“I’m...” Superman, the Man of Steel, was about halfway to putty by the ferocious glare of his terrifying mama Martha Kent. Cape or no cape, she would tear him a new one. Like right now.
“Clark Johnathan Kent!” she roared, charging out of her house and down the walk like a localized tornado. He flinched, the woman in his arms blinking at the tiny older woman, around to the man behind her, and back down to the lady that made even her sit up and salute. “You and I are going to have a long talk, young man, about plucking women from their balconies!” She reached up and the guy actually leaned down with a long sigh to allow his mother to grab his ear. “All over international news! How could you!?”
He couldn’t just say that she had been emitting enough 5th Dimension radiation that even Batman had (mentally) flailed a bit before making the call. Sure, her background checked out, she hadn’t zapped him, and for the most part she was docile, but... Well, adults were allowed to be afraid too. 5th Dimension Beings tended to cause so much h a v o c and they had tried to prevent another episode of “Screw the Justice League” before it started.
So. International Incident.
“I’m so sorry, miss,” his mother murmured soothingly with a gentle smile that Clark knew he wasn’t going to receive. Not this trip. “My boy is a good one, but he’s a bit... hasty.”
Oh yes, make him sound like a guy that could shoot off in thirty seconds, yes lets. The side-eye his mother gave had him drooping like a daisy in July. She couldn’t read minds, but Ma Kent didn’t have to. She was just that good. She sniffed, patting the woman in his arms on the shoulder before poking him in the nose. “Put this poor girl down and go inside.” He opened his mouth to protest. Ma Kent let a brow crawl up her forehead. He sighed, straightened up, and stalked inside gently. “That boy.”
“...um,” started the woman who swayed on wobbly knees. “What just happened?”
Aria Schaanag, cat mom and biscuit devouring twig, stood on the front porch of Superman’s mother’s house. In her bathrobe. And windswept hair from the lowest circle of hell. But mostly in a robe. That now had a tea stain nearer her knees than her waist.
She was in America. What about her cat?
“Poor dear,” tutted Martha and that was the first time Aria had ever been tutted over, the smaller woman like a hen gathering chicks up under her wings to shelter. “I ought to strip his hide with a switch. I taught him better than that!”
Oh. Oh wow. Americans really did speak here like they did on the telly. “...Uuuummmm?”
“Come on, inside. I’ll make you a glass of tea. Gracious, you did end up here at an opportune time. I just pulled out my tin cookies.”
What? Confused and still catching up, the blonde allowed the older woman to steer her to the house, through the door, and to the kitchen. “If you’re trying to butter me up by saving my cookies, young man, you have a long way to go.”
Superman was in his mother’s kitchen with a hot pan in his naked hand. His head brushed the chandelier when he stood up properly and didn’t slump - he must be closer to seven feet/two meters because that was the shortest chain Aria had ever seen on a chandelier. Blinking bemusedly, she sat when urged and looked at the woman who brow beat the Man of Steel into sitting down on the heavy metal chair that barely creaked in protest. Then there was a glass of iced tea set on a coaster and a plate of still hot chocochip biscuits in reach. Superman didn’t even reach for one despite his not-so-hidden pout of longing.
“What?” the clearly not-an-American woman uttered, dazed and a little (a lot) confused.
“Welcome to my home, dear. I’m Martha.”
“Aria.” She blinked before sitting straight, eyes zeroing on a suddenly nervous superhero. “What did you do. No, why. Why did you...” she waved her hand as if trying to convey how furious she suddenly was, color rushing to her cheeks as a bite of rage coated her words. “Who is going to feed my CAT?!”
Martha turned a stern glare on her son. He seemed to melt into the chair. “You left her poor cat?!”
There was a long moment of silence where one of the founder superheroes of the Justice League seemed to stutter silently before clearing his throat. “It was an emergency?”
That was not the right response.
“I’m sorry, Tay. I did not mean to vanish - I know we were supposed to go out for delicious food and hit up the patisserie,” Aria sighed into the communicator that was supposedly like a cellular phone. Pushing a hand through tangled blond hair, she picked at a knot with her fingers as she held the communicator tightly. As it was used by Superman, she had severe doubts she would be able to break it by holding too hard. “I was literally swept up like some maddeningly delicate damsel in distress and I need you to watch Cuthbert for a few days... maybe a fortnight. However long this takes.”
“:You’re really pushing it, Ari. My landlady hears about another animal in my apartment and she’ll deliver bricks through her ass.:”
“...You are a cruel and terrible person. Why would you say that?”
“:You stood me up when food was involved. I’d say we’re even.:”
Mental landscape now horribly defaced because of her supposed friend, the blond sighed. “Yes, sure. I’ll just conveniently forget to bake those biscuits you love so well. Whatever.”
“:...Now who is being cruel.:”
“I’d say me, but you started it.”
They hung up, the blond putting the hand with the communicator to her brow. She was going to get a headache. She was going to have to deal with bureaucracy and politics. She was going to have to talk to Superman and his amazing and terrifying mother.
...At least she wasn’t stuck on the Watch Tower?
Was that a plus? She didn’t know. Right now, she didn’t know a lot of things. Including when the b l e e d i n H E L L Superman was in her space! Fuck! Startling enough to throw the communicator at the man, she grabbed her robe over her chest, breath heaving from sheer sudden terror. “Make some noise! You could give a lady a heart attack!”
He actually looked contrite about that for a moment. “Sorry.” Then he straightened, sloughing off his normal persona for that of a man on a mission. “Due to... circumstances, I am supposed to keep an eye on you. I do actually have a day job, but I’m unsure how to make this work.”
Aria took a moment to think. Then, sighing, she offered up some information. “I was lead editor - was as in, I didn’t go in today and I won’t tomorrow and I’m going to loose my job - and up for promotion. The company dealt with a variety of stories and the sheer amount of genres available has kept me on my toes.”
The man sighed right back as he pondered this. Before he could even open his mouth, his mother was there, folding the blonde’s hand over the crook of her arm. “Come along, dear,” the woman crooned. “These discussions work better dressed for battle.”
That was how Aria found herself settled in front of an armoire old enough to make her ponder if it came over when the colonies were first starting or not. The glass of a mirror was held lovingly in a detachable frame and lit by a side lamp pushed onto the bottom shelf, the chair she was in a match to the rest of the furniture. She allowed Superman’s mother to brush her hair out as she chattered pleasantly about the weather, opportunities, and how lovely her hair really was. How was this her life? It was so surreal.
Then she was standing with a high waisted skirt, more like made for a daintier waist (Mrs. Kent was positively tiny), and a blouse that barely hid that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the soft cotton undershirt. The skirt was too short, brushing mid thigh, but passable with current trends and while Mrs. Kent (call me Ma) could barely clothe her, the smaller woman didn’t have shoes for her. Instead, she drug out the biggest cedar chest Aria had ever seen.
“This is my Glory Box, I was saving it for when Clark got married, but that impossible boy...” she muttered, opening the heavy lid on creaky hinges. “He’s a mess, is what he is. Probably won’t ever give me grandchildren at this rate.”
Aria almost giggled, choking it down with an abortive snort. Instead, a smug grin curled her lips, her eyes near sparking with amusement. Ah, the Lament of all mothers. The blond couldn’t stop the shake of her head as the petite woman dug out a pair of boots - clearly for hard work but barely worn. “That boy. He hit growth spurts like you wouldn’t believe. He didn’t even wear these two weeks before I had to buy more.”
Taking the thick knee high athletic socks and the boots, Aria slipped them on. Finally less naked than a an hour ago, the young woman smiled at her reflection. “Thank you, Ma.”
The woman beamed before pushing her out of the room. “Go on. He’ll buy you some clothes from that lovely place in the city. Don’t let him tell you he’s unsure, that boy has an eye for dressing ladies.”
Aria blushed as she was stood in front of the man on the communicator, clearly having heard his mother. This was incredibly awkward.
Katie debated how this was her life. Super heroes. One abducting her best friend and waifu while leaving that hellion Cuthbert who liked three people: Aria, Katie, and old Misses Delilah down the street who pampered the puss when he escaped the apartment somehow. “Come on, Bert. Superman stole Aria and now you’ll be with me for a while.”
Plucking up the blue-gray feline, the auburn haired woman slid him gently but firmly into a cat carrier despite his meowing protests. “Oh shush. I can’t ride the transport with you out and about. You’ll be fine and we’ll be at my house before the hour is up.” The low hiss of the cat disagreed. “Rude. Shut yer gob, kitty. We’re on a time limit.”
They were. She had work in less than two hours. This was a thing. Grabbing the essentials and sparing herself the calamity of carrying everything the great spoiled beast needed, the auburnette plucked up the carrier, locked the door behind her, and trucked it to the subway. On the subway, off to catch the other track just before doors slid shut, off, house, change blouses, then back out into humanity as she power-walked like a boss to her job. The perks of being where she lived despite the sheer amount of assholes and the sky high rent.
“Sorry, George,” Katie called to the man at the front of the room. The manager rolled his eyes but waved her on. Sweet. He wasn’t bloody sopping with loathing today. How lovely. “Thank God, must have finally gotten a leg over.”
Her coworker snorted as she punched in, face going very red. Oh, how cute. So pure. So innocent. So darling.
So much to spoil.
“Alright, time to make a penny,” she muttered, tying on an apron and unbuttoning the first three buttons on her blouse. Tips. She needed so many. The bar ran on them. Sliding behind the bar, she smiled kindly at the dark haired woman sitting awkwardly on a stool.
Time to work her sexy magic.