Summary: The truth is out and now the world knows Superman's secret identity as Clark Kent. After losing his powers, Clark became someone he had never wanted to be. Now with his powers back he is hellbent on winning back one Diana Prince. When the appearance of a mysterious stranger threatens to turn the tide.

The following stories is based on characters appearing and owned by DC comics. I own nothing.

A note on setting: This is a standard Justice League setting with the only exception being that there are new characters introduced.

Greek translation: Κανε πισω = Back off

Pronunciation: Kane piso

THE SCIENTIST

BABY BELLS

CHAPTER 1

"I don't know if I love you anymore." Clark didn't see her for the rest of the week after that but he thought about her. He thought about her during their League meetings, when he sat alone in his little apartment, during his time in the training rooms trapped with the memory of them. Especially when he had the sweet symphonic instrument of Elvis Costello lamenting through his Metropolis home. It was almost as though the violin he played had more to say about her than he could put into words. He didn't have the words. Just oceans of confusion and the strings of Costello's music notes.

Any time he was alone, she was there, haunting his thoughts. His office hours were going to be hellish. He was required to keep his office hours open, so the two discussion groups Perry had chosen him to run could come and speak to him one on one about their concerns. They were held in a little closet masquerading as an office in the paper department shared by approximately half the other journalists in the department. The other half had the closet across the hall. Clark had one hour a week in which he sat in the room, almost always alone unless there was a story due, and read.

Clark Kent couldn't help but think of White as an officious little prick.

White stood five-five, and when he moved, it was with the prissy speed that seems to be the exclusive domain of all small plump men. The part in his hair was exact, and his dark suit was sober but comforting. I am a man you can bring your problems to, that suit said to all the fresh meat journalists. To the hired help it spoke more curtly: This had better be good, you. There was a red carnation in the lapel, perhaps so that no one on the street would mistake Perry White for the local undertaker.

Perry was lucky he needed this job; or Clark would've long since gone off on the little prick by now.

Towards the end of his hour, Lois showed up. A tentative knock and then she was peeking through the partially open door. Her hair was braided today, falling like a rope over the shoulder of her cream colored jacket. She was wrapped in a gray scarf which made her eyes look blue. His memory hadn't been able to settle on what color they actually were though his imagination had called up the other details of her face once or twice.

He blinked and looked down at his papers again for a moment before looking back at her with a smile. A smile so fake it was like Lois had taken that stapler in her hands and pinned his cheeks up. He was going to be polite and normal. He could be polite and normal. He tried for a joke, "Do you need help with the reading response journal?"

"I think I'll figure it out," she said stepping into the room. She wore a pair of jeans and black boots that cut off at mid-calf. Clark had never cared about fashion. He wore what other people wore so he didn't stand out. He chose neutral colors and kept his collection of unusual t-shirts and brightly color shoes out of the office and away from his friends. Same as Diana. Especially when she used to visit him in the office. He usually didn't notice anyone else but he never failed to notice Diana. Clark always noticed Diana. Rao, she was a force to be reckoned with.

"How did you find me?" he asked.

"You're predictable Smallville," she said with a half-smile. He raised his eyebrows at her and the smile spread but it was perfunctory.

"Have you seen her?" Lois asked turning to look at him. He had a sad half smile on his face. He was so serious these days. The small town Kansas boy with the country bumpkin accent and the UK passport.

"No. She doesn't want to see me." Clark felt as though he was carrying the weight of Jupiter on his shoulders.

"Can you blame her?" No he couldn't. In fact the more that he thought about it, the more that he understood what he had done. The concept was painful, but it was no less true. He had known the risks of courting Diana, had known how she could be when it came to men. That she ran from her feelings; before they had become an item she had been courting Herr General Steve Trevor. A soldier from London who had found himself washed up on none other than the mystical shores of Themyscira. Only to be discovered by none other than Diana herself. In fact Clark still remembered the first time he had spoken to Diana. He had tried to tell himself maybe they could just be colleagues and he could keep her at the edges of his life without it being what his parents had. He remembers how he'd had to train his heart to keep beating when she smiled if that was going to work. Back then he hadn't been sure he trusted himself to be capable of learning that.

One evening he'd been sitting in the Watchtower cafeteria nose deep in a novel by Wilfred Owen; when a group of women sat down across the long table from him. Three of them talking over and into each other in that way that only close friends had, in that way that Clark didn't really have with anyone. He had been fresh meat back then; new to The Justice League and only just finding his feet. It was a new experience for him working with metas and he'd been friendless again; with the exception of Bruce, but he was used to that. He had known he would meet someone eventually.

The brunette wearing the white wool sweater; her civilian attire had leant across the table to shift his book and read the spine. It was a novel from an old English lit class that he'd studied during his senior year of high school. He had been linguistics major with aims of working in translation but then the Journalism position at The Planet had come through. He had struggled with it at first but it had been a first year class and he'd found that he wasn't terrible at wrapping his psyche around it, even if he had been terrible at poetry.

"Don't pull other people into this, Diana," one of her friends said. She had been watching him skeptically, a mask of controlled oceanic blue. They hadn't needed to be formally introduced back then, their reputations had preceded them.

"You aren't a poet are you?" she asked; a smoky accent of female sensuality and warmth and foreignness. Fresh of the boat. Legend said that Diana of Themyscira had been brought to life by Zeus, crafted by clay and blessed with gifts that were too great for any of them to understand.

And the world had dropped out around him like it had ten years ago when he'd been just a little boy with too much power to control. He'd pulled himself back together but couldn't think of an answer that made sense. All that would come was the boy on the farm who had realized he could fly and that night he and his father had climbed up onto the roof of the dining hall and Jonathan had quoted poetry at him. So that was what came out.

"Pulvis et umbra sumus," he said.

She laughed, not like the world had dropped out around her as well but like it was funny. Like he had told an unusual joke. She studied him for a moment with wise old-for such youthful eyes that had told tales of seeing the world and then said, "Classics?"

"Linguistics actually, I was a Major in my first year. Took the lit course," he responded.

"Ah, that's close enough, explain to her that Romantic with a capital R is not the same thing as romantic," she had said. And Clark for an undivided second had blanked at her beauty.

"Romanticism was a movement in the arts and literature that originated in the late 18th century, emphasizing inspiration, subjectivity, and the primacy of the individual," Clark had pulled out of memory.

"See, spooky moors are Romantic even if they aren't romantic," she had said and then she pulled back from him and dropped herself back into the flow of the conversation with her friends-Shayera and Zatanna.

As though nothing had happened.

And Clark's heart had felt like it was made out of glass. He'd tried to look back at his book but the words had lost their meaning. She was right there. She was beautiful, a little younger than he was, probably a new recruit like him. Just good with people. Blue eyes, Stygian hair, a fleeting smile that broke though her otherwise serious expressions. A steel claymore forged by the sorcery of gods, a cup of truth herbs liquid form from the green of her homeland. A necklace on a long chain though the pendant was inside her shirt where only he could see it if he had chosen to invade her privacy. He had grabbed for details as he'd glanced up but didn't dare let himself stare. She couldn't be more than twenty one but after a little bit of real staring at her hands wrapped around the china mug he hadn't been able to doubt that was what it was. A decadent gold band and a ring with a sapphire set in it.

An engagement ring.

His glass heart did shatter. Because that's why she hadn't said anything. She hadn't waited to meet him. She had made a choice and chosen someone else before they'd ever had a chance to be in the same room. One of the friends left and when the other went to "take a raincheck", he leaned across the table. He had almost composed himself by then.

"I respect your decision. I won't bother you. I just wanted to know your name," he had said.

She had looked up at him then. Looked at him directly like she had only just noticed what she had said, what he had said, what it meant. Her eyes were wide and confused. A corner of his imagination was churning, running away without him, and imagining the way this would become their story. They would tell people about how she was the only person in the world who didn't recognize her words when she heard them. Except that wasn't the story that they were ever going to tell because there wasn't no such thing as "they". He hadn't realized how much of his lonely childhood had been spent waiting for her until he had found himself staring at her.

"You said…" she started and then her voice faltered, cracking.

"Pulvis et umbra sumus," he said with a small smile, "It means-"

She'd cut him off, "We are dust and shadows, I know."

"It doesn't have to go any farther than that," he had looked down pointedly at her hand. She held it up and looked at the ring like it was something foreign. She had been still at a loss for words and for the first time in his life, Clark ran away. He'd given her what he'd hoped was a kind smile, not a sad one, and then he'd gathered up his novel and ice mocha-crafted by yours truly without any thought to his careful organization and he'd walked away. He'd thrown himself into the Watchtower hallways moving as a blur so she wouldn't be able to follow him even if she wanted to.

He had put her on a pedestal and become the best friend she'd never had. Because he'd needed to know her, needed to be in her life. Years, three years if you want to get technical he had spent trying to kill what he felt for her. Hell; he and Lois had even been an item at one point. He'd tried to bury it but the more he saw her, the more open they became with their affection for each other. The more overwhelming his feelings for her became. A lethal addiction. Diana had branded him as hers and she hadn't even known it. For every time she'd smile at him in childlike glee, every time she'd laugh like a bell at a joke he told. Every time she'd so thoughtlessly folded herself into him or a soft nimble hand had reached for him Clark had found himself becoming more and more dangerously close to obsession.

One defining moment.

One innocent night in the spar room. One definitive, compromising position that they had found themselves in and Clark's way to close to be friendly profile in hers. The fire under them had been lit. For one split second Clark hadn't seen his best friend. But a woman, a woman he'd wait years to be with. A woman with the same animal instinct as he. He'd been downright enraptured by her and he'd wanted her with a passion that had scared him.

Mind had come away from body. A land in which imagination had deviated from reality. Emotions ran high and ambitions ran low. With warm dewy breaths and Clark's racing heart, and Rao, that look in her eyes; lips had touched once, twice, thrice each manner becoming something far more urgent. Groins pretending to join and the foul filthy stench of sin crawling on their skin. Sacrilege. all thoughts of morals and duties and Lois and blond Ivy League Steve forgotten. It was a fervent and urgent need he'd never known before. Not with Lana. And certainly not with Lois. He would've made love to her right on the floor of that training room if she hadn't of stopped him, eyes bright with tears.

Clark had known then that he'd needed to end things with Lois.

"Clark!" He was jolted out of his reverie and floundering for an answer.

She continued. "Did you even hear me just now?"

"Uh-Diana...and I...groveling..." Clark offered up helplessly. Scrambling for mental information. Lois stood, huffing her annoyance. "Why do I even try. Only you can fix this Smallville," she ranted on. Clark opened his mouth; ready to defend his honor when...

"Clark." A slightly toasted Cat Grant called out to him, and came barreling up from behind. Clark turned just in time to reach out and catch her before she fell and busted her ass. "Oh," she giggled, and took a moment to right herself.

Her blonde hair was braided but falling loose.

"Hey Cat." Clark said sheepishly. That water bottle in her hand was laced with Gin, he could smell it. "What're you drink there?" He drawled a midnight brow arching in question. Cat gave him a quelling look, and Clark let it go. Cat would always be Cat.

Clark sighed in annoyance.

Bloody hell.

Cat sidled up beside him. Glancing over his shoulder at his latest piece of work. "Always the efficient." Cat purred in admiration. She'd had him in her cross hairs from the moment he'd first stepped through the doors of The Daily Planet. And she never quite got the memo that he wasn't interested. Sure Cat was pretty, in a girl next door kind of way. Tall and blond and slender. The style trendsetter.

But Clark had only ever seen Diana. Her unearthly beauty forever sketched, etched and tarnished in his mind.

"Gotta make rent Cat," Clark replied, hearing the beep of his watch before it came to life. Saved by the watch. In a speed only "Clark Kent" could achieve, he gathered his stuff and made for the elevator. Giving Lois and Cat his goodbyes and telling Lois to "and uh...tell Jim I said Hi."

He needed to find Diana.

Watchtower Meeting Unit 6:25 in the Pm:

"Where's Diana?"

"I don't know. I give up." Tyler replied sarcastically, Tyler sat up in one fluid motion and looked up at Clark with a surprising expression on his face. It was contrite but not in any of the ways that Clark had been expecting. It wasn't joking or defensive. Clark's anger fluttered but didn't evaporate. Forgiving Tyler and putting up with Tyler had been a reflex for so long that he almost abandoned his anger out of habit. His chest locked up and he couldn't look away from Tyler. Clark didn't let himself fall into that trap.

Tyler stood at a magnificent height of 6'3, with a thick hyde of dark hair and striking green eyes. But the man had not a penny on Clark. He was practically the Walmart value version of him. Clark was a beef cake plain and simple. Still towering over him at an intimidating height of 6'5 with brawny shoulders and a lean yet muscle packed physique.

The league had not found Tyler, Tyler had found them. A man of twenty four with abilities beyond his understanding. Tyler had the power to create fantastic beings and weapons with supernatural powers. His blood a bright unearthly fluid called Ichor that had the power of producing new life. Tyler could manipulate the metals in an object and his IQ was that of a gob smacking 228. High enough to even outsmart Bruce Wayne of all people. He was strong, terrifyingly so, but not in the "I can take on Superman in a fit of rage" strong.

Tyler was an absolute pain in the ass.

He was in love with Diana and didn't care who knew. Tyler would never touch his Diana. Not. Now. Not. Ever.

His heart beat heavy in his chest and he curled his hands into fists as though he could control the anger if he held onto it tightly enough.

"Be wise Tyler, I'm not in the mood for tit for tat. Where is she?" Clark hissed heatedly. Sometimes Clark felt like Tyler was a reflection of a piece of himself, of the person he might have been if he had let the anger have him. He was angry once. When his father had died in that God awful tornado he'd spent a long time on the Kent farm as he'd tried to rid his body of the poison. He was angry. He had chosen to let the anger go and to live the long years he'd had left in the image of the person his parents might have wanted him to be.

Tyler regarded him for a while, a sick kind of provocation twisting up his lips. The Almighty Superman breaking a sweat over a woman. Now I really have seen everything-Tyler mused to himself.

"Damnit Tyler," Clark barked, but Tyler kept his head. Didn't even flinch.

"Haven't seen her; no one has." Tyler said icily, throwing his body back into the chair with an almost drunken ease. eyes gleaming in a way that would have been dangerous on Bruce.

"Tyler." Clark warned knowing by now how Tyler Claire's mind worked. Tyler was taking plausible deniability, he just knew it.

"Superman." Tyler mocked, biting and full of acid. His nerves crawled; Tyler knew where Diana was he just wasn't prepared to share. We'll see about that.

Ready to lay into him again Clark opened up his mouth to explode when the sound of racket down the Watchtower corridors garnered his attention. He could hear the excited talk of a certain Barry Allen and...

Sweet, melodically laughter. Ringing out like a bell.

Diana.

They were heading right towards this room. Clark stiffened his world moving in slow motion as he felt her and Barry approach into the doorway. The hairs on his arms rose static straight, at the proximity of his mate. Mind coming away from body. Clark turned sharply and she was right there. Glowing like a prize to be won. The smell of fire and orchids and blood and flesh assaulting his nostrils. She looked good; dressed down in an elegant pair of figure hugging jeans and a black tank. He's breath hitched in his throat but what Clark saw then was like a blow to his stomach. Diana was smiling-the little secret smile that she had often shared with him.

But she was not looking at him. She was looking at Tyler.

Clark hated his friend at that moment, hated Tyler's dark beauty and grace and the sensuality that drew women to him like moths to a flame. He wanted, in that single moment, to strike Tyler, to smash that beauty to pieces, to shatter it like glass and watch the pieces fall. Instead he stood useless and watched as they practically fucked each other with their eyes.

This was not happening. Diana wouldn't do that to him. He'd known her long enough to know how she'd felt about him from the get go, how he hoped she still felt about him. Diana wouldn't do this- he repeated the mantra in his head.

A prayer. And the green eyed monster clinging to his back reared.

She just wouldn't. But did he really know Diana at all. How far would an Amazon go if shunned by the one they had chosen for their mate. He knew that he loved her- loved her enough to set her free. When he'd lost his powers he'd been angry and Diana had been the closest thing to him. He'd screwed up what they had with the force of a freight train. Callous and careless in the way he'd treated her.

What an imbecile.

Clark blinked dumbly and for a minute Clark's gaze collided with hers. Her eyes registering his presence. It felt like all the air got sucked out of the room, and then whooshed back in at the same time, nearly socking Clark in the chest. He'd heard you could faint from shock, but he'd never imagined you could pass out from someone looking at you. That must only count for humans though, right?

He stared for a little too long and with no idea what his expression was doing. He wasn't sure he could remember the last time he hadn't known what expression was on his face. She had probably still been in London this whole time.

"Diana." Clark breathed failing to hide his relief. She had him worried there for a second.

"Look guys, Diana's back!" Barry squealed in that patent Barry Allen way. That kid was constantly tripping over his own feet and Clark's. Barry stared stupidly at the back of her head while Clark shot him a glare over her shoulder.

Barry was puzzled. The room stilled and Barry, god bless his soul looked between him and Diana in complete bafflement.

"So uh...how's it going?" the speedster quipped with a perkiness that almost had Clark rolling his eyes. But he couldn't answer, could barely hear Barry over the blood roaring in his ears.

"Hey Di." Tyler said dreamily. Drooling like a pug sucking on a plastic ball. That bastard.

"Uh...yeah Barry it's good, were good," Clark spluttered out, determined to brush his and Diana's beef under the carpet. However he couldn't tear his gaze away from hers. Diana looked almost like she was grieving. Her expression shifted and then shifted back and neither of the expressions were something Clark could read. Usually he could read Diana without a second thought but maybe that wasn't true, maybe he had never been able to read Diana at all. Maybe Diana just showed him what she wanted him to see.

Barry ever the oblivious moved farther into the room. Throwing himself into the chair opposite to Tyler, at a speed only Clark could see.

Clark stared on at Diana helplessly, desperately. That was the right word. She mumbled something about Hestia and London and finding Donna before taking off the way she had come in.

Clark shot after her.

Ten seconds later...

Diana bounded down the steel based corridor, heels clicking at impossible speed.

Her sense of grief washed over her again but she was down the corridor now and she smothered it. "So this is how it's gonna be between us from now on?" Clark questioned pacing after her in long strides. She ignored him.

Clark felt his stomach roil in panic.

"Diana." Clark said. Sharp and low. Clark caught her hand and pulled her around to face him. She yanked her hand away, scorned from his touch. His sweet Diana, she was drawn in long soft angles and wore a lot of plain clothes when out of armour. Black and gray and white. Sometimes even the softer colors. The shirt was charcoal; slim fitting and hung just close enough to make it impossible to look at her without thinking about the shape of her chest but not so close to make it seem intentional. She was beautiful and it was utterly unintentional.

"Κανε πισω!." Diana growled hotly, at him in Greek. A phrase he thoroughly understood by now. Clark had only seen that look from her twice in his life. She had woken with a start from some sort of nightmare and Clark had caught her face and turned her to look at him. "It was just a dream," Clark had told her in that soft voice he didn't use with anyone else.

Clark fell quiet. It wasn't what she was expecting him to say and Diana watched the wall as he spoke.

"You want to hit me?" It was an offer. She said nothing, unable to meet his fierce stare. She didn't like him being so close. It reminded her of other times he was that close, and those memories were dangerous.

The silence stretched until he broke it.

"Diana can we talk?" He asked and those nerves were back in his expression. His eyes a touch to wide and unwavering.

"I think we've said everything we needed to say to each other Clark. Don't you?" Shit, that hurt. That really hurt.

"Please I need to explain wh-"

"No, Kal-El." But it was fruitless. Clark rambled on, his words drowning out her pleas for him to shut the hell up and leave her alone. He talked of things that she already knew; stressed about how lost he was when he'd lost his powers. How she could never be a true God whilst still bound to a weak defenseless mortal. She had to make him stop.

Diana just stared.

"What do you want from me?" Diana managed, tight knots stitching her throat closed and a sickness broiling in her gut that she refused to acknowledge.

He looked at her; a tender kind of gaze in his teal eyes and then reached out for her. A large hand resting itself on a swan like neck. His palm was warm from Kryptonian blood but his fingers were still cold. He was quiet again as he touched her. The connection made a little bridge between them. Diana felt the contact resonate right into her soul, tactless in holding back the shiver that rippled through her.

She felt her eyes flutter closed, involuntarily in a cross between ecstasy and pain. Ecstasy because no matter how much he'd hurt her she'd missed his touch. Pain because he had ripped out her heart and trod on it.

Damn that man.

"Look at me," Rage sparked in Diana but for once in her life she caught it before it exploded. Diana refused to be sucked in by that soft look in his eyes.

"Never again." Diana hissed. Not so much at his words, but at the situation she had found herself in. What an idiot. Diana's anger wanted someone to blame and all cards fell to one man named Clark Kent. "No..." Cold wide eyes filled with nothing short of vengeance met Clark's then and his blood ran cold. Diana shook her head vehemantly once, twice before ripping his warmth from her neck. "Never again." Diana repeated spinning away to retreat, and Clark really did lunge for her then. A desperate man. A man who needed to see eyes filled with love once more when she looked at him.

"Wait-"

"I refuse to be a pawn in whatever game of the heart you have decided to bestow upon me." Diana argued stiffly, "I am Diana of Themyscira. Daughter of Hippolyta; queen of the Amazons and I bend to the will of no man. You will unhand me or I will make it so." Diana stated formally, and like the royal heir she was. Clark's throat worked for words. Parched and sore from tears that beckoned to come.

"You're hurt. You're hurt and you're lashing out Diana this isn't you." said Clark softly and her hardly fought resolve cracked then exploded in spontaneous combustion. "This is exactly me. Gods Kal did you never know me at all!" Her blood was howling around her body, racing faster and hotter. She wanted him to stop. Just stop talking. Stop understanding her. Her throat was hurting. Her eyes were hurting.

Stop talking. Stop . . . STOP . . .

"Of course I know you Diana. Damnit, I know I'm not doing this very well and I'm sorry. I just don't know how to put it. I love you and I want to be with you. Though it sounds trite, it's true: I can't imagine going on without you and I don't even want to try. Alright Tyler Claire is just a-" Diana stared at him, not daring to even blink. His fingers crept back to her cheek. His touch was soft and warm and so very, very Kal.

"You and I are so alike," Clark smiled sadly. "I guess that's what brought us together. Kindred spirits. Please. Let me make this right."

She had to stop him talking. She had to. She kissed him, with what felt like a fist in her chest squeezing relentlessly at her heart. Clark wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with the same kind of lonely desperation. He was right. She was lonely.

Clark's hand slipped from her waist to up under her top. Her bare skin was soft as a whisper and as smooth as quality velvet. He'd never felt skin so smooth. Only Diana's skin provided that for him. The more he touched, the more he wanted to touch. He pulled her close, his hand moving straight to her breast. His blood was roaring, racing, pumping. He was breathless and more turned on than he'd ever been in his entire life. He wanted to do more than have sex with Diana. He wanted to make love, to drown in her, in the love he had for her, not caring if he suffocated.

But then she opened her eyes . . . She straightened up and forced herself to concentrate on his face. Take it in. Sink into it. But she couldn't see him anymore. Just his eyes, warm and cauliflower blue, smiling at her with understanding. With love.

With love.

Clark smiled at her. Total trust, love and devotion. It was too much. She was dying in it. Diana clenched her fists and hit him. Clark's whole body fell backwards. He had been thrown a whopping quarter of a mile down the hallway. He looked up at her, too shocked to even cry out. His eyes, so warm and rich that she just wanted to pour herself into them, were now stunned and hurt. But the love was still there. She knelt down.

"Do you still love me now?" She asked, robotically. In a voice that was his Diana-but not. Clark stared up at her not quite believing what had just happened. Eyes suspiciously bright; not from the action but from her indifference. Only then did she leave Clark to his devices, careful not to look at him. Not once. Not even a glance. With each step away from him, she grew colder again – which was just the way it should be. She took of down the corridor with calculated grace and pressed down the urge to cry or scream. The strangest feeling tingled right through her, like her blood was shivering or something. Had she really let her guard down that much?

Surely not. Diana had made it halfway to her quarters-a safe distance away from Clark, before she had been violently sick. She'd coasted her hand over her lower stomach, a frown on her face. She'd not allowed herself to think about the possibility of it. Not in anyway. Because it's too much for her to cope with. Because she's not ready for that.

Because it wasn't supposed to be possible.

She knew her stomach had shrunk, not swollen, not that it would at this early stage but she'd thought she should have been able to tell by simply looking. She wished she could tell by silently looking. Her fingers curl, bawling into a fist, knuckles pressing fiercely into her lower stomach because if there is the beginning of a life in there, starting to grow, she doesn't know what she'll do.

It cannot be possible. Hera, she begged, please be good.