Title: II
Paring: Conner Kent X Reader
Warnings: fluff, tension, cutesy
Dedicated to: an ao3 user
Spoilers: nope
Sequel of: I, my other Conner Kent fic.
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Lunch with Conner Kent was supposed to be the end of the line. Or, you had assumed so, because you were just an insignificant person in comparison to everyone in the youth Justice League he worked with. You had returned to Metropolis after you were well enough to walk with medical aid – much to Conner's displeasure – and a month after the incident, you were back at work, albeit, with a cast on.
It led to a re-shuffling of the lower-tier of the Daily Planet office, and you were assigned a desk, while Steve was the one who got your old task of making coffee and fetching dry-cleaning. Three months had gone by, the cast off now, but you still had the desk. Bonus.
You had thought it ended with that lunch; you had banked on it being the end. You'd made sure to wear nice clothes – you'd still been at Happy Harbour, and hardly mobile, you couldn't exactly hit the mall, so you'd borrowed a nice top from Artemis – and held polite conversation. You found out that Conner hadn't really left the small town after school, well, other than the missions he performed. Top secret, he had reminded you every so often when the familiar faces of Batman's protégés walked by. He said top secret but when nobody was listening, he told you about his pet – the robot, and the wolf – and all about stuff you hadn't talked about as kids.
It had been a wonderful lunch. Fantastic. Which was why it killed you to say your goodbyes to Conner, and return to everyday life in Metropolis, but, that was the way it was. If life was a video game, you were for sure an NPC that people skipped the dialogue for when they came to you – if you even had dialogue at all.
So, when you answered the desk phone at work on a rainy Tuesday, you were half-shocked to hear Conner's voice answer your polite, hello you've reached ________ at the Daily Planet, how may I take your call? with are you free Friday? you freaked out.
"What do you mean, free? I mean, Friday?" you blinked, and, in a smaller voice, you say, "wait, Conner – why are you calling on this number?"
"I never got your cell," he replies, straight to the point as always, "and all Su – Clark gave me was this when I asked. So, I figured..." he trailed off. "Anyway, Friday?"
You blinked. "Um, Friday...I don't have anything planned," you say, opening your calendar on the desktop. It's then you notice your supervisor eying you strangely, and blinking, you say, for his benefit, "But to hear about your angle? Absolutely, I can pencil it in. Do you have a meeting place planned, or...?"
Conner chuckles at your last bit, the laugh as dry as ever. "You can write about it if you want. It's just a Young Justice League thing, we're all going for drinks at a club Bruce Wayne just opened in Midtown Gotham City."
"Could you just repeat that address for me, sir?" you say, glancing to your supervisor as you see him nearing. "193 Arlington Way –,"
"I'm pretty sure that's either in California, or Georgia. Meet me at the comic book store a block from your apartment, at midday."
"I'll be sure to be discreet, sir, as privacy is our main policy here at the Daily Planet," you said, and scribbling Friday, midday on the notepad by the phone, your handwriting near-incomprehensible. "Thank you for your call."
When you place the work landline back on its cradle, your bosses' arm is on the table beside you, and he's standing there, watching your face intently. He would be an intimidating man, if you let him be, but in truth, he's a middle-aged backwater reporter who wears a toupee to cover his low self-esteem and preys on the weak in the workplace.
"Was that a tip, Ms. ________?" he's not asking; it's the tone of his voice that lets you know those six words that he's demanding.
You nod, and in a level tone, reply, "A new contact called, asking for me," you respond, tight smile on your lips. "I'll need to take a half-day on Friday to meet with them."
By your tone, he knows you're demanding, and not asking, either, and with a swift nod, your boss recedes to his station on by the window, and the both of you return to what you were doing before the phone call. Except, while you complete your task, you cannot help but smile like an idiot for the rest of the day.
You've never experienced it before, but time seems to drag on until Friday. Wednesday is humid after the rain, and people in the office are upset about the lack of news for the week – you're internally thankful for the lack of news, because it meant there wasn't any more civil damage caused by the big-shot superheros and villains lately – and Thursday isn't any better. Except for when you clock out at five, and when your new desk buddy – Dean? Deacon? – says see you tomorrow! you respond with a cheery, "Monday for me. Have a lead for a story I'm meeting with tomorrow."
Deacon whistles, clearly jealous. "What I'd give for a lead; I'm stuck writing about the benefits of Arkham Asylum for taxpayers in the greater Gotham-Metropolis area." He pats you on the back as he walks by, and adds, "Don't have too much fun!"
But on Friday, it's hard not to quash the happiness that's quelling in the bottom of your stomach. Or is that last night's dinner? Your nerves are untamed. Not really one for the dating scene, you've never had someone you've been out with before come back for a second date. And, on top of that, you've never had the opportunity before the spend time with the whole Youth Justice League team. Just a handful, at different times in your life.
As you pick out an outfit for the day, you think back to the high school days when you didn't know of any of the things that Conner did as Superboy. You haven't seen Megan since high school, either, but, then again, you hadn't seen many of the people from Happy Harbour after you up and left when graduation came around. Apart from the nerves of wondering if these superheroes would mind you being there, you were excited.
Which is what you told yourself when you stood by the comic book store on the corner, a block from your apartment. You start to wonder why Conner knew where you lived, but not your cell number, but that's when you hear the dull roar of a motorcycle, pulling in front of where you stood.
"Need a ride?" Conner says, opening the motorcycle helmet's visor.
You beam. "It'd be nice," you reply, walking toward the bike. "Do you even need the helmet?"
He shrugs, undoing the helmet, and passing it to you. "No, but it looks cool. Get on, we're all meeting at that place in twenty minutes."
Your eyes widen under the helmet, as you straddle the motorcycle, sitting behind Conner. "Twenty minutes?" you repeat. "Didn't you say the place was in Midtown Gotham?"
"Don't worry, I won't speed," he says, turning to you.
If he was one to grin, now would be the time you saw a winning smile. Instead, Conner chuckled, and motioned for you to hold onto his waist. As he made the bike's engine grow louder before pulling out, your heart raced, and you wondered if he knew this was the first time you'd ever ridden a motorcycle, and, you wondered how your just-healed leg would do with it. But, you crossed the bridge and made headway from Metropolis to Gotham just fine, and by the time on your watch, it took only a minute less than Conner had said.
"Not speeding?" you asked, as he shut the engine off. He shook his head and looked away, and laughing, you disembarked the bike. "Anyways, are the team here to celebrate anything today?" you wondered. "Y'know, just asking. In case I have to write something about all of this."
Conner walked toward the entrance, you in step. "Just a victory against a foreign terrorist in Bialya."
You nod, understanding. "Queen Bee. That happened a month ago, didn't it?" you asked, following Conner into the bar, closing the door behind you. "Sorry, I'm always reading stuff, don't mind Know-It-All me."
"No, it's nice." Conner shakes his head, "I like hearing you talk." He clears his throat, and adds, "The victory against Queen Bee did happen a month ago, but since, there has been a few other...more top-secret missions that various members of the team had been sent on. We put off the celebration until now for regrouping."
You're about to ask another question, but that's when you recognise Artemis' ponytail and Meghan's laugh at a semi-large table by the bar. There's faces you recognise from the media, and many more you don't, and while they're all taking together like a large family, your legs still, frozen where you stand.
Why had you agreed to come? Was it just because of that child-like crush you had on Conner? You didn't belong here with these people. You were just a measly junior reporter. A wallflower. These guys were superheroes –
"There're two free seats between Kaldur'ahm and Dick." Conner says, but it's not his voice which shocks you from your thoughts. It's the warm feeling in your hand, and looking down, you see that Conner has laced his fingers with yours and holds your hand firmly. He clears his throat, "Shall, er, we?"
You nod, your legs only animate at his touch, and you slide into the seat which positions you with Conner on your left, and Dick Grayson on your right. He's wearing shades that were fashionable in the 1990's even though you're all indoors, and he gives you a smile.
"It's nice to meet you finally, ________." He offers his hand to shake, which you do. If you didn't know he worked alongside the Batman of Gotham city, you would assume that Dick was just being polite. "M'gann told me you went to school together?"
You nod, and seeing Megan across the table, give her a wave. She's seated beside a man who looks a little like the love interest from The Shape of Water and she gives you a wave. "Yeah, we were in the same year at Happy Harbour High School. Were you a grade above?" you ask.
Dick shakes his head. "I went to Gotham Academy."
You blink, "Wow." In your nervousness, you can't help but laugh. Dick notices this and changes the subject to something a little less ostentatious, and one you're familiar with; the news. When he asks for your opinion on the current events, however, you're interrupted by Conner.
"Uh, here's a menu, ________, Night – Dick." he says, passing you both a copy.
"Nightdick." Dick repeats, a smile on his face. "I'll remember that for my next blind date."
You turn to Conner, looking at his menu. "What are you thinking of getting?" you ask him, and glancing at his menu, you catch a glimpse at the prices that accompany the light food and alcohol. It's then you blanch. "Holy cow, fifteen dollars for a shot of vodka?" You whisper, horrified.
Conner must have heard you – of course he heard you, he's Superboy – and at that, he draws an arm around you, and pulls you closer to his side. You're as still as a living statue as he lowers his lips to your ear, and whispers, "Don't worry, the team's paying."
"It better be as much vodka as that vine." You retort. He gives you a confused look at that, and you add, "I'll show you the video later."
But as soon as you say that, Kaldur'ahm has the short clip already loaded on his phone, and the two of them watch the vine as a waitress comes around taking orders. Soon enough, you've all ordered, and as the night goes on, the team becomes chattier – the fish-man is called La'gaan, and he's an Atlantean like Kaldur'ahm. You find out there's two Flashes – one who you already knew of, Wally, but then there's Bart Allen, grandson of Barry Allen (which confuses you, because Barry Allen hasn't had children as far as you know as a journalist, but you don't question it). You even make conversation with the protégé of Wonder Woman and find that Cassie had the best funny stories of everyone.
It isn't until you realise that your wristwatch reads a quarter to midnight that you really should be leaving, and as soon as you say the word, Conner's gathered his jacket, and you're saying your goodbyes to the team. The night air is fresh upon your face, and even though the bar is in the better side of the city, you stay close to Conner's side as you walk to his motorcycle. You share no words embarking the bike, your hands clutching his sides as the engine roars back toward the streets of Metropolis that you've learned to love. But as he pulls up across from your apartment block, he turns to you.
"Did you enjoy tonight?" He asks, helping you unclasp the helmet. It's not that you need help for the simple task, it's because of the mixture of tired and the drinks you imbibed has made your fingers fumble. "I –,"
You nod, looking into his eyes. In the dull glow of the streetlights, his blue eyes are just as cerulean as the daytime. "It was a great night." You reply, watching as he takes the helmet under his armpit. You're about to say something sensible, perhaps offer him to stay the night, or, ask about something for your article, but instead, you blurt out, "How come you knew where I lived, but not my cell number?"
He stands there for a second, mute. "You want to know?" He asks you, quietly.
"Yeah," you reply. "...if it's not embarrassing."
He shrugs at your words. "Not embarrassing...I, um, I heard you." He says. You frown, unsure what that means, and Conner elaborates. "I heard your heartbeat, all the way from Mount Justice."
Your eyes widen. "That's...that's a long way." You conclude.
Conner hesitates. "I guess so." It's then a wind sweeps the street, pushing the fallen leaves and trash on the sidewalk five feet from where it previously lay. The wind seeps in your clothes, under your skin, and unbidden, you shiver. "You're cold," he states, and taking your hand, Conner walks you toward the foyer of your apartment building.
"Conner?" you ask, your tired voice making his name sound like a song. He hums in response, and you wonder aloud, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," he replies.
"What are we?" you ask.
His hand hovers at the door handle, still. Hands still interlocked, you squeeze his fingers lightly, and spurred to action, he opens the door, and lets you both into building where you can finally feel your nose once again.
"Conner?" you repeat, wondering. "What are we?"
"I don't know," he says. "I'm half Kryptonian –,"
You shake your head at his response and unlace your fingers from holding his hand. "No, not biology," you tell him. Sluggishly, in your tiredness, you move toward the wall where the elevator hides behind shiny trapdoors and call for it.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
You blink, turning to see him. Even though you've had a few to drink tonight, and you're aching to take off your shoes and fall into bed, under your comforter, the sight of Conner Kent makes your knees grow weak. How is it he always looks so handsome, like a model whose designer is showcasing alternative streetwear? How is it that he's so perfect, and yet, he's here? With you, the ex-high school wallflower?
"Us." You say, simply. "As people. As friends, or..."
Behind you in those metal doors, the elevator cries out its little song, the doors opening like the maw of a hungry metal beast. You wait to hear Conner's answer, but, when there is none, you turn, deflated, and enter the elevator. A goodnight sits upon your lips, but, just as the doors begin to shut, he rushes forth, and clambers into the elevator with you.
"Conner?" you whisper.
"I don't want to be just your friend anymore," he says simply.
There's a look in his eyes that could make a disbeliever believe, a broken young woman begin to heal. You turn to the buttons on the side, and pressing your floor, you barely keep it together as you turn to him. But barely keeping together you do, and at once, you move in synchronisation with Conner, and he with you, and the both of you collide in a sort of passion. It's your first kiss in years, and yet, it feels like the first kiss you've ever had because of how it makes you feel inside. Your arms are tight around his body, his scent filling your nose, and you barely register when the elevator stops at your level.
"This is my –," you say, breaking away from his embrace, but, Conner follows from the lift, and the both of you stand in the small foyer between the three apartments, silent. "I – I can't believe we just did that." you breathe.
Conner nods. "But we did it."
From your purse, you fish out your keys, and move toward the door of your apartment. But in doing this, you see Conner retreating to the elevator, hand about to press the button which will cast him downstairs, away.
"Where are you going?" you ask him.
He's silent, because the both of you know that by him leaving, he's to return to the mountain he lives in, in Happy Harbour, and it'll be some time again that he'll contact you because of the clash of your schedules.
"Don't go," you whisper.
"But I –," he goes to say, but you interrupt.
"Stay the night," you breathe, barely sure of the words, but, at the same time, mean them with all your heart. "Stay. Let's make up for lost time."