Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong, Emma!”
Daisy had stormed down the hallway and slammed the door to her room, curling up on her bed to cry.
Her parents left countless voicemails that day, all demanding she move back to Minnesota and “out of that cesspool infested with aliens”. There was that word again, that ugly word that was stuck in her head the more she heard it. She let her parents exhaust themselves until they stopped calling, finally texting them to say she was fine and she was staying put. And then she turned her phone off.
She dozed on and off the rest of the afternoon, trying to distract herself by reading, pointedly avoiding social media and all the discourse that was sure to have erupted. She eventually grabbed her laptop and dug through The Daily Planet’s online archives to read some of the interviews Superman had given over the past three years - all of them, she noted, with Clark Kent, the journalist who had written the interview pinned to her bulletin board. All she learned was that Superman seemed lonely, from the way he talked about being the last of his kind and feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. It was the same down-to-earth tone he’d had when they’d spoken on the balcony as he recharged in the sunlight.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t picture Superman as the monster Lex Luthor believed him to be.
And maybe, she thought with a sinking feeling, that was exactly what her problem was.
Emma had checked on her later that evening, bringing her a bag of takeout.
“I broke it off with Brian,” Emma said as Daisy tore into her chicken nuggets.
“Emma…I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” Emma gave her a rueful smile. “What he said earlier was gross. I’m not wasting my time on someone who talks to my friends that way.”
“You shouldn’t just end a relationship because of me.”
“It wasn’t just what he said to you. The first time I went over to his place, I saw that one wall was just covered in stapled rejection letters from publishing companies. That was the first red flag, right there.”
Daisy almost snorted Dr. Pepper out of her nose. “Are you serious? He’s always complaining when he gets one, but he actually goes to the trouble to print them out?”
Emma had photographic evidence on her phone. “He color codes them by publisher.”
“Why would he waste so much paper?”
“He mentioned something about it giving him motivation. I don’t know. He’s a pretentious idiot who’s obsessed with that rich bald weirdo. I’ll be better off without him.”
Daisy nodded slowly. “So…you don’t think any of it’s true? What he said about Superman?”
Emma pursed her lips. “I guess that message was real. It’s been confirmed by several news outlets.”
Well, then. So much for holding out hope that it had been a mistake.
Daisy got up and walked to her bulletin board, ready to unpin the laminated article and shove it in the back of her sock drawer. Her eyes caught on the words “poisoned by kryptonite”, and she paused, remembering how she’d judged Superman for being so honest about one of his greatest weaknesses, how easy it would be to use that knowledge to take him down…
“Em? Do you remember when I first told you about Superman spending the night on the couch?”
“Well, duh. You know I was jealous that I was away for a family reunion that weekend. I swear, my poor cheeks were pinched way too many times -“
“It was kryptonite poisoning,” Daisy said.
“Right. And…?”
Daisy spun around to face Emma. “And I was easily able to find information about it. Accurate information, easily accessible, given by Superman himself.”
“Right,” Emma said again. “And I agreed with you it was kind of a boneheaded move for him to basically give everyone a blueprint to defeat him…” Her eyes widened. “Wait…D, why would he…”
“Why would he mention that if he were trying to successfully conquer Earth?”
“Exactly! He wouldn’t!”
“He wouldn’t,” Daisy echoed, smiling despite her face still feeling slightly stiff from tears. “That message might be real, but there’s more going on with this. There has to be.”
“So what do we do? Go all Nancy Drew on the idiots tearing Superman to shreds on Reddit?”
“Well…no.” Daisy looked back at her bulletin board. “You know that there are way too many edgelords pushing the #SuperShit hashtag, and I’m sure it’s absolute chaos right now.”
Emma gave Daisy a look. “Isn’t there anything more…tangible that doesn’t involve the internet?”
“Unless one or both of us becomes a meta-human, I don’t think there’s anything, really.”
“Fiiiiine. I guess I’ll take moral superiority if it means I can lord it over Brian.”
“You said you broke up with him.”
“I did. But I haven’t blocked him.” Emma grinned wickedly. “The kryptonite argument has renewed my faith in Superman, but I’d love it if Evil Mr. Clean does something embarrassing or botches whatever he’s up to right now. Brian worships him and it was pissing me off, honestly.”
“Is this like…schadenfreude by proxy?”
“You can call it that, if you want.” Emma was already furiously typing on her phone. “I like to call it getting the last word.”
The evacuation a few days later was chaos.
There wasn’t much information available outside of there was some kind of physical dimensional rift tearing itself through the middle of Metropolis, and citizens were instructed to go to nearby cities that would be safely out of the way. There was no explanation as to what the rift was, or how it had happened, or the level of danger the city was in. Just two simple facts: something bad was coming, get to safety until further notice.
Emma and Daisy had packed a duffle bag with clothes, their laptops, and their toothbrushes, but not much else. Emma had a rusty teal sedan in the underground garage of their building, but she hardly needed to use it since they walked or took the bus everywhere. Daisy thought that maybe Emma feeling embarrassed at the state of the car was also a factor, but quickly learned that wasn’t the case at all.
“Do you know how many times my parents have attempted to force a newer car onto me over the years?” Emma had asked her once. “Geraldine was my grandmother’s car. It’s been with us for generations and she still works just fine.”
(“Just fine” meant sometimes stalling in the middle of the street and getting the gear shift stuck in Neutral, but Daisy didn’t have her own car and felt that her opinion didn’t count, in this case.)
“Should we head to Gotham?” Emma asked. They were stuck in the middle lane on the bridge that led out of Metropolis, cars inching forward and pedestrians walking around them in any space they could fit.
“No. Everyone’s going to Gotham.” Daisy held the book she was reading in her lap, the top right corner of the cover starting to smooth out the more she ran the pad of her finger over it. “I’d take Bludhaven, at this point.”
“Everyone not going to Gotham is going there.” Emma hit the back of her head on the headrest. “God, you’d think Metropolis would have a plan in place for something as dire as this.”
“To be fair, I don’t think anyone thought the universe tearing itself apart would ever feasibly happen,” Daisy said. “But we definitely should in case this happens again.”
“If we even make it through this,” Emma muttered.
“Em. Not now.”
“D, we’ve moved maybe three feet in the past ten minutes!” Emma stroked her hand over the dashboard. “Gerry can’t take all of this stopping and starting, and neither can my nerves.”
“Hey, look, we’re moving now!” Daisy pointed out the window at a stream of people running across the bridge as the cars around them began to speed forward. “They’re moving like there’s a…” She froze at the vibrations coming through the floor of the car, the sounds of crumbling rock and screeching metal overhead almost deafening. “Like there’s a building about to collapse.”
“You have to be kidding me,” Emma said, shifting into drive. “Come on, Gerry, get us out of here.”
The sight out the back window made Daisy’s stomach sink: a behemoth of a skyscraper crumbling at its base, raining glass and dust as it descended. She was jerked forward as Emma slammed on the breaks, two cars in front of them colliding, right before a car hit them from behind. Gerladine's engine puttered and died in a pathetic puff of smoke.
“What the hell?” Emma glared at the car speeding by her window. “Like I did that on purpose, jerkwad!” She turned the key in the ignition and…nothing.
“Emma?”
“No no no no no. Gerry, come on, girl.”
“We have to get out and start running,” Daisy said, trying to undo her seatbelt. Everything around them was blocked out by a cascade of rubble and dust.
“D, we won’t…” Emma didn’t finish, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.
It was funny, this last moment of life before it was snuffed out. Daisy’s life didn’t flash before her eyes and she didn’t even think to pray to whoever might be listening. She and Emma instinctively turned toward the center console and covered their heads, the sound of destruction deafening as they waited for the end to come.
I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. You were right.
Daisy counted one heartbeat. Two. Three. And then she raised her head, wondering if death had been kind enough to spare them the pain of hundreds of thousands of pounds crushing them into the concrete.
It hadn’t.
The building was mere inches above the car’s roof, but it was no longer on a trajectory toward the ground. Looking out her window, Daisy’s eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “Em, look,” she whispered.
Superman was holding the building aloft, his jaw set as he readjusted his grip. He turned his head for a moment and made eye contact with Daisy, his face softening in recognition. He gave her a slight jerk of his head, and she heard Emma whoop as the car’s engine started, the tires screeching as they peeled away from the bridge crumbling from under them. Emma started laughing hysterically, hands shaking as she aimed for the exit to Gotham.
The building finally collapsed, taking half the bridge with it. Daisy looked out the back window, holding her breath as clouds of dust and debris billowed from the impact site, the sun’s light making it look almost majestic.
She only exhaled when she saw a caped figure rising up from the clouds, watching as they sped away.
She felt a little guilty not letting her parents know about how close she’d come to dying that day. She reasoned she’d tell them about it someday, maybe when the planet wasn’t trying to tear itself in two.
Her parents had agreed to a compromise, at least: she’d keep them updated via text, only calling if it was an emergency. She and Emma were lucky enough to live in an apartment building that hadn’t been anywhere near the rift that had opened up, so they’d been back home after two days in a hotel in Gotham.
The entire time, Emma was checking her social media accounts and switching between news channels, letting Daisy know play-by-play updates on the failed Boravian invasion of Jarhanpur and the arrest of Lex Luthor. (“I unblocked Brian just to send him an article about that before blocking him again.”) Daisy couldn’t bring herself to consume more than whatever Emma told her; she hadn’t been sleeping very well, staying up half the night after having nightmares of what had almost happened on the bridge - of what could have happened, if they hadn’t been lucky. Emma, for her part, didn’t bring it up, just gave Daisy’s shoulder a squeeze every now and then. But Daisy could see the dark circles under her roommate’s eyes, no matter how excited she was every time she turned on the TV.
Once they were back in their apartment, Daisy still had trouble staying asleep, jerking awake and kicking at the sheets in the process. Reading helped to calm her down and make her drowsy most nights, but she found that one early summer night, it was impossible to concentrate on the pages in front of her. And the harder she tried to focus, the more her mind replayed those awful, awful few minutes when she was sure she wasn’t going to survive.
She bristled at the memory of panic, of dread, of uncertainty of what would come after. But it slowly faded when she remembered what had actually come after: Superman appearing to allow her and Emma to escape to safety, making sure they were on their way even after the building had collapsed. She felt her shoulders relax and her eyes grow heavy, eventually falling into a blessedly dreamless sleep.
The last thing she thought of before drifting off was the look she’d exchanged with Superman, the things his eyes had conveyed in those precious few seconds:
I remember you.
It’s okay now.
Please stay safe.
Chapter Text
AUGUST 15th - PRESENT DAY
“Hey D!” Emma’s voice echoes slightly off the apartment’s walls. “Your man is on TV again for saving the world or whatever.”
Daisy laughs to herself but she keeps her focus on brushing her tangled hair. “He’s not my man,” she calls back.
“Since when is Superman Daisy’s man?” Charlie asks.
“Um, since she saved his life?”
“I thought you said he saved you guys during the Rift.”
“This was before that.” Emma snorts. “Did you really not know?”
“She failed to mention that…” Charlie’s footsteps become louder as he pokes his shaved head around the bathroom doorframe, eyes narrowed. “I bring food every time I visit, and you can’t be bothered to tell me something like that?”
Daisy yanks at a particularly stubborn knot in her hair. “It’s never come up. Why hasn’t Emma told you about it?”
“It’s not my story to tell!” Emma says.
“You never felt the need to share? I’m practically family, Daisy.” Charlie places a hand over his heart, shaking his head. “You wound me.”
“I didn’t realize being Emma’s boyfriend of two months equated to family,” Daisy says, biting back a smile. “If you really must know, it was over a year ago…he had kryptonite poisoning and couldn’t make it further than our balcony, so he crashed here for the night.”
“Superman was on that couch?” Charlie points down the hall. “I was just sitting where he almost died?”
“He didn’t almost die,” Daisy says, wincing when her brush hits another snag. “He was severely incapacitated. There’s a difference.”
“He talked about her in an interview,” Emma says. “I have it framed right over by the balcony.”
Daisy furrows her brow as Charlie turns and scurries back into the living room and over to the balcony door. “Charlie, how have you not seen that? It’s like right there.”
“I’ve seen it,” Charlie calls back. “But I’ve never read it. I saw how small the type was and my brain kind of shut down.”
“It’s not even that long,” Daisy says as she shuts the bathroom light off and walks down the hallway to the living room.
“We can’t all be readers like you, D,” Emma teases before turning to Charlie. “She inspired him, isn’t that adorable?”
Daisy tugs on the cuffs of her cardigan and grabs her shoulder bag from the hook by the front door. “It was one night, Em. I'm sure he doesn’t remember it.”
“Daisy Elizabeth,” Emma says, shaking her head. “Something like that is unforgettable. He saves countless people, but how many times does someone do the same for him?”
“More than we think, probably,” Daisy mutters.
Emma rolls her eyes. “I don’t think so, D. Plus, he’s totally single…”
Daisy sighs. “Don’t start, you guys.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” Charlie says.
“You’re about to.” Daisy shoves her glasses further up her nose. “Do you know how many people are in love with Superman? He has his choice of anyone.”
“Right,” Emma says, raising an eyebrow. “And you already have a leg up, because he also saved your life, so that means -“
“It means nothing. I know you guys love me and think the world of me, but I’m not special. Superman isn’t going to fly through the window and declare his love for me. That’s not how the universe works.”
“But maybe it could…” Charlie drags out the last word like a question.
Daisy grabs her lunchbox from the fridge, heading out the front door. “I’ll see you guys later.” She lets it shut before either of them can say anything else.
As she waits for the elevator, she looks at herself in the mirror on the wall beside the doors, cringing at her split ends and too-big nose. Not for the first time, she wishes she looked different: not as pale, a little taller, a face that allows her to be confident enough for contacts instead of glasses.
The elevator dings, and Daisy steps in, pressing the button for the first floor.
Dating Superman…that’s not how the universe works. Not for someone like me.
There isn’t enough space for her in or around Cat Grant’s cubicle at The Daily Planet. That was the official reason she was given on her first day, anyway.
“You’ll get a desk phone,” Cat had said. “I can always call if I need you for something.” What Cat hadn’t said was that she’d be ringing the phone off the hook all day for any task that came to mind, menial or otherwise. Sometimes it’s photocopies, sometimes it’s dry cleaning. Cat used to call about coffee right away in the morning, and Daisy learned quickly to work a coffee run into her routine before arriving, if only to save herself a few precious seconds of not pressing the receiver to her ear.
When senior editor Perry White offered her the position, Daisy wasn’t expecting to be mentored on how to become a better writer, or to be writing anything at all, really. She was aware “paid intern” was a catch-all term when she accepted. And as far as supervisors go, Cat is friendly enough. She isn’t rude or antagonistic, and she remembers to thank Daisy for her hard work. But Cat is definitely clueless to how haggard Daisy feels some days. And she was hoping she’d get an actual desk, at the very least.
“Desk” is a generous term for the hardwood table she’s been assigned to sit at, with an office chair, a computer, and the hated phone her only equipment. She brought a few fake plants and some of her Funko figures to make it less pathetic, and often has at least six or seven books at one of the corners, swapping them out as she finishes them to be replaced with ones she’s yet to read. She’s been blessedly placed with a few reporters in the bullpen instead of being stuck in a shadowy corner or an alcove, but the table had been unceremoniously pushed up against the outside of someone else's desk, making it even more obvious how pitiful her setup is. But if she has to share space with anyone, she’s thankful it’s with Clark Kent.
Daisy recognized the name from the Superman interviews she’s read, and she had been expecting Clark to be someone foreboding, a serious, hard-hitting journalist who was too proud to have a lowly intern sitting in his field of vision. She almost asked if her “desk” could be moved elsewhere so she could ease her worrying just a little bit. But Clark had come traipsing in late on her first day, glasses sliding down his nose, hunched slightly as if he were afraid to take up too much space. And with a simple handshake and a soft, “Nice to meet you,” Clark became an island of calm familiarity in the sea of chaos that was the bullpen.
He comes in every morning with his dark hair tousled, coffee from Jitters in hand and suit jacket bulky around his shoulders. He almost always startles when his phone rings, and he rolls his chair across the floor frequently to speak with Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, with Lois unafraid to tell Clark to focus on his work when he’s slacking a bit. He always has a lopsided smile on his face when he wheels himself back to his desk, dimples appearing in his cheeks - dimples that have no right to be as adorable as Daisy finds them.
Clark is the only person besides Cat who speaks to Daisy on a regular basis - at least, she counts his regular “good morning” to her as human interaction. The thought of having an actual conversation with anyone ties her stomach in knots, so she keeps her head down, eating lunch at her desk and reading whenever she gets a break. Sometimes she’ll look up and watch Clark, Lois, and Jimmy talking and laughing, or some of the other reporters huddled around the coffee maker, and she feels the smallest pang of regret. But she steels herself and goes back to whatever book she has open, safe in the pages.
She should have known it was too good to last.
“You got a new book today?”
Daisy jumps a foot out of her chair, her book falling to the floor. She looks up to see Clark standing at one end of her desk.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Clark says, wincing. He leans down before she can even think to do so, dusting off the book's cover before handing it back to her. "Page 152, right?"
“Yeah." She takes it from him, using a post-it note as a bookmark, her heart still hammering against her ribs.
"You okay?"
"Fine. I’m fine.” She takes deep breaths. “It’s fine.”
He looks relieved. “Must be pretty good, I’m guessing?”
She blinks. “What is?”
“Your book. You know, since you were…” He clears his throat, shuffling his feet. “You were so focused.”
“Oh.” Of course that’s what he meant. She takes a moment to consider her answer. “Um, it’s okay, I guess.”
“That’s…good."
She nods, pulling her sleeve cuffs over her hands as she feels heat flood her face. Please leave, please leave, please -
“Did you want to sit with me today? For lunch? At my desk? Or yours. Just - yeah.” He says it so fast she has to take a second to process. “You can even bring your book if you want and keep reading, I just thought…” He scratches the back of his head, eyes on the ground.
Pity lunch. He’s offering to sit with her out of pity. The thought weirdly stings; Clark doesn’t strike her as disingenuous, and he’s always been polite to her over the three months she’s been here. But what can she really gather about a person who only says two words to her each day?
She wants to sink into the floor and is about to turn him down when her desk phone rings.
Daisy clenches her jaw as she answers. “This is Daisy.”
“Oh good, you’re not busy,” Cat says. “I have a favor.”
“Um…I’m actually eating my lunch right now -“
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll give you a full extra 30 minutes later, this can’t really wait.”
“Can’t really wait” is usually an indicator that Cat wants a unicorn frappe from the Starbucks around the corner, meaning she’s on deadline and doesn’t want to disrupt her writing process by taking a break. That’s why Daisy is here, after all.
Daisy closes her eyes and exhales before plastering on a smile. “Your usual?”
“Make it a venti. Thanks, Dais.”
Daisy hangs up the phone before Cat can tack on more errands for her. “Cat needs me to run to Starbucks,” she says, stuffing her food back into her lunchbox and grabbing her shoulder bag. “I’ll see you later, Clark.”
“Would you mind if I came with?”
She stops, turning to look at him. “You want to come with me?”
He nods. “If that’s alright with you.”
She starts to tell him she’ll be fine by herself, but her breath catches from the way he’s looking at her. His eyes are bright, hopeful, as if this is the high point of his day, as if being with her is something to look forward to. She allows herself to believe it’s true for a moment; as terrified as she is by human contact, her desperation for it is far greater.
“Yeah,” she says, tilting her head towards the elevators. “It’s alright with me.”
Chapter Text
Daisy never realized how small she is compared to Clark. They’re at the same height when they’re sitting at their desks, but on their feet, she barely clears his shoulders. He’s flexing his fingers as they ride down to the first floor, and she looks at her own, peeking over the cuffs of her sleeves; his thumbs are easily twice the size of hers.
She‘s holding her breath, dreading the small talk that’s inevitably going to start. She always gives dead-end answers or just doesn’t know how to respond, sitting in awkward silence. As mildly irritating as it is to do constant errands, Daisy normally blocks out the world with her music as she walks, cocooned in her own little bubble with Taylor Swift in her ears. She laments that she can’t do so now, not if she doesn’t want to be rude.
She thinks back to her first encounter with Superman, wondering where the confidence she had with him disappeared to.
This was a horrible decision.
“So,” Clark says when they hit the sidewalk. “What’s Cat’s usual?”
She silently thanks the universe for giving her a question she can answer. “Unicorn frappe, extra mango syrup, hold the coconut oil.”
“And that’s also what you come in with every morning or…?”
Another easy question. “No, her morning usual is a caramel nonfat latte. The unicorn frappe is her usual when she needs a sugar boost while on deadline. Which she is right now.”
Way to state the obvious. Her muscles tense as uncomfortable heat prickles up her neck. Somehow, even with the simplest of answers, she’s gone and made herself look foolish. He’s never going to speak to her again, and she’s sure he’s regretting coming with her -
“Can I ask you something?” Clark’s voice cuts through her panic.
She nods, not trusting herself to verbalize anything.
“What did you mean when you said your book was okay?”
Daisy frowns, the toe of her shoe crunching a dead leaf on the pavement. “I meant that it’s okay. Why?”
“That could mean a number of things.” Clark shrugs. “Okay is kind of a broad term. I was, um…hoping you could elaborate?”
Oh Lord, he doesn’t know what he’s asking of her. This is extremely dangerous territory; she has plenty to say, but she knows once she starts, she’ll never stop. Her opinions on what she reads are endless, and no one wants to sit and listen to her ramble on about a book they’ve never read. Grade school and an inability to hold down a boyfriend longer than a handful of months taught her that in the worst ways possible.
“You really want me to tell you?” she asks, dubious.
All he does is nod, looking at her from under his eyelashes. It does something funny to her chest.
“Can I tell you in a second?” They’ve made it to Starbucks and it’s crowded - not a surprise - and she checks her phone to confirm Cat’s unicorn frappe is ready. “You can wait out here, I’ll probably be a few minutes -“
“Is it under your name or Cat’s?”
“…Mine.”
Clark gives her a single nod and strolls in, leaving her dumbfounded on the sidewalk. Not even half a minute later, he emerges, a coffee sleeve around the plastic cup. “It’s kind of cold, so I thought this might help,” he says as he hands it to her.
“Oh. Thanks.” It’s not nearly enough to express her sheer bewilderment at why this simple gesture touches her so much. He had the forethought to keep her fingers from freezing, which is hardly significant in the grand scheme of things. Her chest feels funny again as she mulls it over and they start walking back.
“So what makes your book okay?” Clark looks at her with raised eyebrows.
Daisy takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s a prequel to a fantasy book I’ve been wanting to read for a while. And it’s not necessary to read the prequel before reading the first book, but I like to be thorough when I read a series.”
“Understandable.”
Okay, he isn’t bored yet. That’s a good sign.
“I’m about halfway through the prequel, and it’s just not very interesting. Lots of repetitive inner thoughts, the pacing’s way too slow, and I’m too far in to want to just DNF, but I’m ready to be done with it.”
“DNF?”
Oh no. She’s lost him already.
“It means ‘did not finish’. It’s a shorthand way of saying you stopped reading something before getting to the end. It’s kind of turned into a verb, or at least that’s how I use it, but…” She’s rambling. Good Lord. “Anyway, it’s just frustrating when I want to read something else, but -“
“But you want to finish what you’ve already started, even though you’re not enjoying yourself.”
Daisy blinks up at him. “That’s…exactly it.”
Her internship comes to mind, how she wishes she were anywhere else but has to stay there for now because it’s the only position she’s managed to land after months of job searching. She decides that’s a bit too much to say at the moment and keeps it to herself.
They’ve made it back to The Daily Planet and Clark gestures for Daisy to go through the revolving door first. “Sounds like quite the predicament,” he says, following her.
“I fully admit I do it to myself.” Daisy uses all the strength she can muster to shoulder through the door, waiting for Clark to come through behind her. And he does, but his tie gets caught for a few seconds and yanks him back. He gives her a thumbs up once he frees himself, the tips of his ears turning red.
Daisy turns and hits the call button to the elevators, disappointed when the doors open almost immediately. They’ll be back up on their floor soon enough, sharing the same general space but going their separate ways.
She's still a little wary of embarrassing herself, but talking with Clark has been nice, and it's certainly gone better than she assumed it would. For all his clumsiness and awkward tendencies, Clark's good at keeping the conversation going, and he seems genuinely interested in what she has to say. It's funny, having someone actively engaging with book discussions with her; she's still half-expecting him to grow tired of her at some point.
“So…” Clark clears his throat as he tries and fails to fix his tie, the elevator doors closing. “Is the first book really worth it to suffer through all of that?”
The little lurch the car gives before it moves makes Daisy's stomach drop like it always does. “I think so.” She ducks her head. “But that’s a whole other explanation that would take a while, so…”
“You mean there’s more?” The elevator doors open to their floor, and Clark’s attention is still fixed on her, blue eyes wide behind his glasses. “How deep does this go?”
"Deeper than you'd probably want it to. It's really not that interesting, and I'd just talk your ear off until you got sick of me."
He reaches out and puts a hand on her arm, making both of them pause. "I don't think that's possible," he says quietly, looking at her in a way that makes her feel like he can see right through her. But the moment shatters when he grins. "Besides, I'm invested in this now. You can't expect me to not be curious."
Daisy can’t help herself as she laughs. "Spoken like a true reporter.” She looks down at the slightly-wilted whipped cream of Cat’s unicorn frappe. “I should get this to Cat and see if she’s got anything else for me to do.”
“Thank you for letting me tag along. I’ll see you when you’re back at your desk,” Clark says, giving her a wave as he walks away.
“Yep.” Back at her desk, where she’s effectively invisible. “See you then.”
Cat gives the biggest sigh of relief when Daisy hands over her drink. “You’re a lifesaver, my dear.”
“Happy to help,” Daisy says, bracing herself for another errand.
“You take your 30 minutes now, okay, Dais?” Cat says instead.
“Oh…okay. Thank you.” Daisy makes a beeline for her desk on the other side of the bullpen, ready to rest her feet for a bit. She also wants to talk to Clark again, even if it’s not about her reading habits. She just wants to keep talking, listening to his responses and watching him react to what she says…maybe making him smile so hard his dimples appear.
Clark isn’t at his desk when she returns to hers. And that’s okay, she reasons. She’s used to going long periods of time without interacting with anyone. It’s not like he’s avoiding her, but now that’s exactly what she’s worrying he’s doing.
She counts to ten and rolls her shoulders. She has a chance to eat her lunch and read some more so she can finally finish her book. That’s what she wanted anyway, isn’t it?
She sits down, opening her book and seeing that the post-it note she’s using as a bookmark now has writing on it.
Family emergency, out for the rest of the day. But I still want to hear about what makes suffering through a book you dislike worth it in the end. ;) -C. Kent
And underneath that is his number.
Chapter Text
Daisy: Hey Clark. This is Daisy. From work. But you knew that. Just wanted to check in with you.
Simple, polite, professional. She keeps her phone on silent for a few hours, warring between wanting him to text her back and wanting him to leave her on “read”. Emma and Charlie are out to dinner, something that usually makes the apartment seem huge and hollow on Friday nights, but at least she won’t be tempted to ask them about this new development. As nerve-wracking as it is, she wants to keep it to herself for now, just in case nothing comes of it.
After eating half a pizza, and while watching one of her comfort playlists on YouTube, she finally reaches for her phone to check for emails or if Emma has messaged her to let her know if she’ll be sleeping at Charlie’s. The sole notification on the screen is from Clark Kent’s number.
Clark: Everything’s good, nothing too serious. :)
Simple, polite, informal yet friendly. Another message comes through a second later.
Clark: I didn’t want to leave without letting you know why. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your bookmark.
If Emma were here, she’d tell Daisy to be a little flirty, tell him that she doesn’t mind at all and punctuate it with a winky face. But Daisy’s still hung up on the fact that Clark cared enough about her feelings at all to leave a note so she wouldn’t wonder about where he’d gone.
Daisy: I appreciate it. Thank you so much. Glad to hear things are okay. What are you up to right now?
It’s best if she establishes that she’s not interested in texting constantly. There have been text conversations and DMs she’s had over the years that dragged on far longer than they needed to because she’d always felt the need to keep answering. She’s not looking to resurrect that compulsion, hoping Clark doesn’t send her anything else.
Five minutes later, she sees her phone light up.
Clark: You still owe me an explanation about your book. ;)
Welp.
Daisy: Is it sad that I was kind of hoping you’d forgotten about that?
She sends it before she can second-guess herself, then opens her settings and takes her phone off of silent mode. The next time something comes through from Clark, her phone gently vibrates like a heartbeat: bzz-bzz, bzz-bzz.
Clark: You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you? What kind of reporter would I be if I didn’t see this through?
His persistence is maddening, but it’s strangely endearing. She’s debating on how to respond when another text pops up.
Clark: In all seriousness, you don’t have to share if you really don’t want to. Please let me know if I’m overstepping.
She’s thrown for a moment at his concern, at the respect shining through to let her know he’ll honor whatever she decides. She’s startled by the way her heart skips as she rereads his words; she’s clearly so starved for company that she’s now romanticizing basic human decency. Either way, he deserves an answer.
Daisy: You’re not. I’m just not used to anyone being as invested in my reading as I am. The reason I’m suffering through an awful prequel novel is because of this part from the first actual book.
She sends him several photos she’s taken of pages of the first book in The Nedgstern Chronicles, specifically from Chapter 28. Talia Herringbone, the lost princess of Sondria, is stargazing with Riggory Baxwoll, a knight in training. Daisy remembers stumbling across these pages when she was flipping through the book at the bookstore, a habit she has in order to see how a story ends, mainly seeking out any clues to romance subplots. Even now, she still blushes over the way Rigg holds Talia's hand to his heart, the way he tells her he wishes he could be worthy of her but worries that he’s too soft to be a proper knight. The way Talia reassures him that he’s more than worthy because he makes her laugh and his instinct to protect the ones he loves instead of attack or destroy his enemies makes him more courageous than any knight she’s met.
The way Rigg takes Talia’s face in his hands and kisses her...
Daisy has fallen asleep reading these pages on her phone, dreaming of a tall man with dark hair and vague features stargazing with her on a hill, tracing constellations and stealing kisses. She’ll bunch up her comforter against her back some nights and imagine being spooned, which she knows is extremely sad, but it takes up less energy than an actual relationship. It’s simple, manageable, safe from very real barbed words that leave very real emotional scars.
She’s pulled back to reality when her phone buzzes softly against her hip: bzz-bzz, bzz-bzz.
Clark: I think I understand now. This is incredibly sweet.
Daisy: I’ve been rereading those pages to keep me motivated. It’s also impossible for me to not melt at how gentle Rigg is.
Clark: Does he struggle with that at all? Being gentle?
Daisy: I don’t know for sure yet, I’ve only read what I sent you. I have a feeling he doesn’t have any problem with being gentle, despite how rough his hands are.
Clark: And you’re able to tell just from a few pages?
Daisy bites her lip and buries her face in her knees, her cheeks warm and her smile wide before she types a response.
Daisy: The way he cups Talia’s face and runs his thumbs over her skin to catch her tears before kissing her are huge giveaways. They normally are in romantasy books like this.
Clark: You’ll have to keep me updated when you finally get to read this in context. There’s a lot riding on this guy’s ability to make you fall in love with him.
She gawks at her phone for a moment.
Daisy: Me finding his actions cute does not equate to falling in love with him!
Clark: You’re able to tell the kind of man he is from only a few pages. I’d be surprised if you weren’t head-over-heels already. ;)
He’s not wrong, and she hates him for it. She hates herself even more for how much she’s told him in the span of an hour, how flighty and hopelessly romantic she’s revealed herself to be.
Daisy: Shut up Now you know why I was hoping you’d forgotten.
Clark: Still feel that way?
Daisy: Kind of? It’s embarrassing to talk about this, but it’s been nice to have someone listen. My roommate and her boyfriend will indulge me but I try to keep it brief so they don’t get too bored.
Clark: I’m happy to listen to you tell me all about your book romances. It’s not boring at all.
Daisy: Thanks. But you don’t have to pretend it’s interesting just to spare my feelings.
He doesn’t respond for a while, and Daisy feels her heart sink. She figures it was only a matter of time before she messed this up. She gets another notification a few minutes later, but it’s just Emma, letting Daisy know not to wait up for her since she’ll be at Charlie’s.
Daisy gets ready for bed, brushing her teeth and taking her magnesium supplement, pointedly ignoring her phone as it sits on her nightstand. She hears the bzz-bzz, bzz-bzz right as she’s climbing under the comforter and almost drops her phone as she scrambles to unlock the screen.
Clark: When we were walking back from Starbucks earlier, I noticed you light up a bit when you were telling me about reading. You’re always so quiet when you’re at your desk, it was almost like you were a different person.
Daisy sits for a moment, stunned.
Daisy: I tend to get carried away. Sorry about that.
Clark: You didn’t get carried away at all. You seemed less tense, and it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile like that since you started interning.
Daisy: Like what?
Clark: Like it was impossible to contain and you still reined it in.
Her hands shake a bit as she types a response.
Daisy: Getting poetic there, Mr. Kent.
Clark: I don’t see you complaining, Ms. Paulson. :P
Daisy: I was making an observation. :)
Clark: I just want you to know that your thoughts and opinions matter even if you don’t think anyone wants to hear them. If I’m able to give you a tiny bit of happiness by just listening, I’m more than willing to do so.
Daisy stares at her phone long enough for the screen to go black; she has to get up and grab tissues to scrub at the tears stinging her eyes. She’s tempted to ask him why - why is he being so kind, why does she deserve his attention, why hasn’t he spoken to her until now - but she refrains.
Clark: Daisy?
It’s just her name, but it’s enough to make her start crying all over again.
Daisy: I’m still here. Just speechless. You have quite the way with words, Clark Kent.
Clark: It’s my job, I would hope that’s the case. But I mean every single one.
Is this man even real? She wants to ask, but before she can, she yawns and realizes it’s after midnight.
Daisy: I’m falling asleep, but thank you for everything, Clark. Good night.
She’s half-asleep when his reply comes through, and it’s the last thing she sees before drifting off.
Clark: Good night, Daisy. Sweet dreams.
She’s back on the bridge leading out of Metropolis, a skyscraper plummeting toward her like a projectile. She’s stuck inside Geraldine, in the passenger seat; Emma is nowhere to be found. Her seatbelt keeps her restrained, suffocatingly so. Out her window, she can see Superman approaching, flying toward the skyscraper, but she knows, somehow, that he won’t reach her in time as the point of the skyscraper gets closer and closer -
Daisy jerks awake, her hands fisted in her comforter. It’s just after 3 AM and her room seems so much bigger when it’s dark. Her face feels stiff with tears and she can tell she’s sweating a bit by her damp camisole and the slight chill at the back of her neck.
She almost gets out of bed to go to Emma’s room, but then she remembers - Emma’s not here. Emma and Charlie are at his place, probably sound asleep; texting or calling them is out of the question. The nights where she has nightmares of the Rift evacuation are already terrifying. They’re made even worse when she’s alone in the apartment and all she can do is curl in on herself and try to calm down.
Her heart is still pounding as she shakily gets to her feet and forces herself into the kitchen. Charlie keeps sleepytime tea in one cupboard in case any of them have trouble sleeping, and he’ll make some for Daisy and Emma whenever one of them is up in the night from a nightmare. Daisy puts a mug full of water in the microwave and waits for it to heat up, knowing Charlie would be scandalized at her foregoing using the kettle on the stove. “Tea doesn’t taste the same when you nuke the water,” he insists, but she doesn’t have the patience to wait right now.
She drinks her tea over the course of half an hour, knowing if she doesn’t finish, it’ll be cold when she wakes up later and taste terrible. When there are nothing but dregs left, her eyes are already growing heavy as she gets back into bed. She bunches up her comforter and presses it against her back, her mind beginning to wander as she falls asleep.
She’s wrapped securely in someone’s arms, his weight solid against her back. “I’ve got you,” he says. “You’re safe now." Normally this imaginary man doesn’t speak, but the deep, sturdy timbre of his voice is immediately soothing.
She starts to shake a bit. “It’s been a year, why am I still like this?”
“It was traumatic, Daisy. It might take some time for you to process.”
“Emma and I are fine, though. Superman saved us before…” Even in her dreams, she can’t bring herself to say it.
“I’m thankful I was able to get to you in time.”
She startles, slowly turning to face him. “Superman?”
Instead of her faceless, fictional boyfriend, Superman is smiling back at her. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Why are you…how did you…” She sighs. “You know what? I’m just gonna go with it. I’m too tired to ask.”
Superman’s smile fades as he tugs her closer. “I really do wish we were able to meet in better circumstances.”
“How do you do it?” she asks him. “How do you constantly put yourself in danger and still function like a normal person?”
“Define ‘normal’.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I meant.”
“I do. But it’s hard to resist teasing you.” He kisses her nose as she wrinkles it.
“You haven’t answered me.”
He exhales, his eyes piercing as he looks at her. “Some days are easier than others. There are random periods when emotions just hit me out of nowhere…and it can be overwhelming. I’ll remember someone I couldn’t save or a time when I was close to death and…I have to take a second to breathe.”
“That’s it? Breathing? That’s the answer?”
He gives her a look. “You remember triangle breathing? From when you were tutoring before you moved to Metropolis?”
“Yeah. But I was taught that so I could help my kids if they couldn’t calm themselves down.”
“What if I did it with you?”
“Right now?”
He nods. “Right now.” He holds up his left hand, pointing at her. “Touch your finger to mine.”
After a second, she slowly points her finger and touches the tip to his.
“Up for four, across for four, down for four,” he says. “Like a triangle.”
They move their hands diagonally up for four beats as they breathe in, then draw a straight line as they count to four, and finally exhale as they move their hands in a downward diagonal. They repeat it three more times, and Daisy feels herself start to relax.
“How was that?” he asks.
She shrugs, unable to meet his eyes. “I guess it wasn’t too bad.”
“I want you to do that the next time you’re alone and you have a nightmare. Do at least three cycles, more if you have to.” He brushes his knuckles against her cheek. “You deserve to feel safe.”
“Some days I think I’ll never feel safe again,” she mumbles.
“I know it seems that way. But you keep going, despite that. You’re much more resilient than you think you are.” He kisses her forehead, his breath ghosting over her skin. “Now try to get some sleep.”
Daisy sleeps through the rest of the night and wakes when the sun spills through her window. As weird as she feels about dreaming of Superman, she’s slightly disappointed to find that she’s still alone, her comforter flattened and the other side of her bed cold.
Chapter Text
The next week is an odd one.
The Daily Planet isn’t much different logistically; Daisy's still answering emails for Cat and running to pick up food and organizing files. She’s still ignored by almost everyone. She’s finally finished the stupid prequel and can start on the book she actually wants to read, and does so on her lunch breaks.
What’s odd is that Clark starts to leave post-it notes on her desk every day.
He still tells her “good morning”, but she overhears him speaking to Lois and Jimmy about how this is a “week from hell” and it’s all hands on deck to meet deadlines and keep up with Superman’s heroics, meaning focusing is a priority. Daisy isn’t surprised when he doesn’t say anything else to her on Monday, but she is surprised when a hot-pink post-it appears when she comes back from the water cooler midmorning.
Lois is keeping me on task today and I don’t want to risk her seeing me texting. I see you finally started your book. How is it so far? -C. Kent
Daisy studies it for a moment before looking over her computer monitor at Clark. He’s the picture of concentration, eyes on his screen and fingers flying over his keyboard. He glances up briefly and catches her watching, and his elbow knocks into his empty coffee cup, which goes spinning across the floor, making much more noise than she thought possible.
She sits down, trying to keep from laughing. She almost writes what she thinks of her book so far, but before she even starts, she pauses. Are all they going to do is talk about books? As much as she loves to do that, she realizes that she knows next to nothing about Clark as a person. Sometimes she forgets to ask other people about themselves, not to be rude, but because she’s so focused on making sure she doesn’t get too carried away when discussing her interests. It’s all too easy for her to remember the way her classmates and her parents would roll their eyes when she got excited about something and it was all she could talk about. She’s been told she’s obsessive, overly enthusiastic, too much. She won’t let that happen this time.
We’ve been talking an awful lot about what I’m reading. I’d like to know a bit more about you, if that’s okay.
She sticks it to Clark’s bulletin board that’s on the pillar adjacent to their desks, but the adhesive isn’t enough to keep the post-it in place, and it falls off after a few minutes. She doesn’t see where it lands, and she doesn’t have time to look anyway, because her desk phone rings and Cat mentions that the coffee pot is empty, and would she be a dear and brew some more since everyone else is occupied. Daisy groans to herself and spends the next ten minutes making sure the coffee pot is full.
Another hot-pink post-it is on her desk when she’s done.
Where did you grow up?
Clark: Smallville, Kansas
Daisy:
At the very bottom, Clark has written Fill in the response by your name before sending back.
And so she does.
Daisy: Faribault, Minnesota
She pins it to his board to make it stay this time.
There’s another one, lime green, when she comes back from making endless photocopies.
Family
Clark: Ma and Pa, no siblings
Daisy: Mom and Dad, Ruby (younger sister)
And a fourth, dark blue, after she goes outside for a few minutes to clear her head.
Pets
Clark: Does taking care of my cousin’s dog count?
Daisy: In the process of badgering Emma and Charlie to adopt a cat (and I say it does count).
They go back and forth like this the whole week, Clark sending her post-its in a multitude of colors, Daisy reading Clark’s responses to his own questions and then writing a response of her own.
College Degree
Clark: bachelor’s in communications journalism
Daisy: bachelor’s in English with a writing emphasis
***
Favorite Food
Clark: Beef bourguignon with ketchup (it’s better than it sounds).
Daisy: Holiday Pie from McDonald’s (don’t laugh, it’s otherworldly).
***
Current Favorite Song
Clark: “Goodnight Moon” - Go Radio
Daisy: “Eldest Daughter” - Taylor Swift
***
Croutons or bacon on salad?
Clark: croutons
Daisy: bacon (What kind of question is this? Croutons are cardboard.)
***
Is Daisy wrong for not liking croutons on salad?
Clark: Absolutely.
Daisy: Cardboard. Argue with the wall.
She might imagine it, but she swears she hears Clark laughing to himself a few times when reading her answers. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking, given she’s been stifling her own giggles.
Friday is when the tension eases a bit and everyone starts to breathe a little easier. It’s also when Clark rounds his desk - hip-checking the corner in the process - to ask Daisy if she’d like company during her lunch break. She doesn’t even hesitate to say yes.
Weekends are when Daisy finds herself at the Metropolis Public Library, working as a volunteer from 12 to 2 to pull requested items and sometimes shelve picture books. Her cart can get heavy and there are times when a book isn’t where it’s supposed to be, but she finds it calming. There’s no rush, no demands. It’s just her, the shelves, and her list of books to find.
It’s a job she can see herself doing full-time, receiving modest pay and being surrounded by what she loves the most.
It’s a job that’s frustratingly difficult to land, one that Daisy’s stubbornly applied for upwards of ten times in the past two years she’s lived in Metropolis - one that always ends up going to an internal candidate or someone slightly more qualified than she is. And it’s not as if she isn’t grateful for her position at The Daily Planet, given how much she’s paid to be a glorified errand girl…it’s just not what she sees herself doing for the rest of her life.
Daisy shivers a bit, pulling her cardigan closer as she pushes the front door to the library open. All thoughts of work are forgotten with the unseasonably chilly air. Last August was much hotter, sweltering and suffocating; she distinctly remembers the kids in the neighborhood frying eggs on the sidewalk. Even back in Minnesota, summer and early fall were given their time before winter weather settled in around mid-October. Now, she’s considering digging out her winter clothes and wool socks, in case the bullpen starts to get unbearably cold during the week.
Julie, one of the librarians and the volunteer coordinator, waves as Daisy passes the front desk. “Bit of a chilly day today. You were smart to wear that.” She nods to Daisy’s cardigan.
“I’d probably be wearing it regardless of the weather,” Daisy admits.
“Hey, if it works, it works. There are a lot of requests today, so don’t worry about finishing the entire list. And you don’t have to pull anything from 1 to 1:30, you’re more than welcome to listen to Story Hour Saturday with the rest of the staff.”
Story Hour Saturday, while being slightly inaccurate given it isn’t even a full hour, isn’t anything too exciting. The librarians invite a public figure or an author to come in and read books to kids, and Daisy continues on with her volunteer duties while it happens. She’s not very interested in listening to someone read Pete the Cat for the 57th time (and yes, she’s been counting).
“Oh, that’s okay,” Daisy says. “I don’t mind pulling requests. Whatever I get done is less work for you guys later.”
“Are you sure? It’s not every day you get to see Superman up close like this.”
Daisy pauses, blinking rapidly. “Superman? That’s today?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Julie teases. “It’s all we’ve been talking about for weeks. We're probably going to have our biggest crowd yet.”
“Work’s been kind of busy,” Daisy says, toeing the carpet with one of her shoes. Truthfully, she never pays much attention to Story Hour Saturday guests…and her focus has been on all the notes she and Clark have shared over the past week, and how she made him laugh so hard at lunch yesterday, his dimples were visible.
“I won’t blame you if you change your mind. Just don’t work too hard,” Julie says.
Daisy nods, going into the back to drop off her wallet and keys in a locker and grabbing a cart and volunteer badge as she makes her way back up front. A long list of requests isn’t uncommon at all, so she thinks nothing of it when she goes to grab that day’s list.
Julie wasn’t kidding. The stack she holds in her hands is almost 100 pages long. Daisy flips through the pages and finds the culprit immediately: someone has requested what must be every copy the library has of the Magic Tree House books. But Daisy knows she can’t just waltz over and grab books by the handful; she has to match the call number listed to whatever book she pulls from the shelf. She decides to cross that bridge when she gets to it - because she will get to it and dedicate the second hour of her shift to the meticulous process of collecting what must be 40 or more titles for one person.
She’s not saving it for later because middle grade is right next to the children’s section, where Story Hour Saturday is held. And besides, the shelf she’ll be pulling from doesn’t even face where Superman will be sitting. Maybe she’ll glance over a couple of times, just to see how he looks in person over a year later, but that’s all she’s going to do. She’ll have her headphones on, her music keeping her focused on what’s in front of her. She might be slightly curious about him, but Superman isn’t enough to keep her from doing her work.
She gets through about fifteen pages of requests in the first hour - mostly adult fiction and nonfiction, with a few audiobooks and CDs stacked at one end of her cart. She bring the requests to the back to be sorted before taking and empty cart and rolling It to the middle grade shelves, dragging her feet in the process.
Daisy feels her skin prickle as she surveys the crowd that’s gathered. Julie was right, there are way more people here than usual. She holds her breath and glances over, and there he is, in his suit, holding the library’s ancient copy of one of the Pete the Cat books. He hasn’t changed at all since the Rift, but seeing him still makes her heart skip a beat.
She can’t put her finger on why seeing him again is so nerve-wracking. Maybe it’s because they’ve seen each other in extremely vulnerable states, or because he’s grown in popularity since the Rift, or because she becomes hyper aware of everything she does when in the presence of any kind of public figure and tries too hard to play it cool. Maybe it’s all three at once. Maybe it’s something she hasn’t thought of.
Daisy turns to the shelves in front of her, crouching in front of the four that hold the library’s Magic Tree House books, request list in one hand and a pen in the other. She looks at the top of the list for the first title, then scans the books’ spines until she finds what she’s looking for.
Half an hour passes and she’s barely gotten through three pages, but she just rolls her shoulders and keeps going, determined to finish this part of the request list before her shift is over. She’s so focused that she almost doesn’t notice that someone is now standing in her peripheral vision, tapping her on the shoulder. She holds up a finger and removes her headphones, hanging them around her neck.
“Sorry about that. If you need help finding a book, the circulation desk is right over -“
It’s him.
Oh Lord.
He stands at least a foot taller than her, all confidence and approachability - exactly how she expected him to look up close. His suit is pristine, his eyes are a bright blue, and there’s just one perfectly loose curl that sits on his forehead. He’s distracting, to say the least, almost like she’s staring at the sun, unable to look away despite how brilliant and bright it is.
“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Paulson,” Superman says.
He remembers my name?
Daisy clears her throat, hands curling over the cuffs of her cardigan sleeves, her voice shaking slightly. “Superman. It’s been a while.”
Develi on Chapter 1 Mon 29 Sep 2025 08:24AM UTC
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