Clara flies home when she's done with her training, basking with the wind in her hair as she sailed through the clouds. It's comforting, up there. As if she simply belonged in the sky. One with the clouds, the hero of the world.

Clara makes it home right after the rooster crows, a familiar and nostalgic sound that makes her heart ache as she grows closer and closer to the ground. Without a sound, Clara lands in the plush grass. Her feet steady her weight as she glances around, taking in her Dad's old beaten truck, and a collection of knitting materials her Mother always had tucked away besides her rocking chair on the back porch. Even after so many years, they still hadn't changed much.

It wasn't hard to find them. She knew their schedule. Knew how early the roosters begged for food and how her Father always had a cup of coffee outside right before he got around to it. Sure enough, as she landed, the old creaky wooden door was tugged open.

And there stood her adoptive Father.

Older. That's the first thing she notices about him. Grey hair now stuck to him, thick and demanding for her attention. His shoulders were more sagged from age, with wrinkles coating his face. He still had a decent walk to him, though, without a single wobble in sight. Not too old. A breath of relief crossed her lips as she saw him.

"Dad?" She calls out.

Clara can see the exact moment he hears her. His face tugs into a broad, wide smile as his eyes begin to sparkle, settling upon his one and only daughter. Clara can't help the almost exotic laugh that bubbles into her chest, one that rises with both joy and volume when she catches sight of her Mother coming outside.

She's home.

"Clara!" They both call out, and rush forward towards her.

Clara lets them sweep her into a hug, and in much the same way, she sweeps them into one. A tight hold gathers around them as she presses them close, nearly crying from how happy she was to see both of them.

"Look at you, Clara!" Her Dad suddenly says, pulling away. He looks her up and down, unable to keep down his ecstatic grin. "Look at how much you've changed!"

Even though Clara herself knew that, she still finds her cheeks turning red at the mention. She had changed so much, and they could tell right on the spot.

Just seeing them against helps melt away the lingering cold from the fortress of solitude. She can't help but squeeze them into another hug, quick and sweet, before reluctantly pulling away.

"Oh honey, you've grown so much," Her Mother hums, sweet and gentle as she moves up to cup her daughters face. "You're taller, you grew out your hair- and that, outfit, sweetie, I've never seen it before!"

"What does the S stand for?" Her Father cuts in, an eyebrow raising.

Clara can't keep down her smile. "Hope," She whispers to them. "It stands for Hope."

_

They catch up a lot over the rest of the day.

Clara tells them about everything over tea that particular morning, and in turn, they catch her up on everything she missed. Their tales are rather uneventful compared to hers, but despite that, she relishes in the information all of the same. That's her parents. Even if blood between them was lacking, she still loves them all the same.

As much as Clara wants to keep talking and talking, she knows she has things to do. There's people to help, powers to be used for the greater good. Tucking herself away onto a small, old farm just down past the river was bound to help no one but the cows and chickens. She needed to leave her nest and fly out to the rest of the world.

"Mom, Dad," Clara whispers out. "I can't stay."

The look they give her a mixed one. A pained tugging at their lips, yet, at the same time, a look of understanding. Clara isn't meant for this life. Her birthright promised her so, so much more. And as much as Clara endlessly appreciated their kindness and help, she had a purpose bigger than this.

"I... I know, we've known," Her Mother whispers. "We knew when you would come back, it wouldn't be permanent... oh, it's always so hard when your baby grows up and leaves home."

"I'll visit," Clara promises. Because she will. She fully intends to stop by at least once a month and check in on them, help around the farm, or just sit at the table with some tea and talk to them about the silliest of things.

"Of course you will," Her Father chuckles, placing a hand onto her shoulder. "And we can drive up wherever you go sometime. Do you... have a place you'd like to go? We could help you move in."

"Metropolis," Clara says instantly.

Even though she could literally fly, she had taken her time to get back home. Just enough time for her to ponder over where she wanted to go and protect. Eventually, about fifteen minutes into the trip, she had settled for Metropolis.

Far enough away where she wouldn't have to worry about her parents being in danger if anything went wrong, yet close enough to where she could comfortably make trips home, and her parents could drive up if needed. A new, bustling city she would be ecstatic to live in.

"Oh, that's close enough! We can even drop you off!" Her Mother says, looking oh-so ecstatic about being able to help her daughter.

"I'll need an identity different from my own, though, for... this." Clara juts a finger down towards her chest, towards the symbol for hope proudly displayed against it.

That's how they end up within her Mother's room, all crouched over a chest full of old clothes that her Great GrandMother had left her. Most of the outfits and accessories in there were rather old and rugged, with flower patterns and odd looks that Clara couldn't bare to even try on. By the end of it, they were only able to secure one outfit Clara would be willing to wear.

A plain gray pant suit. The pant suit bags and makes her look less curvier than she naturally is, with sagging folds and plain colors. Clara does a test run wearing it in the bathroom. Memories of her high school years, full of old hoodies and lazy messy buns hiding her true looks. This time, though, she'll have another name to go under. Another suit to wear, one that's unabashedly her.

Once she figures out a name, though. That can come later.

"Oh, sweetie!" Her Mother giggles out. "You look so professional."

Even after all of these years, Clara's Mother still had her sarcasm. Some things just never change.

"Here, I pulled this out, too. It's from your great Grandmother."

What her Mother hands her is a thick pair of rounded glasses. With lenses almost as wide her thumb, she swore. Awkward looking eyewear positively caked in dust. She blows on them, and wipes it down on an old shirt that didn't fit tossed half haphazardly to the side.

Gods, this is high school all over again. It really is. Dumb glasses with odd looking outfits and ill-fitting baggy excuses for clothing. But this time, it was her own choice. This time, a reason stood behind these decisions. A noble reason that would aid her ability to save people, to make a real change in the world. To follow her destiny.

What she was meant to do with her abilities.

The classes make her look ever so bug eyed. Somehow, in a single change of wear, her eyes became both big saucers much too obnoxious for her face, and yet, also so tiny. Indented upon her face like little buttons to be ignored.

Clara doesn't look hot anymore, so the glasses certainly were up for the task.

"Tada," Clara announces as she steps forward, outstretching her arms out. Displaying her new form to her parents.

"Oh, honey," Her Mother hums, placing a hand on her chest. "It fits you perfectly- ah, imperfectly, in the way we want, of course. You'll blend in just fine."

"She will," Her Father agrees, his voice gruff from emotions.

Now armed with a new outfit that suited her fully grown body, her parents help gather a few spare articles of clothing that suited the 'perfect imperfect' look she had been aiming for. Clara, having lived on a single bookbags worth of supplies ever since she turned eighteen, needs nothing more than one well packed suitcase for her future travels. That very suitcase is packed into the back of her Father's old beat up truck the next morning, strapped in by the time breakfast draws to a close.

And just like that, the three of them are off.

The ride is full of stories and well shared memories as the car rocked along the gravel filled roads. Even though Clara could fly, she savored this trip. Past the old high school she went to, over the hill she would run around. The trip is just over half an hour, yet feels like it took only minutes before they pull up to the Smallville bus stop.

"We're here," Her Father announces, tugging the car into park. "Five minutes until the bus gets here."

"Right," Clara hums.

This is it. The last trip before her new life begins, a new double life for the hope of the world. That bus would take her elsewhere.

Clara's Mother looks on the verge of tears as she draws Clara into one last hug, her Father all but throwing himself at them to join. Their holds are tight and grasping, as if afraid that she may vanish into nothing if they dared to let go. Clara holds back with equal effort. She refused to let them disappear once she was gone. They'd chat. If not over the phone, then with letters. Anything.

"We'll visit," Clara's Mother chokes out on a sob.

"I will as well," Clara answers with a chuckle.

"And write."

"Yeah. I'll make sure to buy some paper as soon as I get an apartment."

One last squeeze is given before the two pull away, their breathes nearly ragged from grief. The good kind of grief, though. Sending a child away to bigger, better things would always be good grief.

"Goodbye," She tells them, letting her hands fall from theirs.

And that's it. The two of them give wide, warm smiles as they board up into the now emptier truck and slowly pull away from the bus stop. Contrary to her Father's earlier statement, Clara only has to wait a minute with her suitcase before the bus labeled Metropolis rounds the corner, headlights bright and unyielding.

Two days after she came home, Clara boards the bus to Metropolis. One suitcase in hand, a certain blue and red skintight suit tucked away below her more inconspicuous clothing options.

And just like that, she's off to discover her new life.

_

Metropolis is so very different from her previous town.

In the dirt poor nowhere, nothing stood out. An occasional barn or two, maybe some stray hogs that managed to slip past rickety old fences and the occasional neighborhood gossip. Metropolis trumped all of those worries, with leaning towers of glass and skyscrapers that kissed the clouds.

Clara quickly snatched up a cab to the Daily Planet, a busy looking workplace with rampant staff and plenty of open positions. The perfect place for her to blend in and start anew. So many people to fall into a crowd with, to look like the average Jane Joe. A good place to submit her resume for, eager to swallow up new workers for the daily grind. Sure enough, Clara had gotten the confirmation earlier for a job interview as she had been packing up.

The woman who greets her for the interview is a short and curtly cut woman, with flat bangs and an almost bored smile as she greets Clara by her last name. Clara nods back, and the two of them are led away into a corner office overlooking the vast, bustling sidewalk of the city below.

It's a nice little place to be questioned. Allowing her to people watch idly as Penny White, the interviewer, flips through folders as her tongue clicks.

"Your resume doesn't have much," Mrs. White draws out, pushing it closed with a soft sigh. She pushes the folder away, folding her arms while questioningly glancing towards Clara. "Can you explain the gap in your resume?"

Right. Clara had expected this, but hadn't expected it so soon into the interview. A troublesome little thing on her resume, she understands. Mrs. White had no idea that Clara was in antarctica, honing her skills to help save the world. All she saw was graduating high school, and then a large, empty gap. Clara knew it would be dangerous to divulge such information, and had been dwelling on excuses during the long, boring bus ride up.

The lie comes easily. "I was working on my parents farm during that time. Wiping down stables, managing the animals, helping plow the fields, you know. Typical farm home life."

"Ah." Mrs. White clicks her tongue again. "Well, that doesn't really matter to me. You don't need previous experience for this position, just an ability to read and write well. Do you know any other languages other than English?"

Yes. "No."

"That's fine. Would have been nice, but-" With a shrug, Mrs. White hands the folder back to Clara, who takes it with a quiet thank you. "We just need someone who is a fast writer and can find a good story. You think you can do that?"

"Of course," Clara replies confidently.

"Then do it now." Mrs. White leans forward, and drops a few newspapers. Clara startles at the noise, perking up as Penny White shrugged. "There's some paper and some newspapers. Write a story. I'll go get some coffee while you do that- heavens knows I need it."

Before Clara can even make a noise, Penny White is standing and rounding the desk. She gives Clara a general statement of good luck before ducking out of the room, her red tinted heels clicking away down the hall.

This must be the practical part of the exam, Clara supposes. Assessing her skills. She hadn't anticipated for it to be so soon into the interview, but then again, her resume didn't have much to it. There was nothing more to do than the assessment.

Clara sighs and gathers the notebook and pen set aside on the desk into her hands. She can do this, no issue. Years in a fortress of solitude made one a hell of a story teller. Had to entertain herself, after all.

The newspapers have nothing much to them, some basic cut out articles stapled together in an example of a story. Something she could pick apart and lead into more if she desired.

Clara doesn't settle for that, though. Instead, she draws into her abilities, and x-ray vision flares to life as she directs her gaze outside. Past the thick concrete wall, over the street and across the many people flocking it. Eventually, Clara picks out someone. An older man with a crooked brow, serving street food to some younger children with eager smiles. A heartwarming tale that she selects, one that Clara writes out in superspeed. Her hand flies across the pages, capturing down the cute tale within mere seconds.

And she's done. Clara waits there in silence, tapping her fingers against the ink filled paper until Penny White returns. The woman returned within five minutes, a new cup of coffee in her hands. Her nose flared with confusion as she caught sight of Clara, already done with the piece.

"Done? Completely?" Penny White clarifies, an eyebrow arching as Clara hands over the notebook.

"What can I say," Clara hums out, giving a sly wink. "I'm a fast writer."

Mrs. White accepts it with a soft smile and promises Clara will hear back within a week.

Clara gets a call the next morning, quick and eager. She's hired.

Now armed with a job to help pay for her apartment, Clara comes to work on her first day, wearing those same bug eyed glasses and typical pants suit as she steps into the building. Penny White is waiting for her, looking more well-slept and put together when they meet.

"Clara, it's a pleasure to meet you again," Penny says, shaking her hand once more. "I'll be giving you a tour of the building and introduce you to some colleagues. Follow me."

The tour is as plain as Clara anticipated it to be. A quiet humming of Penny's voice as she pointed out where the water station was, where to gather paper and where the computers were bunched together in the imitation of an office. Past those, across the hall is where Clara's desk is. Right next to her desk is someone named Jenny Olson, who gives a pleasant hello to Clara when they meet.

Clara's heart clenches up within her throat when she meets the man just down the hall.

Lewis Lane. A fellow reporter with a white tinted smile and dimples. God, those dimples. Cute and handsome, all at once, with broad shoulders and sweeping dirty blonde hair. His eyes sparkle as he introduces himself, with a curt hello, pleasant and distant. Professional.

Clara feels her cheeks swell with blood, and her heart with desire. She's in love. She knows that, right off the bat. Devastatingly in love with this man. Where every part of her itches to get to know him more and more. She clenches her thighs together and tries to pointedly not drool over him.

"Clara," She manages to choke out in introduction, trying so hard not to sweep him off his feet and declare her love for him right then and there. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," He introduces, almost bored in tone and expression. He seems so thoroughly unimpressed with her, as if he may very well forget her the next time he walked away.

"You two will be working together," Penny hums out. "Try to get along, yeah?"

"We will, trust me on that. I work good with cuties," Clara giggles, winking at Lewis.

His face doesn't so much as even twitch. Somehow, it just makes her want him more. Every fiber of her screamed for this man, the dirty blonde reporter with dimples and a pleasant smile. She doesn't think she's ever seen someone so inexplicably handsome before.

"I'll do my best," Lewis says, before gathering up a stack of papers. "I have to go print these, so I'll head on out. Nice to meet you, though, Clara."

He said her name. She feels herself nearly shudder at that realization. When Lewis turns to walk away, her eyes trail after him, tracing his body until he disappeared into the crowd of workers.

Lewis Lane. She'll have to remember him.