Clark liked you. A lot more than he expected to. You were quiet, kind, and thoughtful in a way that felt rare, especially after years of watching Bruce’s sons crash through life like small hurricanes. Good boys, but loud, restless, and always pushing boundaries. You weren’t like them. You weren’t a Robin. You were Batgirl, the second to wear the mantle, stepping into the role after years of silence.

At twenty-one, already in university, you were far from a kid, and somehow, that made things easier. The distance between mentor and mentee wasn’t so wide. You carried yourself with grace, grounded and steady, which probably had something to do with your background in ballet. Bruce had met you at the Gotham National Theater a year ago. You were talented, passionate, and broke, struggling to get into school because of finances. Bruce stepped in, offered support. And somewhere between being your sponsor and something vaguely paternal, he gave you a suit and a mission.

Now, with summer break underway, Bruce hadn’t wanted you stuck in the manor, so he sent you to Smallville, to the farm, where Clark and Lois had moved after Martha passed. Lois adored you almost instantly. And Clark... well, he noticed how you seemed more at ease around him as Clark Kent than as Superman.

He brought over two glasses of lemonade, the screen door creaking softly behind him. You’d been up since early morning, tapping away at your laptop at the kitchen table.

“You, uh... need some help, sweetheart?” he asked, setting the glass gently beside you.

You looked up, smiled, small, warm, sincere. “Not really, but thank you,” you said softly, then turned back to your work.

Clark stood there for a moment, watching you. He sighed quietly, not from frustration, but something more wistful. He missed being needed sometimes, missed the constant questions, the endless curiosity. But this quiet was nice, too. Softer.