Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the three months I’d been working at the Daily Planet, I’d learned two important things:

1. Coffee does not, in fact, make up for lack of sleep. 
2. Clark Kent had a secret.

…

“Watch it, Kent!” I said, annoyed, as the man in question bumbled his way through the office, nearly knocking into my desk with his too-long legs. Despite his work station being nowhere near mine, Clark managed to end up at my desk multiple times throughout the day. I’d yet to figure out why, but my current theory was that he liked to irritate me. If that was his plan, he had succeeded. 

Ignoring his murmured apology, I turned back to the article I’d been working on before the buffoon had tried to upend my work station. I took a quick swig of my coffee– scalding hot and black– and almost spit it back out. Even after three months, I’d found it hard to get used to the drivel they keep at the break counter. With any luck, Jimmy would bring me back a decent coffee after he got back from taking photos for Cat’s recent article. 

Someone clearing their throat beside me caught my attention. I looked up, and to no one’s surprise, Clark Kent stood next to my desk with a sheepish, almost apologetic smile. I frowned back. 

“Hey, Mia! You going to the party later? Great work on that Lexcorp piece, by the way,” he said in that cute rambling way he always seemed to speak in. 

“Party?” I squinted at him. “What party?” 

“It’s Perry’s birthday, remember? We’re throwing a surprise party? I made sure you were added to the group chat…” By the end of his sentence, he wore an expression of mild concern, like he was worried that I’d forgotten something so important, or maybe at the idea that I’d been left out by accident. That’s Clark Kent for you– too nice for his own good. This city is going to eat him alive one day. 

“I doubt it, Clark. About me going to the party, I mean. If you recall, I left that group chat as soon as you added me.”

“Not much of a team player, are you?” His lips quirked up as he spoke, and I tried very valiantly to not think about those lips. He leaned on the side of the desk, trying and failing to look casual. The movement brought him closer to me, which I also tried to ignore. 

“Uh, guess not.” I hesitated a moment before tacking on, “Sorry.” From this close, I could smell his cologne. It wasn’t the kind men usually wore– pine tree, cedarwood musk, Alaskan Bear or whatever– but a softer scent, like clean laundry and lavender. Okay, maybe I was just smelling his fabric refreshener– but it still made him smell nicer than most of the men in the office. Clark never tried to posture or make himself seem more manly than he was. 

It was one of the things I liked most about him.

“No, it’s fine! It’s just…it’d be more fun with you there. But, uh, don’t feel pressured into coming or anything. Really, it’s fine. I’ll tell Perry you went home early because you felt sick.”

And that was how I found myself at a party with Clark Kent.

…

“Who’s hotter– Bruce Wayne or Oliver Queen?” Cat Grant asked suddenly during our lunch break. From my perch on Jimmy’s desk, I nibbled at my sandwich as I thought through the question. 

“Brucie,” I said firmly at the same time Jimmy said “Queen, obviously.” We glanced at each other. Cat grinned.

“Come on, Olsen, Oliver Queen is okay at best. Brucie Wayne models in his free time! Did you see his summer photoshoot last year?” 

“And? Queen has a sense of grace and intelligence about him, unlike your air-headed boytoy,” Jimmy shot back, waving a finger at me. 

“ Air-headed-?” 

“Not to mention, you’re obviously biased!” 

“Hardly,” I sniffed. “Me preferring Bruce has nothing to do with me being a Gothamite. He’s just sexier– right, Cat?” I turned to look at the woman who’d started this argument to find her distracted by something.

“Cat?” 

“Hm? Oh, Mia’s right. Sorry Jimmy, but Bruce Wayne is a snack . And speaking of hotties with dark hair and blue eyes…” 

My eyes drifted over to the far side of the room to see Clark adjusting his glasses with a frazzled expression on his face as he talked to Lois Lane. I wonder what that's about.

“I think we can all agree that Lois is pretty hot,” I said, nodding in agreement absently. Cat sent me a look of incredulity. 

“What? No– I mean, yes, obviously. But I’m talking about the total hunk standing next to her.” 

“Who? I only see Clark.” Cat raised her eyebrows. Jimmy snorted. Then it hit me. “Cat, you can’t be serious. We need to have a talk about your taste in men.” 

As if he could hear me, Clark sent a glance my way. Bright blue eyes met mine, and I held his gaze for a moment before sending him a small smile. It's not like he can hear us, right? He smiled back, but it lacked the usual enthusiasm, and his eyes quickly flickered away. 

“I still stand by my assessment– Clark is not hunk material. But,” I said, pausing for emphasis, “he is cute. Like a puppy dog.” And he had a nice ass. But I would never admit that out loud, especially not to Cat, who lept on any hint of office romance like a bloodhound. 

“Do you think they’re dating?” Jimmy asked suddenly. Clark, who’d looked weirdly cheerful a second before, suddenly got a funny expression on his face, and I had to remind myself that there was no way he could hear us from across the office. For some reason, the question bothered me. I continued to munch on my PB and J, a little more aggressively than before. Cat shook her head. 

“That’s what I thought at first, but I asked Lois and she said they were just friends,” Cat answered as she idly twisted her hair around her finger. If Cat, the office's best and most reputable gossiper, couldn’t sniff out a romance, then it meant they really weren’t dating. A strange feeling of relief swept through me. That feeling amplified when Clark glanced at me again. I waved. He waved back, forgetting about the papers under his arm, which promptly scattered all over the floor. Clark slapped a hand over his face as Lois laughed. 

Okay, so maybe the guy was a little cute. 

Chapter Text

Falling to my death was not how I wanted to start my day. 

It went like this: ten minutes before I got thrown into the air like a hacky-sack, I got a text from Jimmy telling me to come to the office– despite it being my day off– because Parasite had gone on a rampage through the city and Perry wanted coverage on it ASAP. So I began my walk to the office, grumpy and craving a bagel.

Two seconds before my unfortunate hacky-sack-ing, I discovered a big, fugly, purple monstrosity in my path. Its razor sharp teeth glistened in the early morning light, and I had all of a second to process my probable death before its beefy arms reached out, grabbed me, and threw me so far up in the air that I felt like– well, I felt like Superman, soaring above the city skyline. That feeling quickly dissipated when I processed the fact that there was only one way down.

I’m going to die, and I didn’t even get to eat breakfast.

Panic ran through me, and I regretted every decision I’d ever made that led me to this moment. I knew I should’ve stopped for coffee!

Hold on, Mia, you know what to do. Remember the instructional video Jimmy showed you on your first day? When in imminent peril or mortal danger, all you have to do is say-

“SUPERMAN!” I screamed as I began my descent back down to earth. While I waited to be saved– or to die– I couldn’t help but think: how embarrassing would it be, to die in Metropolis within six-months of living here, after surviving for twenty-five years in Gotham? My old friends would laugh themselves silly at my funeral. My mother would shake her head in disappointment while visiting my grave, wondering what she’d done to raise such a foolish child. 

These thoughts ran through my head at lightning speed. So far, I hadn’t seen a slideshow of my life like people do in the movies when they’re about to kick the bucket. Kind of disappointing, honestly. Where was the highlights reel? Not that my life had that many highlights, but still– 

I could see the Daily Planet for a brief moment. In my descent, I passed by a window, then another, each reflecting my own visage back to me as I plummeted, and oh, that was the sidewalk– 

A strong pair of arms enveloped me. I was glad none of my friends were around– especially Clark– because I let out a very undignified yelp when my face shoved up against Superman’s solid chest. Are these rock hard abs an alien thing or does this guy have a gym in his weird arctic castle? 

The Man of Steel set me gently on the sidewalk. His bright blue eyes roved over my figure– checking for injuries, probably. A stray curl had fallen onto his forehead, and his mouth twisted down when he looked at my arm. 

I’d never seen Superman up close before. He was…handsome. Forget Bruce Wayne– Superman had both him and Oliver Queen beat by a mile. I’d never seen someone with eyes so blue…

Those unforgettable eyes swirled with concern and another emotion I couldn’t identify. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said with a tone of finality. I blinked at him, still dazed from my brief flight. Superman is touching me. Oh god. His arms rested lightly on my shoulders as if to steady me. When I said nothing, he swept me off my feet– literally– into a princess carry. That’s when the reality of the situation finally hits me.

“No!” I blurt out while I try to escape his firm grasp. A bewildered expression crossed his face, and somehow he looked even more concerned than before. “I…I have work,” I finished lamely. Bewilderment turned into incredulity. 

“Work?” He echoed, like he thought I might be an idiot. 

“If you’ll please let me down–” 

“On your day off?” Superman continued like he hadn’t heard me, sounding surprised and a little confused. Almost immediately, he stiffens. I can feel it easily because I’m still in his arms. Now it was my turn to be bewildered. 

“How did you know it’s my day off?” 

“It’s a Saturday. I just assumed–” He said in a rush before abruptly cutting off. His eyes avoided mine. “You need to get your right arm treated. It’s fractured.” Right. X-ray vision. I rolled my eyes and wiggled out of his grasp. Reluctantly, he released me. 

“I’m fine. Barely hurts.” I pat him on the shoulder once. “Thanks, Supes, you’re a real life saver. Literally! Ha!” He was still staring at me like he was worried Parasite had also conked me over the head before my impromptu flight. 

“Miss–” 

“Superman.” We stared at each other for a moment. Man, he’s pretty. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” He asked in frustration. 

“Yes,” I said with a grin before turning on my heel and walking away. “Thanks again, Supes!” I called over my shoulder. “I’ll see you next time someone tries to kill me!” 

I heard an exhausted sigh, followed by a boom as the man presumably took off into the air. 

Hey, wait a minute– what happened to Parasite? 

…

Later that afternoon, I was putting the finishing touches on the article Lois had typed up on Parasite’s rampage when Clark approached me, frowning. Like usual, he wore those dorky (and admittedly cute) glasses. Not for the first time, I wondered what he looked like without them. 

“Mia, should you be here right now? I heard from Jimmy that Parasite attacked you earlier. Are you okay?” The genuine worry in his voice and expression pleased me a little (read: a lot).

“I’m fine, Clark. He didn’t even hurt me,” I lied smoothly. My arm ached like hell, but I refused to let it show on my face. I smiled at him. Instead of smiling sheepishly back like he usually would, Clark continued to frown. 

“I’m sure Perry would understand. Have you told him you got attacked? Have you told anyone except Jimmy?” He asked, voice low. Huh, he almost looked angry. A rare sight indeed. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to upset him. 

“Why do you even care, Clark?” 

“Why do I– Mia, you’re my friend. And as your friend, it’s my job to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. You need to get that arm checked out, or it could–” 

“How did you know that?” I asked, bewildered (a frequent emotion when talking to Clark, it seemed). 

“Know what?” His brows furrowed, and for a second his eyes reminded me of someone– 

“About my arm. I never mentioned it to Jimmy.” 

Abrupt silence ensued. Clark appeared frozen. The awkward moment was broken by our boss, Perry, asking for the final version of Lois’ article. 

By the time I finished talking to Perry, Clark was gone. 

Chapter Text

My mother hadn’t been the most supportive growing up. When I told her I wanted to work at the Daily Planet in Metropolis, she’d laughed in my face. You’re not a child anymore, Mia. Grow up. The hurt, at the time, had been immense. But it didn’t stop me from pursuing my dream, and now, at twenty-five years old, I was working at my dream job in my dream city, and my mother was dead. So. Jokes on her. 

I had gotten the call on my walk to work this morning. Was the Metropolis sidewalk cursed ground or something? Last week, it was Parasite. Now, my mom had croaked and I’d found out on the same strip of sidewalk. Maybe I should start taking the bus, I thought moodily as I entered the Planet and headed to the elevator. As much as I’d like to go home and cry or something, I had work. Being the newbie and all, I couldn’t take too many days off work if I didn’t want to lose my job. I’d worked too hard to lose it all because of a stupid phone call. 

“Wait, please! Hold the door!” A familiar voice called out. I stuck my foot between the closing metallic doors and they slid open to reveal Clark Kent in all his glory, with his messy dark curls and boy-scout smile. 

“Mia! Good morning,” he said amiably as he moved in to stand beside me. As usual, his suit was in disarray. I reached over to fix his tie almost unthinkingly. 

Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, Clark didn’t react much. 

“Didn’t your shift start half an hour ago, Kent?” I asked teasingly, trying to feign a casualness I did not feel. Though the smile didn’t leave his face, it took on a sheepish quality. 

“Slept in.” His eyes flitted over to my arm, but he said nothing. The injury had mostly healed in the two weeks since the incident, and everybody except Clark had remained oblivious to the fracture. I still didn’t know how he’d figured it out, but I’d begun to suspect it had something to do with our city’s resident hero. Regardless, he hadn’t mentioned it since, which I was grateful for. 

“You’re going to have to think of a better excuse than that for Perry,” I snorted. Clark blinked, then groaned in realization. Unlike me, he had a habit of coming in late to the office (or disappearing in the middle of the day), and our boss was notoriously fed up with it. The only reason he could get away with it was because he was the second-best reporter in the entire office (the first being Lois, of course.) 

“Wait a minute,” he began, squinting suspiciously. “We start work at the same time. What’s your excuse?” He spoke playfully, but my face must have had betrayed me, because his expression faltered. 

“My mom died,” I said with a shrug. Okay, wrong thing to say, now he looked mildly shocked, and not-so-mildly alarmed. While I appreciated the concern, it was unnecessary, because I felt fine. Really. Totally a-o-k. 

“Mia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–” 

I cut him off. “It’s fine, Clark. You didn’t know.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have– why are you here?” He blurted. 

“Why wouldn't I be? It's a Tuesday” I asked, confused. He stared at me in disbelief. 

“But…you– you said your mother just died. You are not fine, Mia. Take the day off– no, the week. Please,” he said with increasing distress. His glasses had slid down his face a little, and a stray curl had fallen onto his forehead– huh. That seemed weirdly familiar.  

“I can’t, I don’t want to use up a sick day–” 

“Please.”

“I don’t get the big deal. And why are you always insisting that I leave?” 

“Mia. Please. Take the elevator back down. Go watch detective shows on TV and eat some chocolate fudge ice cream in your pajamas. Cuddle with your cat. I’ll tell Perry what happened,” he said softly. I opened my mouth to protest. The glare he sent me (and what a rare sight, to see Clark glaring) shut me up immediately. 

As I considered my options, the elevator doors opened onto the office’s floor. I glanced at Clark. He quickly stepped out of the elevator, reached in, pressed the button for the bottom floor, and then repeatedly pressed the “close doors” button until they began sliding shut. My brain felt sluggish as I descended. The reality of my mother’s death had started to hit me the moment I shared it with Clark, like telling someone else had made it real. 

Okay, I’d go home. This time. 

…

I took Clark’s advice and holed myself up in my apartment for the rest of the day (like hell was I taking the rest of the week off), eating gluttenous amounts of ice cream while watching Psych with my foster kitten, Scooby. For a while, I was able to forget about the fact that my mother was lying dead in a morgue somewhere in Gotham, cold and alone. 

I shoved another spoonful in my mouth. Scooby meowed imperiously, like she deeply disapproved of my bad habits. I stuck my tongue out at her in retaliation. 

The doorbell rang. 

Unless that’s my dead mother resurrected or Superman himself, I’m throwing whoever that is right out the window. I opened the door. Then immediately shut it. A hesitant knock came from the other side, and reluctantly– very reluctantly– I opened it a crack to peek out at the man standing in my apartment building's hallway. 

“How are you feeling?” Clark asked anxiously, oh-so concerned over my wellbeing. Like always.

“What a surprise. Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

“I got off a little early to check on you,” he said. Seeing as how he’d shown up to work half an hour late, I found that rather ridiculous (but sweet). He hesitated a second. “Can I come in?” I debated that for long enough that he began to squirm. 

“Yes,” I said suddenly, swinging the door open wider. Scooby meowed again with gusto, and Clark peered curiously in the direction of the sound. 

“Scooby,” I called, “Come meet my friend from work.” Clark perked up at being referred to as a friend, which I ignored lest the blush on my face become too obvious. 

I scooped my kitten up as he entered and presented him to Clark like that scene from The Lion King . He reached out to scratch behind the cat’s ears, which earned him a pleased purr. 

“You named your cat Scooby?” 

“His full name is Scoobert-Doo,” I replied helpfully. Before he could reply, his eyes caught on my outfit. Like he’d told me to, I’d put on a pair of comfortable pajamas. I hadn’t remembered I was wearing them until this moment, and embarrassment swept through me.

An awkward pause filled the apartment. 

“Are those…Superman pjs?” Clark asked weakly, his own cheeks turning red. He sounded a little disbelieving, or maybe shocked. 

“...yes. I happen to be a fan.”

“You’re a fan. Of Superman.”

“Yes. I live in Metropolis, don’t I?” 

“So does Lex Luthor, so that logic doesn’t really work here. Oh my god, you’re a Superman fangirl,” he said accusingly before taking my cat from me rather rudely. Clark didn’t even seem to notice when she began biting his fingers. 

“Not a fangirl! And Lex Luthor is, like, evil. Only bald evil people hate Superman– he’s universally loved! Why is it so weird that I like him?”

“You…like him,” he choked out, like getting air into his lungs was a little difficult at the moment. His cheeks were as red as mine, though I didn’t understand why. I was the one dressed like a thirteen-year-old boy. 

“I mean, he’s a good hero,” I said lamely. 

“He saved you from Parasite, didn’t he?” 

“Yeah, but I liked him before that.”

“...you did?” 

“What, you’re not a fan, Clark?” 

“Not exactly,” he said with a soft snort and an eye roll. 

I gaped at him. 

“ Clark !” I gasped accusingly. I pointed a finger at him and he threw his hands up in response. 

“I mean, I like him, but not enough to own merchandise . Where did you even buy that?” 

“Why, Clark, want to buy some of your own? Oh my god, you’re totally jealous of my pjs! Don’t worry, I think they have a set in your size–” 

“No! How is that even legal? Superman certainly doesn’t know about it,” he scoffed, reaching up to adjust his glasses. He was still petting Scooby. 

“The S isn’t trademarked. You’d think the guy would’ve copyrighted it by now,” I mused. Clark appeared a little dumbfounded, and I suddenly recalled that he’d interviewed Superman before. They weren’t friends, were they? If it got back to the boy scout that I had pajamas with his symbol on them, I would have to shove Clark off the top of the Daily Planet. Not that it’d do much– his friend would swoop in and save him, I bet. 

“That is ridiculous,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t have to–” He cut off. I raised a questioning brow. 

“Shouldn’t have to what?” 

“I meant– how are you feeling?” 

“You already asked that,” I pointed out. 

“And you didn’t answer the first time,” he shot back. I sighed and went further into the apartment to grab my ice cream, which had melted somewhat during our conversation. 

“I’m great, Clark. Really. My mom and I weren’t close.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not painful. I never knew my biological parents and yet I still mourn them.” 

“You were adopted?” I blurted out before immediately slapping my hand over my mouth. Before I could backtrack or apologize, Clark gave a dismissive wave.

“Yeah. My biological parents…well, like I said, I don’t remember them. The people who raised me are my real mother and father, to me. But I still feel a connection to them, and sometimes…sometimes, I wonder what they would’ve been like. If they would’ve been proud of me.” He spoke quietly and I felt the urge to fill the silence in the apartment. 

“I can’t see how they wouldn’t have been. Proud of you, I mean,” I said just as quietly. Clark looked at me then, and again I felt that hint of dejavu as he stared into my eyes. “You’re a good man, Clark.” 

The world stood still for a moment as we looked at each other. 

Then Scooby let out a cry and began wiggling in Clark’s arms. Our eyes snapped apart, and he obligingly set her down. I glanced at the clock.

“Oh, it’s time for her to eat…” I trailed off. Clark stood suddenly and began backing out of the room. I took a step toward him, then faltered. 

“I should go. I’ll see you next week?”

“Tomorrow,” I grumbled. Clark huffed a little but let it go. After an awkward pause, he smiled and headed out the door with a small wave and a hasty bye! 

I didn’t know it then, but I wouldn’t see Clark the next day, or the one after it, because he stopped showing up to work without a word to me or anyone else in the office. 

It was a week before I saw Clark again. That was when my suspicions began. 

Chapter Text

The day after my mother died, I reluctantly dragged myself to the office at 7 o’clock in the morning. The day started like usual– Cat greeted me as I passed her desk, before roping me into a conversation about some inane celebrity gossip that I listened to with an embarrassing amount of attentiveness. At lunch, Jimmy brought me a coffee and bagel from a cafe down the street and Perry assigned me to edit one of Lois’ articles about another “superhero” who’d appeared out of nowhere. 

On a typical afternoon, Clark would stop by my desk– to borrow a pen, or ask my opinion on an article, all I which I knew were excuses to talk to me (it had annoyed me at first, the distraction, but as the months went by I began looking forward to our daily chats more and more)- and yet, as the work day came to a close, Clark had remained elusive. I hadn’t thought much of it at first– he had a habit of disappearing and then popping up by the coffee station like he’d never left– but while he usually flitted about during the day, he rarely missed our chats. 

If there was one person in the office who knew where Clark had run off to, it would be Lois Lane, his confidante and “partner in justice”, as he had called her once. Not wanting to come off as too worried, I decided to ease my way into a conversation with her and subtly mention Clark. Superheroes seemed like a safe topic of conversation. 

In the last year, a burst of new superpowered individuals (or “metas” as Reddit called them) had made themselves known to the world. In Central City, a man had taken to running around (at 300 miles per hour) in a bright red onesie with a lighting bolt on his chest. In Fawcett City, a man had taken to flying around in a bright red onesie with a lightning bolt on his chest (the creativity of these new superheroes was astounding, really). And, of course, there was the rumor of “The Batman” in Gotham, which I knew to be pure fudge, being a Gothamite myself. 

“Isn’t her name Super Woman?” I asked Lois as I leaned against her desk that afternoon. The article she’d handed me earlier that day detailed the story of a mall shooting which had been stopped by a woman over six feet tall, in a skirt, armed with nothing but a golden rope. Zero lives had been lost, thanks to the mysterious woman. Which was, like, so cool, but my worry for Clark overrode my urge to fangirl. 

She shook her head and took a gulp of her coffee. Sometimes I wondered how she hadn’t dropped dead of a heart attack yet, with all the sugar she ingested (I knew for a fact Lois kept powdered donuts in her desk, too, which I may or may not have helped myself to a couple of times on long work nights). 

“No, that’s just what the initial news reports called her because they thought she might be related to Superman. Since that’s been debunked, Perry wanted me to try out a different name, see if we can coin something before anybody else can,” she replied. Wonder Woman! was splashed across the top of the paper, below it a picture of the dark-haired woman kicking one of the gunmen in the face while wrapping her rope around another’s gun, ripping it out of his hands. Looks like Supes has competition for Hero of the Year. 

“Honestly, I thought she might be related to Superman too, with all the flying and bullet deflecting…speaking of, where’s Clark?” Yes, good job Mia. Very subtle. Lois had no reason to suspect anything odd about the question. It’s not like I was even all that concerned for Clark, of course, just curious. 

Her head shot up. “What does Superman have to do with Clark?” A strange hint of alarm colored her tone. I blinked, bewildered. 

“Well…this superhero stuff is usually Clark’s domain,” I said slowly, trying to read Lois’ face. And it was– Lois had had an interview with the guy, sure, but Clark held the “superhero guy” title. He’d written several articles on the Justice Gang and its members, after all, not to mention all his interviews with the boy scout himself. Lois’ blank expression turned to one of relief, and I couldn’t understand what had caused the reaction. Though she tried to feign casualty, I knew my friend better than that. Why did she freak out?

“Clark went back to Kansas for a visit. It’s his mom’s birthday,” she said with an air of dismissal. You’re lying. Why are you lying? I had learned her tells over the past few months, and it hurt that someone who I thought was my friend would lie to my face. Besides, I knew Martha Kent’s birthday wasn’t for another month– Clark had it on the calendar besides his desk. But maybe he had asked Lois to lie. Maybe the real reason was too personal to share. 

Or maybe she’s covering for him.

Okay, Mia, no need to get paranoid.

...

Three days passed with no word from Clark. Lois, despite keeping up with the mom excuse, had become increasingly frantic over the past few days. Drawn brows, glances at Clark’s desk, checking her phone constantly…yeah, something was up with Clark. 

And since Lois was being vague and secretive, I decided to find a more reliable source. 

...

“Superman!” I cried from the roof of the Daily Planet. Okay, so maybe asking the big guy was pretty extreme, but I was worried, okay? Clark hadn’t answered any of my texts (he usually answered within the hour, and it had been nearly four days since I sent my first message), and I had a suspicion Superman and him were buddies (hence the frequent interviews and how often Superman was spotted near the Planet). 

A minute passed as I scanned the rapidly dimming Metropolis’ skyline. Then five minutes. My heart dropped– he wasn’t coming. With his superhearing, it seemed unlikely he didn’t hear me– maybe he had a way of knowing I wasn’t in any immediate danger, and hadn’t bothered to come. Which, rude, but the guy was busy. Or maybe he was at his arctic castle (which sounded made-up, but okay). 

Suddenly, a flash of blue and red shot across the sky, heading in my direction. Yes! Not even a second later, I heard the soft ruffling of a cape behind me, and I spun around to find– 

Who the hell is that? A blonde woman hovered in front of me. She stumbled on her feet a little as she landed. 

“You’re only supposed to call for help if you’re actually in danger, you know,” the woman said tersely. 

“Um,” I said intelligently. “Who’re you? I…Superman?” I questioned weakly. That earned me a glare. Great. 

“Do I look like Superman?” She gestured to her skirt, the only notable difference between their costumes. 

“The guy is an alien who can lift a building with his pinky toe and shoot laser beams out his eyes. I wouldn’t put shapeshifting out of the realm of possibilities,” I replied defensively. Really, what would I know? If Superman could shapeshift– and that would explain how he went unnoticed when he wasn’t in his little get up– then who am I to judge if he wanted to turn into a pretty girl? 

The strange woman ran a hand down her face, like she was done with life and wanted to use the aforementioned laser beams on me. 

“I am not Superman,” she said finally. “I’m just covering for him. Did you need help with something?” The last part was said in a tone that made it sound like she was drudging through the end of an eight-hour shift at a minimum wage job and just wanted to go home for the day. I felt kind of bad, but I had to find Clark. He could be tied up in Lex Luthor’s basement or something! Or eaten by mutant caterpillars, or sucked into a black hole…the possibilities were endless in a world where winged-women and sexy aliens protected the city. 

“Yeah, uh, I need you to help me find a friend of mine.” The woman appeared less than impressed, and I hurried to explain. “He’s missing. Well, I think he’s missing. His name is Clark Kent, and–” I stopped. At Clark’s name, the woman had made an odd face, like a grimace. Her eyes widened, too, and she took a step forward. Okay, weird. But if Clark and Superman were friends, then maybe– Superwoman? Supergirl? knew Clark too. 

I decided to risk it. “You know Clark, don’t you?” I asked it in a way that said I knew the answer was yes. Superwoman (?) didn’t say anything for a moment. 

Abruptly, she shot back into the air, hovering beside the Planet. 

“Never heard of him. I’m sure your friend is just taking some time off. I doubt he’d appreciate you investigating him while he’s away,” she said coldly. Before I could respond, she was gone. 

…

Clark sighed in relief as he laid back on the medical table in the Fortress of Solitude, letting the sun soak into his skin and replenish his depleted energy. Power flooded his veins, and he felt himself relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

For nearly a week, Superman and the Justice Gang (they still hadn’t come up with a better name, much to Hawkgirl’s chagrin) had been fighting acid-spewing aliens in space with almost no respite. Though Clark didn’t need to eat or sleep like humans did, he was looking forward to stuffing his face with pasta and garlic bread once he got back to his apartment in Metropolis and taking a long nap. Food’s not the only thing you’ve missed, is it? Clark ignored that traitorous thought and instead asked Jor-El, his computer’s interface, whether he’d gotten any messages while he’d been off-world. 

“Yes, Superman. You have four missed calls and seven missed text messages,” Jor-El told him succinctly. Clark frowned. Usually, he only had a message or two when he got back from a mission. Sure, this one had taken longer than usual, but Lois would have covered for him at the office. Why would someone feel the need to send him so many messages?

“Who’re they from?” 

“One text is from your mother, inviting you to dinner. The other is from your cousin– I’ll refrain from reading that one aloud, as it’s rather churlish– and the other five are from Mia Matthews. The four missed calls are also from Miss Matthews. Would you like me to read them aloud?” At the mention of Mia, Clark shot up from the table. Before he could do anything further, one of the robots pushed him back down with a tsk tsk. He groaned. 

“I need to get back to Metropolis. Is she okay? What happened?”

“You need to absorb at least three more hours of direct sunlight, Superman. Miss Matthews is fine but seems to be under the impression you’ve been murdered and tossed under a bridge,” Jor-El responded cheerfully. 

“Can you pull her texts up on the computer?” Texts flooded the screen. The first, dated the day after he’d visited Mia at her apartment, read R u OK?, followed by calrk r u alive?? and dude a day later. And then the last two, sent the day before– if ur dead im gonig to be pissed and finally im calling supes. Part of him was touched that she was so clearly worried about him. The other part thought that an editor should have had better spelling. 

Was she really that concerned? It didn’t feel like Mia– she barely tolerated him on most days. Whenever she turned those intense, dark eyes on him, he felt like she could see straight through him. Clark debated what he should send back in response. 

And debated.

And debated. 

“Sir,” Jor-El said dryly, “after two and a half hours of contemplation, I fail to understand how you’ve yet to come up with a response for Miss Matthews.” He flushed.  

After another half hour, Clark settled on a bland, vague response that wouldn’t incriminate him. 

I’m okay, Mia. I just had to stay longer in Smallville than I anticipated. We don’t have the best signal out there, so I didn’t see your messages until now. I’ll see you at work on Monday :)

-C.K. 

Clark couldn't wait. 

Chapter Text

The weekend passed slowly. No matter how many 2000s rom-coms I watched or pints of triple-fudge-cookie-dough ice cream I consumed, I couldn’t get Clark out of my head. The vague text he’d sent me rattled around my brain, and I fought the urge to go over to his apartment myself to see if he was actually there, or if he’d lied about having returned to Metropolis. Of course, I had no idea where he lived– it’s not like we exchanged addresses (come to think of it, I’d never questioned how he’d found my apartment last week) but it would be easy enough to find out through my impeccable sleuthing skills (read: I’d ask Jimmy). 

But, if it turned out I was overreacting and Clark had really gone to Smallville for the week, showing up at his apartment might seem…odd. Especially after the barrage of texts I’d sent. God, if he’s actually telling the truth I’m going to be so embarrassed. Have I been wrong this whole time? Did he just mark the wrong day on the calendar? What am I even accusing Clark of, exactly? All he did was fib a little…

If my mother were here, she’d tell me I only doubted Clark’s sincerity because I had major daddy issues. Thankfully, my late mother wasn’t here and I could ignore that uncomfortable thought easily. 

So, no impromptu visits to my favorite farm boy. For now.

I was getting ahead of myself, anyway– I would know whether or not Clark had come back to the city (if he’d ever even left in the first place) once I got to the office.

By the time I pushed through the revolving doors of the Daily Planet a few minutes later, my stomach was in knots. Nearly a week had elapsed since I’d last seen him, and I realized, with a start, that I had never gone this long without seeing him since I’d moved here. It felt…wrong. He’d become a fixture in my life and I hadn’t even noticed until he’d vanished from it. With some trepidation, I entered the building’s elevator and leaned against the metallic wall, tilting my head back and closing my eyes as I tried to find some inner peace. This tranquility was broken almost as soon as it began as someone slipped into the elevator just as the doors began to close. 

“Good morning, Mia, did you enjoy your weekend?” 

“Not now, Kent, I’m trying to think,” I mumbled. A split second passed before my eyes snapped open, and my head whipped around to face him. “Clark!” I blurted, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Where have you been, young man?”

“Um. Kansas…?” He trailed off, blinking in that adorably confused way of his. Whether that confusion was genuine or not, I couldn’t tell, but my bet was on the latter. 

“Right. Celebrating Martha Kent’s birthday,” I said, letting a hint of incredulity bleed into my tone. Again, that befuddled, unfairly adorable slow blink. I took the chance to look him over, to see if there were any notable differences between when I’d last seen him on Tuesday and now. His suit hung off him like always, tie a little crooked, glasses askew, hair falling onto his forehead in dark curls– all typical Clark. He didn’t limp, or hold himself oddly, like he would if he were hiding an injury. He also wasn’t acting oddly, like he’d been replaced with an evil clone or life-like killer robot (unlikely, but not inconceivable). 

“You know my mom’s name?” He asked with a tone of pleasant surprise. The shy half-smile he gave me did not make me blush. It didn’t. Really. 

“Her birthday isn’t for another month.” That should throw him off guard. I know you lied, Clark. Fess up. Instead of the guilt I expected, his expression remained cheerful– it may have even brightened. 

“You know my mom’s birthday? Wow, Mia, that’s really–” 

“Kent!” I snapped. “Why did Lois tell me you were visiting your mom for her birthday, when that’s clearly not true?” 

“Oh. Well, it’s– you see,” he rambled, running a nervous hand through his dark curls before continuing. “It’s…it's a Smallville tradition. To celebrate a birthday a month early.” He nodded very seriously, as if that would convince me of the stupidest (and clearly made-up) tradition I’d ever heard of.

“A Smallville tradition,” I repeated blankly. Clark glanced anxiously between me and the elevator doors. 

“Yes,” he nodded again, but now it seemed like he was trying to convince himself rather than me. “Yep. Look, I don’t fully understand it either, but the founding family, the Smalls, birthed the tradition during the winter of 1807–”

Every person had a tell, a way for everybody else to know they were lying. Clark’s was rambling. Dead give away. And, also, the winter of 1807? The Smalls? The story was so obviously fake it was almost insulting. This is why you have a career in writing fact, not fiction, Clark. 

“Clark.” 

“It’s taken very seriously around town, Mia–”

“Clark, you are a horrible liar.” 

“I–right. I forgot how easily you can read me,” he said. I disagreed– it was all too hard. At times like this, when I was exposed to a whole new side of him, it felt nigh impossible. Is that a confession? Did he just inadvertently admit to lying? 

Before I could reply, the elevator doors slid open. 

“Kent!” Perry barked when he spotted us. Clark scrambled out of the elevator at lighting speed, and I groaned. Okay, so he’d basically admitted to lying, then ran away. Great. 

This is so not over, Kent. 

…

I didn’t speak to Clark for the rest of the morning. Not for lack of effort– whenever I attempted to talk to him, the man would bolt like a spooked calf. Sneaking up on him was even less effective. When I tried it during lunch, he quite literally vanished into thin air (impressive, for a guy over six feet tall). 

Fine, Kent, if that’s how you want to play it, I thought sourly as I made my way back to my desk at the end of lunch. I’d been too busy chasing Clark to eat, and my stomach rumbled as I slumped in my chair, exhausted and hangry and done with this city. 

Reluctantly, I dragged myself up to get back to work. My eyelids felt like lead, but I forced myself to– wait a minute. 

When I’d sat down, my desk had been as I left it– scattered pens covering the surface, colorful sticky notes lining the edge, a framed picture of my cat off to the side– but before me sat a new edition. I gapped at the bagel and coffee sitting innocuously before me. What the hell? The more I thought about it, the more sure I was that the food hadn’t been there a minute ago, meaning someone had to have snuck up on me and deposited it, all without gaining my attention. 

Quickly, I searched the office. No Clark (typical). Or Perry, or Cat…Steve was at the coffee station, but he didn’t seem like the type to drop mystery bagels at girl’s workstations, so I ignored him. Lois was focused on typing up an article while Jimmy watched the news on one of the TVs– Jimmy! Yes, that’s it, it was Jimmy. For a moment, I’d almost thought– but that was stupid. 

Then I saw the scribbled message on the side of the plastic coffee cup. 

Sorry for worrying you - Clark

A little smiley face sat below the message, and not for the first time that day, I wondered just who Clark Kent really was.

Chapter Text

“I want you two,” the chief said slowly, “to attend Wayne’s gala this Monday.” 

After another week of trying (and failing) to rope Clark into a conversation, I’d given up. If he insisted on avoiding me there wasn’t much I could do about it besides leaving passive-aggressive sticky notes on his desk and changing the height on his swivel chair at random so that he’d have to constantly adjust it to get it back to normal. After every time I’d executed one of my subtle attacks I’d find an iced coffee and bagel from my favorite cafe on my desk, and although I’d never actually caught him leaving them there, I knew it was Clark’s doing by the horrid little notes he’d write on the cup. Cheer up! and believe in yourself!!!– things like that, phrases that belonged on motivational posters with kittens and puppies on them instead of my vanilla latte. Regardless of his strange gifts, he’d yet to speak to me at all since that day in the elevator. Considering he was clearly fine with ending our friendship– if you could even call it that– it shouldn’t have bothered me, either. 

But it did, nevertheless. 

Now, it seemed the universe was giving me another chance, right after I’d resigned myself to never figuring out the mystery that was Clark Kent. 

“Wayne gala?” Clark parroted while casting a nervous glance my way. I fought to keep my face neutral as Perry nodded, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative look on his face. 

“I know it’s not the kind of story you usually work on, Kent, but Lane is busy with another piece and Cat would spend too much time flirting with Wayne to get any work done. Which is why I’m sending you.” He sent a pointed look at Clark. 

“Um, Chief, what do you need an editor to be there for?” I asked, not because I wanted to weasel my way out of the assignment but rather for clarifications sake. Did he expect me to interview people with Clark or was I there simply as a representative for the Planet? I hoped it was the latter, because I had no idea how to conduct a proper interview, and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of Gotham’s elite.

“You’re a Gothamite, meaning you’re familiar with the city and with Wayne,” Perry said. Right. Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s favorite billionaire playboy and philanthropist. As one of high school classmates described him, Bruce was “the most bitable man in the city,” a sentiment I had wholeheartedly agreed with. 

I had to admit, I, like nearly every Gothamite who’s benefited from one of Wayne’s charitable notions, had a soft spot for the man. When my father had been arrested and my mother had lost her job, it was the Wayne Foundation that had kept us off the streets with their affordable housing plan and pension for single mothers. 

If Perry wanted someone who could get along with Wayne, compliment his efforts and show a genuine interest in whatever fundraiser this gala was for, I was a good choice. Maybe not as good as Lois would’ve been, but certainly better than Clark– him and Brucie had absolutely nothing in common, besides their physical features. They were like night and day, one confident and brash, the other timid and polite. Actually…I allowed myself a brief glimpse of Clark, who met my eyes with a grimace. They really do look alike, huh? I’d noted it only briefly in my mind when I first met him, but studying Clark now, I realized he and Bruce could be brothers with how strongly they resembled each other. I thought back to that day in the office a few months ago when I’d referred to Wayne as a hunk. 

Would that make Clark a hunk too? No, Mia, not the realization to have right now. Focus. 

On another note, I was itching to go back home. As much as I loved Metropolis and its peaceful atmosphere, I missed Gotham and the perpetual gloom that settled over her streets like a blanket. The broken streetlights offered a comforting sort of protection in the way they obscured anyone who walked beneath them in complete darkness. In Metropolis, there was nowhere to hide. Everything was so…bright, well-lit. It made me feel exposed, like a bug under a microscope. 

My most recent visit to my home city had been during my mother’s funeral. I didn’t have time to meet up with any old friends, and I only spent an hour with my living family after the service ended. I wouldn’t have the chance to visit anyone this time, either, but at least I could satisfy the desire to see Gotham again.

“You got it, Chief.” 

“Don’t call me Chief. All you need to do is ask Wayne about his new ward, get a few details. Tell Olsen he’s going too– we need a photo of the kid. And see if you can get him to cry a little; people love sad orphans. Especially ones who get adopted by magnanimous billionaires– have either of you ever seen Annie? The one from 2014, not the old one with the ginger–” 

“Ward? He took a kid in?” I blurted out unthinkingly. Had I been away so long that I was out of the loop already? 

“Yeah, some circus waif,” Perry said dismissively. “The gala is to welcome him to the family.” 

I ignored the way Clark kept peeking at me out of the corner of his eyes. 

“What’s the kid's name?” 

“Dick Grayson.”

“Like the Flying Graysons?” Clark asked at the same time I said “Dick?” 

Perry shooed both of us out of his office without answering either of our questions. 

Looks like I’m going back to Gotham.

…

“So, you and Clark are together, right? Is my being there going to, like, intrude on your date or something? Because if it is, I can totally sit this one out,” Jimmy said after I’d told him about the Wayne gala. For a moment, all I could do was stare blankly at him. 

“What are you talking about, Jimmy?” The bafflement must have been clear on my face, because he faltered before speaking again. 

“I just don’t want to be a third wheel, I mean.” When I didn’t reply, he continued. “Come on, everyone knows you two are an item. You guys aren’t exactly subtle.” 

“Ooh! Are we talking about how Mia and Clark have been sneaking around for the last month? Because I’ve been wanting to bring it up, but–” Cat butted in from out of nowhere. I cut her off.

“What is wrong with you two? Clark and I are not together. I don’t even…why would you think that?” I sputtered. 

“It’s so obvious,” Cat said with an eye roll. 

“Really, how did you expect to get away with it? You know romance between coworkers is allowed here, right?” Jimmy added, raising an eyebrow incredulously. The heat creeping up my neck must’ve been visible now, and I fought the urge to throw my coffee cup at his head, if only to preserve my #1 Worst Sister in the World mug. 

“Why…why would you assume that?” I choked out.

“Uh, because you’re always seeking each other out? Clark stops by your desk at least five times a day for seemingly no reason, and you’re pretty much always ogling him. It’s a miracle either of you get any work done,” Jimmy responded. Before I could come up with a rebuttal, the man in question approached with a hesitant air, hands outstretched as if trying to calm a dangerous animal. 

“Mia, could we talk?” 

Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows at me and Cat grinned. I ignored them both. 

“About the Wayne gala? Sure thing, Kent,” I said shortly while giving Jimmy’s chair a swift kick. It might’ve been my imagination, but I could’ve swore I heard a snicker from his direction. 

I hate this already, I thought as I followed Clark. 

“Are they seriously going to go make out in the middle of the workday?” Cat whispered as we left. I really hope Clark didn’t hear that. 

He pulled me into the first supply closet we came across. If he had been any other guy in the office– excluding Jimmy– I wouldn’t have ventured into a small dark room with him because, you know, duh. But this was Clark, and although I knew he had a hidden side, I couldn’t bring myself to be afraid of him, especially not when his dorky glasses were sliding down his nose. So, I followed him in and let him shut the door. 

We were too close for comfort– it was easy to forget how big the guy was when you weren’t standing right next to him. Despite being one of the tallest women in the office, Clark towered over me in the same way Superman had that one time I’d almost gotten killed by Parasite. Good memories. God, what were they feeding him in Kansas? His arms are as big as my head. I ignored the flutter in my stomach and instead focused all my energy on giving him a withering look.

“Why are we in a supply closet?” 

“Uh. It is a little cramped in here, isn’t it?” 

“I mean, what did you want to talk about? Because I seriously doubt you pulled me in here just to talk about the Wayne gala. That doesn’t really require closet-levels of secrecy. It ranks at like, secluded corner-level at most. Though, since we’re already on that topic, I should tell you not to wear the suit you’re wearing right now to the gala. Choose one that fits, okay?” I lightly tugged on his oversized jacket sleeve. 

“Oh, right. I wanted to see if we were…okay,” he replied, ignoring my advice on his clothing. Considering how cute some of the outfits I wore to work were, I found this a little insulting, but whatever. If he wanted to talk about our relationship, then fine. 

“We’re fine. Dandy, even," I lied.  

“Oh! Great. I thought you might still be mad at me…” He trailed off. 

“I am. A tiny bit. But I can overlook it for now.” More than anything, I wanted things to go back to normal. The weeks without Clark had been boring ones, and I was fed up with whatever weird dynamic we had going on at the moment. I squinted at him. “You’ll tell me one day, right?” I was referring to his weird double life or whatever the hell he did when he disappeared from the office, which was, like, a daily occurrence, even disregarding that one week-long absence. 

He paused for a moment. The furrow in his brows was achingly adorable as he mulled over my question.

“Yes, Mia. I think I will.” 

… 

With Clark’s reassurance that his secrets wouldn’t remain secrets forever, I felt much more comfortable attending the gala with him. 

The dress Cat had picked out for me was predictably seductive, with a low cut and lots of clinging silk. Its deep purple color suited my skin tone quite well, and I vowed to go to Cat for fashion advice more often. I spun around a few times while checking myself out in the reflection of the Daily Planet’s windows, admiring the outfit as I waited for Clark and Jimmy to show up. 

“Hey, Mia,” Jimmy greeted when he arrived fifteen minutes later. “You look pretty.” 

“As do you. Very pretty.” We joked around while waiting for Clark who, to no one's surprise, was late. When he did finally get to the designated meeting spot outside the Planet, Jimmy and I had gotten bored enough that we’d started playing eye spy. 

“I spy…something purple!” Jimmy exclaimed . I looked around.

“My dress?” He shook his head. “Mhm…those flowers?” 

“Guess again.” 

“Sorry I’m late, guys, I…” I turned around to see Clark approaching. The gray suit he wore didn’t hang off him for once, and the purple tie that went along with it seemed almost stylish, a word I’d never associated with him before. 

“His tie?” 

“Correct Miss Matthews, you’ve won the hundred thousand dollar prize! Whatever will you spend it on?” Jimmy exclaimed with an exaggerated wink. I snickered and responded with something ridiculous about building a theme park on the moon before I realized an incredibly disturbing fact.

Clark and I were matching. His purple tie was the exact shade my dress was. 

Damn you, Cat! I had no doubt she helped him pick out that tie– after all, no one else had seen my dress except her before this moment. Cat must’ve thought it’d be a funny joke or something. 

We’ll see how true the whole cats-land-on-their-feet myth is when I push her off the roof. 

In my horrified contemplation, I hadn’t realized that Clark had gone silent as well. He was staring at me, an odd expression on his face as his gaze raked up and down my body. I waved a hand in front of his unblinking eyes.

“Hello? Earth to Clark?”

“Um,” was his very eloquent response. 

“Did you fly here or something? You’re a mess!” And he was– his hair had fallen into his face, the curls haphazardly strewn across his forehead. Instinctively, I reached up a hand to comb it out before straightening his tie and collar, which had gone askew. I’d joked about flying, but his appearance made me wonder if he’d had to run here to make it on time. Clark stayed frozen throughout my examination, still staring. 

Oh. Right. My behavior was strange, wasn’t it? I’d started fixing him up out of instinct after years of doing the same for my little brother with his Gotham Prep uniform (which had already been frayed and ill-fitting because we’d had to buy it second-hand). Though, touching Clark did not feel brotherly in the slightest. I quickly snatched my hands away and took a step back, much to the amusement of Jimmy. My list of people to kill just kept growing longer, it seemed. 

“Let’s go,” I said with an awkward cough. 

I was glad when neither of them protested. 

…

Clark felt like he was floating on air (and for a guy who could fly, he knew the feeling well). Mia had caressed him. Or, well, she had put a hand on his chest while straightening his crooked tie– a side effect of the flight she’d joked about– and that was close enough to a caress to get his heart pumping. Not to mention the way she’d wrangled his hair into something presentable by gently raking her fingers through his curls. How were her hands so soft? He wished he were allowed to hold them. And the fact she was tall enough to reach was all too enticing– he wouldn’t have to lean down much to kiss her. It’d be all too easy, to tilt her chin up and…he banished the thought, knowing fantasizing about Mia while she stood five feet away from him was a bad idea. 

Still, he couldn’t help himself. Her bountiful curls had been pinned up with some sort of silver hairpiece high on her head and a few stray pieces framed her glowing face. Somehow, her unusually big eyes appeared even bigger, accentuated by her dark eye makeup, and the wine color of her dress made him wish she wore that color more often because it suited her so well. She didn’t seem to notice his staring, too zoned out. Mia frequently retreated into herself and thought no one else noticed. 

Clark did. 

He noticed everything about her. The steady beat of her heart, the crooked tilt to her smile, the way she favored her left leg unconsciously because she’d must’ve broken her right at some point judging by the subtle lines in the bone, and the mole behind her ear, usually hidden by her hair except on the rare occasions she puts it in a ponytail, which she did whenever she hadn’t washed her hair in a while. He memorized every detail he could about Mia, sometimes accidentally. It wasn’t like he could turn off his super senses, after all. If he noted her heartbeat was unusually slow, how was he to blame if he knew this meant she was napping at her desk? 

Sometimes he wished he could turn it off– he didn’t like how her heart sped up around the hot IT guy, and he tried to avoid accidentally eavesdropping on her conversations. 

It was hard when his superhearing naturally sought her voice out. 

And it was hard to avoid staring when she never noticed him doing it. 

Clark tore his eyes away from the mole behind Mia’s ear and fixed his gaze on the stars, which wouldn’t have been visible at this time of day to anyone but an alien with supervision. 

He’d get through the night with no incidents. It would be a normal, boring gala, with no aliens (besides himself), killer toys, or man-eating worms. 

As he ducked into the car beside Mia, Clark couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just jinxed himself.