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fierypen37 · 2 years

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First Blush

moodboard by the amazing @libradoodle1

First Blush

Jon squinted at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Marks of sleeplessness under the eyes, a blemish on his left cheekbone. The beard had long passed fashionable scruff to a thicker, bushier growth. His greasy hair was tied up in man bun. Today, on the second Tuesday of the month, his deliveries arrived, one after the other. New kegs. Shipments of wine, liquor, new cooking oil. The Night’s Watch boasted decent finger food, excellent sandwiches, but not much else. Jon and his sometimes-barback-fulltime-Arya-facesucker-Gendry had spent the majority of the day hauling in the new product. Jon was assiduous about cleanliness, and had spent the rest of the time before open scrubbing the place. Thank the gods, Edd and Tormund wound be working the bar tonight.

After working a shift last night and Delivery Day today, Jon was dead on his feet. Jon scooped cold water from the sink and splashed his face once, twice, three times. At last, time to head home.

“Headed out, Boss?” Gendry asked, expertly quartering lime wedges.

“Yeah. Thanks, Gendry.”

The hinges screeched as Jon shoved the door open. He made a mental note to oil the hinges tomorrow night. The damp cold of a Winterfell autumn was hell on cast iron. The brilliance of a sunlit day stabbed his eyes. Weariness made everything on his periphery seem blurred. Jon whistled.

“Ghost, to me!” he said. The wolf-dog barreled toward him a full speed from the direction of the house, his tail wagging madly. Jon’s exhaustion lightened a little. Ghost always had a way of making him feel better. Together they meandered through the woods for a while so Ghost could exercise. He yapped and chased after squirrels.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

The walk was a short one. The bar stood on the edge of town, and his house on the edge of that. Beyond it was miles and miles of woodland with the occasional house or barn. It gave an air of isolation that suited Jon just fine. He had his fill of dealing with people at the bar. He wanted quiet at home. His porch steps creaked as he scaled them. He made a mental note to replace the plank on the second step, it sounded half-rotted. Jon set his keys in the bowl, fed Ghost, and nuked his own supper in the microwave. He wasn’t a bad cook, but half the time he was too damned tired to bother. He chewed without enthusiasm, already longing for his bed. Without bothering to shower, Jon shucked off his clothes and collapsed face-first in bed. He was asleep in seconds.

Buzzzz----buzzzzz----buzzzz---BUZZZZ

Blearily, Jon cracked an eye open to see his cellphone dancing on the nightstand like a dying fly. He groped for it, thumbed it open. Half past midnight. What could possibly be wrong?

“Yeah?”

“Crow, she’s here,” Tormund’s rough voice whispered, breathing noisily into the phone. Jon lurched upright as if zapped with electricity.

“She is?”

“Just walked in. I see why you’re hung up on her, she a fine young thing. Too skinny for my liking though,” he said with a chuckle.

“Don’t leer at her, Tormund. I mean it. You’ll scare her off,” Jon said, cradling his phone to his ear with shoulder and shouldering into the bathroom to wrench the shower on. Tormund snickered again.

“You’ve got it bad, little crow. Never you mind. I’ll be a gentleman,” he said, hanging up. Tormund, being free folk himself, enjoyed ribbing him on the Night’s Watch theme.

Nervous energy skittered through him as he showered and dressed. He didn’t know her name, but she lit up the Night’s Watch like the sun lit up the sky. Poised and graceful. That was the first thing he noticed about her—the impeccable posture, effortless composure. Well, maybe not the first thing. It was an intense feeling being under her scrutiny. This woman was in the highest echelon of beauty. Otherworldly moonlight colors. Silver and amethyst. Full pink lips, tilted cheekbones, thick eyebrows. Fit and sleek, gorgeous breasts . . . Jon derailed the thought as his cock took interest. That was another compounded problem. It had been too damn long. A venomous ex-fiancée was to blame for his long spell of self-imposed celibacy. Jon didn’t even know her name. He’d only really spoken a handful of words to her.

Some reconnaissance had been done. A major night-owl. She usually showed up between 11 PM and 1 AM, just before last call—she must work nights. A bit of a loner—Jon had never seen her with anyone. The regulars like Theon and his brothers and Tormund’s rugby mates would try to chat her up, but she would politely decline their invitations. Mostly she sat at the bar, drank one or two glasses of Arbor gold, with her nose in a book. A different book each time. One time it was Watcher on the Wall: A History of the Night’s Watch. He recognized the cover from his own copy on the shelf in his living room. Another time it was a biography on one of the first female prime ministers of Westeros. Last time it was fiction, but Jon hadn’t been able to nail the title in his stealthy reconnaissance. His co-workers were quick to notice his salivating, and teased him mercilessly. Tormund was running a pool on how quickly and spectacularly he crashed and burned. The total was somewhere in the mid 200’s now.

Jon scrutinized his reflection. The same defects as this morning stood out to him. Marks of sleeplessness under the eyes, a blemish on his left cheekbone. He trimmed the beard into a neater length, dabbed on a touch of cologne. The hair . . . Unmanageable on the best of days, his curly black hair hung in dripping tendrils. A hairdryer—if he owned one—was out of the question. When dried, he looked like a poodle sentenced to the electric chair. Jon squeezed out the excess water, combed some ‘calming’ product through it, and let it hang. A short-sleeved black Night’s Watch t-shirt, skinny jeans, and his black work boots. The best he could do in under twenty minutes. He was on the clock. He never knew how long she would stay or how often, and wanted to capitalize on the opportunity.

“Be good Ghost! I’ll be back,” Jon said, yanking the door shut behind him.

The cold air hit him like a punch, but he crunched through frost-stiffened grass up the faint path to the bar. His breath misted, the chill from his wet hair made him shiver. It didn’t matter, it was less than a ten-minute walk to get from the bar to his front door. The car park was about half-full, unusual for so late on a weekday. Was there a rerun of rugby match on?

Jon shoved open the door. Warm air swirled around him, air that smelled of chips and beer. A second home. For all the bullshit he dealt with, Jon loved this bar. From the shingles—damn, he needed to schedule a roof inspection—all the way down to his refinished hardwood floors gleaming with loving polish, it was his. Every glass, every nail. Lock, stock, and barrel. There was a dull roar of voices: customers chatting, TV’s droning. The clack of billiard balls, a burst of laughter, the chime of ice in a glass. There she was. Middle of the bar, a full glass of Arbor gold at her elbow. Ok, he was here. Now what?

Tormund caught his eye and waggled his beetled red eyebrows. Discreetly, Jon checked his breath in his cupped palm. Fuck. He’d forgotten to brush his teeth. He groped in his pocket and blessedly found a dinner mint. Gods, even in the best of circumstances, he was shite at this. Ygritte had been the bold one, had cajoled and bullied him into a relationship.

Jon slid onto a stool one away from her. A buffer in case she wasn’t interested.

“What you want?” Tormund asked, a grin dancing beneath his beard. His awareness was heightened, focused on the left side. From the tail of his eye, he caught her regal profile. The silver hair was loose tonight. A cascade of wavy silver falling almost to the small of her back. Irritation wormed its way in.

“Shit, Tormund, is that how you greet customers? We just had hospitality training,” Jon said.

“You’re not a customer, you’re the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, hmm? Now what beverage would you enjoy, my lord?” Lord Commander, my arse. That’s what I get for naming the bar Night’s Watch.

“Motte’s black lager,” Jon answered.

“Comin’ up,” Tormund said, disappearing around the bar to where the kegs were kept.

“I wouldn’t worry,” she said. The notes of her voice were even, mellow and softly accented. He liked it.

“What’s that?” Jon asked, confused and jubilant at once.

The shadow of a smile curved her pink lips, glistening with some devious gloss that turned men into panting idiots. She wore a thick-knit cream sweater that left one shoulder bare. Black denims and high black boots. Sexy. She leaned closer and Jon caught a whiff of her perfume. Something delicate and floral, with deeper rich note he couldn’t place. Her finger held her place in her book: A Song of Ice and Fire. An unfinished fictional take on Westerosi history. The original author had abandoned it to pursue other projects and the two that took his place were woefully outmatched. Tits and dragons, from what Arya said. She had bemoaned the downfall of her heroine to him. Out of curiosity, he’d read them.

“Tormund is just giving you grief, Lord Commander. He’s always been very polite,” she said. That hint of teasing on his ‘title’ made his mouth go dry. He found a smile.

“That’s a relief. He can be a mouthy arse, but he’s harmless. To the fairer sex anyway,” he said with a wince. More than once, the police had been by to break up a brawl between Tormund and his rugby rivals.

“I’m Jon, by the way. Jon Snow,” he said, offering his hand. She took it and a jolt arced up his arm. The cool, soft grip of her hand made him shiver. Wow. Those eyes. There were flecks of blue and gold in the purple of her iris. Too beautiful for words. Jon realized he was still holding her hand and dropped it before the moment stretched any longer.

“A pleasure, Jon,” she said, “I’m Daenerys. Daenerys Targaryen.”

“That’s a mouthful,” he said. Her smile turned ironic.

“Some of us have more than seven letters in our names, Jon Snow.”

Jon laughed.

“I guess you’re right,” he said. Tormund set his lager down on a black paper napkin. Jon determinedly ignored any prompting looks. Jon took a long draught, relishing the sharp, bitter taste.

“How’d you like the series so far?” Jon said, nodding toward the book. Daenerys wrinkled her nose.

“The prose and worldbuilding are lovely, but after the first three books . . .”

“It feels a bit hollow? Meandering?” Jon prompted.

“Yes, exactly,” she said.

“My cousin Arya used to be obsessed with it. But guys who took over are pants at writing. Who’s your favorite?”

“Calliope Alintaaviva, of course. A magnificent character,” Daenerys said, “who’s yours? No, let me guess: Tom Eis.”

“Eis? Such a brooding grump,” Jon said. Daenerys’ burst of laughter was magical.

The conversation meandered through books and media, to the weather and the North in general, then landed on the bar. The rest of world fell away. Jon forgot Tormund hovering. The raucous laughter of increasingly inebriated patrons. The heavy smell of sweat and cleaning solvent. There was only Daenerys. Like a rare flower growing in a crack of concrete.

“You seem young to own your own business,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. The long delicate line of her pale throat, the arch of her collarbone, so smooth and close . . . damn, he needed to get laid.

“When we were teenagers, cousin Robb and I would sneak out to an old pub and pool hall: The Broken Tower. Just dumb kids messing around. Thought we were hot stuff. I liked the atmosphere, the people. So when my uncle died, I had just enough to get a place of my own. It was a shithole when I bought it. I rebuilt it myself.”

“Willed into solid reality,” Daenerys said, white fingers stroking the polished bar. Jon nodded. There were holes in the story, pits really, where Jon didn’t want to be mired in during a stimulating conversation with a beautiful woman. Thankfully, she didn’t press. There was something so concentrated, so focused about her attention. Jon loved it. He felt thrilled, energized. Daenerys was easy to talk to. A lull in a conversation had Jon plucking up his courage.

“Are you hungry? Would like to grab a bite with me?” he asked. His heartbeat was surely loud enough to be audible. Not smooth at all. Fuck, he was blowing it. There was some note to her distant expression Jon couldn’t place.

“I already ate, thank you.” The words weren’t subtle. It wasn’t a ‘fuck off,’ but it was certainly ‘don’t press for more.’

“Fair enough. Can I walk you to your car? It’s almost closing time,” Jon said, almost startled by the time on the clock. They’d been talking for almost two hours.

“Yes, please,” Daenerys said, with a mysterious smile. She reached for her wallet. Jon stood and laid his hand over hers, so smooth and cool.

“It’s on the house,” he said.

“Many thanks, Lord Commander,” she whispered, looking up at him with veiled eyes. Not unaffected then. In fact, downright flirtatious. Jon didn’t realize how close he was, close enough to drink in that dizzying smell of her. Her hair tickled the back of his arm, glossy, silky. He wanted to touch it, tug it.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice emerging rougher than he intended. Daenerys stood and Jon helped her with her puffy black coat.

“Where’s your coat?” she asked as they stepped outside. The temperature had dropped, and a few flurries danced on the wind. Gooseflesh stippled his bare arms and Jon regretted not bringing his coat. Her thick brows knitted together in a concerned frown.

“I left it at home. No worries,” Jon said. He could be tough for a few minutes. You could come keep your commander warm.

“That’s me,” Daenerys said, pointing to a small red SUV. The keyfob clicked and the parking lights flashed.

“I’m glad I got the chance to meet you, Jon Snow,” Daenerys said. Jon’s heart thundered. She hadn’t told him to fuck off yet. An encouraging sign. Maybe she would let him kiss her goodnight. That would warm him right up.

“Me too, Daenerys. I hope to see you around sometime. Can I call you?” he asked.

“I’d like that,” she said, offering her phone. Jon plugged his number in under new contacts. Daenerys tapped out a text and Jon felt his phone chirp in his pocket. Jon was close, maybe too close. Couldn’t help it though. He wanted to kiss her badly.

“Goodnight, Jon,” she said. Had she leaned closer? Fuck it. Jon laid a gentle hand on her cheek, tilting her chin up. He waited, searching her face. Those luminous eyes watched him with something like wonder. The first press of her lips to his was soft, so soft. Warm and plush and glorious. Lips parted. Jon kissed her, widening the aperture of her mouth gently. Heat and hunger pounded through him and he eased off before he did something embarrassing. Looking into her eyes as they pulled back, Jon saw his hunger mirrored and rejoiced. Something else flared to life in her twilight eyes. Something that made the fine hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It was exciting.

“On second thought: how about dessert?” she said huskily.

No bakeries or ice cream shops worth their salt were open at 1 AM on a Wednesday morning, but Jon had one move up his sleeve. One move that worked with every girlfriend he’d had—a sum total of three. Jon could make the best brownies in the world. The secret was fresh-ground cocoa powder he bought from a little shop in Winterfell. Add a squeeze of salted caramel into the pan and bam—the lady was putty in his hands. Daenerys for all of her airs of sophistication, looked perfect sitting on the counter in his messy kitchen at 1:30 in the morning. Jon couldn’t believe his luck. The universe had smiled on him. But his brain ran miles ahead, thinking of how shabby and messy his house looked. Jon stirred the lumps from the batter with perhaps more force than necessary, worrying. Ghost brushed past him.

“Ghost, heel!” Jon snapped. The dog had his front paws on the counter and was trying his damndest to lick Daenerys’ mouth. Her laugh was rich and real, her smile so wide her eyes nearly disappeared.

“Oh don’t listen to him. Who’s a good boy?” she cooed, scrubbing Ghost’s ruff. The wolf nuzzled her chin, a needy little pup. White tufts of hair were already stuck to her immaculate black denims.

“I didn’t want him to muss up your pretty outfit,” Jon grumbled, pouring the ribbon of brown batter into the greased pan. He squeezed out the caramel sauce and dragged it through the batter with a butter knife.

“It’s fine,” she said, nudging Ghost aside. She slid down from the counter and closed her eyes in beatific contentment. The look struck him in the gut.

“That smells fantastic,” she drawled.

“Twenty minutes and you’ll have a piping hot brownie with salted caramel sauce. I even have vanilla ice cream,” Jon said in his best sultry purr.

“Mm, you know how to treat a girl right,” Daenerys said with a slit-eyed grin. She grabbed his hand and held his gaze, her pink tongue darting out to slowly lick a smudge of batter from the pad of his thumb. She nipped his thumb with her sharp startlingly white teeth. His cock surged to full salute in seconds. Wickedly sexy, smart and sophisticated---Daenerys was a total package.

“Mm,” Jon hummed, bending to kiss her. The hint of chocolate tantalized him and he slid his tongue into her mouth to chase it. At first polite and careful, it soon devolved into a passionate clinch. Her hands slid over his chest and belly, light. Almost shy. The thought stirred tenderness as well as passion and Jon cradled her cheek, tangling his hand in her glorious hair. The other crept lower to splay on her hip, tugging her flush with him. Even the denims couldn’t hide his excitement and she hummed low in approval.

“Twenty minutes, hmm?” she purred against his lips. Jon grinned against her mouth. Not enough time for what he wanted. He’d admired her for so long, he wanted to take his time. Draw it out. Jon wanted to undress her slowly. Take his time. Lick her pussy until she was soft and wet and begging for his cock. Then the long, hot ride for the finish. Still, there was time for some fun.

“My dessert first,” Jon said, popping the button of her jeans with his thumb.

“Yes,” Daenerys gasped in approval as Jon dipped his hand over her mound. No underwear, pubic hair waxed smooth fuck fuck fuck. So sexy she melted his mind to hot mush. He parted her lower lips with one blunt finger, finding her hot and slick. Blood pounded loud in his eardrums. So fucking sexy.

“Daenerys,” he hissed against her lips, teasing her clit gently with one finger. Sharp fingernails bit into his shoulders, her groan reverberated through him. She sucked at the side of his neck, teasing him with a delicate scrape of teeth. She muttered something in his ear, her breath warm and ticklish. The words were a foreign language he couldn’t place, full of liquid syllables and odd emphases. A hot jolt raced through him. He liked that hint of roughness—it meant he done his job in arousing her.

Jon kissed down the warm column of her throat to the delicate arch of her collarbone that tempted him. He traced it with his tongue. He lipped the side of her neck and his fingers stroked and stroked. Daenerys tipped her head back, exposing the lovely line of her throat, her silver hair a mussed cascade down her back. The tempo of her breathing was sharp, quick. Close. So close. He felt the tension coil, felt her body strive for pleasure with flattering swiftness.

“Jon!” she gasped as she came. Jon relaxed, leaning into the crook of her shoulder, scattering soft kisses on her neck and murmuring praise. Arousal twisted his gut into knots. His cock was uncomfortably stifled in his denims. He wished he had the angle right and could fuck her with his fingers. He wanted to feel those sweet little flutters of her cunt as she came. Still, that was awesome. A kiss, a little touching and she went off like a firework. The brightness and color danced behind his eyes. Jon eased his fingers away from her sensitive clit and licked them clean. The rich taste of her musk made his stones ache.

“That was fantastic. Can I have another taste?” Jon whispered, kissing the shell of her ear. He hadn’t noticed her earrings. Little silver studs in the shape of dragons. Cute. Daenerys clung to him with a sexy, breathless laugh.

“Fuck, Jon. You’re incredible. Yes. I want more.”

Jon hummed happily, sweeping junk off his kitchen table to spread her knees open. By the time the timer dinged for their dessert, Jon was already enjoying his.

#jonerys fanfiction #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #fp37 fic #first blush #vampire!Dany #bartender!Jon #light smut #flirty

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angelinasway · 3 years

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Regaining Hope

Pairing: Clark Kent/Buffy Summers

Warnings/Triggers:Torture, Violence, Mention's of Major Character Death, Bad Language, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

Summary: Takes place during Man of Steel. When Buffy discovers the U.S Military trying to keep quiet about an object buried in a twenty thousand year old glacier, she immediately thinks the worst. However, when a surprise visit to the Canadian Arctic puts her in the path of a mysterious stranger her whole world is changed forever.

[TTH] [AO3] [FFN]

Authors Notes: Thank you all for your amazing reviews. You guys have been inspiring. I'm gonna add one more warning to this story because I got a review on FFN that makes me feel I need too. Even though It's a warning that I never knew I would need to put considering who we're talking about here. So here it is, there is Angelus bashing in this. I'm trying to keep my biased about Angel to a minimum, but I wasn't aware that Angelus needed a disclaimer too, so there it is. As for this chapter, there will be a lot to unpack here. I'm also going with the idea that one of Clark's weaknesses is magic, so keep that in mind as you read this. Thank you guys again so much, your kind words have really helped me keep focused on the story, I truly do appreciate each and everyone who took the time to review. Thanks for giving this a chance I hope you all enjoy reading. Also thank you to my wonderful beta Hipkarma for giving this chapter a look for me. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Two

It took Buffy less than a minute to find the recently constructed tunnel. It wasn’t snowing and she easily found a set of large footprints heading along a rocky ledge. The glacial ice was still steaming from whatever had been used to cut through it when she found the opening. The edges were smoothed as if a giant heated drill had ground and melted the ice into nothing. There were hardly any puddles to speak of, and it was quite clear that whatever did this, wasn't done by any machine that she knew of on Earth. In fact, if she had been dealing with anything else she would have immediately thought this was some sort of magic. Though to be fair, she still wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t.

"Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this?" She grumbled quietly, as she stepped inside and slowly made her way through the frozen tunnel.

Her breath came out in large puffs of fog, adrenaline masking the cold she should be feeling. Luckily, there was just enough light to make out where she was going with her enhanced vision. It was a slow journey, but when she finally reached the opening, she gasped in awe. ‘Oh yeah, this thing is definitely out of this world. It’s absolutely massive, still partially covered in thousands of years of hard ice.’

She noticed a ramp leading onto the ship dripping with recently melted ice and cautiously followed it up. She stepped onto the glass-like metal flooring of the hull and noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see a strange looking floating creature moving into her periphery.

She froze. It looked way too much like a facesucker for her comfort zone. She took a step back, tossed her pack and dropped into a defensive stance before reaching behind her to unsheathe her scythe. The mouth, or body, or whatever the hell it was, started to open and she stepped back even further.

"Dammit, I hate it when I'm right." She muttered.

So focused on its head, she wasn’t paying attention when the next second its spike like tail whipped out slicing deeply into the side of her abdomen. Buffy cried out in surprised pain, feeling the unmistakable sensation of hot and sticky blood soaking through her shirt and down the leg of her jeans. She stumbled backward, but was able to keep her footing even as the thing tried to swipe at her again.

Her eyes narrowed at the thing. “All right, now you’ve really pissed me off,” she growled. The pain of her injury taking a back seat to her need to survive.

It screeched at her, attempting to swipe at her again. She dodged its attack, rolling right underneath of it and coming up with a full powered swing of her scythe, only with the wrong side. The flat end made contact, the thing slamming hard into the inner wall of the ship. It screeched again, as sparks flew from it and her eyes widened in realization.

“It’s a robot,” she murmured in surprise.

It came at her again, this time shooting some sort of blue ball of energy at her. She dodged, flipping away from it to create enough distance so she could charge the thing. Maybe take it by surprise. She never got the chance however, because by the time she had turned back around, her mystery man was already there and had the droid between his large hands. He struggled with it for a minute and Buffy stepped forward ready to help him when the metal suddenly gave under his assault. His hands crushed the droid like a soda can and he threw what was left aside, it crashing into the wall of the ship with a loud bang.

They stared at each other a long time. Man, she really hoped he wasn’t evil because right now with the injury she was sporting there was absolutely no way she could fight him. Especially, with the show of strength he just performed. The reminder of said injury brought back the pain in full and she shakily slid to her knees, scythe falling from her hand.

"Thanks," she breathed gratefully, her eyes falling shut as she used her hand to stem off the blood flow as best she could.

"You're welcome." He said, the deep baritone of his voice making her shiver. She felt him move closer, before he added, "You're hemorrhaging, the droid nicked your abdominal artery."

Buffy nodded, wincing as she used one hand to undo her belt and slide it through the loops in her jeans. "I know." She said shakily. "Not exactly my first rodeo."

She felt him move closer still, crouching down in front of her. Her trembling hands trying to clumsily wrap her belt around her torso so she could stop the bleeding.

"I could cauterize the wound for you, if you'd like." He said quietly, worry lacing his voice.

Buffy finally managed to put the end through the loop in that moment, and yanked the belt tight. She fell backwards, her back hitting the cold metal wall. She whimpered as tears of pain filled her eyes, breathing slowly through her nose until the pain began to ebb away. When she finally could speak again, she met his eyes, a small smile gracing her lips at the concern she saw in them. "Thank you,” she said sincerely, “but it’s not necessary, I heal fast." She must have lost more blood than she thought however, because her next words surprised even herself. "Just need to slowdown the bleeding so my Slayer healing kicks in. Don't want to end up a corpse on your floor for the next nine hours."

He immediately frowned in confusion, "I don't understand?"

Buffy chuckled humorlessly, "Yeah..." She coughed, grimacing at the taste of blood in her mouth. “Neither do I.” She sighed, and changed the subject, not really wanting to go there at the moment. “Gotta name, or do I just need to keep referring to you as handsome stranger in my head.” ‘Okay, yep, I definitely lost too much blood.’

He looked away at her words, partially because he seemed to be genuinely shy and partially because he seemed torn on answering her. She could relate to that. She understood what it was like to need to hide who you were from people. She was never very good at it, but she remembered very clearly the fear of what people would think of her if they knew she was a superhuman freak.

“Hey,” She said, reaching a hand out to place on his arm. Thinking better of it when she noticed the blood coating it. “It’s okay, I get it.” He looked up, meeting her eyes and she shrugged. “I was never very good at the secret identity gig, but I certainly remember what it was like to need to hide who I was.” She chuckled, “Believe it or not, the U.S Government thought the Slayer was a myth until I caught them playing in my backyard.”

“I still don’t know what that is.” He said quietly, “A Slayer, I mean. I tried finding out from Jed, but all he said was that you work for an organization that hunts and kills monsters.” He paused, taking a deep breath, before asking. “Am I the type of…Do you kill people like me?”

He was being serious. She knew. But she couldn’t help messing with him a little. The truth of the matter was, she had no intention of going head-to-head with him even if she was at her best. If he was truly evil he would have acted already, especially with her weakened state. She also doubted he would have offered to help her heal or look quite as worried for her safety as he did.

She put her most serious face on and pretended to contemplate it for a minute. “Hmm, well you’ll probably need to pass my required oral exam to be sure.” Her eyes suddenly widened at what that must have sounded like, especially after the handsome comment. ‘Okay, this is the last time I’m losing this much blood in front of a hot guy and not just letting myself bleed out. Apparently, I really don’t know how to shut up when I’m this anemic.

She noticed his cheeks reddening and the look of shock on his face, so she blurted out the first question that came to mind. “Do you eat babies?”

A horrified look of disgust quickly replaced the shocked look, “What? No!”

“Do you like to bathe in the blood of the innocent?” She could tell by the suddenly offended look on his face that he still hadn’t caught on that she was messing with him.

“No!” he said, an irritated frown marring his face.

“Do you worship any deities that require you to make a human sacrifice yearly, biyearly, monthly, bimonthly, weekly, or biweekly?” Now he just looked annoyed, and it was getting harder for Buffy to keep a straight face.

“Are these questions actually necessary?” He asked, the annoyance clear in his voice.

An amused smile broke across her face, “Are you asking if these things actually exist, or if I actually think you do any of them?”

His look of annoyance quickly melted into one of amusement, the corner of his mouth turning up and a soft look coming into his blue eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before,” He admitted. His eyes roaming over her face. He seemed to come to a decision in that moment, because his next words were, “My name…my real one, it’s Clark.”

“Clark,” Buffy repeated, testing the name on her tongue. A small smile playing at her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Clark before.” Her eyes studied his face. “It suits you. I would tell you my name, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you already know it." She gestured with her chin. "And judging by the way your eyes keep seemingly monitoring my injury and heart rate, I'm guessing you have some kind of enhanced vision." She grinned at his stunned look, and shrugged. "So, let's see," she held up her hand counting off what his superpowers were, "Enhanced vision," she held up a finger. "Super strength," she held up another. "Those are two of the five senses." A third finger came up, "Enhanced hearing is probably the third." She frowned in thought for a moment, before saying, "Though you don’t strike me as someone who needs to stalk his prey, I’m betting you have that annoying ability to smell everything even if you don’t need to use it. So that’s four.”

Clark slipped down to where he was fully seated, blinking in surprise. "How…?” He swallowed, shaking his head an impressed look coming over his face. “Did anyone ever tell you, you're incredibly observant?"

"Kinda have to be in my line of work.” She shrugged, adding, “Though you did set off my spidey senses like a roman candle. A girl can’t really help but take notice when you register in the beyond-godlike-powerful status.” At his confused and worried look, she elaborated. “It’s part of the whole Slayer package, basically a long time ago a bunch of shamans used the essence of a demon to create a warrior. They chained a young girl to the earth and imbued her with it so she would have the strength and skill to fight all the wonderful things that go bump in the night.” She sighed, “For a long time there was only one girl at a time. One dies, another is called. That’s how it worked.” She gave him a small smile and nodded, “Until about ten years ago that is, me and some friends changed the rules.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. “So, there you have it, Clark. I’m the longest living One girl in all the world with the gift and skill to fight the vampires, the demons, and forces of darkness. Except, I’m not the only one anymore.”

He blinked in surprise, studying her face more closely. “How old are you?”

Buffy bit her lip, not quite sure how to answer that without bringing up her resurrection. She sighed meeting his eyes, there wasn’t much she could do about it now, “Thirty-two.”

Clark sucked in a breath of surprise, “How is it that you—”

“Haven’t aged since I was twenty-one,” Buffy finished for him. When he nodded, she avoided his eyes while saying, “That’s kinda what happens when your friends resurrect you with a powerful spell and screw up the balance between good and evil.” She shrugged looking anywhere but at his face, that old familiar longing for heaven playing at her soul. She loved Willow. She really did, and after the whole Angelus incident they had grown much closer than they’d been in years. The resurrection and the price that Buffy was still paying however, was far too great to ever fully forgive. “Long story short, I can’t age anymore and if I die, I can’t stay dead.”

She coughed, the pain of the act making her vision narrow a bit. She could feel that her body was well on its way to mending itself but she had lost way too much blood. The familiar fogginess of a healing sleep was prickling her eyes and she widened them shaking her head to try and clear it. Cold dread filling her at the very thought of falling into a coma like sleep and having to relive all the crap she’s been through. It was one of the most horrifying feelings ever, to be trapped in her worst nightmares with no means of escape until her body fully healed. In a desperate attempt to keep herself awake she reached out and grasped Clark’s hand.

****<S>**<S>****

Clark watched her eyes widen in fear, before she reached out with a bloody hand to grasp his. “Please,” She pleaded. “Please don’t let me fall asleep.” He could see the beginning of tears of desperation prickling her eyes, “I know I need to, but…but sometimes it’s worse than dying.” She sighed and leaned her head back against the ship hull. "It’s...it’s okay if you can't. Just...just try."

He squeezed her hand, his heart filling with so much sympathy for this brave young woman. She hadn’t shown any true fear until this moment. Not when she had fought the drone, not when she watched him destroy it, not even when she was binding her own wound and already figured out a few of his abilities. She had even made a few jokes at his expense, but she had done them in such a way that he couldn't really take offense. She was an enigma to him; out of all the humans he'd ever met—besides his own parents, she had to be the least judgmental of them all. The only thing that seemed to truly scare her was her own memories, and that truly did break his heart. No one should be that afraid of their own past.

“How do you want me to help?” He whispered, as he watched her eyes begin to droop before flying open again.

“Tell me about yourself.” She whispered, her words coming out a bit slurred. “W-where are you from? How long have you been on Earth?”

He shifted, getting more comfortable before saying. “I grew up in Kansas, in a little town called Smallville. Beyond that, I don’t actually know. My ship landed on my parent’s farm when I was just a baby. They took me in and raised me as their own.” He told her a little bit more, about the farm, about some of the life lessons his dad tried to instill in him, why he was afraid of anyone finding out what he was, why he was on this ship in the first place.

Buffy smiled dreamily and hummed, “Sometimes I forget there’s still good people in the world. Sounds to me like you got really lucky with who found you.” She yawned, her words becoming more slurred. “Once I’m healed, I can help you look for answers.”

He blinked in surprise, a grateful smile coming on his lips “Thank you.” He said sincerely, adding, “And I did, my dad could be pretty hard on me at times, but—”

“He was scared of anyone finding out what you are.” She finished, her voice growing softer and more distant. He squeezed her hand lightly and her eyes flew open as she shook her head again trying to force the sleep away. She continued, as if she hadn’t almost just lost consciousness. “Must have been pretty lonely, not having anyone to confide in.”

“It was.” He agreed quietly, his eyes scanned her brain activity and seeing she was quickly losing her battle against sleep, he added, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep you awake much longer.”

She smiled sadly, her eyes drooping to mere slits. “I know, worth a try though.” She sighed through her teeth. “Just do me a favor, don’t…don’t let me wake up alone. It’s worse w-when I–”

She never finished, as her body and mind finally succumbed to a much-needed rest. Her heartrate dropped to what would be considered dangerous for a normal human. The blood slowing in her veins and allowing for the natural healing process that came with her abilities.

He watched her for a long time. Too afraid to move for fear that if he left her side her heart would suddenly stop. Oh, he knew what she told him was the truth. It was just difficult for someone like him to believe. Spending most of your life being different and watching people die. Knowing you could do something but unable to for fear of the world finding out what you really are. It made him feel helpless more times than not.

Clark had spent a long time picking his battles. Deciding who to save based off of his ability to get away with it. He hated not being able to help everyone, and he hated even more that humans as a whole were so easily guided by their fears of the unknown. It was more than that though, there was so much pain and suffering. He could hear it even now if he focused. Screams, cries for help that nobody heeded, laughing cruelty and hysterical sobbing. It was all there, the sounds of the world were filled with so much hate, anger, and sadness it was deafening.

Maybe that’s why he was so taken with this beautiful girl in front of him. She didn't seem to possess the fears that so many of the people of this world did. The fact that she knew what he was and hadn't so much as blinked in surprise completely threw him. He knew it most likely was due to the life she lived and what she was, but it was such a refreshing moment. He reached out with his free hand and brushed a loose blonde strand away from her cheek. She was also incredibly sad and lonely. It was as plain as day in her eyes and on her face. She was worn down by whatever she had been through to the point that he imagined she tried not to sleep. The dark circles he could see under her eyes attested to that much.

He scanned her injury again, relieved to see the artery had healed almost completely. He sighed and let his eyes wander for the first time since he noticed she was hurt, spotting a discarded backpack near the entrance of the ship. He frowned, scanning its contents before rolling his eyes in annoyance. There was a first aid kit inside. ‘Why didn’t she tell him?’

Clark retrieved the pack and proceeded to dress her wound as best he could, disinfecting then using gauze and medical tape to secure a makeshift bandage. He undid the belt across her torso, no longer worried about her bleeding out.

He noticed her discarded weapon next. The strange looking axe he had seen in her travel bags. A child like curiosity he didn’t even know he still possessed came over him and he picked it up. It was surprisingly light and well balanced, the end of the handle itself was cleverly carved into a stake. He swung it a few times, smiling to himself at the way it easily sliced through air. He ran his finger gently along the blade and hissed in surprise, dropping the axe and taking several steps back, staring at the blade in a mixture of horrified disbelief. Blood welled up in the cut in his finger and he couldn’t help but study the red substance in fascination. He looked from the small cut to the axe several times, not quite processing what just happened.

“There is an energy source unknown to the Kryptonian Archives imbedded into the elements of the weapon.” A new voice spoke from behind Clark.

He quickly turned, coming face to face with an older man wearing robes. “Who…who are you?”

“There will be time for that later Kal El. First, we must get you and your friend away from human meddling. We’ve much to discuss.”

The man disappeared the next instant and Clark heard the engines fire on. He reached for the pack, throwing it over his shoulder. He picked Buffy up next hoisting her into his arms and grabbing her weapon at the same time. He didn’t really like the idea of it being near him considering what it was capable of, but he didn’t think she would like to wake without it nearby.

****<S>**<S>****

She was on the tower again.

"Dawnie listen, listen to me. I love you. I will always love you, but this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles... tell him I figured it out and...and that I'm okay. Give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. You have to be strong." Buffy reached out her hand cupping her sister cheek, tears welling in her eyes. "Dawn the hardest thing in this world...is to live in it. Be brave. Live...for me"

She turned running, not giving her sister another chance to object, and as she dove off the platform another voice penetrates her mind.

"I am your father Kal. Or at least a shadow of him. His consciousness."

Another voice, this one more familiar to her. "And Kal? That's my name?"

*FLASH*

She couldn’t breathe, everything smelt of decay and earth. She cried out in fear, paper thin skin breaking on hands as they assaulted her tomb. Satin tore as ragged nails snagged, wood splintered as her hands scrabbled for an escape, any escape. Dirt and soil rained down on her and she cried out again, choking and gagging as her mouth filled with the substance. She had to get out, had to push through. If she didn’t, she would never get out. She climbed, pushing through packed earth with strength. Strength, she remembered, she had strength. Always meant to be strong. Not allowed to break, because breaking means death.

The voice was back, the one from before, or was it after. She didn't know. She listened; it was easier to listen than to think of where she was. To remember the truth. She broke the surface, vomiting on the ground and squeezed her eyes shut forcing herself to listen to the voices, both of them soothing and quiet.

“You came from Krypton. A world with a much harsher environment than Earth’s. Long ago, in an era of expansion, our race spread out through the stars, seeking new worlds to settle upon. This scout ship was one of thousands launched into the void. We built outposts on other planets, using great machines to reshape environments to our needs. For one hundred thousand years our civilization flourished, accomplishing wonders”.

“What happened?

“Artificial population control was established. The outposts and space exploration were abandoned. We exhausted our natural resources, as a result our planet’s core became unstable. Eventually our military leader, General Zod, attempted a coup. But by then it was too late. Your mother and I foresaw the coming calamity, and we took certain steps to ensure your survival.”

Mommy, she had a mommy once. Her eyes opened focusing on her headstone and she screamed.

*FLASH*

She walked into the living room and froze. Her mom was on the couch unmoving, eyes opened. She remembered this. Her legs carried her over to the couch, but she didn’t panic, not like before. She fell to her knees grasping her mother’s cold hand. Tears welled in her eyes as she studied the lifeless face. “I’m so sorry mommy.” She whispered. “I should have been here. I’m so sorry.”

“Why don’t you put her in one of the resting chambers.” A voice said, causing Buffy to turn away from her mother’s body. Her eyes searching for the source.

“She asked me not to leave her alone.” A familiar voice replied. Why did she know that voice?

“Very well.”

*FLASH*

There was a leaky pipe somewhere in the factory. She could hear the drip…drip…drip as she stared in shock at what her own hands had done. The mutilated vampire on the table was barely alive. She had made sure that she had taken everything from him but his heart. She wanted to save that for last.

Her hands began to tremble in fear of herself, the blade she’d been using to carve him up slipping from her grasp. She stumbled over to the table on weak legs, reaching behind her and pulling out her stake.

“I guess you won after all.” She whispered, before driving it deep into his heart.

When the dust settled, she fell to her knees and vomited, unable to move. The voices were back and she closed her eyes trying to focus on the words.

“This is a Genesis Chamber. All Kryptonians were conceived in chambers such as this. Every child was designed to fulfill a predetermined role in our society; as a worker, a warrior, a leader and so on. Your mother and I believed Krypton lost something precious, the element of choice, of chance. What if a child dreamed of becoming something other than what society had intended for him or her? What if a child aspired to something greater? You were the embodiment of that belief, Kal, Krypton’s first natural birth in centuries. That’s why we risked so much to save you.”

“Why didn’t you come with me?”

“We couldn’t, Kal. No matter how much we wanted to, no matter how much we loved you. Your mother Lara and I were a product of the failures of our world as much as Zod was. We were tied to its fate.”

“So, I’m alone.”

Alone, just like her.

*FLASH*

She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare. Her Watcher was dead, his neck bent at an odd angle. Her legs went out on her and she fell to the ground as the sounds of battle played out around her.

“Buffy!” A familiar voice called; one she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Buffy, love, we gotta go.”

“But…but Giles?” She whispered weakly.

“I know Slayer, I know.” He sighed sadly, as he reached down and hauled her to her feet. “But he’s already gone. We can’t help him anymore. We need to get out of here, Red set the whole place ablaze.”

She looked up meeting bright blue eyes, “Spike?” She asked in confusion, before an arrow pierced her back.

*FLASH*

They were trapped. The wards broken enough to smoke them out, but not enough for them to leave.

“I’m not leaving you!” She argued.

“Bloody hell, why do you have to be the most difficult chit in the bloody universe! We don’t know if you can even survive fire and I’m sure as hell not risking it!” Spike yelled.

“Well, I know you can’t survive fire so I sure as hell am not leaving you to die alone!” She snarled. “We did this already, remember!”

He roared in frustration, kicking a nearby chair into the wall and it shattered into kindling. “I won’t let you die!”

“You don’t have a choice!” She fired back.

He stared at her in disbelief, before his expression melted into passionate rage. “The hell I don’t!” And then he grabbed her by the shoulders and smashed his lips against hers.

It only took a few seconds for her to respond and she melted into him. Her mouth opening, tongues caressing. She moaned, bringing him closer to her, remembering their dance, missing it.

He pulled away with a gasp, both of them panting for breath. “Now you listen to me! I love you; do you hear. I never stopped and never will. I will not watch you die. So, if today is my day to die, I’ll be damned if he gets to choose how.” And then he was kissing her again.

Unbeknownst to her he activated her emergency portal. The one that only allowed Slayers to travel through. He walked her backwards, without breaking contact and before she realized it, they were both inside. She pulled back in shock as she realized where they were. The familiar feeling of being sucked into nothing filling her. She screamed as she felt him dust.

*FLASH*

The abandoned home smelt like old urine and vomit, but she was much too tired and weak to care. She didn’t remember the last time she ate or drink anything, not that it really mattered. She was starting to become convinced she couldn’t die this way. It didn’t matter though, nothing did. She was a monster, just like her prey. Make a monster to fight a monster, that’s what the shaman did.

She was filthy, her hair greasy and limp, her eyes dull and lost, dirt coated her face and hands. What was the point of life if all it ever caused you was pain? She just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up, or maybe just melt into the disgusting mattress she was laying on and forget that life existed. She had lost all hope, in fact she didn’t remember the last time she felt it. Had she ever? She heard the voices again, focusing in, trying to pull herself out of this pit of despair.

“No. You are as much a child of earth now as you are of Krypton. You can embody the best of both worlds. A dream your mother and I dedicated our lives to preserve. The people of earth are different than us, it’s true. But ultimately, I believe that’s a good thing. They won’t necessarily make the same mistakes we did. Not if you guide them, Kal. Not if you give them hope. That’s what this symbol means. The symbol of the house of El means hope. Embodied within that hope is the fundamental belief in the potential of every person to be a force for good. That’s what you can bring them. You will give the people of earth an ideal to strive towards. They will race behind you, they will stumble, they will fall. But in time, they will join you in the sun, Kal. In time, you will help them accomplish wonders.”

Buffy clung on to the words, trying to pull herself free from the dream. A man of hope, a symbol of goodness. She needed that, she desperately needed goodness and hope. She was close to breaking through the surface.

She heard Clark–now she remembered his voice, “Why am I so different from them?”

“Earth’s sun is younger and brighter than Krypton’s was. Your cells have drunk in its radiation, strengthening your muscles, your skin, your senses. Earth’s gravity is weaker, yet its atmosphere is more nourishing. You’ve grown stronger here than I ever could imagine. The only way to know how strong is to keep testing your limits.”

****<S>**<S>****

Buffy awoke with a gasp, her hands scrambling against the chest she was nestled against. The memories of her past still playing out in technicolor and surround sound.

"Hey, hey," A soothing voice said, gently lowering her to her feet. "It's okay, you're okay."

She stumbled away. Her eyes still not able to focus. The trembling in her limbs causing her to fall on all fours. She dry-heaved as a broken sob tore from her lips. She felt a warm hand gently rub her back, and she closed her eyes enjoying the comforting feeling.

"Will she be alright?” A new voice asked, the one from her dream.

“I don’t know.” She heard Clark answer, panic clear in his voice. “Buffy are you okay?”

"No," She answered, swallowing back another sob, breathing slowly through her nose. "But I will be, just…just give me a minute."

Just then a swirling portal opened up and an incredibly pissed off Witch in straight up Eskimo attire stepped out. She took one look at the blood covering Buffy and the distressed look on her face and came to a completely wrong conclusion. Her eyes went black and she snarled, “What the hell did you do to my friend, you son of a bitch!”

“No!” Buffy shouted as purple tendrils of magic shot from her friend’s fingers, hitting Clark square in the chest and knocking him on his back. He groaned in pain rolling onto his side in a fetal position. Buffy was up the next instant, charging Willow and breaking the spell.

“No Wills,” She panted grabbing ahold of her friend. “He’s a friendly.”

Her friend’s angry eyes faded back to green and she turned on Buffy, breaking her hold. “A friendly,” She said lowly, her eyes narrowing. “A friendly! So, what, you meet tall dark and powerful over there and think, ‘Oh, wouldn’t it be a great idea to fly away with him in a spaceship to the North Pole?’ Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

Buffy frowned in confusion, “The North Pole? Fly?” She turned and looked at Clark in bewilderment. “You flew the ship?”

He shook his head, slowly getting back to his feet. “No,” He said, his voice coming out strained.

“I’m afraid, that was my idea.” A fatherly gentleman in robes said. “I didn’t want the people of Earth to commandeer the ship. I did not realize you had other methods of finding us.”

“Most humans don’t.” Buffy agreed, moving to check and see how hurt Clark was. “Willow’s special.”

She ran her hands down Clark’s chest looking for any serious damage. Thankful when she could find none. “You okay?” She asked him quietly, at his nod, she sighed. “Sorry about that. I have over protective friends.”

His lips quirked, “I noticed.” His eyes sparkled a bit. “It’s kind of funny actually. I’ve gone my whole life thinking nothing could hurt me physically and after just a few hours of meeting you, I find two things. That crazy looking axe of yours and as it turns out, your friend.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in disbelief at his words. “Wait, go back. Like nothing?”

He shrugged, “I had an oil rig fall on me once while I was rescuing some people. It managed to knock me out.”

Okay, so not just superstrength, more like godlike strength. She suspected as much with the vibes she got off of him, but it was still almost too much to believe. “Define what an oil rig falling on you means?” She said a bit light headed from the thought of just how strong that could be.

He cleared his throat, looking at the ground bashfully. “Well, it was on fire and the workers were trapped. Fire doesn’t hurt me, so I was able to get to them and get through the steel door they had locked themselves behind. I got them out and onto the helicopter, when the tower started to collapse. I was able to hold it up long enough for them to get away before the steel melted and the whole thing came down on top of me.”

Buffy looked at him in absolute wonder. “That’s…Holy shit!”

“Wait,” Willow swallowed, her face losing color. “Did this happen last year?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, eyeing Willow suspiciously.

“Oh Gods, I think I may have just attacked the Power’s new Champion.” Willow breathed, looking like she might actually faint.

Buffy frowned in confusion, “Wills, what are you talking about?”

Willow swallowed, looking suspiciously guilty. “About a year and a half ago me and Wes were digging through the old archives. We…we stumbled on a prophecy, a…a prophecy about a Champion. It said he will have the powers of a god with the soul of a man, but he will be neither.” Her eyes met Clark’s. “We came looking for you after we heard about the oil rig, we umm…Well, we were going to offer you a job, see if you were the real deal.” She shook her head, “But you had already disappeared.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Buffy asked, her eyes moving between Clark’s stunned expression and Willow’s nervous one. ‘How could they keep something like that from me?’

If anything, Willow looked even more guilty now. A sure sign that Buffy was not going to be pleased with her next words. “We umm,” Willow fidgeted with the sleeves of her coat, not meeting Buffy’s eyes. “We decided not to tell you because you…well, umm…you’re kinda in it too.”

“What the hell, Willow!” Buffy reeled as if slapped. “And you didn’t think telling me was a good idea?”

“W-we wanted to be sure. A-and there’s some other stuff in there. Stuff we thought might seriously wig you.” Willow said nervously.

Buffy raised an eyebrow, not at all impressed with the explanation. “Such as?”

At that moment a look of relief crossed Willow’s face, and she clicked on her headset. “Wesley, yeah, no she’s fine. Look–” But she never finished what she was going to say because Buffy marched over and ripped the earpiece out of her ear none to gently. “What are you…ow!”

Buffy turned and stared at Clark. The poor guy looked all sorts of confused. “Wesley,” She began sweetly. “Mind telling me what this lovely prophecy is about, and why you felt the need to keep it from me?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, before an irritated sigh reached her ears. “I’m not sure this the appropriate time–”

“The hell it’s not!” She barked. “That guy you and Willow were secretly looking for last year is standing right in front of me.”

There was another long silence, before he sighed again. “So, it’s happened then.”

“What’s happened? What the hell is going on?” She ground out, getting really fed up with the cryptic.

“Look Buffy, I promise to explain when you get here.” He paused, “But in the meantime I have both the U.S Government and Canadian Parliament threatening to go to war with us if they don’t find out what the hell happened to you and that spaceship.”

She groaned in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Shit!”

“My sentiments exactly.” He replied sarcastically.

“Okay,” She started pacing back and forth. “Okay, this is what were gonna do. Get Willow some coords in between here and the camp, preferably closer to the camp. Make it rural enough that any search and rescue they sent out could have easily missed it. Willow will port me there and we’ll leave evidence that I was dumped there.” She looked at Willow, who nodded in agreement. “I’m covered in enough DNA to make it plausible anyway–”

“Are you alright?” Wesley cut in; the brotherly worry strong in his voice.

“I’m fine Wes,” She sighed. “There was a security droid on the ship that wasn’t too happy with me boarding armed. Besides losing a lot of blood and a bout of crappy memories, I’m peachy with a side of keen.” She immediately noticed Willow’s kicked puppy look and rolled her eyes. Oh, that ever present black mark on their friendship. Always there but never talked about.

Wesley cleared his throat changing the subject, because that’s how the modern day Scoobies dealt with her immortality. Not that she blamed him. He’d been an outsider when she had been brought back. He hadn’t understood the extent of the damage Willow had caused until much later and even then, he didn’t understand. None of them could know what she’d lost. “It’s a sound plan, Buffy.” He paused, before asking, “And this mystery man of yours, do you think you can get him to come with you?”

Buffy met Clark’s wary eyes and shook her head. “I’ll talk to him, but I’m not forcing him into anything.”

“Of course,” Wesley agreed.

Buffy handed the earpiece back to Willow and approached Clark. “So, umm…I guess this is goodbye.” She looked at her feet fidgeting nervously, before adding, “I wanted to tell you…well…that I heard what your dad said while I was asleep, about why you were sent here.” She swallowed, meeting his curious gaze. “I don’t know if you’re this Prophesized Champion or not, but even if you’re not I…I think you could make a difference. I know humans are, well we’re stupid really. We’re selfish and prejudiced. We make mistakes and screw up. We hurt each other, even the ones we love, but we’re capable of much more than that. We love, we laugh, we learn and we grow. We are capable of change and acceptance; it just takes some of us time.”

She swallowed looking down, “But I also think this world desperately needs hope.” She felt the prickling of tears as she remembered how the thought of hope had been what finally pulled her out of the nightmare.

“I know I do.” She whispered, voice cracking as a tear slipped down her cheek. She felt a finger hook under her chin, gently lifting it so she was suddenly staring into warm blue eyes.

“Okay,” He said simply.

She blinked in surprise. “Okay?”

His lips quirked into a half smile. “Okay,” He repeated, before his eyes became serious again. “But I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that I’ll never be used to hurt people. I don’t think I could handle that,” He shook his head.

Buffy agreed immediately, “Of course, we’re not in the habit of killing humans. Demons and vamps sure, but humans we try to keep off the table.”

Clark nodded, “I assumed as much when you refused to give Hardy the program you guys use to monitor military chatter. You said you were here to protect humanity and not get involved with petty wars.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I feel the same, I just want to help people.”

Buffy nodded in understanding, reaching in her back pocket for her wallet and hoping not all her business cards were ruined. “It’s hard to refuse the call, when you know you can help, isn’t it?”

“Very,” He agreed as she found a card that hadn’t been soaked through with blood and handed it to him. Clark took it and put it in his pocket. “There’s one more thing,” He added. “I would like to keep my anonymity for the time being. I don’t think I’m ready for the world to know who I am yet.”

She smiled softly. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

He smiled then, a real genuine smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “Okay,” He agreed again.

“Buffy,” Willow interrupted. “Wes has a place.”

She sighed, part of her reluctant to leave. “That’s my cue. Call me when you get back to civilization okay?”

“I will.” He said with a nod as he watched her grab her axe, before she and her friend stepped through the portal and disappeared.

[Chapter One]

#man of steel fanfiction #man of steel #superman #superman fanfiction #superman crossover #clark kent #kal el #buffy x clark #buffy x superman #man of steel crossover #btvs #btvs fanfiction #btvs crossover #sarah michelle gellar #henry cavill #buffy summers #buffy summers x clark kent #this is totally self indulgent

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