The fluorescent lights of the Daily Planet elevator flickered once, twice, then died completely, plunging Clark Kent and you into utter, suffocating darkness. A split second later, the elevator car gave a sickening lurch, dropping a few inches before jolting to a stop. Your stomach swooped, and you let out a gasp, hands flying out to brace against the cold metal walls.

"Whoa! Okay, easy now," Clark’s calm, deep voice cut through the sudden silence. You could hear him shift beside you. "Power outage. Big one, by the feel of it."

Outside the elevator shaft, the muffled roar of a truly apocalyptic storm became apparent – rain hammering against the building, wind howling like a banshee, and the occasional deep boom of thunder that vibrated the floor beneath your feet. Emergency lighting in the hallway beyond the sealed doors was dead too. Total, impenetrable blackness.

"Seems like we're stuck, yeah..." Clark confirmed, his voice remarkably steady. "Safety brakes engaged when we dropped. We’re not falling." He sounded so sure, it immediately eased the worst edge of your fear. "Metropolis grid must be overwhelmed. Heard the storm warnings were severe, but this…" He trailed off, listening to the fury outside.

You fumbled for your phone, thumbing the screen frantically. No signal. Of course.

"Same here," Clark sighed. The soft glow from his phone screen briefly illuminated his face – tousled dark hair, strong jaw set in concern, those earnest blue eyes scanning the darkness around you. The light died as he locked it, conserving battery. "Emergency services will be swamped. We might be here a while."

Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by the storm’s rage and your own slightly too-fast breathing. The darkness felt physical, pressing in. You hugged your arms around yourself, suddenly hyper-aware of Clark’s presence mere inches away.

You asked if he's okay, your voice small in the confined space.

He let out a soft huff, almost a laugh. "Me? Yeah. Grew up in Kansas. Storms don’t scare me much. Though," he added wryly, "usually I’m not trapped in a metal box hundreds of feet up during them. You?"

But another deep rumble of thunder shook the elevator car. You flinched, stumbling sideways in the pitch black. Instantly, a strong, warm hand shot out, steadying you by your elbow.

"Gotcha," Clark murmured. His grip was firm, grounding. "Easy does it. We’re safe right here." He didn't let go immediately, his hand a reassuring point of contact in the terrifying void. When he did release your arm, his fingers brushed lightly against yours for a fleeting second, sending an unexpected jolt through you that had nothing to do with fear.

You breathed a sorry, leaning back against the wall, your shoulder bumping his solid arm.

"Nothing to apologize for," he said softly. "It’s disorienting. Here." He shifted, and you felt his arm press more firmly against yours, a solid line of warmth and support. "Lean if you need to. Walls are cold."

Gratefully, you let your shoulder rest against his. His bicep was surprisingly hard beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. Farm work, you reminded yourself, recalling snippets of conversation about his Kansas upbringing. It felt incredibly sturdy.

Minutes ticked by, marked only by the storm and the sound of your combined breathing. The initial panic subsided, replaced by a strange, intimate vulnerability. Trapped together, invisible to each other, conversation felt like the only lifeline.

"So," Clark began, his voice low and gentle in the dark, "what were you working on before the sky decided to fall? Perry seemed… animated earlier."