Smallville: the asgardian
The Physics of Falling
The morning sun over Smallville was deceptively peaceful, casting long, golden shadows across the Kent farm. For Veena Parker, however, the tranquility was a mask for the sheer, unadulterated chaos currently residing in her chest. Ever since the incident at the equipment shed—since the moment she and Clark had shared the impossible truth of their heritages—everything had changed.
Well, almost everything.
While their bond had deepened into a secret alliance of outsiders, Veena had developed a secondary, much more inconvenient problem. It wasn't the Brazilian Syndicate agents lurking in the shadows, and it wasn't the burgeoning celestial energy that made her fingertips tingle when she got angry. It was the way Clark Kent looked in a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
"You're doing it again," her father, Marcus, said, not looking up from the kitchen table where he was meticulously cleaning a sidearm that definitely didn't belong in a quiet Kansas town.
Veena, who had been staring blankly at her bowl of cereal while imagining the specific shade of navy in Clark’s eyes, jumped. Her spoon clattered against the porcelain, and a stray drop of milk splashed onto her nose. "Doing what? I'm eating. It’s a very vital human function."
"You're vibrating," Marcus noted, his dark eyes finally lifting to meet hers. "Your aura is leaking, V. Usually, that only happens when you're training or when you're about to engage a target. Since there are no targets in the kitchen, I assume this is about the Kent boy."
Veena felt the heat creep up her neck, a flush that had nothing to do with her Asgardian lineage and everything to do with being a fourteen-year-old girl. "He’s my friend, Dad. My only friend who can lift a tractor. It’s a practical connection."
"Practical," Marcus grunted, returning to his work. "Just remember, your reflexes are ten times faster than a normal human's. Try not to break his ribs if he says something charming."
"I'm not going to break his ribs," Veena muttered, grabbing her bag. "I’m a master of three martial arts. I have perfect bodily autonomy."
Ten minutes later, in the crowded hallway of Smallville High, Veena proved herself a liar.
She saw him near the lockers. Clark was leaning against the cold metal, talking to Pete Ross. The light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs caught the wave of his dark hair, and he laughed at something Pete said—a genuine, chesty laugh that made his shoulders shake.
Veena felt her heart do a complicated Capoeira flip. She picked up her pace, intending to walk over and give a casual, cool greeting. She was a celestial being. She was a warrior. She was—
Tripping over her own shoelaces.
It happened in slow motion. Her foot caught, her center of gravity shifted, and instead of using her superhuman agility to tuck and roll, her brain simply short-circuited. She went down hard, her messenger bag flying open and spilling notebooks, pens, and a very embarrassing Brazilian snack bar across the linoleum.
"Veena!"
Before she could even process the sting in her palms, Clark was there. He moved with that blur of speed he thought he was hiding, appearing at her side before the echoes of her fall had even died down.
"Are you okay? That sounded like a rough one," Clark said, reaching out to steady her.
Veena looked up, her face burning. His hand was on her arm, warm and solid, and for a second, she forgot how to breathe. "The floor," she wheezed. "It... it jumped out at me. Very aggressive architecture they have here."
Clark chuckled, a sound like low thunder, and began helping her gather her things. "I don't know, I think the floor might have met its match. You're pretty tough."
"Clearly," she said, reaching for a notebook at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed, and a literal spark—not a celestial one, just pure, terrifying static—leaped between them.
Veena pulled back so fast she knocked her head against the locker behind her with a loud *thwack*.
"Ow," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Whoa, easy," Clark said, his voice laced with genuine concern. He didn't see the way she was looking at him; he only saw a friend who seemed to be having a very uncoordinated morning. "Maybe you're coming down with something? My mom says there’s a flu going around the county."
"Just the 'clumsy-as-a-newborn-giraffe' flu," Veena muttered, finally standing up with his help. "I’m fine, Clark. Really. Just... lack of sleep. My dad had me doing drills until midnight."
Clark’s expression softened, a look of understanding passing through his blue eyes. "The training? How is it going? With the... other stuff?"
He lowered his voice, leaning in closer so Pete, who was watching with an amused smirk from a few feet away, couldn't hear. The proximity was devastating. Veena could smell the scent of wind and hay and something uniquely *Clark* that made her head swim.
"It’s fine," she said, her voice an octave higher than usual. "I can almost summon a falcon now. Or a very angry pigeon. It’s a work in progress."
"I'm sure you'll get it," Clark said encouragingly. "You're the most capable person I know, Veena. I mean, you weren't even scared when you saw me... you know. Most people would have run away."
"I don't run away from things that are beautiful," Veena blurted out.
The silence that followed was heavy enough to be felt in the next county. Clark blinked, his head tilting slightly like a confused puppy. "Beautiful? You mean... the power? The strength?"
Veena felt like she wanted to dissolve into a puddle of blue celestial mist and leak out through the floorboards. "The... the physics! The beauty of the physics involved in moving that much mass. Very scientific. I’m a nerd, Clark. Didn't you know?"
Clark laughed, seemingly buying the excuse. "Right. Science. Well, I should get to lit. You sure you're okay to walk on your own? I can carry your bag."
"No! No, I’ve got it. I need the... resistance training," she said, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield.
"Okay. See you at lunch, Veena." He gave her a small wave and headed down the hall, his stride easy and confident.
Pete stepped up beside her, leaning against the locker Clark had just vacated. "You know, for a girl who can supposedly take down three grown men in under thirty seconds, you're remarkably bad at walking in a straight line around him."
Veena glared at him, though there was no heat in it. "Shut up, Pete."
"I’m just saying," Pete continued, grinning. "If you hit that locker any harder, you're going to leave a dent. And unlike Clark, you don't have the 'I’m a farm boy' excuse for why you're breaking school property."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she lied, turning on her heel to head to class. She made it exactly three steps before she walked straight into a half-open classroom door.
***
The rest of the day didn't get much better. In Chemistry, she accidentally knocked over a beaker of distilled water when Clark asked to borrow a pencil. In the cafeteria, she managed to sit on her own sandwich because she was too busy watching Clark talk to Lana Lang across the room.
It was a strange, biting jealousy that flared up when she saw them together. Lana was perfect—kind, beautiful, and possessing the sort of effortless grace that Veena felt she had lost the moment she moved to Kansas. When Clark looked at Lana, his face changed. It was a look of yearning, of a boy wanting to belong to a world he felt he could never truly touch.
Veena understood that look. She felt it every time she looked at her own hands, wondering if they were meant for healing or for the violence her father had been born into. But when Clark looked at Lana, he didn't see a partner. He saw an idol.
*He doesn't see that I'm right here,* Veena thought, stabbing a carrot with her fork. *He doesn't see that I know what it’s like to carry a world on your shoulders.*
"You're scowling at the vegetables again," Chloe said, sliding into the seat next to her. The blonde girl set her tray down and immediately pulled out a folder of notes. "Is this about the mystery man from the football field, or is this about the fact that Clark is currently staring at the back of Lana’s head like she’s the Holy Grail?"
Veena sighed, dropping the fork. "Is it that obvious?"
"To me? Yes. To Clark? A nuclear bomb could go off in his peripheral vision and if Lana was in the center, he wouldn't notice the fallout," Chloe said, her tone a mix of cynicism and sympathy. "He’s a bit thick when it comes to girls, Veena. You have to be direct with him. Or, you know, stop falling over every time he says hello. It’s starting to look like you have a middle-ear infection."
"I can't help it," Veena whispered, leaning in. "He just... he has this energy, Chloe. It’s not just the blue eyes. It’s like he’s a sun, and I’m just a planet that got knocked out of orbit."
Chloe paused, looking at Veena with a newfound softness. "That’s actually very poetic. You should write that down. Or tell him. Preferably without the 'planet' part, or he might think you're calling him fat."
Veena cracked a smile. "Thanks, Chloe."
The school day finally ended, but Veena’s troubles were only beginning. As she walked toward the parking lot to meet her father, her internal 'radar'—the one that sensed the shift in the air when danger was near—began to hum. It was a cold, sharp sensation at the base of her skull.
She scanned the perimeter. Smallville High was clearing out, students heading to buses and cars. But near the edge of the woods that bordered the athletic fields, she saw a flash of black.
The Syndicate.
They weren't here for a conversation. Her father had warned her that his former employers didn't like 'loose ends,' especially ends that had been enhanced by bloodlines they didn't understand.
Veena’s instinct was to run, to draw them away from the school. But then she saw Clark. He was walking toward his yellow truck, his head down, looking lost in thought. The men in the woods were moving toward him, likely thinking he was an easy target to use as leverage against her.
*Idiots,* she thought, her fear momentarily replaced by a flash of Asgardian pride. *They have no idea who they're dealing with.*
She started to sprint, her clumsiness vanishing as her training took over. She didn't trip. She didn't stumble. She moved like a predator, cutting across the grass with a speed that would have made the track coach weep.
"Clark!" she yelled.
He turned just as a man in a tactical vest stepped out from behind a tree, leveling a tranquilizer rifle.
"Veena, stay back!" Clark shouted, his protective instincts kicking in. He stepped in front of her, his body a wall of solid muscle.
The dart fired. To a normal human, it would have been a blur. To Clark, it was probably moving like a slow-motion fly. He reached out to swat it away, but Veena was faster. She leaped, her hand catching the dart mid-air, her other hand planting on Clark’s shoulder to use him as a vaulting point.
She flipped over him, landing in a low crouch between Clark and the gunman.
"My turn," she hissed.
She didn't use her powers—not yet. She used the Jiu-Jitsu her father had drilled into her soul. She closed the distance before the man could reload, a flurry of strikes that disarmed him and sent him sprawling into the dirt. A second man emerged, swinging a baton, but Veena ducked, swept his leg, and delivered a palm strike to his chest that sent him flying back five feet.
The third man, seeing his comrades fall, pulled a handgun.
"No!" Clark roared.
He was there in an instant, his hand wrapping around the barrel of the gun and crushing it like a soda can. The gunman stared in horror at the mangled metal, then at the boy with the glowing blue eyes.
"Leave," Clark said, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated in the very air. "Now."
The men didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled for their vehicle, tires screeching as they fled the scene.
Silence returned to the parking lot. Veena stood there, her chest heaving, her auburn hair a mess around her face. The adrenaline was beginning to recede, leaving behind that familiar, dizzying heat.
She looked at Clark. He was still holding the ruined gun, looking down at it with a mix of shame and confusion.
"Are you okay?" she asked, stepping toward him.
"I broke it," he whispered. "I didn't even think. I just... I couldn't let him hurt you."
Veena felt that flip in her chest again, but this time, it wasn't a stumble. It was a landing. She walked up to him and gently took the crushed metal from his hand, tossing it into a nearby trash bin.
"You saved me, Clark. Again."
"You saved me first," he reminded her, a small, shy smile returning to his face. "That catch... Veena, I've never seen anyone move like that. Not even me."
"It’s the Brazilian air," she joked, though her heart was hammering against her ribs. "Lots of oxygen."
Clark looked at her, his gaze intense and searching. "You're amazing, Veena Parker. I don't know how you do it. You're so... capable. And then five minutes ago, you walked into a door."
Veena felt the blush returning. "Yeah, well. Even celestial beings have their off days."
"I like it," Clark said softly. "The clumsiness. It makes you feel... real. Like you're not just some warrior from another world. Like you're just Veena."
He reached out, his thumb brushing a smudge of dirt from her cheek. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through her that made her knees buckle.
Predictably, she stumbled.
Clark caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist to keep her upright. For a long moment, they stood there in the shadow of the school, the farm boy and the Asgardian, caught in the gravity of each other.
"You really should watch your step," Clark teased, his face inches from hers.
"I'm trying," Veena breathed, her deep blue eyes locked onto his. "But the gravity around here is really unpredictable."
Clark didn't understand the hidden meaning—he was still the boy who saw the world in simple, noble terms—but he didn't let go. And for Veena, as she stood there held by the strongest boy on Earth, the falling didn't seem so bad after all.
As long as he was there to catch her.