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welcome to my little corner of the internet! - get comfy, grab a little treat or drink and enjoy your stay!!
about me | masterlists | fic recs | recs II
The Start Of Something New
word count: 1.6k
pairing: Clark Kent x (kryptonian) reader
summary: When a Kryptonian space craft falls from the sky, landing near the fortress of solitude, Clark isn't sure what he's expecting. But he's definitely not expecting you. And he quickly realizes communication doesn't come easy between two aliens who speak different languages.
warnings: none. pretty fluffy. the italic dialogue is meant to indicate when kryptonian is being spoken (I couldn't find a good enough language translator and wasn't about to make up a whole dialect for this one fic haha.)
notes: easing my way back into clark mode. super man girl summer here we come!! also sorry if the header image is an obscenely bright blue. I was fixing this up on a car ride and the sun glare was messing with my editing lol
enjoy reading :)
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Clark looks up a moment before the alarm actually goes off in the Fortress. His attuned hearing had picked it up before the monitors, the far away sound of something flying. Falling.
Something moving at an unnatural speed.
“Superman-”
“What is it?” Clark asks, standing as he glances over at the Superman robot waddling into the large crystalized room with its mechanized gait. The robot slows as Clark approaches, head bobbing with nerves. If robots could get nervous.
Clark wasn’t entirely sure.
“There’s been a breach in the atmosphere. An unidentified space craft, headed this way.”
Clark’s brow raises higher, his curiosity piqued.
“Here? From space.”
“Well, there’s certainly not anyone from earth who knows about this place.”
“But who-” Clark stills, his heart beating a little faster as it hits him. The Superman robot says it aloud before he can.
“It has no markings, but we’re inclined to believe it’s a Kryptonian spacecraft. Considering it’s being drawn to the fortress. Like calls to like, you know.”
Kryptonian.
Home.
A chill runs down Clark’s spine, something akin to excitement and the feeling he gets when Ma calls him to congratulate another front page article. He’s off before the Superman robot can finish telling him the details, crimson cape trailing behind him as he flies.
The large doors to the Fortress open with agonizingly slow dramatics, and Clark is pretty sure he’s taken out a large chunk as his shoulder clips the edge. He flies through snowy spray, breath plumbing in the barren icy landscape of the antarctic.
The sun shines down brightly, painting everything a hazy white. Clark stills as he hovers in the sky, looking upward into the vast blue. He squints, catching the glowing orange pinprick, still too far to be anything identifiable.
But it gets closer.
And closer.
The sleek and hexagonal spacecraft begins to hurtle down with startling speed. Clark’s heart lurches as he watches it speed towards the snow.
It’s going to crash-
The air booms with the shockwave of Clark’s speed and he flies towards the spacecraft, strong and steady hands grabbing the front to slow its course. He grunts as the force presses against him, the smell of burning metal and astro dust flooding his senses. But Clark is strong. Determined.
Every bit of the Superman his hero title claims him to be.
He manages to slow the ship, just enough so the impact of snow and ice doesn’t leave a noticeable crater in the earth. It crashes, bouncing once. Clark yelps, tumbling in the powdery spray, watching as the ship comes to a slow, sliding stop.
Clark shakes the snow out of his hair, panting and trying to catch his breath as he gets back to his feet. The ship looms beside him, his neck craning upwards to catch the entirety of its vast body.
It’s beautiful, Clark thinks.
All sleek angles and smooth craftsmanship. Like something from a dream he had once.
He approaches the ship carefully, looking back once towards the Fortress, its sharp crystalline spikes still towering high. Majestic and mighty; a beautiful marvel really. Clark stands beside the ship, blinking once as he watches steam roll off of the surface.
Clark reaches out with a tentative hand, pulling back with a hiss as his hand makes contact with the burning surface. He takes a breath, blowing a strong puff of cool air, the steam dissipating. This time, the metal is a much more approachable temperature, and Clark wraps his knuckles against the surface with a timid knock.
“Hello?”
His voice is clear, just enough baritone to sound authoritative but rounded out with a friendly lilt to sound approachable. Clark’s heart is still pounding nervously. He’s encountered alien and foreign entities before. There had been plenty of crash landings in Metropolis and the occasional supernatural occurrences he’d seen in Smallville.
But this was different. This was uncannily familiar.
Kryptonian.
Home.
It’s strange to feel such a pull to a place he’s never even been. Clark clears his throat again, knocking on the ship once more. He hopes whoever is inside is alright. Hopes nothing happened in transit.
Why a Kryptonian ship had made a descent to earth, now of all times, Clark didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t want to know why. He had a hard enough time understanding the laws of time warping and the light years between his home planet and earth.
What he did know was that a piece of him lay inside the spacecraft looming before him. A piece of his past, and hopefully one of his future. A bridge between his humanity and his alien identity.
Clark calls out once more and he takes a quick step back when a loud sound echoes in the ship. There’s a bright light, blue and blazen. Glowing from a crack that forms in the middle of the ship.
It splits, and Clark is reminded of an egg cracking, something trying to push its way out. The spacecraft crackles noisely, humming with anticipation. He waits for a moment, eyes darting around as he tries to watch for something else to happen.
There’s a sound from the inside. Like banging. Clark reaches out instinctively, lifting the top of the ship and tossing it. It raises effortlessly, teetering for a moment before falling backwards into the powdery snow. Clark blinks, trying to register what he’s looking at inside.
Who he’s looking at.
“Golly,” he breathes, smiling before he can think of a better emotion to present.
You blink up at him, long lashes fluttering rapidly as you try to adjust to the bright sunlight now filtering into your pod. Clark grins like an idiot, his heart still fluttering rapidly. Although he’s not sure it’s just because he’s encountering his first Kryptonian anymore.
You’re sitting in the pod, a silver thermal suit zipped tightly around your body. You watch him carefully, assessing and cautious.
Clark clears his throat, giving a small wave.
“Hi there.”
You blink once.
“Are you Kal El?” Clark’s stomach falls, just slightly as he hears the foreign language on your tongue. You point to him, tilting your head questioningly.
“Ohh…”
“Are you Kal El?” you repeat the phrase. Clark’s ears turn red as he realizes he has no idea what you’re saying. And no way to know if you’ll be able to understand him either.
“I’m sorry,” he cringes, face scrunching with apology. “I don’t- I don’t speak Kryptonian.”
You stare up at him, legs shifting beneath you. Clark continues, embarrassed now.
“I didn’t ever- ever… shoot,” he huffs, chuckling slightly. He hadn’t really thought about what this moment would be like. Meeting someone from his home planet. And now he was here, standing in front of you.
And all he can think of is how he’d like to tell you how beautiful you look.
Not that he actually would. His Ma had taught him better than that; how girls often didn’t like when guys came off too strong. Clark has no idea what Kryptonian girls like.
Your eyes rake over his brightly colored suit, and Clark scratches the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t raised in Krypton. In Krypton… I wasn’t raised there- why am I talking louder?” Clark sighs, mentally slapping himself. “I, uh, here,” he offers a hand to you.
You stare at it for a moment, looking up to his face with curiosity. Clark nods, hoping it comes off as encouraging. You take a breath, and place your hand in his. Clark notes how cold your hand is, even through the thick gloves you wore.
You allow him to lift you up easily, wobbling slightly as you stand.
“Woah, careful.” You shake your head, squinting.
“Man, my legs. They fell asleep.”
“You alright?” Clark asks, holding you steady by the crook of your elbow. You look up at him, and Clark can’t help but think again about how distinctively otherworldly you are. He helps guide you out of the pod, taking one cautious step after another. The snow crunches beneath your boots and you look down at it, curious.
“It’s cold,” you murmur.
Clark frowns, watching as you squint upwards toward the sky. Your brows scrunch, lashes blinking rapidly. Like it was the first time you’d seen a light so bright.
Perhaps it was, Clark realizes. Who knows how long you’d been in the dark pod, floating through endless space.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I know the sun can be bright. Here-”
You take a wary step back as Clark reaches for your face, watching him with caution.
“What are you doing?”
“No, no, it’s alright,” Clark raises hands, smiling reassuringly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
You frown, eyes tracking Clark’s hand as he slowly reaches over again. This time, you allow him, keeping eye contact with him as he places one of his large hands over the ridge of your brow.
“There,” Clark nods, watching your pupils relax as the shadow of his palm covers your eyes.
“That better?” You glance down at his mouth, watching as he sounds the word again.“Better?”
“Bet-ter.” Clark grins. It was broken, still heavily accented. But it was a start.
“Wow! Golly, you must be a genius up there.” You smile. He’s not sure you understand exactly what he’s saying, but if the flush on his cheeks is any indicator, he must be coming off as impressed.
You’re standing so close to him, the pluming fog of your breath mixes with his. Clark grins, a feeling of excitement surging through him. This was the start of something new.
Something he had a feeling would change his whole world for the better.
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thank you for reading! if you're interested in some of my other superman works here's a link to my masterlist :)
Supergirl (2026) dir. Craig Gillespie
You're a Good Boy, Krypto
word count: 25.9k
pairing: Clark Kent x reader
summary: a lot can can happen in nine months. Clark and you learn to navigate your ever changing lives, balancing the calm of awaiting your new family member and the chaos Krypto somehow always manages to cause.
warnings: pregnancy, morning sickness and vomit, mentions of birth and labor, a little bit of an existential crisis, life, reader is implied being shorter and smaller in stature, Krypto being a menace to Clark, emotions galore, Ma and Pa being the cutest, Kara is Krypto's enabler, brief Guy Gardner jump scare, mentions of c-section, pregnancy worries and scares. idk, let me know if I missed anything.
notes: this is wayy longer than I expected it to be. Totally fluffy and a little chaotic. I spend way too much thinking about Clark Kent as a dad. He's just so special to me.
I made a playlist for this one; link here if you'd like to listen.
enjoy reading :)
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The afternoon was sweet with the smell of summer, the breeze cool despite the bright sun above. The porch steps creak beneath you as you sit, eyes closed as you enjoy the quiet of the Kent farm.
“Krypto! Krypto no, be careful!”
Or as quiet as it could be with your husband and his energetic ball of cosmic fur. You peek a glimpse out into the cattle pasture, Clark's tall silhouette running after the small blur of white fur. Krypto bounds between the cows, snapping his jaws playfully, barking with excitement. Clark squats down and captures the dog in his arms, rubbing his furry side, trying to calm him.
“Buddy, be careful. They don't play as rough as you.”
You watch as Krypto just stares, his tongue lolling, tail wagging ceaselessly. He gives Clark a large lick across his cheek, Clark groaning as Krypto bounds off again. You laugh to yourself, the screen door opening behind you with a rattling creak.
“You doing okay out here sweetheart?”
Martha Kent smiles down at you, wiping her hand against her flour covered apron.
You give her a bright smile. “I’m doing just fine Martha. Thank you.”
“Good. That's good,” there's a wordless energy between the both of you. The excitement that lingered in every glance, in every smile of the Kent household since you'd last visited.
Martha hangs in the entryway of the house, her wrinkled hands clinging to the screen door. She watches Clark in the field as he chases after Krypto, a large smile on her face. It was a look wrapped up in motherly love and amusement, in hope of future memories yet to be made.
“He's gonna be a worrier. Over protective. Just like Jon was with him.” You chuckle softly, thinking about all the ways Clark had changed already.
The glances in the car, the hand which never left the small of your back, the soft murmurs he kissed into your temple.
“You rest a little more, I’ve got breakfast covered."
“It's okay hon. Go sit down, I’ll finish the laundry.”
Clark worried alright.
“He is. But I wouldn't have your son any other way.” Martha gives you a smile.
“He’ll do alright. You both will.”
“Thanks Martha.” You glance over as the sound of Krypto’s barks grows louder, the dog jumping against Clark as the poor man tries to make his way towards the porch. Martha laughs, a raspy and warm sound, and heads back inside. At the sound of the screen door closing, Krypto turns, spotting you. His ears perk up, tail wagging with excitement.
Clark’s eyes widen as the dog digs his haunches into the dirt, ready to spring at you.
“Krypto, stop. Stop- STOP!”
The dog is already off and your eyes widen as he launches himself at you. Your hands instinctively cover your middle, bracing for impact-
But it never comes. Clark stands, chest heaving, clutching Krypto by the scruff of his neck. Krypto dangles just a foot from you, his tail still wagging, tongue lolling as he blinks at you. Clark huffs as he sets the dog down, hands resting on his hip.
“Dude, what did we talk about?” Krypto barks, trotting in a circle before sitting at your feet. You lean down, scratching the top of his head in the way you knew he liked.
“He didn’t mean anything, Clark. He was just excited.”
Clark sighs. “He could have hurt you.” You look up at him, a pained concern written on Clark's face. Krypto could have hurt a lot more than just you. But he didn’t know any better.
“He’s just a dog,” you smile down at the white canine. Krypto looks up at you, clearly enjoying your support. “Isn’t that right buddy, huh- and a cute one.” Clark rolls his eyes as you coo at the dog, Krypto licking your hands with appreciation.
“Yeah, a bad dog.” You scoff with feigned disbelief.
“Krypto is not a bad dog, Clark.” The man gives you a look.
“Honey, he practically destroyed our couch the last time we watched him.”
“He was just playing.”
“He would call chasing squirrels and eating mice playing.” Clark crosses his arms, glaring at the dog.
You shake your head, giving Krypto one last scratch before standing. Clark moves quickly to try and help you up and you laugh.
“I’m okay, I can still get up myself.”
“I know,” Clark flushes. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I’ll be alright.” You reach out for Clark’s hand, squeezing it gently. He sighs, the porch creaking beneath his weight as he moves up the steps, bringing you into an embrace. You're engulfed by the large man, your arms wrapping around his broad back as he hugs you gently.
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Krypto just watches the both of you as you hug, furry head titled as you both look at each other. It was wordless, but it was there. That secret thing you’d both been smiling about for a couple weeks now.
The thing that made Clark kiss you gently, made his touch linger a little longer; the thing that made you hum in the kitchen and smile a little brighter.
Krypto wasn’t sure exactly what it was. He’d been away for a few weeks with Kara, visiting another planet. One with flying squirrels!
But when Kara had dropped him off last week, he’d noticed it. The change.
Even now, Clark and you were whispering about something, the man’s thumb brushing just below your belly. Maybe you were hungry. Krypto was always hungry.
The dog nudges Clark’s pants with his snout, whining. After a minute of this, Clark tells Krypto to stop. The dog debates biting him. That usually got his attention. But it also got him yelled at. And he wanted food, not a lecture.
So Krypto tries you, barking once as he nudges his wet nose against your legs.
“What’s wrong buddy?” You smile down at him, your arms still wrapped around Clark. Krypto barks again, hopping up the steps of the porch and padding to the screen door. “Are you hungry? Ready for some lunch?”
See, you got it!
You laugh, turning to Clark. “Lunch doesn’t sound too bad.”
The man chuckles, pressing a kiss on your cheek.
“Anything for you, love.”
--- October ---
It was hard to tell if Krypto actually knew what was going on. They say dogs are attuned to the human body, often sensing changes in emotions or health before their owners even realize anything was going on.
But Krypto…
Krypto didn’t seem to quite understand why everyone was acting so different. He didn’t seem to understand why Martha and Jonathan visited so often now, why they always entered the house with beaming smiles and went straight to see you instead of him like they normally would.
“Oh I’m sorry Krypto, are you feeling left out. Here I brought you a little treat- oh and honey! I brought you some ginger tea. All the women at the grocers said it helped them when they were preg-”
Martha never did get around to giving Krypto his treat.
“Krypto, buddy you’re still here! It’s good to see you- Clark. I’ve never been prouder of you. It may seem like you’re in over your head now, but just wait. There’s nothing sweeter than paren-”
Jonathan didn’t play ball with Krypto like he used to.
Krypto seemed confused over the changes in Clark. The way the man would hover around you, asking if you were alright, if you needed anything. The way his hands always lingered on your back or slid along the side of your belly. The way Clark would get onto Krypto more than before, talking to him in a sterner voice, getting more distressed over the dog’s antics.
“Krypto! What did I say about that room? It’s not for you anymore.”
“Clark! Calm down, he’s just curious.”
“I know honey, but with the stuff for the ba-”
The thing Krypto seemed most baffled by, was you. And you couldn’t blame him. You were baffled by all the things happening to you.
He’d watch you with a tilted head from the bathroom door, your fingers clutching the porcelain bowl as you threw up your guts. He’d watch you with his big glass eyes as you ate three helpings of cereal in the morning, the plain cheerios you now ate instead of your usual cinnamon and almond kind. He'd watch you carefully as you lay on the couch, too tired to do anything around the house, your fingers gently tracing shapes around your belly.
One afternoon, while laying down with your book and trying to rest after another morning spent hunched over the toilet, you finally decided to have a talk with Krypto. Clark was off at work, reluctantly leaving Krypto with you, and the poor dog kept trying to get you to play and go outside with him.
You thought maybe if you explained…
“Krypto,” you call his name softly, the dog’s ears perking up from his spot by the apartment window. You pat the side of the couch you were laying on, “come here, boy.”
Krypto trots over, nose wet against your palm as he presses his snout into your hand. You scratch behind his ear, his fur soft beneath the pads of your fingers.
“I have to tell you something buddy. It's kind of a secret though, so we can't go around telling everyone.” Krypto sits on the rug, watching you attentively.
You feel a little silly talking to him, but there's something in his sparkling eyes that makes you somewhat confident he actually understands you. Or, he at least wants to understand.
“You know how I’ve been so tired lately? And how Clark’s been a little distracted?” Krypto stares, a calm stillness you've never seen in the usually hyperactive dog taking over. You shift on the couch. “Well, it's because I’m pregnant. Do you know what that means?”
Krypto tilts his head, whining softly. Your fingers leave their spot behind his ear, coming to rest over your still flat belly.
“It means I’m having a baby Krypto.”
Krypto’s nose follows your hand, sniffing your sweater. His snout presses gently into your belly, white tail wagging faster as he looks up at you.
You smile, laughing softly. Could dogs even smell babies so early in the first trimester? Did he even know what a baby was??
Krypto licks your hand, jumping on to the couch. You yelp, heart beat spiking as you worry about having to defend yourself from the overexcited dog-
But he doesn’t bound about like you expected. Krypto’s usual rambunctiousness was lost as he carefully pads around your legs, paws digging into the cushions. You ease up a little, laying back down as the dog lays between your legs, his head resting just below your belly. And he just stares.
At everything. At nothing.
You’d been doing the same lately. Going into your spare room and eyeing the four walls, imagining a nursery instead of the cramped office room you had now. When Clark and you went grocery shopping, you’d linger by the diaper section, fingers tracing the printed images of toddlers on the boxes. At Centennial Park you’d watch toddlers running around, trying to picture a mini Clark or you in their place.
Even though nothing had really changed yet, it felt like everything had. Your baby, still too small to have even a heartbeat, had already shifted your world so much. They were already so loved, by Clark and you. By their grandparents. And now, possibly, by the hyperactive alien dog Clark watched for his cousin.
You smile at Krypto, his nose twitching as he watches you.
“You do understand, don’t you buddy.” His tail wags, brushing your leg gently. You scratch his head once more, a big yawn leaving your mouth, eyes drooping closed slowly.
Krypto yawns against you, and you find yourself drifting off, sleep calling once more.
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The Metropolis sky was a painting of gold and indigo, the setting sun illuminating the towering buildings and knotted highways. The waterway glittered beneath the last rays of sunlight, a flock of birds fluttering past Clark in confusion as he flew through the clouds. Everything was beautiful at this hour, lights blurring into shooting stars, the world becoming a puzzle block of lives as Clark climbs higher into the sky.
To the city below, Superman was flying through on his evening rounds, speeding past in a blur of blue and red.
To Clark, he was trying to get home as fast as he could, itching to see you.
It had been a long day at the Daily Planet. Countless phone calls and dead ends, coffee that grew cold too quickly and a lunch hour that turned into a mission to save a building that had caught fire. Clark had even left work early, set on getting that takeout you liked so much and just spending the rest of the evening on the couch with you.
He knew how tired you’d been recently, how this early stage of pregnancy was weighing on you. Growing a baby was no small task, as Clark was beginning to learn. And growing a half Kryptonian baby was even more challenging from what he understood.
But of course, Metropolis, as beautiful as it was, never slept. Halfway to the little chinese restaurant you loved, Clark’s ears prickled with the sound of a woman screaming for help. Twenty minutes later, a ship off the coast of Central City was thrown off course and had to be pushed safely into the harbor.
And just a few minutes ago, Clark had stopped a malfunctioning plane from hurtling down into a city block, helping it to fly back to the landing pad safely. He’d done it all with a smile of course. Nodding politely as people cheered, making sure everyone was alright before lifting off again.
But he’d missed dinner. His plans to surprise you had slowly slipped away as he realized ‘being Superman’ had come first.
Clark’s mouth is pressed into a firm line as he begins to see the familiar rooftops of your apartment block. It was a lot later than he'd hoped to get home, and he was already brainstorming ways to make it up to you. Maybe he’d take you out to that museum you loved tomorrow, or make you a big breakfast.
Or-
Clark slows his speed as he spots the little flowershop, on the corner of mainstreet. He turns around, touching down on the street below with a gust of wind. The woman outside the shop looks up in surprise, her key halfway in the front door.
“Superman!” He gives her a bright smile, nodding politely.
“Hello ma’am. You’re not locking up for the night, are you?”
“Well, I was. But if you wanted to buy something…”
Clark flies home carefully, the bouquet of pink lilies and baby’s breath clutched gently in his arms. Being Superman would always have its perks.
Your shared apartment is just a few buildings away, and Clark descends discreetly, slipping inside the open window quietly. His brows furrow as he enters the dim living room, the only sign of your person the knit blanket his Ma had made and your spare tupperware you'd been dragging around in case the nausea hit.
His red cape drags on the wood floor, boots silent. Clark moves toward the kitchen as he registers the sound of sizzling meat, soft music reverberating through the thin walls. A surprised smile finds its way on Clark’s face, a sense of nostalgia washing over him. It was like a memory he doesn't remember having yet, the scene familiar in ways only dreams could provoke.
The kitchen was lively, the smell of tomato and basil wafting into the living room as you cook spaghetti.
The small radio on the counter crackles with an old song, the one you always danced to in the car or hummed in the grocery store.
“-It's such a fine and natural sight.
Everybody's dancing in the moonlight-”
You stir the pot of sauce, hips swaying slightly as you sing, your eyes trained on Krypto beside you. You sing to the dog, his head cocked in curiosity as he gnaws on a half destroyed tv remote. One of the many destroyed objects in your apartment which had become Krypto’s adopted toys.
Clark watches from the kitchen entryway with a fond smile, leaning against the door frame with the bouquet in hand. In just a few months, the scene would be different. Your belly rounder and fuller, the sound of two heartbeats echoing instead of one. And in less than a year, you'd be cradling a baby, singing gently. A baby with chubby rolls and an incandescent laugh; maybe a girl with your eyes and his dimples, or a boy with his curls and your smile.
Clark can't wait to be a father. To cradle your baby close, to change diapers and wash pacifiers and rock them to sleep. The thoughts are distracting, and he’s so caught up in the future he misses the moment Krypto catches sight of him.
The wind is knocked out of Clark as Krypto pounces, one of the island stools toppling over from the force with a loud clang. You gasp loudly, abandoning the stovetop and rushing over to Clark.
“Oh my goodness, Clark! Are you alright?”
“I- yeah… I’m okay. Krypto-” Clark turns his head away, trying to keep the dog’s slobbering tongue at bay. “Buddy, I know. I’m happy to see you too.” Krypto barks, managing to get a slobbery kiss on Clark's face. The man cringes, pushing the dog off of him gently.
Krypto pads off, distracted as he catches sight of his tail, chasing it around in circles.
You laugh behind your hand, leaning against the doorway. Clark looks up at you, using the end of his cape to wipe off his wet face. He grunts getting up, his broad frame filling the doorway.
“Hi,” he smiles, embarrassed.
“Hi,” you repeat, looking down at his hand. “Are those for me?” Clark looks down at the bouquet, frowning at the sad state the flowers were now in. It seemed nothing could escape the walking disaster that was Krypto.
“They were,” Clark glares at the dog, no longer chasing his tail, but now off to chew on one of Clark’s old running shoes.
You laugh, taking the flowers in your hands carefully. You brushed your fingers over the broken petals, caressing the silky lilies carefully.
“They’re still beautiful Clark. Thank you.”
Clark leans in as you press a kiss to his lips, pulling him closer to embrace him. You move back into the kitchen as he begins to peel off his boots, leaving them and his cape in the living room. The bouquet, a little less sad now that you’ve fixed it, sits in a mason jar on the window sill. Clark watches as you begin cutting into a french loaf of bread, spreading warm butter onto the fluffy sides.
It smells delicious, cheese and garlic joining the tomato medley. You glance back at Clark, laughing to yourself.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Clark shrugs, coming to stand behind you. He wraps his arm around your waist, hands resting beneath your shirt. “You’re cooking.”
You giggle, looking at him funny.
“You seem surprised."
“Well, you’ve just been so tired lately.” You nod, passing him the baking sheet with the bread. Clark lets go of you, putting the bread into the oven.
“I know. I caught a second wind today. Spaghetti sounded nice. You hungry?” Clark nods.
“Very. I was going to bring chinese but I-” Krypto barks, padding over to Clark at the mention of food. The dog sits at his feet, looking up expectantly. “But I didn’t. I don’t have chinese buddy.”
Krypto barks again, tail smacking against the floor. That dog just wouldn’t give up. It was his way or the highway.
Clark sighs and you pat his back.
--- November ---
Smallville High’s football field is teeming with people, kids decked in red and gold, students chanting and shouting with anticipation. Families file into the high school, animated with excitement and anticipation. The stands buzz as people find their seats, kids already chanting, handmade signs raised high- “LETS GO CROWS!!”
The Kansas air was cool with the autumn winds, golden leaves falling from the school's trees, crunching beneath your shoes. Your hair flutters with the breeze, Clark’s hands quick to capture the wild strands for you, keeping them from blowing into your face. He stands behind you, his broad shoulders blocking the cold, his smile bright.
“Thanks hon,” you smile, tugging your crimson sweater closer to your body- well, his crimson sweater to be exact.
“Of course,” he leans down, planting a kiss on your lips.
“Bleh-” Kara groans beside you, giving the two of you a disgusted side eye. “You guys are so gross.”
Krypto barks in concurrence beside her, the sound muffled as he bites the leash Kara was holding, trying to run free. Clark rolls his eyes, tucking you closer into his chest.
“Kara, someday you’ll think differently. You just have to find the right person."
“No way,” she laughs darkly, kicking her sparkly red boot, along the cement. “Unlike you star boy, I don’t have as much luck with what earth has to offer.”
You laugh, Clark giving you an unapproving look. You shrug.
“She’s not entirely wrong, Clark. I got lucky with you. But some guys here-” You and Kara give each other knowing looks. Let's just say dating at her age wasn’t entirely fun on earth.
“So…” Kara drawls, looking around the school’s football field as you enter the stadium. “Why are we here again? I thought you invited me here for food or whatever.”
“It’s Thanksgiving. We do this every year,” Clark says as the three of you approach the metal bleachers. “The high school has a game, we watch, have fun. And then we go home for dinner.”
Krypto barks at the mention of food, looking up at Kara expectantly. You laugh, glancing at the snack bar across the way.
“Dinner’s not till later buddy. But maybe we’ll get you a hot dog or something to tide you over.”
From up in the stands, you can see Martha and Jonathan Kent already sitting, their arms waving high.
“There’s Ma and Pa. Do you girls want something from the snack bar?” Clark asks, nodding towards the little stand cluttered with popcorn and nachos. You had to admit for a little high school, they really went all out. “I’ll grab it if you want to go sit.”
Kara shrugs. “Only if you’re paying Kent.” Clark sighs, rubbing his brow line as he glances at you.
“Sure Kara. I’ll get you something.”
“Okay, here’s what I want-” You try to hold in your laugh as Kara begins listing off things, ticking each item off on her blue polished fingers. “Oh and then a hot dog for Sniffles here,” Kara points to Krypto, the dog’s nose twitching as he watches the football players lining up on the field. His dark eyes trail the ball being tossed playfully, his tail wagging.
“Okay,” Clark sighs, giving you a smile. “You want anything.”
“No, I’m okay.” He nods, but waits for a second, blue eyes sparkling playfully behind his glasses.
“You sure?” You laugh, raising your hand with confusion.
“Of course I am, I don’t want-” and then the smell hits you. Buttery and sweet. The scent of caramelized sugar wafting your way, thick and decadent. “Actually-”
“I’ll get you some caramel corn, don’t worry.” You squeeze his bicep, lips pecking his cheek. Of course he knew. He always did. “Thanks.”
Clark turns on the heel of his sneaker, making his way to the snack stand with a bright smile on his face. Kara just shakes her head, looking at you with disbelief.
“I can’t believe you married that oaf.”
“Kara! He’s your cousin-”
“Yeah, all the more reason for me to be so surprised.” You laugh, climbing the metal stairs carefully, Kara and Krypto trailing behind you.
“So… you explore any fun planets recently?” You ask, switching the subject.
“Eh,” Kara shrugs, “nothing I haven’t seen already. Although I did almost get sucked into a dying star on the way here. That was cool.” You look at her with a raised eyebrow, concern tugging at your heart. Kara had always been a little reckless; brave and courageous in a way that made you both proud and seriously scared for her well being.
“Kara! Thank goodness you weren’t. I can’t even imagine-”
“Don’t worry about it. I would have gotten out eventually. I just might have missed your holidays. Would have been a blessing in disguise.” You shake your head, wrapping your arm around her shoulder.
“No way. I can’t imagine not having you here.” Kara's mouth quirks upwards at that. Not a full smile, but something.
Martha and Jonathan greet you both with wide, warm hugs, smiling brightly. Kara begrudgingly gives in to Martha’s tight squeeze, the girl’s hands still stuck in the pocket of her cropped denim jacket.
“How was the drive over?” Jonathan asks, grinning.
“Oh, it was alright,” you smile.
“Long,” Kara rolls her eyes, slumping onto the metal bench. She frowns. “Jeez, these things are uncomfortable.
Krypto hops onto the bench beside her, looking up at you expectantly. Martha leans into you as you squeeze past her, her hand gently pausing you.
“Your last appointment go okay?” She asks quietly. You smile and nod.
“Swimmingly. Clark has the pictures to show you later in his truck.”
“Good, good. I need a copy of those if he’s got the time.” You chuckle, giving her cheek a kiss as you move to sit next to Kara. She gives you a weird look as you settle into the seat, Krypto climbing over Kara’s red boots and coming to sit on your lap.
“What was that about?” She asks, nodding to Martha, who was now engrossed in sharing Jonathan’s binoculars to look for Clark. You flush, trying to act casual.
Darn super hearing….
“Uh… just a doctor’s appointment I had last week. It’s nothing to worry about."
“Uh huh,” Kara nods, her eyes narrowed. She doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t press.
The cheering gets louder in the stands as the players begin to get into their position on the field and Krypto presses his snout into your belly, his furry body heavy on your thighs. You smile down at him, scratching his ears. He made an alright secret keeper. Better than Clark who practically told Kara about the baby the second she’d landed on your apartment rooftop.
You hadn’t wanted to tell anyone else just yet. Not with it being so early. Clark’s parents finding out so soon had been somewhat of an accident; the minute Clark and you had stepped into their doorway for brunch on a Saturday and one look at the two of you was enough for Martha Kent to know. She was too smart for her own good.
Clark, who was over the moon and wanted to tell every person he came in contact with, didn’t quite understand why. But when you explained just how fragile the early stages of a human pregnancy could be, he slowly agreed. More for your peace of mind than anything. And besides, it was kind of fun to have something that was just yours. A little secret that only the two of you knew about.
Well, the two of you, his parents, and Krypto knew.
Clark finally makes his way up the stands, balancing a ridiculous amount of food in his arms. Martha and Jon are quick to greet him, Clark giving them that radiant smile of his as he scoots down the bench carefully, moving to sit next to you. Krypto wastes no time in trying to eat, Clark having to fend the canine off.
“Hey, dude, wait just a second. I’ll get you your food, just give me a minute.” Kara leans over you, hand held out for her food. Clark passes her half of the things he was carrying, hot dogs and popcorn. A cup of chips and queso with a ridiculous amount of bacon.
The greasy smell hits you like a train and you feel your stomach churn. Your quick to cover your nose with the back of your hand, trying not to think about the wave of nausea that was hitting you.
"Here honey," he passes you the caramel corn, the sweet smell doing little to combat the feeling. You take it with a grimace, letting out a shuddering breath.
Clark doesn’t seem to notice as he listens to something his Ma is telling him, carefully feeding Krypto a hot dog.
“Uh huh,” he nods, glancing at his Ma. “I don't think the market’s real good right now.”
“You’re just not looking. Old Pete’s fixing up his house for sale-”
Their voices begin to blend together as you focus on not hurling everywhere. Krypto is a heavy weight against you and you stifle a moan as he turns his body around, paw plunging into the meat of your thigh painfully. The crowd begins to cheer around you, the game beginning with a flourish of red and gold.
None of it really matters as you feel the bile rising in the back of your throat. Kara chews on her food, giving you a concerned look, brows drawn together.
“Hey, you’re looking kinda green.”
“I’m fine Kara,” you breath, Clark finally looking over as you stutter your next sentence. “I just-”
The world swims, the familiar dizziness and sting of bile rising hitting you all at once.
“Hon-” Krypto must see the look in your eyes because he’s moving out of the way as your body jerks. Clark reaches out for you, but it’s too late. You vomit into your lap, shaking with exertion. Martha gasps with surprise, already reaching in her handbag for a handkerchief.
“Oh, honey,” she frowns, concerned.
Clark holds back your hair, quickly kneeling beside you as you ride the wave of nausea.
“Oh my-” Kara cringes, the piece of popcorn in her hand forgotten as she looses her appetite. “What-”
You groan as you finish, snot and bile dripping from your face. If you weren’t feeling so awful, you might have half the brain to feel embarrassed, people in the stands giving you sympathetic looks. Clark is quick to try and cover your stained lap with his flannel, squeezing your clammy hand.
“You’re okay-”
“Clark, you’re shirt,” you groan.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Clark takes the handkerchief from his Ma, grateful that she was already on damage control, telling people not to worry.
“Clark,” Kara hisses, watching you carefully. “What the heck is happening?”
“It’s nothing, I just,” Clark sighs, shaking his head. “Can you get in her bag and find the bag of ginger chews? I think she has some in there.”
“Okay,” Kara sighs, not satisfied with the answer. She rifles through your bag, not noticing the fact Krypto wasn’t paying attention to any of you anymore.
The crowd was a mix of murmurs and cheers, half of them glancing at you as you tried not to throw up again, the other half focused on the game. Krypto happened to be part of the latter half, his sharp eyes and super vision watching the football as it was tossed in the air, soaring with an impressive arch into the arms of one of the meaty players.
“Honey, listen- are you gonna be sick again? I can go get the car but I don’t want to leave you if you’re gonna be sick again.” Clark whispers to you gently, and you appreciate how kind he’s being. Especially since you’ve thrown up all over the two of you.
“I ruined the game, didn’t I,” you moan, stomach churning again. He laughs quietly, shaking his head.
“Of course not. Nothing’s been ruined, okay? We’re just going to have to change our plans a little.” You nod, giving him a pained smile as he strokes your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. Kara lets out a surprised noise beside you, and you and Clark turn to her. She looks at you with a fiery passion, holding up the bottle of prenatal vitamins you’d forgotten in there.
“I knew it,” She hisses, grinning maniacly. “I knew it. Clark, you are such a bad liar. Just a stomach bug my -” her words are cut off as people on the bleachers below cry out.
The three of you all look up, Clark’s eyes wide as he watches Krypto bound across the bleachers. Kara lets out a string of curses, the leash laying ripped to shreds on the bench, the game below in disarray as Krytpo pounces on the player carrying the ball. The dog runs around on the field and Kara begins to laugh hysterically as the players try to chase him.
"Run Krypto! Keep going boy!"
You groan as people stop looking at you and start pointing at Krypto who's bolting off the field, a pack of teenage boys after him. Martha and Jon watch in surprise, Clark groaning beside you.
"Oh cheese and crackers- Hon, I'll be back I- KARA! Stop laughing and help me get the dog!"
------------------------------------------------------
The quiet of the Kent farm is a reprieve from the chaos of the football game. Clark sighs as he watches you sleep, his hands stroking your damp hair. A shower, change of clothes and a good nap was what you had needed after the messy afternoon. He leans on his elbow, hovering over you as he presses a kiss to your flushed cheek.
The mattress creaks as he gets up, the pair of blue sweats he was wearing loose at his hips, an old University t-shirt stretched against his taut muscles.
He leaves the room quietly, taking the box of kleenex and ‘just in case’ bucket with him. The nausea hadn’t really stopped since you both had left the game, Thanksgiving dinner thrown out the window for you. Clark felt terrible, knowing how much you enjoyed spending time with family and eating. It wouldn’t always be like this, he tries to remind himself. Morning sickness only lasted a little while.
But he still felt terrible that you had to go through it.
He thoroughly rinses out the bucket in the bathroom down the hall, the faint noise of the tv playing and Jonathan’s snores reverberating in the house. Clark can hear the soft pattern of footsteps headed his way, a smile making its way on his face as his Ma peeks in the bathroom.
“Are ya decent Clark?” He laughs.
“Of course Ma. I wouldn't keep the door open if I wasn’t.”
“Well, you took a much different approach to the bathroom when you was younger,” she chuckles, giving him a soft smile. “Your wife doing okay now?”
Clark nods, humming. “Her system finally calmed down enough to let her rest. It was like she couldn’t stop.” He looks down at his bare feet, hand brushing through his dark curls. “I just wish there was something more I could do to help her, Ma.”
“I know, Clark. I know,” she pats his back comfortingly. “You’re doing all you can now though. And that’s what matters. Just being there for her. That’s half of what being a daddy is, you know.”
Clark shakes his head, looking away with embarrassment. He watches as his Ma nods, eyes faraway in a memory. She shakes her head, pulling her knitted cardigan tighter over her body.
“I almost forgot what I came in here for. Your cousin was looking for ya.”
“Was she?” Clark asks, eyebrow raised. Martha hums in agreement.
“Said she wanted to talk to ya about something before she left.” Clark holds back a sigh, scratching the back of his neck as he moves towards the door.
“Thanks Ma,” he kisses her cheek, heading out to the back of the house. The last golden rays of the Kansas sun were dipping below the horizon, bathing everything in a gilded hue. Kara danced around the grass as Krypto nipped at her, laughter spilling out through the backyard. Clark shakes his head, trying not to relive the disaster from the game earlier.
Kara finally catches sight of his flanneled frame, giving Clark a bright and mischievous smile.
“Hey Daddio.” Clark cringes.
“Don’t call me that K.” She shrugs, knowing full well she was probably going to do it again.
"Since when are you the boss?"
"Since you can't control that dog of yours." Clark gives her a pointed look, gesturing towards Krypto who was currently tearing up a patch of his Ma's flowers, dirt flinging high in the air as he digs.
Kara watches, shrugging. "Well, on that subject, I actually wanted to talk to you about him." Clark raises an eyebrow and Kara gestures towards the porch swing, sitting on the wooden bench with a creak. Clark follows, slumping into the seat beside her.
"So... you're gonna be a daddy." Clark smiles at his feet, nodding.
"Yup. In about seven months or so." Kara nods, her legs swining as she leans forward on her hands.
"Well, I've been thinking and I wanted to propose something. A little 'you help me, I help you situation.'"
"Uh huh," Clark glances at Kara suspiciously, not entirely sure where she was going with this. "And help me... how exactly?"
"Okay, babies need a lot of attention right. You have to feed them and keep them out of trouble, and change them-"
"Yes, Kara. I believe having a kid means keeping them alive."
"Well, I was thinking, maybe, you would like some practice. You know, taking care of something like that."
"Right..." Clark narrows his eyes. He did not like where this was going. Kara smiles, gesturing out to the field. Clark's eyes go wide and he shakes his head. "No. No way Kara, that dog- there's no way."
"Oh, come on Clark! Krypto likes you. And he doesn't like just anyone. Trust me, he'll be really good practice!"
"What- you love that dog? Why would you want me to take him-"
"Here's where we help each other," she gestures between herself and Clark. "I leave you my dog, you take care of him, maybe teach him some manners- and I will take care of all the big bads who want to eat up the universe."
Clark blinks, trying to understand what she was saying. Kara sighs, mumbling something about Clark's brain running slow.
"I'm sure your wife's not going to be happy if you're flying off world all the time. Bless her heart, she would say she wouldn't mind. But we both know that girl is a worse liar than you are. This way, I don't even have to fly far to party, and you get to stay home."
Clark rubs the bottom of his lip as he thinks. It was actually quite thoughtful- Kara offering to take on the universe while you were pregnant.
But Krypto... Clark makes a face as he watches the dog pad towards the porch, his white fur caked in dirt and broken flowers. He looks up at Clark, fluffy ears flopping as his body shakes.
"Kara," he sighs, reaching out to scratch behind Krypto's ear. "I really don't know-"
"I'm not gonna offer it again." She smiles. "I'd rather not be here while the baby is cooking. Pregnancy is really not my thing. Babies neither, but I'll suck up babysitting later for you." Clark snorts.
"You are not babysitting." She shrugs.
"You'll change you mind someday." Clark looks away, Kara standing with a stretch. "Just think about it Kal."
She heads inside, leaving Krypto and him on the porch alone. Clark sighs.
Krypto just sneezes.
--- December ---
The Christmas tree glistened in your apartment, lights glowing as snow softly drifted into Metropolis’ streets outside. Clark was busy working on decorating your tree, his big hands spreading the branches and fluffing the spruce. The tree was too big for your tiny living room, the top brushing against the ceiling, your furniture pushed around to accommodate for its girth.
But it had been with the both of you since you’d gotten married. A miscalculation in Clark’s measuring, one that had made you both double over in laughter the first time you’d set it up in your apartment. Even if it was too big, it was part of your little family. You’re growing family.
Krypto barks as he pads through the living room, coming to sit beside you on the floor as you unwrap ornaments. It was a little hard to believe that Kara had just left him with the both of you. She'd disappeared after her talk with Clark, leaving nothing but a note on the counter, a crude drawing of Superman and Krypto on it, a heart surrounding the two of them.
Clark had tried to track down his cousin for three days, Krypto in tow as he flew across the milky way. He had come home exhausted, missing you and still being trailed by the Kryptonian dog. Of course, he'd been a bit stubborn about admitting Kara might have been right about off world missions. He tried telling himself nothing had changed. It was like any old business trip; and he'd been gone for days at a time before.
But the tight hug you had given him when he returned, the sigh of relief and kiss- a kiss that had left him flushed and more than willing to follow you back into the bedroom- had changed his mind. And he didn’t mind Krypto, really. But seven whole months of the guy…
“Be careful Krypto, those are glass.”
Clark glances back at you, your arms around the dog as you try to move him away from the box of sparkling ornaments. It’s to no avail, Krypto much stronger as he sniffs through the glass things.
You sigh, shaking your head as Krypto picks up a plush reindeer in his jaws, biting down on the stuffed ornament. Clark watches as the dog pads away with his new prize, chewing on the reindeer with a concerning level of ferocity.
“What on earth are we going to do with him?” You chuckle, looking up at Clark. He shrugs, rubbing the arch of his brow.
“I don’t know, honestly.”
“I mean, Kara was right. He’s great practice. But-”
“He’s also the worst roommate ever.” You laugh.
“That’s for sure.”
Clark smiles, quick to help you up when you reach out for his hands. You lean into his warm frame, arms wrapped around his torso as you look over the sparkling tree.
“It’s so pretty already. Even with just the lights.” Clark hums in agreement, kissing the top of your head.
“Yeah. It’ll be better with all the ornaments.” There’s a loud crunch, the sound of glass shattering behind you, and you both turn, Krypto stepping into the box with a soaking wet and torn reindeer in his mouth. Clark sighs and you frown.
“Or, what’s left of them,” you breathe, giving the dog a stink eye. Krypto doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact he’s just broken three ornaments, ready to step on a fourth one when Clark leaves your side, swooping in to pick up the dog.
“Okay- I think it’s time to play at the fortress a bit.” Krypto barks as Clark carries him to the big window of your apartment. You shiver as he opens the glass, pulling your arms tight around your body. Krypto is already bounding off into the snowy sky, barking at Clark impatiently as the man steps onto the ledge. “I’ll be back in a jiff.” “Fly safe Clark.” He smiles, leaning down and kissing you goodbye.
“Always.”
You wave as he takes off, flying after Krypto in a blur of flannel, nothing but the disrupted swirl of snowflakes to signal he’d even been there.
------------------------------------------------------
Clark enters the softly lit apartment from the door this time, juggling a half ripped gift bag in one hand and the sleeping dog in his other arm. It’s warm with the Christmas tree, the living room still a mess of boxes and tissue paper. Clark carefully closes the door with the heel of his sneaker, setting the bag on the coffee table and carefully laying Krypto down in his dog bed.
You’d never know the chaos the dog caused if you saw him sleeping; Krypto’s paws occasionally twitched as he dreams, his small body moving up and down softly. Clark gives the dog’s head a soft pat before grabbing the gift bag and heading off to find you.
He chuckles softly as he enters your room, spotting the small tree you had set up on the corner dresser, your fingers working diligently as you hang red and gold ornaments. It takes a moment before you realize he’s there, glancing back with a bright smile gracing your face. Clark’s heart skips a beat, knowing he can always make you smile.
“Hey! I didn’t hear you come back in.” Clark kicks off his sneakers, coming beside you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.
“I was trying to be quiet. Didn’t want to wake ‘Dennis the Menace’ in there,” he nods back to the kitchen. You giggle, hand covering your mouth as you put up another ornament.
“Poor guy. Did he try to eat any more of your robots?”
“Nah,” Clark laughs. “I think Gary’s put him in his place.” You hum in reply, observing the Christmas tree carefully.
“You think this is okay? I don’t know if it needs anything else.” Clark smiles, delighted at the perfect segway you’d provided.
“Actually, I have something else we could put up.” Your brows quirk in curiosity, gaze drawn to the gift bag he held up.
“What’s this?”
“Just a little something.” You take the bag from him. Clark laughs as you eye the ripped bag; your fingers gently pulling out the crumpled tissue paper, the bag crinkling as you dig inside.
“Oh,” you smile, pulling out a small ornament box, peering at its front. It was a small little thing, a little gingerbread themed frame to put on the tree. “Baby’s first Christmas.” Clark nods, grinning proudly.
“I thought we could use one. Considering this is technically our baby’s first Christmas.”
“Clark,” you laugh, “these are usually for when the baby’s already here.”
Clark shrugs, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses.
“Look inside.” You do, opening the box and shaking out the little ornament. You stare with awe at the little picture already inside the frame, a cut out of your latest sonogram picture. Clark looks down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. Was this too corny? “Gary helped me out. Said it’d be nice to replace the ornaments Krypto broke.”
You give him a knowing look, the one that said you didn’t believe Gary gave half a care about what Krypto did. No, this had Clark's fingerprints all over it. You set the ornament down, pulling Clark in for a hug. He sighs, relieved that you liked it.
“You are the sweetest man on earth. You know that Clark Kent?” He shrugs. Clark’s eyes glisten as you whisper in his ear, just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re already the best dad.”
--- January ---
“Clark… you’re still staring.”
“I know.” You glance up in the bathroom mirror, Clark’s large frame filling the doorway as he watches you with a dimpled smile. “I just can’t help it.”
He steps into your small bathroom, arms snaking around your towel clad torso as his hands settle against your bump.
Your bump.
You’d popped earlier that week, the softening outline of your belly suddenly becoming a definite curve overnight. At first, you’d chalked it up to the restaurant Clark had taken you too. Too many rolls and that large piece of chocolate cake you’d shared. Just a case of too much good food.
But the next day, it was still there. Your belly peeking out from beneath your cotton pajama’s, your baby finally saying “hello there!” You turn around, your hands cupping Clark’s face as he presses a kiss to your lips. His thumbs brush against the cotton fabric of the towel, right below your navel, where your belly poked out the most.
“Honey,” you whisper as Clark continues to kiss you. “I have to get dressed, I have work tomorrow.” Clark huffs with disappointment, giving you a look.
“Well, if you weren’t working anymore, we wouldn’t have to worry about that.” You shake your head with a smile, patting his chest.
“Clark,” you drag his name out. “We’ve been over this. As much as I love you and your two jobs, we both know they don’t exactly pay the greatest. And with the baby-”
“I know,” he sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know, we need to save.”
“Exactly,” You point. Clark follows you into the bedroom, watching as you slide into your pajamas, the elastic waistband of your pants stretched a little tighter than normal, your top unbuttoned at the bottom to accommodate the swell of your belly.
“You know,” Clark begins, “you wouldn’t have to work if we moved. If we lived in Smallville-”
“Clark,” you give him a warning look. You’d both had this conversation countless times. Moving. Metropolis, as beautiful and lively as the city is, was expensive and not the most accommodating to new parents. Especially when one lived off of a reporter’s salary... and a hero's.
“I know,” he raises his hands, “You think Kansas is too far a commute. But honey, I’m Superman. I can fly here and back in no time. If we had a house, Krypto would have plenty of room to run around, you’d be able to do your laundry in the house, I’d have my own office. And when the baby comes-”
“Clark, we’re not having this discussion right now.”
“Honey, just think about it. If we moved, you could stay home and rest. You wouldn’t have to be on your feet all day-” You scoff, crossing your arms.
“Clark, I like my job.”
“I know,” he sighs, sitting on the edge of your bed. “I just want you to take care of yourself. I don’t like thinking you’re out and about when you’ve been so tired.” Clark looks at you with concern written in his eyes. He holds out his hand, and you take it, sliding into his lap.
He presses a kiss to your temple, your arms snaking around his neck. You kiss him back, thumb caressing the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble there prickly against the pad of your finger.
Clark’s forehead leans against yours, and your quiet as you both sit together.
“Just… think about it. Okay? For me,” he whispers. You huff in defeat, nodding.
“Okay, Clark. I will.”
You both crawl into bed, the steady sounds of Metropolis echoing as you curl up next to Clark. He pulls you close to his side, hand resting on your belly.
“You’re Ma was right you know,” you whisper. Clark hums in question, giving you a confused look. “You are such a worrier.”
------------------------------------------------------
Clark was a worrier alright. A patient, kind, and loving worrier.
“Uh- BLEH”
You hurl into the container Clark had sped off to get you, one big hand rubbing your back, the other keeping the container steady so it didn't spill all over the couch. You throw up again, spit glistening on your lip as you groan.
“I hate this,” you croak, throat sore from the stomach acid.
“I know honey,” Clark frowns, pressing a kiss into your hairline. “I know, it's not fun.”
“Clark… I’ve never seen you throw up, like ever,” you glare half-heartedly at him. He flushes.
“Well, I- it's not fun watching you be in so much pain. Or be exhausted all the time.”
“Technically, this is your fault you know,” you give him a look, hands cupping the swell of your belly, where you could feel your baby moving around gently. Clark takes the container and sets it on the coffee table, far enough where you couldn't smell it and get sick all over again.
“I wasn't the only one who wanted a baby, you know. Ma always says, ‘it takes two to tango’”. You laugh, wincing at the sore muscles in your stomach.
Clark squats in front of you, looking at your belly seriously. He leans in close, gently placing his hands at the sides of your bump, face pressed close.
“Listen in there. You be nice to your mom, okay? No more making her sick with all the rolling around.” You shake your head amusedly, your eyes drooping with exhaustion. Clark brushes your hair out of your face, giving you a soft smile. “You want me to get you a glass of water?” You nod.
Clark helps you lay back down on the couch, trying to give you another kiss.
“Not on my lips. I have vomit all over.” He smiles, shaking his head.
“You think I care about that? You kiss my morning breath and don't complain.” You chuckle softly and roll your eyes.
“Okay Clark. Just one, okay?
“Okay.”
“And don't make it too long, or else you might-”
Clark doesn't let you finish the sentence, his lips capturing yours. You cup his jaw gently as he kisses you, soft and long despite your previous protest.
Your heartbeat speeds up, thumping loudly as Clark’s thumb caresses the soft curve of your bump, his hand resting gently over the swell-
thump.
Clark pauses, his face turning slightly away from you as he listens. You look up at him carefully, confused in the haze of kissing him.
“What?”
“Nothing. I just thought I-”
Thump!
He jerks back, face twisted in bewilderment as he lifts his hand, like he'd just touched fire. You smile amusedly, realizing what must have happened.
“Clark Kent. You just felt your baby kick for the first time, didn’t you?” He sits there dumbly, staring. As if he couldn't quite believe it.
“The baby kicked-” it's somewhere in between a question and a statement, the shock in his blue eyes glistening. You nod.
“It was hard to tell for a while, but last night I finally realized bean wasn't just rolling around anymore.”
It finally registers to Clark what you're saying, and he gives you a wide grin. He hops up, knuckles pressed to his mouth as he holds back a triumphant yell.
“The baby kicked. OH THE BABY KICKED-” Clark is so giddy, you wouldn't be surprised if he started floating. He looks like he doesn't know what to do, his body moving around like keeping still wasn't an option. You laugh from the couch, watching his excitement.
“I can't believe it. They actually- KRYPTO! Krypto, come here dude.” Clark pads into the kitchen, coming back with the dog at his heels. Krypto’s tail wags excitedly, likely wondering what all the commotion was about and if it involved food.
“The baby kicked bud, can you believe it!” Krypto yips with excitement, unsure of what that meant exactly, but Clark was happy. The dog lifts his front legs, Clark grabbing them carefully and doing a little shuffle and dance. You laugh as you watch him, the memory of being sick just moments before disappearing with the pure joy radiating from Clark.
“I- when did you even feel the baby kick?” Clark finally asks, sitting on the floor with Krypto, his hand resting on your belly again.
“Last night. When you were in the shower.” Clark nods, brows quirking when you giggle. “Actually, it was when you started blasting your music.” Clark's laughter rings loudly, his dimples popping as he leans back.
“The Mighty Crab Joys! Of course.” You laugh too, your hand sliding over Clark's palm.
“Only you could have a child with the same terrible music taste as you.” Clark gives you a look, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.
“They’re not all bad. And you sing along in the car with me.” You flush.
“Okay.. well that’s beside the point.” Clark just shakes his head amusedly, blue eyes glued to your bump. “Now, can you get me that glass of water?
--- February ---
The Kent farm was bustling, the kitchen crowded with giggling women, the backyard decorated with string lights and balloons, the smell of smoking meat and the afternoon sun heavy. Krypto dodged between legs, watching Clark as he manned the barbeque, laughing at something Jimmy said to him. It smelled heavenly. The salty tang of the meat cooking, the woody scent of the fire; the sweet smell of frosting drifting out from inside the house.
Krypto knows that’s where most of the food is. Clark wouldn’t let him near the meat. Not yet at least. But there were definitely treats in the kitchen he could look for.
The dog pads inside, pushing his way through the creaky dog door. The little girls he’d been avoiding spot him immediately, rushing with a squeal and petting him.
“Awww, it's puppy!” “He’s so cute. Hi puppy!”
Krypto had to admit the attention was nice. He hadn’t gotten much of it since you’d told people about the baby. He still wasn’t quite sure what that was, a baby.
Kara had called it a nuisance, Clark's Ma called it a blessing. Whatever it was, it made people squeal and laugh, it made Clark smile brightly and you glow like you’d swallowed the sun. It made you eat a lot and cry and laugh; it made you smell different and look different-
“I’ll get it, don’t worry. Where is it-”
Krypto watches as you stand in the kitchen doorway, nodding as Lois points to something in the living room. The girls still pet him, cooing as their small hands grab his fur. One girl pulls too hard and he whines, jerking away. Now he remembers why he’d been avoiding them.
“Hey, girls,” you come padding over, your flowy dress hiding your bare feet. “Why don’t you go help Ms. Lois finish the cupcakes? I think we need both your frosting skills.”
“Okay!” “I wanna frost cupcakes-”
The girls are quick to scramble towards the kitchen. Krypto barks, wagging his tail with gratitude. You smile, squatting beside him, fingers scratching his head. Krypto rumbles with satisfaction. You always knew just the right spot.
“They too rough for you?”
Of course they weren't. But Krypto preferred not to feel like his fur was being ripped out. He licks your hand, pressing his snout into your belly. This part of you was the strangest. This was where the baby was. Krypto could smell it. Sometimes he could even feel it; like when you were laying in bed and he laid his snout on your swollen belly. He could feel it moving around, could hear its heartbeat.
It was strange, but you didn’t mind. So it must be a good thing.
“You want to help me find the cake Krypto?” Krypto barks, nudging you in agreement.
Of course he wanted cake!
You laugh, rubbing his side once more before standing with a grunt. Your hand rests on your lower back and you head upstairs, Krypto bounding after you.
------------------------------------------------------
The upstairs of the Kent house was notably more quiet. Nothing but one of Clark’s little nephews asleep in his old bedroom, the soft sound of the pipes creaking. It was comforting. A still contrast to the bustle downstairs.
Krypto follows you into the guest bedroom, the door creaking softly as you push it open. It’s dark in here, a fan softly blowing despite the cold outside. You were lucky it hadn’t snowed that weekend; the perfect afternoon for your little party. Or rather, your quite large party. There were a lot more people here than you’d expected. Family, friends, the occasional Smallville neighbor who dropped by to give congratulations to you and Clark.
You spot the cake immediately, a pretty round thing with buttercream frosting and emerald icing that reads: boy or girl? It was beautifully made by Lois, the only one who actually knew the gender. She was the only one you could trust to know if you wanted to be surprised. Clark had spent the last couple of days trying to get it out of her at work. But Lois’ lips were sealed, the secret hidden in the color of the cake just a few feet from you.
You'd finally quit trying to hide your bump, no longer living in Clark's large sweatshirts or trying to dance around questions. It was out there. The Kent's were going from two to three.
It made you giddy to think about. In just a few short hours, you’d know whether or not you’d be the mother of a little boy or girl. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t change much. You didn’t mind what the gender would be, only worrying about their health and comfort. But the suspense of not knowing whether your days were going to be filled with tea parties and playing dress-up or baseball and playing with cars was killing you.
Krypto eyes the cake from below the dresser it was resting on, watching as you turn the glass pedestal it was sitting on gently. You smile down at him knowingly.
“I know that look, Krypto.” He whines, padding around. “This isn’t for now buddy. We have to wait.”
The dog looks up at you with big glass eyes, a low whine reverberating in his chest again. You smile softly, shaking your head.
“Not now. We have to be patient.”
“I don’t think that’s in his DNA unfortunately.” You turn around with your hand against your chest, startled at the voice. Clark grins sheepishly at you from the doorway, his eyes bright behind his glasses. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You’re fine. I didn’t hear you coming up.”
“Well you have a lot on your mind,” Clark steps inside the room, his hand resting on your hip as he presses a kiss to your temple. Krypto whines beside you and Clark shoots him a stern look, the dog padding onto the bed with an annoyed huff. You let the cake go, smoothing out the front of his white button up shirt, pulling Clark's collar down so you can kiss him better.
It’s soft and sweet, Clark’s dark curls brushing against your forehead, hands gentle as he pulls you close. Or as close as you can get with your bump between you. His lips are soft against yours, tasting of refined sugar and something resembling strawberry. Your eyes close with the feeling of him being so close, your heart beat skipping as you kiss him. It’s no surprise when you feel your baby move for the first time in a few hours, kicking just as Clark slides his hand up the curve of your belly.
He’s the first to pull away, lingering just a moment, his nose bumping against yours. Clark’s smile is bright as he looks at you, blue eyes bright despite the dim lighting.
“Hi.” It’s just a whisper, his cheeks a dusty shade of pink as he catches his breath. It makes you giggle.
“Hi.”
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.” You nod in agreement, hand caressing Clark’s bicep as he stands to his full height.
“We’ve been busy. There’s a lot more people here than I had expected.”
Clark chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing out the door of the room. You knew he was probably listening to the party downstairs, chattering voices and clinking dishes overlapping one another.
“I know. Small towns just love babies.” You smile, hand sliding over the curve of your bump. Clark stares, looking at you like you were holding the sun. His hand twitches against you, like he was holding himself back.
“You look so pretty.”
You flush, laughing as you look down at your dress. It was a simple cream color, the fabric draping down your torso and brushing against your ankles as you swayed.
“Thank you,” you smooth out the fabric over your bump, the baby kicking again. Clark squats down, pressing a kiss above your navel.
“Hey baby. You doing okay?”
“It’s been quiet in there till you showed up. It’s like they know their daddy’s here.” Clark laughs, looking up at you. His blue eyes are sparkling with happiness, enthralled with the idea his baby recognizes him. Ever since they had begun to kick, your baby kicked the most for Clark. At the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch. Of course, they were always ready to kick for music, dancing away whenever you drove in Clark's truck or cooked dinner. They were just as enamored with him as you were.
From the hallway, the wooden floor squeaks. Clark stands quickly, adjusting his glasses as he takes a step away from you. You both smile at the little boy in the doorway, Clark’s nephew yawning as he rubs his eyes sleepily.
“Is it cake time?”
“Almost,” you lean down, opening your arms for the boy. He’s quick to run to you, cuddling close as you pick him up. Clark hovers close, his hand resting against your back.
“You got him?”
“Hmm. He’s like a little feather. Right Conner?” The boy nods into your chest, his hands gripping your dress.
“Where’s mommy?”
“She’s downstairs. You want to go see her?” He nods again. You can feel the sticky residual drool clinging to his cheek, his face warm against your collar bone. Conner’s eyes were already fluttering closed again.
“Do you want me to take him?”
“It’s okay Clark. I got him. Will you bring the cake down?”
“Sure,” Clark pecks your lips before you turn to leave. You glance back at him, smiling brightly with the boy in your arms.
This would be your future soon. A baby cradled against your chest, a toddler saddled on your hip. You carefully pad down the stairs, Conner’s mom in sight just behind the banister. You’re half way into passing the little boy over when you hear a crash from upstairs, Clark’s cry of surprise following.
“What was that?” Martha asks, frowning as she enters the living room.
“I don’t know. Clark’s up there, but don’t worry. I’ll go see what it was, okay?”
------------------------------------------------------
Clark is pretty sure all the blood has left his body.
He had sensed something was about to happen the moment you had begun to descend the stairs. There was an electric current, a spark of anticipation in the room that he couldn’t quite understand. But Clark had understood as he had begun to turn.
He could see it as his eyes caught sight of Krypto on the bed- the dog who had sat there patiently. Plotting. Waiting to pounce. And pounce he did.
“Krypto, NO!”
But Clark’s words were thrown out in haste, the dog already bounding from the bed and onto the dresser, the piece of furniture banging against the wall with heavy thud. Krypto’s paws scrambled against the wooden surface, losing purchase as he falls…
Taking the cake with him.
The glass pedestal crashes against the floor, glass shards spilling across the surface. The cake falls with a heartbreaking splat, Krypto wasting no time digging into the mess of buttercream and crumbs.
Clark is quick to grab the dog out of the mess, Krypto’s tongue lapping at the frosting on his snout. He wasn’t even thinking straight, worried about the dog hurting himself in the glass, worried about what you would think when you saw the mess.
You had been so excited for this moment. Excited to cut the cake, to finally find out the baby's gender. There was no way to salvage it now.
Clark had never been so frustrated with the dog.
“Krypto! I can’t... you- that wasn’t for you dude. That was not for-”
“Clark!”
Your footsteps grow louder as you pad up the stairs, Clark’s heart beating faster with worry.
“Clark, is everything okay-”
He doesn’t look away from you as you stand in the hallway, your eyes wide with shock. Krypto wrestles against his hold, trying to get to the smashed cake, his whines low and annoyed.
Gosh, you looked so heartbroken, your face crestfallen at the sight of the mess.
“Honey,” Clark begins, finally giving up on restraining the restless dog, letting him free to ravage the cake more. He stands, moving closer to you, taking your hands in his. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize he was going for it until it was too late-”
Your breath stutters, eyes wet with unshed tears. Clark sighs, his big hand rubbing your shoulder, trying to comfort you.
“Clark,” you whisper, looking up at him.
“I know. I should have-”
“Clark.” You whisper again, gentler. Clark looks at you, realizing you were holding back a smile. “Sweetheart, look,” you point to the smashed cake. Or more specifically, Clark realizes with wide eyes, the frosting that was hidden inside the cake. The blue frosting.
Clark hadn’t even realized- hadn’t even thought to register the color he was looking at when pulling Krypto away.
“We’re having a boy.” The words feel unreal coming out of his mouth. He turns back to you, your chest trembling as you sobbed. Happy tears, Clark realizes.
“We’re having a boy.”
Clark lifts you into his arms, embracing you carefully. You hug him tightly, face hidden in the crook of his neck as you cried.
A boy. You were carrying his son.
Everything was slowly coming together. The first time Clark had seen the baby move during ultrasound, the first heartbeat, first kick. It had painted a picture of something exciting. Something beautiful. But now, Clark had a better picture of what the future looked like.
A little boy playing with trucks on his grandparent’s porch, a baby boy who had his curls and your smile, who loved to play in the mud and ride around in Jonathan Kent’s tractor.
You laugh into Clark’s chest, pulling away to look at him.
“You’re going to be a boy dad Clark.” He grins like he’d swallowed the sun. Krypto barks from behind the dresser, the both of you looking at his cake covered face.
Clark gives him a look, stern despite the absolute elation he felt.
“You… are in so much trouble dude.”
------------------------------------------------------
The Kent’s house is quiet now, nothing but the winter owl hooting from the trees, the soft murmurs of the cows as dusk falls over the farm.You slip quietly into the backyard, your coat thrown over your pajamas. Snow crunches beneath your boots, a thin layer falling as you make your way to the small dog house in the back.
Clark had been quick to get onto Krypto, putting him outside as Lois and you did damage control on the cake. Lois, the quick thinker she was, had suggested piping the colored frosting into one of the extra cupcakes, making it a random surprise. If you thought finding out with Clark was special, you both cried even more tears as Jonathan Kent bit into his cupcake, laughing triumphantly as he held up the blue buttercream inside.
You kneel outside the dog house, peering in the dark opening. Krypto lay inside, his head resting on his paws. He looked disappointed. Maybe in himself. Maybe because he didn’t get to have a decent bit of cake. The dog looks up at you, his tail flicking with anticipation.
“Hi bud.” Krypto’s nose twitches as you set a plate in front of him, a leftover cupcake sitting on its glass surface. He inches forward a bit, wary. But when he realizes the treat is for him, Krypto goes for it, scarfing it up in a few bites. You laugh, rubbing his furry body with affection.
“Don’t feel bad Krypto. I know you didn’t mean to knock the cake over.” Krypto looks up at you, licking his jaw. “Well, maybe you did. But I’m not upset. It wasn’t what I had planned, but… it was still special. Something Clark and I will always remember,” you laugh.
Krypto licks your hands, whining in reply. You smile, thinking.
“There’s going to be a little boy running around soon buddy. Think you’ll be able to keep up?” Krypto barks happily, sticking his snout inside your coat, sniffing your belly.
You’d take that as a yes.
From behind you, the screen door creaks open and shuts. The sound of slippers scuffling around and the porch steps creaking follows. You turn, watching as Jonathan Kent makes his way towards you, trying his thick robe as he reaches the dog house.
“Hi Jonathan,” you smile up at him, Krypto barking in hello.
Jonathan smiles, crossing his arms as he shivers.
“It’s cool out tonight. Gonna snow some more I think.”
“Yeah,” you give Krypto one more pat before pushing yourself up off the ground. Jonathan extends his hand and you take it gratefully, standing with a grunt.
“You sound like me when I try to get up from the couch,” Jonathan laughs. You do too, your hand resting on the top of your bump.
“Yeah. It’s getting a bit harder to get around. I can’t imagine how big he’s gonna get.”
“Not a lot of real estate, is there.”
“No,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I probably should have thought that one through when marrying a Kryptonian.”
“Well, none of that really matters when you love someone.”
“No. I suppose it doesn’t,” you smile. Krypto yawns at your feet, padding over to Jonathan and leaning against his sweatpants. The man bends down, giving him a gentle pat. The wind is chilly as the sun sets even lower, snow beginning to drift down silently.
Jonathan nods towards the house, his arm wrapping around your shoulder tenderly.
“You know,” he begins as you trek up to the porch. “Clark was so worried for a minute there. When you were so sick. He called Martha… oh, two- three times a week asking what he could do to help you.”
You stand there at the bottom of the porch, Jonathan nodding to himself as he works up the courage to continue.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am he found a girl like you. Someone who understands Clark’s obligations. His situation. You’re gonna be a good mama. And I know you’re gonna raise a son just as kind and good as the two of you.”
Your heart melts as Jonathan sniffs. You pull your father in-law into a hug, squeezing him tightly.
“Thank you Pa,” he sobs a little at the name, “That means the world to me.”
The screen door opens again, Martha shaking her head at the sight of you too.
“Oh, Mush. The two of you are gonna cry a puddle and freeze. Come inside!”
--- March ---
Metropolis Centennial Park was blooming with green and pink. The snow had finally started to melt away, revealing the beautiful foliage and inviting Metropolis’ residents to enjoy a leisurely stroll without freezing their noses and toes. Krypto was happily bounding about, sniffing every flower you passed, chasing the occasional butterfly.
You wave as a woman passes you by, her smile bright as she runs past you, pushing a small stroller. The baby inside giggles at Krypto, who watches the stroller with a tilted head.
“Come on buddy, let's go,” you laugh.
The days were beginning to blur together, your apartment growing cramped with the amount of boxes and clothes you were acquiring. Clark had spent a whole day with you rearranging the office room, painters tape marking the floors as you tried to map out how you’d organize the nursery.
“Okay, but if we had the book case here- and then changing table here-”
“Clark, how would that work if we block the closet?"
“Oh. Right.”
He was trying, and you appreciated just how much he was doing to help you.
Krypto bounds up to you, teeth clamped down on a broken stick, dragging it along the ground. You laugh, squatting down as he drops the stick at your feet, looking up proudly.
“That’s a very big stick, bud.” His tail wags happily, and you look at the stick- really more of a broken tree branch. “I don’t think we can take that home though.”
He whines in disappointment and you pat his side carefully. Krypto recovers quickly, bounding off again to find some other souvenir to bring home. You stand carefully, trying to catch your balance as you find your footing. You smooth out your sweater over your bump, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.
“You alright ma’am?”
You turn around in surprise at the voice, a smile blooming on your face as you face Clark. Or rather Superman.
He looked regal as always in his red cape, dark curls swept out of his face. You’re always amazed at just how different he looks without his glasses, the rosy apples of his cheeks and bridge of his nose on full display, not hidden behind the black frames.
“Hi Superman,” you laugh, watching as Clark approaches slowly, trying to hide his smile. “I’m just fine.”
Clark looks around the park carefully, waving at a couple people who point and stare at his tall frame. Krypto comes bounding back, barking at Clark.
“Hey bud,” He bends down, giving the dog a pat. “You being good?”
“Well, as good as he can be,” you give Krypto a look, his teeth barred in disagreement. Clark just shakes his head, standing tall again.
“You better be good. Or else I- er, your lovely owner here,” he glances at you, “won’t bring any of those treats you like so much.” Krypto barks at the mention of food, circling around your legs as you smile at him. Clark looks at you, his head tilted upwards slightly, and you know what he was listening for.
“He’s okay,” you caress the curve of your belly. “Just misses his daddy.” Clark hums, eyes flickering up to your lips. He gets an expression on his face, the one you knew meant he felt torn about something. Clark takes a step towards you, his hand reaching out, ready to say something.
“You look beau-”
He just as quickly takes a step back, a little girl running up towards him, a bright grin on her face.
“Hi Superman!!” Clark puts on a dimpled smile, wasting no time in crouching down for her to give him a hug.
“Hey there.” He pats her head, looking around for her parents. Just a few paces away you can see her parents walking up, their phones in hand. You take a step away, not wanting to be seen so close to Clark. He notices you leaving and you give him a reassuring smile.
“I’ll see you later,” you mouth, waving goodbye. He gives you a smile and a nod, turning back to the girl who begins to ramble cutely in his arms.
“Come on Krypto,” you call out to the dog, nodding your head for him to follow. The dog barks, looking back at Clark and then to you, as if to ask why the man wasn’t by your side like he usually would be. You just smile. “He’ll be back later. He’s just… busy right now.”
Superman always was. Krypto sneezes, shaking his furry head, leaves and dirt flying. You laugh, any disappointment you had disappearing.
“Come on, let's go get some lunch.”
------------------------------------------------------
Clark stands tall over the washing machine, throwing in his white button ups and work pants. The minute you’d walked into the living room with the basket on your hip, Clark had swooped in, his latest article abandoned as he steered you back to bed and took the basket.
“It's just laundry Clark-”
“Uh huh. What kind of a husband would I be if I made you walk all the way to the second floor to wash my socks and shirts.”
“I don't mind walking.”
“You're ankles are telling a different story honey-”
He digs through the laundry basket, pulling out a lone pattered sock, the one with little squirrels with cowboy hats that made him laugh. He frowns as he eyes the pulled threads at the seams, little holes marking the edges.
He looks down at the dog at his feet, Krypto looking up at him innocently.
“Seriously?” He holds the sock up higher. If the dog could shrug, Clark is almost positively Krypto would be shrugging like some half- listening teen. The man sighs, throwing the sock back into the basket.
He’s finishing up the load, turning the washer on with a rumbling tumble when his phone pings. Clark checks it, brows raising as he reads the email. It was from his secret project, the one he'd been keeping from you for a while now.
He reads over it, scratching the back of his neck as he sighs. Clark still wasn't sure he should go through with it, but he just wanted what was best for you and the baby.
Krypto whines at his feet, looking up at Clark with his dark eyes. Knowing.
“Look, I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't in her best interest.” Krypto tilts his head, tail wagging. “I only started looking because I know one day she'll change her mind. And the Kansas housing economy isn't the greatest right now. And I mean look at this-”
Clark kneels by Krypto, showing him an image of the “project”- or really the thing you had said you didn't want. But Clark knew you too well. He'd been married to you for quite some time now. Of course he knew.
You wanted the house. You wanted the backyard and the big living room. You were just too stubborn to admit it. Clark just wanted to take care of you, to give you everything. And he didn't mind making a few sacrifices to make it happen. Even if you insisted it wasn't worth it.
The dog barks with approval, and Clark smiles, rubbing his furry head.
“I know she'll like it. It's just figuring out how to tell her without her getting upset." Clark pauses, mouth twisting with worry. "Should I be doing this?”
Krypto licks Clark’s hand with approval again. Clark sighs.
“Okay. But you have to let me know when the right time is, okay?”
--- April ---
The stairwell of the large apartment building echoes with the squeaks of wet shoes, the light jingle of Krypto’s leash, and your labored breaths. Krypto watches as you pause a few steps below, his furry head cocked in curiosity as you grip the railing, your other hand still holding his leash. The dog whines, and you try your best to smile despite your shaky appearance.
“I’m okay buddy… I’m just trying to catch my breath.”
Five flights of stairs while you were six months pregnant was no joke. You can feel your son rolling over inside of you, his back pressed against your lungs, little body snuggled against your ribcage. At least he was comfortable in there.
It was getting harder to navigate your normal routine. Ever since your baby boy had begun moving and kicking, you’d had a harder time getting things done. Work was becoming difficult to stick to; it was hard to focus with your baby pretending he was Superman, your bladder the unfortunate victim of his kicking.
And taking care of Krypto had become much more of a chore than it should have. Walks around the parks were a workout, and bathing him in your apartment’s small bathroom was becoming more of a hassle since you couldn’t bend over as easily.
And ever since the elevator went out in your apartment building… let's just say leaving the apartment was not something you looked forward to doing.
You swallow thickly, trying to find even breaths.
Clark usually was there to help you, walking Krypto early in the morning, taking him to the Kent farm when he could so the dog could expel his energy. He’d get groceries after work, takeout after he’d fought another alien visitor. Clark carried you up the stairs when he could, sometimes even flying you when he was sure no one was looking.
But recently it all felt like too much. Even with everything he did. The busy life of Metropolis had become overwhelming. Suffocating.
Krypto barks, looking past you and you sigh, trying to pull yourself together. You could hear it now, the footsteps making their way up the flights of stairs with a quick ease that made you a tinge jealous. You weren’t embarrassed- well who were you kidding. It was hard not to be when you were red faced and swollen everywhere, trying not to look like a few stairs made you exhausted. You make your way up to the next floor landing, trying to keep close to the wall to let the person pass you up. Krypto sticks close to you, tongue lolling.
A young girl jogs up the steps, hair bouncing, her skinny ballet flats smacking the paved stairs with a speed you could only imagine right now. She gives you a sympathetic smile as you wave at her, more pitying than kind. You only sigh, looking down at Krypto. The dog looks up at you with his dark eyes, head cocked, as if to say “it’s alright.”
It didn’t feel alright.
You told yourself you were just overreacting. You had been for lots of things during this pregnancy. Your hormones were all over the place, and for goodness sake you were growing a baby! Every time you had gotten upset over a misplaced mug, or cried because you hadn’t made it to the bathroom on time, Clark would kiss you and remind you just how much was going on in your body.
“Honey, don’t be sad. Please. You’re growing our baby. You have a lot going on right now, it’s okay to get upset.” You finally catch your breath, tugging on Krypto’s leash.
“Come on buddy. We can do this.”
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It seemed you and Clark had excellent timing. Just as you were sticking your key into the apartment slot, Clark had flown in through the open window, his Superman suit still on. He can hear you from the other side, shuffling around as you try to get in. Clark is more than happy to open the door for you, ready to finally see you after a long day of heroism and getting grilled by Lois.
But his bright smile falters a little as he opens the door, taking in your heaving chest, Krypto watching you carefully from your side.
“Hi honey,” he whispers, gesturing for you to come in, careful to keep hidden behind the wooden door. You shuffle inside, Krypto running off as soon as you’ve bent over and undid the leash attached to his collar. The dog bounds over the couch, flying over it and scrambling into the kitchen, the sound of his food bowl being ravaged echoing in the kitchen.
Clark sighs, shaking his head as he closes the door, glancing back at you as you grunt. Your hand is pressed against your lower back, fingers massaging the muscles there. Although you're trying to hide it, Clark can see the way your chest is heaving, like you’d just run a marathon. He can hear how fast your heart is beating, noticing the way your mouth is pressed into a firm line.
Uh-oh.
“Hey,” he reaches out for your arm, rubbing a small circle against your back. “You okay.”
You nod, humming in reply. “I'm just tired."
Clark is ready as your arms open for him, gladly embracing you. You lean into him, like you couldn’t stand on your own for one more minute.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You nod into his chest, and Clark presses a kiss to the top of your head. He holds you for a moment before whispering, trying to get you to look at him. “You don’t have to pretend to be fine, you know. I can feel you’re hurting.”
Your lips pout, body trembling slightly. Not from exhaustion, but from tears you were holding back.
“Honey…” He cups your face, thumbs brushing the skin slightly. The dam bursts and you’re crying. Fat tears drip down your cheek, and you sob into Clark’s blue suit. “Hey,” he tries to comfort you, hand caressing the back of your damp hair. “It's okay. You're alright.”
Clark is careful as he guides you to the couch, sitting down with a sigh, letting you curl into his side as you let it out. His hand trails from your wet cheek to your bump, big and heavy as it protrudes from your rain coat.
“What’s wrong, hon? What's got you so worked up?” Clark whispers into your hair, holding you tight. It practically breaks his heart when you finally calm down enough to whisper back.
“I’m so tired, Clark.” He frowns, waiting for you to elaborate. You sit up, nose red and stuffed up, the back of your hand rubbing away the tears still leaking from your lashes. “I just… I’m exhausted. Everything is so hard now. Work and taking care of Krypto, cleaning the house, getting groceries. I can't do everything as easy as I used to.”
“Honey, I can help with all of those things. I try to-”
“It's not that Clark,” you sigh, looking down at your swollen belly. “I just feel… big.”
“I- well you are carrying my baby.” Clark gives you a look, glancing down at his 6’4” frame. You breathe a laugh and Clark feels a bit better. He always liked making you laugh.
“I know. I guess I’m just not feeling myself. I miss being able to get myself dressed without getting out of breath or walk Krypto up the stairs without getting looks of pity.” Clark frowns.
“Did someone say something to you-”
“No,” you laugh again, pressing your hand to his chest to get him to sit back down. “No, nobody said anything. It's okay Superman.”
He gives you a smile, caressing your side. “Okay. But if I need to teach someone a lesson on respect-”
“Clark!”
He sighs, hugging you close.
“You are so strong, you know that. You're carrying my baby. You're carrying a half- Kryptonian baby. And doing it beautifully.” You look up at Clark, eyes glistening as he praises you, his big hand covering your bump. “Honey I don't even know how you still get up every morning with this little guy. I think I would have called it quits long ago.”
“Clark… you can lift buildings. This would be nothing for you.”
He shrugs, his dark curls falling on his forehead as he inches closer.
“Doesn't make what you're doing less impressive.” Your nose brushes his as he captures your lips, your hand cupping his jaw gently.
He kisses you softly, tasting the tears which had stained your face. Clark only breaks away when he feels something tugging on his cape, peeking his eyes open to find the red fabric captured in Krypto’s jaws.
“I think that's our cue,” you smile at him as Krypto barks, dropping the cape to nudge his dog bowl closer to Clark’s boot.
You fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. Clark spoons you gently, your back flush to his chest, his hand gently splayed against your belly. Krypto lays at the end of the bed, watching the two of you in the dark.
Clark felt awful about today, about how tired and stressed you clearly were. He should have caught it sooner, should have seen it this morning in the way you took longer to get out of bed. Or that afternoon when he had called you and you’d sighed at even the thought of having to haul the laundry out into the apartment’s hall.
You deserved all the rest and more. You deserved to feel loved and safe and cozy. Of course, Clark had the better half down already; he loved you more than anything in the universe. But the latter half…
Krypto whines, like he knew what Clark was thinking of. The man shifts gently, careful not to wake you as he looks at Krypto.
“What do you think buddy… should we show her the surprise?” Krypto stretches his jaw, tongue lolling gently. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
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“Clark,” you hold your hands out, trying to keep your balance as he leads you blindly. Clark chuckles, one big hand keeping you steady against your back, the other covering your eyes.
“Clark Kent, I love you, but if you don't tell me where we are right now-”
“I know, I know. We're almost there. Just a few more feet.”
You can hear the sounds of birds twittering, sticks and leaves crunching beneath your feet.
“Hon, you flew me here blindfolded and now you want me to trek through- what is this the woods? I don't really feel like reactivating my morning sickness-”
“I promise you’ll like it,” he pats your back, pushing you forward.
He'd been acting weird all morning, nervous and excited at the same time. It reminded you of the morning you were going to tell his parents about the baby, the secret threatening to spill out of his wide grin and glistening eyes.
“Okay right here,” he stops you, and you wobble a little, your hand coming to rest over your bump. It's still dark beneath his hand, and you smile nervously. He slides his hand away, and you squint, the sunlight bright. “Okay! Here we are.”
You blink, taking in your surroundings.
“It’s… a house.” You glance at Clark, your husband crossing his flannel clad arms.
“Hmm,” he hums in agreement.
“You took us to someone's house?”
“Well, not exactly,” Clark holds out his hand. “Come on.”
You let him lead you up the wooden porch, the steps creaking beneath your weight. It was quite cute, flowers growing along the sides of the driveway, a dusty rocking chair sitting on the porch, ready for love. The front door was painted a pretty shade of red, diamond cut windows decorating the front.
Clark squeezes your hand as you enter the door, and you try not to think about the fact he just entered without a key. It's bare inside, beautiful wood floors and a big fireplace greeting you. You gasp a little, not able to hide the smile as you take in the large kitchen.
“Clark… what is this?” You laugh, entering the house further. He smiles, hands tucked in his pocket as he watches you turn around to admire the freshly painted walls and soft light pouring through the windows.
“It's yours,” Clark says softly. “If you want it.”
“I- what?” You laugh, your hand resting over your bump again. “Clark, but how-”
“I know you said you didn't want to move- and for a while I thought that would be it. We'd live in Metropolis and be happy in our little apartment. But I kept thinking about it. About our son and what I want for the both of you.” He swallows, looking around. “I want a place where you both feel safe. Where you don't have to worry about the Justice Gang crashing through the roof or worry about crowded laundry rooms. I want our son to be able to run around the backyard and see his grandparents more often. I want a place we can call ours.”
You smile at him amusedly, his eyes glistening with love as he takes your hands.
“Clark… I thought you said it'd be impossible to find a house in Kansas now?”
“It is. But I found this a few months ago. And I’ve already put an offer in.” You swallow thickly, looking around. It was beautiful, like something you'd only seen in your dreams. “I want you to have everything you've dreamed of. And if you don't want it, just say the word and I’ll take care of it. I’ll be just as happy in Metropolis with you and the baby as here.”
Your lip trembles as you look around, the bare walls transforming in your minds eye into something warm and cozy. A living room with a thick rug and cozy sofa, a baby learning to sit up and crawl. A big kitchen where you could have family dinners, where you wouldn't have to worry about your landlord running behind on the water payment or whether your stove would get fixed or not.
A bedroom window where you could watch Clark and your son run about, teaching him to fly or how to take care of Krypto.
Clark leans closer to you, a soft smile on his face as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. You give him a big smile, squeezing his hand.
“This is really ours?” You whisper.
“If that's what you want honey. I’d give you the moon and the stars if I could. The whole galaxy if that would make you happy.” You laugh, cupping Clark’s face.
“I think I’ll settle on just the house for now.” He grins like a kid on Christmas, scooping you up into a big hug.
--- May ---
The soft Kansas morning filtered through the gauzy curtains, soft light illuminating the outline of your bedroom. Morning birds twittered about, the cicadas finally slowing their nocturnal song as the day began. Clark’s hearing was attuned to all of this, his lashes fluttering open as he slowly awoke, tuning it all out to hear the one sound he'd loved since he first heard it.
Thwump. Thwump.
You shift in your sleep, the pillows surrounding you dipping beneath your heavy frame. Clark smiles softly, hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. He loved this part of marriage. Waking up to you every morning, excited at knowing he’d get to fall asleep with you by his side after the day.
You both were exhausted; moving had taken up most of your time the past couple of weeks, packing your little apartment and unloading everything into the new house. Clark wasn’t exactly tired from lifting furniture or boxes- that was a piece of cake. It was more the constant rise in his blood pressure when he turned around and caught you trying to move a box into a new room or when he found you elbow deep in some cleaning project.
If it was up to Clark, you wouldn’t lift a finger. Just sit pretty with an iced tea and slice of pie and let him do the heavy lifting.
Clark yawns as he rolls onto his side, scratching his bare chest when he hears it-
Bark. Bark.
He sighs, closing his eyes in disbelief at the sound coming from the roof.
Bark.
You stir beside him, your hand reaching out blindly, fingers finding purchase on his bicep and tapping him.
“Clark,” you murmur sleepily.
“I know,” he mutters. “He’s on the roof again-”
“The dog is on the roof again,” you repeat, eyes still closed. Clark smiles, leaning over you to press a kiss to your shoulder.
“I’ll be back,” Clark whispers, throwing the covers off his body and getting up.
The house is looked like a tornado had passed through, cardboard boxes every which way, furniture gathered in every room. The nursery was half painted- the soft blue walls glowing in the sun. Clark yawns again as he pads outside barefoot, eyes squinting as he turns, looking up at the roof.
Bark.
Just like he expected, Krypto was on the roof, his little cape tangled in the satellite dish. Clark shakes his head, floating up to help the dog out. His feet hit the roof with a soft thud, Krypto now whining, pleading to be released.
“Golly Krypto, we really gotta work on keeping you out of trouble.” Krypto licks his hands as Clark unhooks the fabric trapped. Clark smiles, sitting on the roof carefully.
The view was beautiful from up there, the surrounding houses bathed in a golden hue, the green fields dark and rich, the occasional cow grazing slowly. Krypto pads over to Clark’s lap, sitting on top of him, resting his face against his shoulder.
Clark smiles, patting his back.
“You’re alright bud.”
------------------------------------------------------
It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon when a familiar rapping knock sounds at the door. You and Clark exchange confused looks, not expecting any company. He’s floating by the ceiling of the baby’s room, installing a curtain rod, looking down at you as you organize the shelves of the bookcase.
You shrug, following him into the hall as Clark pads into the living room.
It’s even stranger when Krypto comes flying down the hall, barking like a mad man, paws scrabbling at the door as Clark moves to open it.
“Okay, okay, down Krypto. Jeez, what has got you all worked up-” Kara looks up from her phone as Krypto pounces on her, knocking her over. She laughs, giggling as the dog licks her.
“Hi boy! I missed you too.”
You lean into Clark as you both stand surprised in the doorway. You hadn’t expected to see Kara for a while. The last you’d heard from her was a phone call Clark had made with her, just making sure she was alright.
Kara gets up, dusting off her red and blue suit. She gives Clark a big smile, “Sup’ daddio. Thanks for watching my dog.”
“Yeah, of course K. But-” Clark’s words are lost as Kara glances over to you, her eyes wide as she takes you in.
“Woah. You’re huge.” You frown. Kara was never one to sugar coat things.
“I- yeah, I’m carrying a baby Kara.” She gives you a thumbs up, nodding. Clark glances at you with a knowing expression, lips pressed into a firm line.
“And you know what, I’m very impressed. You couldn’t pay me to do it. Do you guys got anything to eat? I’m starving.”
“Uh, Kara-” Clark starts, watching as she pushes inside, Krypto trotting in after her.
“If not, I’ll order burgers or something.”
Clark sighs, rubbing his brow line. “Kara, you can’t just barge in here like this-”
“Hey, you guys want Big Belly Burger? I swear, nobody in the milky way can make fries like they do.” Clark looks like he’s about to argue when you tug his elbow, shaking your head.
“Don’t push her away, Clark. She must be here for a reason.” He sighs, squeezing your hand.
“You’re right. I’m almost afraid to ask why.”
You hum in agreement, not liking the way she was favoring her right side, fingers trembling slightly as she types away at her phone.
------------------------------------------------------
It was late in the night, the remnants of an UNO game and Big Belly Burger leftovers littering the kitchen table. Clark shuts off the light, fingers gripping the rim of his glass of chocolate milk as he carefully pads down the hall.
Clark passes the guest bedroom, smiling softly at the sight of Kara fast asleep on the bed, her limbs starfished on the mattress, snoring softly. Krypto sleeps soundly beside her, curled sweetly beside her. You're already tucked in bed as Clark enters your room, the covers draped loosely at your thighs, hand resting on your bump as you read your latest paperback.
You look up at the sound of his footsteps, giving him a soft smile.
“Hey.”
Clark slides into bed next to you, letting out a tired sigh as he sets his glass down on the makeshift nightstand- a stack of boxes and his old briefcase. He looks at you, sliding his glasses off.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with her.”
“Who,” you ask, flipping over to the next page.
“Kara. She’s not staying.” You hum.
“Well, she’s a grown woman, Clark. She can make her own decisions.” Clark folds his arms, huffing with a pout.
“She’s not making good decisions.” You look at him, laughing a little.
“Did you ask her to stay? Or tell her to?”
“I, well-” you hum again.
“That’s what I thought.” You set your book down, setting up the barrage of pillows around you as you settle in for the night. Clark runs his hands down his face, looking up at the ceiling. You reach over, patting his chest comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it, hon. She’ll come around eventually. Just give it time.”
“I know.” Clark settles into bed, his hand reaching out for yours after he turns off the light. You press a kiss to his knuckles, sighing with exhaustion. “I guess this is what being a parent is like, huh?”
--- June ---
“Awwwww.”
You hold up the small knitted sweater circle of women, smiling giddily. Your baby shower was in full swing, your backyard crowded with fold up tables and chairs, plenty of goodies and flowers. The tables were decorated with little cowboy cut outs, a blue and white balloon arch decorating the back entrance of your house. You beam at the little green sweater in your hand, thumbing the soft yarn.
“Martha, you really shouldn’t have.” You look at her gratefully, clutching the small sweater to your chest. It was so tiny, you almost couldn’t believe your son would fit into it. Clark’s Ma beams, clutching her iced tea, her eyes glistening.
“I know he’ll grow out of it in a blink, but I wanted to make him something special.”
“Thank you.”
There were so many gifts. Too many. You were overwhelmed with the love your family and friends were pouring out for your baby boy. Boxes of diapers and clothes, cardboard books and letter blocks and teethers. All kinds of things.
You peer over your swollen belly to get a glimpse of Krypto, the dog snoozing beneath your chair. His furry body rising up and down with his soft breath, paws twitching as he dreamed.
“Alright,” Lois finishes writing down the last name on her notepad, keeping track of who to write ‘thank you’s’ to. “Here’s the last one.”
She passes you a small navy giftbag, tissue paper jutting out the top haphazardly. You smile, eyeing the tag, yellow cardstock cut into a small circle, curly red script reading:
Clark said I had to get you something. If the kid doesn't like it, his loss -K
You chuckle. It was just like Kara to be both thoughtful and complacent in one sentence. The tissue paper crinkles as you remove it from the bag, a small gasp leaving you as you peek inside the bag.
“What is it?” One of your friends asks, the women all leaning close to get a good look. You pull out the little stuffed toy, a fluffy white dog who looked suspiciously like the one beneath your feet.
“Oh, Kara,” you whisper to yourself, your words lost as the group breaks out in another chorus of “aww” and “too cute!” You hold the little dog, his bead eyes glinting beneath the sun, fluffy fur soft beneath your fingers.
Lois sighs with all the contentment of a party going well, writing down the last gift.
“Okay, that'll do it. Who’s ready for the diaper raffle!
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You wash your hands in the kitchen, eyeing the little stuffed dog sitting on the counter. You couldn't seem to let it go, the gift from Kara too sweet to sit amongst the piles of baby clothes and books.
In the living room, the chorus of women laugh and talk together, paper plates and forks passed around with snacks and slices of cake.
Martha Kent pads into the kitchen, her wrinkled hands gently patting your back as she smiles.
“Lots of nice things you got.” You chuckle, shutting off the water and drying your hands.
“I know. I think we're set on diapers for the next year.” Martha laughs knowingly, her eyes sparkling with memory.
“You'd be surprised. If your boy is anything like Clark, those diapers won't last long.” You both laugh, your hand brushing over your bump as the baby boy in question kicks you.
From down the hall you can hear footsteps, Clark’s tall frame rounding the corner, dimpled smile bright as he catches sight of his Ma.
“Speaking of Clark, there you are! I almost forgot you were here, son. You've been so quiet.” Clark’s ears turn red as he hugs his Ma, glancing up at you. You smile knowingly, observing his windswept hair and crooked glasses, a faint cut against his cheek that hadn't been there this morning.
“I know. I figured I’d give you ladies a chance to mingle without me interrupting.”
“Oh please,” Martha pats his chest. “No one would ever say no to seeing you, Clark.” You giggle, nodding in agreement.
“She's right honey.” Clark just looks at you in embarrassment, releasing his Ma and moving to stand next to you. You don't miss the way he tries to hide a limp, favoring his right side.
Martha chats with Clark for a few minutes, the man slowly leaning further into you, doing his best to try and hide the fact he was hurt.
“Okay,” Martha sighs. “I think I’m gonna get myself another slice of that cake. Lois sure can bake.”
“She can,” you smile.
“Either of you want a slice?”
“Uh, it's okay Ma. I’ll probably have some later.”
“Better be quick Clark. It's going faster than earrings at a Macy’s sale.”
“Okay Ma,” Clark chuckles. His hand brushes down the back of your spine as you both watch his Ma head back into the living room. You look up at your husband, cupping the side of his face to get a better look at the scrape. Clark watches as you inspect it, taking his weight off you and leaning heavily into the counter.
“Where’d you go?” You whisper. He smiles, shaking his head.
“I can't keep anything from you. You know that?”
“I do,” you glance behind you, making sure no one else was coming into the kitchen as you lift the bottom of Clark’s shirt. “Clark…” you cringe as your fingers hover over the nasty burn mark.
“There was a runaway train in Gotham. Would have taken out a whole building if I hadn't shown up.” Clark’s voice is hushed, his hand resting on your bump. “It looks worse than it is. I just need some sun and I’ll feel better.”
You frown looking up at Clark through your lashes.
“You didn't even say goodbye.” He sighs, and you can feel your son kick hard. Clark’s lips quirk into a small smile as a little foot presses against his hand.
“I think he agrees. I should have said something. I just didn't want you to worry during your party.”
“Clark,” you give him a look, voice lowering once more. “At least I know. I don't have to see you walk into my kitchen looking like you got run over.”
Your son kicks again, pressing harder against his fathers hand. You groan slightly, massaging your belly gently.
Clark squats down carefully, now eye level with your bump.
“Okay, okay. No need to hurt your mom to make a point, son. I get it.” Your baby must be satisfied with Clark’s reaction, giving one more kick, gentler this time, as Clark presses a kiss to your belly.
He grunts quietly as he stands pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“I’m sorry.”
You wrap your arms around his tall frame, giving him a soft squeeze.
“You're alright Kent. Just don't make your son mad again. I don't need him kicking my bladder anymore than he is now.”
Clark nods, eyes narrowing as he catches sight of the little dog on the counter. He reaches for it, the animal comically small in his large hands.
“What’s this?”
“That is from Kara.” Clark looks surprised.
“Really? She's not exactly the greatest gift giver.” You laugh. “Is that why you told her she had to get me a present?” Your husband shakes his head, inspecting the stuffed dog curiously.
“I never told her that.” You frown, confused. You tell him about the tag, remembering her curly script perfectly.
“No. I only told her we'd miss her. And that if she changes her mind she's still more than welcome to come over.”
“Huh,” you place your hands on your hips.
“Hey, does this remind you of something,” he points at the dog. You break out into bright laughter.
“Clark. You, of all people, should know who he looks like.” The man frowns, the sudden realization dawning on his face.
“Kara…” he mutters. In perfectly timed fashion, Krypto comes bounding through the living room, the women gasping and crying out with surprise. The dog races through the kitchen, your hands stifling a cry as he almost busts through the back door, barely making it through his small flap.
Lois peeks into the kitchen, giving Clark an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry. He got to the cake before I could stop him.”
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It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that weighed down on you, made your heart beat feel like a thunderstorm, made every breath a tumbling storm.
You stood on your back porch, staring out into the dark of backyard, anxiety and worry clawing at your heart. From your belly, your son kicks to a feverish beat, as if to say “what’s going on mom?”
“I know baby,” you look down at yourself. “I’m just a little worried about your dad.”
Clark had been gone for two days. Two days without any phone call, without so much as a glimpse of him on the news. He had left in a rush, kissing you fiercely as he muttered something about the Justice Gang.
You had simply told him to calm down, that it was probably nothing.
“They don't just call for nothing, honey. Are you sure you don't want me to call Ma to keep you company-”
“Clark. You worry too much. We’ll be fine. Krypto makes an excellent conversationalist.”
“But-”
“Clark. Go save the world.”
But after almost fourty-eight hours you were feeling less certain.
Krypto sits at the base of the porch, watching your backyard with a guarded stillness. He was listening for something; you could tell by the way his left ear was raised upward, his wet nose twitching.
Your eyes scan the dark sky, night falling in steady strokes of indigo and violet. You wrap Clark’s large flannel tighter around your torso, a chill running down your back.
A flash of light catches your eye, quicker than lightening. You almost think you've imagined it, hope twisting in your chest. But Krypto’s wagging tail and frantic barks confirm you saw it.
You carefully creep down the porch steps, watching the clouds for another sign. Anything.
“Please Clark. Please come back to me.”
Your whispered prayer is answered as you hear the whistling force of something falling, a bright speck breaking through the clouds and plummeting through the stars. You stare wide eyed as something crashes into the outer fields of your backyard, dirt and grass spraying out from the impact.
“Krypto,” you glance down at the dog, already moving off the porch as fast as your very pregnant body would allow. “Go fetch,” you point. The dog pants, tilting his head looking between you and the crater of dirt now mounded in the fields. He must see something out there because he’s off in a blink flying fast through the Kansas grass.
You follow, the grass warm beneath your bare feet as you move out into the yard. Krypto barks as he bounds around the mess, disappearing into the crater. From just inside you can see the auburn hair of the Justice Gang’s most stubborn and vulgar member. Guy Gardner dips back into the crater, his voice carrying through the field as you make your way towards him.
“Come on, big guy. I thought you could fly-”
Your heart leaps as you hear Clark’s groaning reply, his curly hair appearing as Guy helps him up. Krypto runs about, barking at the two heroes as they climb out of the dirt crater, Guy half carrying Clark. His red boots drag against the ground, legs barely supporting his large body.
You hurry as fast as you can, a stitch in your side and heavy bump slowing you down. Clark looks up at you, and your heart breaks-
He’s exhausted. Scared. You can tell whatever fight he’d just been through… it had been bad. Guy helps Clark forward, your husband staggering out of his hold as the two of you meet in the middle. Clark practically falls into your arms as you embrace him, the feeling of having him back lifting a heavy weight off your heart.
You hug each other tightly, his face plunging into the crook of your neck, warm tears already dripping onto your skin. You hold him, not even caring about the fact you were practically supporting him upright, pressing soft kisses to his cheek, hands cradling his head.
“You’re home, Clark. You’re alright- we’re alright.”
Clark holds you close, fingers tight against your hips, as if he was afraid you’d disappear.
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, I tried-”
“Shh, Clark, it’s okay,” you whisper, holding him tightly. “Save your energy, okay. You can explain later. I’m just glad you’re home.”
You glance over his shoulder at Guy, the green lantern looking just as roughed up as your husband. You don’t even need to ask what happened for Guy to shake his head. It was better not to. Not yet anyways.
“Okay Supes, let's get you inside. I don’t want you to grill me later for having your wife carry you in.”
It’s a slow process, Guy and you taking either side of Clark and helping him along. Krypto barks at Clark with worry, the dog lingering on your porch as the three of you disappear into the house. You’d never seen Clark in such bad shape, the man practically folding as he slumps onto your bed. You breathe heavily as you lean over him, Clark’s hand reaching up to cup your face as his eyelids droop heavily.
“Are you okay,” he whispers and you laugh quietly, smiling softly.
“Of course I am. Just worried about you.” You reach for his other hand, guiding it to the side of your belly, letting him feel the soft kicks of your son, now awake from all the commotion. “You’re son missed you too.” Clark smiles painfully, his eyes closing as he groans. It only takes him a minute to slip into unconsciousness, his head slumping against the pillow. You swallow thickly, kissing his forehead before padding into the kitchen, glancing back with worry.
You cross your arms, watching with furrowed brows as Guy rummages around your fridge, pulling out a carton of milk and sniffing it.
“It’s fresh, Guy. You know that.” He shrugs.
“It may be fresh but is it good? I don’t settle, sweetheart.”
He pours the milk into a bowl of cereal he’s already made, slumping into one of your kitchen chairs with a tired groan. You sit across from him with a similarly tired groan, your hand coming to rest on the top of your bump. You bite your lip with worry, wanting to ask Guy all the questions tumbling around in your brain. But from the way Guy was downing the cereal, you could tell he was in no mood to answer anything quite yet.
He finally sets his bowl to the side, leaning back in his chair as he chews the last bit. You look at him seriously, worry written into the frown on your face.
“What the heck happened Guy?” Your voice is hushed, strained. Like if it was any louder, it would break the dam of emotions coursing through you. Guy sighs, running a hand through his messy bowl cut.
“It was crazy. The call we got said it was a military base whose operation had gone south. An experimental weapon gon berzerk- the usual idiotic scientist who didn’t have the balls to admit he screwed up.” Guy scratches a cut on his cheek, frowning at the blood staining the crevices of his finger nails. “Turned out to be a trap. Lex’s raptors surrounded us, managed to pin us down and capture us. We barely made it out. Almost didn’t if it hadn’t been for your husband’s insistence. He was dead set on getting home.”
You look away from Guy, hiding behind your trembling hands. Guy doesn’t say anything, just gets up with a grunt and rinses off his dish, letting it clatter in the dishwasher.
“Tell Clark I’ll talk to him later, okay?”
“Okay Guy,” you sniff, finally looking back up at him. Your words of gratitude are trapped in your throat, stuck like a lump you couldn’t swallow. You don’t have to say them though, Guy knows. He can see it in the glistening drops stuck in your lashes, the way your gaze keeps drawing to the bedroom, itching to see Clark again. Guy sighs, cracking his neck.
“The milk was alright by the way. Pretty good… for Smallville anyways.” You laugh, waving Guy out. He smiles, waving. “See you later Mrs. K.”
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Clark blinks awake slowly, the Kansas sun peeking out from behind your bedroom’s curtains. It takes his brain a moment to catch up, to realize he was awake. Alive.
The soft fabric of your comforter, familiar and warm, rubs against his bare arms; Clark’s eyes drift down at the gentle weight laying against his torso, Krypto asleep on top of him. There’s a strange sense of de ja vu, like Clark had been in this exact position before, a brush away from death. The memory is faint, forgotten. But it’s there.
Clark sighs, shifting against his pillow, only to realize it’s not just Krypto laying on him. Your breath stutters from the movement, the hand which had been laying on Clark’s chest falling onto the covers. He’s surprised he didn’t catch your heart beat next to him- his superhearing quickly zeroes on the steady thumps, the fainter beats of his son following.
Clark grunts, his whole body still sore as he reaches over your body, pulling you closer to his side. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out for, barely registering the cotton pajamas on his frame, the overflowing can of tissues on your side, empty bowls of soup stacked on top of the other. Your lashes flutter open as Clark cards his fingers slowly through your hair, and he can hear the shift in your heartbeat, the sudden spike of fear which courses through you.
“Shh, honey,” he whispers, shaking his head when you try to speak. “I’m okay. I’m alright. I just- I just want to lay here with you for a minute.”
You stare with a worried stillness, your fingers moving up his chest and cupping his jaw. Clark can feel the stubble growing there- it had to have been a few days he’d been out. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am with you here,” Clark quietly murmurs, already feeling the aching exhaustion pulling him under again.
--- July ---
It was a muggy Kansas summer day; the sun beating down on the roof, air conditioner rattling as it chugged along to combat the weather as best it could. The long grass rustled outside the window, the air buzzing with anticipation, as if it knew something you didn’t.
The house was still, sun glowing in the nursery as you passed by, the laundry basked heavy on your hip.
Clark would have a fit if he could see you.
You really should be sitting down and resting, but the urge to clean had gotten the best of you. With only a few weeks to go, you'd taken to cleaning everything you could. Or everything Clark would let you. Since he’d been home more, recovering after the Superman incident and starting his paternity leave from the Daily Planet, he’d been doing all he could to help you out.
Cleaning the rain gutters, moving furniture around, organizing the garage. He’d finally taken up the battle of putting the carseat into his truck, Krypto running around as he’d mumbled and grunted.
“I can lift buildings… this shouldn’t be so hard- gosh darn it!”
The man frowned and pouted anytime you tried to do anything, swooping in to finish a load of dishes, herding you back to bed when you attempted to make yourself some tea, constantly asking how you were feeling.
As sweet as Clark was, his constant doting and worrying was getting on your nerves.
You had sent him to the grocery store, hoping to buy yourself an hour or two to get some things done. Like this Superman suit, which hadn’t been touched since he’d crash landed in the back yard.
You hadn’t talked much about what exactly had happened. Clark had admitted he didn’t remember much… just pain and the same thought tumbling over and over.I have to get home.
Whatever had happened, it was bad enough for Clark to be out of commission for a while. Even after he’d been to the fortress and healed by his Superman robots, he’d still hiss at a sore muscle or an invisible pain. It was eerie to see him like that, so… human.
And of course, it didn’t help that Krypto had been acting weird. Barking more, constantly pacing around the house. Clark chalked it up to jitters, the dog sensing something was changing between his injury and your looming due date. But you couldn’t help the feeling that something was off. You just didn’t know what.
You pad down the hall, moving in the slow waddle you’d unconsciously adopted in the past month. Clark’s suit hung out of the basket, red cape glistening as you made your way in the kitchen, past Krypto who was currently terrorizing his latest new toy- a little stuffed squirrel who once could have been labeled as cute, but was now no more than an amalgamation of stuffing and beaded eyes. The dog chews fervently, only stopping as you pass by, his nose twitching.
You set the laundry basket down on top of the dryer, reaching for the washer’s knobs with some difficulty, your bump getting in the way. Just able to press the start button, you begin to load Clark’s suit inside, throwing in the blue costume, covered in dirt stains and scorch marks, his red shorts too. The cape needed some extra scrubbing and you carefully reach for the special solution he kept, beginning to spray and scrub. Krypto pads over to you from the kitchen, his nose still twitching as he watches you.
You look back at him with a smile, amused at the concern written in his eyes. The dog barks as he pads closer, looking up at you, his tail no longer swaying with its usual pep.
“Krypto, it’s okay. I’m just putting this in the wash and then I’m going to sit down. Don’t worry.” Krypto doesn’t listen and begins to tug on the ankle of your sweat pants, teeth barring over the fabric. You frown, still scrubbing as you glance down at the dog. “Krypto…”
Krypto had never been an aggressive dog. Messy and overly hyper, sure. But lately, he’d been more agitated. Easily sent into a barking spell or trying to get Clark’s or your attention.
“Krypto, what-” your words are cut off as you gasp, Krypto letting go of your pants and leaping onto the basket, knocking it over. The clothes still inside tumble onto the floor, the dog knocking into the laundry soap and the bottle going over as well. Soap spills onto the ground and you cry out in shock as Krypto bites the cape’s fabric, dragging it out of your hands as he bounds through the air and into the kitchen. “KRYPTO!”
You cry out, leaning down to try and salvage some of the soap still inside. You look around at the mess, trying to take a deep breath and remain calm. Goodness, Clark was going to have a heart attack when he saw all this. You set down the soap, moving towards the kitchen where Krypto was currently growling at the cape, staring at it from afar. You stop beside the dog, hands on your hip as you look down at him.
“What has gotten into you? Huh, buddy? You’re never this bad. Even on your crazy days.” Krypto gives you a single glance, barking when you try and get Clark's cape. “Bud,” you sigh, “I just need to finish the laundry. You don’t need to worry, okay?”
You move to grab the cape, barely beginning to reach for the red fabric when Krypto moves, faster than you’d seen him move before-
“Ouch!” You look at Krypto in surprise, grabbing your hand tenderly. “Did you just bite me? Krypto-” The dog just growls and you stare, stunned.
You almost miss the sound of the front door as Clark comes in, his boots heavy against the wooden floor.
“Hey, sorry it took me so long. They didn’t have any of the witch hazel spray you wanted so I stopped by another…” Clark’s words trail off as he rounds the wall, face contorting in surprise over the grocery bags he was carrying. “I- what happened?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to do some laundry and he just started going nuts.” You gesture towards Krypto, the dog looking somewhat apologetic at what he’d done. If dogs could even look apologetic. Clark sighs, clearly not in the mood to deal with the dogs antics as he sets down the bags on the table, giving Krypto a stern look.
“Come on Krypto, outside.”
Clark moves over to the kitchen’s back door, leading to the yard outside. He opens it, gesturing for Krypto to follow. The dog doesn’t, still sitting and glaring at the cape. Krypto’s teeth are bared now, as if he was holding back from tearing the thing apart.
“Come on bud.” He still doesn’t budge. “What has gotten into you?” Clark moves to grab the dog, Krypto barking insistently as Clark carries him to the door.
“Krypto…” You start, worried. He’d never acted that way before. He was a bit reckless and crazy, sure. But never had he tried to bite you. And sure, he could be a pill with Clark, but he never tried to fight…
You glance down at the cape, a sense of dread washing over you. You think back to what Guy Gardner had told you that night in the kitchen, about Lex Luthor and the prison. You remember Lex’s name from stories Clark had told you, a big rivalry they had years ago. And most importantly- the weapon Lex had used to capture Clark.
You pick up the cape, carefully inspecting the fabric. You can still hear Krypto outside, his barks becoming desperate as Clark carries him away. Your heart beats faster as your fingers run over the threaded symbol, eyes moving along the folds. And then you see it.
Glinting in the sunlight, almost invisible if you weren’t really looking. A flash of green. Dark, like an emerald, and immediately you drop the cape, taking a step back.
Kryptonite.
“Clark!” You’re hurrying out the back yard door, breathing heavy with worry. “CLARK!”
He’s still trudging out with a distressed Krypto, the dog thrashing in Clark’s big arms. The man turns, clearly perplexed by your raised voice.
“Hon- what is it?!” Clark likely picks up your erratic heartbeat, probably see the way your hands shake because the next thing you know he’s by your side, telling you to breathe. “It’s okay, sweetheart- take a deep breath.”
You take a shaking one, glancing down at Krypto who eyes you carefully.
“Your suit Clark. He… Krypto, he-”
“Don’t worry about it. Whatever he did-”
“No, Clark!” You breathe, looking up at him with a terrible sense of dread. “Clark, I think whatever prison they put you in… I think it was made of Kryptonite.”
The blood drains from Clark’s face and he looks between you and the house. It would make sense. Clark’s regression in getting better, the constant aches and pains. Krypto’s agitation, his constant clinginess. He was trying to get your attention, not be a nuisance. And all this time you had though he was maybe worried about the baby-
“The baby,” you whisper, looking down. “Clark, what if…” Clark shakes his head, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.
“It’s not… I can still hear his heartbeat. The amount stuck on my suit wasn’t enough to hurt me. Not too much anyway. He’s still protected by your immune system and he’s only half Kryptonian…” Clark trails off, not meeting your eye. His palm is warm against your belly, holding you steady. Or maybe he’s trying to hold himself steady.
“But, there’s something wrong. Isn’t there?”
He finally meets your eye, the emotion on his face surprising. Scared. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Clark scared. And it worries you. The baby worries you. He was being awfully still right now. Maybe he had been for a while.
You’re kicking yourself for losing track of the last time he’d kicked.
“Clark,” you start, hands trembling as he pulls you close. “I’m scared.”
“Don't be. We’ll get him checked out, okay? I’m going to make sure the both of you are okay.”
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Krypto watches Clark as he hugs you, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He thinks you finally understand, finally get why he had taken the cape from you.
He knows you were angry at him. He could see it in the way your lips curved downward, in the tilt of your head, the fists resting on your hip. But Krypto had to warn you somehow.
The house had been off for a while. Since Clark had come crashing from the sky like a star. He’d smelt weird. Different. Not a different like you, a sweet smell that grew stronger as the baby had gotten bigger. No.
This was a bad different.
Something that made him tired and a bit cranky, that made the baby sleep more inside you, made you feel out of sorts. Krypto had heard you once, mentioning something about "baby nerves."
It was just too late when Krypto finally recognized the smell… when he finally saw the glittering crystal you couldn’t stuck on the cape.
Clark gives you one last squeeze before heading back in the house, his face stricken. Krypto pads closer to you, head tilted as he catches your wet eyes. He can smell the salty tang which usually preludes crying. He doesn’t want you to cry.
Krypto barks, nudging your pants with his snout. You sniff, squatting carefully, one hand cradling your belly, the other reaching out to keep your balance.
“Oh Krypto.” He feels strange. You’re scratching his ears like he usually enjoys, but he doesn’t feel the normal spark. “You were just trying to warn me. To warn us, huh buddy?”
Krypto licks your hand, wishing he could tell you it was going to be alright. But you were just so sad. Clark too. The dog could see it in the man’s face, the sadness he was trying to hide as he walked outside with a trash bag, chucking it into the shed across the yard. From the smell of it, it was the cape.
Clark comes back, helping you up with the gentleness he always used with you, whispering in your ear. Something about a bag and calling the hospital. Whatever that means. It probably wasn’t a nice place based on the looks you give each other. Krypto sure didn’t want to go.
But he’s quick to follow Clark when the man whistles, nodding towards the truck. Krypto loved to ride in the truck! If only it wasn’t while you were sad. Krypto bounds over to the red pickup, hopping inside the bed like he usually did.
“We’re gonna go for a little ride, bud. Make a quick trip to the hospital.” Clark pats Krypto’s side, his mouth set in a firm line. Krypto has lived with Clark long enough now to know that was the face he made when he was trying to hide something. Usually a surprise for you, something wrapped in colorful bows and glitter. Or the rare occasion he brought Krypto something home. Like the new squirrel.
But now… now Clark just looks sad. The man gathers the rope tether tied to the bed and attaches it to Krypto’s collar, his big hands working carefully to tie it neatly. Krypto licks Clark’s hand, just like he did with you.
The man sighs, pausing as he leans against the truck.
“I didn’t know Krypto. I should have known… should have guessed” he swallows thickly. “I put them in danger.”
Clark was so hard on himself sometimes. Always wanting to protect everyone. Krypto thought he was a good guy for that.
But when Superman failed, who would protect him? Krypto lays in the bed of the truck as it jostles along the road, his ears occasionally flicking in the hot sun. The ride to the hospital is a lot longer than the usual trips to town. Not that Krypto minded.
But watching Clark and you get out of the truck, the man’s hands carefully helping you down, carrying the small bag you’d brought, the dog felt bad again. It was strange. He never felt guilty for anything.
Not when he’d tore up your old couch, the brown thing he thought looked like an ugly loaf of bread. Not when he’d chewed up Kara’s new eyeshadow palette, or her pink mascara tube, or her comb or- well, he’d chewed up a lot of her makeup things.
But he’d never felt bad about it. And he didn’t even do anything this time!
You sniff as you pat Krypto’s head, giving him a gentle rub with your thumb.
“We’ll see you in a bit buddy.”
“Please… be good dude,” Clark says, his eyebrows drawn in a serious line. Krypto watches as you both walk towards the hospital, an air of dread and sadness following you.
Krypto didn’t know if he could sit in the truck the whole time. The suspense would probably kill him before he even had a chance to make a mess.
But an idea enters his head. A rare occurrence, considering most of the time he just thought about squirrels or which of Clark’s shoes he was going to chew up next.
No. He would be a good boy. But being a good boy didn’t necessarily mean staying….
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The hospital room is sterile, the space still ringing with the nurses words from just ten minutes ago.
“The baby’s heartbeat is a lot slower than I’d like it to be. Especially with him being so low and it being so close to your due date.
We’re going to prep you to stay, but if baby’s heartbeat doesn’t improve, I’d recommend us performing an emergency c-section.” Emergency.
It was hard to tell what you were more afraid of. Your mind was so cluttered, worried for your baby, worried for Clark. He hadn’t said much of anything. Just a thank you to the nurse and a quiet, “let me help you” when you moved to get up off the low examination table.
Now, he was holding the soft cotton hospital gown open for you now, helping you carefully maneuver your arms into it. His face was downcast, clearly listening to the inner workings of your body. Your heartbeat. Your son.
“Clark,” you whisper softly, turning around to cup his face. He sighs, closing his eyes at your touch. “It’s not your fault.”
His lashes flutter open slowly, blue eyes giving you a pointed look.
“I should have known.”
“You couldn’t have. You said it yourself, the amount was small enough to go unnoticed.” Clark shakes his head as he turns you around again, his large fingers working carefully at the ties of the gown.
“I could have noticed sooner. I- you were doing my laundry and I should have been the one doing it. I should have-”
“Clark.” You say his name with such purpose. A firm anchor bringing him from the brink of spiraling. “You wouldn’t let me blame myself. I can’t let you do the same.”
Clark sighs, his hands pausing.
“I’m Superman, honey,” he whispers, barely audible. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. Keep my family safe. And I failed.”
“You didn’t fail. We’re both okay right now. You got us here… you got us help.” You reach for his hand, placing it on the swell of your belly. “I know how much you love us. And how you do everything you can to take care of us. You’re right. You’re Superman. But right now, I don’t need you to be a hero. I need you to be my husband.”
Clark swallows thickly, his thumb brushing against the fabric of the cotton gown.
“And as my husband I need you to hold my hand when I’m scared. And make sure you catch everything the doctor says, because I’m pretty sure I missed half of it.” Clark gives a small chuckle at that. He meets your eye, leaning down to capture your lips softly.
“I love you honey.”
“I know you do, Clark. Now please, can you get me some ice chips?”
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Clark's leg bounces nervously against the plastic chair. Everything felt so vast in the hallway of the surgery wing, so isolated. He was alone, save for the single nurse taking a nap behind her check in desk.
You hadn’t been in the room long before the nurse was checking you again, her frown deepening, eyes searching as she listened with the stethoscope. She didn’t need to say anything for Clark to know. Something was very wrong.
Even for the man who could fly faster than a bullet train, the last thirty minutes had been a blur. Nurses crowding your room, helping you get an IV set up, talking you and Clark through the procedure to come, getting you onto the hospital bed.
They tried to be reassuring. But there were only so many things they could say before the words grew stale, just background noise to the growing worry.
“I’m sorry sweetheart, but your husband will have to wait outside the surgery room.”
Clark had to refrain from a few choice words at that. He couldn’t even keep you company; couldn’t be there for you when your son was being brought into the world. It wasn’t what Clark had imagined, wasn’t what he had pictured late at night, when you were sleeping snug against his ribs.
Despite the pain you obviously felt at the news, you still found the strength to give him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay Clark. Just think… we’ll be seeing our son sooner than we thought.”
Clark had held your hand till the last minute, keeping his composure for as long as he could. He walked with you as the nurses wheeled your bed down the hall, his tall frame bent at an awkward angle so he could kiss you goodbye. His thumb caressed your hairline covered by the scrub cap, your eyes misty as you whispered an I love you.
Clark was hyper focused on you, reaching out with his super hearing, listening as they performed the surgery. Sometimes it was almost too much, as if he were in the room right beside you. Clark listened so intensely, he often had to force himself to stop, making himself sick with worry at the muffled sounds of organs shifting and the doctors whispering.
He runs a hand through his messy curls, fingers tugging harder than he meant to. Clark winces. His phone pings and he’s quick to check it, the screen glowing with multiple texts from his Ma, a few from Lois and Jimmy and some from his cousins.
Ma: Pa and I are still stuck out in Fortsworth. We’re coming as soon as we can.
Try not to worry too much son. Your wife’s a strong girl.
Clark sets his phone down, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses with a tired sigh. He swallows thickly, feeling the wet warmth of tears threatening to spill. He takes a breath, standing up. The plastic chair squeaks with relief at the loss of his weight, and Clark begins to pace down the hall slowly, sneakers thudding quietly against the tiled floor.
The surgery is still going. He can hear it clearly now, his mind wandering to you, unconsciously tuning in to your body as it’s poked and prodded, torn and rummaged. The image is gruesome and Clark has to take a shaky breath. The guilt he feels is overwhelming. Isolating.
In moments like these, it was you he’d turn to for a comforting embrace, a smile. Even a small quip to try and get him to smile. But he was alone. All alone in the hall, left to listen as you let out a pained breath, to think about how this was all his fault.
Clark’s hand trembles as the first tear breaks free, streaking down his nose leaving a warm and salty trail. He wipes it quickly with the palm of his hand, head beginning to throb with a blooming headache. Clark stands there, trying to stifle a sob when something behind him makes a commotion.
“Ma’am. Ma’am you can’t come in here like that. And with- this is a hospital!”
“Aw, that’s too bad. I don’t really care-”
Clark should check it out. Raised voices usually don’t mean anything good. He should dry his eyes, put on his Superman charm and make sure everything is all right.
But how could anything be all right when he was so worried about you. About your baby.
Clark just stands there, trying to calm himself. His brows furrow as he hears a familiar jingling, the sound of boots clicking against the tile. Glancing to his side, he catches sight of a familiar flash of red, sparkling beneath the bright lights. Clark looks up, surprise written on his face as he takes in the sight of Kara, her blonde hair messily windswept, face still covered in galactic glitter.
“Hey Daddio.”
She gives him a smile, understanding written in the soft expression of her face. Clark thinks he could crumple right there, and he doesn’t say anything as he bridges the gap between them, embracing Kara tightly. The sobs he was trying to hold back break free, tears surly staining Kara’s blue and red dress, her hand patting his broad back slowly.
“Okay big guy, no need to cry. Jeez, you men are such babies.” She pulls away, giving him a look. “You’re wife’s the one doing all the work in there. You could at least try and pretend she’s not stronger than you.”
Clark laughs at that, rubbing the tears away. Kara was right. Of course she was.
“How did you even know-” he doesn’t need to finish the sentence as he catches sight of something over Kara’s shoulder. Krypto stands there panting, paws slowly moving forward at a snail’s pace, fur tangled with leaves and astro debris.
Clark’s shoulders round out with ease as he shakes his head, moving over to the dog. Krypto whines, tongue lolling as Clark rubs his ears, pulling him into a hug.
“You’re a good boy Krypto. Good boy.”
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Kara is half asleep on his shoulder, his Ma and Pa sitting across the hall, dozing. Krypto is snoring beneath Clark's chair, half hidden beneath Clark's large flannel wrapped around his exhausted frame.
Clark rubs his eyes beneath his black frames, checking his watch after. It had been barely an hour since you'd been brought to the room, but it felt like an eternity. His long leg bounces against the plastic chair, arms folding as he listens. Still nothing new. Nothing-
He pauses, his entire body going still. There was something. It was faint, almost non-existent. But it grows louder, Clark's breath leaving his body as he listens.
It was a cry. A little wail, fragile and raspy. It was beautiful. Clark nudges Kara's shoulder, trying to rouse her.
"Kara. Kara hey-" She inhales sharply, sitting up with a start.
"What? Huh-"
"Shh, listen!" Kara blinks, her head titled as she listens to the soft cries.
"Well darn. You're officially a daddy Kal."
Clark smiles wide, pushing up out of the plastic chair, his hands shaking a little. His Ma and Pa stir in their seats, blinking with confusion.
“Something happening Clark?” His Pa asks.
“Yeah Pa. I think… I think I’m a father.” Jonathan Kent smiles brightly, standing with a grunt and clapping his son on his shoulder.
“Atta boy.” Martha smiles, clutching her hankie with excitement.
“Oh goodness Clark, I can't wait to see him.”
Clark is still afraid, the worry still etched into his heart. But just hearing the little cry, so fresh and new, is enough to calm some of his fears.
It's a little while before one of the doctors peeks her head out of the surgery, pulling down her mask and giving Clark a reassuring smile.
“Congratulations Mr. Kent. We have a baby boy, safe and sound here.” Clark smiles, Martha and Jon hugging.
“Is my wife okay? They're both okay?” She smiles, nodding.
“He's perfectly fine. Vitals leveled out as soon as we gave him some attention. You're wife's being wheeled to one of our recovery rooms with your son. If you want to come with me, we can get you in a gown and we can see them.”
Clark nods, turning back to his parents with a torn look in his eye. He didn't want to just leave them. But you needed him. And he needed to see you, wanted to see for himself that you and the baby were alright.
His Ma gives him a warm smile, reaching out to cup his cheek gently.
“You give that baby a kiss for us, okay? And give your wife all the love she needs right now.” Clark smiles, turning to Kara as she pats his shoulder.
“Be cool Kent. You're just meeting your son for the first time. No big deal.” He laughs, the tension loosening in his shoulders.
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The recovery room is quiet as Clark enters, the lights dim, a nurse rounding the bed with a bundle of blankets in her arms. Clark is already teary eyed as he takes you in, your own tears already staining your cheeks, your smile tired and pained. But oh so bright.
The green medical gown he wore, a size too small for Clark’s tall frame, swishes as he walks over to you. He takes the hand you extend towards him as he squats beside the bed, his other hand reaching out to cup your cheek.
“Hi honey,” he whispers. You smile, sniffling.
“Hi.” Clark presses a kiss to your forehead, waiting until you pull him in for a real kiss, being careful of your abdomen. Gosh, he missed you.
“They're never separating us again,” he says in between kissing you. You smile, laughing softly as you take a shuddering breath.
“You feel alright?” He asks, looking you over carefully. You nod, eyes a bit glazed over as you watch the nurse on the other side of the bed leave the little plastic bed, bundle of blankets squirming inside. You lean in close, as if you're sharing a secret.
“I feel a little high honestly,” you giggle. Clark nods as he eyes the Iv still attached to your hand, pumping pain medication into your system. The doctor had mentioned how you might be a little out of it. “I’m not in too much pain. Just groggy and emotional.”
He smiles, turning to look at the plastic bed by your side, the label on the end reading “KENT”. He swallows thickly.
“Is this…”
You nod, beginning to tear up again. “It is. He's here.”
Clark squeezes your hand nervously, slowly makes his way around the bed. His heart hammers in his chest as he peers down at the little boy inside.
He was small, all chubby pink cheeks and dark wisps of hair. Clark laughs softly as he rests his hand on the newborn's swaddled torso, his son taking a shuddering breath beneath Clark’s warm hand.
Clark looks at you, amazed you carried the boy for nine months; awe struck at how perfect he was. Despite being a few weeks early, he was well on his way to being the chubbiest newborn Clark had ever seen.
“He's beautiful.” You smile, watching with sleepy eyes as Clark carefully scoops up the baby. He's small in Clark's big hands but heavier than the man had anticipated. "Chunky though."
You laugh, wincing a little as you rub your side. "The Kent genes are strong with this one."
Clark carefully cradles the newborn, his cheeks hurting with how much he was smiling. He takes a couple steps back to the hospital bed, sitting on the edge beside you.
The boy's face turns a bright shade of pink as he smacks his lips open and closed, making tiny little noises. Clark rocks him gently, glancing at you as you reach over and fix the blanket wrapped around the boy.
Clark leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Thank you," he whispers. You smile confused.
"For what?"
"Everything."
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“Up we go. You ready buddy?”
Krypto twists in Clark’s arms trying to see through the glass window. The dog wasn't sure what had happened when Clark went into the other room. He had woken up to Martha and Jon crying happily, Kara smiling. But no Clark.
The man had come out of a new room some time later, a big smile on his face, tears staining his cheeks. He'd mentioned something about a viewing room, someplace to see the baby. Which Krypto had thought was strange. The baby was with you. Why would it be anywhere else?
“Okay,” Clark says, looking into the little room full of plastic beds. Some of them had squirming little things inside, tiny hands and feet reaching up. Clark smiles at them, glancing at Krypto. “Any minute now, we'll see him. Just be patient.”
Krypto twists again, tail wagging and Clark pats his back, trying to calm him. Kara rounds the corner of the hall, arms crossed as she stands beside Clark.
He smiles at her, Kara rolling her eyes.
“What? I’m just curious. I’m his aunt after all.”
“You're his aunt?” Clark asks with a raised brow.
She nods. “Of course. Someone's gotta teach him about Krypton.”
It's just a minute more before a woman enters the room, wheeling in one of the plastic beds. Inside this one is a similar tiny, squirming thing. But as the nurse wheels the bed up to the window, Krypto can see a little face. It's so tiny, eyes closed, cheeks squished against the blanket. He’s scrunched up, tucked beneath a soft blanket.
It takes a moment before Krypto recognizes a familiar scent through the glass. The soft and sweet scent that had lingered around you for the last few months. So that was what the baby looked like.
He sure was small. And kinda funny looking.
Krypto looks at Clark, the man laughing at his surprise. Kara smiles, leaning in for a better look.
“No fair Kal. He looks exactly like you.”
“I know.”
“I can't believe it, nine months in the womb and he can't even have the decency to look like his mom.”
From down the hall, Martha and Jon make their way to the viewing window, smiling.
“Oh, where is that baby!” Clark laughs, smiling bright. He sets Krypto down, guiding his parents in finding the baby. Krypto stands on his hind legs, snout pressed against the glass. The baby blinks slowly, his dark eyes peering out at the dog. Krypto’s tail wags fast, paws moving with excitement.
He liked the baby.
Martha and Jonathan coo and awe at the baby, the both of them choking back tears.
“Oh, you both did a good job son. Look at the big guy.”
Jonathan laughs. "He's practically ready for football season."
Clark smiles proudly, glancing at Krypto who drops to his haunches, sitting patiently. The man winks, and Krypto barks happily.
He was feeling like a good boy.
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extra notes: genuinely, if you read this whole thing, thank you!!! I appreciate you so so much <3 this has been such a fun project for me and I almost feel sad it's over. It was my go-to project for the past couple months and I'm going to miss this man! (I say as if I don't have three other Clark fics I'm working on too lol) if you have any thoughts or comments pls share, I'd love to hear them :)
if you're interested in some of my other Superman works here's a link to my masterlist!
blue dividers by @cursed-carmine
tags: @alanahlovesryan
I Think You're In Denial
word count: 2.0k
pairing: Jack Abbot x reader
summary: Jack begins to notice little things. The way you have trouble reading signs, the squinting, the headaches. In spite of your insistence you don't need glasses, sometimes the doctor knows what's best.
notes: totally self indulgent and kinda rushed. this gal is finally getting glasses!! but low-key, why are all the frame options kinda boring at the doctors. I might invest in a cuter pair later, but for now I'm looking forward to finally being able to drive at night and actually be able to see lol.
enjoy reading :)
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Jack notices it first.
He's always the first to notice everything. In that slow, observational way he always carried himself. Eyes flickering across your face, thick fingers twitching.
It was unnerving sometimes. How Jack knew all your tells.
Jack knows shaking hands and short breaths mean you haven't been eating enough. He knows you're ready to go home when you lean into him while he's finishing handoffs, your cheek pressed firmly into his shoulder.
He knows you're feeling under the weather when you stock orange juice in the fridge instead of your usual grape. Jack knows when you're uncomfortable with a patient when you subtly place yourself behind him. He knows when you're feeling great by the speed you pull his scrubs off after stepping through your front door.
Jack notices it all. So how could he not notice the way you were squinting at the patient board, lashes practically touching you were focusing so hard.
"Hey. You okay?" He asks, elbow bumping into yours as he stands beside you. You blink a few times and nod, turning to face him.
"Yeah of course. Why?"
"No reason," Jack shrugs, shaking his head. "Just wanted to check."
You give him a disbelieving smile. Jack never just 'wanted to check.' But you let it be. He'd explain eventually.
"Alright Abbot. Whatever it is you're worried about, I'm fine."
You say this as you squeeze his elbow, picking up a patient file and heading off into the Pitt. Jack notes the way you hold the iPad close to read the case printed on the screen.
He notes lots of things as they occur. A series of symptoms strung along and weaved into his domestic day to day.
There were the headaches. You blamed them on too much caffeine and too little sleep. But they always persisted. Even on your days off where you forced Jack to stay in bed a few extra hours, your leg thrown over his to trap him. The headaches still came when you decided to quit artificial caffeine for a month and stick to natural teas and juices.
They persisted. Irregular. Inconsistant.
At least to you.
But Jack saw.
He saw the way you rubbed your eyes after watching a medical documentary with him. The one you had to read subtitles on because they spoke too fast.
He saw the way you massaged your temples after driving through traffic. The way you leaned forward in the drivers seat, like you had to get even closer to the street sign sitting just a few feet from you. It was worse at night.
There was the time you drove his truck to work, typically a normal occurrence. You often did when Jack was too tired after a double shift or when his leg was bothering him.
"Hon, that was the street. You missed it."
"I did? Shoot I could have sworn the sign said-"
"You couldn't read it?"
"I could! I guess I just wasn't paying attention."
Jack's breaking point is the time he asks you to check the calendar in your kitchen.
You'd both been sitting at the table, breakfast half finished, a sudoku puzzle resting in your lap, his computer out beside his lukewarm coffee. He asked you to check it, just needing you to turn around and read him the date from where the calender was stuck on the wall.
"Sure. For when your conference is?"
"Uh yeah. I just need the... date."
He watched you get up from the kitchen table and walk over, nose pressed close to the wall calendar.
Jack could read it perfectly from where he sat. It was a test. One you failed miserably. And one which confirmed his suspicions.
He finally confronts you one night, bringing up his observations in the quiet of the Pitt.
Not that he'd admit it's quiet. Just a rare lull during the night shift where all there is to do is check in with patients and whisper across the nurses counter. Jack sits at one of the computers, supposedly working on his charting but more busy with staring at you.
You're standing on the other side of the counter, hunched over a patient file you were going over once more. Jack finally sighs, leaving his chair and moving to stand next to you. His heart tugs slightly at the smile you give him when you glance up, your hip bumping gently his.
"Hey handsome. What's up."
"Hon," Jack starts his hand resting on the base of your neck, mouth quirking into a nervous line. "I think you need glasses."
He says it point blank. No trying to sugar coat it or prepare you. You blink up at him, a bewildered look written on your face. And then you laugh.
The sound carries through the Pitt and Jack glances around, looking back to you with wide eyes.
"Glasses? Wha- I don't think so Jack. I can see just fine."
"You sure?" Jack raises a brow. You smile, looking up at his face.
"Of course. I can tell you right now I'm staring at that little crinkle on your forehead. The one you get when you're annoyed." Jack rolls his eyes, rubbing his hand over his face.
"Okay," Jack reaches out and clasps your shoulders, turning you toward the patient board. You give him a strange look, confused. "What patient is on the third line?"
You look up at the board, immediately moving to step forward. Jack pulls the back of your scrubs gently, keeping you flush against his broad frame.
"From here hon."
You frown and stare up at the patient description. Jack watches you swallow, eyes flickering across the board, lashes fluttering as you squint. He smiles.
Got you.
You shake your head, glancing back at him. You laugh nervously.
"Okay, this is silly."
"What's the patient's name," he smiles smugly. You narrow your eyes, huffing.
"Jack I don't need glasses."
"I think you're in denial."
"I think you worry too much," you say as you press a quick kiss to his cheek. "I can see fine Jack."
"Alright," Jack gives you a look. "We'll see." Or in this case, you'd squint.
A week goes by. Jack doesn't say anything else about it. But he doesn't stop noticing. The way you now frown every time you watch tv, brows drawn together.
The way you catch yourself squinting at street names or staring a little too long at menu boards of your favorite coffee shops. Like you were just realizing how much trouble you were having seeing.
You make it a point to avoid Jack when he's wearing his readers, trying to do anything but acknowledge the fact that Jack was very likely (definitely) right about your vision.
You finally trudge up behind him in the quiet of your shared home one morning. Jack was finishing up the dishes from your breakfast, hands covered in soap suds, as he rinsed out the sink.
He feels your forehead press into the bare flesh of his back, your damp hair cool against his skin. Your arms wrap around his thick waist, and Jack smiles to himself.
"Everything okay?"
"Jack..." He frowns as you mumble into his back. He doesn't quite catch what you say.
"Huh?" You huff, moving your cheek to speak clearer.
"I said, 'I think I need glasses.'"
Jack pauses, glancing over his shoulder to look at you. Your ears are red, an embarrassed frown etched into your face.
"That's not a bad thing. Lots of people need them." You wrinkle your nose.
"I'm going to look a grandma."
"You are not. I don't look like a grandpa when I wear mine, do I?" You hesitate for a second longer than Jack likes. He sighs and turns to face you fully. "You know what, don't answer that."
"I just hate the idea of wearing glasses all the time."
"Maybe it won't be that bad. You can still see pretty good, right?" You nod. Jack pulls you into him, your pajama clad frame melting into his body without a fight. "Maybe you'll just need them for TV and stuff. Not for all the time."
"Maybe." You nod against him. "I just hate going to the doctor."
Jack laughs. "We literally work in a hospital sunshine."
"Consider it poetic irony."
Jack is there when you finally get an appointment with the optometrist booked. He sits with you in the waiting room, looking around at the various framed pictures lining the wall. All pictures of glamorous looking people modeling various glasses and frames.
You're nervous. Jack can tell.
He reaches over and grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
"It won't be that bad." You give him a small smile, knee bouncing against the waiting room chair.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Jack makes sure to squeeze your hand reassuringly when you finally get called back, keeping his eye on you till you disappear behind the curtained hall.
When you finally come back into the waiting room, the look on your face says it all.
"Let me see your prescription."
"No."
"No? Oh come on, give me the paper." You move past him towards the display wall of frames. You shake your head, trying to dodge his hand. But Jack is too fast. He snatches the paper, reading your prescription.
He grins.
"I don't want to hear it Jack."
"I'm not saying anything," He laughs.
"Oh please," You sigh. "You don't have to. You've got that smug grin on your face. The one you always wear when you beat me at Catan." Jack chuckles
"I'm sorry, but did you see these numbers-"
"Jack!"
"Sorry sorry. I won't say anything else." You huff, turning away from him. Jack glances down at your prescription, the negative numbers confirming what he had observed. You needed glasses. Jack can't help but smile again. "I did tell you though-"
He lets out a grunt as you elbow his side, moving towards another section of frame options.
"I can't even with you right now."
"Oh come on hon."
"Help me pick out a pair of frames, old man. Consider it your penance."
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Bonus:
Jack has a serious problem now.
And they're sitting on your face.
Pretty tortoise shell frames, perfectly complimenting the shape of your face and illuminating your eyes.
God. You looked beautiful with them.
Not that you weren't beautiful before. But now?
Jack shifts in his recliner, a familiar feeling pooling in the pit of his belly.
Sometimes he really hated noticing things. Especially now, when he couldn't help the way his eyes kept drifting from the article Shen had sent him and up to your face. The tv glows across the glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, lights painting you in hues of blue and purple.
Jack takes a deep breath, just watching. Robby had been making a point to make fun of him at work.
"Jack. Buddy. You're gonna give yourself a heart palpitation if you keep staring at her."
They really did suit you. Not grandma esque at all. More like... hot secretary. Or cute receptionist.
You'd probably kill him if you ever found out he had thoughts like that-
"Jack."
"Hmm," He hums, looking up embarrassed. You're smiling at him knowingly, lashes fluttering behind your glasses.
"You're staring again." He flushes.
"Am not." You laugh, shaking your head.
"You're such a bad liar."
"I'm just admiring your new look." You laugh again, but Jack notices the way you blush.
"You really like them?" He nods.
"Very much."
You glance down at his lap, eyes flickering back up to his face quickly. You hum thoughtfully. Jack's heart is practically beating out of his chest when you push yourself off the couch, sliding yourself onto his lap. Jack's hands come to rest on your waist, his gaze never leaving your face as you lean in close.
"You want to show me how much you like them?"
Let's just say, you don't mind having to wear glasses so much anymore.
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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)
As someone with tortoiseshell glasses whose super insecure about them and recently got prescribed,,, i feel so much better abt it 🥹❤️🩹
aww, I'm glad you could have a bit of a main character moment 😌✨ I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. glasses are super cute!
SHAWN HATOSY as Tim Dunphy
in Outside Providence (1999)
but he's so boyfriend in this movie 😩
MARIE ANTOINETTE (2006) dir. Sofia Coppola + Marie Thérèse (requested by anonymous)
—i’m always on my own
fake boyfriend! jack x eldest daughter! reader
“Know I wanna beat it, wanna beat it bad Oh, everyone looks happy in a photograph I've crossed the county line, I cannot go back I'm always on my own.” -All Them Horses, Noah Kahan
summary: your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get together. jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face, and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.
wc: 15.7k (steak is too juicy lobster is too buttery)
tags/tropes: jack falls first and harder, reader is an eldest daughter (but not the eldest child) to a large judgmental family who are constantly disappointed in her, jack pretty much uses the fake dating as a chance to show reader what a good boyfriend he COULD be to her if she let herself have nice things, jack 'i'll pay for it' abbot, jack is YEARNING in this one, a teeny bit of mean dom jack as a treat
a/n: how are we all feeling about the latest noah kahan album. Doors is great. i do NOT repeat timestamp 2:14-2:21 of All Them Horses. i’m normal and can be trusted with noah kahan’s discography. this fic was supposed to be crossposted on ao3 at the time of post but ao3 crashed and i lost all of my tagging and uploading process so im saving that. for later. when it is POSTED it will be linked below :)
acknowledgements: thank you @wesandresons for the amazing gif and @saradika-graphics, @chrisssiren, and @uzmacchiato for the dividers! and thank you @leeknowpegger for your work in keeping up morale and being deranged with me
masterlist
“Your family’s in town?”
You’re at the nurses station, tucked into a corner with your head in your hands while Shen, of course, drinks what has to be his third Dunkin coffee of the day. Where he’s getting them is one of the world’s strangest unsolved mysteries.
You can’t see his face, on account of the heels of your hands being pressed into your eyes so hard stars are bursting and swirling behind your eyelids, but you can hear the grimace in his tone.
“Yeah. I moved out here to get away from them, but they decided to host the annual family dinner circuit here in Pittsburgh instead. My mom always complains about how it’s such a huge imposition to have the entire family fly out, but I never asked to do it and offered to just fly to them on multiple occasions. Apparently, my work schedule is too hard to work around.”
“Dinner circuit?”
You wave a hand. “It’s actually a lunch circuit now, since I work nights. Basically, for every single day that they’re here everybody has to attend a lunch, no matter what. Most of the time they’re at different restaurants, but sometimes my mom demands to have them at my place.”
“Yikes,” The attending says, sipping on the last bits of his coffee, “And the whole successful doctor thing doesn’t work on them? It got my parents off my back.”
You shake your head. “I’m the only doctor in the family, but they thought I should’ve been a hospitalist or go into general surgery.”
The sound of ice being shaken in a plastic cup rings in your ears. “There’s money in emergency medicine. Eventually.”
“There’s money in all medicine eventually,” You groan, lifting your head and leaning against the wall, blinking dazedly up at the flickering fluorescent lights. “I’m sure if I'd picked general surgery they would’ve found a problem with that too.”
“So your fucked, basically.”
Your eyes slip shut again. “Yep. Anything short of showing up with a rich boyfriend and a promise of grandkids on the way won’t get my mom off my back.”
Shen clasps you on the shoulder. “Best of luck with that. You’re the only intern the night shift has got, so we’d rather you don’t off yourself via poisoned wine.”
“I wouldn’t do poison. I’d choke on bread so they’d have to live with the guilt of not being able to save me.”
“Jesus fuck, man. I mean, clearly, they suck, but that’s brutal.”
You shrug. “Not as brutal as my mom not coming to my med school graduation.”
He gapes. “What reason could she have possibly had for not showing up?”
“I told her at dinner the night before that I was going into emergency medicine.”
“That’s…” Shen trails off, flabbergasted, “…Wow. Now I'm worried you’re going to kill one of them.”
“Way too much effort. They aren’t worth the jail time.”
The attending tosses his now empty coffee in a nearby trash can. “Well, if you snap and kill them all in a fit of extremely valid rage, please don’t call me. I can’t afford to be implicated.”
“You saying I can’t hide a body myself?”
“I’m saying I can’t hide a body.”
“Who’s hiding bodies?” Jack says, sidling up to the two of you with a tablet and a chart open in his hand.
Shen jams a thumb in your direction. “She’s killing her parents later today.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not. Honestly, so long as I agree with whatever my mom says and don’t bring up any trigger topics, I’ll be fine.”
Jack snorts. “You’re describing being held hostage by someone mentally unstable.”
“Dr. Intern?” Ellis interrupts, using the stupid nickname Santos picked for you when she found out you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift, “There’s a woman in the lobby here to see you. Says she’s your mom.”
Your stomach drops to your feet and your heart seizes in your chest. “It’s six in the morning. Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Someone behind you says “Holy shit,” but you’re already gone. As you’re speed walking you whip out your phone, checking the dates of their flights that you’d only had a chance to skim and— fuck. They got in an hour ago. Why the fuck would she stop here? At the PTMC?
You practically slam the doors open and make eye contact with your mom across the crowded lobby.
“Mom?”
“There you are sweetie. I was trying to explain that there’s nothing wrong with me and I was here to see you, but they wouldn’t let me. Something about a security issue?”
“It’s not safe. We’ve had incidents in the past—“
She waves a hand, dismissing you. “I’m your mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t have had to come down here if you’d just respond to my texts.”
“I’ve told you mom, I’m really busy here and I don’t get very much time to look at my phone—“
“Your brothers take the time out of their busy schedules to text me back,” She sighs, then continues on, “Did you get time off this week for dinner?”
You frown. “I thought we were having lunch.”
“Well, I figured since we’re all making it easier for your work schedule to come to you, you could manage to take a few days off for your family. But if we need to make an extra effort—“
“It’s fine, mom,” You tell her with a gritted-toothed smile, “I can make something work. Can you just send me the dates again?”
“It’s this Friday and Saturday.”
Before you can even open your mouth to respond, a large, warm hand settles on your shoulder. Accompanied by the hand is a steadying one on your lower back, a familiar, rich scent and a low voice.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Jack.
Jack fucking Abbot.
Hottest man in the ED. Probably in the world.
Your mom blinks, clearly caught off guard, before regaining her judgy senses and narrowing her eyes at him.
“I’m trying to have a conversation with my daughter. Don’t tell me you’re security.”
You know for a fact that Jack has his stethoscope around his neck and his keycard in his scrub pocket that says ‘DOCTOR’ on it, so your mom’s just being bitchy. Figures.
Jack’s hand in your shoulder gives you a tiny, reassuring squeeze before he speaks.
“I’m Dr. Abbot,” He sticks out a hand for her to shake, the one that was on your shoulder, “I’m an attending here at the ED.”
And my boss, you mentally add. Your mom probably hears it anyway.
“You work with my daughter?”
“Yes ma’am. She’s the most promising intern we have here on the night shift.”
Your lips twitch at his words. He’s joking. Testing your mother— you’re the only PGY1 on the night shift. If your mom remembers that, she’ll pick up on his joke.
She doesn’t. She purses her lips for a moment before giving him one of her big, fake smiles.
“Well that’s good to hear. We’re very proud of her.”
Proud of the money I send home, maybe.
“If you’ll excuse us, I need her working on patients.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Your mom gushes, clearly already charmed by Jack. He has that effect on people. “I didn’t realize she was so important and busy here.“
You would if you’d ever let me talk about work before interrupting me and telling me what I should be doing better.
Jack’s thumb makes tiny sweeping motions on your lower back, little tingling motions that distract you enough to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.
“I’ll text you as soon as I can, okay mom?”
Your mom sweeps you into a hug, a rare show of affection. Putting on a show for Jack, more than likely.
“No rush. Whenever you get the chance, sweetheart.”
Jack gives her a parting nod, but you wait until your mom’s turned around and walking out of the lobby before allowing Jack to steer you back inside.
The second the doors close behind you and you’re enveloped in the sounds and smells of the heart of the PTMC, you shut your eyes and release a long exhale.
“I,” You start, “Am so sorry. I never thought she’d show up here, I got the flight times mixed up—“
“Hey,” Jack’s voice is low and steady, a much needed anchor. He uses the hand still on your lower back to turn you towards him, “None of that was your fault. We deal with patients like that every day. It is not your job to keep your mother in line.”
“I know. I know. Still, I’m sorry. She can be… difficult.”
He snorts. “Understatement of the year. But seriously. Don’t worry about it. If I didn’t want to get involved with her, I wouldn’t have swooped in there.”
You huff a laugh. “My hero. I’m pretty sure if you’d introduced yourself as my boyfriend she would’ve had an aneurysm. Or a heart attack.”
“Are those desired outcomes?”
“Mostly.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and leans against the opposite wall. “Might be worth a shot, then.”
It’s a very well kept secret that you’ve harbored an embarrassing, ‘think about him while you’re falling asleep at night’ crush on Jack.
So naturally, your response is to laugh. Loudly. And semi-awkwardly. Because he has to be joking. Obviously.
“Yeah, right,” You say, looking down at your feet because eye-contact has never been your forte and Jack’s gaze is too intense, “Could even take you to dinner with me. Maybe my dad would have a heart attack too. Really just wipe out the whole family.”
“You could.”
“Wipe out my entire family?”
“Take me to dinner with you.”
Jack’s body is relaxed and his tone is even. Not light and humor-filled. There’s no mischievous uptick to the corner of his lips. He looks like he’s serious.
“Are you joking?”
He can’t really be serious. He’s probably just fucking with you. He wouldn’t actually—
“No.”
You run a hand over your hair. “Yeah, sure, laugh it up, haha—“
“I’ll go to dinner with you. As your boyfriend.”
What. The. Fuck.
“No.” You gape, incredulous.
“No?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, I mean— fuck. Dr. Abbot—“
“Jack.”
You purse your lips. “Jack. You can’t just… pretend to be my boyfriend at a family lunch.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” You sputter, “For one, we hardly know each other—“
“You’ve been working here for three months. We’re hardly strangers.”
“You’re my boss, your way older than me, you’re—“ You cut yourself off before you can say something embarrassing like ‘you’re ridiculously fucking hot and I haven’t washed my socks in months’, “It wouldn’t even be believable. How would we even have met?”
“In the ED, obviously.”
“How long have we been together?”
“Month and a half.”
“Why are we even dating?”
“Because you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman, not to mention a good doctor.”
Your mouth goes dry, and your stomach does an entire gymnastics routine.
“Have you… thought about this?”
He makes a noncommittal hum, tilts his head back a bit. “Would it work?”
“Are you rich?”
There’s that devilish, pants dropping smile.
“I’m a senior attending on night shifts in an emergency department. I’m comfortable.”
You worry your lip between your teeth. “I still can’t… I appreciate the offer, but I can’t subject you to my family. No one else should have to suffer through these lunches and dinners.”
“But you do?”
“They’re my family.”
Jack doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move off the wall and walk away either. Distantly, you really hope a patient isn’t coding somewhere.
You sigh. “Why would you even offer, anyway?”
“You need help, and I’m in a position to give it. Plus life has been kind of boring recently. My therapist told me to pick a new hobby that doesn’t involve people dying or getting shot at.”
“So you thought spending an evening being subjected to backhanded questions, comments, and not very subtle micro-aggressions was a good substitute?”
“Beats drinking beer in the park.”
You can’t say yes. It’s crazy. One, it would make your crush a million times worse and you might never recover on that fact alone, and two, when this inevitably blows up in your face, your family will never let you live it down and bring it up in literally every conversation for the rest of your life.
On the other hand, if it works, it will work. Your mom would probably get off your back for a while. You wouldn’t be a complete and total disappointment. If it works, it would be a much needed win.
“So. We’ve been dating for a month and a half?”
Jack nods, another smile playing at his lips. “I asked you out, of course.”
“Flowers?”
“Naturally.”
“You pay?”
“For every meal.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Navy blue. Mine?”
You roll your eyes. “Black. What are we going to tell my mom when she pokes at the age gap?”
Someone rushes by, pager beeping, and you both wordlessly start moseying towards your respective patients.
“Will she really be that upset about it?”
“Probably not, but she’ll definitely ask about it. My dad will probably be angry, but he’s easier to placate than my mom is.”
Jack hums thoughtfully. “When’s the lunch today?”
“Twelve-thirty, at that Italian place that has that mussel dish.”
“How about this,” He starts, apparently not needing anymore clarification on the location, “Lets focus on finishing our shifts right now. Then go home, get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up at eleven so you can pick my brain for every detail that you want to make this work. Deal?”
Last chance to back out. Say hell no, this is a crazy idea, why would you even volunteer for it, I changed my mind.
“Deal.”
—
Holy fucking shit. Jack Abbot is your boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. But for the next few hours, he’s as good as yours. Kind of.
In a way.
You’re standing in front of your bathroom mirror, dressed in the outfit you picked out for the stupid lunch when your mom texted you the plane ticket details a month ago.
Neither your makeup nor your hair are cooperating and you really need them to because you have to be perfect, so you need your mascara and stop clumping and your hair to stop laying like that and you just don’t want to fucking go.
Before frustration induced tears can ruin your half-done makeup, a knock sounds at the door.
You rush through your apartment, nearly cracking your skull open on the corner of the couch when you trip over a stray shoe.
Shit, he’s here and you’re not ready, god he’s going to be so upset you have to make him wait it’s so rude—
“Hi!” You swing open the door and plaster what you hope is a cute-frazzled smile and not a panicked one. It’s a thin line between the two, “I’m almost ready, I’m so sorry, you can come in and sit down wherever, I promise I won’t take too long to finish up. Sorry.”
You turn, unable to bear the anger or frustration on his face and dart away (an old method— hiding and disappearing is much better for everyone in the long run) but a hand encircles your wrist before you can successfully escape.
“Woah, easy girl. Nobody’s mad at you. We have time, remember?”
Your smile is definitely coming across as panicked.
Your nails wander and find a hangnail to pick at while you talk. “I know, but that was so we’d have time to plan and it’s rude to make you wait and I really need time to plan, but I can’t get my makeup to look right—“
Jack nudges you into the house and you cut yourself off with another apology. Right. Cause he’s just standing in the hallway and you’re rambling on like someone deranged. God. Why can’t your brain just work? Get into gear? Actually function properly?
“First of all,” Jack starts, gently steering you towards your couch, “You look beautiful.”
Why does he have to say these things? Has he no care for what he’s doing to your heart? Is he unaware that Simone Biles would be impressed with the flip routine your stomach is currently doing?
He places a throw pillow in your hands which were previously clenched in your lap. It’s your favorite throw pillow, actually, because the texture is very soothing. You squeeze it and rub your fingers across the grain.
“Secondly, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can go home and go to bed and if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. Not even to Robby.”
You crack a wobbly smile. “Not even to Nurse Evans?”
“She’d probably guess on her own, but I would never confirm her suspicions.”
You tuck your feet under your legs, shrinking into the corner of your couch. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I already texted my mom to add a person to the reservation, and if I show up without a plus one there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You could swap me with someone else?”
“Do you think I would have agreed to let my boss be my fake boyfriend if I had someone else to bring?”
“Touché.”
The corner thread of your throw pillow has begun unraveling, and your wandering fingers pull and tug at it erratically.
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually this neurotic, I swear. My family brings out the worst in me.”
“I ain’t judging, sweetheart,” Jack soothes, “Besides. We’re ER doctors. We’re all a little neurotic.”
Steadfastly avoiding his gaze (again, just a little too knowing, like he can see every insecurity you’re trying to hide) you stand on shaky legs and rush to the bathroom.
“I’ll just. Finish up. Sorry again.”
“I’m gonna start a tally of unnecessary sorry’s. You’re gonna owe me an hour of overtime for each one.”
Oddly enough, getting ready (the rest of the way) feels much more manageable and much less difficult with Jack nearby. He doesn’t critique how long it takes you, the fact that you change earrings three times, or tell you that you look good enough and should just go.
He just hangs out in your living room, on the couch, practically oozing calm and nonchalance. The foolish, romance-starved part of you wants to cancel on your mom and spend the rest of the day curled up next to him on the couch, like a cat. Lazily dozing while Jack watches TV or something sounds like a much better way to spend your time after work than experiencing all five stages of grief over the course of one lunch. Repeatedly.
Finally ready, and with your sanity intact thanks to Jack, you pause by the kitchen and debate the merits of taking a shot to loosen your nerves. Unfortunately, your mom would undoubtedly somehow smell the alcohol on you and no doubt chew you out for a minimum of twenty minutes. Heaven forbid you make the event bearable.
Ever the kind host, you peek your head around the kitchen wall. “Do you want a shot, Jack?”
“You’re aware that I’m fifty?”
Right. That's probably an unhinged question.
“Just thought I’d offer,” You say, meekly tucking the bottle back under the shelf, slightly embarrassed, “Sometimes alcohol is the only way I can survive these things.”
He’s leaned up against the couch, hands in his pockets when you exit the kitchen. “It was very considerate, thank you. But I think the days of vodka and tequila shots are behind me. I’m more of a whiskey man, anyways.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when we end up at a bar afterwards to drink away memories of the lunch.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “You act like we’re going to be hung, drawn, and quartered after showing up.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “Sorry. I just don’t want you to be unprepared, because they’re not always bad but when they’re bad they’re bad, you know? And I just don’t want to scare you off, and ruin the day you could be spending sleeping, and I really am thankful, by the way, I just don’t—“
“Do you always ramble when you’re worried?” Jack interrupts, tilting his head to the side.
“Um. No? I don’t know. I try not to. But like I said. My family brings out the worst in me.”
He searches your face for a moment, then taps the underside of your chin with a crooked finger, raising it slightly.
“We got this, okay? I’m not easy to scare. Combat med vet, remember? Plus, if it really gets that bad, I’ll fake a call from the hospital. Say there was some horrible accident and we’re being called in.”
“Won’t my mom get wise when she never hears it on the news?”
Jack shrugs. “It’s the city. Something horrible is always happening here.”
He holds the front door open for you when you’ve got your shoes on and purse ready, but as you’re sliding past him, he leans down, the angle of his jaw almost brushing the side of your neck, and breathes in deeply.
“You smell good.”
Fuck the gymnastics routine. Your stomach is going for Olympic Gold.
“Oh,” You exhale, a shiver running up your spine and a pleasant tingling sparking where your skin barely brushed his, “Uh— Thanks. Vanilla and spice. I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”
You manage to squeak out another awkward “Thanks” before hastily locking the door, hoping he can’t tell just how flustered he keeps making you. Judging by the smile playing at his lips, your hopes are in vain.
The car ride to the restaurant is longer than it should be, on account of Pittsburgh traffic, but the time goes by quickly as you pepper Jack with questions to prepare for the million and one that your mother will no doubt ask.
(“What should I say if she asks if we’ve slept together?”
“Do you really, honestly, truly think your mother is going to bring up the topic of sex at the table, in a nice restaurant, with your entire family present?”
“Fair point.”)
By the time you arrive, you’ve picked and torn every single hangnail and loose cuticle around your fingers down to raw flesh and tiny dots of blood. Jack parks the car (parallel parks easily in one go, no repositioning needed, in downtown Pittsburgh. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life) a good distance away from the restaurant, so that your family wouldn’t be able to see you if you decided to flee to his car to escape them.
At least, that’s what he says.
“I want you to hang onto the car keys, okay? If they get too much, you can sneak out through the kitchen and go to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
You can’t help but smile at his efforts. “And what will you be doing while I’m sneaking out?”
“Singing your praises, of course.”
Exhaustion from the shift you worked in what seems like a lifetime ago lines your limbs, but as you step out of the car (through the door Jack insists on opening for you “In case they’re still watching,”) and loop your arm through Jack’s, you feel… almost capable.
The lunch is going to suck. That’s a given. But Jack assured you he’s seen worse (“Probably done worse, sweetheart,”) and will not leave the lunch in a fit of rage and cause a scene. His arm is firm and solid —and fucking huge, how are his biceps that big— under your arm, and his presence is steadying.
As you cross the street and begin your final walk towards the building, he un-loops his arm from yours, but after you make a questioning noise in your throat, worried you’d be completely untethered (how pathetic to already be this reliant on a man, but there’s no time to unpack that now) but instead he wraps his arm around your waist instead, drawing you to his side and effectively grounding you to his body.
The entire left side of your body lights up at the contact, and if this were your apartment, it would be very difficult to refrain from climbing him like a tree or doing something equally embarrassing, like plastering yourself to his side and begging him to never stop touching you.
You’ve almost managed to come off unaffected, but then he leans down, lips almost brushing your ear, and whispers:
“You’ve got this, baby. And if you don’t, I do.”
Forget your family. Jack Abbot is going to be the death of you.
When you walk into the restaurant, hyper-aware of Jack’s grip on your body (your delusional mind has you thinking how… possessive the hand almost feels, if you ignore the fact that this is all fake) your family is waiting in the foyer, talking amongst themselves.
Your mother immediately zeroes in on you. “Honey, we’ve talked about you being on time to these things. You can’t be late to important family—“
You watch in real time as your mother’s gaze finally flicks to Jack, and the shades of recognition, shock, almost disgust, and confusion before settling back into forced pleasantness.
Your father, however, looks downright murderous. Looks like the age gap isn’t going down too well.
If Jack is at all nervous or put off by the several stares and outright glares from your family, he does not show it. He exudes cool confidence, the same unflappable energy he has during chaotic night shifts. The same calm that makes him so alluring to you in the first place.
He sticks out his hand for your mother to shake, a mirror of earlier that day in the PTMC lobby.
“I believe we’ve met before, but I’ll introduce myself again. I’m Dr. Jack Abbot.”
Your mother shakes his hand, but looks between the two of you like you’ve just spilled wine on her Persian rug that she can’t afford in the first place.
“You’re my daughter’s plus one?”
Jack nods. “Her boyfriend, yes.”
Your brother’s gape. Your dad’s glare intensifies. You want to kiss Jack.
“Honey,” Your mother says, gaze darting to you, “You didn’t say—“
“I didn’t want you to meet him at the hospital,” You tell her, hoping the lie doesn’t come across as too rehearsed, since you did rehearse it several times with Jack in the car on the way over, “The lobby of the hospital isn’t the best place to introduce people. And we really did have patients to get back to.”
Your mother purses her lips. “Why the last minute addition? If you’d told me that he was coming before today, it would’ve been easier to make the reservation.”
Jack is quicker to respond than you. “That’s my fault, actually. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come, what with my shifts as a senior attending, but when we met in the lobby I understood how important it was to make the time.”
You have to try hard not to smile at Jack’s not-so-subtle flex. Senior attending.
“Yes, well. My daughter doesn’t always stress the importance of these things.”
Jack’s grip on your waist tightens ever-so-slightly at the backhanded remark, and your mother’s gaze darts to the point of contact. But your father jerks his head towards the tables before she can say anything. “I’m starving.”
Everyone files in behind him, with you and Jack at the back of the line. Again, he leans down to whisper to you.
“How’d I do?”
You elbow him in the side. “We’ll discuss your performance after this is over.”
“Looking forward to it.”
The hostess leads everyone over to a large table near a window (your mother is particularly about seating) and everyone finds a seat. One of your brothers, either as a test or just to be a shit (your money’s on the latter) slides into the open seat next to you before Jack can.
To his credit, Jack doesn’t cause a scene, but he doesn’t back down either. He just stares at your idiot brother for awhile before finally asking:
“Do you really wanna do this right now?”
Your brother must sense that Jack Abbot is not a man to be fucked with (just a man you want to fuck), and scurries to his own seat, tail between his legs.
Once everyone is seated and the food is ordered (you don’t bother ordering anything other than the salad; Jack orders the most expensive thing on their menu. He’s never seemed like one to care for finery and expensive Italian restaurants where you practically have to order in Italian, but again, his unfazed demeanor makes him fit in anywhere) your family immediately begins peppering him with questions. Questions you knew they’d ask and appropriately prepared him for.
“So. Dr. Abbot—”
“Just Jack is fine.”
“—How long have the two of you been dating?”
“A month and a half.”
“Why’d you start dating?”
You take a generous gulp of your wine.
“Because your daughter is an incredible woman and an even better doctor.”
“Do you think she’s pretty?” One of your brothers chimes in.
Jack takes it in stride, despite that not being a question you prepared. “I’d have to be blind and stupid if I didn’t.”
You feel hot from the tips of your ears down to your toes.
That’s going in the mental folder.
“Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”
“Pretty much. Took a bit of a detour as a combat medic first, though.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Honorably discharged after I lost my right leg. Below the knee amputation.”
You drain the rest of your glass and inconspicuously motion to the waiter for more wine.
The table is silent for the customary length of time after someone drops the “got a limb chopped off” bomb. Your family is clearly mildly uncomfortable, but Jack just keeps sipping his drink, his free hand drifting down and brushing the side of your thigh.
Your dad clears his throat. Here we go. Home stretch. Final questions before we’re in the clear.
“Mr. Abbot—“
“Either Doctor or Jack works.”
Ooo. There was some bite in that one.
Your Dad frowns. He does not like to be interrupted or corrected. You’ve been on the receiving end of far too many hour long lectures (read: berating and borderline verbal abuse) to know better.
But Jack isn’t his daughter. Jack is pretty much his equal. Actually, the fact that Jack not only served but is now a doctor places him above your father, by social conventions.
This no doubt infuriates your father. He’s always hated it when he couldn’t tear somebody down to his level. A true coward.
“Jack,” Your dad continues, a trademarked forced smile to save face, “You’re a smart man, yeah? Haven’t you ever considered the age difference between the two of you might be a little much?”
Yikes. Questioning Jack’s competency is not the way to go. Jack is very competent. And smart. And capable. It’s really hot.
Your fake-boyfriend just reaches over and grasps your hand, over the table, and looks at you with such devotion in his eyes that you forget how to breathe.
“War doesn’t really lend to longevity. I’ve learned to hold on tight to things I care about.”
For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake. There’s raw, punched emotion in his voice, and his thumb rubs your hand gently. Like he really does care that much. Like he wants to hold on.
But then your brother fake-gags and your fake boyfriend looks away with that, he’s passed the tests, and the conversation moves onto to different topics. Jack laughs at all the right moments, doesn’t bring up any argument-starting topics, doesn’t rise to bait when it’s thrown his way.
He’s perfect.
Eventually lunch is drawn to a polite close. You have one last glass of wine while Jack settles the bill. Himself. With one card. He doesn’t even look.
Your mom sends a smirk your way after he waves off your father’s attempt at splitting the bill or offering to pay. It’s probably the third time she’s actually looked at you for the entire duration of the lunch, but since it’s positive, you’ll let it slide.
Pretty soon bags are grabbed, hands are shook, and Jack’s hand magically finds its way back to your lower back and you’re being (very gently) escorted out of the restaurant and to the car.
“Wow,” You breathe as you slide into the passenger seat of his car. “I think that’s the smoothest a lunch with my family has ever gone in my entire life. You’re really good at this.”
Jack doesn’t respond though. Doesn’t make any kind of noise that he heard you. His hands are nearly white knuckled on the steering wheel and he’s staring straight ahead.
“Jack?”
“They didn’t even talk to you.”
You blink.
“What?”
“Your family never tried to include you in the conversation. Didn’t even ask you any questions.”
You snort. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
He hasn’t started the car yet, just keeps staring off into the middle ground. He can’t be old enough to start doing a thousand yard stare already, right?
“You ordered a salad.” He says, a very prominent frown on his lips.
“So? It wasn’t too expensive, was it? I swear, if I knew you were gonna pay for the whole bill I would’ve looked at something cheaper, I don’t know why salads are so expensive—“
“Please don’t apologize for ordering a salad,” Jack says, voice pained, “Especially because I know you hate salads.”
Oh.
“How do you know that?”
“I overheard you talking to Dr. King that time you two were discussing the merits of Olive Garden. You said the salad there was the only kind you like, because of the dressing and the pepperoncinis.”
Your cheeks heat. “I never said I hated all salads. I said I like that one in particular.”
“You hardly ate anything during lunch.”
“My family tends to have that effect on my appetite.”
Jack does not look placated. He doesn’t take the out that your little joke provides. Doesn't so much as huff. He looks upset. Distressed.
Something about what he said goes ding! in your mind.
“…Mel and I had that conversation like, last month. You seriously remembered that?”
He frowns harder, like the answer to your partly rhetorical question should be obvious.
(It’s not. Why would he remember that conversation? Why would he care at all?)
“Of course I remember.”
There isn’t much to say after that. You’re not really sure what in particular has upset Jack, what possibly blunder or error you’ve made to incur him going completely monosyllabic and frowny. Ever eager to appease, you refrain from any attempts to cajole him, make conversation, breathe too loudly, or make any kind of indication that you’re still present.
The tension in the car is thick and uncomfortable. It prickles at your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck, but the only thing you dare to do is scroll through Pinterest, only looking at the safest, basic boards in case Jack glances over (he doesn’t.)
But then he does glance over. He just doesn’t look at your phone.
Jack just keeps looking at you.
He’ll look over, eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something, and then he’ll look away. Over and over for almost the entire course of the drive. He only stops when you accidentally time your staring (monitoring) of him wrong and make eye contact.
He parks by your place (he once again sexily parallel parks with ease) and then puts the car in park. And then he starts talking.
“You’re so much more than them.”
Jack has the heat on, but the air in the car suddenly feels cold.
“What?”
“Your family,” Jack clarifies, like that was the confusing part “Your parents. I hated watching you… disappear like that. You deserve better than that. You are better than that.”
You try to swallow, almost choking on the sudden lump in your throat.
“Listen,” You start, unaware of how to even begin processing what he said, let alone formulating the best response because your brain is just flashing abort! Abort! Abort! in big neon letters,, “Thank you for today. I really appreciate it. But if this is all just too much, I can handle things from here. Really. I can say that someone called out and you had to cover shifts—“
“No.”
Jack says it with such vehemence, bordering on vitriol, that it startles you, and you flinch backwards ever so slightly.
An old habit.
Something flashes across his face —gone before you can decipher it— and he noticeably forces himself calmer.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go alone again. Ever.”
Your brain starts short-circuiting at his words. “I really can’t ask you to—“
“It’s a good thing you’re not asking me then.”
“Jack—“
“Please.”
You’re stunned silent at the rawness in his tone— the pain.
He said please. He said it like he was begging. He is begging.
“I don’t know how you do it,” He continues, jaw working, “I can see it on you, plain as day. How you hate what they do, how it makes you hurt. But you keep going.”
You shrug uselessly. “Is there another option?”
Jack reaches out for you, then falters, like he thought better. A tiny part of you wishes he’d followed through; bridged the yawning gap between the two of you that’s made up of the center console in his car, a couple decades, and your own unwillingness to try at vulnerability.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
The walk to your door is a stark contrast to the walk to the restaurant. There’s no mischief on his face now, only a mask of stony distress.
At the doorway to your apartment building, you pause. It seems customary. Appropriate. Necessary.
Really, you just want to look at Jack some more. Try to puzzle out why the lunch that felt like it went so well made him so upset. Where you’re getting signals wrong and crossing wires. Why success to you is failure to him.
(As an ED resident, you’ve seen child abuse cases. You’ve seen foster care children littered with cigarette burns and criss-crossing scars of broken bottles and the corners of coffee tables and haunted eyes.
You know your family isn’t great. But there aren’t any cigarette burns or glass scars or eyes that track fast movement.)
You have this burning inclination to apologize to Jack. Logically, you know you haven’t done something wrong, but you feel like you have because he’s upset so maybe you can make it better?
“You have that look on your face.”
You frown. “What look?”
“The ‘I’m gonna apologize for something stupid’ look.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it,” Jack ducks down, catches your eyes, “Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
“It’s freaky when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You always know what I’m thinking.”
Jack just huffs; shoves his hands in his pockets.
Emboldened by his reassurance, you ask: “Why are you upset?”
“Because your family treats you like shit, and I want to fix it, but I can’t.”
“Oh.”
It’s not that bad. It can’t be that bad. You’ve seen bad. This isn’t it. It’s hard, but it’s not bad.
He stays quiet, seemingly sensing the inner turmoil his words have sparked. That, or he really is that good at reading you.
Jack nods towards your door. “We can talk later. Get some sleep. We both have shifts tonight.”
Right. Yeah. All of these events roughly occurred over the course of six hours. Time makes sense.
Despite the fact that you are exhausted and desperately need to sleep if you have any chance of surviving your –quickly approaching– shift, you linger.
“How am I supposed to repay you for all of this?”
The question that’s been burning a hole in your pocket since he said I’ll do it.
He just shakes his head. Like it’s simple. Easy. “This isn’t something I want repayment for. Now go. You’re no good to me as a zombie.”
“I’ll just have some of Shen’s Dunkin.”
“He doesn’t share that shit. Besides, he’s off tomorrow.”
“Maybe I‘ll—“
“Sleep,” He points at your door, “Now.”
You smile at his insistence. He’s sort of like cold coffee with sugar. Seems all bitter but then you get a bit of that sweet crunch, so it balances out. He balances out.
Sometimes it feels like he balances you out.
“Goodnight.”
He gives you a little smile of his own.
“Goodnight.”
—
Jack Abbot does not take his own advice. Mostly because he knows if he doesn’t talk about what happened during that lunch from hell, he’s going to do something that will end in him being thrown in prison and having his medical license revoked. More importantly, if that happens, he won’t be around to take care of you.
So instead he collapses on his couch, works his prosthetic off to give his stump a needed break, and dials the number at the top of his favorites in his contact list.
“This really isn’t a good time—“
“Robby,” Jack starts, “They didn’t even fucking talk to her.”
“Jesus, okay. Whitaker! Cover for me a sec, will you? I gotta deal with this.”
“They just…” Jack continues, genuinely at a loss for words. His vocabulary feels woefully unequipped to relay the depth of anger he feels about the events of the lunch, “…Ignored her. They talked over her, didn’t ask her questions, hardly ever let her finish speaking when she did finally get a chance to speak, and threw jabs at her constantly. It was fucking awful.“
The background noise quiets over the phone, and Jack knows Robby’s moved to either the break room or an empty patient room.
“She fight back at all?”
“No. Just… grinned and beared it. It was fuckin’ unsettling, man. I’ve seen her yell back at rude patients, watched her stand her ground to EMT’s who think they know better. It was like she hollowed herself out to sit at that table.”
“Christ.”
“She flinched away from me. Afterwards, in the car, when I raised my voice on accident.”
“Fuck. Do you think—“
“I don’t know. Maybe when she was younger. They don’t live in state, so if they are, she’s safe.”
Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “God. I don’t know what to do, Robby. It doesn’t seem like she’s got… anybody. She didn’t even understand why I was upset. She doesn’t get why that would be upsetting.”
“She’s friends with Mel and Santos, right?”
“And Whitaker by extension, yeah. But those are recent friends. I’ve never heard her mention anybody from back home. No boyfriend or best friend or anything. She’s just been doing everything on her own.”
Jack can picture Robby nodding. “We’ve done our fair share of that.”
“Yeah, and look where that got us. I can’t just leave her here. Fuck, it was like watching someone kick a puppy, over and over.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah.”
The line goes silent for a bit, both men stewing on the subject at hand.
“She’s always had these habits. I thought they were just personality quirks, you know. I mean, we’re all fucked up, but watching it happen…”
“It’s different.”
“You could say that,” Jack sighs, “She soaks up praise like a fucking sponge. She looks surprised every time I do something nice for her. And she keeps trying to make me happy.”
“You lost me on that last one.”
“It doesn’t… She’s not doing it to make me happy, exactly. She just does everything she can to keep me from getting mad.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is. Eager to please versus eager to appease.”
“Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“Bit late for that.”
“You could pull back.”
“Fuck no, I can’t. Then I’d be kicking the puppy.”
“She is a grown woman.”
“Who happens to look like a kicked puppy.”
He scrubs a hand down his face, groaning into the microphone.
“You finally realize how ridiculous you sound?”
Jack grunts. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of answering that.”
The line crackles with the staticky sound of Robby chuckling. “That’s an answer in it of itself, and you know that.”
He lets the line go quiet again, briefly debating just hanging up.
“I don’t know, Robby. It’s just…”
“Worse than you expected?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. You knew that was a possibility. Has it put you off, at all?”
“Fuck no.”
“Exactly. Now please, go to bed so I can get back to saving lives? Whitaker is covering for me and he’s only gone through two pairs of scrubs so far today. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I’d bet money that he’s moved onto his third during this conversation.”
“I save lives too.”
“You won’t save any if you fall asleep on the drive over and die.”
“I would never fall asleep behind the wheel.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Jack really does hang up after that, plugging his phone in and rushing through everything he needs to do before bed.
But even as exhaustion pulls his body down into deep, dreamless sleep, he can’t stop thinking about that hollow look on your face. And he knows, even half-asleep, that he won’t be able to let it go.
—
The next night at work is weird, because nothing has changed, except now you know what the inside of Jack’s car looks like and how his voice sounded when he begged you to let him help.
It’s jarring, to say the least. Unsteadying and mildly world-rocking if you’re being honest.
But gossip travels fast within the walls of the PTMC, so by the time night shift is halfway over, you’re convinced you’ve heard every variation in existence of the same two questions:
“Did you and Jack go on a date yesterday?”
And:
“What’s Jack like on a date?”
The answer to the first question is complicated and embarrassing, so you don’t answer it or any of it’s variants. The answer to the second question is not complicated but it does, however, stir some very complicated feelings, so you refrain from answering that one too. You just try to refrain from thinking about or seeing him in general.
You’re not avoiding Jack, per se. Just keeping busy. With other stuff. That’s conveniently nowhere near him.
Ellis keeps shooting you entirely too knowing looks, Mckay, who’s pulling a double, pats your shoulder and tells you she’s there if you want to talk, Shen is absent as Jack said he would be, and Jack himself is acting like nothing happened and everything is normal and he’s never been to your apartment smelled your perfume.
(“…I like layering scents.”
“It’s nice. Suits you.”)
It’s all too much.
Hence the avoiding.
You try to curb your own ridiculousness for the sake of your patients, but it’s oddly difficult. You’ve always been amazing at compartmentalizing. If your family gave you any kind of skill, it’s the ability to shove your feelings in a box, and then shove that box in a corner of your mind you won’t access consciously until you end up on public transportation with your headphones. You should be more than capable of gathering up all the loose feelings labeled ‘For: Jack Abbot’ and tucking them all nice and neat in that little box and then shove it in a dark mental corner.
But you can’t. And along with the flurry of Jack Abbot causing a hurricane in your head, there’s a lesser storm that is the result of your family. More specifically, how they look to Jack.
All roads lead back to Rome. Or, in your case, to Jack.
You catch yourself during every spare moment or menial task that doesn’t require 100% of your brain power analyzing every interaction he had with them. Everything they said, everything they did, and how Jack would’ve taken it. And why. Because clearly, the act of dealing with them isn’t the problem. The ease and finesse in which he did so crosses that off the list. So it’s something else.
It’s how they treat you.
You understand, logically, that it would be upsetting, from his point of view. If you were in his place, you’d also probably be upset too.
But this feels different. Jack’s reaction is different. Jack is different.
It’s just never really been something that anyone should be upset over. Your family are who they are. Not great, but not truly bad either. You deal with them sparingly. You don’t even live in the same state anymore. It’s not a big deal.
“Why are you hiding from me in a supply closet?”
You whirl around, a box of gloves clutched in your hands.
“I’m not hiding from you.”
Jack crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “This is the third time you’ve been here in two hours.”
“So? I just want to be… on top of things. I’m a productive person.”
“You are,” He amends, “But all of your productivity tonight has been pretty strictly nowhere near me. Funny how that works.”
You sigh, placing the gloves back on the rack. “Things are just… weird, okay? I don’t know how you’re being so normal about all this?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Normal how?”
“You seemed pretty upset yesterday. You’re acting like nothing’s changed, but–”
“Nothing has changed.”
Your fingers wander and find a loose piece of skin on the edge of your cuticle, and you begin absent-mindedly picking at it.
You can’t exactly disagree with him, right here, in the supply closet at the hospital. But you can’t quite bring yourself to agree either– because whether he acknowledges it or not, things have changed. Seeing him outside the hospital, perfectly placating your family into one of the most peaceful get-togethers you’ve had in years isn't just nothing.
It’s everything. And you, for one, can’t just pretend that it didn’t happen.
“Hey,” He calls your name softly, “What’s on your mind? What’s bugging you?”
“Nothing.”
He snorts, pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door behind him, so it’s just the two of you alone. “Liar.”
He doesn’t probe any further, just leans against the now closed door with his hands in his pockets, eyes flitting over you like they’re looking for an answer. An answer you’re too hesitant to give.
“I’m just worried.”
“You? Worried? No.”
You cut him a glare, “There’s a very real chance that this could all go horribly awry, you know.”
“Sure,” Jack dips his head, “But that’s not what you’re really worried about.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because that doesn’t address the fact that you’re avoiding me.”
You sigh, scrubbing a hand across your face.
“Why do you care?”
The question that’s been nagging at you since the beginning. The little itch in the back of your mind that you just can’t seem to get rid of. The puzzle you can’t figure out; the tune you can’t place.
You’re a logic driven person. You like knowing how things works– why they work. Why things do the things they do.
You like having the why. Having the why makes the world make sense.
Nothing about Jack Abbot makes sense.
“Why do I care about what?”
“This,” You gesture vaguely to the air, “Me. I don’t buy that you just didn’t have anything better to do or whatever it was you said. People don’t just… do that. You’re really ruining your life for an entire week for what? So I'm a little less uncomfortable? Me? At the end of the day, we’re just coworkers. I know how important your down time is for you, so I just don’t get why you’re so okay with being miserable just for my sake. I’m not that important. These stupid lunches aren’t that important.”
It’s a stupid confession. Much too vulnerable for a supply closet and a man you’re harboring feelings for.
He doesn’t respond right away. Hums, stares at his shoes for a bit. Re-adjusts so his prosthetic isn’t taking so much weight.
“You are important. You’re important to me, to this hospital, to your patients. And for the record, I am not ‘ruining my week.’ If it was that easy for my week to be ruined, I never would have become a doctor, let alone joined the military.”
“But why?”
“Jesus, you watched a lot of the science channel growing up, didn’t you?”
You snort. “Guilty as charged.”
Now it’s his turn to sigh.
“You… seem to have this misguided belief that caring is reciprocal in nature.”
You frown. “It is.”
“It isn’t. At least it shouldn’t be, but I don’t think anyone ever told you that.”
You scoff. “So this is about my family.”
He shrugs. “Amongst other things.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“They are.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“It’s not a competition.”
You resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“Because it’s a big deal to you.”
The air gets quiet and tense. Like the supply closet and all the medical supplies in it are holding their breath. If they were alive, if they were holding their breath, you’re convinced they’d all be looking at you.
It’s Jack who speaks first though.
“I can see it. You do everything yourself, get back up even when it’s hard. You look out for other people more than you look out for yourself. You’re selfless and kind and I don’t think very many people give that back to you.”
A reflexive smile pulls at your lips, a habit you never quite managed to kick after years of people telling you ‘smile, look grateful, stop looking so upset, there’s nothing to cry about.’ It feels awkward and clunky on your mouth but you don’t know what else to do. There’s no pre-written protocol for something like this.
“I still don’t really get it.” You murmur, more to yourself than to Jack.
Jack sends you a light grin. “We’ll work on it.”
“We will?”
“Sure,” He shrugs, “Already started anyways.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” He opens the door, “Now get back out there. And bring the gloves too.”
You roll your eyes but comply, snagging the box off the shelf where you’d left it and following him out.
The rest of your shift passes much smoother than before, even with the routine influx of patients as the time inches closer to morning. Jack doesn’t hover, but doesn’t pull the disappearing act that you (totally fairly) pulled on him either. He truly seems unfazed. Like it really, actually doesn’t bother him.
Well. Correction. It does bother him, but not because it’s something he’s doing for you, the part that bothers him (apparently) is how all of this affects you. All this caring makes you feel like a deer in the headlights.
You recall something he said that night. Something that had made you shiver– something that hit the nail right on the head.
“Hey, listen to me. You cannot fix what I am upset about. It is not your job. My mood is not your responsibility.”
He always seems to know exactly what to say to you. How to act, what to do, what specific worry you’re feeling and the best course of action to soothe it. It’s great but it’s also difficult, because there’s a part of you that wants to let him keep doing it, but then there’s the part of you that bristles every time and wants to snap that you’re completely capable of doing things yourself.
That probably wouldn’t even work. He’d just say something infuriating and sexy, like “I know, but I want to do this for you.”
He would. He totally would.
The thought is equal parts haunting and reassuring.
(And maybe, also, a little, kind of really sweet?)
–
The next two lunches go great. Jack is still freakishly incredible at charming your family. And, with his help, you actually manage to hold a (mostly) civil conversation with your parents for the first time in… years.
The lunches are fine, but the part you’ve started looking forward to is the before and after. Before, Jack comes to pick you up, and sometimes he comes early and helps prepare (which mostly involves him either talking you off the ledge, pouring a shot or two, or assuring you that your makeup and outfit look great. Not fine, great) or just to hang out. The hanging out part is nice, because he never comes with any sort of expectation. He’ll sit on your couch and scroll through his phone and entertain all the inane chatter you like to get out of your system beforehand but never had an outlet for before.
The after is even more fun. You run through the highlights of the night and hate on all the annoying things your family said to you. This usually also involves stopping somewhere for food (only for you, Jack’s never hungry because he eats t=at the restaurants but you’re never allowed to order anything that isn’t a salad) and then the two fo you fight over who pays. You always insist since you’re the only one actually eating any of the food, but then Jack usually takes your card, puts it in his pocket, and uses his own.
It’s as frustrating as it is hot.
But for the most part, the lunches and your shifts at work have actually been pretty good– as good as night shifts in a trauma center can be, anyway. Jack’s presence is… steadying, even when he’s not physically there. He’s always present in some way– whether it’s little reminders he leaves at your favorite spot for charting (he only uses blue sticky notes) or a real lunch left for you in the breakroom fridge (you weren’t previously aware he actually knew how to cook, or that he knew how picky you are when it comes to what you’ll actually eat for lunch and how often you get too busy to properly make something.) Sometimes he’s there in your head; in little things he’s told or taught you that you remember in the moment.
It’s nice. To have someone be around. Someone you can relax with, joke with– someone who hasn’t looked down on you for the the way you turned out.
You were pretty ready to declare smooth sailing ahead, but then on the third lunch your mother shows up and is decidedly not in a good mood and the seas turn choppy and the boat smashes into the rocks below.
At least, two peach bellinis in, that’s what it feels like.
“Honestly,” Your mother puffs, “I don’t understand why making some simple appetizers could take so long. This is why I hate going to restaurants during lunch hours, the staff just gets so lazy. The menu is always better at dinner anyways.”
You ignore the thinly veiled dig and instead choose to quietly drain the rest of your third peach bellini. They taste like juice and take a much needed edge (or two) of the evening. Lunch. What-fucking-ever.
Jack, ever aware of the best way to survive these functions (somehow) whilst keeping his sanity, remains silent as your mom huffs and puffs, seeming to understand that trying to placate her when she gets in these moods is a fruitless endeavor that only leads to your mom getting more upset and everyone else more annoyed.
You, made slightly optimistic by the wonderful powers of alcohol, attempt to put her in a better mood.
“I have the next three days off, mom. We’ll be able to do dinners instead.”
Your mother, however, only scoffs. “That’s no good to anyone now. We’ve already spent half this week dealing with poor restaurant service. I mean, no respectable job would have such a ridiculous schedule."
“I’m a doctor, mom. It doesn’t get more respectable than that.”
Jack nudges your leg with his, either a silent laugh, show of support, or quiet question of your sanity. Maybe all three.
Another bellini appears in front of you, this one heavier on the alcohol than the last. Your server is getting a giant tip when this is all over.
“You work in the emergency department, dear. That’s hardly stable, and stable is respectable,” Jack clears his throat, and your mother at least has the manners to look mildly sheepish, “No offense, Jack.”
He smiles thinly. “None taken.”
Conversation from there is stilted at best with even your brothers tip-toeing around your mother. No one wants to be the subject of a nitpicking lecture, even when the version she gives them is a slap on the wrist compared to what you endure.
So you keep drinking your bellini’s and they keep coming. After your fourth, you think you should maybe slow down a little, but then your dad starts grilling Jack about his life (again) and you decide that alcohol is, in fact, necessary.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship before, Jack?”
That one almost makes you ask the server for a shot of vodka, straight. That’s a question you ask a nineteen year-old pimple-faced boy, not a fucking fifty year old man.
“I have, yes. But, like most things in life, they were learning experiences. I’ve moved on.”
Your dad snorts, then gestures to you. “You could teach her a thing or two about moving on.”
Your blood runs cold.
Jack sets his glass down. “And what do you mean by that?”
It’s your mother who answers. Because one vulture circling your soon-to-be carcass wasn’t enough.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you. It was all she ever talked about for years. She’s had exactly one boyfriend before you– what was his name honey?”
“Christopher,” You answer hollowly, stomach churning.
Your dad snaps his fingers. “That’s it. It took ages for her to get her first boyfriend. We were fairly convinced it would never happen, but then one day she came home with Christopher. Whole family wanted to throw a party– finally found someone to put up with all that attitude!”
Your family laughs, but Jack doesn’t.
“Where’s the funny part, in all this?”
Your mother clears her throat, just a tad awkward. “When she broke up with him it was awful. She refused to leave her room for works, cried all the time. Honestly, I would have understood if he had broken up with her, but it was all her decision.”
Your dad nods in agreement. “We had to have a sit-down conversation with her about decisions and consequences before she finally stopped crying and hiding in her room. Christopher was such a nice boy, we hated to see him go.”
Jack opens his mouth, poised to fire something back and defend you, but you beat him to the punch.
“He cheated on me with my best friend.”
At that, your mother frowns. “That’s not what Christopher said. You were in your teen angst era, remember? Always picking fights? He told your brother that you were so distant with him he didn’t know you were still together.”
“I wasn’t distant, I was really busy. I was studying for the MCAT. He knew that. He knew how important medical school was to me.”
Your brother rolls his eyes. “Med school was all you talked about. It’s not like you were putting out.”
Your mother snaps her fingers once. “That is inappropriate talk for public. You know better.”
“Come on, mom. It’s true. Everyone knows–”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jack says, not at all sounding sorry, “But the hospital just texted. There’s an emergency, and we’re needed, so we have to go.”
Jack does not wait for your mother or father to excuse him. He just stands, offering you his hand. It turns out that you need it, because there is, apparently, such a thing as too many peach bellinis. Your mom sends you a pointed glare as you stumble once, after which you make a concerted effort to look more sober.
Neither you nor Jack bother saying proper goodbyes. Once he grabs your jacket and purse (and your vision stops swimming so much and you’re sure you can walk in a convincing approximation of a straight line) you’re both gone. You pass your server on the way out, who is slipped a very generous cash tip for the excellent bellini service.
By the time you get to the car, you realize that you’re about to have to save patient lives and you are very, extremely, drunk. There is no way you are capable of doing any life-saving at the moment.
“Jack,” You mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt, “I think I’m too drunk to go in. Did they say how serious the emergency was? Can I just get a banana bag?”
“There is no emergency,” He says calmly, batting your hands away and buckling you in properly, “I made it up. I figured you’d be okay with ducking out of there.”
“Oh. That was nice of you.”
He clicks you in and gives you a wry grin. “Told you I would handle things.”
You nod, the movement exaggerated and lopsided. “I hate it when they bring up Christpher. They always take his side. Like, is there ever a situation where it’s okay to cheat on a girl with her best friend? I was studying for the MCAT. I didn’t even wallow or break up with him when I found out. I waited until after I took the exam so I didn’t fuck up my score.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Christopher was an asshole. He was a real dickhead. The whole situation sucked. I lost the only two people who I thought cared about me at the same time. My family acted like I was the fucking anti-christ for being upset about it, too. It was fucking terrible. I’m so glad I don’t live with them anymore. I mean, I still love them, and I care about them, cause they’re my family, but everything is just so much easier when they’re not around.”
“You’re allowed to hate them, you know.”
“I know,” You say, fiddling with a hangnail. “I know I probably should.”
You sigh, tilting your head back against the headrest. “I always keep holding out hope, you know? That one day they’ll apologize, figure their shit out, care about me in a way that matters. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.”
You frown. “It’s not? It kinda seems stupid. You’d think by now I would know better.”
“No,” Jack eases the car out of the parking space, “We’re biologically wired to love our families. It’s the reason why they can fuck you up so bad. Your brain can’t compute why the people who are supposed to love you above all else just… don’t. Not in any of the right ways.”
You blow air through your lips. “I think my parents fucked me up. I was so happy when I matched into the Pitt, because it was so far away. But then I got out here it just kind of hit me, all at once, that I was alone. My best friend was gone, my ex boyfriend sucked, and I was too busy in med school taking care of myself and my family to make any friends.”
Shit, that sounds so whiny. “But it turns out it wasn’t so bad. Now I've got Mell, and Santos, and I’m pretty sure I’m friends with Shen too. Mckay is nice too. I like her. She’s cool.”
Jack huffs something that could be a laugh, and you turn to study him; the angles of his face awash in the glow of the red light you’re currently stopped at. From here, you can see the tiny bits of tension he carries in his face— a slight pinch in his brow, the tiniest downturn of his lips. It’s the only evidence that he’s not as unaffected by your family as he pretends to be.
Then the light turns green, and his face isn’t illuminated the same.
“And what about me?”
Oh. Well. That’s a loaded question.
The alcohol emboldens you to answer honestly. “I don’t know what to think about you.”
“Oh really?”
“Mmm. Nope.”
“How come?”
"You're so–” You gesture vaguely, “Confusing. I can’t figure you out. For a while there, I was pretty sure you hated me, but then you offered to help me with this and you keep saying you care so I think I’m wrong.”
“You think you’re wrong?”
“Still can’t figure you out.”
“And how can I show you that I mean it?”
That’s. Hmm.
“I don’t know. I think what you’re doing is working,” You pause, debating the pros and cons of continuing to just say whatever the fuck you want before deciding you’re too tired to care, “It helps that you’re really hot.”
His lips twitch. “Oh, does it now?”
“Mhm. You’ve got this whole… capable thing about you. It’s hot. Competency is in.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so. I feel like if I had a problem I could call you or something and you would fix it. You’re so…”
“Competent?”
“That’s the word.”
If he’s at all irritated, annoyed, or otherwise put off by your stupid rambling, he didn’t show it.
“You should call me whenever you have a problem. Chances are, I can fix it.”
“Are you like Bob the Builder?”
“I’m a doctor, so no.”
“You’re kind of like Bob the Builder.”
“Whatever you say,” He pauses at an empty intersection before continuing on, “Before I start heading towards your place, do you want to stop by mine? You didn’t even get to eat your salad, and I have leftovers. You can say no.”
“Are you gonna be mad at me if I say no?”
“No.”
‘Then yes.”
“You sure? I wasn’t lying.”
“I know. But I like your cooking.”
You spend the drive to Jack’s continuing to ramble about nothing and everything, to which he entertains with a seemingly endless amount of patience. The only time he interrupts is to hand you a bottle of Gatorade he procured from his back seat. Apparently, he bought a few to keep in his car after the first lunch. “For any alcohol excursions.”
It’s freaky how prepared he is for every situation.
When you arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt for you (unbuckling is just as difficult as buckling when you’ve had an unknown amount of peach bellinis) and helps you up the stairs to his apartment.
His gigantic apartment.
“Woah,” You mumble as you shuffle through the doorway, pulled along by your hand in Jacks, “I didn’t know they made apartments this size.”
“Its not that big.”
“I think, like, four of my apartments could fit in here. Your living room is the size of my entire place.”
You stumble once, heel catching on the little rug on the entry way, and he’s immediately motioning for you to sit on the little bench by the door and pats his thigh once. You clumsily raise your leg, barely managing to land your foot on the general area he gestures to. He pulls the first shoe off, then repeats with the second with an air of total calm. Like this is normal and he does this all the time for you. Like you regularly find yourself drunk in his apartment.
You decide to unpack the moment when you’re sober.
“One, it’s not that big, and two, that’s what you get for renting a studio apartment.”
“Like you could afford better when you were an intern.”
He snorts, leading you to his couch and gesturing for you to sit. “If you want to change clothes you can borrow some of mine.”
You chew on your lip. The outfits you choose to look nice for your mother are never exactly comfortable, and when else are you going to get the chance to privately live the scenario you fantasize about several times a week before falling asleep?
“Only if you don’t mind.”
“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t. Stay there.”
Jack’s only gone for a few minutes before he reappears with a dark grey sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants in a slightly lighter shade. The sweatshirt is oversized and looks well worn, but the sweatpants are suspiciously new, close to your size, and look eerily similar to a pair you changed into after a shift a few weeks ago.
He hands them to you. Neither of you mention the sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom. Door locks from the inside. I’m gonna change too, and then I’ll heat up the food.”
Jack shows you the bathroom (you don’t bother unpacking why exactly he felt the need to tell you that the door locks and from the inside, that’s for when you’re significantly more drunk than you are now and when you’re not in his fancy-ass apartment.)
Because he’s a man and men take approximately three seconds to change, he’s already in the kitchen setting stuff on the counter by the time you emerge from the bathroom. His countertops are solid granite, because the apartment is clearly expensive and he’s a man. They’re an inky black color with tiny flecks that sparkle when the light hits them just so.
“What are you doing?” Jack asks when he turns from the fridge to find you tilting your head this way and that.
“Looking at the sparkles.”
“Oookay. Do you want me to heat up the vodka pasta or the chicken?”
“You made vodka pasta?”
He shrugs. “You said you liked it.”
You slide into a seat at the kitchen island, a flush creeping up your neck. “The pasta, please.”
Suddenly exhausted now that you’re in soft, comfortable clothes that smell like Jack, you decide to just rest your head on your arms for a bit. And close your eyes. But you’re not going to fall asleep. You’re not.
“Don’t fall asleep. You need to eat something first.”
“M’ not fallin’ asleep.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
With great effort, you blink your eyes open and watch Jack while he heats up the pasta and prepares something else. A salad maybe?
“What’re’you’ making?”
“Just a little salad. In case the pasta is too heavy for you.”
“Oh. How come?”
“Because I don’t want you to throw up.”
“I promise I won’t throw up on your furniture. I don’t usually throw up when I’m hungover.”
“You drink often?”
“No,” Your head lulls to the side, “I’m too busy. I’m actually not-so-secretly very boring. I don’t really like partying. I much prefer staying at home.”
“Thought you went to that thing with King and Santos?”
“Yeah, but that was ‘cause Trinity really wanted me to come and I felt bad and I didn’t want her to think I was a boring, uptight bitch.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. I kinda had fun, though. I wished you were there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” You sigh, probably a hint too dreamily, “Makes me feel better when you’re around.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He slides a little bowl with a light salad in it to you across the counter, and it's perfectly refreshing. Not at all heavy like the pasta ends up being.
“Sorry I couldn’t finish it,” You say, forcing down a yawn and resisting the urge to burrow into your arms and go to sleep right there, “I feel bad that you went through the trouble of making it and heating it up.”
“It wasn’t that much effort. Besides, now you can just eat it for lunch tomorrow instead. I’ll send it home with you.”
“Mhm.” You hum, slowly inching your arms forward and down onto the counter, your head quickly following suit.
Jack chuckles, and you can hear the light step of his feet as he rounds the corner of the island and nudges you in the arm.
“Come on, sweetheart. You wanna get home to bed, don’t you?”
“No,” You shake your head, “I wanna sleep right here. It’s comfortable.”
“It won’t be when you wake up.”
You whine, curling away from him.
He just puffs another little laugh. “You can either sleep in your bed, or my bed. You can’t sleep on the kitchen island.”
“Why not?” You finally lift your head, “And why is your bed an option?”
“One,” He lifts up one finger in front of your face and slowly drags it back and forth, “Because the kitchen island is not a bed. Two, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Is your couch uncomfortable?”
“No,” He says, shuffling back over to where the leftovers are and tucking all the food away in the proper places, “It’s just not right to make a woman sleep on the couch.”
“I like sleeping on couches.”
He shoots you a look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you do. But you’re still a little drunk, and my bed is closer to the bathroom than the couch is.”
You prop your head on your hand. “Who said I’m even staying here tonight?”
Jack closes the fridge. “Do you want to? Because I don’t care either way. We both have tomorrow off.”
“It’d be weird to wake up here.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my boss.”
“And I’m faking being your boyfriend so your parents get off your back. Pretty sure we’re past coworkers.”
“What would we even do in the morning?”
“Sleep.”
“I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You’re my guest–”
“You’re already doing so much for me,” You blurt, stomach clenching, “I– You know me. I can only handle so much. Let me do this one thing? Please?”
Jack glowers for a bit, then sighs.
“Only because you asked nicely and I believe in rewarding good behavior. And because I know my couch isn’t uncomfortable. I’ll help you make it up.”
Jack’s apartment is surprisingly tidy for the fact that a man lives in it (Christopher’s room at his parent’s house always looked like shit) and he pulls down a couple options for bedding. You go with the plain black sheet and its matching thick, fluffy comforter. He insists on making up the couch himself (despite the fact that the alcohol has mostly worn off by now) and even sets up a glass of water, a liquid IV packet, and a bucket– “Just in case those bellini’s don’t love you back.”
The sight of it all is almost too much. It’s just so much care. All of it. The fact that he’s helping out with you and your disaster of a family, the way that despite the horribleness of it all he hasn’t judged you at all for how you deal with them. He refuses to let you drive yourself, always pays for every lunch for your entire family and the little snacks you get afterwards. Listens to you rant and he makes you food and gets you blankets and–
“You okay there?”
“Mhm,” You hum, “Just thinkin’.”
He leaves you be for a moment, busies himself with fixing your pillows and and tugging the comforter into its proper place.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn, throwing your arms around Jack’s middle and burying your face in his chest.
“Thank you,” You say, voice muffled by the fabric, “For doing all of this. Thank you for looking out for me.”
Jack is still for a second, just long enough for you to second guess initiating physical contact –a line you were previously too scared to cross– but then his hands come up and it's so, immediately, remarkably over. Because you’re never ever going to draw that line again. You can never go back to your life without having this. Without having him.
Jack’s hands are big and deliciously warm as they slide up, around your waist, lingering to rub a few circles on the mid of your back before moving on. One arm stays, tightening around your waist and drawing you closer while his other glides further up, up, up, his callused palms sliding over the knob at the very base of your neck before his hand settles around your nape, fingers just barely brushing the edge of your hairline.
You barely manage to suppress a whine at how warm and incredible it feels to be fully enveloped by him. You never want him to let go. Goosebumps erupt everywhere he touches, little sparks of electricity lingering under your skin in his wake.
“I will always,” He presses the lightest of kisses to your temple, just a feathering of his lips, “Look out for you, baby. I’m always gonna be right here.”
His arms tighten around you, drawing you in— closer, closer, closer. Wrapped up in everything that is Jack you can’t help but sag, going completely boneless in his grip and allowing yourself to just bask in him.
“You smell good.” You mumble into his shirt, completely lost in the moment.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Good. Like man.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your cheek. “Thank you sweetheart.”
“Why do you call me sweetheart?”
“Because you’re a sweetheart.”
“I am?”
“Don’t play dumb now,” He pulls back a little, just enough to get a good look at you, fingers curling in the fine hair at your nape and tugging down, angling your chin up so you’re forced to look at him, “You know you are.”
You shrug, eyes darting to the side, your cheeks flushing, “I don’t know. I was just making sure.”
“Mhm.” He hums, tone almost mocking, fingers tightening around your hair just before the precipice of pain.
You stay like that for a few moments of charged silence. Jack’s eyes shamelessly rove over the planes of your face, mapping it out in his mind. He keeps his grip on your hair, not completely forcing eye contact but keeping your head firmly in place.
It’s possessive. Bold. Probably too intimate for two people who (supposedly) are not actually dating
And you love it.
Jack only lets his hand (and your head) drop when your jaw opens in a splitting yawn.
“Okay,” He huffs, taking a step back, “Time for bed. Get going.”
Embarrassment is the only thing keeping you from whining at the loss of contact and impending reality of sleeping on the couch alone. But you made your bed (figuratively) so now you have to lie in it.
The couch does look comfortable. Especially since Jack put all the blankets together.
He waits until you’ve crawled under the comforter to bid you goodnight, followed by a parting reminder to “Wake him up if you start aspirating on vomit.” It’s a very Jack thing to say.
You’re out almost the second Jack turns the lights off. You fall into deep, blissful sleep, dreaming of that final moment in the living room, your eyes boring into each other.
Except in the dream, you tilt your head up those last few inches, and kiss your fake boyfriend as hard as you can.
–
Generally, the annual lecture event ends with a massive blow out argument. Something dramatic and filled with expletives, after which your mother will refuse to answer any texts or calls you send before finally telling you that’s she’s sorry if (always if) something she said offended you, but talking to you is just so hard sometimes so she doesn’t want to unless you’re ready to be more civil. By the time the two of you are on neutral terms again, it’s time for the next annual lunch circuit.
You’re a mess of nerves in the hours before the last one. Like usual, your mom requested that the last dinner be held at your place. “So it can feel like a real family dinner.” While you know that there isn’t any saying no to your mother, you also know that there is no way you’re cramming your entire family in your tiny ass studio apartment. It happened once. It will not happen again.
You originally asked Jack during a last minute shift you both got called in to cover if he would help you move some of the furniture at your place to accommodate them, and then he’d gotten this incredulous look on his face and then told you to tell your mom that you’re having dinner at his place.
“Jack,” You’d gaped at him, “It’s fine. My apartment isn’t that small, and you don’t have to help move the furniture if you don’t want to. I can ask Dennis to give me a hand instead. I really don’t think you want to host my family.”
“Sweetheart, it’s just logic. You’ve seen my place.”
“Okay. No need to rub it in.”
He’d just rolled his eyes and pinned you with a firm look. “Come on. You know this is the best option. If your mom throws a fit, tell her I insisted and give her my number.”
“Do you have a death wish?” You hiss, “That’s asking for torture.”
Jack had just shrugged. “Would having it at my place be easier for you?”
“...Yes?”
“Then we’ll do it there. You’re off in a bit, right?”
You’d nodded.
He fishes something small and shiny out of his pocket and tosses it to you. “That’s my spare key. I’ll be here later than you, so just let yourself in if you want to get there earlier to start setting up. I’ll be home soon.”
Robby shouted his name soon after and Jack was whisked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the ED, holding the fucking spare key to his apartment, gaping like a fish.
The line between real and fake has become so blurred you’re not sure if it ever was there to begin with.
He’s started calling you sweetheart more and more often– sometimes when no one's around. No familial audience to be persuaded into the romantic lie you’re selling. Is it still a lie if it doesn’t feel like one anymore?
The question and accompanying feeling follows you all day. All throughout your harried dinner preparation. Even now, with a solid hour until your family is supposed to start showing up, you can’t help but pace the length of Jack’s kitchen, heeled feet clicking on his floor. Jack himself is similarly dressed up, wearing a pair of dark jeans (“I’m not wearing slacks in my own home, and I’m not old enough to start wearing khakis with everything.”) and a black button down shirt with the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He makes a very nice view and under other circumstances you might take the opportunity to climb him like a tree. But alas. Anxiety.
“Take your shoes off if you’re going to pace. You’re gonna give yourself blisters.”
You ignore him, chewing on an already stinging cuticle.
“Things have been pretty good this far, right? Do you think she’s just waiting until the very end to bring up some secret thing that she’s upset about?”
Jack begins preparing the wine –your mother only likes red– for decanting. “I think if your mother were that upset about something she wouldn’t be able to hide it.”
“True. But what if?”
“I’m not going to help you spiral.”
“Why not?” You whine.
He looks at you with a heavy glare and points to the shoe tray at the door. “Shoes. Off. You can put them back on when they get here.”
You grumble under your breath the entire way but comply. Only because your feet were starting to hurt.
When your family finally does arrive, it ends up being annoyingly anti-climactic. You spend the entire time on the edge of your seat (literally and figuratively) waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for conversation to turn sour, arguments to erupt, someone to choke on a piece of lettuce and die despite professional intervention.
But the argument never starts, conversation remains what it usually is and becomes no worse (or better, unfortunately) and no one passes away due to unevenly chopped vegetables.
The torture is over fairly quickly. Most everyone’s flight back home leaves early the next morning and your dad is paranoid about flight times.
Pretty soon it’s all just… over. They leave, your mother bickering with your father on the way out about something that probably doesn’t matter, and then it’s just you and Jack and the entire scheme is just done. Finished. Just like that.
There won't be anymore knee's brushing under the table, no more shared glances and pecks to the cheek when you make a joke that actually lands. No more excuses just to sit and watch him under the guise of playing the adoring girlfriend. No more late night milkshakes.
You'll just go back to being coworkers-- People who pretend not to know each other intimately. Jack probably won't struggle with it. But to you, right now, the idea of just not having him anymore seems like a another wound, right over top all the others.
You don't want him to become another person who used to know you.
You’ve been staring at the closed door for upwards of five full minutes, clenching and unclenching your fists when Jack comes up next to you. He hands you the same clothes you wore the last time you were there and jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you go and change, huh?”
Your lip wobbles a bit as you answer. “But I want to help you clean up.”
“You can,” He soothes, “After you change.”
“But–”
“Hey,” He interrupts, “No. You’ve been stuck in those clothes for hours. Go change. I’ll wait for you.”
Jack keeps his word. He’s leaned up against the kitchen island when you emerge, rubbing at your –now bare, having had the foresight to bring makeup wipes with you– face.
He looks up when the door opens. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He just hums, heading back over to the kitchen table, stacking plates and cutlery. You follow in silence, and he thankfully doesn’t push for conversation.
Cleaning up doesn’t take long enough. Jack has a fancy dishwasher (and probably doesn’t want to stay standing any more than he has to this late in the day) and there aren’t any leftovers to pack up. Your brothers are bottomless pits when it comes to free food.
It can’t just be over like this. It can't.
When everything is finished and there isn't anything left to do, Jack wordlessly leads you to the couch and puts something quiet and calm on the TV. The white noise washes over you as you attempt to get comfortable, but the knowledge that it's all over proves to be an itch under your skin that you just can't seem to squash.
“So,” You say after the two of you are seated on opposite ends of the couch, “That’s it then.”
“So it is.”
“Guess I owe you big time, huh?”
“I’ve already told you I don’t care about that.”
“Right,” You look down at your lap, “Yeah. Sorry.”
You lapse into silence.
Jack sighs. “Sweetheart–”
“Was it fake to you?” You blurt, jiggling your knee, still staring at your lap, “Were you– did you mean it?”
It never felt fake. It never felt like pretending.
It felt real.
It felt like, for the first time in your life, things could be easy.
Maybe easy isn't the right word. But it life sure as hell didn't feel as hard.
When you look up, uncomfortable in his silence and hoping there’s answers in his face, but instead of finding something like disappointment or irritation, he’s grinning.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
He dips his head once. “Yes you do. You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure it out.”
Your fingers are curled around the hem of his sweatshirt, white-knuckling the fabric as if to stabilize yourself. Like you’re liable to somehow float away if you don’t dig your heels into the couch and hold on tight.
“What if I’m wrong?”
“You won’t be.”
A scoff escapes your lips, “You can’t know for sure.”
He taps his pointer finger on his leg in an unhurried rhythm.
“You do.”
Your stomach is rolling in a combination of leftover anxiety from the dinner that went better than it was supposed to and the weight of Jack’s gaze on you.
“I think…” You pause, worry threatening to overwhelm you, and take a deep breath before continuing, “I think you might like me.”
“You think,” He drawls, “I might.”
“I don’t want to be wrong!” You cry.
Jack huffs, throwing his head back in a good-natured sigh.
“Come here.”
You scoot further down the couch, sitting criss-cross right in front of him. This is not going the way you thought it would. You were almost certain you’d walk away shamed and embarrassed, forced to fake your death and flee the country out of the sheer humiliation of thinking your boss would actually have a crush on you.
Jack does love to prove you wrong.
“Soo,” You start, still hesitant, “You do like me.”
Jack props his head on his hand, his expression something you’re starting to recognize as fond. “Yes.”
“More than a little?”
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t faking anything. You were serious about the— You know.”
“Use your words.”
“The flirting.” You clarify, ears burning.
“All correct,” He nods, “Though I would have said it differently.”
You frown. “And how would you have put it?”
“I would have said,” He reaches out, snagging your arm and tugging until you fall down onto his chest with a little oof, “That you have a hard time believing things that are good, so I had to audition for my role. Like old-fashioned courting.”
You want to be offended, but unfortunately, it did work.
You frown.
Wait.
“Have you known I liked you this whole time?”
Jack snorts. “Overheard you talking to Whitaker about it during your second week.”
He’s known since the second week?
“Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. Except Robby. He’s been hoping you would figure it out for awhile now.”
“Oh my god.”
“I thought it was cute,” He smoothes a hand over your hair, “You were so much more nervous back then. You’ve come a long way.”
You shift uncomfortably at the praise, but Jack’s having none of it. He wraps his arms around you, holding you in place.
“Can you take a compliment?”
“No.”
He re-positions under you, getting more comfortable. “We’ll try again later.”
“Am I– Can I stay here tonight then?”
“Of course,” he murmurs, “My one condition is that you’re not sleeping on the couch.”
“Fine,” You sigh, long and drawn out, “I suppose we can share.”
“How kind of you to share my bed with me.”
“I have been told I’m kind.”
You both smile, and everything just feels so right and so perfect that you can't help but lean up, clearing the last few inches, and pressing a hesitant, gentle kiss to his lips.
It’s just like your dream.
Only this time, it’s real. And Jack is kissing you back.
And you’re not alone anymore.
Hi I have some questions when you post your fanfics on tumblr how do you do it. Also how do you come up with inspiration for them and how do you actually start writing them I want to start writing them but when it comes to the actual writing part I don’t know how to start it.
Hi Lovely! ✒️✨
Thank you so much for sharing your questions!!
This is somewhat nostalgic (and perfect timing) because I've almost hit a year since I posted my first fic and was just thinking about how it felt. The thoughts and struggles, how insanely nervous I was making that first post. Posting your writing is such a daunting yet amazing thing and I'm so glad you're thinking about starting!
I've broken this down into two sections because you had multiple questions. Sorry if it's kind of long but I really hope this helps encourage and inspire you (and anyone else) who's starting out their writing journey!!
(And also, to preface, I still consider myself a novice writer and am still figuring it out too! These are just some things that I learned/ have helped me start here on tumblr)
Starting
Honestly, the best advice I have is just to start. Grab your writing medium of choice (a pad of paper, the back of an envelope, open a Google doc or another program like Ellipsus) find a comfy spot (whether it's your bed, a train seat, a hobbit hole, a library chair) and just start writing. One sentence. Two.
It doesn't have to make sense at first. It can just be ideas. An outline. Snippets of dialogue. Character names. Getting your ideas flowing usually helps kickstart your stream of conscious and leads to something more cohesive and productive. Blank pages can be so overwhelming sometimes and I find just even writing the date somewhere helps to make it a little easier.
An important thing to remember when starting is writing is a constant learning process. And a non linear one too. As people, we're always evolving and changing, and that's often reflected in our writing! Good days. Bad days. Don't get discouraged if things aren't starting out good or if they start out great (which I hope it does!) and it gets harder later down the road. It's just the process.
And the process isn't always consistent. Some days I can write 3k in one sitting. Others I only write 100 words and it feels like the worst thing I ever came up with. Some days I just need a break and start again another day. And that's okay!
As long as you're having fun and doing this because you enjoy it, writing will be such a wonderful new hobby (and a great skill to have too!)
Inspiration
After you start writing, sometimes the biggest question is "okay... so what do I write?" Getting inspiration is different for everyone, but here is a mini list of ways you can kickstart ideas:
- Music. Sometimes just listening to my favorite movie soundtrack or a good pop album has sparked an idea. Everyone's music inspo is different. Like my brother writes scripts and he listens to a lot of funk and trap pop. I like to listen to more sad classical and indie jazz while writing. You just gotta figure out what clicks.
- Observe. Ideas can come from simple exchanges or something you overhear. Most of my farmhouse bucky fics are actually inspired by people I know or conversations I've overheard! (I even keep conversations or certain scenarios written down in my notes app for a rainy day)
- Pinterest. A lot of times if I'm stuck and don't know where to begin, I'll scroll through pinterest! I'll save certain pictures or make a moodboard (which often becomes the headers to my fics!). It just helps me visualize and actually figure out what I want to write about. There's also a ton of prompt lists and suggestions on here (and on Tumblr as well) and plenty of good dialogue ideas that could be helpful as well.
- Read. I actually can't stress this enough, reading is such an important part of being a creative. Not only is it entertaining and inspiring content wise, it is so formative in helping you create your own writing style. You learn to pick out what you like or don't like about other people's style and learn what you need to improve or what you like in your own writing. Read books. Fanfiction. Magazines. The back of a shampoo bottle. Anything really. Just read!
Okay, I know that was kind of long.
But I wish you the best of luck as you start writing and hope you stick with it! Even if it's hard, you're doing it! You're being creative and sharing that hard work can be so rewarding :D
There are also a ton of tutorials out there on how to format your Tumblr posts and add extra pizzazz (like colored font or adding gif/images). Once you get your post all ready, just press the post button and let it do its thing. It's one with the vast internet universe and out of our hands (a bit scary.) But there are so many wonderful people on this app and amazing communities who are always eager to find new writers and are ready to welcome you.
Just remember, one note = one person. Even one note is a connection we're making!
Wishing you the best and I'd love to be tagged when you post your first work! (if you want to, no pressure at all. I'd love to read it though! :))
With love, Scarlett ✨
BEFORE WRITING: Oh, this fic idea is so cute, and it won't take any time at all! WHILE WRITING: Oh...oh, no...I Underestimated this. Again.
| Tag Game |
Go on Pinterest and type in the prompts down below. Whatever image pops up first is your image.
Prompts: color, quote, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, flower.
I love love love pinterest games like these!! I'm a mood-board fiend and couldn't resist when I saw @elixirfromthestars post
No pressure tags: @wildflowersandvibranium @tsaheylutales @flowersforbucky @bigtiddythanos @daystarpoet and anyone who'd like to do this!!
Noah Wyle as Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch The Pitt, S02E14
didn't know which version is better
Stubborn Heart and Stuffy Nosed
word count: 1.7k
pairing: Jack Abbot x (wife) reader
summary: They say doctors make the worst patients... and Jack Abbot is no exception to that.
notes: a short and sweet one for you all! I just know this man is literally the worst when he gets a cold.
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You're not a bit surprised when the call comes.
It's well past midnight, hours after Jack had left for his shift. You had been laying awake for a while, half expecting a text from him, or maybe a call from Robby. Anything that confirms what you'd been suspicious of for the last 24 hours.
The call comes from Lena.
"Hi hon! Sorry to wake you."
"No, no that's alright. Is everything okay?"
"Well..."
You're pulling on a pair of sweats and one of Jack's thick sweaters a minute later, grabbing your keys and making the short drive to PTMC. It's busy when you sneak in through the ambulance bay, your eyes wide as you take in the crowded waiting room through the glass divider.
John gives you a grin and a friendly wave when you pass by him, a half drunk coffee clutched in his hand. You smile, clutching your keys a little tighter.
"Where is he?"
"Solitary confinement." You make a face.
"That bad huh?"
"Lena told me she thinks it's mostly a fever. But he was putting up a bit of a fight when Robby asked to check him out."
"I'm sure," you sigh, thanking John before moving to the patient room across the ED.
A bit of a fight was an understatement.
"Robby, so help me- I swear to God- if you put that thing anywhere near me again-"
"It's just a thermometer. It's not gonna kill you Jack!"
You peek in behind the curtain, trying to hold in a laugh as you take in the sight.
"What's happening here?"
Jack looks over, eyes rimmed red, his nose and cheeks flushed. You could see the wads of tissue stuffed into his pocket, the sweat beading along his forehead. Lena just shakes her head from over by the wall, watching Robby hover over your husband with a thermometer clutched in his hand.
"Welcome to the show."
"It's not a show," Jack barks, his hand held out to push Robby away. "I'm telling you I'm fine."
"Jack, you're burning up man. You look worse than some of the patients here."
"Well jeez, you don't look the greatest either, sunshine." Robby sighs, giving you a deadpan look. You just laugh behind your hand, moving to stand beside Lena.
"Has he been like this for a while?" Lena asks.
"Yes," you say, Jack's head whips around to look at you so fast you’re surprised he didn't break it. If he didn't look so miserable and betrayed, you'd almost say he looked cute with his messy curls and big pout. You smile, "It started yesterday. He had a cough and was sneezing-"
"Allergies," Jack interjects gruffly.
"-And then he was trying his hardest to pretend like he wasn't sweating buckets before he left for his shift."
"I take an extra hot shower sometimes," he says defensively, his voice catching as he turns, coughing hoarsely into the crook of his elbow. Jack sniffs, the sound of mucus plugging up his throat echoing loudly.
Robby and Lena give each other looks. You sigh.
"Jack," you start, moving closer. He shakes his head.
"I'm not sick."
"You literally have snot dripping down your lip."
“I’m fine!”
He protests for a half hour, practically fighting against Robby and John who help you get him into your car an hour later after they forced him to go home.
"I'm not sick! It's just a cold!!"
“Stop whining and put your seatbelt on,” you say as you slide into the driver's seat. Jack grovels, his hands working to slide his seatbelt into the buckle. He has to try to get the lock to latch multiple times, eyes narrowing as he tries to get his vision to focus.
“I’m not whining. I don't know why you're listening to Robby...”
“Jack,” you give him a look, reaching out to pet the sweat slicked hairs at his temple. “Baby, you're burning up. Robby would tell anyone in this state to go home.”
“He's not my doctor.” You sigh and get the car started.
“No. I am now. And as your doctor I need you to sit there and close your mouth so I can drive.”
Jack glares at you, crossing his arms.
“You're a mean doctor.”
“I’m not mean. It’s three in the morning and my husband is acting like he’s not running a 102 degree fever.” Jack shakes his head.
But in spite of his resistance you note the way he slouches into the passenger seat a bit. The way his eyes droop lower and his head begins to rest against the car window.
“This goes against the code of ethics,” Jack mumbles. “Family can't treat family.”
You snort, turning the car out of the parking lot and onto the main street.
“You want to talk about code of ethics? Let’s review what the code of ethics says about treating sick patients while being sick yourself. Have anything to say about that?”
Jack goes silent, the radio static humming quietly in the background. He turns to you, eyelids heavy as he blinks.
“No,” he lets out gruffly.
“That's what I thought.”
Jack trudges into the house like a zombie. You watch him amusedly, his camo backpack slung over one of your shoulders as you push him towards the bedroom.
“I’m not going to bed-”
“No. You're getting in the shower and we're getting your temperature down.” Jack recoils, trying to leave but you push him forward.
He fights it the whole way. Arguing as you make him take off his leg, trying to move your hand away when you help him undress.
Jack is complaining as you get the shower running, your own clothes abandoned in the bedroom and swapped for a pair of shorts and a bra.
“This is overkill, baby. I just need to sleep it off.” You look over your shoulder at Jack where he sits on the closed toilet in nothing but his boxer shorts, shoulders slumped and face lined with exhaustion.
“Oh, you've got something now? I thought it was just allergies?” Jack’s already flushed cheeks turn a shade darker.
“I’m just saying. I don’t need you to worry or fuss over me like I'm some kid. This is nothing-”
“Hey,” you shake your head, drying water droplets off your hand as you move to squat in front of him. “I’m not fussing, Jack.”
“It seems like you are.” You shake your head and sigh.
Always the same, Jack Abbot.
“I know you’re a grown man Jack. I’ve seen you deal with a head cold and fever before. But just because you can work through the pain doesn’t mean you have to.” He opens his mouth to argue again, but you just rest your hand on his bare thigh and give him a look. The kind that always left him quiet and ready to listen. “Jack, I want to take care of you because I love you. You don’t have to power through everything. It doesn’t make you less than to admit you need to rest.”
You know it’s hard for him to listen to that. To actually listen and take it to heart. The fact you wanted to help him. That you didn’t see him as less than for admitting he needed to rest. To admit that, yes. He was sick.
Jack sighs, his forehead coming to rest against your shoulder as he leans into you. You adjust your stance as he lays against you, shifting your arms to embrace him better. The pipes hum gently, steam slowly collecting in the bathroom as the hot shower runs.
You hear him sniffle, his cheek pressing against your arm, his eyes closed as you hold him. He faintly hums with tired pleasure as you run a hand through his sweat matted curls, your gaze soft and comforting.
He swallows thickly, and you note the way he grimaces slightly at the gravelly catch in his voice.
“That feels nice.”
“Yeah?” Jack nods. You continue, just holding him. Letting Jack be still.
“You know what else would feel nice?”
“Sleeping naked with you?” You chuckle softly.
“No. That’s something we can do another night.” Jack frowns. But he can’t be too disappointed. You can tell by the way his eyes are more closed than open that he’s getting a bad headache. “How about I help you in the shower and we get your temperature down. Just enough so you can sleep a little better. Okay?”
Jack doesn’t protest. He lets you help him up and onto the shower bench. Lets you stand there as water runs down his chest and thighs. You run a washcloth over his back and neck, admiring the pattern of freckles that spanned his tan back.
He keeps leaning into you, like his head is too heavy to hold up anymore. Like sitting still has finally let the exhaustion and weariness settle i to him. Jack’s hand is permanently posted on the soft curve of your thigh, holding your leg gently. Like it was grounding him.
When his head finally hits the pillow, after you deemed a dropping temperature of 100.1 was enough to get out of the shower, Jack is out like a light. Not that you’re surprised. You watch him for a moment as you slip out of your wet undergarments, smiling faintly. He seemed so different like this. Peaceful. Not encumbered by the heaviness of the emergency room or the weight of his own memories.
His chest rises and falls steadily, the pair of sweats he’d barely managed to pull on resting low on his hips. You slip into Jack’s old sweater again, reaching out to pull and adjust the covers around him. Jack lets out a quiet breath, his hand catching yours when you are about to walk away.
His voice is barely there, lost to the irritation and mucus clogging his throat.
“You’re not leaving… are you?” You laugh softly.
“I’m coming back, Jack. Just going to get you some extra tissues and water in case you need them.” Jack hums, his eyes already closing again.
“No. I just need you.” You shake your head, opening your mouth to protest when Jack tugs you into bed. “Who’s the doctor here?”
“I thought I was the doctor?” you whisper, crawling over him.
“Well then you’d know…” You frown, settling into bed next to him, keeping a cautious distance because even though you loved Jack, you were not getting sick right now.
“Know what?”
Jack is silent.
You look over at him, repeating your question. But he’s out again, one hand resting in between your bodies. You just shake your head, taking his hand gently into yours and pressing a kiss across his knuckles.
“I wonder about you sometimes, Jack Abbot.”
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thank you for reading! if you're interested in reading more of my works for the pitt, here is a link to my masterlist :)
if people are gonna write kids I need them to know that if your child has a lisp in your dialogue (ages 3+) that child needs a speech therapist
they should be able to say rs, eau sounds etc
Children 3 and up can communicate through language pretty effectively I promise 😭😭
noooooo yall are so hot don’t die in the backroomssss


