Author's Note: Smallville future fic. Written for the livejournal community's 12daysofclois Valentine's 2008 "Cheesy Love Songs" challenge with the prompt of "Your Song" (Bernie Taupin/Elton John). It's a loose sequel to my recent fic, Heart to Heart.

Lois tried not to notice the quiet when she drove up to the Kent farm. It'd been years since Clark left and Martha rented out the acreage to a neighbour, keeping the farmstead only as a foothold for her rare trips back to Smallville. Corn and wheat flourished in the fields beyond the empty barn but no Kent would be doing the harvesting.

To be honest, Lois thought, as she parked her car and popped open the door, she was at the farm more often these days than Martha. Once a month, every month since Clark up and left for his mysterious northern destination, Lois came to the farm to drop off a letter for Clark. Just because the idiot had run off without leaving any forwarding address did not mean that Lois Lane was going to give up on their friendship.

Of course, she'd never thought he'd stay away from the farm so long when he did finally go. Smallville was a home boy, through and through, or at least he had been. But when days had turned into week, Lois had to admit to herself that he was really gone.

Three months after Clark had finally acted on his long-threatened promise, and left Smallville, Lois had wrangled an assignment from Perry, newly appointed as The Daily Planet's editor-in-chief. Ostensibly she went north to pursue a story on a Metropolis criminal gang's diamond smuggling out of the Canadian Arctic. The story had been genuine enough, garnering Lois her first Kerth Award, but it had also been an opportunity for Lois to try and track down Smallville. She'd hit every major in Alaska, the Northwest Territories, the Yukon and Nunavut but to no avail: there was no sign of Clark Kent.

When she returned from that first trip, Lois had been thrilled with the great exposé she'd produced, but sorrowful for the loss that was still stamped clear on Martha Kent's gentle face. It had been as much an effort to show Martha that Lois, too, would have faith and believe in Clark's eventual return, that Lois had begun the ritual of dropping off letters for Clark. She'd started the first letter as soon as she got back to Metropolis, pausing every few days to sit down and pour out her hopes, worries, fears and dreams on the pages that she'd fold up after a few weeks and seal up into an envelope on which she'd simply write "Smallville".

Writing to Clark had turned out to be a great way for Lois to come to terms with the changes in her life. Every milestone, roadblock or change that she'd encountered had been fodder for the letters that became as much a confessional as any sort of communication. As Lois wrote, she'd picture Clark clad in his trademark denim and flannel, watching her with patient exasperation. Even while details of his image faded in her recollection, Lois could still conjure up his voice in the back of her mind. In fact, she thought, it might have saved her a time or two in her investigative journalism career as Clark's cautious voice had come to mind, causing her to take a slightly more careful approach to some of the more dangerous criminals she'd been tracking.

Lois conceded that it might seem to be a pointless exercise to return to the farm and put yet another letter onto the desk in the loft, but hadn't Clark called her a pit bull so many years ago? Lois grinned cheekily at the memory as she pulled open the barn door. The hardware screeched with disuse and Lois wrinkled her nose at the sound. Next month, she thought, she'd bring along a can of WD-40 and give the tracks a good squirt.

She was so focused on that plan as she walked up the stairs to Clark's long-abandoned loft that she walked right into an unexpected obstruction: a man standing at the top of the stairs.

Lois looked up, blinking in disbelief at the face she saw. Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head to one side, keeping one hand firmly on the wooden railing of the staircase while her brain worked madly to process the unexpected information.

"Clark?" she asked doubtfully.

When he returned her gaze solemnly for the longest time before saying her name in a voice that sounded as rusty as the barn door, Lois did the only sensible thing. She punched him in the shoulder and burst into angry tears before storming back down the stairs, intent on getting as far away as possible from the farm and the man who'd had the temerity to return after all those years away.

But as she stormed out, she heard Clark on her heels. "Lois. Lois!" he said, more urgently, as he caught up with her just inside the barn doors. "Wait. Please?"

It was the uncertainty in his voice that made Lois stop, not his hand touching lightly on her arm. She still stood with her back to him, shoulders set straight. At least she wasn't hot-footing it straight out the barn doors and back to Metropolis. Lois thought that was a pretty big concession on her part. But the urge to run became almost irresistible when Clark stepped in front of her and she saw what he was holding in his other hand: a sheaf of letters in her handwriting.

"Lois," he said, "we need to talk."

With some reluctance, Lois permitted Clark to lead her into the quiet farmhouse. He brewed up some coffee while she silently leaned against the counter, unabashedly staring at him. A thousand questions bubbled in her mind and she wanted to hurl them all at him but her years climbing to the top of the reporting heap had taught her the value of silence. So she put the pressure on him by not speaking, accepting the proffered cup of coffee (two sugars, he remembered) and waited. And waited.

Just when she was about ready to burst, Clark spoke.

"Your letters," he said, putting his empty cup of coffee down on the counter. "I didn't expect them."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "You were rotten enough to run off without leaving any forwarding address. How else was I supposed to stay in touch? Carrier pigeon?"

Clark chuckled. "Mea culpa."

Lois regarded him darkly. "I sure hope you realize how many people you hurt, going away for so long. Starting with your mom, of course. How could you do that to all of us?"

Clark raised a hand as if to ward off her attack. "I saw my mom yesterday. She was the first one I contacted when I came back."

Lois harrumphed and slugged back the last of her coffee. "Good. I hope she tore a strip off of you."

"A bit," Clark acknowledged ruefully. "She also had a lot of updates to share. Chloe moving to Gotham City, Kara going to college, your promotions at The Planet. . . . I guess I missed a lot."

"No shit, Sherlock," Lois grumbled. But as Clark sought to fix her gaze with his, she found herself suddenly reminded of her discomfort. Placing her coffee mug on the kitchen counter, she headed off to the living room, only to hear footfalls close behind her.

"I read your letters, Lois. All of them."

She froze still at his quiet words and could almost feel the warmth of his body radiating from close behind her. Lois drew a resolute breath and moved to stride away. "They were just letters, Clark. Just the kind of stuff that one friend would write to any other. They didn't really mean anything."

"Oh, really?" Clark asked as he slowly circled around to stand before her, one hand lightly holding each of her arms. "I don't think so."

He glanced over at the letters lying in a heap on the kitchen counter. "Mom told me about your letters when she was catching me up on things. She thought they'd have to be pretty interesting reading."

Lois couldn't help but stand with a bit more confidence. "Smallville, anything that I write is, by definition, interesting. Just ask the millions of Planet subscribers."

Clark nodded easily. "I don't think you'd be wanting to share these with them, though, now, would you?"

Lois attempted to dash past Clark to grab the letters but, maddeningly, he was always one step ahead of her as she dodged left and right. Soon they were at the counter but the letters were back in Clark's hands while Lois stood, slightly panting and obviously cross.

Clark grinned as he flipped through the pages in his hand. "Here," he said cheerfully, "let me refresh your memory."

Lois jumped unsuccessfully as Clark easily raised the papers out of her reach. Using one hand at her shoulder to gently restrain her, Clark let his eyes roam down the first sheet in the handful. "Ah, here we go," he said, cheerfully, "And I quote: "Dear Clark, I've totally given up on all men. Excluding of course, your ever-absent self and Shelby. And maybe, possibly, Jimmy. He's a good enough photographer, I suppose, and a good friend when he doesn't try to set me up with blind dates like the one I had last night. And for which he will pay through the nose because being detained by the police overnight for being involved in a public disturbance when I was only trying to ditch that loser was no fun at all."

Lois growled in frustration and reached for the papers. Clark stepped back, freeing his hand to flip through the letters and find another choice morsel to read aloud, "Dear Clark, I am never, ever writing another expose on the scandals at the sewage treatment facility, even if it gets me my second Kerth nomination. I will never get the stink out of my hair." Sniffing elaborately, Clark abandoned his reading to pronounce, "Nah, I think you're clear now."

Clark started reading another letter at random out of the pile that detailed a particularly horrid encounter at a journalism award banquet where a self-important television anchor tried to feel her up as they walked into the hall. Red in the face at the memories rushing back, Lois made one more determined grab for the letters that Clark held out of her reach.

As it became clear that the frontal approach was doomed to failure, she stepped back from the fight. Clark obviously thought he could get to her by teasing but you didn't rise to the top of the journalism world by being an easy target. As he arched one surprised eyebrow at her change in tactics, Lois smiled, if a little too sweetly.

"Go ahead, Clark," she offered, "after all, I wrote them all for you."

The fun obviously draining from the game, Clark put the letters down. "I wanted to thank you for that, Lois."

"Yeah, I can see. You needed the laugh," Lois said, feigning a carefree demeanour.

Clark glanced down for a moment, seemingly abashed. "No, that's not it." He sighed deeply and looked out towards the streaming sunshine. "When I was away, I was cut off from, well, a lot of things. And I really thought that, except for my mom, the whole world was pretty much cut off from me. Had pretty well forgotten me."

Clark glanced over at Lois. "When I came home here and found this stack of letters, well, I realized I was wrong. Someone had remembered me and cared enough to keep me up to date with everything."

Lois shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Hey, who said I cared? Maybe I just didn't think you were coming back. Maybe you were just my drop box for all the bad things in life. I mean, heck, you've been away so long that I'd pretty well forgotten how you look," she said with a touch of desperation in her voice, "I mean, are your eyes green or are they blue? 'Cause I sure don't know."

Clark closed the distance until only scant inches separated them. "I'll be happy to refresh your memory."

Lois closed her eyes, rather than get drawn into whatever game he was playing. This was Smallville, after all! "Thanks, but I'll pass," she said, attempting to lighten the tone and turn away.

She told herself that she was happy that he didn't push that because, hey!, Smallville was like a brother to her, and an annoying one at that. But her stomach seemed to drop, nevertheless, as she stepped away from him. Lois concentrated on the letters that Clark had placed on the counter and started to edge in that direction.

It seemed that Lois didn't disguise her purpose all that well, because Clark quickly and easily blocked her move. Lois narrowed her eyes. "Look, Clark," she said, "I'd kinda like to have those letters back."

Clark cocked his head slightly. "Why?"

Lois rolled her eyes. "Isn't it obvious? I wrote a lot of things down that I don't want to be public, thank you very much and so. . ."

Clark raised a hand. "Wait," he said angrily, "you really think that I'd make those letters public? That I'd sell them to someone or share them?"

Lois opened her mouth to answer and then closed it because, now that she thought of it, the Clark Kent she knew wouldn't do something so underhanded. "Sorry," she finally said, "but after a couple years in the dog-eat-dog world of Metropolis journalism, you forget that not everyone's like that. You may have been supremely annoying and a little too prone to barging into my place without knocking, but you were never underhanded."

Clark seemed appeased but Lois still stared past him at the pile of letters. "It's just, Clark, those letters. I don't think I ever lost faith that you'd come home, someday, but I wrote a lot of things in the letters I don't feel so comfortable in sharing now." Lois wanted to add something about how the Clark of her memories was less immediate and threatening than the bright-eyed man standing across from her in the sun-drenched farm kitchen, but settled for assuming a confident pose.

Clark nodded and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over the oh-so-typical flannel shirt he was wearing. Some things never changed! "I guess I can sort of understand that twisted Lois Lane logic, there," he said, smiling broadly as she stuck out her tongue. "How about we put them somewhere safe and I promise not to look at them again until you say so?"

"Really?" Lois asked suspiciously.

Clark appeared hurt. "You don't trust me?"

"The original boy scout? I have to trust you, I guess," Lois grumbled. "Okay. But it'd better be somewhere very safe."

"There's an old lockbox of my dad's in the barn. Weatherproof and dry. We can stick them all in there, wrap 'em up in oilskin to be extra-sure," Clark offered.

Lois narrowed her eyes for a moment, considering the prospect. "All right," she grudgingly conceded. "But I put them in there so you don't sneak another peek!"

Clark laughed openly at this but let her pick up the letters and walk with him out to the barn. He only intervened when he saw Lois trying to shove a couple of pages into her purse. "Un-uh," he chided.

Lois pursed her lips and put all the letters into the box, which Clark then secured with an old-fashioned padlock. "Here," he said, extending the key to her.

Lois stared at it blankly. "You're giving this to me?"

"Just in case you really don't think I'm trustworthy," Clark explained.

Lois felt a small bit of shame but accepted the key, slipping it into her change purse.

"So," she said when that was done, searching around for a change of subject, "what're you planning to do now that your back? Start up farming again?"

Clark stared across the dusty, quiet barn and shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It's been a while and if I've learned one thing from my time away, it's that there's a lot more that I need to do."

"Like what?" Lois asked. Something stirred in the pit of her stomach as she envisioned him heading back off into the blue. The thought of Clark picking up and heading off again wasn't a comfortable one.

Clark looked over at her and wryly smiled. "Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Lois. I'm back to stay."

"What'll you do in Smallville if you're not running the farm?" Lois asked.

"Who said anything about staying in Smallville?" Clark said.

Lois frowned. "You're leaving again, then?"

Clark walked to the sliding door of the barn and Lois slowly trailed behind him. "Not really, Lois. Perry White's now the editor in chief at the Planet, write?"

Lois nodded, not quite understanding where this sudden change of subject was going.

"Well," Clark elaborated, "Perry White owes me a favour and I was thinking of asking him for a job."

"Perry doesn't hire farmers, Clark," Lois explained with exaggerated patience.

Clark raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm applying to be a reporter, Lois."

Lois gaped at Clark. He leaned forward to peer closely at her stunned expression.

"You don't look too happy," Clark finally pronounced, but somehow he still had a grin on his face.

Lois finally marshaled her self-control. Raising her chin, she summoned a condescending smile. "Well, you can try," she said. "But you'll probably start in the basement if you're lucky enough to get a foot in the door."

Clark beamed confidently, "I think you'll be surprised at what I can do, Lois."

Lois settled for a disdainful sniff. Sure, on the one hand, it would be great to have Clark back to stay but Clark working in the same newsroom with her? That would maybe be a little too close for comfort.

She started at a thought and glared at him. "You've got to promise something, Clark?"

He sighed. "Look, didn't I already promise not to blab anything from your letters, Lois?"

Lois waved her hand dismissively and strode forward so she could poke a finger sharply at his chest. "Forget about that. You're a dead man if you do that, anyway, you know. But you're even more of a dead man if you ever make a single joke about sailor suits or the Navy. Do you get my drift?"

Clark's chuckling salute didn't settle her nerves, but Lois decided that it was time to make a strategic retreat. Back ramrod straight, she marched off to her car. Her mind remained awhirl with the confusions of the afternoon, though, and she darted a glance back to the man framed in the open barn doors.

"See you at thePlanet!" Clark half-shouted.

Lois grinned, in spite of herself, and slid behind the wheel, starting the car back on the long road to Metropolis. A part of her said she should stay at the farm and catch up. But another part suggested that maybe it'd be more fun to see if Clark was actually going to follow up on his plan.

Not that Perry would hire some nobody from nowhere, of course, or would he? Lois bit her lip nervously. Of course not! But, still, somehow, the sun seemed just a little bit brighter and life a little more hopeful with Clark back in her world. Not that she'd ever say that to anyone of course. But maybe she'd write some of that down in a new letter, just because.