Archive of Our Own ^beta

Clark lifted the rolled-up hose, wanting to put it back into the firetruck, and almost dropped it immediately when a burning pain shot through his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he managed to secure the heavy equipment safely, and touched the hurt spot, trying and failing to soothe the throb.

When walking through the burned down building half an hour earlier, putting down the last remains of the larger fire, a beam fell off the damaged construction and grazed his left shoulder, he felt fine. 

Hurt a bit, but fine. 

He should’ve expected it to get worse once the adrenaline would wear off. Which happened now, apparently. He couldn’t even move the shoulder much and for a brief second, he wondered if it was broken. 

But if that was the case, he probably would’ve thrashed on the ground from pain instead of standing calmly and only wincing slightly. 

That, though, was enough to catch Lois’ attention, who just came his way.

“You okay, Smallville?" she asked, taking off her helmet and running a hand through her hair.

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to move the shoulder again. It ended with the same jab of pain. He didn’t know what he expected. “Just got hit by some debris." 

Lois’ eyes filled with worry. “Why didn't you say anything earlier?" she asked, half concerned, half scolding.

Clark shrugged, regretting it immediately. “It didn't hurt that much," he answered with a little whine.

“Did I just hear something about being hurt?" Perry’s voice reached them before the chief walked from around the fire truck, eyes zeroing in on Clark.

He quickly masked his pain with a neutral expression. 

“Clark got injured," Lois snitched.

She earned a glare from Clark before he turned to smile at Perry.

“I'm fine," he assured the boss, only for Lois to gently jab him in the injured shoulder.

Clark yelped from pain.

Perry narrowed his eyes. “You should get that shoulder checked, son," he suggested.

“I'm fine, chief," Clark insisted, stroking the injured area while giving Lois a nasty side eye. 

She ignored him of course.

“Get your ass to the hospital.” That was no suggestion this time, it was an order. “I don't want you out of action for months because you downplayed that injury." 

Perry’s orders were non-negotiable, so Clark nodded obediently with a sigh. 

“Thanks, Lois," he glared at her again when Perry walked away to bark more orders at other members of the team. 

Lois smiled cheekily at him. “You're welcome," she replied and went to help the others clean up before returning to their department. 

Clark sighed again and scanned his teammates. He brightened up at the sight of Jimmy.

“Mind giving me a lift to a hospital when we go back to the department?" he asked his friend when the other man walked by, carrying more equipment.

“Not at all,” Jimmy replied eagerly. “Why? Are you hurt?" 

“Yeah, unfortunately."

He didn’t know yet how wrong he was.

Clark sat on the hospital bed, his dangling feet brushing the floor with the tips of his heavy boots, leaving soot lines on it. 

He wondered if they would give him a mop if he asked so he could clean it, or if they would insist it's not the patient's job.

Unfortunately, there was no one to ask, everyone around was busy with other people needing medical assistance, and Clark didn't want to interrupt them.

Looking around among those being treated, he recognized two people he helped carry out from the fire earlier - a young man and an elderly woman, both still shaken and no doubt traumatized, but alive.

Apart from a few cuts and burns, and inhaling a bit of smoke, they were fine. Their apartment building on the other hand? That was a different story, and Clark always wished he could do more than just free people from the inferno or clouds of suffocating smoke.

Sensing that she was being watched, the woman looked his way, her eyes wide in fear and shock. She didn't recognize him. 

When he led her out of the building, he was wearing his head gear. But despite not knowing if it was Clark personally that saved her life, or one of his colleagues, he saw the gratitude on her weary face.

Clark smiled at her reassuringly before the opening door to the ER caught his attention.

He turned to see if it was a doctor, a nurse or another patient, but it was neither. Because the one that entered the room was the most beautiful man Clark has ever seen in his life.

One that you see on the red carpet in Hollywood or on the catwalk, but definitely not in the hospital. 

The man clearly missed his calling as a model by becoming a doctor, but Clark was grateful for that. Because he rarely interacted with supermodels - never, actually - but doctors he had seen plenty.

None was as gorgeous as this one. 

Clark forgot how to breathe for a moment. All his brain was capable of doing right now was admiring the young doctor.

The immaculate, dark hair, sharp cheekbones, spotless pale skin, and captivating, blue steel eyes that zeroed in on Clark once the doctor lifted his head and looked up from the documents in his hands.

Clark's mind went completely blank again when their gazes locked on one another, and a shiver shot up his spine.

For a beat, they just both looked at each other, and then Clark's heart began racing with excitement when the doctor headed his way. Holy moly, he was going to be examined by this beauty incarnation!

Clark has never been more grateful to be in a hospital!

The doctor stopped just right from Clark and looked at the paperwork again. 

Clark took that opportunity to appreciate him more, admiring how well the white coat laid on him. How sexy the stethoscope around his neck made him. How good his black jeans cladded his long legs. Or how tight his pale, pink button up looked over his muscular chest.

He disguised his dreamy sigh with a cough.

“Mr. Kent?" The doctor asked, his deep, velvet voice sending another spark through Clark's body.

What he would do to hear the doctor say his first name with that voice!

The man regarded Clark with his eyes again, and Clark could now see them from up close.

Usually, blue eyes were compared to the ocean. Clark's own pair was compared to it plenty of times when he was hit on by women and men alike.

If the doctor's eyes were anything like an ocean, it was an arctic one. Pale, dangerous, cold, and Clark had no qualms about sinking into the freezing waters, even if he would share the fate of Jack Dawson.

“Yup," Clark answered, a little quieter than he planned. Not because he was shy, but because he was still entranced.

“I’m doctor Wayne,” the supermodel/doctor introduced himself. "A firefighter?" he questioned again, giving Clark's work jacket a glance.

“Yup," Clark repeated, still drowning and fine with it.

He almost whined in disappointment when Doctor Wayne looked down, hiding his eyes from him.

“Shoulder injury?” he read from the documents.

"Yup.”

The doctor looked up again, a small smirk playing on his full, rosy lips. "You sure it's not the head?”

“Yup,” Clark confirmed and instantly kicked himself mentally. He laughed awkwardly. "Sorry, I talk nonsense sometimes," he apologized.

He hoped Doctor Wayne didn't think of him as a weirdo.

Doctor Wayne chuckled, and Clark wasn't surprised that his laugh was just as perfect as the rest of him. “It's common in the ER, don't worry about it,” he assured Clark and put the documents away. 

Clark watched how he fished something out of the pocket of his white coat. With a click, he revealed it to be a small flashlight.

"Look straight at me and don't blink," Doctor Wayne instructed and aimed the light at Clark's right eye.

“Do you check the pupils of everyone that hurt their shoulder?" Clark asked curiously, fighting the urge to blink when the bright beam entered his pupil.

The eye started to get glassy with tears.

“No, only those speaking nonsense," Doctor Wayne answered, switching to the other eye. “To see if it's injury talking or just regular nonsense." 

Clark felt the blush crawling up his neck and to his cheek. “It's just regular nonsense," he confessed.

Doctor Wayne turned the flashlight off with a satisfied hum. “Seems like it," he confirmed, handing Clark a tissue to wipe off his eyes. "Take off your jacket, please." 

Ignoring the pain, Clark shed it off eagerly while the doctor wrote something down in his papers. He swore that for a short second, Doctor Wayne watched him with a corner of his eye.

The jacket was followed by a grey t-shirt with the number of his unit, and in just a few seconds, Clark sat on the bed only in gear pants, boots and a white tank top, covering the abs of his chest and stomach, but revealing the pecks of his arms.

If he flexed them a little, only Doctor Wayne was the witness. And that was the point!

Doctor Wayne didn't seem to notice though and simply snapped a pair of gloves onto his hands.

Even through the latex barrier, Clark felt the warmth of his fingers as he gently examined the left shoulder - feeling and probing the muscles.

Clark's face twisted in pain and a hiss escaped his clenched teeth when Doctor Wayne pressed on the particular sore spot.

He didn't lessen the pressure but moved it, checking another place and maneuvering Clark's arm around, searching for injuries.

Despite the seemingly harsh treatment, not even for a second Clark felt like Doctor Wayne didn't care if he was in pain. If he could, he would probably be gentle, his touch featherlight, but that wouldn't tell him what he needed to know.

And Clark was used to all kinds of pains.

He watched the doctor work, keeping his pounding heart and heavy breathing under control, even if he could easily blame pain on both.

With the doctor standing so close, Clark was enveloped in the smell of his aftershave. It was subtle, clearly applied properly, not just sprayed carelessly and in a rush in the morning.

It was nothing Clark ever smelled before when he shopped for his own aftershave. He was able to pick up citrus, some herbs and even something sweet and flowery. 

Doctor Wayne smelled heavenly, and even with the scent not being sharp, Clark felt dizzy with it.

“So, what happened?" Doctor Wayne, still deep in examination, asked, pulling Clark away from whatever orchard the aftershave came from.

He blinked, giving himself a moment to clear his mind. “A house hit me," he finally answered with a cheeky smile.

Doctor Wayne nodded without missing a beat, none of the muscles on his perfect face twitching. “Did you hit back?" 

“There was no point in bringing it to the ER when I was done with it," Clark joked again, and this time the doctor smiled.

“And here I thought you wouldn't even hurt a fly,” he joked back and held Clark's shoulder with both hands, pushing it back. "Does it hurt when you move it?" 

“Yeah," Clark answered, grunting the further back doctor Wayne forced his shoulder. “In all directions. It's not broken, right?" 

He hated being benched.

“You wouldn't be able to move it at all if it was."

Doctor Wayne let go and Clark breathed out in relief, sagging with his whole body when the pressure vanished. The ache in his shoulder was still there, but bearable.

He rolled it a little, but it only made the pain worse again.

Doctor Wayne looked at him disapprovingly.

“So, will I live?" Clark asked with a sheepish smile.

“Yup,” he deadpanned.

Clark barked out a laugh, disrupting the more or less calm atmosphere of the ER. 

For a second or two, a hot dread of embarrassment landed heavily in Clark's stomach, the tips of his ears burning.

But then doctor Wayne responded with his own laugh - quieter and more tasteful considering where they were - but a laugh, nonetheless.

Laughing with Clark, not at him.

“The bruising should go down in a week or so," Doctor Wayne said, disposing of the gloves and picking up the documents again. He quickly started scribbling on them. “I'll prescribe you some pain meds because it will keep hurting. I would also suggest restraining yourself from carrying heavy things and getting into fights with buildings," he concluded with an amused smile.

Clark grinned back. “I'll keep that in mind," he promised.

Exchanging the documents for a notepad, Doctor Wayne wrote down a med prescription and handed it to Clark.

“Nurse Hopkins will bandage the shoulder for you," he informed, pocketing his pen. “Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Kent." 

“You too, Doctor Wayne," Clark replied.

With one last smile aimed at Clark, Doctor Wayne left the ER completely.

It was like watching the sun going down. Or the last bus of the day leaving without you.

Clark already missed him. So much so he only noticed nurse Hopkins when she started taking care of his shoulder.

Clark sighed, and the woman chuckled.

“Dreamy ain't he?" she asked playfully.

“Yup,” he sighed again.

There was no point in denying. What he felt was written all over his face.

“If I wasn't happily married, I would try my luck," nurse Hopkins told him, wrapping the tape securely around his injured shoulder.

It hurt a little, but Clark felt almost nothing, too focused on the warm, blooming sensation in his chest.

Love.

Jimmy was waiting for him in the parking lot, drumming on the steering wheel, muffled music coming out of the car.

Clark opened the door and slipped in, making his friend jump in surprise.

Jimmy turned the sound down, letting it hum in the background along with the rumble of the engine.

“Hey, CK," he greeted with a wide grin. “How's the arm?"

“Good," he answered, buckling up while Jimmy reversed from the parking spot. "Doesn't even hurt anymore.”

Unlike his face, aching from how much he was smiling.

It didn't escape Jimmy's attention.

“What's with your face?” he asked next, glancing at Clark with a mixture of amusement and concern. "You look like you won a million bucks.”

"Better,” Clark replied mysteriously.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow at him. "Two million?”

Clark shook his head. "I just saw the most beautiful man in the world,” he revealed, tremor rolling through him as he just thought of those eyes - cold in color yet so full of care for the patient in front of them.

"Who?” Jimmy asked curiously.

"Doctor Wayne,” Clark repeated the name dreamily.

He wishes he knew the first one. Wanted to taste it on his tongue.

Jimmy snorted, but Clark didn't care in the slightest about his reaction. “He must be really something if you're smitten already," his friend noticed.

“You haven't seen him, Jimmy," Clark sighed, sinking in the passenger seat. “With a face like that, he could be a model. Or a Hollywood star. Instead, he's a heartbreaker at the Metropolis General." 

"I thought hot doctors only exist in tv dramas,” Jimmy snickered.

"Me too! I wasn't prepared!” he complained.

The only doctors he ever met were usually older guys closer to his Pa’s age than Clark's own, which doctor Wayne seemed to be. 

Unless he was so gorgeous even ageing itself decided to spare him, and Doctor Wayne was actually older than he looked.

Jimmy chuckled. “So, is he more like Doug Ross, Gregory House or Hawkeye Pearce?” he questioned.

"Neither!” Clark concluded without a moment of hesitation. "He's in the league of his own." 

Those doctors wished they looked as good as Clark's doctor.

His bold statement only amused Jimmy even more.

"Did you ask him out?” his friend asked.

The smile on Clark's face finally faltered. "No.”

"What?!” Jimmy shouted in shock. "Why not?”

Clark shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't cross my mind.”

Jimmy stopped the car at the red light and took that opportunity to look at Clark with wide eyes. “You saw a hot guy and it didn't cross your mind to ask him out?”

“I was preoccupied by his eyes,” Clark justified himself, feeling another shiver. "And his smile. And his laughter." 

How could Clark think about asking that man out when he already felt like the luckiest guy on Earth by just being in his presence?

“Clearly,” Jimmy agreed, driving again. “Well, will you?" 

Clark looked at him in confusion. “What?" 

“Ask him out?" Jimmy clarified.

“I doubt we'll meet again," Clark noted.

Even in his type of work, he rarely visited hospitals. And even if he needed medical attention, it was usually something mild the EMT could help with on the scene, or he went to the nearest hospital.

Which usually wasn't the Metropolis General.

It would also be kind of weird to ask your doctor out. Didn't it cross a few legal lines?

Jimmy started driving again. “You know where to find him," he reminded Clark.

He did.

And that knowledge started slowly forming a plan in his head.

Clark grinned.

Just one week after meeting doctor Wayne, Clark and his coworkers got called to a car crash. Bad one, two people trapped inside their vehicles.

Clark's unit was first on the scene, followed by a team of EMT, and they all fell into trance as they moved around the mangled cars and a field of debris scattered around.

One of the victims was in a much worse shape than the other, in need of immediate medical help. They began rescuing her first, the woman barely conscious while Clark and Lois worked together to cut her out of the wreck that trapped her inside itself.

It wasn't easy when the EMT team worked around them constantly, fighting to keep the poor woman alive so they could take her to the hospital.

Jimmy consoled the other victim in the meantime, keeping her calm and distracting her from looking at the state of her leg that merged with the frame of her car.

Police arrived at the scene at one point, taking over securing the perimeter from Perry and other firefighters.

The moment they got the first woman free, the ambulance took her away, sirens blasting loudly, blue lights flashing. 

It was immediately replaced by another one, waiting for Clark's team to get the other victim out as well.

Clark took over comforting the woman, leaning inside the car through the broken passenger side window. He spoke to her softly about his parents’ farm and asking her about her fiancé when he noticed an engagement ring on her hand.

Anything to keep her focus away from the loud, metallic sound of their tools cutting the car frame.

They had to be careful, mindful of her injuries to not make them worse and cause her too much pain. 

Or bleed out.

One of the EMT gave her morphine, but Clark knew from previous car crashes he assisted with, that no painkiller works with injuries like that.

She only wasn't screaming because of the adrenaline rush that didn't stop yet, making her eyes wide and wild looking as she started into Clark's calmer ones.

After almost an hour, they finally got her out. 

Clark pulled his upper body from inside the crashed car carefully to not cut himself on remains of the glass sticking out of the frame.

But then the idea came to his head, and he looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him.

Everyone was busy, not even facing his way, so Clark took the thick, heavy glove off his left hand and with a deep breath for courage, he grabbed the window frame.

A groan of pain escaped his throat when tiny pieces of glass cut into his skin and flesh, digging so deep he wouldn't be able to remove them himself.

He's been looking for an excuse to visit the hospital and see Doctor Wayne for the past week, unable to stop thinking about the handsome man.

First, he thought about just walking in there and using gratitude as an excuse, but who does that? Thank a random ER doctor? Apart from little kids that is.

Definitely not adults in their thirties with a respectable job. What was he even supposed to say? “Thanks for fixing my shoulder, doc! By the way, I think you're really hot, wanna grab a drink with me?" 

No, Clark needed to do it differently.

So he decided he needed a better excuse to visit the ER again, and injuries were the best kind of excuse. 

That's why you go to the ER. To have them treated.

And when you have a job like Clark, injuries are nothing unusual, so it wouldn't be weird for Clark to show up again.

And again, giving him opportunities and time to get to know Doctor Wayne better before making a move.

Foolproof plan. Clark was immensely proud of himself.

"Hey, chief!” Clark called Perry. When his boss looked his way, he showed the man his bleeding hand. “I need someone to see that hand!" 

Perry walked to him. “Why didn't you wear a glove?” he asked, eying Clark's other hand that was still protected.

“Ah, I held that woman's hand to keep her calm," Clark lied swiftly, watching Lois approach from the side with Cat in tow. “Forgot to put it back on and, well, here we are," he finished explaining with a shrug. “It's not a big deal but I can't take that glass out on my own." 

Lois raised an eyebrow at him, and Clark shifted nervously. She must've seen right through his bluff, reading him like an open book. 

She always could do that.

Thankfully, she didn't say anything, just kept examining him like he was a little bug trapped behind glass.

Clark felt like it too.

"All right, get your ass to the hospital,” Perry said. "But come back to the unit after." 

“Yes, sir," Clark replied, trying to not look too eager and blow his cover. 

Not looking at Lois and Cat, Clark turned towards the ambulance getting ready to leave. They just finished rolling in the victim of the car crash.

“Hey, guys?!" he stopped the team. They all looked his way. "You going to Metropolis General?" 

“Yeah," the driver replied, closing one side of the doors.

“Mind if I tag along?" Clark asked, rushing towards them.

The man nodded towards the back of the ambulance. “Hop in." 

This time, Clark couldn't contain his eagerness.

Hopefully, Perry wasn't watching.

And hopefully, Doctor Wayne was working today.

Shoot.

Clark's smile fell.

Maybe his plan wasn't as foolproof as he first thought.

Clark sat in the ER nervously, and not because of the glass sending flares of pain through his hand every time his fingers twitched.

This was a stupid plan, what was he even thinking? Hurting himself so he could see Doctor Wayne again?

Ma always said love can make a person do stupid things, but surely, she didn't mean this. Clark would ask, but he didn't want to give her a heart attack. 

Or make her laugh at him.

The nurse that led him to the ER told him one of the doctors would see him shortly.

Doctors.

Plural.

Because of course doctor Wayne wasn't the only doctor handling the whole ER in the biggest hospital in the city.

He probably could, Clark had no doubt about that, but it definitely wasn't what was happening.

Maybe doctor Wayne wasn't even working there full time. Maybe that time he healed Clark's shoulder with his touch alone, was just a one-time thing and he worked somewhere else.

Clark's stomach rolled anxiously with every minute he had to wait. Each time the door to the ER opened, he looked up in hope it was Doctor Wayne, only to see some other doctor walk in. 

Worry would replace hope then, because maybe they were there to patch him up. Which would've been nice, the glass was really starting to annoy him, but then this whole sacrifice would've been pointless.

He didn't put glass in his hand to have it removed quietly and efficiently in a professional setting. 

He put it in there to flirt and share teasing smiles with a hot doctor over his own bleeding palm.

Not the most romantic scenario, but oh well.

When the doors opened again, Clark looked up without a fail, and breath got stuck in his throat.

There he was. 

The beauty incarnate. The one that would make Aphrodite look bland in comparison.

Doctor Wayne.

Clark's heart began to race like crazy at the sight of this gorgeous man, almost jumping out of his chest and landing right in those pale, skillful hands with long, elegant fingers.

He wore ugly, dark blue scrubs this time around, paired with equally ugly, white Crocs on his feet, but they did nothing to dim his beauty. If anything, they only made it more profound.

Doctor Wayne didn't notice him at first, reading the documents in his hands with deep focus that Clark couldn't help but admire. 

He kept watching the doctor, crossing the fingers of his good hand that he was there to see Clark and not one of the other patients.

It felt like an eternity passed before Doctor Wayne finally lifted his gaze, scanning the faces of the waiting patients until it landed on Clark and their eyes met.

Just like the first time, Clark felt a spark jump between them, air catching in his throat again while those cold eyes held him hostage. 

He needed to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling like a fool and scaring the doctor away.

But then doctor Wayne smiled first, lips curling gently into a friendly smile that had Clark melting, and he allowed himself to return it, warmth blooming within his chest.

“Ah, Mr. Kent," he greeted.

He remembered Clark! Score for Kent!

The glass? The pain? The potential embarrassing conversation with Lois?

All worth it already!

“Hello, Doctor Wayne," Clark greeted back, watching the man approach.

He walked with the grace of a big cat and if he were one, Clark would happily let him maul him.

“You fought a house again?" Doctor Wayne teased, stopping right in front of Clark, eyes going to the bleeding hand in his lap.

Clark’s smile turned into a grin. “A car this time."

Doctor Wayne let out an amused huff. “What is it with you and your beef with inanimate objects?" he asked, dragging a little table with tools closer to them.

“I think they just don't like me,” Clark answered with a light chuckle.

"I find it hard to believe," Doctor Wayne replied, the smile not leaving his face and even turning softer. Clark's heart skipped a beat. “So, what happened?”

Clark lifted his hand, showing it closer. "Not much, just some glass stuck in my hand, but it's fine,” he assured.

"Well then, looks like you have your diagnosis already, doctor Kent,” Doctor Wayne concluded with a sly smirk and turned around swiftly. He started heading back to the door. "I'll go take care of other patients. Nice seeing you.”

A loud snort escaped Clark's nose, and he barely had time to catch a wayward snot with the sleeve of his jacket when it shot out of his nostril.

Doctor Wayne actually went through the door and turned right, but it only took him two seconds to return, smiling sheepishly.

“I'm sorry, it was a long shift," he justified himself, pale cheeks dusted with a lovely shade of pink.

“I know the feeling," Clark assured him, legs dangling cheerfully. “I'm glad I could help make it a bit bearable." 

Doctor Wayne nodded and pulled a little stool to himself before sitting down on it. “Your hand, please," he requested, pulling a case from the pocket of his scrubs.

Clark almost groaned when the doctor pulled out a pair of sleek, black framed glasses from inside and put them on.

That was unfair. Illegal. He was already so attractive, but he also wore glasses occasionally?! 

Clark offered his hand palm up, glass shimmering in the bright light of the ER.

Doctor Wayne took a closer look while putting on a pair of latex gloves, then he desensitized the wounds and his tools - a pair of tweezers.

Carefully holding Clark's hand still from below, he began to work, pulling one piece of glass after another. Each of them fell with a clank into a small tray placed on the top of the table.

Clark watched the master at work, admiring how steady his hand was, not even a single, unwanted twitch to interrupt him. He caught the glass pieces with precision and pulled them out without hesitation. 

Despite all the blood and the stinging, it almost looked like art.

“How's your shoulder?" Doctor Wayne asked after dropping another piece of glass into the tray. A really small one, yet the tweezers didn't even touch Clark's finger during the procedure.

“Good as new," Clark replied with a grin. “Thanks to your miraculous hands." 

“No miracle was involved. Just a few, extremely long and sleep deprived years of medical school," Doctor Wayne chuckled. “And that's only the tip of the iceberg." 

Clark gave him a sympathetic look. He got some basic medical training while becoming a firefighter - which didn't take even half the time it took to become a doctor - but it was nothing compared to all the knowledge doctor Wayne had to obtain. 

Especially to work in the ER.

It made Clark admire the man even more than he already did.

“Either way, thank you,” he said with a gentle, grateful smile.

Doctor Wayne glanced up briefly over the rim of his glasses, catching the sight of Clark's smile before dropping his gaze again. 

“Just doing my job," he said humbly and picked up another glass piece. Clark watched entranced, not even feeling the pain anymore. "So, what's the story?”

Clark looked up in confusion. "Huh?” 

Doctor Wayne nodded at the collection he gathered in the tray. "Behind all the glass,” he elaborated. “I doubt you broke the window with your fist.”

"Why? You don't think I'm strong enough?” Clark asked, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

"Judging by the size of your arm, I don't doubt you could,” he admitted, his words inflating Clark's chest with pride like a balloon. “But…” the doctor added a moment later. "One, firefighters usually don't do that. Two, if they do, they have tools to do it safely." 

Clark gave an impressive whistle.

“A doctor and a detective,” he admired. “A true Renaissance man." 

Doctor Wayne snorted. Even when his body shook with amusement, his hands were still steady as they picked up glass. “I wouldn't go that far." 

Clark would go even further, but he wasn't good at writing poetry or singing praises.

“I was consoling a woman trapped in her car,” Clark repeated the same lie he told Perry. "I grabbed the window on the way out and here I am." 

The last reaction he expected from Doctor Wayne in response to his words was worry.

“Oh, you were at that car crash scene," he realized, losing the entire focus from cleaning Clark's hand. “We got both victims here."

Clark suspected as much. At least for one.

“Yeah, it looked bad," he confirmed, his previous smile absent from his face now. “Thankfully no one died."

Doctor Wayne dropped his gaze at that, and Clark felt a familiar pang in his chest before any words left the doctor's mouth.

“I'm sorry, but the first woman did,” he informed Clark with somberness. "Died on the table."

Clark nodded. 

The woman was in a bad state back then, but after they got her out quickly, while she was still conscious, he really hoped the worst was behind her already.

"I cut her out," he told the doctor, mind racing, trying to find the moment where he could've acted differently, faster, to increase her chance of survival.

He came out with nothing.

“I'm sure you did all you could," Doctor Wayne comforted, as if reading his mind. His tweezers returned to pull out the last pieces of glass from Clark's hand. 

“Yeah," he agreed. He and Lois did all they could. There was nothing else they could've done. And yet… “Still sucks." 

It always did, and he didn't have to explain it to Doctor Wayne.

“Yeah," the other man agreed, dropping the last piece of glass onto the tray. With a reassuring squeeze to Clark's hand, he let go of it, taking away the warmth of his palm. “There,” he announced with a gentle smile. "Not good as new just yet, but it will be. You don't need stitches thankfully.”

Clark looked at his palm - bloody and a little swollen, but clean from glass.

“Thanks, doc," he said, returning the doctor's smile.

“My pleasure.” Doctor Wayne removed the used gloves and threw them into a bin. "A nurse will bandage your hand, so you don't bleed all over our floors.” He took his glasses next, and Clark already mourned their absence. "Next time we meet, you better not come here after fighting a train." 

Clark used his uninjured hand to muffle a laugh. “No promises," he responded.

Smiling at Clark one last time, Doctor Wayne left the ER.

Next time.

Doctor Wayne hoped for the next meeting.

Who was Clark to deny him that?

Just like he was told to do, after the hospital visit, Clark returned to his unit. Everything was already back on their places just like it was before they got the call to the accident.

Most of his coworkers were in the break room, including Lois, Cat and Jimmy.

"Hey, guys,” he waved with his bandaged hand.

The nurse that treated him after Doctor Wayne left did great with it, but the entire time he wrapped the bandage around his palm, Clark couldn't help but miss his doctor's gentle, steady touch.

“Hey." 

“Welcome back." 

“How's your hand?" Lois asked, a mug of coffee in one hand, a book in the other, legs propped on the table she was sitting by.

Clark joined her after pouring himself his own mug. “Good, no long-term damage," he replied and took a big sip, sighing from the warmth and taste. "I can take the bandage off tomorrow.”

His friend nodded. “Must've been a good doctor," she mused into her coffee.

“Yeah, he… he was,” Clark confirmed with an awkward clear of his throat.

Lois hummed. “Was it the hot doctor?" 

Clark looked up, alarmed. “What… How do you…" With narrowed eyes, Clark shifted his gaze right. "Jimmy!”

His best friend looked away from the vending machine that just swallowed his change. "Sorry, Clark, you know how persistent she can be,” he justified his snitching with an apologetic look.

Clark sighed. He knew pretty well.

“So," Lois began, putting down her book and giving Clark all of her attention. "Did you really injure yourself just to see doctor Dreamy?”

Clark made a face. When she put it into words, that really sounded bad. 

"Of course not!” he denied, smiling at her. "It was an accident." 

Lois gave him a look, one of her perfectly trimmed brows raising up to her hairline.

Clark's smile fell, crushed under the weight of self-consciousness, and he resisted the need to squirm. 

"Okay, so it might've been on purpose,” he changed his testimony. Cat looked up from her gossip magazine, eyes shining with interest. “But how else was I supposed to see him again?" he questioned.

Lois stared at him in disbelief. "Walk into a hospital with a bouquet of flowers and ask him out?” she suggested.

Clark waved his hand dismissively. "No, I need to know him better before asking him out," he explained his actions. "How else am I supposed to know we're compatible?" 

He needed to know if Doctor Wayne liked animals, if he ever wanted kids and what baseball team he supported!

It was all important knowledge needed before entering a relationship.

“You can do it on dates," Cat offered.

"These are our dates,” Clark defended their meetings. 

Not the most conventional, but hey, the setting worked twice already.

"Those are hospital visits, Clark,” Lois said, closing her eyes and massaging the bridge of her nose. "Not dates.”

“Yes, they are," he insisted. "You haven't been there, Lo. Haven’t seen how he smiles at me and laughs at my jokes," he recalled dreamily.

“Oh god, he's starting again,” Jimmy warned, earning himself a glare from Clark.

“You're unbelievable,” Lois sighed tiredly.

"And you dated him, honey,” Cat reminded her with a smile and returned to her gossip before she could see Lois rolling her eyes at her.

Clark grinned smugly and took a celebratory sip of his coffee.

The next visit to the hospital wasn't exactly planned by Clark. It fell into his hands, literally, and he wasn't going to look a gifted horse in the mouth.

So only a little bit over a week later, although it felt much longer to Clark, he found himself in the ER again, dangling his legs as he sat on the cot and waited for his favorite doctor to patch him up.

He looked so cheerful that the other patients, both treated and waiting, were giving him weird looks.

Clark ignored them all, interested only in one set of eyes looking at him.

And it finally happened, when Doctor Wayne entered the room, brightening it up with his presence alone. And then even more with his smile when he noticed Clark.

His steel blue eyes lowered, landing on deep, bleeding gashes covering Clark's left forearm.

"What was it this time, a tiger?” he asked jokingly, walking up to Clark.

A big smile formed on Clark's face. He wasn't sure if it was Doctor Wayne's joke or him in general that made Clark grin like a lovesick fool.

Most likely both.

"Something like that,” he confirmed, watching Doctor Wayne preparing to work, fascinated by how effortless it looked.

The doctor chuckled. "Did you win?”

He put his glasses on again, and Clark was glad he was sitting, because his knees went weak.

"Well, the cat I took down from a tree it got stuck on, safely returned to her owner, so yeah, I guess it was a win,” he recalled the reason for his injuries.

He didn't say he had another hospital closer to his apartment but decided to come here.

Even his taxi driver pointed that out, but Clark told him a hot doctor was involved. The man nodded and with a profound "I've got you, bro”, got Clark to the further hospital.

"And I thought firefighters rescuing cats from trees was a stereotype,” Doctor Wayne said with a teasing grin.

Without saying a word, he extended his hand, and Clark met him in the middle, placing his wrist in the doctor's gentle hold.

"I was actually off duty and helping my neighbor," he clarified, pointing with his eyes at the civilian clothes he was wearing – a worn-out t-shirt and a pair of jeans. 

While waiting for the cab, he briefly considered changing into something dandier to impress Doctor Wayne, but that would've been suspicious. 

"Although I doubt we're ever off duty in our kind of work,” Clark added.

The moment he took this job, he basically got on 24/7 duty.

"True,” Doctor Wayne agreed with a nod. “I once saved a teen on the street by performing a tracheostomy with a pen.”

Clark gave the doctor a doubting look. "I'm pretty sure I saw it in some medical drama," he noted.

“Busted,” Doctor Wayne chuckled, gently moving a swab dunked in some sort of medical liquid, over the deep scratch marks. Sir Furrguson got Clark good. "I did save a life outside of the ER tho. But it was just a boring CPR." 

"Boring?" Clark repeated in disbelief. "I've done CPR, it's anything but boring.”

It was exhausting, mostly.

Doctor Wayne made a sound of agreement. "What song were you singing in your head when learning the correct tempo?”

Clark smiled bashfully before answering. "Another One Bites the Dust.”

Doctor Wayne quickly covered his mouth with his forearm, but he only muffled half of his sudden laughter.

Clark preened like a peacock. 

"Morbid," the doctor commented with a more sensible chuckle this time.

“What's yours?" Clark asked, curious.

Doctor Wayne glanced up shyly. “Stayin’ Alive." 

“Classic,” Clark commented. “And more appropriate than mine." 

“Hey, as long as you don't sing it out loud," the doctor pointed out as he finished cleaning another gush and moved onto the next one.

He looked up at Clark to check on him and worry immediately graced his features when he noticed Clark's forehead raked in deep concentration.

“What's with the face? Hurts?” he asked, moving the swab away from the scratch. “Or are you this worried about your song choice?”

Clark shook his head to both. "I'm trying to remember some stereotypes about doctors,” he said with a teasing grin.

Doctor Wayne's face relaxed, and he returned to work with a quiet snort. "Many people think we spend most of our shifts having affairs,” he offered Clark one.

A brief sting of jealousy struck Clark in the chest before he smothered it.

"Do you?” he asked, keeping his voice light.

"When you're on your feet for twenty hours, the last thing on your mind is high school level drama with a coworker who hasn't slept for thirty hours,” Doctor Wayne answered.

Clark felt his shoulders relaxing. "Relatable.”

"At the beginning of a shift on the other hand…” Doctor Wayne added with a teasing grin.

The laugh that escaped Clark was anything but amused, but hopefully it still hid how uncomfortable that thought made him.

“I blame the medical dramas for that one," the doctor continued, thankfully not noticing Clark's strange behavior, too focused on carefully cleaning his wounds. “Most of my work would be boring or too disgusting to watch, so they need to defang it and add some spice to it at the same time.”

Clark wouldn't mind watching doctor Wayne at work all day. He's seen some awful stuff as a firefighter, so he was desensitized to most of it. 

And there was nothing the handsome doctor could do that would ever bore Clark.

He could peel potatoes for dinner and Clark would still watch it with interest.

Maybe he could in the future!

"I assume you don't watch those types of shows then,” Clark said, eyes following every move of the doctor's skillful hand.

He was cleaning the last scratch, their time together was coming to an end, and Clark was already sad about it.

He should've let the cat claw him longer before handing it to its owner.

"I do,” Doctor Wayne admitted. "When I want to laugh.”

His answer didn't surprise Clark at all.

With one last swipe, Doctor Wayne finished cleaning Clark's wounds. There was no blood on or around them anymore, and the skin was only a bit irritated, itching.

“You don't need dressing, so try not to scratch it," Doctor Wayne instructed him, putting away the tools and taking off the gloves. He didn't take off his glasses, looking at Clark from behind them, smiling. “A fight with a house, a car, now a tiger. What's gonna be next?" 

Clark returned the smile, butterflies swarming his stomach. Although they felt more like a flock of bats with how much he could feel them. “You'll be first to find out," he promised.

“I'm counting on it," the doctor replied, and with a few pats to Clark's knee, he got up from the stool and left the room.

Clark watched him leave, like always, and was rewarded for it when Doctor Wayne looked behind and sent him one last smile. Just before the door closed and blocked that amazing view. 

Sighing, Clark stayed where he sat, grinning like a fool. He only moved when one of the nurses shooed him away to make a space for another patient.

"Mr. Kent, you're either the clumsiest firefighter in the world, or the unluckiest one.”

An unlucky firefighter wouldn't be graced by such a dashing smile. Like the one Doctor Wayne greeted him with when he saw Clark admitting himself at the front desk of the hospital.

Clark was convinced he was the luckiest bastard on Earth right now.

“I'm on a bad streak," Clark explained himself with a smile of his own, handing the receptionist his filled-out form.

The guy didn't even get to grab it, because Doctor Wayne beat him to it, picking it up and reading it. 

“A burned hand?” he looked up at Clark from the filled form. “On a kettle or…”

Clark chuckled. "A burned car wreck.” He just so happened to forget to put on his glove when touching it. Could've happened to anyone. “We were removing it after putting it out and it turned out it was still quite hot when we were strapping it." 

Doctor Wayne nodded in understanding. “You should be more careful, Mr. Kent," he advised, nodding to the door leading to ER before walking towards it. Clark followed like an eager puppy. “I would hate to see you being rolled in here instead of walking on your own two legs." 

Clark felt the flock of bats again.

Doctor Wayne worried about him!

“Don't worry, I'm a professional," Clark assured, sitting down on the cot doctor Wayne pointed to him.

“Really?” the other man asked with a raised eyebrow. "You got me fooled.”

Clark giggled, cheeks growing warm with blush.

"I'm usually not that… unfortunate," he said, watching Doctor Wayne preparing to take care of him.

Watching the process made Clark's heart glow with a pleasant warmth.

"Something's distracting you?” Doctor Wayne asked with a curious glance from under his long eyelashes.

Clark wondered if he used mascara, or they were just like that naturally. Perfect like the rest of him.

"Ah, you could say that,” Clark admitted awkwardly, fighting the urge to look away when Doctor Wayne continued to observe him with interest. 

“At this rate, you'll end up with no hand before Thanksgiving,” Doctor Wayne joked, but Clark sensed an underlying worry in his voice.

Clark was dedicated but not so much to lose a hand. He was going to need those to hold onto Doctor Wayne's.

And do other things.

He bet Doctor Wayne's hands were nice to hold.

Clark watched them, like always, wishing they weren't hidden under latex when the doctor carefully took his palm to start the treatment.

“So, why a doctor, if you don't mind me asking?" Clark asked, wanting to hear more of that smooth, deep voice that would put the siren song to shame.

Doctor Wayne smiled at the question. “Not at all," he replied, gently applying ointment on Clark's burn. “I became a doctor because of my parents." 

Immediately after his response, Clark's brows furrowed in concern.

“They forced you?" he questioned, anger stirring in his stomach.

It must've bled out into his voice a little because Doctor Wayne looked up in alarm.

“No, quite the opposite,” he corrected, giving Clark a reassuring smile. "They inspired me," he elaborated, and Clark's stomach stopped churning at once. 

Doctor Wayne lowered his gaze to Clark's palm again, his expression fond as he talked about his parents.

"They dedicated their lives to help Gotham," he explained. “My mom is a philanthropist and runs three foundations. My dad is a surgeon, he runs the hospital and his own company." 

Clark gaped, impressed and a little intimidated.

“Holy smoke," he managed to comment, and he wasn't proud of the way he did it.

Impressing future in-laws like that was already going to be nearly impossible. Forgetting how to articulate his thoughts wouldn't score him any additional points either.

At least his reaction made Doctor Wayne laugh, so Clark still counted it as a win.

“Yeah, they're rather busy,” he chuckled. "And somehow they still had time to raise me," he added, the love for his parents clear in his voice. 

Clark listened attentively to the rest of the story of his career.

“From a very young age I've seen them helping people left and right, and just as long I wanted to follow in their footsteps,” Doctor Wayne recalled. "I was never good at charming people like my mom, so I decided to be a doctor like my dad. That's the whole story." 

Impossible. Doctor Wayne could charm him out of all of his money and other possessions and Clark would thank him for it.

He charmed Clark into injuring himself no problem.

“Your family sounds amazing," he admitted, hoping to meet those fine people one day.

Even if it scared him.

Doctor Wayne smiled shyly, his face covered with a lovely blush. “Thank you," he said softly. “I'm really proud of my parents." 

“I'm sure they're proud of you too," Clark told him.

Only a fool wouldn't be. And no fool would've been able to raise such a fine, talented and compassionate man like Doctor Wayne.

“They are,” Doctor Wayne confirmed, not a hint of doubt in his tone. 

The entire burnt area of Clark's palm was already covered with a soothing ointment. Doctor Wayne's job was done.

“What about you?" he asked Clark with a smile, tossing his used gloves into a bin.

“I guess I was influenced by my folks too,” Clark said. “They're just farmers tho."

Nothing like Doctor Wayne's parents.

Their biggest achievement was winning first place in the contest for the biggest pumpkin when he was six.

Clark was proud of that win to this day and still had the photo of them with the winning pumpkin decorating the wall in his apartment.

“An admirable profession,” Doctor Wayne noted. “Not any less than a doctor or philanthropist.”

The genuine admiration in his voice caused a squeeze in Clark's chest.

"We never had much when I was growing up, but my parents always found ways to help others less fortunate,” he told Doctor Wayne, having his entire attention. "If the neighbor had a bad harvest or lost all their chickens to a coyote, my parents weren't above giving them a few of ours or sharing our crops.”

It frustrated him as a kid sometimes, because that meant his parents couldn't afford things he wished he had like other kids.

But that selflessness stayed with him all his life, and he was grateful for the lesson in it he was given.

"Your parents sound like lovely people," Doctor Wayne admitted sincerely. "So, you left for the big city and became a firefighter to help people like your parents?”

"I actually left for the big city to study journalism,” Clark revealed with a sheepish smile, proud of the surprise he put on the doctor's face.

“Really? What changed?" he asked with interest.

Clark shrugged. “I guess I wasn't as good as I thought I was," he confessed. “I dropped out of college and wanted to come back home with a tail between my legs.”

Not his proudest moment, he felt like a failure back then.

“But then I saw the fire department was recruiting and thought, why the hell not? I applied and here I am," he finished with arms spread wide.

“Here you are,” Doctor Wayne agreed with a smile. “Saving people and landing yourself in a hospital at least once a week." 

Clark felt his face growing warmer. “Good thing you're here to patch me up, huh, doc?” he teased, and Doctor Wayne shook his head fondly. “You're from Gotham then?" 

That little info caught his attention instantly.

“Born and raised," he confirmed proudly.

“Why Metropolis then? You could've worked with your father,” Clark pointed out.

He would've loved to live closer to his parents if he had a chance.

“That’s exactly why I moved. I didn't want to be accused of nepotism," he explained. “Everyone knows us in Gotham, other hospitals included. People would've said I only got the job because my daddy is famous," he chuckled humorlessly. “So, I moved to Metropolis where my name isn't as well known and even if it is, no one cares. I wanted to build my own reputation around it, you know?" 

Clark didn't think it was possible, but he fell in love with Doctor Wayne just a tad more than he already was.

“I get it," he assured, hand itching to grab Doctor Wayne's and hold it. “I think you're doing a good job." 

Doctor Wayne smiled shyly, eyes shining bright. “Really?" 

Clark nodded. “You got 5 stars from me in Google reviews," he added with a charming grin.

The unrestrained laugh that escaped Doctor Wayne went straight to Clark's heart, making it beat like a war drum.

“That's really sweet of you," he said, capturing Clark's gaze with his.

Who knows how long they would've stared at each other then? If Clark would have leaned in and kissed the other man right here and there if they weren't interrupted.

“Doctor Wayne?” Another doctor broke the tender bubble around them with her scolding tone. Both Clark and Doctor Wayne looked at her, startled by her sudden arrival. “Are you done? We could use that bed."

Of course. They were still in the ER.

It was so easy to forget where they were and that they weren't alone when Doctor Wayne looked at him like that.

Smiled at him like he just did a moment ago.

The blush on Doctor Wayne's face deepened with embarrassment. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” he apologized to his colleague, hurriedly getting off the stool.

The other doctor looked at them, not hiding her disapproving look before walking away.

Doctor Wayne played with the lapel of his white coat. It took him a few beats to look at Clark again. “It was nice talking to you, Mr. Kent," he said, smiling again.

Clark returned it. “Likewise," he replied, escaping with his eyes a little. “I'm sorry, I completely forgot where we are and kept you busy.” 

“I’m just as much to blame,” Doctor Wayne confessed, dropping his gaze as well. "I better go. And so do you.”

"Yeah, yeah, of course,” Clark agreed and slid off the cot. "Hope you won't get in trouble because of me.”

He would hate for that to happen. No matter what doctor Wayne said, Clark was the only one to blame. 

He was the one getting himself injured to keep meeting the doctor.

"I'm sure I'll be fine,” Doctor Wayne assured him, moving towards the door. “I guess I'll be seeing you?" 

“Yes," Clark replied immediately, going pale a second later. “I mean, no! I mean… maybe?” he tried again, wanting the floor to swallow him all.

Doctor Wayne laughed again. “Have a nice day, Mr. Kent," he said with a wave of his hand and left.

Clark left shortly after him, legs feeling like cotton, heart just as light.

When Clark arrived at the hospital a few days later, the receptionist behind the counter didn't even ask him what was wrong, just slid the form his way and returned to her work.

Clark thanked her and quickly filled it out with practiced ease. He showed it back to the receptionist, and she looked up at him with a teasing smile.

"Do you need me to walk you, sir?” she asked.

"No need, I know the way,” he answered with a smile of his own and went straight to the ER.

Standing in the doorway, he looked among the doctors and patients already inside, hopeful to find a familiar and unbelievably beautiful face of Doctor Wayne among them.

He got lucky.

At the far end of the room, by the door for personnel only, Clark's Adonis was talking to a fellow doctor.

Something must've been in this hospital in particular that attracted beautiful people, because Doctor Wayne's colleague was downright gorgeous!

Not as much as Doctor Wayne. Nobody could rival him, but Clark could appreciate another attractive person when he saw one.

The other doctor, a tall blonde woman with a slim figure, talked to Doctor Wayne in a very animated way, waving her hands around in a wide range.

Doctor Wayne listened attentively with that soft smile of his and said something to the other doctor when she finished speaking.

With a cheerful laugh, the woman threw her arms around Doctor Wayne's neck, and placed two, very loud and wet kisses on his cheek.

Clark's heart sank to his stomach.

Frozen in one spot, he watched how the other doctor said something else to Doctor Wayne before releasing him from his embrace and leaving, waving at him.

Only when she disappeared behind the door, Clark felt himself relax a little, but only just.

This was a very friendly goodbye. Too friendly. 

Clark didn't know what to think of it. Didn't even have time to do it, because Doctor Wayne turned around, looked up, and their eyes met.

Having those eyes focusing on him, brightening at the sight of him, was never failing Clark to feel like struck with the arrow of Amore again.

Repeatedly.

And when doctor Wayne smiled in addition, adorable crowfeet appearing around his eyes, Clark forgot all about the other doctor and how familiar she seemed to be with Doctor Wayne.

Clark couldn't help but smile back while the other man approached, moving with the grace of a figure skater.

“Ah, Mr. Kent. What a surprise,” he joked, followed immediately by his melodic chuckle. "We should appoint a bed just for you here." 

Clark found himself laughing too. “That won't be necessary,” he assured, taking a slightly deeper breath when he caught the scent of the doctor's aftershave.

"So, what is it this time?” Doctor Wayne asked playfully. "A brick fell on you in a wooden church?”

Clark snorted. “I'm not that unlucky," he told the doctor and raised his injured hand. Left one. Again. "Just a cut but you know, can be lethal."

It definitely wasn’t his fault that he cut his palm on a broken lock after they were called in to free a three-year-old left alone in an apartment.  

"Of course,” Doctor Wayne agreed with a roll of his eyes and pointed with his chin at an empty cot. "Take a seat.”

Clark sat down like he was just promised a lollipop after.

Doctor Wayne moved around him, picking up needed tools, eventually settling down on a stool. 

Clark offered his hand eagerly and without being asked, getting goosebumps under the sleeves of his work jacket when the doctor cupped it gently.

The first touch of the swab stung, making Clark hiss quietly. Doctor Wayne, the professional that he was, didn't let it affect his work and continued without a hiccup, hands steady.

But for just a second, he glanced up at Clark over his glasses, worry flashing through the blue-grey gems that were his eyes.

Clark's heart raced in his chest, pounding against his ribs so hard he feared another injury was on the horizon.

And then he noticed a faint mark of lipstick on Doctor Wayne's cheek. Both of them.

The image of Doctor Wayne and that other doctor invaded Clark's mind again, and the previous euphoria was replaced by the suffocating stench of jealousy.

Clark was lost.

He was so certain doctor Wayne was reciprocating his interest this entire time. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

Did he really misread all the signals so badly? Or was Doctor Wayne a lying, cheating bastard?

Clark needed to know.

“So, uh… was that your wife?” he asked bluntly, observing Doctor Wayne's reaction.

The way doctor Wayne's hands stilled, and he looked up with a startled expression, only made Clark worry more.

"Who? Doctor Quinzel?" So that's what the name of Clark's rival was. 

He nodded.

Doctor Wayne's face relaxed, a smile gracing his tempting lips. “No, she's just a colleague,” he reassured Clark, looking him in the eyes.

Clark was sure the doctor saw all his worries in them and reacted accordingly.

“She's like that with everyone," he elaborated further. "She works here as a psychiatrist and is happily married to her wife.”

“Oh." 

Heat crawled up to Clark's face. He felt so silly for assuming the worst. 

But just because doctor Wayne wasn't married to Doctor Quinzel, didn't mean he wasn't married or taken at all.

Clark never saw a ring on his finger, but he was a doctor. He could be scared to lose it accidentally.

"A wife at home perhaps?” Clark investigated further.

He should've asked about it a long time ago. Before he started injuring himself, maybe for nothing.

Doctor Wayne shook his head. "No, I'm single," he informed, casting his gaze down again and returning to work. “I have two kids tho.”

Clark perked up immediately. He loved kids!

"Really?”

"Mmm. Dick is eight and Jason is six," he revealed with fondness in his voice, visible also on his handsome face. “Love them to bits.”

He didn't have to say that for Clark to sense it. Just the way he said their names was a big enough clue for that.

How was this man so perfect? Selfless, kind, talented doctor, funny, handsome and he also loved children?

Clark felt like the universe took one look into his dreams of the ideal man, then just made him a reality and threw him right into Clark's arms.

By dropping a beam at his shoulder first.

This was going to be a great story to tell their grandchildren one day.

"Must've been hard starting your career and being a single father,” he noticed.

Yet another thing to admire about Doctor Wayne. There was nothing this man couldn't do.

"Oh no no, I only adopted them not even two years ago,” he corrected Clark shyly.

As if that was any less impressive.

“That's amazing!” Clark exclaimed. "Adoption is really admirable." 

Not everyone was capable of loving and raising a child that wasn't their own.

Clark noticed Doctor Wayne's cheek turning red.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, working methodically on Clark's hand. "It does get hard sometimes," he admitted. “Being a single father. With my long shifts and such. When I come home and they're already asleep after another day with a babysitter instead of me, I wonder if I did the right thing.”

The self-doubt was loud and clear in Doctor Wayne's voice, and Clark's heart yearned to comfort him somehow.

"I'm adopted too, you know?” Clark confessed.

Doctor Wayne looked up in surprise. "You are?”

Clark nodded with a smile. 

"Yeah. My biological parents died shortly after my birth," he revealed, not being able to stop his tone from turning somber at the mention of them. "My Ma and Pa couldn't have children of their own, so they adopted me when I was still a little baby. Obviously, I wasn't big enough to remember my bio parents and I was never in an orphanage, but no child wants to be there." 

Orphanages weren't inherently bad. Far from it. But even the best orphanage couldn't replace a true home a child could call their own.

"I'm sure your sons are glad you took them in,” Clark finished, hoping he was able to ease Doctor Wayne's self-doubt even a little.

Doctor Wayne looked down again, his whole body uncertain. "I suppose,” he sighed. "I just think they deserve much better than that.”

Clark felt the sudden urge to turn his hand around and hold onto Doctor Wayne's.

“It's never too late for improvement,” he pointed out. "I know nothing about your home situation but I'm sure you're doing everything you can to be there for those boys.”

The fact that Doctor Wayne even thought about not doing enough was proof of that.

Worry slowly eased from Doctor Wayne's face, replaced by gratitude and something else. Something that stole breath from Clark's lungs.

"Thank you, Mr. Kent,” he said, smiling bashfully. “I really needed to hear that.”

"My pleasure,” Clark replied.

Doctor Wayne watched him for a moment longer, eyes sparkling, before looking down at Clark's hand again.

"You know, I told my boys about you,” he admitted suddenly.

Clark's head shot up in surprise. Doctor Wayne talked about him? To his sons no less?!

It was both exciting and intimidating. If - when - Clark would eventually meet them, they would have an opinion on him already!

"You d-did?” he asked.

"Yes." An impish grin showed up on the doctor's face. “Told them about this one firefighter that keeps getting hurt and coming back to the hospital.”

Clark laughed, nervously running a hand through his hair. 

"They must think I'm the worst firefighter ever." 

He meant to say it as a joke, but he was really worried what Wayne babies thought of him after their father's stories.

“Maybe a little incompetent," Doctor Wayne teased. “Jason also wanted me to ask if you could take them for a ride in a firetruck." 

A wide, excited grin appeared on Clark's face. He could do that. Of course he could do that. He would gladly do anything to make those boys like him.

And for Doctor Wayne to see how good with children he was.

And if Doctor Wayne brought that up? Then the idea of his sons meeting Clark wasn't the matter of “if", but a matter of “when".

The next visit to the hospital and seeing Doctor Wayne was rather unplanned. He was going to do that this week, just not the way he did.

There was a fire in an apartment building in the early morning. More units than just Clark's were called onto the scene, and from the moment the first truck arrived, evacuation started, as there were still people and possibly pets trapped inside - confused and lost in the smoke, too scared to come out on their own. Maybe still asleep.

A young man on the spectrum was among them. His mother wasn't able to get him out on her own because he refused to get out of bed, saying it wasn't time to wake up yet.

Clark located him, exactly where his mother told he would be - awake but in bed, tucked in all the way to the chin - not caring about the blasting fire alarm or the dark smoke that filled up his room completely.

He refused to be moved, protesting with loud yells and flailing his arms around, but he couldn't really stop Clark who was much stronger.

He did manage to knock Clark's helmet and breathing equipment.

Clark didn't have time to pick it up and put it back on, so he continued without it, keeping as low to the floor as possible while carrying the man, smoke burning his lungs from the inside.

The man passed out at some point from too much of it. 

Clark held on a bit longer. 

Long enough to pass the man to another firefighter and get down one more floor before darkness took him too.

He came back while still in the ambulance, a mask over his mouth and an EMT sitting next to him, monitoring his health.

She smiled down reassuringly when she noticed he was awake.

“Hey, welcome back," she said, hovering over him slightly. “Can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you do, don't talk." 

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. His throat hurt as if he swallowed a handful of needles and added burning coals for good measure.

He squeezed the woman's hand.

“Good," she praised with another smile, squeezing his hand back. “We're taking you to Metropolis General."

To doctor Wayne.

Clark wondered if he had a shift today or if it would finally be the day he missed the doctor.

With a shaking hand, Clark reached for his oxygen mask, but the EMT stopped him.

“Hey, no," she scolded him like a child. "You need this on, you inhaled a lot of smoke before your colleagues got you out.”

Clark croaked a question anyway.

"What about the man I got?” he asked, every word hurting his throat.

The woman looked down at him with sympathy and he feared the worst.

"I saw another team taking him earlier but don't know much more,” she answered, adjusting the mask over his mouth and nose. "Now lay still and relax, we'll be there soon.”

He nodded, letting his eyes close. They hurt too, watering and spilling tears constantly.

Just a few minutes later, they arrived at the hospital, and Clark was rolled in on a gurney and into the ER. 

A doctor walked up to him, asking EMTs questions about his condition, but to Clark's disappointment, it wasn't Doctor Wayne, but just his colleague. 

One that scolded them some time ago for taking up a cot.

She examined him along with a nurse. Blood pressure, pupils' reactions, respiratory system. They hooked him up to machines that measured his heartbeat and oxygen level.

The doctor was in the middle of instructing the nurse about the treatment and further examination when footsteps approached hurriedly from the side.

Clark turned his head to that direction and was greeted by the sight of Doctor Wayne rushing to him with a worried expression.

Clark smiled loopy under the mask. Even in concern he looked so beautiful.

“What happened?" was the first thing doctor Wayne asked when he reached them, looking between his coworker and Clark.

“Hypoxia," the other doctor replied calmly, writing down something. “We're giving him oxygen. I already requested a chest x-ray and blood exam to check the damage, but he's just a bit dizzy and confused as of now,” she explained, looking up at Doctor Wayne. "I'll hold him over the night just in case and if exams show nothing, he'll go home tomorrow," she concluded and handed him the notes she had written, then left.

Doctor Wayne glanced down at them briefly before looking up back at Clark, taking the spot by Clark's cot that the nurse vacated.

"Hey,” he greeted softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. So close Clark could've touched his hip if he uncurled his fingers just a bit more. "How are you feeling, Clark?”

A warm tremor ran through Clark's body - from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His name never sounded more beautiful than when Doctor Wayne tenderly addressed him with it.

He almost melted and became a puddle on the floor, but a gnawing question in the back of his head stopped him from fully relishing in the sound of his first name coming out of Doctor Wayne's mouth.

"How do you know my name?” he asked, voice muffled under the mask.

Doctor Wayne smiled at him in amusement. "You put it on every form when admitting yourself into the hospital,” he explained.

Clark was too enamored by that lovely smile to blush at how stupid and embarrassed he felt.

He tried to take the mask off again to be heard better, but Doctor Wayne stopped him, covering Clark's hand with his, then gently pulling it away from the mask.

Clark sucked in the precious oxygen.

There were no gloves on Doctor Wayne's hands this time. Clark could feel the warmth of it, the callus of his skin.

The spark jumped between them when they touched - small but strong enough to power the whole Metropolis.

“Not fair," Clark complained, making his doctor confused. "I don't know yours,” he pouted.

Doctor Wayne chuckled lightly. "It's Bruce,” he said, squeezing Clark's hand in his.

Clark never wanted him to let go. 

"Bruce,” he repeated in a raspy way, tasting it on his tongue. He would be happy to never say another word in his life again. “That’s really pretty.”

Just like the rest of that man, sitting by like a guardian angel. Looking like one too, with the bright light from the ceiling illuminating him like a halo.

Doctor Wayne’s - Bruce’s - face turned faint red, cheeks becoming fuller as he smiled at Clark again.

“What did you get yourself this time, Mr. Kent?" he asked with an exaggerated sigh.

Clark was hyper aware of Bruce's thumb drawing soothing patterns on the top of his palm.

“You won't believe it…-" he started, ignoring the way his throat still hurt. “-... but there was a fire.”

Bruce hummed in understanding. "And you rushed in head on,” he continued for Clark.

"I had a plan,” Clark corrected in an offended tone, making Bruce chuckle. "The man panicked. Knocked off my breathing thingy." 

“Breathing thingy?" Bruce repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes," he confirmed, and an amused huff escaped the doctor. “At least it's not the hand this time," he joked, trying to laugh, but all that came out of his throat was a cough.

The fit was so strong it jerked his body around like a ragdoll, the cot squeaking and groaning under him.

Bruce helped him sit up, rubbing his back and holding his hand through it.

“Thanks," he said when he was done, throat sore and aching, desperate for some water, but he knew he wouldn't get any just yet.

“I think I would've preferred the hand again," Bruce admitted, looking at the palm in his hold.

“Yeah, me too," Clark agreed, and gently, shyly, squeezed Bruce's hand back, cursing the oximeter that was ruining the experience. "Do you know if the man I got out made it?” he asked.

Bruce made the same face as the EMT earlier.

“No, but I can find out," he offered. “Do you know the name?" 

“Gerard." Clark remembered the heartbreaking way his mother said it to his team when telling them her son was still trapped inside. "Short and lanky. Blond hair. On the spectrum.”

Bruce nodded. "I'll look around,” he promised with a reassuring smile and another squeeze to Clark's palm.

Clark returned both, but before he could fully enjoy it and Bruce's comforting presence, their moment was interrupted.

"Doctor Wayne?” a nurse addressed Bruce. “I need to take the patient for an x-ray." 

"Of course,” he replied and stood up slowly, Clark's hand slipping from his hold, leaving the cold sensation behind.

Bruce moved to make space for the two men, but he stayed near Clark.

"Be good for the nurses,” he told Clark, touching the shoulder that started it all. “I'll check on you later." 

“Okay," Clark replied, smiling, angling his head so he could watch Bruce as long as he could while they rolled him out of the room.

The exams showed no permanent damage to his respiratory system. No concussion either, his oxygen level just needed to return to normal, which would only take a couple of hours at most, but the doctor still insisted he stayed at the hospital till morning.

Bruce seconded that, visiting just as the other doctor was finishing talking to Clark after he was put in a room to recover.

He brought good news with him.

"The man you got out will be fine,” he informed Clark once they were alone. "He got hypoxia like you but otherwise he's okay.”

“Thank God," Clark exclaimed, grinning with relief.

They replaced the oxygen mask with nasal cannula, so there was nothing blocking the smile from the doctor's view.

Bruce took a seat at the edge of Clark's bed, located in a shared recovering room. There were four other people with him there, but only he had a visitor.

"And how are you feeling?” he asked, that heartwarming concern back in his voice.

"Can't you read it in my files?" Clark teased him.

“It will tell me how your body is doing, not you," Bruce pointed out sternly. 

“I'm okay," Clark replied truthfully, shifting his hand closer to Bruce's. “My throat is sore and every breath hurts." 

“It will pass," Bruce promised and closed the distance between their hands. 

No matter how much it hurt, Clark inhaled sharply when the electricity crackled between them again.

Bruce's chest raised almost violently, and Clark instantly knew he felt it as well.

"I need to go,” he told Clark, not without regret in his voice. "My break is almost over, but I'll try to come again before leaving for home,” he offered.

Clark smiled. "Don't mind me, the boys are waiting for you,” he reminded the doctor.

Although he wouldn't mind Bruce dropping by again later. 

Every breath felt easier when he was around.

But Clark didn't want him to cut his already limited time with his sons even shorter.

Bruce's expression softened.

"I'll see if I can squeeze you in,” he promised and stood up, gently placing Clark's palm back on the bed. “Don’t get that hand hurt again while I'm gone,” he warned, voice serious, but a smile was betraying his real intentions.

Clark grinned at him. "Thankfully you'll be close to patch me up again," he said in return.

"I'll get sick of it eventually,” Bruce assured him, walking backwards towards the door.

"No, you won't,” he bickered back, cheeks aching because of how hard he was smiling, watching Bruce leave.

He disappeared behind the door, white coat fluttering behind him dramatically.

Clark sighed dreamily.

“You have such a loving husband, dear," an older lady suddenly said from the bed just left of Clark.

He looked at her, surprised for just a second or two, before returning her kind smile.

"Yeah, I know,” he sighed again with a giddy feeling in his chest.

Clark watched the door to the room like a hawk for the rest of the day - with a short break for a cribbage game with the old lady - but Bruce didn't visit later. Which was disappointing, but understandable.

He didn't sleep for almost the whole night. Partially because four sets of snores echoed in the room constantly, but mostly because Bruce refused to leave his mind.

Clark kept replaying his worried face when he found Clark seriously hurt. Or his gentle touch when they held hands for the first time. 

It kept him wide-eyed all night, dreaming while awake about the future together. One that they both clearly wanted.

Clark decided that night that he was done playing games. Testing the water.

It was time to make his move.

In the morning, the doctor finally allowed Clark to go home, with advice to take it easy for the next few days and let his lungs rest.

Easier said than done when his breath hitched every time Bruce was around. And he was going to see him today.

He did so even earlier than he thought because Bruce came to see him before Clark left.

“I wanted to make sure you didn't get a fork stuck in that poor hand of yours or something," he explained jokingly.

His colleague rolled her eyes at him before leaving them to each other.

"I survived the night,” Clark announced proudly, putting on his uniform jacket that still reeked of smoke. 

He needed to change. And to shower.

Bruce deserved more than the best.

“Now I'm worried you gonna get your hand stuck in the door and you'll be back before you leave,” Bruce jested, then got more serious. “How are you feeling?" 

"Still hurts a little,” he said, patting his chest, then his throat. "But the doctor said I'll be fine." 

“Seems that way from your x-rays," Bruce confirmed.

Clark gave him a playful look. “Are you spying on me?" 

“Doctor Thompkins asked for a consultation," Bruce justified himself with a cheeky smile. “Your lungs will be fine, but they need time to heal. So, no burning buildings and no smoking. Vaping included," he instructed, his tone changing into professional.

“I hate smoking," Clark said, nose wrinkled. “It's bad for your health." 

“Couldn't agree more," Bruce chuckled, putting his hands into the pockets of his coat. He pulled two pieces of paper from inside, handing both to Clark. "Dick and Jason were sad to hear you were hurt, so they drew you get well soon cards.”

Clark took the cards with a shaking hand, looking at both and feeling like he was in a chokehold.

On the front of the cards were the messages written in crayons. Both boys used different colors for each letter, both wrote the same thing.

"Get well soon Mr. Clark!!!!!”

And it wasn't even the end of it, because inside, Jason and Dick drew a tall, smiling firefighter with a bandage over the left hand.

His chest suddenly felt too small for his galloping heart, and he almost bawled his eyes out here and there.

This was the nicest, the most touching thing someone ever did to him. And it came from Bruce's sons.

Clark wished he wasn't a helpless romantic, or he would've proposed on the spot with no ring.

And then signed the adoption papers right after.

If he wasn't already determined to become part of Bruce's and the boys’ lives, this would've sold the idea to him.

"That’s…-" he started, voice shaking, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “That's so sweet of them, Bruce," he managed to say finally.

He pressed both cards to his chest, holding them like the precious treasures they were. He was going to frame them and cherish them forever.

Clark looked up at Bruce, only now noticing his blushing cheeks and shy expression.

"Can you thank them for me?” Clark asked him.

Once Bruce would honor him with the chance to meet the two boys, Clark would thank them personally but until then, this would have to be enough.

“Of course," Bruce agreed, his smile tender and vulnerable. "I'll see you around?” he asked in earnest.

"Yes,” Clark replied without hesitation.

They smiled at each other one more time before Bruce left, holding Clark's gaze till the last moment.

Clark quickly finished dressing himself and left as well, heading straight to the parking lot where Lois waited after he called her earlier to pick him up.

“What's with the game face?" she asked upon seeing him.

“I'm on a mission, Lois," he answered seriously.

She snorted at him, putting the car in reverse. "Home?”

Clark nodded. "Home,” he confirmed. "And don't leave, you gonna help me pick clothes and drive me to the flower shop.”

“Finally, you gonna approach this guy like a normal person," she exhaled in relief.

Clark scoffed at her. “I'll have you know, my strategy that you mocked so cruelly, worked flawlessly,” he bragged.

"That's what surprises me,” she admitted with a smirk. "I didn't think it would, but it looks like you were made for each other.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Two hours later, Lois dropped him back at the hospital again - showered, dressed in a clean set of clothes and with a few carefully applied droplets of his best perfume on his neck and inside his wrist.

And with a bouquet of a dozen roses.

Hopefully, Bruce liked them.

And how Clark dressed for him. A black t-shirt, red flannel and black jeans - nothing fancy, but he wasn't dressed fancy in any of their meetings, and yet it didn't sabotage anything.

He got this.

So when Lois wished him good luck, it was appreciated but not really needed.

Clark already got lucky when he met Bruce the first time.

With a flutter of excitement in his belly, Clark walked into the hospital with only one intent - to come out with a boyfriend.

He went straight to the ER desk, and upon seeing him with flowers, the receptionist grinned.

“Doctor Wayne is at the nurse station," she told him with a wink and slid a visitor pass to him. "Just go through the staff door and to the right.”

Clark beamed at her. "Thank you.”

He put the pass around his neck and took the pointed route, walking through the ER with a spring in his step.

Doctor Thompkins gave him an amused look. "Back so soon?”

He only grinned at her, and she shook her head at him.

Before going through the door for staff only, Clark hid the bouquet behind his back.

He only needed to turn right to locate the nurse station.

And Bruce.

The doctor leaned with his elbow on the counter, chatting with the two nurses behind it, sharing cups of something steaming.

Clark just stood there for a moment, caught in awe of Bruce's effortless beauty. He didn't think he would ever get immune to it.

Bruce didn't notice him, but the two nurses did. Smirking, they said something to Bruce and made him turn around.

His sweet eyes widened in surprise when they laid on Clark.

"Clark?”

Clark smiled sheepishly. "Hi.”

Bruce walked closer, looking him up and down with concern.

“Please tell me you didn't get hurt again," he asked.

“I might if you say no, but I don't think you will," Clark responded with a chuckle. 

His heart pounded a thousand miles an hour as he slowly pulled the bouquet from behind his back, presenting it to Bruce, whose eyes grew even bigger than before, face turning pink.

The two nurses at the station watched them and whispered among each other, but Clark ignored them completely, focused only on the man before him.

“Bruce Wayne,” Clark began in a heartfelt tone, looking Bruce deep into his gorgeous eyes. “Will you do me the honor of going on a date with me?" 

Bruce stared at him, at the flowers, his blush deepening by the seconds, not saying a word. 

When he did make a sound, it was a cute giggle while he covered the side of his flushed face.

"For a moment I thought you were going to propose,” Bruce explained his reaction and giggled again.

Clark responded with his own, carefree laugh, cheeks aching from how much he was grinning. 

"Not yet," he assured. 

Maybe on their one-year anniversary.

Bruce looked at him, the blue of his eyes peeking from between his fingers. He looked adorable. 

“So, what do you say?” Clark asked. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Bruce nodded eagerly, dropping a hand from his face to look at Clark properly.

"Yup.”

It was all he said before he dragged a grinning Clark away from the prying eyes and into a little nook in the wall before kissing him.

They both shivered. They both made soft, needy sounds in the back of their throats as their lips connected for the first time.

Bruce pushed him against the wall, Clark's face cupped in between his gentle, warm hands.

Tilting his head, Clark leaned into the touch, arms wrapped around Bruce's back, pulling him closer and clutching the roses in a tight grip.

There was nothing restrained about their kiss. It was heated, filled with want and fueled by weeks of longing, both finally finding a way out.

Kissing like that, it was easy to forget where they were, and so hard to stop now that they had this. 

Clark wanted to keep going. To savor the moment and kiss Bruce till they both would be breathless and barely standing.

But they couldn't. Not here, not now.

When they pulled away - hesitating, almost diving back right in into another kiss - they were both flustered and panting.

Fogged with passion, Bruce's eyes were even more beautiful than normally, and they looked right at Clark with wonder.

“I thought you would never ask," Bruce whispered, his fingers tracing the sharp line of Clark's jaw.

Even the softest of his touch was exhilarating.

"Can I confess something?” Clark asked, wetting his lips. It didn't escape his attention that Bruce followed the movement of his tongue, pupils dilated. "I’ve been injuring myself on purpose to have an excuse to see you." 

He wanted to be honest with Bruce now that they were going on a date together.

Bruce didn't laugh, didn't call him foolish. He smiled.

"Can I confess something too?" he asked in return, and Clark nodded, curious what he was about to say. “Every time I saw your name on the waiting list, I begged other doctors to let me treat you." 

Clark grinned, pulling Bruce into another, electric kiss, pressing their chest flush together. 

Bruce trembled in Clark's arms, burying his hands in Clark's curls as their lips moved together passionately.

It was tempting to return the gesture. Finally feel the softness of Bruce's hair, turn it into a beautiful mess. Make it clear for everyone in the hospital what just occurred.

But just as Clark was about to give in, a faint sting of pain in his left palm pushed its way through the fog of pleasure.

He ended the kiss with a satisfied sigh, feeling Bruce's hot, elevated breath on his lips.

“Bruce?" 

Bruce opened his eyes, gaze soft and tender as he looked at Clark. “Yeah?" 

“Don't laugh, but I think I got thorns stuck in my palm," he told the other man, feeling his already blushing face getting hotter.

Moving away from his embrace, Bruce grabbed Clark's wrist, taking the roses from him and examined his palm.

Three thorns stuck out from it, and a small trail of blood already left one of the wounds.

Bruce sighed. “You silly goof," he said fondly and smiled at Clark. “What am I gonna do with you?”

"Patch me up?” Clark suggested.

Taking Clark's uninjured hand into his, Bruce tugged him towards ER. "Follow me, Mr. Kent." 

He didn't need to say it twice, Clark followed, not feeling any pain already.