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Clark is late to work the morning after an alien invasion. Shoes untied and tie loosely knotted, sweat staining the shirt underneath his jacket because it’s the middle of summer and he’d been in a rush.
Not to mention running on 2 and a half hours of sleep. He must’ve been up until 7 in the morning fighting off the White Martians, and then afterwards trying to appease heady and needy crowds of reporters and officials at the emergency press conference announcing the official banding together of the Justice League.
He takes a quick step just outside the Daily Planet office, just with enough speed so that time seems slow to him, to bask in the light of Earth’s yellow sun. He doesn’t know how he’d ever manage balancing the precarious nature of his day job and all-the-time job without the extra enhancement it gave him.
When he arrives in the office it is, predictably, in total chaos.
Perry barely notices his tardiness in the manic flurry of interns and other staff rolling in and out of their doors. Clark’s boss remains stood in the very centre of the frenzy, hands cupped over his mouth in a makeshift microphone.
He watches the cigar in Perry’s mouth tilt upward with the clenching of his teeth — when was the last time anyone smoked indoors? — as his brows furrow and he barks; “Kent! You’re late!”
“Sorry, sir,” Clark gives him his best bashful ‘I’m just a country hick, I’m not used to the big city’ smile.
Not that it makes the man concede because Perry has known him for too long now, and even though he makes a lot of racket about Clark’s penchant for unexplained disappearances, he’s generous enough to give him grace and brush past it.
As he pushes through the onslaught to reach his desk, he tunes in to varying conversations.
“Martian Manhunter? Who even is—“ followed by a frustrated groan.
“That guy is not human,” someone laughs.
“Yeah, no shit, Joey. He’s green.”
The electrifying energy of workers buzzing around him is almost enough to make Clark laugh. If he hadn’t been readily informed that reacting to conversations far out of his range of hearing was incredibly absurd to most folks.
He reaches his desk, to find Lois’ legs draped over it, the tips of her shoes clicking together in rhythm. She’s chewing on a pencil.
Jimmy, who’d been locked in conversation with Lois beforehand, brightens at the sight of him. He’s holding a mug of coffee, but at least half of it is inexplicably on his shirt and bow tie.
“Clark!” He beams, “Did you see the news?”
Clark falls into his chair with a sigh, not bothering to brush Lois’ feet off his desk — he’s long given up on that fight by now.
Hardly thinking, he responds, “Jimmy, we are the news.”
Jimmy brushes his comment off with the wave of the hand, his other hand tapping on the mug excitedly, “The TV news. The Justice League! God, I didn’t even know Batman was real.”
“He’s real, alright,” Clark smiles. And then, being confronted with Lois’ skeptical gaze, straightens himself, “I — I mean, I have friends in Gotham who’ve met him before.”
“And how would you know anyone who lives in Gotham, Smallville?” Lois drawls.
“Uhh…”
Clark is saved from this terrible pseudo-interrogation by a firm clap on the back of his shoulder.
“Clark!” Perry yells, “Just the guy I need!” He flashes Clark a big, toothy grin and plucks the cigar out his mouth just to point at him, “I want your interview with Superman on the cause of the invasion as soon as possible, son.”
Clark turns to look at his boss. Lois is smirking at him on the other side of the desk, he knows, no doubt amused by how fine the line between Clark’s identities is getting.
(Although, with the formation of the League, Clark thinks that line might’ve thickened.
A small part of him thinks of it woefully. They’ve only fought one battle together, but Clark’s already began to consider much of the League his friends.)
“Uh..” Clark sputters, adjusting his glasses, “But sir, don’t you think the public would be more interested in who fought the alien invasion?”
Perry shakes his head, “I’ve already got Olsen on that,” he nods to Jimmy, “you fight him on it if you want, but we all know you’re my go-to Superman guy.”
The statement ends with a note of pride in Perry’s voice, and as quickly as he appeared, he leaves.
“You’re doing the League article?” Clark says, looking at Jimmy.
Jimmy’s shoulders climb up to his ears, “Err, yeah. Figured I’d do some research the old fashioned way. You know, without any interviews.”
It’s Jimmy way of saying he doesn’t need Superman’s input on this one. Clark understands — he’s a little hurt to think that his best friend assumed he would think him incapable otherwise.
“Sounds good,” Clark smiles.
But out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lois’ lips moving silently. She’s glaring daggers into the side of Jimmy’s head. Clark sends a questioning glance between them.
Lois mutters again; ‘Go on.’
Jimmy looks back at him sheepishly, “But, uh… those Justice Leaguers, right? They’re definitely not PR-trained.”
Clark’s head, which had been running a mile of minute since he stepped foot into their busy office, quietens.
“What do you mean?”
“Just…”
And then Jimmy jumps out of his seat, manoeuvring over Clark’s shoulder to get at his clunky old computer. He opens up YouTube on the internet browser and types ‘Justice League Interviews’ into the search bar.
What pops up is a growing list of videos of Clark’s — Superman’s — teammates being interviewed at the press conference and other times during the invasion. Clark can’t believe some journalists were ballsy enough to approach one of them during an actual battle for Earth, but that’s not what concerns him. Below all the official channels, there are numerous compilations and short-form videos titled ‘Justice League Interview Fails’ and more such as ‘Aquaman tells reporter to fuck off.’
Things like that.
Jimmy pats his shoulder in consolation.
“Yeah, uh, like I said… definitely not PR-trained.”
Clark hovers his mouse over one of the official interview channels and decides to bite the bullet.
One of the official interviews is simply labelled; ‘Wonder Woman Interview,’ and Clark thinks that truly nothing Diana could say could be that bad.
She’s a princess. She’s tactful. Polite.
And then the interviewer brings up politics, and Clark feels all the blood drain from his face.
“As a feminist icon—“ let it noted that Diana’s smile lights up at the words, “what are your views on abortion?”
Clark has to take a second to face palm. God, please, no.
On the screen, Diana’s smile flickers, “Forgive me, I’m not familiar with that custom?”
The interviewer seems to be slightly taken aback by her innocent confusion, and yet he plods on with the subject, snapping his fingers together just in view of the camera, “It’s uh, women… removing children from their bodies before a few months birth, so as to kill them.”
It’s then that Diana’s smile completely lessens. She blinks, “Well they wouldn’t really be children months before they’re born, would they?”
“So you agree with this?”
“I think a woman should do what she wants with her body,” Diana says resolutely.
“But it’s not just her body—“
She snorts, “Whose else would it be?”
The interviewer scoffs, “Well, the child’s—“
“What child? A fetus develops consciousness after 24 weeks. It develops a heartbeat after 5. If it is being removed from the body prior to these developments, I see no issue with it.”
Diana sets a hand on her hip, straightening a little. She is becoming annoyed by his conversation, and the lack of approachability in her demeanour is showing it.
Clark can barely make the man’s face out on the frame, but he sees enough to see the reddening of his face, “And what — do you think you’re an expert on conception? A child—“
“Conception begins when an egg fertilises. It is not a conscious being, merely an after-product of sex,” Diana’s brow arches in a thin line, “And something tells me I’ve had that with more women than you have.”
Clark feels his heart drop to his stomach. Lois, who has since moved her chair beside his to watch the video, bursts out into a fit of laughter.
The most liked comment under the video reads; ‘Another woke superhero… when will we get a superhero who reflects real American values?’
Clark wants to scoff. Diana isn’t even American.
But something else sparks his interest, the most liked reply underneath said comment; ‘Green Arrow exposed my mom’s shitty boss. Thought he was cool until I saw his Starling interview. Smh.’
After a few seconds of digging, Clark eventually stumbles onto the interview he assumes the user was referring to. It is very clearly filmed within the aftermath of the press conference.
He clicks play, and even though GA’s mouth is concealed by the lower part of his mask, Clark can tell by the motion of his jaw he’s chewing gum. He contemplates where GA stores it, before shaking himself off the diversion course and paying attention to the video.
“And would you say you work well together, as a team?” The woman on the side of the camera asks.
She lifts the microphone close to GA’s face. Clark can’t see his eyes properly, but the fabric around them crinkles enough to where he knows GA is grimacing.
“We did what we had to do,” He replies, and then amends, “Have to do. I think.”
“So you’d say you’ve got quite a close-knit team, then?”
“Close-knit?” He scoffs. Oh no. Clark heard enough bickering during the battle to know where this is going, “Yeah, I guess as close as I can be with a space pig, multiple nepotistic dictators and a panty-wearing fascist who only speaks in grunts.”
Clark buries his face in his hands.
The video’s audio is still playing in his ear, and he faintly hears the interviewer respond, “You think your old costume was any better?”
GA gasps, “It was in honour of Cary Elwes!”
Clark digs deeper and finds a more popular, less confrontational video of some of the League gathered around the wreckage. From the way their backs are facing the camera, he’d bet they didn’t know they were being recorded.
The video starts. Wonder Woman, Flash, Batman and the Martian Manhunter seem to be having an innocent (and very professional) discussion on dealing with victims of the fallout.
Just loud enough for the recorder to pick up, Diana says, “Were there any survivors in the building?”
J’onn nods, “Only one. Though he informed me of family in a different part of the city he had concern for.”
Batman’s head tilts upward, attention caught, “Which one?” He asks.
“The hairless one.” J’onn answer, pointing to a splotchy bald-headed man who lingers at the very edge of a crowd.
Diana hums, accepting this. Batman, however, can’t seem to let live alone, and monotonously remarks; “Humans have body hair. It’s not only on the head.”
Clark begins to prepare a stern lecture to Batman in his head on the damages of assumptions and xenophobia — but then J’onn curls his lip downwards, looking distraught. “They do? Where else?”
Flash obligingly rolls up a sleeve and shows him his arm. Little blonde hairs, almost unseen, stand on edge.
“That’s disgusting.” J’onn mumbles.
“Have you been shape-shifting into an otherwise hairless man this entire time?” Batman scolds, “What kind of bacteria have you caught on your skin?”
“I thought your eyebrows were thin.” Diana mumbles.
The comments seem to be taking the contents of the video in lighter stride than the official channels, which pivots Clark into a different direction of unverified accounts.
There are swathes of compilations and short form videos simply stealing content from live news channels and others of the same sort, but there are rarer finds, too. One such is a young man approaching Aquaman in the middle of the invasion.
Clark huffs. The things kids will do for the internet these days.
As he watches the video, he doesn’t have much concern in the back of his mind about cause for public incident. After all, Aquaman is the King of Atlantis. He’s practically a born peace-talker.
Or so Clark assumes.
But the young man (perhaps teenager) approaches Aquaman quickly, as told by the shaky camera and heaving heard from behind it.
Aquaman sees him, turns, and yelps, “What the fuck are you doing? Are you fucking stupid?”
The language is enough to make Clark startle. He’d forgotten how high his volume was. His colleagues, who are all since sat at their desks, glance judgementally at him.
Lois (who has since moved back to her computer) snorts into her palm.
Clark turns the volume down on the video, fine-tuning his ears.
The events of the video have progressed to the point where Aquaman is scolding this young man — a responsible action, if not for his choice of words.
“I just wanted to record—“ The boy mutters.
“No,” Aquaman scolds, raising a finger, “That shit you pulled could’ve gotten your dumbass sliced in two, or worse off buried in those butt-fucking-ugly white aliens made of—“
The king of Atlantis is surprisingly vulgar.
Clark decides he doesn’t need to hear anymore of this and opens a different video from an unverified account. The footage doesn’t seem to be lifted from any of the official channels, so it must be a street interview or something else in the same amateurish lane.
The video starts with a poppy introduction, fading into a much lesser quality video of the Flash, who seems to be pursing his lips in deep consideration.
The only clue that there’s an interviewer standing behind the camera is the raw shakiness of the footage, as well as a young person’s voice, which starts; “Okay Flash. Fuck, Marry, Kill; Lex Luthor—“
Clark clicks onto the next video in the feed. No. He is not watching that.
(Lois texts him later that afternoon. She says; ‘Just so you know, he chose to kill Lex Luthor.’
The next message says; ‘I don’t know if I fully agree with the answer. Who’d want to have sex with Killer Croc?’
Clark doesn’t even bother asking what the third option was.)
It sends him on a different kind of loophole, though. There’s many of the same street interviews or just recorded interactions of his fellows teammates from before they even met. Clark finds a rare instance of Batman being caught on camera.
Though when he watches the video, it’s clear Batman wants to be anywhere else.
Stood at his side is a curiously dressed teenage boy, wearing a traffic light-coloured costume and domino mask. He looks a lot cheerier than his counterpart.
In background of the shot is lit by flashing lights of blue and red, and the audio is accompanied by sirens, so Clark can safely assume this takes place after some sort of battle.
To the cameraman, Batman woodenly explains, “It was no terrorist attack, simply a false alarm and an attempted robbery. The security guard’s PTSD was triggered by a smoke bomb one of the perpetrators threw. I will be escorting him to a trusted psychiatrist, so that he will receive the help he needs.”
There’s an awkward pause behind the camera, and then its holder speaks, “PTSD?”
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Batman explains, “It is, as the name suggests, a mental disorder.”
The cameraman laughs, “Ah, well, that explains it.”
Batman’s remains unmoved. Beside him, the brightly coloured teenager frowns.
“What do you mean?” The boy asks.
“Robin,” The Batman says quickly, scolding.
‘Robin’, as Batman had called him, ignores his warning grunt.
“Err, well — it’s obvious!” The cameraman laughs. Perhaps a little nervously, “The museum made a mistake hiring that guy. Can’t trust the mentally ill to look after nobody but themselves.”
There is an even longer, tenser moment of silence. Clark sits there and waits for the video to end, but then Batman speaks again.
“I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
Beside him, Robin fake-coughs into his hand, replying with a snarky, “Obviously.”
Aw jeez, Clark thinks.
When the first Justice League meeting concludes, the others are nice enough to oblige Clark’s plea for them to stay. Even if they don’t seem thrilled about it.
He rises from his seat and takes a position at the front of the room, ready to start his slideshow. Batman had offered to prepare his presentation instead, but Clark’s still get a hang of all the Bat-tech — and to be honest, he’d worked kind of hard on it.
“Thank you staying behind today, everyone.” He begins, using his best southern hospitality smile and voice. It’s a little effective, “I promise this won’t be a reoccurring issue. It’s just for today… I wanted to talk about our internet presence.”
There is a visible shift at the words.
“Internet presence?” Diana balks.
Clark nods, “Yes. There’s been a few interviews circulating and, well, I figured I could teach you guys the proper etiquette for them.”
On the other side of the table, Aquaman scoffs, “I know about etiquette, Superman. I’m royalty.”
“Why should we have to censor ourselves for the media?” Green Arrow argues, “I thought the news was about the truth!”
“Oh!” Green Lantern says with relief, “That’s cool. I thought you were gonna bring up all the art of us kissing.”
Clark feels like the floor has dropped from beneath him.
“What.”