Chapter Text
Earth had always been a curious planet. Princess Koriand’r of Tamaran had first arrived on this planet at her worst: her crown reduced to dust, her planet subjugated, her family decimated and her identity violated. When she first emerged from the crater her landing created, she was nothing, a broken toy of the Gordanians and a brutalized lab rat of the Psions. She was desperate, she was savage and she was ready to embrace the end in glorious battle instead of enduring the fruits of her sister’s terrible betrayal. But in her darkest hour, she found the light that the Earthlings had grown quite accustomed to: Superheroes.
The first heroes she met were not quite the figures of legend yet, but they saved her all the same from the clutches of the Gordanian invaders. And when it was all done, they offered her a home, welcomed her into their ranks and soon enough she too came to revere the Superheroes much like the Earthlings did. While coming from a planet of warriors, Starfire was enthralled and awed by the Justice League, even as she went from a stray in a team of side kicks to her own hero, to a respected colleague.
Most of all, she never quite grew out of her idolizing of Superman. The Man of Steel was like the sun, something that was always burning bright even when you couldn’t see him, his influence, his symbol, noticeable in every heart he touched. There were planets where Superman had never so much as glanced out, species who didn’t even have the concept of the Last Son of Kyrpton, people who were unable to comprehend words; and they all knew who Superman was.
In her early years, she had only seen the man from afar, as a figure. In the posters that littered every street, from the near obsessive reporting from his now wife Louis Lane and, soon enough, in the comparisons that she’d overhear many making between her and him. Aliens from tragic backgrounds who crashed landed on Earth, similar power set, both take energy from the sun, both play the beaming energy of their team in a world that is cynical and dreary. He was different from her, but familiar enough that she felt a kindred spirit with the man.
When the Titans became a more official group that took on larger threats, she came to witness the Man of Steel across the battlefield, as a force of nature. Witness was the perfect word. One did not merely fight along side a God, you merely whisked away all distractions and let him perform his miracles. With one punch, he could shatter stars. With one breath he could cause tidal waves. With one sprint, he could make the earth spin backwards. And with one glare, he could descend into the depths of Apocalypse and bring the mighty Darkseid to his knees.
Recently, she had come to watch him up close and personal, as the most gentle and caring friend she’d ever met. And there she had come to know his greatest feat, as with one smile, he could make one believe. It had taken many years before she’d been officially inducted into the League alongside Victor, Richard and Donna, but when that time had come, she realized that it wasn’t his strength that made a living legend; it was his heart.
And now, fresh from battle against the forces of Apocalypse not even an hour prior, she watched him from across the table as he fought his greatest battle yet. His kind eyes hardened, his jawline tightened, his skin ran red with heat strong enough to boil his sweat and his elbows buckled under the pressure. Kori Anders was silent, taking on an almost contemplative look and a million questions bubbled on the tip of her tongue. And yet she still watched, dumbfounded, as she bore witness to Clark Kent struggling with a small sugar sachet as it dangled precariously over his coffee.
The battle of the ages continued for a few more seconds, Clark looking more afflicted by this foe than he had the first time he faced down Doomsday. Such contradiction enraptured the young princess, the very idea that the man who could make anything possible would find such a task worth sweating over, it was madness. She knew it was all an act, of course, as most Leaguers understood Clark’s ‘human’ act. The powerful façade of farm boy clumsiness that was so blatant that you could easily miss the expansive muscles and near dead ringing resemblance to Superman unless you were looking for it. Even knowing this, it did nothing to make the sight less odd. She’d only ever seen Clark either in the throws of combat or in command of everyone’s attention, to see him so feeble took a while to get used too.
“It’s the tie, isn’t it?” She’d realized too late that his gaze had risen to meet hers, his lips forming a tight and nervous line. At his words, she let her grin broaden, briefly glancing at the long orange tie that was dotted with Halloween pumpkins and cartoon ghosts. His thick fingers pulled on the tie lightly, trying to straighten out it’s creases and make it look more professional. He failed and could only narrow his eyes as Kori continued to giggle. “Look, my other tie was in the wash, it was a birthday present from Jon and-“ A stray hair fell loosely across his forehead, seemingly stealing away his attention as he hurried to push his hair back into place. By the time he was put back together, he took on an honest grin, straightening up slightly and puffing out his chest. “You know what? I felt like being a bit exciting today. So pumpkin tie, take it or leave it.”
“Bold statement, Kal-” She caught herself with a cough before she could say anything incriminating, though noting how inattentive and distracted the customers around them seemed to be, she doubted they could hear. She was a first-class supermodel who’s more eccentric and expensive look fiercely clashed with the more simple aesthetic of the diner, and they didn’t spare her a blink. “Mr. Kent.” The words formed a lump in her throat, even speaking the name not truly sitting right with her.
Still, she smiled, and he smiled back. Immediately, she was reminded that his one was far more powerful. “I appreciate the support, Miss Anders.” After a moment of nervous energy (a concept foreign to the young tamaranian) passed, Superman rolled his eyes, wagging his finger like he was giving a child a lecture. “Though I will say that if you keep staring at me like that, Dick is going to get jealous.” She appreciated the giggle he coaxed out of her, she really did. And it made her feel all the more stupid; in a good way, of course. Here she was trying to conceal or push aside her nerves, but under superman’s superior vision, he could probably make out every molecule of her muscles that twitched in rising doubts.
Clark, as she was trying her best to remember to call him, was much like Richard, she found. Their humor and outgoing nature was only distinguishable by stylistic choices. The way they used one little joke to simply tell her: You’re tense, it’s okay and you don’t have to talk about it. Back in their teens, she had often wondered how Richard had managed such a sunny disposition when working under a figure as daunting and brooding as the Batman. By now, she’d developed the sneaking suspicion that Superman had been a major factor in that development. And, in a way, that made her jealous. It was a brief thought that faded quickly, leaving only shame. “I love the boy, but I don’t want to deal with him rooting through Bruce’s junk for vengeful contingency plans.” When she tuned back into reality, she was thankful to realize that she hadn’t missed Superman- Clark’s punchline.
“You assume that Mr. Wayne wouldn’t just hand over the plans himself.” Her grin grew wider as Clark’s ever persistent hair fell flat against his forehead once more. Instinctively, her fingers found themselves already playing with her own crimson curls. Of course, where he simply had to deal with a few strands scratching his skin, she had more than welcomes her wild and uncontrollable mane that was almost as big as her entire body.
“Touché.” He leaves a long pause as a waitress approaches their table, a tray in hand. Superman gave Kori an excited wink, while Clark reached up for his order. Clark made for his coffee first, but he didn’t grip the mug like you usually would, firm grip around the handle while your free hand provided support on the opposing side. No, he kept his fingertips at the edge of the handle, careful to tuck in his knuckles close as he dragged the mug off the tray. In his full grip, his other hand came under the mug, but only pressing against the extra ring that was free from the mild heat as he held it. Every moment was slow, clumsy and careful with every second interjected with him gasping as an inch of skin grazed the boiled surface of the cup. “Mhm, this place has the best coffee in Metropolis, I swear.”
It took a few seconds for Kori to realize she was staring again. She craned her head away from the sight and found interest in other people and their coffee, pushing out a grin to hide the nagging embarrassment. “Forgive me, Mr Kent. I’ve lived on this planet for quite some time now, yet I still find new things to be amazed by.”
She could hear his cup being placed down, hear the material wince as, even with his extra care, he lowered it with just a smidge too much force. “I mean, I’ve always been more of a ‘Super’ guy than amazing.”
It was a pun she’d already heard Richard make about the super family heroes multiple times, so at this point, all she could do was turn back with a scoff and an amused look that told Mr. Kent how unoriginal he was. “You look nothing like the man I watched break Kalibak over his knee and shatter his rib cage.” It was true, he looked so fragile here, so loose. You couldn’t imagine that he’d stand firm against so much as a breeze, let alone a warlord of Apokolips. Even by human standards, Clark Kent was as unassuming as they came. Sure, if you were looking for it, you could see the resemblance, if you were prepared to believe it, you could find the strength that radiated from him. But from where she sat, it was a far cry. He moved like jelly, uncoordinated and untampered, easily urged which ever way minor forced deemed. His posture was terrible, ever so slightly slumped to mask his full height, bulging muscles easily excused by the wrinkles of a sloppy suit.
“I guess all those years of Theatre back in college came in handy.” His well-natured smile and warm gaze tightened after a few seconds of silence. He leaned forward, concern forming wrinkles in his cheeks. “Does it bother you, Kori?”
Letting her natural joy and energy push aside her worries for the moment, she matched his smile and shook her head. “Not at all. I guess I’m just now realizing that we’ve never properly met outside of work hours.” She felt more comfortable resting her chin on her hand, reminded her that this was a mostly casual talk, no pressure, no interrogation. No, the pressure was hours away. And yet, she had felt it as fresh for the past month. “I apologise for that too.”
With the tension dissolved for the moment, Mr. Kent slid back into his slumped position, eyeing Kori with a small chuckle. “Well, tell you what: I’ll forgive you if you try the Lex Flex Triple Pancake special.” Kori gave him that incredulous look, that one like he’d just made a surprisingly dark joke, the look that he’d received any time he’d professed his preference for that Luthor approved special. He’d even gotten Bruce to narrow his eyes a fraction more. “What? It’s the kryptonite of my tastebuds!”
Kori let it sit in her mind for a moment. Luthor, the very name was poison on the air and made a tinge of shame well up in her stomach. In a way, the shrewd snake of a man was partly responsible for her current shame, her current panic. It was he who orchestrated her first face to face meeting with Batman and Superman after all. Where this all started. He was a man built on unrestricted ambition and careless obsession, who’s pitch of redemption, patriotism and the greater good made such an utter fool of her. She should have known it was all just a campaign speech, that the two of the trinity couldn’t have been the bad guys, that something was up when Luthor let Super villains take the bounty, that she should have been better. Maybe if she had realized it sooner, that confrontation would have ended with Captain Atom and Major Force still alive.
Perhaps that only further validated the Batman’s fears of people like her. All this power, and it took no brainwashing, no tragedy, just a plea to her heart and accusations of ‘Public Enemy #1’ to twist her powers for foul purposes. Stop. Kori told herself. You’ve been through this. You’ve talked about this. You’re better now, you’re okay. She remembered the thunderous roar as Power Girl tore through Major Force, the intensity of Batman’s glare towards them, towards her like heat beams through her chest, the heavy look of acceptance the Captain’s eyes adopted as realized what he had to do. The silence as she helped carry Atom’s corpse had been the worst. She hadn’t dared meet Batman or Superman’s gaze.
Richard had told her it wasn’t her fault, that she merely did what she thought was right. She never told him, never could tell him, that such a fact wasn’t as comforting as he thought. She was trained in wars, born in it for most of her life and that had forced many a horrid sight upon her, many days where she was left to watch as both friend and foe did monstrous things for what they thought was right. They never came out of it as a hero. Superman had always assured her that, if it had been anyone other than Luthor, a different villain preaching that they’d changed, he’d have been just as fooled as she had been.
But that was in the past. She had to push it aside and focus on the future. So, she cut her staring into space short and merely squinted at the man before her. “Your relationship to your arch nemesis is an odd one to be sure.”
Clark merely shrugged, tugging on the front of his shirt as the hot day bore down on him. “I like to think old Lex would pop a blood vessel if he found out his most hated do-gooder casually enjoyed the food he endorsed.” Tilting his head offered more of the Superman face as it emphasizes his strong jaw more, pushing his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “It’s the small wins that keep me going.”
She let out a mandatory ‘ooo’ at his master scheme. “Psychological warfare, huh? Picking up tricks from the Batman, I see.”
In an instant he reverted back in Clark Kent, pushing his glasses up his with a bit more confidence. “Hardly. I’m a journalist, Bruce should be coming to me for tips poking at people’s patience.” He trapped a fresh copy of the Daily Planet against the table, beaming at his name beneath a bold headline about some crook’s confession.
“And yet today you’re wasting your time interviewing me for a gossip column instead of reporting on the latest exploits of good will across the world.”
“Nonsense.” She didn’t know whether it was Superman or Clark that went into his voice, so serious, yet soft. The way his head shook was certainly stronger than Clark, but those shimmering eyes didn’t generate the power of Superman. Then again, perhaps the problem was that she was so inclined to categorize all those actions in the first place, to root out what was the persona and what was the man. “Nothing is below me, Kori, everyone helps the community in their own way. Superhero, philanthropist, firefighter, model or low-paid clerk; makes no difference to me. People want to hear about your story because you’re inspiring in your own right.”
Unfolding the paper, he practically whipped the table as his free hand smacked against the front page picture of a small corner shop going through trouble. “And I’m happy to give you the spotlight.” When he saw little convincing her, he pulled the paper close, fumbling with it for a moment as he struggled not to rip such weak material. After a few pages in, he turned the paper back around to show an article surrounding Wonder Woman. She was wearing some odd uniform. “You know, Diana once worked at a Taco Bell for a time and she saw it as no less heroic than breaking her arm to save a school bus full of children. And you should know how much advertising Wally gets wrapped up in.”
That she did. Every time she visited Wally’s home; the shelves had never been short of superhero merchandise. Not that it was even Flash-centric, she’d seen plenty of other hero’s dolls (action figures, she reminded herself), from the various Green Lanterns of Earth, a worryingly accurate rendition of Donna’s looks from histories that no longer existed and even some ethically questionable villain features. She remembered being amused when Wally told her once about the creation of her own figure, how they never quite got her height right. “The support is appreciated, Mr Kent.”
With another silent look between them, Clark dropped the paper and readied his notepad. “Shall we start the interview, then?” With how casual everything had been, it was easy to forget that they were actually here for more work-related duties, even if it was just a thin excuse for a friendly coffee meet up.
Dropping her arms onto the table, she leaned forward with an energetic wink. “If you can keep up with me.” It might do her some good to talk about something she could be blunter with.
“What made you initially want to pursue a modelling career?” There was a quaint feeling attached to his question as he gestured towards her with the butt of his pencil. Like being asked about your job over the family dinner table rather than a reporter ready to relay your answer to the rest of the world.
“I’ll be honest, at the time, it was just a job I happened to fall into. Right time, right place and in need of money and all.” It was mostly true. She never actively sought out her modelling career, it just so happened she bumped into the right man with a good eye when she was looking for a day job to take on outside of the Titans. And from there she grew to find her own passion in the work, something she’d never take for granted. “When I first came to this place, I found the culture alien to me. Where I come from, our clothes are naturally more… Exposed. Yet here, so many seem afraid to wear any less than triple layers at the peak of summer.” She topped it off with a good natured laugh, her fingers running down her bare shoulders as she imagined her natural orange skin glowing beneath the glamour that hid her origins like a shameful secret. “I’m proud of my body, and I thought that modelling could be a good way of helping other people be proud of their body as well.” It was an odd feeling, knowing she believed the words she spoke, yet tasting them so venomous on her tongue.
Clark was the one who hesitated this time, a flicker of doubt weighing down his brow into thin black strips as he tapped the forefront of his pencil against his notepad’s next question. She could see the contemplation to spin the pencil around and erase it for both of their benefits. “And what would you say to those who would say that, instead of inspiring pride, you’re just pushing an unobtainable body standard?”
Her teeth bit down on her tongue before she could form a response. From experience, she had come to realize that questions like this were much like a tightrope, knowing that no matter how well-meaning her response, it would be easy for those, biased or otherwise, to interpret a tone of arrogance or insensitivity if not phrased correctly. Should she lean on the safe side and use a generic statement about empowerment? Should she delve into a pedantic non-answer that skirted the issue? Should she be blunt? Should she be subtle? So many battle plans laid out before her that pressured her more than any combat situation. She knew what she wanted to say, but she didn’t know if she felt right saying it. “I don’t feel proud of my body because it meets those conventional qualities, but because it is truly my own. I worked to keep it in shape and glamorize myself the way I, and I alone find appealing.”
The answer was slow, each word drawn out by her voice, examined each syllable that passed for any red flags before continuing. “You should work to make your body meet your standards, not society’s. If it’s the body you want, then you should feel damn proud of it.” Yet again, she felt in her heart that she believed the word she spoke, that this was the way she wished to express herself; but her heart also knew that was a living contradiction to her own beliefs. She was betraying herself and it stung.
After a moment filled only with the wild rustle of a lead tip against a harsh paper page, Clark looked up to her with a goofy grin. “And Lois says you can’t get a positive message from the fashion industry.” She couldn’t conclude whether he meant that as a genuine compliment or just to calm her obvious nerves. All she could do was watch as a waitress with a warm smile and a, admittedly, delicious looking stack of pancakes. It was a normal sight, a pleasant one with the addition of an alluring smell wafting under her nostrils; and it made her jealous. This poor random stranger was indirectly flaring ire within the usually happy-go-lucky Tamaranian simply for the crime of feeling much more real, more free than Kori felt at that moment.
As Kori was swept up in her own shameful thoughts, Clark rose to help the woman with the plate, shooting a cheeky and dorky smile before his knee slammed painfully against the underside of the table. No one heard the table crack, no one saw Kori keep it relatively steady with her pinky, they just saw mild mannered reporter – Clark Kent – stumble yet again and crash into the booth with a flurry of apologies and goofy expressions.
By the time the mess had been mitigated and the waitress disappeared back into the rhythm of the diner, Kori had found herself staring down at the table, still gripping it. She couldn’t tell if she was glaring or simply lost, just that her stare was hard and listless. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Of what?” She felt so small underneath his gaze, like this man who’s optimism and heartfelt nature burned like the brightest star made her difficulties feel so silly.
Putting on a brave face, she dared to turn her head up, finding her brows furrowing as if she were looking over one of Victor’s advanced calculations. “Of acting so human, that you are as fragile as everyone else.”
“I am human.”
“But-”
“Kori.” He leaned forward, his voice firm, yet somehow still so soft and comforting as he reached over to her hand. A couple taps from his rough finger tips was all it took to release the tension in her muscle making her grip the table’s edge. “Krypton may be where I was born, but I was raised a Kansas Boy,” Briefly, his eyes peered beyond the limits of his glasses, over the subtle dents and cracks in every surface that only his eyes could see, over every detail he had to take into account before making every step. “but I take your meaning. I never really saw it as acting, in fact I’d say Clark Kent is the most honest I feel.” That fond look, where his eyes looked past everything and only saw those quaint moments your mind would always bring you back to and his cheeks reddened, reminded her of herself. It was like being home for a moment, however brief, with just a thought. He’d recall working with his father on the farm and trying not to use his powers to cheat his chores, while she looked back to the small joys of learning to fly with her sister before everything went wrong.
“When I dawn that cape, there’s an expectation, an image I have to uphold for the sake of everyone watching. Superman has to be strong; he has to stand for something and be the immovable object in a world of easy solution and discarded responsibilities.” At this statement, Superman drew forth with a harded gaze, staring into the many moments where all the power in the world meant nothing. He could be back standing before The Elite, trying to convince the world the horrors of Superheroes who don’t hold themselves to a higher standard. Perhaps he was reliving the hopeless onslaught of Doomsday, clinging to nothing but his determination to stop his broken body from dragging him to the afterlife. Maybe he was reliving the dream life he had to let go of to escape the Black Mercy. The badge of a superhero was a burden as much as it was an honour, and both aliens could attest to the ruthlessness of their work. “Clark Kent? He can be clumsy, he can falter, he’s allowed to live without shame of his mistakes.” Instinctively, Superman’s fingers curl tightly around his coffee cup, but Clark refuses to let it break. “If all it costs for that is reminding myself to hold back, then it’s worth it.”
“I am learning more about you today than I ever thought I’d learn in a lifetime.” Kori sighed, letting her fingers busy themselves with her hair, the one go-to comfort she’d kept since childhood. “I wish I could be as steadfast in my alter-ego.”
Clark took his time to devour his opening bite of evil-endorsed pancakes, chewing on his words like food. It was almost childish watching him just managing to stop himself from speaking with his mouth full. “You don’t like being Kori Anders?”
There was a shrug. “I don’t like pretending to be something I’m not.” Her gaze fell upon the ring digging into her knuckle like a dagger, glaring up at her with a gawdy black jewel, the source of her civilian disguise. It would be so easy to break the trinket in two, to destroy the façade of Kori Anders that stuffed her history, her culture, and her identity in the closet. “I sit here telling others to take pride in their bodies and to not shame themselves to society’s standards, and yet I regularly spit in the face of my heritage, cast aside my race and deny my emotions to satisfy the masses.” It sounded so petulant when she heard it for herself, but she couldn’t deny what was eating her up inside. She knew why she needed this second identity, that it was the safest way to allow her to mingle with the public, to date her beloved without giving anyone an excuse to suddenly notice that the guy that celebrity Titan Starfire is dating bears a striking resemblance to Batman’s very own protégé, to hide potential avenues of attack from super villains out to hunt her down. BY god, she knew why she had to wear this ring, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she was living a lie. Almost like she was back at the Citadel with a different collar restraining her natural capabilities and expression.
“I see.” She wanted him to be disappointed in her, wanted him to lecture her about putting her personal feelings aside for the greater good, to tell her that she was overreacting and should just get over it. Anything was better than seeing that pity cross his face. “I suppose I can only relate partially. I was raised Human; I’ve always hid my natural abilities. You came here from where you were raised, only now do you have to hide it.” His hands came around hers, offering a comforting squeez as their attention turned towards the diner’s tv, which just so happened to be showing off a news interview with a certain billionaire. “And I’ll wager that your upcoming meeting with Mr Wayne doesn’t help that feeling.”
“I always dreamed of an opportunity to meet Richard’s father, but the closer I get, the more frightening the prospect becomes. I fear I’ll make the Batman uncomfortable, that because of my race, because of my powers, he’ll treat me as an enemy. He already doesn’t have a high opinion of me.” The Batman, despite his legendary status, was just a man at the end of the day. Kori knew this for a long time, he didn’t have any superpowers, but it was the way he looked at her that left her cracking. That simple gaze that didn’t offer respect, or warmth or even curiosity, just a dead stare that told her that he could see every doubt bubbling underneath, and he’s just waiting for her to explode and reveal how pathetic she really was in his eyes. The fact that he’s Richard’s father just made the effect all the more powerful as she continually told herself how important it was for her to gain his approval, for the sake of her beloved. “I know why I must do these things. I don’t mean to sound selfish. I just…”
She must have looked crushed because it took a mere second for Clark to be by her side, hiding his powers be damned, to squeeze her shoulder. He’d quickly learned how fond she was of physical comfort. “It’s not selfish to want to be yourself, Kori. You’re one of the most expressive people I know, so I’m aware it’s gotta kill you inside to not allow yourself that expression.” For a moment, Clark looked to be stronger than Superman.
There was a brief moment where she considered shutting up. She had that power, she knew he was too polite to push and that she could easily acknowledge his support and decline to comment further. But Starfire knew it wasn’t in her nature to burry such feelings, and that she would encourage the same expression from any of her friends and family. “I have seen his reports about my missions. ‘Reckless’, ‘unfocused’, ‘undisciplined’, ‘destructive’; he certainly doesn’t approve of me and Richard.” Dick had always tried to sugar coat it anytime the subject came up, assuring her that Batman only mistrusted her as much as he mistrusted everyone else. Jason had given her a far more blunt explanation of “He’s a dick, who cares what he thinks of you?”. Yet anytime she was remotely in the Batman’s proximity, not talking to him, just spotting him across the battlefield of a great event or in a big Justice League meeting, there was always that overbearing presence of judgement.
The more she thought about it, the more she likened him to an old teacher she had back on Tamaran, back when she was only a beginner and struggling with her hand-to-hand combat. The stiff stature, that stone cold glare, silently communicating that she should be better. She could practically hear that instructor lament on being forced to waste his lessons on some spoiled princess instead of a worthy warrior, a warrior that deserved to be there in his eyes. “I am not a part of his world of humans with no abilities but the skills they trained. I am an outsider invading his personal space.” She wasn’t even a person to him, she suspected, just a future threat to his family. In time, would Richard or Jason suffer a similar fate to Captain Atom: a forced sacrifice as the result of her own gullibility?
Sinking into her seat, she found her fiddling no longer as comforting, now gripping her hair roughly. “But he is Richard’s world, his family and their influence is everywhere in him.” In his darkest moments, she could Batman’s glare shine through Richard’s brooding gaze, and in his brightest moments she could catch Bruce Wayne’s dedication and determination drive him forward. And in that resemblance, she could feel her nerves twist even further. “I would do anything to fit into that world, but I worry that if I must deny so much of my identity to fit into it, is our relationship even worth pursuing?”
Before, the questions had been few and far between. Did Richard like her? Did his feelings go beyond that of basic lust? When was he going to ask her out? There were some small doubts that everyone experienced in their relationship, nit-picking their own appearance, panicking over if she might have misunderstood his intent, wondering whether he’d take offence to her requesting they watch a different movie; the usual. As the situation between them became more complicated, the bigger questions asserted themselves. Was the divide between their species wide enough to hurt their relationship? Could they survive months with only contact by unreliable video chats? Could their conflicting culture’s romantic norms find compromise? Many nights were spent wondering if that would be the last night in each other arms, if the next argument or the next obstacle would prove too great for their love to overcome. Her time back on Tamaran had been the most stressful, wondering if Richard had even gotten her messages assuring him he was still in her heart.
Now, it was the same set of questions repeating over and over again in the forefront of her mind. Was she endangering Richard? Was her reluctance to walk away actively making his life worse? Would he be happier with a human woman who didn’t bring such complications? Was she getting between Richard and his family? Her relationship with Dick has been some of the greatest moments in her life, but if her joy burned so bright it merely ended up burning him, was it selfish of her to keep going with it?
And all of this because she was preparing to meet his mentor. Fighting Trigon was less stressful than this.
Superman clasped his hands together firmly, his narrowed eyes and smouldering gaze highlighting how serious he took the words he spoke. “Dick has long outgrown Bruce’s shadow, grown into his own hero, in his own city and into his own man. You and the Titans? You’re his family too. Ask him up front and he’ll tell you the same thing: He does not need Bruce’s approval to know he loves you and will stand beside you no matter what. He’s a grown adult who doesn’t need to have his emotions babied.”
He nudged over his wrinkled notepad and his copy of the daily planet, turning them both back to their front pages, showing off his written copy of her answers side by side with the front page headline about a recent Titans mission she lead. “You need to be Kori Anders to protect people’s secret identities, but to Bruce Wayne? Be yourself, be Starfire and if he doesn’t approve, that’s his problem to deal with.” There was a pause before his face broke out into a smile, jutting his thumb up at her like he was mimicking a commercial. “You should meet your standards, not his.” Despite it all, she managed to smile at him. It wasn’t a fix all solution, nothing ever was, but she had to admit that being able to lay it all out with someone like Clark took the edge off.
Soon enough, the moment had passed and Clark was calling for the check. His phone was buzzing, the diner was emptying and the light of Metropolis was beginning to fade. She was the first to stand up, sliding out of her seat and dropping her half of the pay on the table, taking the opportunity to show Clark a toothy smile. “I will take your advice into consideration. Thank you very much for this opportunity and the delightful pancakes, Mr Kent.” Once more, her attention turned towards the television, where Mr Wayne was giving the host a winning playboy smile and fleeing his interview early for ‘business preparations’. “Will you be attending the charity event? I would welcome the support.”
Clark glanced up from his phone call, Kori could just hear the Daily Planet’s chief editor yelling bloody murder about Lois Lane getting herself into trouble again. “I might swing by later, but I’m mostly booked for the night. I can’t have Jon going trick-or-treating without me, we have to beat our candy haul record from last year.” He follows Kori’s lead and hops up, draping his beaten old suit over his shoulder and letting his pumpkin tie shine. “We’re going as Captain Marvel and Robin this year.”
The two last met by the diner’s front doors, the late afternoon chill starting to creep in and remind them that time isn’t slowing down for their little meeting. This brought Kori’s attention to the sky for a brief moment, so tempted to burst into flight right then and there, embrace the freedom and relaxation that the clear skies could provide her. She’d feel much better when she could fly free, fly anywhere and not have to think about tonight. But she could endure it for now.
Neither of them had to hold back when their hands slammed together for a firm, good-natured handshake. It felt like being able to stretch their muscles after being cooped up in a tiny space, just being able to squeeze each other’s fingers at full throttle offered some release for the tension in their hearts. “You have a good Halloween, alright? And tell the old grouch in the cape to at least try to smile tonight.”
“I will.” She giggled, already imagining the jolly blue boy scout trying to get a grumpy dark knight to smile a little. In her mind, she could make Batman look so childish, so much less threatening. Perhaps Kori Anders could use images like that to help Starfire confront the man. Like how a soldier would use insulting propaganda to humiliate the enemy. Like a soldier… She was a warrior, wasn’t she? So, it wasn’t unnatural for her to approach this like she was planning a battle. In fact, she expected that Batman saw this social event like that as well. Two warriors navigating a harsh battlefield of social etiquette, equipped with only their charms and their passions, exchanging blows of strategic conversation and affectionate gestures.
And there in, Kori realized, lay her advantage. Batman was a warrior who relied heavily on preparation, on predicting numerous outcomes for him to counter in advanced and setting the game up before it had even begun. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing predictable about tamaranian princess and the art of war.