Another SM/WW oneshot fic. I'd been listening to the song, "Taking over me" by Evanescence over 10 times, as it gave me inspiration to write this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Superman, Wonder Woman or any other DC characters appearing in this fic. It's all non-profit.
The dinner was wonderful. One of the best he had in a long time. It wasn't every day that Superman showed up at a restaurant balcony in full costume and ordered a meal, not to go; settled down and took his time to eat it himself. That was what the curious onlookers thought, anyway.
Having Wonder Woman as the dinner date added to the effect of it that made the crowd wonder that even superheroes took the time out to act "normal" from time to time. The tabloids would be pleased.
When she left, there were dark clouds looming over the sea.
Clark had been dreaming, the kind he always had, falling asleep in front of the monitor. And a strange dream it was, where everything was nearly the same, its only difference with reality being all the difference in the world.
He sat back upright on the bed. The laptop was on, straight in front of him, an unfinished story shining white and bright against his glasses that gave his face a strange, pallid hue. A sound from next door, a bit like rain, and the beeps of traffic on the busy street below entered his perception as usual. He could hear every rant and whisper, every barking dog and mewing cat from there. This was his normal life, where everything was as it should be. Lois was taking a shower; she already had dinner with some of the guys at the Planet and had been so busy being caught up in work to notice that he had been gone.
It would not have been too complicated, of course; if he had told her that he just had dinner with his best friend (who happened to be a woman), flew around a bit with that friend for a little chat, and came straight back home, to finish his work. But his best friend was Wonder Woman. Lois had never been comfortable around Diana, woman to woman, and in all likelihood, the dream would not be her liking at all.
Presently Lois entered wearing a bathrobe, her brown hair still wet and gleaming and climbed directly to bed. Clark narrowed his eyes, giving the laptop monitor his full attention, and Lois frowned with a humph. He heard a swirl of sheets, felt her back turned to him, and knew that Lois was again putting on one of her phony sulks.
In his dream, it was not Lois, but Diana who had entered, wearing the bathrobe; her long, black tresses splashing against his skin.
The dream was vivid. Induced, but vivid to such an extent, that Clark could still imagine smelling her perfume upon that very room. He breathed deep, and the perfume entered from beyond the thin line between dreams and reality. It smelled of figs and myrrh, a hint of thyme and fresh, green olive trees.
Lois never wore that scent.
It was Diana's.
Clark suddenly opened his eyes wider, and blushed to himself at this strange remembrance. It was as if the dream itself had knocked upon the door of his perception.
He woke up with a start when he heard the beep. He looked at the time : 12:30 AM. He had fallen asleep wearing his glasses, without switching off the laptop as he was expecting a message from someone on the far side of the world. He heard a small moan coming from his side. Lois, of course. She had fallen asleep already. She had always fallen asleep directly after her shower. The room was dark, the laptop's monitor being the only source of light. Slowly, Clark turned around. What he thought he saw, nearly took his breath way.
Clark sat up. No, Lois's hair was brown, not black; and that scent was fragrant shower-gel, not olive trees. He took off his glasses and looked at the figure sleeping at his side just to be sure, for, there are times when super-vision just wasn't enough. Lois. So, it must have all been a dream, then.
With a sigh he got up and groped for his bedroom slippers. Cold wind was coming in from the open window.
That was a fantastic dinner, Kal; she had said. My, it's getting late.
Not a problem, Diana; he replied. I don't have anything better to do anyway.
All those cameras aimed at us, and only for something as irrelevant as dinner, you'd imagine people had nothing better to do or write about in those tabloids.
Well, he had replied. I don't care, or mind one bit, or being seen with you. You know that, he shrugged. And much more so, dinner or any kind of date between us is not irrelevant at all.
She sighed. Did you say, Seen with you…? What do you mean, Superman? We're colleagues, friends…of course we're often seen together on occasions…
I mean, he paused. His blue eyes looked at hers knowingly. Being "seen" with you like this. You know perfectly well what I mean.
I see you get my point, he said. Let them think all they want. I don't care.
Well then, how about this?
She slid her arms in his elbow. He complied eagerly, and they both rose upwards.
Now that we're through with that, no hard feelings?
No hard feelings, Clark, she said. I had a lovely time.
When she flew away, the frown of the clouds on the dim west was getting darker.
Clark wrapped his arms around himself. Far away, he heard a rumble. The sudden cold must be a part of that but he kept the window open because he felt that there was nothing to fear, as he sipped his coffee. It was hard to sleep. Even harder, knowing that the dream might come back, and waking up again afterwards would only complicate matters.
A small buzz. He knew where it was coming from, and he stiffened, looking at the room, staring at nothing in particular.
Superman, came a voice. Come in.
He looked out the window, at the skies. "J'onn," he said. "What's the matter?"
He slipped on his costume, wrapped his cape around his shoulders at the Martian Manhunter's next few words, and he sped towards the frowning clouds.
Icy rain pelted against his face. It was surprising how much he ended soaking wet in so little time. The heavens burst with light and sound when he arrived. He could see the trailing smoke, the burning plane's huge, white body, and he could hear the screams of fear and pain of nearly a hundred voices, calling out to be saved. Hang on, he thought. Just hang on. His soaking cape whipped against his hair. He gasped as he arrived when he saw what had been holding the doomed plane together, and for a moment, thought he had been dreaming again. It was true – the flash of metal bracelet against the light, the warm, golden glow of the lasso, her long, raven-colored tresses.
She did not look at him. She was gritting her teeth and moaning in pain, her arms encircling the huge metal belly. Any slip, and it would break in two, possibly sending all the hapless people inside to their deaths. There was no need for words. He plunged, groped, and made a catch. The metal hard in his hands, wet, cold, but firm in his powerful grip. Hold on, Diana; for a second longer.
By the time Superman felt the ground back in his feet, they had both endured a long, spinning fall. The wind that flapped his cape was like a whetted knife, and the smoke was unbearable, but as good fortune would have it, Wonder Woman had kept the plane together.
When it was over, she flew to him, her hair all disheveled, but her blue eyes sparkled. She was covered in filth and grime, and like him, drenched to the skin. But… had he imagined too much in thinking that her beauty had not diminished at all?
Then he blushed again. He should not be thinking of these things.
In his dream, it had been Diana, not Lois. Strange, to see another woman in place of Lois in this most private of his thoughts, conscious or unconscious.
"Well, that was fast," said Diana, flying up to him. He was watching the rescue-team from above. The rain had stopped. "Who'd have thought you'd come again so quickly?"
"You know what they say," he said, wringing the water off his cape. "Faster than a speeding bullet!"
"That's not what I meant, but thanks anyway," Diana laughed, kissed his cold, pale cheek, grime and all, waved and flew off with a splash of rain.
He touched his cheek. It felt like it was burning. Was it just his imagination, or had he felt himself blushing again? And at that moment he sensed it again – a faint perfume, of figs and myrrh, of thyme; and fresh, green olives.
It was definitely Diana, after all.