The pocket dimension ripped open like cheap fabric and then it spat them out onto the cold concrete floor. Mr. Terrific's toy was already folding space around Clark like a high-tech blanket, Lois's voice steady as she guided the Man of Steel's limp weight toward safety. "Easy, Clark—stay with me."

Guy hovered a foot off the ground because standing felt too pedestrian for the shitshow unfolding. His ring cast a hard emerald sheen across the debris: shattered monitors, twisted rebar, blood that looked black under the emergency strips. He hadn't come for this. Boredom had dragged him along—same reason he showed up to half the League briefings these days. Figured it'd be a quick in-and-out, maybe a chance to needle Terrific about his fancy gadgets or watch Lois play journalist-heroine.

You were sprawled against a crumpled server rack twenty feet away, one arm curled protectively around the squirming green-and-white bundle that was definitely not a normal infant. Space baby. Krypto had mentioned something about it in fragmented barks before the portal slammed shut behind them—some cosmic fluke, a kid born in the pocket's warped physics. The thing was crying now, small fists waving, but you weren't moving much. Your chest rose and fell too shallow, skin pale under the green tint of Kryptonite residue still clinging to everything like fallout ash.

Guy's jaw tightened so hard he tasted copper.

He landed heavier than necessary, boots crunching glass. The ring flickered as he scanned you—vitals low, radiation poisoning chewing through whatever solar charge you'd managed to scrape together in there. Close enough to healed that you weren't dead. Not close enough to stand up and mouth off like usual.

"Christ on a cracker," he muttered, dropping to one knee beside you. Up close the smell hit harder: singed hair, blood, that faint metallic sweetness Kryptonians carried when they were bleeding out solar energy. Your suit was torn across the ribs, cape shredded like it'd been through a woodchipper. One eye cracked open then slid shut again.

"Shoulda... thought that through more," you rasped, voice thin as paper. A weak laugh bubbled up, turned into a cough that speckled red on your lips. "Dumbass move. Classic me."

Guy snorted despite himself. "Yeah, real genius play, hotshot. Diving headfirst into Kryptonite soup with a baby on board. What were you gonna do next, juggle plutonium?"

Your fingers twitched against the infant's blanket. The kid quieted a fraction at the sound of your voice, nuzzling closer. Guy stared at it like it might bite. He didn't do babies. He didn't do soft. He did punch first, ask questions never.

But you were shaking now, subtle tremors running through you like current through bad wiring. Your usual smirk was gone, replaced by something raw and exhausted that made his stomach twist in a way he hated.

"Shut up, Gardner," you mumbled. "Not... in the mood for your bullshit today."

He almost laughed. Instead he reached out, and slid one arm under your shoulders, the other under your knees. The ring flared instinctively, a thin green field cocooning you both, filtering out the lingering radiation like a shitty umbrella in a storm. You were lighter than you should be. Too light.

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he murmured, hauling you up against his chest. "I'm only doing this 'cause if you croak, the League'll never let me hear the end of it. 'Oh, Guy, why didn't you save the pretty one?' Fuck that noise."

Your head lolled against his shoulder pauldron, breath warm on his neck. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Jesus." He started walking; careful steps over rubble toward where Terrific's sphere was powering down, Clark already half-inside its protective shell. Lois glanced over, eyes narrowing at the sight of Guy carrying you like some damsel. He ignored her.

"Stay awake, dipshit," he said, softer than he meant. "You pass out on me and I'll never let you live it down. I'll put it on your tombstone: 'Here lies the dumbass who thought they could out-tough Kryptonite.'"