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“You dress down well.” Was not how Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet intended for the opening of his interview with Zatanna Zatara: the Mistress of Magi; the newest celebrity, maybe hero, staying in Metropolis, the city of the future.
While watching her first showing in the city, Clark had come up with a cleverly crafted compliment performance, one that in no way would reveal that he’d seen her perform more spectacular acts of magic with the exclusive audiences of the Justice League. Superman had been in that audience, not Clark Kent.
Zatanna’s magnetic eyes leisurely traveled from Clark’s glasses to his shoes, a mischievous grin on her lips. “You clean up well. ‘Clark Kent’.”
“I didn’t mean -” Clark began to amend the misconception of his slipshod words, before pausing at the fraction of a human heartbeat to consider how he’d like to play out the interview.
Saying he’d misspoken since he was used to seeing her dressed for the performance to end all performances wouldn’t give away his secret identity. In the majority of her public appearances Zatanna was decked out in her full regalia. Clark Kent wouldn’t have ever seen her as anyone more than the Mistress of Magic, even if Superman had.
Clark lowered his eyes, turning the slightest bit away from her, pulling out the most sheepish farmboy smile he had, and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologize.” He mumbled. “This is my first time interviewing a celebrity. I didn’t consider you wore more than your top hat.” Clark blushed at his now intently poor word choice. As his mother always told him, “If you’re going to lie, Clark, go all out.”
Zatanna’s bunny slippers, predictable, shifted in his peripheral as she leaned against her dressing room’s door. “You’ve seen me without my hat,” she purred; Clark let himself visibly shiver in response to her tone. “You’ve seen me without my hat, do I get to see you without your glasses?”
Clark let his ears turn red, the practicality of Kryptonian body control never ceased to amaze him or his audience, as he turned to face her, hiding his own face as he adjusted his glasses. “Could we start over?” He pleased with her, using all of his small town charms.
Zatanna threw back her head, Clark watched as her ebony hair cascaded around her face, and gave a full body laugh. “Zatanna Zatara, otherwise known as, the Mistress of Magic.” She finished with a playful, friendly, rather than seductive, wink. “And you?”
Clark conspicuously relaxed, and offered her his hand. “Clark Kent. Reporter with the Daily Planet.” Her hand in his was softer and more delicate than he’d imagined given the more physical aspects of her profession but her handshake was as professional as he expected, with a far better grip than his own. “I’m here to ask you a few questions about you –”
A white bodied rabbit with a pair of strikingly black eyes that made Clark think of a top hat anxiously hopped out of the dressing room.
“Your assistant.” Clark's wry question was ignored as Zatanna knelt down to scratch the unhappy rodent behind the ears. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on Zachary?”
The rabbit proceeded to answer her question by hopping in one place making animalist mutters, before finishing with a grumpy sounding whine.
“Of course, he did.” Zatanna muttered irritably under her breath, giving the rabbit one more scratch behind the ears; she stood to face Clark with an exasperated sigh.
“Looks like my nephew and his ‘friends’ got themselves into some trouble.” Zatanna explained as she gave him a knowing smile. “Younger cousins are always getting themselves in trouble.”
Clark returned her smile with a sympathetic one. “I know a little about that.” Clark knew all about the troubles of younger cousins. “Would you like some help with your cousin?”
Superman was vulnerable to magic; Clark Kent wasn’t any more affected by the mystical world than he was from the terrestrial, and as a reporter he was decent enough at observation and deduction, two skills that he’d found to be particularly handy when dealing with the otherworldly. Sure, Clark Kent wasn’t Batman but he was certainly a better assistant than Bruce Wayne; who Clark knew had followed Zatanna along on a few of her mystical adventures back in the day.
“Thanks.” Zatanna didn’t laugh at his offer, but her impish smile wasn’t all that better for Clark’s ego. “This isn’t the type of thing that will make the Planet.”
The rabbit made a high pitch sound of irritation, Clark winced, bouncing up to Zatanna’s shoulder, then giving her cheek an impatient nudge.
“After this you should get him a watch and a waist coat.” Clark commented drily.
“A little too on the nose, but a decent enough suggestion. Would you like a vest, Pocus?” Zatanna teased; flicking the rabbit on the nose. “I’ve got to go save the world. How about a rain check on the interview?”
The situation was a familiar one for Clark, just not from the side of the reporter, he was normally the one leaving prematurely to save the world. Unlike several of Superman’s hopeful interviewers, Clark knew how to politely respond. “Thank you for your time. Would you like to continue the interview after your next show?”
“Naw.” Zatanna snapped her fingers, transforming her… casual wear, Clark settled for, into her striking work clothes. “Seems like there are going to be too many distractions here.” Zatanna gave the rabbit a good natured glare. “I’ll see you at the Planet. S’teL evas taht toidi.”
At those words the hallway and the dressing room beyond were filled with a burst of bright, glittering purple smoke. It dissipated moments later, not quickly enough for Clark not to avoid getting a lungful of the magical smoke, leaving Clark alone, and wondering two things, as he choked on the magic. What time and day would she arrive at the Planet for the interview and, the far more pressing question, is this what Lois feels like at the end of one of their interviews.
If it was, Clark would have to find a better way of leaving her.
A week to the day after the Teen Titan 'incident’ Cark received a sticky note, from a dove no less, with “lunch” hastily scrawled on it. After verifying with the messenger, that the dove had not been intended as the meal in question, Clark hadn’t felt the squawk he received in response need to be as indignant as it was; Clark confirmed that the note’s sender had been Zatanna.
In the reporting business you could never be too careful when dealing with the types of people who sent mysterious messages.
The dove, of course, responded to the inquiry with a hard peck to Clark’s glasses knocking them askew; Clark decided to take that response as a yes. In Clark’s experiences questionable informants had better manners.
As he watched the dove fly away Clark was left with one question.
“Are you taking her to lunch or is she taking you?” Jimmy asked while sprawling out on the top of Clark’s desk, which in turn was directly on top of a series of dispositions Clark had meticulously organized over the last four months, and were imperative in proving the validity of Lex’s current scheme. Clark gave an exaggerated, sigh of exasperation, for Jimmy’s benefit since Jimmy knew or should have known the extent of the work Clark had put into those stacks of paper.
"Magicians operate in mysterious ways.” Clark replied curtly as he leaned down to collect the documents that had fluttered to the floor. In truth, Clark didn’t mind the mess Jimmy was making; in the blink of an eye Clark could have them all arranged back in the order he’d had them.
“She’s got to be taking you out.” Jimmy mused, shoving a few more of the records off the desk, as he made himself more comfortable.
“Is that so?” Clark dryly questioned, unwilling to confirm Jimmy’s suspicions that Clark had been pondering over the very question Jimmy asked him, since he’d received the sticky note.
“Yeah, ladies like her are high rollers ” Jimmy sagely continued, and he even magnanimously shuffled a few of the documents together into a pile that a small child may generously consider a stack. “Don’t worry. I still think you’ve got a -”
It wasn’t so much that Clark missed Jimmy’s enlightened words of encouragement, nor had him missed the beginning of a humorous anecdote about one of Jimmy’s more recent relationships with a woman that the entirely of the population of earth, along with the realm she’d been from, was too good for Jimmy; no Clark hear ever of the words had Jimmy spoken. Clark’s attention was entirely drawn to the faint lime glow that Clark’s desk was beginning to emit.
To Clark’s disappointment the glow wasn’t a form of radiation, or anything else that Clark could give a scientific explanation for. That would be too simple for a problem involving Jimmy. The now neon bright glow was forming a series of scripts Clark couldn’t decipher, directly under where Jimmy was sitting, confirming Clark’s suspicions of the source of the light.
Magic.
“So you see, Clark -” Jimmy was too involved in relating his romantic saga to notice the glowing danger underneath him. Probably for the better.
“I forgot.” Clark blurted out abruptly, jerking out of his chair; to the eyes of his fellow Daily Planet employee, Clark Kent stumbled forward under the power of his prompt movements, leading him to topple forward, and accidentally knocking Jimmy to the ground, with a stunned Clark draped over him.
Later Lois would question how Clark’s fall had conveniently shielded Jimmy, at the time, the rest of the staff was shocked by Clark’s desk erupting into a lime fireball, blasting luminescent shrapnel across the Planet’s news room.
Clark hissed in pain as fragments of his ruined, magical, desk were driven into him. Whatever had enchanted his desk had left enough a magical residue that Clark felt discomfort from Jimmy’s attempts at throwing Clark off him.
“Jimmy Olsen.” A woman’s voice boomed; it was accompanied by a swirling disarray of neon lime sparks that were turning Clark’s stomach more than the pain was.
From the heart of the gaudy squall a woman stepped out; the cold fury of inhumanely exquisite eyes were focused solely on the terrified intern behind Clark.
“Is this who you were talking about?” Clark gritted out; troubled he couldn’t place here in Superman’s Rogue Gallery.
“It was a misunderstanding.” Jimmy protested, no longer struggling to get out from under Clark.
“Was it?” The sorceress purred, menacingly as she sauntered towards them, bringing with her the lime sparks that settled over Clark as if they were a cloud of noxious gas rather than the light they appeared to be.
Clark choked. Could this actually be Beatrice Nyx? The sorceress Jimmy had been telling a ridiculous anecdote about before she’d struck. Superman had been off-world during the entirety of Jimmy’s affair with the sorceress. Clark hadn’t been pleased with the idea of the relationship, he’d heard about Nyx from Doctor Fate, but Jimmy had promised that the relationship had ended amicably. Clark should have known Jimmy didn’t know what amicably meant.
“You’re going to wish this oaf hadn’t saved you.” Nyx sneered; her hands danced before her, shimmering lime patterns formed in the wake of her elegant fingers. Superman had been attacked enough by magic users to know that the spell wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.
Clark started to leverage himself off of Jimmy intent on attacking the sorceress. His muscles were a flimsy uncoordinated mess but he was certain he could do - maybe not attack her, not with the crowd watching them, but distract her enough for Jimmy to escape.
The magic contaminating Clark’s lungs, disagreed with his movement, causing him to collapse back on Jimmy into a guttural coughing fit. His mind raced for a solution, as the lime patterns began to consolidate into a crackling blade. The only way out Clark could see was Lois creeping towards the sorceress with a raised chair ready to strike, even then he didn’t think she'd make it in time to save Jimmy.
He was unfortunately right. The neon blade thrust towards them - a dove, gracefully, course corrected itself away from Clark towards the open air of Metropolis through one of the broken windows.
The blade speared towards them then – it was a dove gracefully, course correcting away from them and escaping towards Metropolis through a broken window.
“Public breakups. Classy.” Clark, the rest of the Daily Planet staff, and an even more incited sorceress turned to see Zatanna casually stepping over the remains of Ron’s PC, to place to take out bags, sporting the Grills logo, on Cat’s desk.
“Charlatan! You dare interrupt me!” Nyx seethe extending her hands, now shimmering with a malevolent power towards the unimpressed Zatanna. Jimmy took the moment to elbow Clark in his already tender ribs. “See. I told you she was going to bring lunch.
“I think she’s bringing more than lunch.” Clark coughed before sagging on Jimmy in relief. Zatanna was here and Clark doubted she’d be much of a challenge for the Mistress of Magic. All Clark needed to do was enjoy the performance and come up with some spectacular adverbs to describe her rescue for his pieces on her.
As expected the rampage of Beatrice Nyx ended as quickly as it started, though, Clark would say, in the article, that the beginning didn’t compare to the magnificent of the finale.
Soon enough Clark found himself seated in his chair, it had survived the destruction of his desk better than Clark had, with a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders awaiting the police, and the paramedics. Not the first time Clark had been in this particular position, though it was one of the few times he’d actually been injured.
“When they say that the news makes the news, this wasn’t what I expected.” Zatanna offhandedly observed while offering Clark one of her bags from the Grill and taking an unladylike bit out of her own massive sandwich.
Clark held the bag in his hand for a moment as he stared astonished at how unruffled she appeared after her battle with Nyx. Not even her hat was skewed.
It wasn’t that he’d never seen her after a battle. As members of the Justice League they’d fought together a number of times. Rarely had those battles been against magic. Magic left Superman in the same state Clark Kent was currently in. He’d assumed that would be the case for even a mage.
Clark stared at her, astonished at how unruffled she appeared after her battle with Nyx. Her hat wasn’t even skewed.
It wasn’t that he’d never seen her after a battle. They’d fought together in the Justice League a few times now. Rarely against magic. Dealing with magic left Superman very much in the same state Clark Kent currently was in. He’d assumed it would be the same for everyone, even a mage.
“You should see the trouble Lois gets herself into, “Clark smirked, to cover for his awkward pause, and busied his hands with opening the bag. “There isn’t an interview she’s afraid of having.”
Zatanna flashed him an amused smile before turning her attention, away from him, towards the door. “Seems like you’re the one who’s getting the lunch interview today.” She nodded towards the police streaming into the office.
Clark sighed. Superman never had to do these kinds of interviews.
“That’s my cue.” Zatanna teased him with a playful grin. “Police interrogation isn’t part of a Zatara act.” With her free hand she unnecessarily adjusted her hat. “Want to try this again?”
“Somewhere more private.” Clark gestured towards Jimmy who was making a poor attempt at discreetly listening to their conversation.
“You probably say that to all your interviewees.”
“Only the ones who save me.” Clark somberly continued the jest, drawing a dazzling smile from Zatanna.
“Make sure you don’t get saved too often.” With a wink Zatanna was gone. Leaving Clark to consider, before Jimmy could start talking, that he probably should have set up their interview rather than feign flirting with her. Five minutes into his conversation with Jimmy, Clark decided that flirting had been the best option. He was looking forward to seeing how she contacted him next.
Clark Kent wasn’t Lois Lane.
When Clark performed an interview he didn’t meet mysterious strangers in even more mysterious locations, he didn’t visit international celebrities on their gilded islands, or any of the number of fantastic situations that Lois’ career had inadvertently led many, a junior journalists to believe was standard practice for reporters: he followed a more mundane standard that usual equated to asking his subjects questions at press conference or, if he got lucky, the odd office interview.
Still Clark could occasionally get thrown by an interview location, or thrown during the interview by the interviewee, and the place Zatanna for the interview, tossed him all the way back to Kansas.
The County Fair.
Like many other journalists, Clark’s first foray into journalism was reporting for the local county fair as a junior journalist, and up until he’d left home Clark had continued covering the Smallville County Fair.
The Smallville County Fair couldn’t be compared to the New York State Fair, yet, Clark felt a rush of nostalgia that made him regret never accepting the assignment to cover the fair. Until now he’d never considered that he’d been trying to prove himself in his career; standing here surrounded by the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of the fair, Clark couldn’t help wondering if he’d been too eager to be a ‘real’ reporter.
Zatanna walking beside him, dressed as plainly as Clark imagined she could, with a fluffy cloud of cotton candy in both of her hands and a cheerfully, miss colored tiger tucked under an arm, made the experience that much more familiar and that much more surreal.
“Why the fair?” Clark inquired, more for a distraction, than for the article.
“With our crazy schedules,” Zatanna gave him a serendipitous wink, “I thought it would be better to kill two birds with one stone. You sounded like you needed a break and I’ve got some stock to pick up here.”
“What kind of stock do you need from here?” Clark asked; scanning the crowded venue, as if the ‘stock’ would materialize before his eyes. If he was pleased she’d considered him in her decision to have the interview here, Clark wasn’t going to let on.
Zatanna stepped in front of him before swiftly turning around to meet his eyes and delivered a smile full of mischief. Clark wasn’t sure if it was the sudden movement or the gleam in her eyes, but his breath caught in his throat.
“You’re going to feel ridiculous for asking when you see it.”
Clark didn’t feel ridiculous when they arrived at the sellers, or the owners, of the stock Zatanna wanted.
Did he feel a little foolish for not considering where Zatanna got her armies of rabbits from? Maybe, but not ridiculous. What was ridiculous was seeing Zatanna having a serious negotiation with a tween girl for a poorly cared for rabbit.
After her crypt words Zatanna had caught Clark’s hand with her own; sticky with cotton candy to lead him to the rabbit portion of the 4-H events.
The sight of the rabbits drew a sigh from Clark that had Zatanna giggling in delight, when she’d gotten control over herself, she announced herself to the cellphone scrolling potential sellers.
“RevolC moolb.” As she spoke the words pink and white clover flowers bloomed out of the kids’ cellphones, under their feet, and a few appeared less dramatically in with the rabbits, who were all too pleased to see them.
“Hi! I’m Zatanna Zatara, this is Clark Kent.” Zatanna cheerfully introduced them while Clark gave a friendly wave to the startled group, “We're looking to purchase some rabbits.”
As expected, once they’d seen her the kids had instantly recognized Zatanna, however, not as the stage magician or the superhero, but from a 4-H rumor about a crazy witch who’d trade rabbits for gems, as one of the more excitable tweens with pigtails related to Clark several times. Unexpectedly, a few of the kids recognized Clark from his animal cruelty pieces and from a few of the agricultural articles Perry had demanded Clark write because of his background.
After the introductions, along with Zatanna promising/lying that she wasn’t going to be using the rabbits as part of her dark arts, they began to examine the stock.
Zatanna would thoroughly examine each of the rabbits, handling them only if the rabbit and its respective tween were comfortable with her doing so. Occasionally she would hand one over to Clark if she needed a second opinion on the weight or softness. With each examination Zatanna would give Clark a rundown on how beautiful, clever, or tough each of the creatures was. All the while making sure the rabbit’s owner was engaged in the exchange. Most impressive of all was how she was able to keep the attention of the entire group of tweens. She’d even drawn in several other kids, from surrounding groups.
Her enthusiasm was intoxicating.
As he watched her work Clark tried to work out an unsuspicious way for Superman to invite her to the Fortress of Solitude to see the fortress zoo. There were quite a few animals there he was sure she would love.
Several hours of careful examination and bartering; Zatanna had made her purchases, at exorbitant prices but not for gems to the dismay of the pigtailed tween. The rabbits she settled for were from the tweens that hadn’t been particularly attached to the critters or were being poorly maintained.
“Mikey’s going to kill me.” Zatanna lamented, theatrically tossing herself onto a bench sending a flurry of sugar from the funnel cake in her hand all around her.
Clark sat down beside her less dramatically but far more upbeat. “Ten isn’t too many.” Later Clark would agree with Mikey; here and now, watching Zatanna dote on the rodents, ten rabbits didn’t seem to be very many at all.
A pleasant silence, a symbolic silence given the number of fair goers surrounding them, as Zatanna contently munched on the funnel cake in between checking on her latest costars.
Now, Clark’s reporter instincts screamed at him, it was time for the interview. With what he’d just been apparent of he’d have the makings of a touching human interest story.
Taking a sidelong glance at Zatanna comfortably stretched beside him, sugar from her funnel cake dotting her hair like snow, Clark found himself conflicted. It had been a long time since Clark had a day like this, between reporting for the Planet and saving the planet, he assumed it was the same for Zatanna.
Still. Clark had a duty to the paper or more to the readers of the paper who wanted to know more about the newest star in their city. There wasn’t a time Clark didn’t fulfill his duties to them.
“Zatanna - “ Clark’s interview was abruptly cut off by the shrill cries of terrified children coming from - Clark shot to his feet. Markovia. The sounds of explosions and gunfire accompanied the children’s pleas.
Clark turned to Zatanna, pausing useless for a breath; he hadn’t crafted a Superman concealing lie for Zatanna.
“Did you get a call?” Zatanna pointed, with a piece of her funnel cake, at Clark’s right ear. “Buds are getting more and more difficult to spot.”
Clark nodded, relieved but distracted, “There’s an emergency Perry needs me to cover.”
“We’ll do this next time. Ekat KralC erehw eh sdeen ot og.” This time Clark was gone in a flash.
Clark was always discovering new, unusual, and scientifically impossible aspects of his adopted homeworld. Today it was possible to take a call from another plane of existence.
“Looks like we’re going to be here a few more days. Princess -” as with the previous mentions of the Princess’s name a shrill burst of sound that wasn’t static came over the line; a milder reaction than when the call came though: where the Planet’s lights began to flicker, the temperature had dropped, and hushed chanting in a language unknown to Earth and Krypton filled the shadows. As the call continued the effects lessened to the only noticeable ones were Clark's breath coming out in a chilled puff and the odd flicker of the lights. “-has discovered, yet, another conspiracy against her throne.”
Zatanna’s voice was weighted down with exhaustion and sharpened with frustration. Clark understand. Superman had gotten tied up in the sci-fi version of Zatanna’s current situation more times than he would have liked. “Politicians are very demanding,” Clark prudently advices, “I’ve found it's best not to let them set the terms of your success.”
Zatanna’s amused laugh made her sound more like herself. “Don’t worry about that. If threats to the throne don’t wind down soon Bobo will be sitting on it. Heaven help the - static - if that happens.”
Clark chuckled. “It doesn’t sound like it can get worse.”
“You’d be surprised," Zatanna paused. “I’ve got to go. When I get back I’ll meet up with you at the Tropicals. Dinah has been raving about the Toucan Lasagna. That is if you aren’t afraid of a little trip to Gotham.”
“Gotham doesn’t scare me.” Clark teased back; his parting words turned serious. “Be careful.”
“That’s no fun.” The call ended leaving Clark with lingering worries. He’d asked his mother for advice about dealing with… about Zatanna being in a dangerous situation outside of reach. The advice she’d give was what Clark had wanted to consider.
“Kent!” Perry's demand below ripped Clark out of his troubling thoughts. “In my office.”
Clark condemned made his way to Perry's office, with shoulders slumped from the weight of the eyes of the Planet's staff on him. Mentally preparing an explanation for his reporting failing.
“Sit down, Clark”. Perry pointed at the chair. Clark hesitantly sat down, immensely aware of the fact that Perry had not taken his own seat.
“I know that I haven't finished the interview with -”. Clark started contritely, only to be cut off by an impatient Perry. “This isn't about the interview. Zatara is old news. This is about you Clark.”
Clark frowned, trying not to sound defensive, about the unexplainable accusation. “I don't understand.”
“Look,” Perry sat down heavily as if the weight of the Planet's years had overtaken him. “Clark, there are a lot of risks in this line of work.”
“Alien invaders.” Clark offered helpfully.
“Heroes.” Perry sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. “You know about Lois and Lana, here in Metropolis. Gotham’s reporters have similar problems. Keystone and Central speak for themselves.”
“I don’t see - ” Perry held up a hand to stop Clark’s protest.
“When you work too closely with attractive superhumans who save you all the time,” Clark frowned but didn’t interrupt, “things start happening. It’s natural. You just need to remember that unlike the Flash or Superman, Zatanna doesn’t stay in one city for long, she goes with the show.”
“You don’t want me to get my heart broken.” Clark finished for Perry.
“I don’t want you making any decisions that I’m going to regret. Now Lois needs some help on a real story.”
Clark left Perry’s office with a perspective on his relationship with Zatanna he’d never considered before.
Perry’s conversation rolled around Clark’s head for a week, without fail with the same thought following: being in a different city wouldn’t affect Clark’s potential for having a relationship with Zatanna. They both had means of reaching any location of the planet or if necessary the solar system in the span of a sentence for Zatanna and around ten minutes top for Clark, depending on where in the solar system.
The idea that he’d wanted to keep his relationship with Zatanna, he’d decided minutes after the conversation. Wanting to become more than friends, as Perry was implying that Clark wanted, took about a day later to decide.
Clark and Zatanna lived in different worlds, several: She was mystical, wealthy, and thrived in the spotlight. All things Clark wasn’t and had never wanted in his life. Zatanna was more than that. So much more; Clark would need to work out the right words to tell her that and to tell her the other part of Clark’s life. Superman.
Zatanna and Superman were friendly in the League but they weren’t friends. Even worse Superman had less in common with Clark Kent than Clark had with Lex Luthor. Clark couldn’t be sure how she would see him when she knew all of him.
Fate, as it seems, was going to give Clark plenty of time to consider his words, before Clark had a chance to speak to Zatanna after her safe return from whatever other world she’d been saving, Superman had to call the League together to save the very galaxy from destruction.
For the foreseeable future Clark would be around Zatanna unable to voice the desires running through his heart. He couldn’t help thinking that rationalizing the distance was a good thing because he still couldn’t figure out what to say to her.
“There you are.” Zatanna’s voice jerked Clark out of his musing on how the stars sparkling against the darkness of the universe, reminded him of the time at the fair when Zatanna had gotten sugar in her hair.
Superman didn’t blush at being caught; he turned around to give Zatanna an affable smile. “What can I do for you?” Clark was curious as to why she would have sought him out. The League already knew all that Superman knew about the mission. Zatanna didn’t have a role in the plan that needed more information from him. So why was she coming to speak to him?
Zatanna’s smile was bemused. “Since we’re going to be trapped together in this,” Zatanna gave the ship a suspicious squint, “spaceship for the next few weeks. I thought why not finish up our interview.” She leaned closer to Superman with a sultry tilt to her smile. “Maybe we won’t get interrupted.”
The universe stiffened around Clark for an infinity, that was long enough for a glimmer of concern to shine in Zatanna’s eyes, before Clark was about to process what she’d revealed. “You know I’m Superman.” Clark bumbled with the words in a whisper that seemed to echo off the walls of the ship.
Zatanna gave him an indecipherable look before she began to laugh: a loud, hearty laugh that sent her hair flying, and left Clark feeling more vulnerable than he ever had.
Two full minutes later Zatanna had finally gotten herself under a semblance of control, though Clark could still see her eyes were bright with laughter when she’d brushed her hair back.
“I thought you knew.” Zatanna giggled. “A mutual friend of ours let me know when I told him I was performing in Metropolis.” Bruce. “He tries to look out for me.”
Clark replayed all of his conversations with Zatanna with this new piece of information, that fit into his mind like a puzzle piece to puzzle he didn’t even realize he’d been working on. Zatanna had implied she’d known the entire time they’d been trying to have interviews together. Foolish. Clark felt like a fool for not having noticed.
“Do you still want to have an interview?” Zatanna teased as she watched Clark struggling with the new information, delight showing in her smile. “Or do you know enough about me now?”
“Uncovering the Mistress of Magic’s mysteries would take more than an interview.” Clark slightly leaned down towards her his voice husky; hoping that he hadn’t misread what he now assumed her intentions had been from the beginning. “It would take an entire documentary.”
“Oh.” Zatanna breathed, stepping even further into his personal space, she brushed up against him, as she devoured him with her deep, dark eyes. Clark found himself unable to breath. “That’s what you’re interested in.”
“We should start with the interview.” Clark leaned down, Zatanna reached up, and they met in the middle with a kiss, the magical kind, until -
“Sups,” Someone else was interrupting. “I wanted to know -”
Zatanna broke away, another eternity in her presence for Clark, to roughly shout back. “Ask Batman.”
They got back to there interview, with no more interruptions.