"Good morning, Miss Lopez," One of the many busy receptionists at LuthorCorp Headquarters greeted Santana as she strode into the expansive marble lobby. "Is there anything I can assist you with today?"

"Tell Mr. Luthor I'm heading up to his office now," Santana told the woman in the superior, disinterested tone that she had perfected over the years.

"Right away, Miss Lopez," the woman assured her in a professional, borderline robotic, voice with an equally creepy smile.

"Thanks," Santana said strutting away over to the executive elevator, pretending not to relish the whispers she caused as she paraded past various LuthorCorp employees.

"Yeah, that's her."

"Wow, she's even prettier in person."

"Figures Luthor would get a piece of ass as fine as that."

"I wonder what she's doing here?"

Santana was pondering the same thing actually. The cryptic voicemail Dave's PA left her this morning had left her unsure why Dave demanded her presence, especially at his place of work. Nevertheless, she stepped into the executive elevator, received by the operator in the same machinelike professional tone as the woman at reception, and felt her ears pop on the swift hundred story ride up to the top. Dave's Personal Assistant, a matronly woman by the name of Susan, was there to welcome her when the elevator doors slid open.

"Perfect timing," Susan told her as she lead her down the executive hallway to Dave's office. "He just got out of a meeting."

"Peachy," Santana replied sarcastically. She was missing her mani-pedi appointment for this.

Dave was waiting for her when she entered his office. "Santana, there you are." He pulled her into a kiss that was wildly improper for the workplace, cupping her butt while he was at it, and Susan quickly shuffled away to give the couple their privacy.

"Ew. Did you have to stick your tongue down my throat?" Santana grumbled, wiping her lips on the back of her hand once Dave released her.

"Oh just shut up and take it, Santana," Dave fired back. "I'm at work and need to keep up appearances."

Santana rolled her eyes. Dave was meticulous, no obsessive about giving people absolutely no reason to speculate that he wasn't just as butch as he looked. He even went as far as hiring prostitutes under an alias, then slipping them roofies after he fucked them, and dropping them off at random locations so they wouldn't have any recollection that they'd slept with him.

"Speaking of appearances," Dave added. "I think we should get married."

"Dave! Language!" Santana gasped mockingly.

"I'm serious, San. We've been 'dating' since high school. People are getting suspicious as to why we haven't tied the knot yet."

"But, Dave, marriage is so permanent—"

"Well the roof over your head and your expense accounts aren't," Dave snapped. "So I'd stop by Tiffany's or Harry Winston's on your way home if I were you."

"Oh, it's every little girl's dream to be proposed to through blackmail!" Santana hissed. Dave gave her a harrowing gaze and she relented. "Fine, I'll marry you, Dave. But I'm warning you now, it's going to cost you. Our wedding is going to make the Royal Wedding look like some backcountry nuptials. And if my dress doesn't single-handedly crash Twitter like Pippa Middleton's did, I'm divorcing you."

"Whatever, Santana, I'm just glad you see things my way," Dave shook his head. "Now, onto the reason why I called you here."

"Oh, you didn't want me to swing by just so you could coerce me into matrimony?" She quipped.

"Watch it, San," he cautioned her, trying not to let his temper get the best of him. "I wanted to talk to you about Superman."

Santana's face fell into a scowl. "Him again?" Her voice was full of (rarely) legitimate concern and enervation. "When are you just going to drop this vendetta or whatever you have against him?"

"Not anytime soon I can assure you, since I've figured out how to beat him," Dave informed her as-a-matter-of-factly.

"How do you plan on doing that? Need I remind you that he's invincible?" challenged Santana.

"Oh his skin maybe invincible, but that's not where I'm aiming at," Dave told her melodramatically.

She rolled her eyes. "Dios mio, Dave, out with it before I have to get you a white cat and start calling you Dr. Evil."

"Fine. I'm going to attack his heart," he told her with far less drama than he would have liked.

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Physically or figuratively?"

"Figuratively. You remember I said all we need to pull off the California deal was a good distraction? Well, what better distraction than threatening his girlfriend's life?"

"Hate to rain on your parade here, but how do you even know he has a girlfriend? And even if he does, how are we going to find her, much less kidnap her and hold her for ransom, or whatever you plan on doing?"

"Easy, we find out who he actually is. And in the event he isn't attached, which I find highly unlikely, we go after his family instead," Dave explained, quite pleased with himself.

"Go after his family? Didn't you read that article in The Planet? His family was blown into smithereens long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away." Santana pointed out.

Dave sighed in exasperation. "Well, if you had read the entire article and not just fingered yourself to the picture of him they printed along with it, you would have noticed that he also mentioned his age: thirty. And I think it's safe to assume that he came to earth in some sort of vehicle or spaceship, and that the UFO landed in somewhere in the U.S., due to that God-awful line about 'truth, justice, and the American way'. I think it's also safe to say that someone probably adopted him and that he wasn't raised by wolves or apes anything, so we start looking for reports of mysterious meteors impacts that happened around thirty years ago and from there, we check that area's adoption records and start narrowing down possible candidates from there."

Crap, that's actually a really good plan, Santana swore to herself. "And by 'we', you mean…"

"A few hand-selected guys from LuthorCorp's R&D department," he finished for her. "But you're not off the hook. I know it's going to interfere with your exhausting schedule of doing absolutely nothing all day, but you're going to be my eyes on the street. When we find out Superman's identity, we're going to need to follow him and find out who he's banging."

"Why me?" Santana questioned. "Why not hire the top private detective in Metropolis?"

"Because you're most conniving, slyest person I know…and I trust you," Dave confessed. For a moment, just a moment, there was a glimmer of the vulnerable, desperate, terrified boy Santana remembered from high school. She softened infinitesimally.

"Fine," she caved, with a roll of her eyes. "I'll play your little spy game with you."

"Thank you. Now get out of here, some of us have actual work to do." Just like that, Dave had slipped back behind his CEO-façade. "I'll have Susan call all the top jewelry stores and tell them to expect you."

"Sure thing, Boss," Santana sighed. Dave leaned in to kiss her and smacked her ass before she left the office, escorted back to the executive elevator by Susan.

As Santana exited the skyscraper, she felt weight sitting on her chest that she hadn't experienced in years. Guilt, helplessness, and despondency were emotions that she'd learned to drown out expertly with alcohol, sex, and luxury goods. Did she really feel that bad for Superman? Well, he did save my life. Don't I owe him the same? Santana ruminated. No, Dave gave you mission. You're going soft, Lopez. Santana cringed at the realization that her surname would be changing soon. Well, she could give herself a mission of her own: find the most expensive engagement ring in Metropolis and send her deranged, closet-case fiancé the bill.