That Time Lois Found The Tights

by firstflier

Clois one-shot set in a not too distant future when Clark Kent has actually become the Superman we all know and love. Drabble-y.

Dislcaimer:: I do not own Smallville or anything affiliated with it.

Author's Note:: This is a one-shot drabble that was supposed to be a comedy but after watching 'Requiem' I didn't really have anything to go on so it's taken a darker twist than I first anticipated. Still, it is not as Clois-y angst as my previous trilogy so hopefully it's not too depressing. =]

Enjoy!

That Time Lois Found The Tights...

"Kinky." She raised an eyebrow as she held the item up in her hand. They were the exact Smurf shade that she had been dreaming about for the past three weeks but had been too ashamed to tell Clark.

With good reason; who wants to tell their work partner that they have fantasies involving the resident super hero who flies about in tights?

She didn't think it was healthy to be harbouring feelings for two men and yet, here she was, Lois 'mad dog' Lane, reporter extraordinaire, floundering in between her attraction to her best friend and an undeniable crush on someone who had an unwavering sense of morality yet had never been told that underwear goes underneath clothes. What was a girl to do? Well, Lois had taken the easy way out and had decided to remain schtum about both of these predicaments. Sure it had been awkward at first and, sure, she had lied through her teeth when she had got back from Star City and laughed off the almost-but-not-quite-wedding kiss. But that was her thing; denial. And she was getting pretty damn good at it too. Clark had quizzed her once about where they stood and, much like the time in the elevator after her previous slip up, her answers had been breezy, if a little strained, and he had taken it on the chin with a guffaw, despite the hurt look that had flashed in his eyes. She had consoled herself with the knowledge that it was for the best. Repress, repress, repress. Her emotional piggybank was practically overflowing.

But after the Lana debacle, Clark was in no way ready to be in a relationship, especially not a relationship with her. And, if she was completely honest, she didn't know if she really trusted him again with her heart. She hadn't meant to, but all that time apart whilst Jimmy was healing had given her more than ample opportunity to rebuild all her previously crumbling walls. It's not that she wanted to shut him out, after all he had spent years gradually taking the wall down brick by pain-staking brick, but she just couldn't help herself. She was just a woman; she was only human and she didn't want to have her heart pulped and blended before her eyes, not if she could help it at least. There were moments when her attraction snuck up on her but she had managed to brush them off with a calm reminder that it was Clark, Clark Kent, best friend and plaid-wearing farm boy. Although, if she were completely honest, the plaid was making suspiciously less frequent appearances in Clark's wardrobe in preference of big boy clothes which did nothing to help her unwanted feelings. After her abrupt return from Star City, things had been awkward between her and Clark for a couple of weeks, but that was to be expected she supposed. How do you greet the man you think you might be madly in love with but who hurt you, albeit unintentionally? It had been far too formal for her liking and they had avoided each other for a few days before, surprisingly, things went almost back to normal. She still could not fathom how that had happened. They still had their light banter and easy friendship but there was the slight difference that they avoided bodily contact at all times. Which was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain, especially when he would roll up at the Daily Planet, suit and all, hand her a coffee and sling that adorable smile in her direction. Her hands physically twitched to reach for him and she was becoming more than slightly irritated with her self-control and her body's unwillingness to back her up on her new anti-feelings-for-Clark regime.

And then there was Superman.

Oh God was there Superman.

He had finally made a full appearance about a month after Lois had returned from Star City. No longer was he the mysterious red and blue blur, but a hero that Metropolis had come to depend on, a beacon of hope that could not be extinguished, a name that struck fear into the darkest of hearts. She could recall, with startling clarity, the first time he had rescued her from an unfortunate situation and had flown her across Metropolis to reach her apartment. She had felt a thrill course through her body like she had never known before. The seven year old girl who had lost large chunks of her childhood because she had grown up too quickly, rapidly made an appearance with a girlish squeal as she was wrapped securely in the superhero's arms.

Lois just couldn't help seem to help herself when it came to triangles of the heart. She both despised and thrilled in the twist of the knife. She was not the kind of girl who revelled in emotional conflict. She wished it were simple but she could not imagine having to live without one or the other. Clark was...Clark; bumbling, kind, sweet, irritating Clark and Superman was...indescribable. And yet, neither man seemed to recognise or acknowledge her feelings.

The only time she got a sense that Clark even remotely had any feelings for her was when she would be writing an article about Superman and he would get ridiculously quiet and broody. She had not told him about her slight crush because it was not something he was privy to. Not anymore. Once they had been best friends and she would have told him anything, and to a certain extent they still were best friends but she had kept it shallow, superficial, almost artificial. She would not make the same mistake twice of letting him in too deep. Besides, wasn't all the emotional, girl stuff what she had Chloe for? However, Clark seemed to hitting a little too close to home whenever he quizzed her about her unhealthy Superman addiction with a suspicious look in his eyes. She remembered the time he had been in her apartment watching some movies with her when he had gone to the kitchen to get himself a drink and on the kitchen table she had left out a load of old articles. His curiosity had peaked and he had rifled through absently whilst he waited for the kettle to boil. His voice had floated through into the lounge.

"Lois?" She had rolled her eyes good naturedly and risen from the couch to join him.

"Milk's in the fridge, Smallville. You know, the big cold thing?" But she stopped in her tracks as he looked at her, a steely glint in his eyes.

"What are all these articles?"

She frowned, unsure what he was asking of her.

"Why have you got all of these about Superman?"

Panic flashed across her features briefly as she realised what he was muttering about; her Superman archive. It wasn't much really, just a few articles from various papers that she had collected. She remained cool as she wandered over to the fridge to retrieve the aforementioned milk.

"It's just a few articles..."

"It's every article that's been written about him."

She winced into the open fridge door as her mind stumbled to grab onto a suitable response.

"It's just research."

She closed the fridge door and turned back to face him, brandishing the milk carton. Her answer had done nothing to relieve the suspicion that sat like lead in his gaze. The kettle boiled, Lois rapidly grabbed it to make the coffee so that she would not have to look at him any longer.

"Just research? Lois what's going on? You've never been one to hero worship." His tone was disappointed, perhaps even frustrated and she bristled at the intentional implication that she was acting foolishly. She slammed the kettle down on the counter perhaps a little harder than necessary.

"I'm not hero worshipping. If you haven't noticed, Smallville, Superman is an actual hero." She punctuated her sentence with an eye roll before continuing with a tirade that served to fuel her anger and cover her embarrassment. "And those articles are just a celebration that finally something good has happened to the world. I'm sorry if it seems pathetic to collect those articles-" he looked like he was about to interrupt with an abrupt apology, sensing the oncoming Lois hurricane and that he hadn't meant she was pathetic but she barrelled on "-but sometimes I just like reading them. All day long I chase down crooks and mobsters and corrupt politicians and it never seems to end. Those articles, they give me hope that not everyone in the world in an untrustworthy, lying moron." There was a dark implication that Clark was one of those morons and yet she refused to take her words back because the truth was thus; Superman gave her hope, not Clark Kent. Perhaps the farm boy from Smallville had, once upon a time, convinced her that not everyone was evil, but that belief had been a teenager's false dream. She had outgrown it, had been proved wrong by it even, no longer trusted it and so she had needed something new to believe in. And that something was Superman.

She handed him the cup of coffee she had made and with a shrug said, so quietly he strained to hear it, but with such conviction it was as if it was obvious:

"Superman gives me hope."

And that was when the jealous bouts of brooding had begun. Every time she so much as mentioned Superman with a faraway look in her eyes he would claim he had something to do, a pained look in his eyes that she thought might be self-loathing but it was gone too quickly for her to judge accurately. She had shrugged off his strange behaviour because, really? She'd always considered him quite strange from the moment she met him stranded naked in a corn field. Not your typical first meeting to say the least. But his disappearing acts did seem to be becoming more and more frequent. She had assumed he was avoiding her to begin with, which was just fine because she wasn't one of his biggest fans at that point anyway but it soon became apparent that he wasn't ditching her on purpose when, every time he ran out on her, he found a way to make it up with things like pizza and movies nights, or bringing her lunch the next day or even picking her Dad up from the airport when he had been in town on a quick visit. It wasn't like she didn't appreciate the little things he did for her but they really weren't necessary. It wasn't like they were a couple or anything, and she had even told him that but his response had been a pained smile, a shrug and something along the lines of 'it's called being nice'.

It was a result of him 'being nice' that she was back on the farm at that very moment. She was not entirely sure why he had been so insistent on her staying, nor was she sure why she had been so keen to oblige his request. It had been a fairly average day in the life of Lois Lane by all accounts. A meeting with the editing staff, stealing Clark's coffee with nimble, practiced fingers, growling at a slow internet connection, meeting with a source, getting captured by some heavy handed goons, before being rescued by Superman. All in a day's work at the Daily Planet. Although, with all the fuss Clark had caused, one would think otherwise.

But she had been lying when she had said she wasn't scared.

Terrified was more like it but she would sooner die than admit that to anyone, especially Clark Kent. Being bundled into the back of a van, kicking and screaming, had not been pencilled in on her very busy schedule and she was not best pleased with the situation, even if she did take down two of the brutes before she was effectively subdued enough to be hauled into the back of what smelled like a butcher's van. Her nose had wrinkled at the foul smell and, as she had rolled uselessly from side to side with her hands and feet bound, panic had flashed wildly through her. As the van careered around a corner, Lois had recoiled away from the warm, sticky fluid she had rolled in to. The metallic, rank smell alerted her disgusted senses that it was blood. Finally, after what seemed like hour after putrid hour, the van pulled to a stop. Her eyes had been blinded momentarily by shocking light as it flooded the back of the van before she was yanked roughly to her feet and back, once more, into the harsh reality of what had become her abduction.

Gagged, bound and utterly useless, Lois found herself kneeling on hard concrete before what appeared to be a trough full of water. Her eyes could just about focus on it in the darkness that encompassed the room she was in. Alert eyes flicked from side to side, a normally resourceful brain failing her in one of her greatest tests. She could see no way out of the wretched situation she had landed herself in and cold fear settled low in her stomach. Her gag was wrenched away from behind and pulled sharply at the corners of her mouth. Her loud curse echoed in the darkness and she struggled against her binds until someone yanked her head back forcibly by her hair. Her gasp tore though the silence.

"Tsk, tsk Miss Lane. I'd relax if I were you, we might be here for a while."

"Look buddy, I don't know what you think you're playing at by abducting me here but..."

"Oh, how rude of me," the unknown voice interrupted harshly, the guttural accent thickening with smugness, "You Miss Lane, are here to assist me by sharing some of that infinite knowledge of yours."

"And if I refuse?" She asked warily. There was a snap, two fingers clicking together, and then her head was forced beneath the icy waters surface from behind. Surprise kicked her limbs into action; flailing and straining against her captor as her lungs divested her of air in an underwater scream that went forever unheard. She gasped for air as soon as her head was on dry land again. Harsh panting filled her ears as she tried to regulate her breathing and ignore the uncomfortable sensation of hair plastered to her face.

A lone naked bulb above her flickered on and, after her brief wince, the face of her abductor came to light.

"MacAvoy." The name dribbled past her lips in a grotesque snarl.

"Ah, my reputation precedes me." The feral grin that flourished did nothing to ease the feeling of dread that flooded through Lois. She glared up at the man from her position on the floor.

"Of course; the mobster that's been working hard to keep the crooked goings on of Senator Miles quiet." Her voice was hoarse with derision.

"Mobster is such a strong term, don't you think?" He leaned in closer, across the water trough, and she refused to blink in the face of his toothy grin. "Now, Miss Lane, tell me; why were you digging around in the Senator's office on Wednesday?" The saccharine sweet tone of his gravelly voice indicated that he knew precisely what she had been doing. Her answer ground out from between gritted teeth.

"Go to hell."

"Oh dear. I'm afraid that really was the wrong answer, Lane."

Without any kind of warning her head was forced back into the water. The cold seeped into her brain and she knew that there was no way she was getting herself out of this situation unless she came up with a plan quickly. Air was becoming an issue as the hand on her neck squeezed harder. Her lungs burned and her eyes began to roll to the back of her head as dizziness swept over her. Finally she could breathe again as her lungs gasped for the air she so desperately needed. Her head rolled to hang heavily on her chest as the blood pumped furiously in her veins. It was a struggle to re-open her eyes but when she did, she was met with the sight of MacAvoy, cold eyes and steady grin ever in place.

"Just tell me what you know and we can be on our merry way." He leaned down, rancid breath washing over her and her gag reflex fought hard to suppress the urge to vomit out of fear, disgust, she wasn't sure. She could not find her voice, pants and gasps still tearing her throat like cruel razor blades of necessity. She did, however, manage to drum up enough energy to spit at him. She inwardly applauded her skilful aim which landed the glob of saliva in his right eye, that is, until she stiffened at the feel of the steel cold muzzle of a gun stroking the back of her neck disconcertingly, lovingly.

The first blow came so suddenly that shock doubled the pain.

The butt of the gun rapped across the back of her head and a hiss squeezed past her lips as the only sign of her weakness. A second hit glanced her forehead, splitting the delicate skin easily. Dark, hot blood trickled down, the feeling of it making her skin crawl. A whimper tore past her lips as someone forced her head down onto the side of the trough, making a rough connection that caused stars to dance before her dazed eyes. Tugged to her feet, a fist connected with her jaw before she even saw it coming and another with her stomach. As soon as she was released her body collapsed limply on the floor, unprepared to support itself. Her bound hands and feet were of no use as she felt another blow rain down on her; a foot to the stomach as she curled into a foetal position with an agonised groan, her only attempt to prevent the pain being inflicted.

Unconsciousness was approaching; she could hear the tell-tale whispers as it crept closer. Another blow to her broken body and the lone, naked bulb dimmed before her very eyes. Feeling light headed with the pain, she could only listen to her heart pumping faster and faster in her ears, numbness washing over her body in waves as the cold claimed more of her body as its own. The darkness would soon envelop her and then the pain would be gone. The cold would be gone.

The loneliness would be gone.

And, as she blinked slowly, a flash of red and blue entered her peripheral vision. Superman. The name registered and she was grateful that he would be her last vision. Her beacon of hope, her one and only saviour would be the last thing she was left with. Like a child reunited with their favourite toy the sense of relief and joy was shockingly overwhelming. She watched, semi-conscious, as two men were flung across the room like rag dolls. And then, suddenly, she was being cradled in his arms, staring blankly, blurrily at an alien she had come to adore.

"Miss Lane? Can you hear me?"

And yet she was still, as she forever would be she assumed, Miss Lane. Her voice would not work, as much as she willed it to. The dangerously tempting arms of unconsciousness threatened to embrace her and she began to sink willingly into the comforting darkness. She could feel Superman's hands moving from her shoulder to stroke her hair and, as he touched her scalp, she winced and shifted in his arms. His fingers came away from the sticky residue clumping her hair together and they were crimson with her blood, blood that was slowly leaving her drained body.

"Lois!" Her name was an inhuman roar in the far off distance. There was an animalistic panic in that deep, resonating sound that wrenched her heart but she had no energy left to comfort the poor soul who was calling for her. She could not feel anything, just the rhythmic beating of her heart. Or was it his? She didn't know, couldn't tell, didn't care. The pounding increased in tempo and she noted distractedly that it must be his heart beat because hers didn't feel like it was getting faster. In fact...

"Don't you dare leave me!" There was that panic again and, try as she might to remain afloat, she sank deeper into the pitch black sea that engulfed her.

She had woken up in the hospital feeling groggy but otherwise fine. Her first realisation was that she was in the hospital room alone. Her disappointment at not waking to find Superman at her bedside was palpable and she hated herself for it. Superman did not have time to be her personal nurse maid but she wished that she had been able to thank him for saving her. As she reached for the glass of water by her bed, the door handle turned and, in spite of herself, a smile stretched across her lips and her heart sped up with the anticipation of Superman's arrival. So when Clark had opened the door clumsily struggling with a bouquet of flowers, her smile had fractured and almost slid off her face completely.

"Lois! Superman told me he brought you in. What the hell happened?" Clark looked irritated, relieved and frustrated all at the same time as he ran a hand through his hair. She sighed briefly and watched as he paced at the foot of her bed, looking as though he were torn between sitting in the chair beside her and taking her hand or pulling her out of bed to smack some sense into her.

"I don't know. MacAvoy's men just grabbed me and bundled me into a van after I had finished meeting with that source I told you about."

"And where, exactly, was this?" She knew she was going to get in trouble and could feel her temper rise exponentially. Who did Clark think he was? He was not her father, her brother, hell, he wasn't even her boyfriend. He was not even considered a link in her chain of command.

"Suicide slums and don't lecture me on how it's dangerous, Clark. I'm really not in the mood to hear it." He watched her carefully, gauging her mood before taking the chair beside her bed. The gentleness of his tone startled her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Besides feeling like there's a pneumatic drill gone haywire and having a party with the elephant stamping around my head you mean? Oh, just peachy."

He smiled and rolled his eyes at her as he took her hand. "Glad to hear it." She slowly extracted her hand from his, hoping that he would not notice her rather obvious attempt to reduce any physical contact between them. He frowned but he did not comment. It was when she had swung her legs out of the bed to stand that he rushed to her side. "Woah, where do you think you're going?" She pushed him out of her way with relative ease and rolled her eyes. The irony of the situation was not lost on her.

"I'm not going to stay here all night because I've got a headache. I'll take a couple of aspirins and call the doctor in the morning if I'm not feeling better. Scout's honour." She mock saluted him and continued to move towards where her clothes were stacked neatly in the corner on a table. Thank God the hospital had given her a top and trousers rather than the usual backless gown.

"Maybe we should get a doctor to check you over." She ignored him and began pulling on her shoes. "I don't think this is a good idea, Lois."

"Psht, when has that ever stopped me, Smallville?" He grumbled inaudibly and rushed to take her arm to support her weight as she swayed slightly to the left. He raised his eyebrow as if saying 'I told you so'. "Relax Smallville, just tripped over my own feet." Her left brow rose. "You can let go of me anytime soon." He released her instantly and shifted his weight self-consciously.

"Fine. But I think you should stay at the farm tonight. Not just so I can keep an eye on you but you've obviously been through a lot today and I don't think it's wise for you to go back to your apartment-"

"Sure, Smallville."

"-And the farm is closer and I've got my truck here and..."

"I said fine." Lois nudged him with her arm to stop his tirade.

Clark grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck in a typically characteristic show of discomfort.

"Right, right. Let's go then."

And so she had ended up back at the Kent farm wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a good night's sleep. After she had indulged in what might be dubbed a marathon shower, she had padded back to Clark's room in the hopes of finding something to wear. She had her underwear from the hospital so all she really needed were some trousers and a top that she could sleep in and use as pseudo pyjamas. After rooting through his drawers she had pulled out his old football jersey and had then found what she currently held in her hands with something akin to mild curiosity and bemusement.

A pair of blue tights.

She did not even entertain the fact that they were Clark's. Clark Kent was not that adventurous in his choice of coffee and muffin, why would he be that adventurous in the bedroom? The thought was laughable and the visual was slightly disturbing. Perhaps they were Lana's. The thought almost made her return them to their hiding place but she had never known Lana to wear such bright, gaudy colours and she realised they would be very warm. Perhaps they were Mrs Kent's. But then why would they be in Clark's room? Puzzled, but too tired to continue with any other theories other than they were an ex-girlfriend's she didn't know about (perhaps the first co-ed situation?), she pulled them on to see if they fit. They were slightly large so that the feet did not quite fit but they were snug enough and, now that they were on, she could not consider peeling them back off and subjecting her bare legs to the cold air.

Mind made up she dropped the towel that had been covering her modesty and pulled on the football jersey. Content, warm, clean and smelling deliciously of Clark (though she would not admit to that one), it was all Lois could do not to purr. She then slumped down the stairs in the hope that Clark would make good on that promise of hot chocolate he had muttered about in the truck on the drive over. As she stepped into the kitchen, Clark turned around with a smile before choking on the aforementioned hot chocolate as he drunk in the sight of Lois in tights. In his tights. He coughed and spluttered as she patted on his back.

"Are you okay?" She asked with real concern as his eyes watered from his coughing fit.

"F-Fine." He swallowed thickly before handing her the mug of hot chocolate he had made for her. She took it gratefully and wandered away into the lounge, presumably to choose a movie for them to watch before it was time for bed.

Why, why, why had he insisted that she spend the night at the farm? There she was, hips sashaying into the living room, in nothing but his old football jersey and his opaque blue tights. Jesus, when had her legs been that long? He shook his head and released the breath he had been unaware that he was holding. He scrubbed a hand over his face and followed her through to the living room. She was tucked up on the couch, legs curled underneath her, remote in hand, as the opening titles to 'Happy Gilmore' rolled up on the TV screen. He sunk down into the couch next to her and frowned when he saw her consciously shift her legs to limit any kind of contact with him. She had been doing that a lot lately, in fact, it seemed like whenever he touched her she would find an excuse to move or withdraw from him. It wasn't too long ago when she was always punching him or flicking him or in some way initiating contact with him. He decided now was the perfect time to call her out on it and drew from his untapped well of bluntness.

"That can't be comfortable, Lois. Why don't you stretch out?" Her gaze flickered to him and he could see the cogs working in her head as she fought to think of an excuse. Before she could so much as squeak, he grabbed her ankles from under her and draped them across him so that she was lying on the sofa with him sat beneath the cage of her legs. She gaped at his forwardness and he grinned back. "There. That's better." She either did not have the strength or the energy to remove her legs from his lap and he was quite obviously pleased.

Today it was particularly important for him to have physical contact with her just to assure himself that she was still here. She was still with him. He had been terrified when he found her in that warehouse. And even now fear had not completely released its painfully, constricting grip on his heart. Having her next to him but not touching her was taunting, mocking and he couldn't stand it. He wanted to hold her, kiss her and just stroke her warm skin so that his brain would realise she wasn't dead, wasn't unconscious any longer but was here, alive, safe, well. He was sure to have another rant at her about personal safety tomorrow but for now he was content to let her rest and to just know she was here with him.

Back home.

A voice whispered conspiratorially in the back of his head and he secretly agreed with the voice that sounded suspiciously like Jimmy. He turned his attention back to the film as he felt his muscles relax for the first time since finding out that Lois was missing and had been for a couple of hours.

It was an unconscious gesture, that she knew, so she knew she should tell him and make it stop but his fingers were strong, supple, against her and it was just too damn relaxing. Was he even aware that he was rubbing circles on her legs? She doubted it very much. And yet it was distracting her from the film because it was more physical contact than they had had for months now. It was a much too intimate gesture and she was taking far too much pleasure from it. And yet, even as this knowledge flirted in her mind she could not bring herself to move or ask him to stop because, slowly but surely, it was sending her off to sleep and she was so grateful for that release.

It was only twenty minutes later that Clark realised she was fast asleep, breathing and heart beat steady and even. He watched as the sereneness that only came with sleep dominated her features and softened her entire face. He tenderly brushed back the stray hairs that had fallen across her brow and his fingers encountered the reminder of the day's events; the cut on her forehead. He sighed and scooped her into his arms, easily and wordlessly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her head lolled against his shoulder and it felt disturbingly familiar to the flight they had taken to the hospital. His heart lurched again as he remembered the blind panic that had engulfed him.

But she's here. She's safe.

His mind placated him once again and he continued up the stairs, the sleeping brunette in his arms snuggling closer to him and his heart melted. He placed her gently on his bed and could not resist kissing her forehead before leaving the room with a wistful sigh. Would Lois Lane ever realise who he really was? Would she ever make the connection between the Man of Steel and the farm boy without him having to spell it out for her? He doubted it. She had even found his tights and still had not managed to see what was right in front of her. But then, she had had a hard day, perhaps he should see if she still hadn't figured it out in the morning when she wasn't on medication and had properly recovered. As he settled down in his mother's old bed he tuned into the beat of her heart, the steady thu-thump the most comforting thing he had ever known and he silently promised that he would never lose track of that beat again. Just before he drifted off the sleep, Lois' heartbeat acting as his lullaby, he could not stop the last thought that floated, teasingly, through his mind.

Still, those tights have never looked better.

~*~ END ~*~