Archive of Our Own

Honey, Honey

That Friday evening, Superman's pal, Jimmy Olsen, had issues.

Jimmy angled his upper arm toward the mirror and hissed. Were those fingerprints?! When Superman had snatched him out of the air, all he'd felt was the electric throb of adrenaline, the blast of wind whipping around him, the heady relief of knowing he wasn't about to slam into the concrete street 100 storeys below, the manic joy that tore through him whenever his best friend appeared. He hadn't felt the force of the inhuman hand on his own weak flesh. But the bright lights of his dressing table showed, mercilessly, the dark purple shape of four fingers and a thumb ringing his otherwise pale, freckled bicep.

"Darn it," he groaned. It looked worse than it was–he could use his arm mostly just fine, and the shoulder had barely been dislocated–but he was going to need a metric ton of cover that he didn't have.

" Girrrl ," came an exclamation beside him. "You got boyfriend trouble, honey?"

Jimmy turned to his neighbour, Luscious Lady Gold-Divah, and gave a charming smile. "No?"

She stared back at him, a bold eyebrow raised over her startling neon green eyes, her golden lips pursed in disapproval. Even without her tall blonde wig, she towered over him, and he had no doubt that if he said yes she would have stormed out to find the culprit and kick his ass with her glittering stiletto. 

"Girlfriend?"

Jimmy barked a laugh. "No. No, nothing like that. I was actually–I mean, it was Superman–"

" Superman?! "

The entire dressing room of the Thymascira fell silent and eight pairs of shocked eyes turned toward them. The club house music suddenly sounded very loud from the front. 

Realizing that if he didn't give them the full tea they'd make up their own, Jimmy chuckled easily and stood to explain, propping his foot on his stool to give himself a bit more presence. "It was like this. S.T.A.R. labs is working on a growth serum, right?" The assembled queens nodded along because, yes, S.T.A.R. labs was renowned for their serums. "It's to help people who have a growth hormone deficiency from birth and parts of their bodies just don't develop like normal. Anyway, they needed volunteers for a first in human safety trial. That's where your girl Jaime came in." He jabbed a thumb at himself.

"And that's why all the roads into downtown Metropolis were cordoned off yesterday," called a pinched looking queen from the back. "Thank you very much," she added dryly as she turned away to finish curling her lashes.

Jimmy laughed. "Yeah, sorry about that. The serum turned me into a fifty-foot giant, I grabbed a lawyer on her lunch break, and then climbed the tallest building in Metropolis." Most of that he had heard from bystanders after the fact. After receiving the serum, he had experienced a hot pain down his arm and then his vision had gone dark. The last thing he'd seen was his own hand puffing up. Then he'd come to in mid-air, rushing toward the street–

"As you do," Luscious said, clicking sympathetically and bringing him back to the present.

"S.T.A.R. labs called in a helicopter to dart me with an antidote, but it worked too fast. I shrank, I fell, the lawyer fell, and Superman had to get to us both. No time for his usual gentle touch." Jimmy rubbed his arm, briefly pained at the thought of putting Superman in that position. The Kryptonian was usually exceedingly careful with humans, catching them in ways that would cushion any impact, but with two victims (plus the tons of broken masonry falling on the public below) he hadn't had the extra few seconds. "And that's that," he finished, shaking himself out of the little dip of guilt. "Nothing to it."

"Classic Jaime," sighed another queen, getting back to her costume.

"Traffic stopper in the worst kind of way," muttered another.

As the voices of the other queens slowly picked up again, Jimmy sat back on his stool and grinned reassuringly at Luscious. "Nothing to worry about."

Luscious shook her head. "If you say so, honey. But you'd tell me and the other girls if you were in trouble, right?" 

Desperate to change the subject, Jimmy rolled his eyes and groaned, "I am in trouble. I don't have enough paint to cover this."

"Stay right there, sugar. Miss M has a butt load. I'll go broker a deal for you. You might have to pay back with interest, but I think you can handle it."

"Tell her I'll do her professional headshots," Jimmy offered.

"Headshots by a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer?" Luscious' eyebrow quirked. "That should do it."

**

"And let's give a warrior's welcome to a Thymascira favourite: Jungle Jaime!"

Jungle Jaime, a.k.a. Jimmy Olsen, strut onto the stage in her full gorilla costume, dragging a seven foot tall stage prop: a palm tree made out of plywood, green cellophane, paint, duct tape, and dreams. The audience's confused laughter rolled over the first bars of her song--a thumping remix of ABBA's "Honey, Honey"--and Jaime grinned behind her mask. No one expected the gorilla suit.

Wearing a gorilla suit was nothing like being a gorilla. She peered out through the mask eye holes, practically blind, sweltering under the hot lights, the sound of her own breaths almost drowning out the cheers of the crowd, her senses dulled. She immediately felt hot and weighed down, nothing like the sense of heavy strength that she'd experienced when Jimmy switched bodies with a gorilla. 

Jaime set the tree centre stage and paced around it. When she returned to face the audience, she leaned back against the palm tree and shimmied down into a crouch–no mean feat in heels and a dang gorilla suit--and swept her arms wide as ABBA crooned, "Honey, honey, how you thrill me…"

She jumped back to standing and sashayed across the stage. As she moved, she lifted an arm and slowly tugged one black glove off, revealing a naked hand. She fisted it, spread her fingers wide, and gestured alluringly toward the audience, curling her fingers. "Honey, honey, nearly kill me…" Again, the audience laughed nervously.

For the second glove, Jaime turned her back on the audience and bent over to wiggle her fingers between her legs. Upside down, she tugged off the other glove and tossed it away. She reached between her legs to stroke her own furry backside to the roar of the audience and again shimmied into a crouch. 

"Honey, honey, I heard about you before, I wanted to know some more…"

As she stood, she tore away the gorilla pants, revealing her bottom half, and the audience screamed in shock and delight. Under the gorilla suit, she wore a slinky jungle drag: fishnets, leopard print faux pelts draped around her subtly padded hips, high heeled boots hugging her calves. She gave another shimmy, shaking the spotted pelt covering her butt, and the audience howled.

"And now I know what they mean, you're a lo-lo-love machine…"

Back in a crouch and facing the audience, Jaime spread her thighs to stroke from inner knee to dangling loincloth, knowing that the sight would be both bizarre and tantalizing, considering the hairy gorilla torso and mask she still wore.

"Oh you make me dizzy. Honey, honey let me feel it. Honey, honey don't conceal it…" 

On the last word, Jaime ripped off the gorilla torso to expose the rest of her jungle look: her bare, flat stomach spotted with shimmering gold leopard markings on the flanks and a pelt stretched across her contoured chest. A few thin, leafy vines criss-crossed over her hips and down one leg, added a spark of green to the otherwise tawny look.

"Honey, honey, the way that you kiss me goodnight…" Jaime pulled off her mask, shook loose her long red hair, and pretended to smack a kiss on the mask's slit mouth as the audience shrieked with joy. Jaime turned to smirk at the crowd and tossed the mask over her shoulder. "The way that you hold me tight…" She hugged herself and swooned against the tree. "I feel like I wanna sing when you do your thing…"

With the gorilla get-up finally sloughed off, Jaime was free to pose and stride across the stage without interference, lip synching to the lyrics. "I don't wanna hurt you, baby, I don't wanna see you cry…" She wagged a finger at the audience and winked. "So stay on the ground, girl, you better not get too high."

The rest of the set passed in a blur of bright lights and butt shaking and using the palm tree like a poor queen's stripper pole. Jaime sank into herself, feeling the words resonate deep in her threads, especially when her arm twinged when she lifted it too high.

"But I'm gonna stick to you, boy, you'll never get rid of me. There's no other place in this world where I rather would be…"

This wasn't the first time Jaime–or Jimmy–had shrugged off an injury or pushed through pain or weirdness. And it was worth it. 

"Honey, honey, touch me, baby… Honey, honey, hold me, baby…"

Clark's gentle blue gaze flashed through her mind and when Jaime slid down the palm tree, her arms wrapped around herself, her gasp of yearning wasn't feigned. There, on stage, transformed and constantly transforming, exposed and yet hidden, just one of Jimmy's many faces, she could reveal this inner truth. No matter how much it hurt, she would never stop–

"You look like a movie star, but I know just who you are, and honey, to say the least, you're a dog-gone beast."

Jimmy could suffer a thousand broken arms, could be twisted into any strange and terrible shape, and he would still follow Clark Kent into whatever situation he might get into, either to cheer him on, document his success, or help however a mortal could. The Kryptonian had stolen Jimmy's heart just like everyone else's, and Jimmy wasn't too big to deny it.

It just meant he had to hide how much it hurt.

"There's no other place in this world where I rather would be…"

**

It was just another Wednesday and another bizarre caper for Superman's occasionally reptilian pal, Jimmy Olsen.

In the aftermath, Jimmy stared down at his scaly arms and hands, flexing his fingers to make the muscles of his forearms ripple and the green and silver scales shimmer. As far as transformations went, becoming a snake hadn't been awful . He'd had worse. 

Why Brainiac thought that unleashing a DNA modifying super virus into the world was a good idea, Jimmy could only guess. What would he even do with a planet of huge, violent monsters–oh wait, there was a galaxy full of mercenaries and bounty hunters looking to hone their skills and wouldn't they just love a danger planet where they could hunt monstrous game. That was probably why Brainiac had a list of names with Lobo himself at the top. 

Regardless. The aerosolyzed DNA modifying super virus hadn't gotten further than Brainiac's laboratory satellite, and Jimmy had discovered that after a long history of mind- and body-altering substances, he was able to keep his own consciousness intact while in the body of a forty-foot Titanoboa. And hadn't Brainiac been surprised when Jimmy slithered out of a vent? Hit Superman with Kryptonite, would he? Jimmy wouldn't stand for it. Granted, he couldn't have stood at all with no legs, but then again, Brainiac wouldn't be able to either after what Jimmy did to him.

"You all right, Jim?" asked a low, weary voice behind him.

Jimmy startled, tugged his jacket sleeves down to hide his arms, and spun on his heel. He forced a smile, hoping that his teeth weren't too fang-like. "Yeah, pal, super duper."

Superman stood before him, his dark red and blue suit gleaming in the bright emergency lights–reminding Jimmy of his own shimmering scales. His square face and broad shoulders looked as strong as ever, but his colour was pale, almost ashen, and dark shadows bruised the skin under his eyes. His hair, usually a lustrous black so thick and soft that it begged to be touched, now lay flat and dull over his brow, the iconic curl loose and drooping. Even his cape hung limply, as if the innate power that usually made it billow and ripple had been exhausted

Kryptonite poisoning, Jimmy knew, anger twisting his stomach. He also knew how painful it was, knew that the only reason Superman was still standing was the small crowd of abducted people milling around on the beach beside the crashed satellite. It had been a miracle that he'd been able to guide the enormous vessel to a safe landing in the Atlantic and then push it on shore. He'd obviously used up every bit of energy in his solar powered cells.

"Are you sure?" Superman's stormy blue eyes narrowed and his brows pulled together. Jimmy could almost see his x-ray vision being activated. "You were–"

"Yeah!" Jimmy exclaimed brightly, tucking his hands behind his back casually. "I was a giant freaking snake. Reptile DNA jives with me for some reason, so it was fine. The antiviral worked and I'm good to go. You look like you could use some sun, though. You going to make it?"

Superman glanced down at himself and Jimmy breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Yes, yes of course," he replied absently, rubbing his face. "I'll make sure these folks are looked after–"

A pang of sympathy made Jimmy shake his head and gently interrupt. "I'll take care of them. When the authorities get here, I'll tell them what happened. I've got enough photographic evidence, they'll know exactly what old Brainy was up to. I've got this."

Superman's weak smile made Jimmy's knees melt; who else got to see this vulnerable side of the Man of Steel? No one, that was who. "Thanks, Jim. But I should stay. What if one of the experiments gets loose? They're still in there…" He turned to examine the fallen spacecraft, his gaze turning distant and penetrating through the huge, gleaming steel hull.

"Are they still in their cells?" Jimmy asked nervously. A shiver trickled up his spine, remembering the creatures he had seen while he himself had been an ancient monster creeping through the satellite from his own cell to Brainiac's lab.

"So far. The living ones, anyway." Superman's jaw worked and Jimmy knew he was thinking about the lives that had been lost. Brainiac had been experimenting on humans, and not all of them had survived the plummet to Earth.

"Then we'll be okay," Jimmy said. "Between the scientists and security, we should be able to keep them contained." He nodded at the group: Scientists in white coats, security in black, all of them talking and smiling and breathing free air with the knowledge that Brainiac no longer held them in his power. Most of the security still held their electric batons and dart guns, though Jimmy knew they were no threat. They just wanted to get home. "And the coastguard said they'll be here soon."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Superman flashed a little smile, his dimple appearing and disappearing. 

"So go recharge," Jimmy pressed. "Up, up, and away, pal."

"I…" Superman released a little sigh.

Jimmy didn't want to expose his scales–he didn't want to show Superman that, well, maybe he wasn't completely super duper and add yet more worries onto those broad shoulders and troubled heart–but he wasn't going to let this go on.

Take my suit , he wanted to say. Change into Clark and wear my clothes. They won't fit well and I'll be naked and scaly like usual, but no one will bat an eye, just take a load off, sit down, and rest darn it!

"Superman," he started, reaching for the lapels of his own green tweed jacket.

"Yes, all right," Superman interrupted. "Thank you, Jim. I'll come back to check in a few hours and make sure you were all picked up. And… thank you." He stepped in and his large hand briefly squeezed Jimmy's shoulder. "For your help up there."

Jimmy nodded, pleased, a flush working its way up his neck to his ears. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Any time. See you later."

Superman paced away. With a last glance at Jimmy, the crowd, and the satellite–a long enough glance that Jimmy worried he was going to change his mind--he crouched and jumped. He ascended about twenty feet, dropped a few, and then seemed to catch himself mid-air before taking off and disappearing into the night sky.

Jimmy sighed and finally relaxed. He ruffled his loose red curls, grimacing at the greasy texture and the grime that he'd picked up somewhere in that caper. His clothes, too, had suffered–he was filthy. At least his camera was okay. The whole point of sneaking on board had been to expose the satellite's true purpose for the Daily Planet–it wouldn't have done much good if his camera got wrecked before he got back to the office.

He turned toward the crowd, discovering several pairs of eyes focused on him. He grinned and held up the camera hung around his neck. "Who wants to pose in front of the satellite?"

**

It didn't matter how low people spoke, how they whispered, Clark could always hear them. The world was just a constant cacophony of noise–some of it good, some of it bad, so much of it hammering him with guilt that he was not capable of being everywhere–and everything reached his ears whether he wanted it to or not.

"So I have this theory," murmured one of the columnists. "Superman lets the villains escape, right? That way he always has a job. Everyone stays afraid, everyone keeps loving him, and then he gets to rescue people again the next week…"

Clark's back teeth ground together as he tried to focus on his own conversation. He sat in Perry's office with Lois and Perry, discussing the next big story. The door was closed, but those voices continued.

"Holy shit," whispered a machinist. "You think so?"

"Why else would these nut jobs keep getting away?" There was a sound of a hand smacking newspaper. "Supes could blast them all into the sun if he really wanted to."

Clark wished it was that easy. But it never was. Most of the villains he dealt with knew his greatest weakness–not Kryptonite, no, but people --and never hesitated to use it against him. They even built it into their plans . Why else would Brainiac's escape pod also trigger his satellite falling out of orbit?

He wished he could stomp over there and explain that they had it all wrong. That if the violence stopped, he would gladly retire, but villainy wouldn't just disappear. Indeed, humans themselves created most of their own monsters…

"Did you actually read Mr Kent's article?" spoke up a cheery voice, and Clark's anger immediately vanished into a fluttery little jump in his gut. "Or just Perry's headline?"

The columnist scoffed, but before she could answer, Jim continued.

"Because while the headline Perry slapped on there to get people's attention does say 'Brainiac At Large, Will Anyone Be Safe Again?', Mr Kent goes into detail about how Superman protected the lives of fifty-three people by guiding a two hundred tonne satellite to land safely in the ocean. So if you're going to complain about someone, complain about the media consumers who won't buy a paper unless the headline is designed to scare the crap out of them. Don't blame Superman. He's just doing his job."

"Damn, Jimmy," drawled the columnist, "you sound like you want to marry the guy."

"Or something else," muttered the machinist.

"Clark?" Lois said.

Clark blinked, his attention jumping back to the office and his own conversation, and he realized he'd been staring blankly ahead for several seconds. He almost cursed in irritation–he really wanted to hear what Jim was going to say…

"Is everything okay?" Lois asked, her amber gaze sharp as she searched his face. She probably recognized his listening-to-something-far-away expression better than anyone. 

He cleared his throat and smiled apologetically. "Yes, sorry, I just… got lost in thought for a moment. We were talking about an exposé on… um…"

"The surprisingly corrupt and cut-throat world of science fairs," Perry said around his unlit cigar. He didn't smoke anymore, but he said he liked to chew on them like expensive, Cuban gum. "We got a tip that Luther donated thirty grand to an inner city school district to support their science programs and I want you to find out why. I've also heard rumours of experiments going awry, parents being black-listed, students disappearing or being enlisted into suspicious programs. It smells dirty."

"Everything smells dirty to you, Chief," Jim interrupted, pushing the door open with an elbow and backing into the office. He carried a drink tray full of take out cups in one hand, a bulging paper bag dangling from his fingers, and a flip pad in the other. 

"I didn't ask for coffee, you nuisance," Perry grumbled. "And don't call me Chief."

"You don't need to ask for me to know you need some java." Jim stopped beside Perry's messy desk and dropped the bag onto a folder. "Okay, I got chocolate glazes for everyone, and Ms Lane, I got your single cream."

"It's four in the afternoon, Jimmy," Lois remarked with an arched brow, though she didn't refuse the cup he held out to her.

"And Mr Kent, here's your double sugar, triple cream." Jim smiled warmly, the corners of his blue-green eyes tilting. 

"Thanks, Jim." Clark took the cup, but his gratitude was for more than just the drink. 

"Chief, your salted caramel, extra espresso, double whip."

Sighing, Perry accepted the frothy beverage. 

Jim dragged over a chair and set himself in between and slightly behind Lois and Clark. Once there, he clicked a pen open to write in the flip pad on his knee. "Don't let me interrupt you," he prompted when no one spoke for a long moment.

People tended to underestimate the cub reporter because of his youthfully round, freckled face or his impish grins or his generally light-hearted demeanor, but he did have a way of getting what he wanted. Chuckling at Jim's boldness, Clark said to Perry, "You want us to follow up on Luther's donations?"

"Yes." Perry narrowed his glare on Jim and then grudgingly dug into the paper bag. His stare switched to Clark and Lois while he bit into the chocolate glazed donut. After he'd chewed and swallowed, he continued, "And the parents, the awards, the enrollments. Something's going on."

"Sure, Perry," Lois said. "The science fair underground. We hear you."

"We're on it," Clark added.

"You can count on us, Chief," Jim chimed in.

"You're not–" Perry started. "No one–" He stopped himself and rubbed his short salt and pepper hair as his mind obviously reminded itself that telling Jim off would only make him try harder next time. "We'll need good photos," he finally finished, admitting defeat.

Clark and Lois stood, Jim a beat behind, and the three of them trooped out of Perry's office.

" Yesssss , I love a team assignment," Jim crowed, linking his arms with Clark's and Lois' and nearly knocking the coffees out of their hands.

"It wasn't really a team assignment," Lois sighed, juggling her coffee to the other hand.

"It's always a team assignment," Clark chided gently, smiling down at the top of Jim's fiery head. His arm warmed where it fit against Jim's body and his chest clenched anxiously in reaction to the casual contact. He wanted to do something in return, but as always he didn't know what. Clark had grown up holding himself apart from everyone except his parents, he didn't know how to respond to Jim's easy, comfortable presence. So he did nothing but enjoy it while he had it. "You know Jim's the only one who'll take this kind of job."

"Yeah, but we don't need a photographer until we get more information."

"I don't just take photos, Ms Lane. I also get myself invited to meetings." Jim pulled away from her as he spoke to face her directly and his shoulder pressed into Clark's side, causing another clench. Somehow, through the layers of Jim's tweed, Clark's suit, and Clark's other suit, he could feel the ridge of his shoulder blade, the shifting of muscle. 

It took a great deal of effort to not turn as well, and welcome that smaller body closer to his own. Jim absolutely had no interest in that kind of closeness and Clark didn’t want to ruin their friendship. He relied on it. All of his other friends–or colleagues, really--were high-strung, suspicious, constantly worried, or darkly brooding. Jim was like a fresh breeze and ray of sunlight in comparison. Whenever he was around, Clark found himself smiling more often than not, even in the most difficult situations. So he held himself back, and just let himself bask in Jim's presence.

Lois rolled her eyes, but Clark could see the amused twist at the corner of her mouth.

"Let's have dinner and make plans?" Clark suggested. 

"Yeah!" Jim exclaimed. "I'm in. I've got plans downtown tonight, so maybe that great little pub on 15th?"

"Sure," Clark agreed readily.

"Fine."

Five-thirty found them striding into Jim's favourite pub–a classy polished-wood-and-brass fixture establishment with twenty-nine beers on tap and a disenchanted four-star chef in the kitchen. The only detractor was a television in the corner playing the national news. Vicki Vale's brittle drone rattled off a list of Gotham City atrocities, each one making Clark wince more than the last, reminding him of Batman's refusal to accept his help. Thankfully, shortly after they entered, someone at the bar demanded the channel switch to sports.

Jim led them to a booth and threw his lean body down onto one seat. Lois slid in smoothly, efficiently across from him, keeping her suit from rumpling with pure force of will. Clark tucked himself in next to Lois so he could avoid that uncomfortable anxiety caused by bumping into Jim. 

Over three pub specials, a shared basket of wings, and their brews of choice, they came up with a strategy for the coming weeks. Lois would dig into the financial aspects, Clark would follow the academic trail, and Jim would get a job as "Jimbo McOlsen," a friendly and wise janitor who would deal out advice and life lessons to the kids while also cleaning up after their adolescent shenanigans before the next episode–

"You don't need to get a new job," Clark cut in, fearing for the fate of the Daily Planet if it lost its best photographer.

"I'd hate to see what advice you'd give," Lois added.

"Wait–episode?" Clark echoed, confused.

"I mean I'll go undercover," Jim exclaimed, flashing a bright grin and running his thumbs under his lapels. "A mustache, some hair dye, and some overalls, and good-bye Jimmy, hello Jimbo. If anyone knows what's going on it's going to be the kids, and they love talking to janitors."

"They do?"

"I don't think they do, Jimmy."

"I talked to my school janitor all the time. She was the only one who'd listen."

"There's a surprise."

Jim opened his mouth and lifted a finger as though to defend himself against Lois' acerbic remarks, and then his gaze caught on his wrist watch and his jaw snapped shut. "Shoot, okay, I have to go. Sorry. Can we pick this up on Monday?"

Startled, Clark shared a glance with Lois. "Where are you off to?"

"Oh, uh, nothing really. Just, uh…" Jim fidgeted with his emerald green bowtie and made a little ah-hah sound. "A bowtie sale! Yes. A very exclusive sale. So I gotta run."

Clark and Lois shared another glance. One of her thin brows quirked–she wasn't interested in whatever Jim had going on. Clark tilted his head slightly–he wanted to know more, because anything weird going on with Jim inevitably became something weird going on with Metropolis. Lois shrugged one shoulder–fine, they could try to figure it out, but only if she could be home by nine to decompress with wine and get some rest before her roller derby match the next morning.

Over four years of a close working relationship, a brief romantic relationship, and then friendship, they could read each other's cues as if they'd been typed out and published in the paper.

"Okay," Clark said. "You have fun with those bowties."

"I will." Jim tossed back the last of his pint, reached into his jacket, and pulled out his wallet. After placing enough cash to cover his meal, he jumped out of the booth, straightened his jacket, and gave a jaunty wave. "See you on Monday, Ms Lane, Mr Kent."

"Until then," Lois murmured.

When Jim had disappeared from the pub, Clark watched him through the building walls until he knew which direction he'd gone. Then he brought his attention back to Lois, where she had twisted in her seat to place an elbow on the table and her pointed chin in her palm. She looked Clark over, her keen gaze making him go very still to keep from revealing his nervousness. Not that he had a reason to be nervous. He just wanted to make sure Jim was all right, and it would be easier with Lois' help.

"You want to follow him?" she said after a moment. "Then we'd better go, hmm?"

"I'll tail him and then call you." Clark stood from the booth. "Thanks, Lois."

Her thin smile warmed the lines of her face, which always seemed too hard and too tired. "Sure."

Clark strode swiftly out of the pub and followed the direction Jim had gone. The sun was setting, but there in downtown Metropolis the night never truly reached the ground: the bright white streetlights glowed to life and bars and restaurants cast a rainbow of coloured light onto the pavement. Clark squinted into the distance. Two blocks ahead, he spotted a flash of orange-red and olive green right before it turned a corner.

He pulled out his cell and opened his frequent calls list to quickly ring Lois. "He turned right on 3rd," he said as soon as they connected.

"Okay. Clark, I'm still in the ladies room."

"Oh."

She laughed lightly. "I'll be there soon. Keep me updated."

He rounded the corner onto 3rd in time to see Jim turn again, this time into a pedestrian-only plaza full of people and lined with entertainment venues. Clark hurried after him, his longer stride allowing him to close the distance, but by the time he arrived in the plaza he had lost sight of his quarry.

"I'm in Montbrandt Plaza," he reported to Lois. "I'm not sure where he went."

"No wonder he was acting shifty," Lois laughed again. Her breaths came in a rush and street noise clamored under her voice. "He probably just wanted to see some strippers."

"Wh-what?" Clark stuttered. "Jim wouldn't–"

"What's wrong with strippers? They do God's work, Clark. Or maybe –" Her voice took on an edge of amusement, "--maybe he's seeing someone who works in the area?"

The thought made Clark stop in his tracks. Someone bumped into him from behind, but he couldn't be bothered to pretend that it had jostled him and he just let the person bounce off of him. "He'd tell us if he was dating someone, wouldn't he?" His mind raced; he hadn't seen Jim with anyone, but it's not like they were together all the time. It's not like it mattered . It would be great for Jim to find someone. He deserved every happiness. He deserved having someone to care about, to care about him , to go home to, to hold close–

Clark cut off his train of thoughts when the mental image of Jim cuddling someone made his stomach curdle. He couldn't even say why. Jim had dated people in the past, including a fling with Lois' sister, and it hadn't bothered Clark then. Of course, he'd been dating Lois at the time and it had made for some fun double-dates, but still. It shouldn't bother him now .

"Why would he tell us?" Lois asked. "It's his life."

Because I'm his best friend. I think?

Clark released a sigh. "Yes, you're right. He doesn't have to tell us anything."

"Then we can go?" Lois' voice echoed from both his phone and from right next to him as she drew up beside him.

He clicked disconnect and tucked his phone away. "Sure," he agreed. "He didn't sneak off to a science lab, so the world is probably safe for the night. Sorry to drag you over here." 

"Not a problem." She slid a hand over his forearm, which he automatically crooked upward. Shaking her bangs from her eyes, she smirked up at him. "Since we're here, why don't we enjoy ourselves?" 

"Enjoy ourselves here?" He nodded at the nearby neon lights. "With the strippers?" 

"They're not all strippers," she laughed. "How about karaoke?"

He suffered a flashback to the last Justice League team building exercise and shook his head rapidly.

"Okay, fine, how about…" Lois gestured at another building. Like many of the structures in downtown Metropolis, it had once been a bank or a goods exchange or some kind of financial institution built of stone. A sign made of neon lights hung over the door with the club name written in glowing green script. "That's perfect. The Thymascira. It's a variety show. With drinks. Drinks and a show." Beside the doors were posters and advertisements for different shows and cocktail specials. "Let's check it out."

Clark laughed, shrugging. "Okay. Why not?"

Which was how he ended up at a tiny, tall table, perching on the edge of a tall stool, sipping a golden, honey-flavoured Wonder Woman cocktail from a tall glass, watching two drag queens in blond wigs and truly impressive makeup rate the desirability of superheroes and supervillains. With each name and frank discussion of their "super assets", Clark didn't know if he wanted to run out of the building or wait to hear more.

"Green Lantern?" asked the taller of the two queens. She wore a tight pink dress that hugged her curves, and the style of her large blonde wig reminded Clark strongly of the stereotypical fifties housewife aesthetic.

"I'd fuck him," retorted the smaller. She was more punk, Clark guessed, in a short black skirt, ripped fishnets, and tall boots.

"Really?" The tall queen rested her chin in her hand, lips pulling back in a cringe as she regarded her partner. "His power is just, I don't know, alien force of will and a ring, right? Think he'd be a little uptight?"

"Mama, please. That will power in bed? You know the most restrained men are the most wild. Unhhh…" The small queen ran her hands over her chest and hips, moaning into her mic.

The crowd laughed and even Lois snickered, and Clark shook his head again. Guy would love this.

"Our own man from Krypton?" the first queen asked.

Lois guffawed and glanced at Clark.

Clark smiled slightly; he was used to people talking about Superman–

"Oh God no. That would be like doing my brother."

"I'd do your brother."

"What?!"

"Yeah, didn't you know? That's why we're friends." The taller queen looked out at the crowd and mimed swiping something on a screen. "Swipe right, Keith, baby. I'm waiting."

As the crowd laughed more, Lois grinned at whatever perplexed expression Clark wore. 

"Brother?" he mouthed at her.

She shrugged and whispered back, "Maybe?"

"How about Mister Miracle?" the shorter queen asked. 

"Who?" They laughed, and then the taller queen chuckled and flapped a gloved hand. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I know who he is. I mean, I'm not against it, but who knows what's going on under the mask, you know?"

"I know," said the other. "You prefer a man where you know what you're going to get. Just like you. You get what you see: Hundred percent gorgeous woman."

"A hundred percent." The queen spread her arms to point at herself, then dropped them and drawled, "Black Adam?"

"Ooooh, mama, those muscles. He could come hostile take over my world any time."

"No one wants to take over your world, hostilely or otherwise."

"He would if he could see the goods."

"He's in some interdimensional prison for the next five thousand years, Mary."

"And I'll be waiting for him." The smaller queen fanned herself exaggeratedly as the crowd laughed.

The two queens went through a few more heroes and then wrapped up their set with another plea to Keith. By the end, even Clark was chuckling along with the others as each hero got it worse than the last. Superman had gotten off easy. The stage lights dimmed, the house music came up, and the noise of the audience increased, becoming a milieu of chatter and glasses clinking as half the audience moved toward the bar and the other half waved their servers over.

"This has been fun," Lois said, sipping the last of her cherry red Flash. "We don't get to go out much, do we?"

"No, not really." Clark smiled on her fondly, though he couldn't shake the nagging wish that Jim could have been there, too.

Not surprisingly, Lois continued, "But I should get home."

"Yeah. I'll head out, too." As fun as the show was, he couldn't justify a night off. "I can give you a lift home," he offered, smirking faintly.

"I already texted an Uber." Lois flashed a grin as she stood and shrugged her purse onto her shoulder. "It's a little cold to fly across town."

Clark stood as well, tugging his jacket into place. "I always kept you warm," he said hopefully, wanting just a few more minutes with a good friend.

"It's not quite the same now, though, is it? Jimmy might be comfortable riding on your back, but it'd be a bit weird for me to do it." Her lively gaze flicked over him, and although he knew she didn't share his x-ray vision, he got the unnerving impression that she could see through his suits to the skin beneath.

He huffed a short laugh. "Only if you make it weird."

"I would definitely make it weird." She leaned in and squeezed his arm, as though to say that, although they were still close, they weren't that close. "So I'll Uber this time."

"If you'd like," he sighed.

He followed her to the bar so they could pay their tabs. As Clark waited in the queue, the house lights and music went down and the stage lights brightened for the next set. 

"Bang your shields for Jungle Jaime!" crowed the DJ/announcer in the booth next to the stage, and a throbbing pop song squealed out of the speakers.

Clark leaned back against the bar, elbows propped on the underlit glass top, and watched with mild interest as a figure in a white robe strode out from the burgundy curtains stage left. The hood was up to cover their face and hair and only their feet in strappy green high heels were revealed under their hem, hiding their identity. Tall and curvy, they sashayed to the centre stage, put their back to the crowd, and peeked over their shoulder. Though their eyes were completely hidden, Clark could feel the coy energy.

The song picked up speed and so did the performer. They swung their hips, dipped into a crouch, and wiggled their butt at the crowd. Despite the robe, their shape was easy to see outlined by the draping fabric and it was… nice.

"Sir?" someone said at his elbow, and Clark blindly passed them his credit card.

On an upbeat, the performer oozed back up to standing and the hood slid off their head, revealing a luxurious fall of bright fuschia waves, as if Poison Ivy had taken a break from terrorizing Batman to pick up a gig dancing at a club in Metropolis. When their head turned and Clark spotted a gleam of green, he tensed–was she actually here?! But then they turned fully and he relaxed; their sharper, more masculine profile was completely different from Poison Ivy's delicate features, and the green wasn't the bright hue of chlorophyll, but a darker, speckled olive and deep forest. The performer had some kind of scale-like green make-up painted down the side of their face and neck.

Clark relaxed, laughing inwardly at himself, and started to push away from the bar–

–Only to yelp a startled " Jim?! " as the performer's appearance sank in and he recognized the line of his brow, the jut of his chin, the curve of his cheek, and the wig itself. Jim had worn it undercover only a few months earlier.

He must have been undercover now . 

As a… as a dancer.

Jim shimmied in place, letting the robe slide down his body like a snake shedding its skin. The analogy must have been intentional; under the white fabric, he wore very little, only a thin, leafy green brassiere, a leafy sash around his hips, and vines around his arms and legs. This left most of his skin visible, and Clark blinked in surprise at the sight of patterned green, yellow, and black scales all over Jim's usually pale skin, covering his back, arms, stomach, and thighs. As if he was going for a look halfway between Poison Ivy and a python. 

Around him, the audience murmured and cat-called appreciatively, and Clark couldn't blame them. Jim was, ah, surprisingly good at what he was doing. He paced back and forth across the stage, his lips moving along with the song, his gloved hands gesturing gracefully or smoothing over his body, his hips swinging. His scales glittered and shone under the changing lights. When he dropped to his knees and crawled to the edge of the stage to sing directly to the closest tables, it should have looked ridiculous, but it was, well, ah–

Clark shifted uncomfortably and dragged his gaze away, searching for Lois, wondering if she had realized who was on stage. He spotted her at the door to the club, waiting for him. He lifted a hand to signal to her and paused–Jim hadn't told them what he was doing. He might have been undercover getting a story and Clark didn't want to blow his cover or reveal him to Lois. So instead of waving her over, he just waved, letting her know that she could leave without him. She waved back and disappeared into the night.

Clark turned his attention back to Jim and almost wished he hadn't. Jim was doing that thing where dancers are on their knees but lying back, a posture that tilted his hips and arched his back, and he was petting his flat stomach and writhing his scaled back and shoulders against the floor. The sight of all that lean muscle wrapped up in feminine curves and costume made Clark feel uncomfortably warm. Why was Jim so good at this?! He looked like he belonged up there, not like he'd taken an assignment. 

Clark couldn't look away.

How do the wig and scales not come off? he wondered loudly, trying to distract himself from his growing fascination.

And then the song ended and Jim posed centre stage, snapping Clark back to reality.

And suddenly he found himself meeting Jim's blue-green eyes–the same eyes despite the heavy fake lashes and the liner and the sparkling eye shadow–and he saw the brief shock of recognition before Jim waved to his audience and strode off stage.

Well, Jim had spotted him. Clark felt like he'd been caught watching some private, intimate moment–despite that moment being between Jim and some two hundred people. Should he leave? Pretend he had an emergency?

That might just make it worse.

"Sir?" someone's voice sank past his confusion. " Sir? " 

Clark jerked around to meet the exasperated expression of the bartender and he realized she had been trying to get his attention for some time.

"Your card?" she prompted, holding it up between two fingers.

"Oh, ah, thank you." Clark automatically slid it back into his wallet, smiling apologetically. "Actually, I… I'm going to stay a while longer."

"What can I get you?"

Someone with bright, fuschia hair and wearing a white robe emerged from the door to the backstage and Clark, with white noise fuzzing the edges of his thoughts, blurted the first thing that popped into his head. "A Superman, please." He immediately groaned inwardly–was this how he was going to out himself?--but the bartender just hummed and turned away to grab some bottles.

Jim wound his way through the crowd, smiling and chatting with people as he passed their tables, leaning in for quick embraces and squeezing shoulders, treating them all like good friends he hadn't seen in years.

Which they might have been. Clark didn't know.

Clark began to wonder if he'd imagined Jim's look of recognition, then Jim glanced up from a table of young women, met Clark's gaze, and his smile softened from a toothy grin to a gentler, bemused smirk. His red lips moved and a whisper coiled through the ambient noise, "Just a minute."

"Your Superman, sir."

"I'm what?" Clark jolted, whirling around.

His thumping heart calmed when he spotted the red and blue cocktail on the bar and the bartender's lifted eyebrow. She pushed the drink closer.

"Oh. Thank you."

"A Superman, Mr Kent? I didn't think you liked them that sweet." Jim sidled up to the bar next to him, accompanied by a cloud of scents: hair spray, cosmetics, cologne, and an underlying hint of sweat. His voice was higher pitched than usual, light and casual. He nodded to the bartender. "A Batman, please, Yan."

As the bartender worked, Clark and Jim stared at each other. Clark wasn't sure what to say and Jim just seemed to be wearing a perpetually amused expression, as though Clark being there was the punchline to a joke. When his dark blue cocktail arrived, he gestured for Clark to follow him to a table in a quiet corner with bad sight lines to the stage.

"So what are you doing here?" Jim asked as he hopped up onto his chair. He crossed his legs gracefully and leaned on his elbows. His green nails tapped the frosted sides of his cocktail. "I didn't think this was your scene."

Clark cleared his throat. "Well, I noticed you were acting strangely and I followed you."

"Followed me?" Jim's painted, gem-studded eyebrow arched. "Why?"

"I think you know why."

Jim chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"What are you doing here?" Clark leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Are you undercover?"

"Undercover?" If anything, that made Jim laugh harder. "No, no I just do this for fun." Jim's amusement vanished. He rested his chin in his palm and let his gaze wander over the rest of the club as his other hand toyed with the cocktail sword in his drink, stirring the skewered olive and cherry. "I'm not usually myself," he murmured, unusually somber. "So it helps to be Jaime. I may forget who Jimmy Olsen is, but not Jaime."

"I… see," Clark replied uncertainly. It was only as Jim's words sank in that he realized, yes, he could actually relate. After a lifetime of struggling with his own identity, he knew the sense of security of being someone else , someone strong, fearless, and purely good. "So why Jaime?" Clark asked, genuinely curious. He waved at Jim, the bar, the stage itself.

Jim shrugged. "I've had my gender switched so many times, I learned the strength in femininity. And it's fun. To perform, to put on my second skin."

Clark couldn't stop a bloom of warmth unfurling in his chest. "This might sound strange," he began, watching Jim carefully, hoping this wouldn't be too much. "But… I admire you. A lot."

Jim just about choked on a sip of his Batman. "You're kidding," he coughed. "You? Admire me?"

"You're always comfortable in your skin. No matter what that skin is. But no matter who I am, I have to hide part of myself."

"Not from me."

That warmth only built as he soaked in Jim's easy acceptance as if it was another yellow sun. "No," he agreed. "Not from you. A man with a literal second skin." Smirking, he nodded at the sliver of shimmering green shoulder revealed by Jim's sliding robe. And then he stopped, horrified. "Jim, those scales aren't painted on!" Reflexively, he lunged across the table to tug Jim's collar further to the side and touched the smoothly textured snake skin covering the crook of shoulder and neck, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. Sure, Jim had been transformed into a giant, prehistoric reptile only days earlier, but then he'd taken the antivirus. So there shouldn't have been lasting effects.

Right?

Jim twitched away and Clark let his hand fall. "No," he said dryly. "They're not painted. I just sprayed some gloss on so they look nice and shiny."

"But… why didn't you tell me?" Clark saw again Jim's easy grin on the beach by Brainiac's crashed satellite, his assurance that he would take care of things so Clark could recover from the Kryptonite's poison. He'd been in a fog, exhausted and in pain, and unable to do anything except give in and agree to Jim's persuasion. "I would have taken you to get help."

"You could barely take yourself to get help," Jim returned, that ever-present smirk on his lips. "I thought I was going to have to carry you."

Clark almost relaxed, but he knew Jim well enough to notice him trying to brush off Clark's concern. Again. "Have you seen your doctor?" he pressed. "We should go now–"

"What is a doctor going to do?" Jim scoffed. "Give me an ointment? It's just skin. It'll probably molt soon. Gross, but no big deal. Maybe I'll make a purse out of it."

"Jim…"

"I've had worse."

" Jim. "

"You should see what she usually comes in with," another voice interrupted, light and rolling. A tall queen in a tight golden gown waiting for a drink–Clark hadn't paid her any mind earlier–sashayed next to their table. She placed a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Bruises, sprains, anything and everything. There was one night she did a set with her leg in a cast."

"Luscious!" Jim squawked. "It's not that bad!"

"You can't keep doing this to yourself!" Clark exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table to keep from grabbing Jim by the arms. His thoughts spiraled in a mad panic, showing him visions of the terrible things that could happen to this, his most unlikely friend. After years of immortality, it wasn't a stretch to imagine losing Jim, he'd lost so many already. What if Jim had become a snake permanently , he wondered, seeing Brainiacs cells and the creatures within them, most of them so far gone that they'd lost their humanity . What if he was injured? What if he died?! I can't imagine the Daily Planet without him, our moments of peace on the roof. "You can't put yourself in danger just to chase a story," he declared.

Jim leaned back and folded his arms. "Uh, you can't exactly stop me, Mr Kent."

Clark blinked. That wasn't supposed to happen. Jim was supposed to see the error of his ways and agree to stop risking his life.

More determined, he tried again, "Fine. What if Superman found out? He wouldn't let you tag along for a story if he knew you were getting hurt."

"Superman can't stop me, either." Jim's eyes rolled and he blew out a puff of exasperated air, ruffling a long coil of fuschia hair. "Sure, it helps when he brings me with him, but even if he didn't, I'd find a way."

Clark hated how right he was. He often brought Jim with him–as a professional courtesy, for the company–but he knew Jim had more than just favours from Superman in his bag of tricks.

"Please, Jim," he sighed, gentling his tone, almost pleading. "Stop jumping into these things! You're human. You're fragile!"

"No!" Jim's amusement seemed to be fading, revealing tension, almost anger, under the surface. "I'm not going to stop. Wherever Superman goes, I'll track him down and get the story."

Luscious, who had returned with her bright green drink, looked back and forth between them. "What are you two arguing about?" she drawled.

"Nothing!" Jim shouted.

"Then why are you yelling?"

"I don't know!" Jim dropped to his feet, drew himself up, and snatched his drink off the table. "Good night, Mr Kent. I need to help Luscious with her wig."

"Honey, I don't need–"

"YES YOU DO." Jim grabbed her wrist and marched away, towing the much taller queen.

Perplexed, annoyed, worried, and alone, Clark finished his drink, paid his bill, and left.

**

Jimmy felt marginally better after a long shower. He couldn't wash away the memory of Clark's anger, but he could wash off the cosmetics, the cologne, the tape residue, the sweat. Most of it nervous sweat–he'd never had a shouting match with Clark before, and it left him feeling out of sorts. Uncertain.

He stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wrapping his favourite fuzzy robe around himself. The snake scales all over his body made the soft fabric feel a little weird, but he loved it for the emotional fuzziness, not necessarily the physical.

With quiet steps, he padded through the dark into his kitchen and dug leftover curry take-out from the depths of the fridge. Tinfoil plate in one hand and fork in the other, he paced into the living room and sank onto his couch. In the light bleeding around the curtains over his balcony doors, he gazed across the room at his floor to ceiling bookshelves and the several shelves devoted to souvenirs from his adventures with Superman: the unbreakable rope, a crystal ball, a half coconut, a host of small broken devices, a tin of shoe polish, an android's power cell, one of Superman's old capes, and more. Each one with a story attached.

He sighed and ate mechanically without tasting the curry, wondering if he'd just ruined a good thing by blowing up at Clark. Would he ever fly with him again, infiltrate a hidden laboratory, free captives, and take great shots of the action? He didn't even know why he'd reacted so strongly, but Clark's vehement concern had triggered an almost violent reaction. He had already accepted that being around Superman would hurt him, he was fine , so why couldn't Clark be fine with it, too? 

Now he'd probably just lost his best friend and the person he most admired…

"Dang," he moaned, dropping the curry on the coffee table and sagging back. "Double dang."

A soft knock–the distinctive sound of a knuckle on glass–made him startle upright and twist to gaze in shock at the balcony doors. For a moment, his exhausted mind couldn't comprehend that someone was knocking on a window twenty-three storeys up, and maybe it was a ghost, before reason caught up and his stomach churned in trepidation. If only it could have been a ghost.

Had he come to tell Jimmy off? Tell him that they couldn't be friends anymore because Jimmy wouldn't immediately listen to him?

Jimmy fisted his hands around the hem of his robe. So be it. They were friends– he would always be Superman's friend, no matter what, even if he had to make his own way–so Superman could say whatever he wanted.

Slowly, uneasy but determined, Jimmy stood and stepped to the balcony doors. He twitched the curtain aside and was not surprised to find Superman standing just outside, the pale light of the moon and stars on his face and gleaming black hair, the multicoloured lights of Metropolis staining him from below. His cape moved lightly in the updraft, but otherwise he stood like a normal person, without any of the drama he conjured when he hovered in front of people. When he saw Jimmy, his folded arms relaxed and his serious, distant expression gentled with a small smile. His full lips moved in a silent "Hi, Jim."

Jimmy's guts rioted around the few mouthfuls of curry he'd managed to choke down. Nervously, he unlocked the door and slid it open.

"Uh, hey," he greeted. "What's up, pal?"

The scent of smoke wafted in–likely from a recent rescue–and the sounds of early morning Metropolis underlaid Superman's voice as he spoke, "I'm sorry for the late hour. I just heard you were awake and wondered if you had a minute to talk?"

Jimmy briefly contemplated closing the door and walking away. He hated this feeling. This prickling, insect-leg feeling low in his belly and on the bottoms of his feet of anxiety, caused by being at odds with his best friend. Not just being at odds, but being unable to fully explain his unreasonable need to follow Superman into danger, or find it himself. His need to be there, to be with him . If Superman kept pressing, Jimmy might–

He didn't want to talk. He wanted to go back in time and cancel his set so Clark never saw him like this. 

"Yeah," he said, pushing down his nerves. "Sure. I get so full of adrenaline when I perform, it takes a while to come down." He stepped back and swung an arm to gesture Superman inside.

"Your life is an adrenaline rush, Jim," Superman said dryly, stepping quietly into the room. "I'm surprised you have any left."

Considering how quickly Jimmy's heart was beating, he had an endless supply.

Superman paced to the shelves of souvenirs and began inspecting them as Jim returned to his couch. Superman's presence filled the room–either it was Jimmy's own awareness of him or an aspect of his Kryptonian nature–but Jimmy often felt like he was a small star himself, charged with warmth and energy. 

To occupy himself, Jimmy decided to open with a joking, "You know that there are people around the world devoted to tracking your movements, right? I'm a little surprised you just flew over here."

Superman looked over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable in the darkness. "Everyone already knows you're my friend, Jim. That's why you live in this building."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess." Jimmy picked up his curry and poked a piece of saucy chicken. "Do you want anything?"

He'd meant a drink or snack, but Superman startled him by settling into the chair across from the couch–with a practiced move to sweep his cape out of the way–and leaning forward. "I do," he said, his low tone sending a new kind of prickling shiver up Jimmy's spine. 

Even in the dim lighting, Jimmy could feel Superman's gaze crawling over him. He resisted the urge to pull his robe tighter, knowing it wouldn't make a difference. Everyone without a lead shield was vulnerable to those eyes. 

"You never told me how bad it's been," he said softly. "Jim, you have so many old injuries. I want you to promise me that you'll stop doing this to yourself."

"No," Jimmy said immediately. "And stop x-raying me. It's rude."

Superman had the decency to glance away. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm just worried about you."

"We'll, don't be. I'm fine."

"You're still half-snake. It's not worth it just to get a story."

Jimmy groaned and flung out an arm, flailing at the air in an effort to get his point across. "It's not just about the story. I want to–" I want to be with you. "I want to help you."

Superman's clean, even features took on the fondly exasperated expression that Jimmy had seen so often directed toward the humans he cared for. The look that said, Thanks for trying, but you're just making things worse. "I don't really need help–"

"That's crap and you know it," Jimmy snapped. "Even you need help sometimes."

"Then I'll get someone from the League."

Jimmy tried to ignore how much that hurt. As if he could just be replaced by a man cosplaying as a bat with a rubber fetish or a walking lie detector in swim wear. 

"And you need a friend ," he insisted. And then, unable to stop it and only able to watch on from some disembodied plane of horror, he began to vomit out every hidden feeling he felt for the Man of Steel. "You need a friend. You might not know it, but you do. I don't care about anything else. I don't want a story, I don't want prestige, I don't care about all that. But I care about you . I care about Clark. So what if you're Superman, too? And Kal-el? You're not the only one with three faces. I have three-hundred! And it doesn't matter who I am or what I am, I'll always care about you. I'll always be there for you. I'll always be your friend. I love you."

As soon as he said it, Jimmy clapped a hand over his own mouth, sending his fork flying.

Dang.  

He stared at Superman, wide-eyed, frozen in disbelief at himself.

Superman leaned back in his chair, his expression stunned. "Jim…"

Before Superman could make something out of it, Jimmy quickly resumed his tirade, hoping the Kryptonian would forget what he'd just heard. "So no, I'm not going to stop doing what I do. I'm going to jump in, I'm going to chase whatever crazy is going on because I know that's where you need me the most. I'm going to be there for you whether you like it or not."

"I…" Superman rasped, his voice tight. "I care about you, too. That's why I don't want you to get hurt. Or worse."

"Then someone else is going to get hurt. Or worse. At least I'm as good at getting out of trouble as I am at getting into it."

Superman huffed a small, strangled laugh. "You might think so–" He cut himself off, his head jerking to the side.

Recognizing the signs, Jimmy's panic disappeared under urgency. He leapt to his feet and hurried to open his balcony door. Superman followed a heartbeat after and swept outside.

"Later," he muttered as he leapt into the sky.

**

Monday morning, Jimmy felt like he was walking on pins and needles as he pushed through the Daily Planet's double doors, tray of coffees in one hand, the other fiddling nervously in a jacket pocket. Superman hadn't returned to his apartment. Not surprising, really, when the Kryptonian had a busy schedule and Jimmy had completely revealed his infatuation–nay, his obsession –with Clark. He'd let it all pour out, unfiltered and unwise, and the thought of seeing Clark in the office made him feel sick. What would he say? What would he do? Would he be cool, distant? Would he adopt his quiet demeanor and brush him off?

No. 

No, it was worse.

Jimmy pushed into Perry's office, expecting just the boss to be in there going over the weekend sales reports, and halted in the doorway to find Clark already there. Looming. Over Perry's desk and a baffled looking Perry White.

Clark never loomed. He made it a point not to loom, distancing himself as much as possible from the tall, often hovering, Superman. 

"Jimmy!" Perry barked around his unlit cigar when he saw him enter. "What the hell did you do to Kent?"

"What?" Jimmy blurted, freezing in place.

"He wants you to work less and still get paid."

"No," Clark practically growled, losing his usual meek, higher pitched tone. "I want you to stop sending him on such dangerous assignments."

"Why? I pay him 5% extra for danger pay."

"Yeah," Jimmy chimed in, crossing to stand next to Perry. "That's right, Chief. It covers my health insurance."

"Don't call me Chief." Perry leaned back and crossed his arms. "See, Kent? The kid has health insurance."

Clark glanced from Perry, to Jimmy, and back again. His jaw clenched and a tendon stood out from his neck. Colour rose in his face. "That's not good enough."

"Look, Kent, that's as good as I can do. I don't know if he put you up to this–"

"It wasn't me, Chief!"

"--But we can barely afford the 5%. And no one else is willing to get the good shots. No one else goes where he goes. And he's a grown man, just like you, just like Lois. Well, maybe not Lois–"

"Then I don't want him on my assignments!"

Perry leaned away from the unexpected shout. "Okay, I don't know what happened between you two, but sort it out or leave it at the door." He pointed at the open office door and the curious journalists sniffing for gossip just outside. "One minute you're trying to get the kid a raise, the next you're trying to get him fired? What's wrong with you?"

Clark straightened away from Perry's desk and turned, scrubbing his eyes under his glasses. "I just… I don't want him on those assignments."

"Well, that's too bad, Kent. There is no one else. Now get out of here before you say something you'll regret."

Clark's posture resumed its normal slump. He nodded to Perry, glanced once more at Jimmy, and stalked out, his expression stormy.

Perry sighed. "What in the actual hell?" he muttered. 

Jimmy felt the same. Was Clark mad at him?! Now he didn't even want to work together? On Friday he'd seemed perfectly happy about it, saying almost the exact same thing that Perry had.

It was because he'd said something stupid– I love you! --and now Clark didn't want anything to do with him. And rightfully so.

Well, that was fine . Jimmy would keep on keeping on with the crazy and being where he needed to be.

"Here, Chief," Jimmy said numbly, setting Perry's cup in its usual, coffee-stained sliver of free desk space.

"Thanks, kid."

**

This was the end for Superman's former pal, Jimmy Olsen.

Freezing, salty water poured into the mechanical shark, creeping up to cover his shoes and calves where he lay in the narrow pilot's compartment. The electronics were dead, everything was blackness and the crushing force of the ocean. Even if he could escape, he was too far from the surface to make it up before drowning. 

At least he'd already sent the kids in the escape pod. The two girls–genius high-school engineering students who'd entered their personal submersible into a science fair–would live to build again. Hopefully they and their parents would learn from the experience and get out from Luther's clutches before he forced them to weaponize more of their inventions.

With his last minutes of oxygen, Jimmy dug the film out of his camera and fumbled it into a canister. When the submersible was recovered, they would find the pictures and put an end to Luther's manipulation of science fairs and illegal forced recruitment of adolescent inventors. His hands shook badly. With every ragged breath, the water–more like liquid ice–rose another inch. He lost the feeling in his legs, in his hips, in his stomach. 

Finally, with the canister safely closed in his palm, Jimmy folded his arms and rested his head. He fought the urge to scream and claw at the hull. Nothing would help. He might as well just try to relax.

"I hate that you were right," he whispered. "See you on the other side, pal."

He closed his eyes and sank as the water lapped at his chin–

–And woke up coughing and vomiting and desperate to breathe, hands scrabbling at grass, light piercing his eyes.

"You're okay," murmured a low voice. "You're okay, Jim. I'm here."

Jimmy heaved one last time and flopped over onto his back. He breathed.

He breathed more.

Eyes closed, he lifted a hand, pointed a finger, and groaned, "Don't say I told you so."

Superman chuckled. "I won't. At least not right now."

Jimmy let his arm drop to the ground. He lay still for several minutes, soaking in the sunlight, letting it bring life back to his body. He only stirred to life when he felt large hands slide under his shoulders and knees. "Woah," he blurted, jolting upright, eyes flaring open. "You don't need to carry me."

Superman crouched beside him, his expression mildly reproachful, his ebony hair still dripping over his brow. "I'll take you to the hospital."

"I don't need the hospital."

"You almost drowned." Superman cocked an eyebrow at something nearby.

Jimmy twisted to follow his gaze and found the partially crushed shark submersible, with a distinctive laser cut slashing across the "belly". It looked amusingly out of place where it sat on a grassy hill overlooking the ocean. Metropolis hulked, grey and glassy in the distance; Superman had set down in the middle of nowhere.

"Besides, Perry pays you extra for health insurance, right?"

"Ha ha. You have better things to do, pal." Jimmy pulled away and pointedly clambered to his feet, moving stiffly in his cold, sodden clothes with his cold, sodden muscles. He had been dressed as Jimbo McOlsen in overalls and boots, thankfully. The tweed would have been much heavier once it sucked up water. "I'll make my own way. I know you don't want me around anymore."

"That's not true."

"No? That's what you've been saying." Jimmy turned away and surveyed the wreckage of the girls' submersible, wondering if his camera was still in there. God, but he really didn't want to go back into that cramped space, but he would miss his camera, they'd been through so much together. Grudgingly, he started toward it, rubbing his palms nervously on Jimbo McOlsen's overalls.

"Jim, please , just talk to me." Superman hurried to step between Jimmy and the sub, his arms spread either in pleading or to make himself a bigger obstacle. 

Jimmy tried to go around, but of course Superman had no trouble side-stepping to stay in front of him. "What's there to talk about?" he finally demanded, heat crawling up his throat. "I haven't seen you in weeks! You don't want to work with me? Fine. You don't want to hang out? That's fine, too. I'm not going to stop doing what I need to do!"

At the end of his tirade, Jimmy was almost panting as he glared wetly at Superman.

"I know," Superman said gently. "Here. I want to give you something." He unfastened a silver band from around his own wrist and held it out.

Jimmy blinked, his anger deflating. "A… a watch? I'm not graduating."

Superman chuckled, shaking his head. "No, it's a signal. If you turn it on, it makes a sound only I can hear. From anywhere on earth."

Unable to resist, Jimmy accepted the little gadget. He rolled it around. It really did look like a wristwatch, but with a blank, rectangular silver face and only one dial. "You, uh, made this for me?"

Superman grinned abashedly and his eyes rolled. "Well. Lex invented it. To annoy me."

"Did it work?"

"Exceedingly well. He hid it two kilometers under a city sitting on a fault line just to mess with me."

Jimmy snickered. "Hah! That's Lex for you. Such a prankster." He slid it onto his own wrist and admired it for a moment before curiously turning the little knob.

Superman immediately shuddered, shoulders lifting as though to protect his ears. "Turn it off!"

Quickly, Jimmy turned the knob again and Superman relaxed. "Sorry, pal."

"It's okay. Just… only turn it on when you need me. It makes my teeth buzz."

"Sure. Thanks. I will only use this power for good," he said solemnly. "And when I want sushi but all the restaurants are closed."

"See that you do." Superman smiled at him fondly. "And thank you. I feel better knowing you can signal me the next time you're trapped at the bottom of the ocean."

"Me too."

They stared at each other for a long moment and Jimmy's flush of anger evolved into that hot, nervous prickle, as though his body didn't care that he was wet and cold–it was going to heat up with a blush, anyway. "I, uh, it's good to see you again, pal," he admitted, dropping his gaze and scratching his itchy, drying curls. "I didn't think I would."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I mean, even if we hadn't been fighting for no reason, I didn't think you'd want to be friends anymore. I, well, I made things a bit awkward, didn't I? Telling you all that stuff. You have enough people throwing themselves at you, you don't need another."

"You've never thrown yourself at me," Superman responded with a soft snort. "And I'm not sure I'd mind if you did."

" WHAT ." Jimmy's head snapped up and he stared at the other man in disbelief.

Superman shrugged, twitched a dark brow, and smirked. He folded his arms and leaned back on his heels, as though saying, Do what you want with that information. 

Jimmy groped at the air and relapsed into breathlessness as he processed that. Superman… wouldn't mind… if he threw himself at him? He must have meant physically. As in, he wouldn't mind catching Jimmy if Jimmy was thrown at him because he was enormously strong. Right?!

"Are you okay?" Superman laughed. "I don't usually get to see you flustered." His smile fell. "But, seriously, your heart rate is concerning." He stepped closer, slowly, almost tentatively. His presence moved with him until Jimmy felt it lap against his skin, until he felt the faint tingle of proximity. His hand lifted to hover beside Jimmy's cheek. His crystalline gaze flicked over Jimmy's face and Jimmy could almost feel it like a touch, stopping at each freckle. Then his palm and fingers settled gently against the skin.

Jimmy keeled over. His body shook off the shackles of his control, mutinied against his rightful authority, and he leaned into Superman's hand, closing his eyes in bliss. He reached up to grip Superman's forearm, afraid he would fall, all his muscles turned to hot liquid from just the touch of warm skin on his own.

Superman chuckled again and the sound seemed to come from everywhere as he closed the last few inches between them and drew Jimmy in toward his chest. His other hand rose to splay across Jimmy's upper back–not pushing, just warm and comforting–and suddenly Jimmy found himself in the circle of powerful arms. He let his head fall forward, let his forehead rest against the damp blue suit covering Superman's collarbone.

"I'm pretty sure I drowned," Jimmy muttered shakily. He tentatively pressed his palms to Superman's chest, swallowing hard at just how substantial the man was, the otherworldliness of the thin armour covering his invulnerable skin.

"I hope not," Superman murmured into his hair. His breath was hot as it ruffled through the curls, and the feeling of his lips and jaw moving made Jimmy shiver violently. "I don't want to kiss a corpse."

"Yeah," Jimmy squeaked. "I wouldn't want that either." 

Superman's thumb stroked gently over his cheek bone and his fingers curled lightly under his jaw to tilt his face up. He smiled again when he met Jimmy's eyes. There was something so restrained about him, and Jimmy recognized his usual caution with fragile humans, recognized that he would have to make the first moves. 

So he let his shaking hands slide up to Superman's nape and shoulder and rose up on his toes to meet those curved lips with his own.

Superman sighed a low, throaty sigh, almost a moan, and his grip tightened just slightly. His lips were soft, smooth and moist, as perfect as the rest of him.

Jimmy dropped back onto his heels and grinned. "Not a corpse–"

Superman leaned down and kissed him again, cupping his head in one palm, supporting his back with the other. His lips moved hungrily over Jimmy's and Jimmy tasted salt and the wind and something electric. His knees weakened again and it was all he could to hold on.

When Superman pulled back, he pressed his forehead to Jimmy's. "I've wanted to do that for a while."

"Me too." Jimmy, growing bolder, let his fingers slide up into Superman's hair, and was rewarded when Superman gave another throaty sigh. 

Superman abruptly jerked his hand away from where it had stroked down Jimmy's neck. "Um. I think you're molting." He pulled back enough for Jimmy to see the chunk of transparent, scaly skin caught around his fingers.

"Oh, dang, I can't make a purse out of that." Jimmy reached back to touch his neck and cringed at the burst of sensation. "Ah, that's sensitive."

"Oh?" Superman's touch drifted down Jimmy's spine before falling away. "We should get you home, then."

"Yeah. I just…" Jimmy pulled away reluctantly and scowled at the smashed submersible. "I need to get my camera."

"I'll get it." With a strangely buoyant step, Superman strode to the twenty-foot mechanical shark and glared at it until it cut itself open. He fished out the camera easily and sauntered back. "Here you go." When Jimmy slid it over his head, Superman turned and dropped to one knee. "Hop on." Then, as Jimmy gripped his broad shoulders, he paused and cocked his head. "It's not weird now, is it? Lois said it got weird after we started dating." He hooked his hands behind Jimmy's knees and stood.

ARE WE DATING?! screamed Jimmy's inner thoughts.

"Uh, no," Jimmy answered, trying to ignore how it felt to have Superman's waist between his knees and hands on his legs. "Nothing weird about it at all. I don't know what she was talking about. So… up, up, and away?"

**Art!**

Jimmy "James" Olsen by Squiji 💕

(https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/squiji?sort=top)