Rebecca Kent took her family by storm; she slid into the position of family favorite and never left.
Her mother had fallen in love with her when she had taken to stamping on her bladder during long meetings with the publishers or attorneys, giving her a truthful excuse to duck out and think of better comebacks. When she was born, she'd given a quaking yell that had been heard all through the ward; she'd been handed to her father then, fists flailing until they found his thumb, the tip of which she had stuck in her mouth, falling silent and looking up at him with her big, blue eyes. She was brought home, wrapped in pink blankets with a purple cap, and promptly set her siblings giggling at the sight of her pudgy little fists and round face.
As she grew from infant to toddler, her charms didn't fade. She was a charismatic sort, charming the Planet staff into treats and stories throughout her toddlerhood. She even melted the General a bit, sitting on his knee and playing with his shirt buttons.
Yet it was her father who was most taken with her, and whom she was most taken with as well. Becca's first word was "Ada," her version of "Dad." It was Brigit's fault, really—she'd been throwing a fit, exaggerating "dad" into two full syllables, "Da-yad…"
"A-yad," Becca had mirrored, ending Brigit's fit in the interest of getting her to say it again. "Ad?"
"Yes, sweetheart?" Clark was grinning like a fool.
"Ayad, ayad, ad, ada?"
"What's going on?" Lois asked, entering the room. She'd just finished the evening's layout and was in the process of removing jacket and shoes.
"Da!" Becca crowed, grinning, being urged on by her father and siblings. "Da, Ada, Ada, Ada, Ada!"
"Oh!" Lois said, looking up at Clark, seeing a matching grin on his face.
"She said 'dad!'"
Whenever Clark entered the room she was in, she would light up and cry, "Ada!" Then she would reach for him and urge him to pick her up and put her on his shoulders. There she'd sit, tiny hands splayed on his forehead. She seemed to enjoy the view, spending all the time he would let her on his shoulders. They went through most aspects of daily life like that before she started preschool—her atop his shoulders, watching and listening as he gave Jason or Molly Kryptonian lessons, tied his ties, wrote an article, read her stories, prepared dinner.
Ironically, it was the family favorite that let the cat out of the bag, outing the Secret to the in-laws.
It occurred early one evening, when Clark had returned from his before-dinner sweep of the city. He was in good spirits, not having found anything dastardly afoot, and returning home to such a warm welcome from his littlest always brought a smile to his face.
"Ada!"
"Hello, Littlest," he replied, lifting her up and smooching her on the cheek noisily, making her giggle, before he put her up on his shoulders. She put her hands on his forehead and rested her cheek against the top of his head, patting him gently with one hand.
"Da, Ada, Ada, Ada," she sang, still hugging the top of his head, pressing her cheek to his hair.
Grinning, Clark took the hand that was patting his eyebrow and gave it a kiss before giving it back to her, placing it higher on his forehead.
"Lois?" he called, turning to look toward the hall where he could hear her heartbeat.
"Superman," the General said, looking stunned.
"Ada," Becca corrected her grandfather firmly, patting Clark on the forehead again.
"Oh," said Clark.
"Oh," Lois repeated, mocking, from behind her father.
"Are you staying for dinner, then?" Clark asked, looking from one stunned face to the other. Ella and the General didn't seem to have the words.
"Yes, they will be staying for dinner," Lois said decidedly. "They were in the neighborhood and thought they'd stop in."
"Good night for it," Clark said, chuckling. He was fairly certain it was nerves. On his head, Becca was cooing to herself and playing with his hair. "How does barbeque sound?"
Jason and Molly gave a whoop, making a run for the back yard. Jason, a particular gleam in his eye, put on an extra burst of speed, making it to the biggest tree in the yard in half a second.
"Jason, no fair," Molly cried indignantly. "You know the rules. Dad! Tell him that's not fair."
"Jason, please," Clark said. This particular rule was broken regularly. It was a lot for Jason to keep hidden, day in and day out—he could do so much and he had to keep it a secret, so he tended to let loose a bit at home. The backyard was enclosed, and the neighboring houses were set far back on the opposite sides, giving them a good deal of privacy. It was convenient, with his comings and goings in a particularly noticeable costume, and for the kids and their developing abilities.
"You—you're—you—er," the General stammered, having found his voice but not the coherency to formulate a proper question.
"Ada," Becca supplied, patting Clark on the forehead again.
"It's a bit of a long story," Lois said, chewing her thumb nail.