Work Text:
Clark gaped in awe at the headline, feeling his chest churn with the closest thing to irritation he could get over you. A familiar feeling, but an intense one nonetheless. This was slander, right? Libel? Which one was written down again?
𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁: 𝙺𝚁𝚈𝙿𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝙻𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙿 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙷 𝙲𝙾𝚆 – 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝙴𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙸𝚂?
𝙱𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗! 𝙾𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝟷:𝟺𝟹 𝙿.𝙼., 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚙-𝚊𝚗𝚍-𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙 𝚎𝚌𝚘-𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚘𝚋𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊, 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚛𝚢𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚍.
𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚝-𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚢 𝙻𝚎𝚡 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚜 “𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜.” 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚊𝚛𝚖-𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜’ 𝚝𝚎𝚗-𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎, 𝙺𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚜; 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍-𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚎 𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚋-𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚎.
𝙸𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍, “𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝. 𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚢– 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌, 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚙!” 𝚄𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢.
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙼𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚜: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚞𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚂𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑– 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛’𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜?
“This is ridiculous!" Clark exclaimed, tossing the paper down on your desk. “Do you seriously think Superman is trying to choose for the entire city?”
“Yeah, kind of,” you whirled around, not at all surprised by the sudden drop-in. This happened nearly once a week now. Clark Kent, the only guy in the entire newspaper who could get a face-to-face with Superman– and the guy who let your sister in on the deal, frustratingly– usually disliked your articles which painted the alien in a less flattering light. He got all red in the cheeks when your writings upsetted him. It was pretty cute, actually. “He has a god complex, I get that much, but really, if he thinks the public should know the truth, he should’ve saved the lab evidence before burning the factory down with his laser eyes and given it all to the Planet. Now that would be public service. Instead, he just tells us what to believe, and everyone does, because they love him! It’s infantilizing. And controlling.”
“He shut down a project that likely would have made everyone sick!” Clark rebutted incredulously. “Nobody in their right mind would eat meat grown in a lab!”
“They wouldn’t? People live off of genetically modified fruits and vegetables. Our food is full of preservatives. They sell us vitamins with the stuff the fruit is supposed to have because we aren’t getting it from the fruit anymore. People will eat anything, Clark, especially if it’s from Luthor! They love that bald freak!” You spun around in your chair and picked up the paper, studying your front-page story. “I know you’re not mad about my cynical view of the people, Clark, so just spit it out.”
Clark’s cheeks tinted and he frowned deeply. “You write these articles as if Superman isn’t saving everyone from lab-born mad cow disease. Like he’s not– not saving people.”
“Saving?” You quirked an eyebrow. “The workers in that factory barely escaped before he sliced it down with his crazy eyes. Three people had burns. I thought Supershit was all about keeping the city and its citizens intact.”
“Don’t call him that,” Clark’s jaw ticked.
“Oh, I’ll call him what I damn well please,” you grinned, “and I have every right to critique Superman when he fucks up this big. I just know it’s why he’ll never give me an interview. I’m the only person who isn’t afraid to write the truth about him anymore. Seriously, it’s sad– objective media is totally dead.”
Clark felt his fests clenching hard enough to crack human bone, and he took a deep breath. Hearing you tear him to shreds was always mortifying, but he hated even worse when you were right, and that was more often lately. He hadn’t been careful with the meat factory, or the last few incidents. He’s been slipping up. And you were on it like a hound, eager to piss off Superman enough to elicit an interview, even if it was a smear campaign. That was all you were ever after: an interview. A chance to face-off with the city’s unflinching hero, to pull back his mask and find the flaw. It made him almost as nervous as it did angry. So, so angry as you rocked your desk chair side to side, nibbling on the end of your pen, smiling up at him from under your lashes like a beautiful and dangerous minx, ready to attack.
“I think you’re just mad that I made the front page again, Clarkie,” you teased cruelly, dangling the story high, “and above the fold, too. All thanks to Lois. And you, no doubt.”
You could be so infuriating sometimes. Part of him just wanted to turn around and give it to you, to give you what you wanted, to have a chance to defend himself. But he couldn’t. He definitely couldn’t. Right?
Clark succinctly grunted and turned on his heels, storming away with a burning neck and a storm cloud over his head. If only you weren’t so pretty, he’d find the strength to give you a piece of his mind. He surely would.
Lois leaned over the partition splitting your desk from hers with a twinkling expression. “Give the guy a break, would ‘ya, sis? He loves that flying cape.”
“Not a chance, Lois,” you sighed, glancing down at the newspaper in your lap. You traced the image of Superman marking the center of your article– strong shoulders, dimpled chin, sweet eyes. Familiar in a disconcerting way. Your heart hiccuped. “I won’t apologize for my articles. I work hard.”
“Oh, please. You’d never get the Super-ones without my help. Plus, the day Clark finds out your hit pieces on Superman are the qualivalent of pulling a girl’s pigtails, he’ll never let you forget it.”
“They are not!” You reported, but to hide the slight color in your face would have been impossible.
“Sure,” Lois smirked, disappearing to her desk. “Keep it in your pants, tiger. Who knows, maybe you’ll piss him off enough that he’ll fly right down here to give you a piece of his mind. Now that’s a story."
You slid down in your chair, huffing and tossing the paper aside. Superman, coming here? For you? Never. It would be… interesting, though. To you. If he did. Objectively. You’d have a lot to say. A lot to… make up for, probably. But not before a good tongue-lashing. Hypothetically.
Your cubicle felt a little emptier without Superman’s biggest fan nagging you all of a sudden. Something inside you churned. A lot to make up for, surely…
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
The shame ate at him like a disease as he leaned against the lookout balcony atop the Watchtower. He had lost his temper on you like an animal. It was detestable.
“You absolutely did not,” Lois snorted, tossing an affectionate punch at his arm.
Clark was startled. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, idiot. Jeez, you are so hard on yourself! You didn’t even raise your voice at her. You barely frowned. Nobody thinks you’re a monster, man, only you think that. I still vote for superhero therapy– don’t you, Chloe?”
The blonde chuckled softly from inside the loft. Clark could hear her stubby french tips clacking away on one of the coding keyboards. “He’ll never listen. He’s in a real doozy for picking my cousin… I feel for him, really…”
“I’m right here, you know,” Clark sighed, rubbing his eyes. Heat still prickled at his neck, prodding him with the memory of the little tantrum he threw at work earlier in the day, and how much it pleased you to have gotten under his skin.
“Barely,” Lois quirked a brow. “Honestly, what’s gotten into you? I thought you said you were gonna let it go.”
“I know I did.”
“This doesn’t seem like letting go. You can’t change people’s minds so easily.”
“Easier said than done when the person whose mind I want changing doesn't like both versions of me,” Clark grunted. “Sometimes I wonder if this is all too much. Everything gets so twisted up with me splitting my life in half. So much has to be a secret, has to be shoved down… and when it doesn’t work out, it hurts me twice. Superman feels it and then me.”
Lois patted the reporter between the shoulders sharply, in the most loving way she knew how. “You are a grade A sulker, my friend.”
Clark swallowed a cough at the jolting strength in her tiny hand. “Yeah, well… if I get worked up like that again, I’ll lose what little appreciation she has left for me. I’m a frenemy to her now, but eventually she’ll put up that wall. She has every right to. Look at what Cat did to her, scorning her for getting the scoop on that Luthor plant, trying to steal our tip and bring it to Perry. She has every reason not to trust people who envy her devotion to the Superman exposés. I’ll become just another person who might prey on her downfall. In her head, at least.”
“Good lord,” Lois huffed, ruffling Clark’s hair atop his hanging head. “Do I have to do everything? Okay. I’m going to tell you something, but you didn’t hear it from me, and you have to be delicate with how you handle it. Understand?”
Clark’s ears perked up like a hound hearing the word meat. “Yes. Absolutely.”
Lois smiled before leaning closer, whispering conspiratorially in the way she liked so much. “Superman’s editorial nemesis doesn’t really hate him. I thought you’d be smart enough to get it and I could drop the act naturally, but clearly you need a little help.”
Clark swallowed thickly, feeling something confusing and thick lapping against his ribs. “What do you mean?”
“My sister’s got a thing for you, dummy. She’s hard on Superman because she believes in him more than anybody. She wants him to clean up his act. She’s said on many drunken occasions that he’s easy on the eyes, too, and might lighten up if he only gave her an interview.”
Clark blinked at Lois’ satisfied expression, picturing your lidded eyes and loose tongue, babbling to her in supposed confidence about a secret wish. How long? How long had he been oblivious to it? God, knowing you was friendly fire. All you did was make him burn.
Lois snickered and shoved his shoulder gently before sauntering back through the balcony doors, wrapping her sweater tighter around her middle from the whipping nighttime wind. “I seem to recall her saying that ‘Superman is almost as handsome as Clark’ once or twice. It seems you’ve got a choice to make, Smallville.”
Clark whipped around with burning cheeks. “Wait, what? Lois! Lois, get back here!”
As the reporter chased his laughing friend back into the Watchtower, he resolved on the very choice which was suggested to him. If he was going to change your mind, he’d have to do it twice.
˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊
Clark had to force the trembling in his hands to still as his feet touched silently down on the rooftop below. The heavy, flowing kevlar of his cape rustled in the soft wind of the morning, the rising sun glinting off the scales. Your back was to him, but he could see the paper clenched in your palm. It was crumpled into an anxious ball. He had left it on your desk in the middle of the night, having crept through the Planet window, knowing you’d be the first in the office by morning. Meet me on the roof at 7, it said, signed S. He hoped it would be enough, and with you standing there, he hoped right.
After taking a moment to steady himself, he cleared his throat and drew the strength of his altered voice. “Miss Lane.”
As your head whipped around, Clark felt his heart leap. You were always prettiest in the mornings, he thought, when he’d walk past your desk and see the puffiness of sleep still hadn’t subsided on your lids, even after smearing them with makeup. Beneath them, your eyes glittered with surprise.
Proud as ever, you fearlessly strode forward and held out the note. “Nice trick. You got my attention.”
Clark smiled at the paper and took it, smoothing the wrinkles. “Well, a friend of mine told me you’ve been wanting to talk with me.”
“Cut the crap, I know you and Lois kibitz,” you smirked, taking the note back. It seemed to soothe you to hold it, Clark noticed, since your shoulders loosened upon feeling the smoothed paper again. “I’m surprised, though, I have to admit. I thought Superman kept his interviews on a Lois-and-Clark basis.”
“Well, your sister was quite insistent that I give someone new a try. I think she might be getting sick of writing my words down.”
“She’s sick of your sound bites.”
“I do not have sound bites!”
“You absolutely do,” you smirked. “Luthorcorp slop?”
“That’s what it is!” Clark flushed.
You furrowed your brows in amusement and turned to wander the edge of the roof. “Sure.”
Clark followed you quietly, trailing your stroll by a few feet. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Don’t you want to ask me anything?”
You didn’t look back as you answered. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Clark squinted, “maybe about why I haven’t been making great saves lately? If I’m in a slump? What’s got me screwing up?”
That made you turn, and with you came a wolfish smile. “Have I gotten into your head, Superman?”
Clark flushed a bit harder, color peeking from beneath the collar of his suit. “I like to read all sorts of newspapers. For… a balanced view.”
You laughed at that, glancing out over the city. The note was still fluttering in your palm. Clark wished to take it. Your hand, not the note. “Well, I could ask those sorts of things. I’m sure they’re what you expected.”
“A little.”
Something softer passed over your face, and Clark could see the conversation you were having with yourself. It was all in your eyes. You had one of those faces that every thought was somehow both obvious and completely unreadable, but it depended on who was watching whether it was one or the other. Clark, even though you tended to pick on him more than show him kindness, was someone who could decipher you. It was one of the reasons you liked him so much, and why you kept him at arms length. He always reminded you of Superman, in certain ways. How he walked when he got a published article, proud and tall, or how he sometimes winked at Lois for landing a particularly good quote. How he seemed to know you without your given permission. He scared you in the very same ways the Kryptonian did, in that you felt this innate desire to trust him. That was always a dangerous thing to feel.
Right now, you knew Clark could see you questioning what all this has led to– the hard-hitting pieces on Superman, the cold front, the professional drive to unearth someone’s truths. And while you were feeling the secret shame of it all, the covetousness and desire and hunger to know and be meaningful to someone powerful, to maybe write good articles for him someday, to be his chosen source, Clark felt a flowering affection for you despite it all. He knew you, whether you liked it or not. He knew what you wanted, and that it came from loneliness and love. He wanted it, too.
Clark stepped closer and dropped his shoulders a bit. When he saw you stiffen, he swallowed thickly, and figured that now was as good a time as any to get what he set this roof rendezvous up for over with. Reaching into the pocket of his suit, he slipped out a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and gently unfolded them to perch them on his nose.
Your stomach lifted, then sank, then lifted again. Shock, joy, confusion, anger crossed your face. He watched your pretty mouth open and close, trying to come up with words, which it was your living to do, but the talent evaded you then. He pushed the frames up a bit and smiled sheepishly. He figured it might be best to start with, “Lois knows.”
Your jaw dropped again. As you looked out over the skyline and barked a laugh, a wave of humiliation drowned you. “Of course she does! Oh my god!” You brushed some windswept hair from your cheek and grumbled in annoyance, “It all makes so much sense… how did I not fucking see it? I– I must be the worst reporter in the world!”
Clark tried to soothe your frustration. “Well, nobody is supposed to know, I work very hard so that–”
“I mean, the coming and going at all these weird hours, and your lack of friends and family! And you’re a terrible writer, genuinely, I always figured Lois was the reason you stayed at the Planet, that Perry knew you were in on the Superman source–”
Clark flushed with slight offense. “Hey!”
You turned pink and laughed. “Shit– sorry. I'm sorry. That was mean.” You paced along the edge of the rooftop ledge, feeling the paper in your palm, wincing to yourself. “I just… this is all… oh, God, did she tell you how I– what I– well, I bet she did, she can never keep her mouth shut– oh, I’m really in it now, aren’t I?–”
Clark suddenly found himself reaching for you, which under any other circumstances would be stupid, but he couldn’t help it just then. You paused when his palm wrapped around your wrist. “Can I say something?”
Your eyes fluttered between his hand and his face, and when he thought for just a second a shade of fear flickered in your eyes, you washed it away with a blossoming smile. “On or off the record?”
Clark chuckled as his heart flipped once more, and he tugged you closer. You came. “I guess what I wanted to say, what– what this was all for, is that… I always wanted to tell you. Ever since I met you. But I was afraid, because you were always so quick to criticize Superman when he screwed up, and I thought that meant you hated him. It took some… surprising words from Lois to make me realize why you were writing like that.”
A buzzing feeling overtook your nervous frame as Clark’s– Superman’s?– No, Clark’s finger brushed your pulse. “I– well, I had to be honest. Nobody is honest anymore.”
“You were. You were honest, and you did it because that’s what people do when they care. You cared that Superman should protect people with all he had. I think he should, too. I was in my head because of that. I wanted to be better for you, but the fear distracted me. I lost my touch.” When he saw the guilt begin to weigh your smile down, he quickly added, “But it’s okay. I needed that kick, you know? I did. You did the right thing.”
You stood before him, so familiar in his glasses and cape, and felt so unbelievably stupid. Of course Clark was Superman. No other man in the world could be so great. You always thought so. You were a predisposed pigtail puller, Lois was right. And boy, did you tug on his.
Clark reached up to feel the heat in your cheek, and his smile softened. “Miss Lane?”
You gulped. “Yeah?”
“I was hoping I might use you as my source from now on,” he murmured. The sun was just beginning to crest above the skyline. “Y’know. To keep me accountable. Keep me honest.”
His hand felt like sunlight on your face. “I… I think that could be arranged.”
Clark felt you beginning to melt beneath his touch, and he said, “Who knew you had a thing for heroes?”
You felt yourself falling. Grinning like a fool. “Only the ones who can take a punch.”
When Clark drew you in for a kiss, the surprise of it had you releasing your grip on the note to cup his cheeks, so caught up were you in the desire to climb him like a tree. Clark was quick to snatch it from the air before it flew away. You’d want the evidence someday of the first time he ever trusted you with the truth. You were a reporter, after all, and nothing meant more to you than proving things, than having a paper trail and a story to nail. He’d make sure you got your man. Everyone needed a critic anyway, he thought, as he tasted your lip gloss. How else would they learn?