The Kent Farm was unusually dark and quiet when Lois Lane slipped through the front door. She quietly scanned the empty living-room and kitchen, swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat and busied herself silently with the coffee machine. Leaning against the bench she stared absentmindedly out the kitchen window. The sky was grey - which seemed fitting. There was no movement. The world had stilled. Lois felt her eyes well with tears. She blinked them back quickly, moving to prepare the steaming cup of real coffee she had been craving, since signing herself out of Smallville Medical Centre earlier that morning. She glanced at the kitchen clock, it was still early. She settled herself at the large, isolated dining-room table with her coffee, with her laptop and her phone and got to work.
An hour later, Lois rose from the table. The house was still deserted, although, she had heard movement and muffled sobbing from the second story. It was only a matter of time until someone made an appearance. She stared at the staircase. Her feet rooted to the hard-wood floors. The phone rang. Jolted out of her thoughts, she answered it quickly, silently praying that the sound hadn't disturbed anyone else in the house. The condolence phone-calls didn't stop. She fielded the calls diligently, making notes of who had called and when, thanking the callers profusely for their sympathy, support and well wishes. Then, the casseroles had started arriving. Casseroles, Quiches, flowers: traditional offerings to those who are grieving. After a frustrating twenty-minute game of Casserole-Tetris with the refrigerator she realised that she wasn't alone in the kitchen. He looked up at her happily; tail wagging, waiting to play. Lois shook her head with a smile.
'Not today, boy.' She glanced at his empty feed-bowl, wondering when he had last been fed. Sighing she filled his bowl – which earned her a playful nudge.
She sat, once again at the dining-room table, surrounded by a mountain of thank-you-cards, which she was zealously writing, addressing and stamping. She glanced at the kitchen-clock again. She registered, shockingly that it was already mid-afternoon. In a daze, Lois watched the bowl of chicken-casserole slowly rotate in the microwave. She took a deep breath and made her way up the stairs, two bowls, a cup of tea and two glasses of freshly squeezed orange-juice balanced delicately on a worn breakfast tray.
Juggling the tray, Lois softly knocked on the bedroom door of Mr and Mrs Kent… Mrs Kent, she mentally corrected herself, swallowing the lump in her throat that threatened to cause a cascade of unstoppable tears. She pushed open the door slowly, the darkness of the room enveloping her. By the window, in an armchair wrapped in a warm blanket; was Martha Kent. Lois stepped further into the room, the grief that clouded the atmosphere, almost swallowing her whole. She lowered the tray to the end of the unmade bed. Silently Lois placed one of the bowls on the small table beside the occupied chair. Wordlessly, Martha accepted the cup of tea. Lois smiled softly, absentmindedly adjusting the blanket cocooning the woman, who had become a mother-figure to her. She left the glass of orange-juice on the small table, before sweeping up the tray and backing out of the room.
Lois stood outside the door to Clark's bedroom, her bedroom. A part of her knew that he wouldn't even be in there. That in all likelihood he would be holed up in his loft… She pushed the door open anyway. And her expectations were met. She sighed at the empty bedroom, before slowly turning on her heel and making her way through the house and out towards the barn.
The barn seemed darker than usual. Lois ascended the stairs to the loft, the vision that met her when she reached the top, tore through her heart. He was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. His face was hidden by his large hands, Lois felt her strength wavering. Fighting the urge to throw her arms around him, she placed the bowl and the glass of juice on the edge of the small table in front of his knees.
'I'm not hungry.' He'd said in a voice that was barely recognizable. She said nothing, simply sliding the bowl closer towards him. She wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. Lois backed out of the barn. She caught a glimpse of Clark poking at the casserole out of the corner of her eye. With a small smile, she decided that, that was good enough for the moment.
Wandering down the stairs, later that night; Martha Kent's tear-stained eyes fell on the young woman, who had fallen asleep in a pile of envelopes at her dining-room table. She gently brushed, light strands of hair out of Lois' closed eyes. Her own, scanned the scattered mass of papers, registering that they were thank-you cards. A small feeling of pride and awe trickled through the heaviness in her heart towards Lois Lane, the head-strong, well-travelled, stubborn young woman, who consistently reminded Martha of a younger version of herself. Lois, who flicked peas across the table at Clark – just to make him laugh, who always knew how to make all of them laugh, who knew Clark better than anyone else in his life – save his parents, without needing to know his secret, who helped her husband become a Senator – because she believed in him, who would visit the farm in order to keep Martha company, watching old movies with her whenever she had a night off from her Chief-of-Staff-duties or from The Talon… Lois Lane, who in some strange way over the years had become a member of the Kent family…, And here she was, holding them together when they had fallen apart, Martha pressed her lips to Lois' temple before placing her empty bowl in the sink and heading back towards her bedroom.
Lois woke with a jump. Confused, she tugged at her sleeve, searching for her watch. Nine-Thirty. She glanced at the darkened sky outside. A light shone from the barn. Quietly, she made two cups of fresh coffee. She took a quick sip of her own coffee and smiled softly when she noticed the empty bowl and tea-cup sitting by the sink. Quickly, she made a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, grabbed Clark's coffee and wandered out towards the barn.
He hadn't moved from his position. The dark loft loomed eerily at her as she took the stairs two at a time itching to get into the warm light that usually illuminated from within Clark's 'Fortress'… Her eyes fell on the half-empty bowl of chicken-casserole. She breathed a sigh of relief; at least he had eaten something. Lois settled the sandwich and steaming cup of coffee on the small table. This time, he looked at her. Their eyes locked and Lois felt her strength and composure ebb away as a result of the amount of sorrow that pooled in his eyes. The treacherous lump in her throat resurfaced and she busied herself with grabbing the half-empty bowl and glass, in order to suppress the choking tears that brewed beneath the surface. For one of the first times in her life, Lois Lane was speechless. Her ability to handle any situation with a conversation seemed to be failing her. She had nothing to say. There was nothing that she could say. Words couldn't alleviate this loss. Words couldn't change a thing. No matter what they were.
Lois felt her eyes moisten with unshed tears, she shook them off, determined not to break.
C'mon Lane, pull it together! She thought bitterly to herself, picking up the bowl.
'Did...?'
'Yeah, she ate.' Lois finished for him with a small smile. His voice was rough, tired. He nodded. She turned to walk away. His half-empty glass and bowl in balanced in one arm, resting on her hip. He caught her free hand. The contact startled her, as his large warm hand enveloped her small, cold one. His thumb brushed the cool metal of her bracelet. It was a thin ID bracelet. Shouldered beside her leather-banded watch, it was silver, subtle. Her name engraved in delicate script. Lois looked down at her wrist.
'You're parents…' She began quietly. 'Kind of a – uh, thanks-for-being-my-Chief-of-Staff-slash-early…'
'Birthday-present…' He murmured, finishing her sentence for her. She nodded.
'You knew?' She asked, already knowing the answer. It was his turn to nod. He released her hand. The sudden loss of contact sent a cold shiver up her spine.
'I love it.' She said quietly, glancing at him over her shoulder. She saw his soft smile and with a sigh, she walked out of the barn.
The weather had cooled dramatically overnight, causing the Funeral home to appear eerier than it usually would have been. Lois watched as Martha and Clark picked out a casket and made arrangements… She glared at the pushy Funeral Director, finally dragging him away from her beloved Kent's as casually as she could. She could handle him. Taking the pile of paperwork, she gently ushered Martha and Clark out of the Funeral Home and drove them back to the farm. Lois had barely made it to the front porch when she heard Clark's truck rumble into life, flicking her head around quickly, she watched him drive away. Lois automatically turned towards Martha, only to find that she had disappeared into the depths of the house. Sighing, she made her way through the door. She was greeted with a friendly nudge and tail-wag.
'Dinner?' She murmured, gently scratching Shelby behind his soft ears.
It was snowing. Something that she usually loved, there was something about the fresh clean snow, that made the world seem brand new. Not today, though. Today, the snow was another cold reminder of their loss.
Jonathan Kent's funeral had been brutal. Lois had held it all in though. Her composure had remained intact. She'd held Martha's gloved hand, tightly in her own and then Chloe's, when she had sniffled quietly. She had watched Clark carefully out of the corner of her eye; his expression of anguish never changed. She watched Lana slip her hand into his, retract her hand, and slip away. She'd noticed Lex Luthor, hovering in the background. She'd watched as Lionel Luthor had gently pulled Martha aside and she'd let Chloe grip her hand and lead her away…
Lois had stayed behind and watched the cars retreat. She felt Martha's hand in hers again and slowly lead her towards Chloe's car, parked on the curb. She glanced over her shoulder, watching Clark stand silently by his father's grave. Gulping down the lump in her throat, she offered Martha a tight smile.
As the snow began to fall heavier, Martha's watery, blue eyes travelled over Lois' shoulder. Her eyes fell on her son, the weight of the world on his shoulders, hair falling in his eyes. She opened her mouth to say something. Words failed her.
'I got him.' Lois whispered squeezing her hand gently as Martha climbed into the passenger side of Chloe's car. Lois watched them leave, before blinking back tears and slowly walking over to Clark.
Clark realised that he was alone. Literally, alone in the cemetery; staring at the casket that had been lowered into the ground moments before. Everyone had gone. His chest tightened with grief and guilt as he stared at the casket – barely able to believe that his father was actually in the box, the box which was now in the ground. It was surreal. His heart hurt. His head hurt…
And then suddenly he realised that he was no longer alone.
She stood beside him. Their shoulders touched. Clark wasn't sure how long they stood there. He felt the snow fall thicken around them, coating the trampled ground with a fresh layer of white snow. Tearing his gaze away from his father's casket Clark realised that the sky had grown dark; he felt the wind pick up and whistle through the trees. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that she was still there. The thought that she must have been freezing, entered his mind. He sighed defeatedly and began to move his feet. Slowly, he co-ordinated his limbs, he headed through the thick, fresh snow towards the single, red car that was parked in the distance. He felt her fall into step with him. Hands in his pockets, he offered Lois his elbow. She slipped her arm through his and leant into him as they trudged towards her car.
It was completely dark when Lois and Clark pulled up outside the Kent Farm. Shrugging off her coat and entering the kitchen, Lois headed for the coffee machine. She watched Clark out of the corner of her eye, as he propped himself on one of the kitchen-stools, elbows on the counter, his head in his hands, his eyes closed. He looked exhausted. Lois busied herself quietly, making coffees, making sandwiches. She slid a steaming mug across the counter towards him. The scent of fresh coffee caused him to stir. He looked up at her with a small smile before taking a sip.
'I'm just gonna take this up to…' Lois nodded to one of the steaming caffeinated mugs and then the stairs. 'That's for you.' She added, indicating the freshly made peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. He nodded, watching her make her way up the stairs.
Quietly, Lois pushed open the bedroom door. She smiled softly at the sight of Martha Kent sleeping peacefully. Turning, Lois made her way back down the stairs, towards the kitchen, back to Clark. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she realised that he was still there. She shook it off, with a smile, walking purposefully into the kitchen. He glanced up at her from the dark, swirling depths of his coffee.
'She's asleep.' Lois answered with a small nod, grabbing her own mug and wrapping her hands around its warmth.
Clark stared across the counter at her; alive, sipping coffee, smiling… He honestly had no idea what he would have done if it had been her. It almost was. The thought was unsettling. It dawned on him that he had no idea how she had found out about his father. The last time he had seen her, she had been on her way to Smallville Medical Centre in the back of an ambulance. She'd even been smiling then. Telling him not to worry, telling him that she'd be fine. He looked up and caught her looking at him. Her hazel eyes were warm. It was like she was seeing straight through him – no X-Ray-Vision required. She saw him for who he really was – without even knowing his true-identity.
'Lo -' He began, only to be cut-off by the phone. She offered him a tight smile,
'I got it.' She replied, answering the phone quickly. 'Hello, Kent residence… Thank-you so much… Yes, we received the flowers… They were lovely, thank-you…' Her voice faded out as she wandered further into the living-room. Clark heard her continue the conversation politely; realising that this is what she had been doing… Answering condolence calls, sending thank-you-cards, organising paper-work as well as making sure that they had eaten. Doing everything that he and his mother couldn't… He wanted to thank her, he wanted talk to her, he wanted to listen to her, he wanted to know how she was doing and for some reason, most of all; he just wanted to hold her.
She re-entered the kitchen a few minutes later, Shelby at her heels. The kitchen was now deserted. He'd disappeared on her. Loneliness seeped through her, causing the lump in her throat to reappear. Shrugging it off she moved to prepare dinner for the cheerful fur-ball who was staring up at her expectantly.
A week later, Lois stood alone in the kitchen of the Kent Farm, staring at the light rain that had begun to fall outside through the kitchen window. She could hear Martha in the living room. She had no idea where Clark was, she hadn't seen him in a few days. Lois as she quickly tidied up the kitchen – rearranging the many casseroles and quiches that still remained. Sighing in frustration at the stacked fridge she poured herself a glass of freshly-squeezed-orange-juice. Suddenly, the voice of Jonathan Kent floated audibly through the house. Lois' glass slipped from her fingers, falling to the floorboards and shattering beneath her feet as she stumbled forward, following the fatherly voice she had been longing to hear again. Lois skidded silently in the doorway of the living-room – where Martha Kent was positioned on the couch, watching home-movies of her late husband. Clutching her chest with tears welling in her eyes, Lois slowly backed out the room, attempting to regain her composure – and failing. She heard the front door open in the distance as she sprinted out the back-door, into the twilight drizzle.
Clark Kent had thought he'd heard his father's voice. Walking through the front door, he discovered the devastating source: home-movies. He and his father, riding on the old tractor through the fields, he and his father laughing, happy, alive… The sight caught in his throat as he felt his anger slip away, making way for a wave of sorrow. He fell into his mother's arms.
Clark wasn't sure how much time had passed. Releasing his mother, he noticed that the sky outside had darkened and that light rain had begun to fall. Martha smiled up at him, clumsily patting his cheek. She wiped her eyes and headed for the kitchen. He heard her gasp and rushed to her side, taking notice of the shattered glass that covered the hard-wood.
'Lois.' Martha sighed, glancing at the back-door, the screen-door swaying on its hinges in the wind.
'Lois was here?' He asked softly, studying the fragments of glass, unconsciously looking for any evidence of blood or harm.
'I was making her dinner, to say thank-you…' Martha confirmed with a nod. 'I didn't even hear the glass… Lois must have heard the video… She must have thought…' Sorrowful comprehension dawned on Martha's face.
'I got her.' Clark muttered, heading out the door. 'I'll bring her home.'
Martha watched him go with a small smile, knowing full well that he'd be able to bring her back from where ever it was that she had gone.
Lois had run. She had sprinted to her car, kicking the door savagely when her hand slipped on the handle. She'd sped off. No destination in mind, the idea of fleeing the only thought occupying her mind. Heavy rain began to pound against her windscreen. Somehow, she ended up at the Cemetery.
Her feet dragged her to the head-stone of Jonathan Kent. She sunk to her knees in the wet grass.
'Hey Mr Kent.' She murmured sadly. Her fingers scraped along the rough, cold concrete of his head-stone. 'I'm not very good at this…' She sighed, the fog of her breath lingering in the air before her. 'You know, earlier tonight, I thought you were back. I literally, thought that you had come back to us. All of us…' Lois continued, running her hand through her now, soaked hair. 'I don't know what to do… I don't know how to help anymore… The General always says that; I'm a good girl in a storm… But, I'm not. I'm really not…' The lump in her throat had returned with a vengeance, refusing to be ignored. Her voice shook as she began to sob, as she began to break. 'I don't know what to do! You're still gone! And everything's still a mess! God, just tell me what to do!' Lois cried out to the empty cemetery. Her voice was drowned out by the wind and rain. Tears streamed down her face, her shoulders shook as she finally succumbed to her pent-up grief over the death of the man who had become more of a father to her than her own had.
He'd followed the sound of her heartbeat. He'd heard it over the pouring rain, running faster than he ever had before, following the rapid beat. Clark's heart physically ached as he finally found her: on her knees, in front of his father's head-stone in the pouring rain. She looked so small, so broken… So unlike the Lois he was used to. Clark stared at her, his Lois – strong, stubborn, smart, sarcastic, sweet…
He growled as he noticed that she wasn't wearing a jacket. Her pale-blue jeans had darkened with the rain, as had the thin long-sleeved-shirt she was wearing. She was sobbing. Sobbing and shivering. His heart hurt as her sobs carried on the wind. The rain drowned out his footsteps as he approached her. Clark extended his hand, resting it on her shoulder. He expected her to start, to turn around and sock him – but she didn't. She didn't react. He wasn't even sure if she felt his hand. Her shoulder was ice cold, soaking wet, shaking and numb. He grabbed both of her shoulders in his large hands, pulling her to her feet.
Lois felt her shoulders warm, her feet on solid ground. Somehow, she knew it was him. She wiped her eyes furiously with the back of her hands. Brushing her soaking hair away from her face, she turned in to hands to face him. She couldn't meet his eyes.
'This is probably the last thing you need…' She mumbled, focusing on the toes of her boots. He rolled his eyes with a small smile. She sighed as he tucked a stray hair behind her ear. 'I'm really sorry.' She whispered into the wind.
As the rain beat heavily around them, Clark pulled her into the warmth and safety of his arms. She buried her face into the wet fabric of his shirt, hiding her own wet eyes against his chest as his forehead came to rest on her shoulder, his arms wound tightly around her waist. They stood silently in the rain.
He exhaled softly into her shoulder. She was safe. Soaked, shaking – but safe.
'Thank-you.' He whispered. 'For… everything.'
Slowly, he released her. Taking her hand and leading her to her car. Wordlessly, she handed him the keys. They rode in silence back to the farm. Lois stared blankly out the window at the blurring rain. She brushed away stray tears that fell from her soft, hazel eyes. Clark extended his hand, resting it gently on her knee. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but as the Kent Farm came into view; he noticed her hand, covering his.
Lois was exhausted. She had officially cried herself out. She stumbled toward the porch-steps, Clark's strong arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her steady. He led her into the house, towards her bedroom, his bedroom… He left her in the bathroom, with clean clothes and fresh towels and a small smile. She sighed sadly, closing the door quietly.
Clark wandered down the stairs as he heard the steady spray of the shower. He didn't particularly care if she used all the hot-water, not tonight anyway. As long as she was safe and warm. He stood in the kitchen, busying himself, preparing hot-chocolates.
'Is Lois alright?' He heard his mother ask softly, concerned, appearing at his shoulder. Clark nodded.
'She's in the shower.'
'Where was she?' Martha sighed worriedly. Clark paused, watching the rain that continued to hammer the window-pane.
'Dad…' He answered quietly. 'She, uh… She was really upset.' He felt Martha nod beside him.
'Your Dad thought the world of Lois… She's always been a daughter to your Dad and me…' Clark nodded.
'I think she feels the same way.' He answered with a small smile.
She took her time changing. She wasn't sure where her clothes had come from, though she suspected they were the remains of a few possessions she had unintentionally left here after her latest move. She heard the spray of the shower once more. Lois pulled on her soft, clean, long-sleeved-shirt along with her warm flannelette bottoms. The sound of shower stopped and she suspected that Clark was also now feeling as warm and content as her. Lois heard footsteps down the hall, down the stairs and fading into the kitchen. Smiling to herself, she hung her wet towel on the doorknob and padded quietly down the stairs, the scent of fresh hot-chocolate making her smile. She brushed her damp hair over her shoulder, feeling clean and safe… She wandered into the living-room. She walked past Clark, who was lounging comfortably in a squashy armchair, his hair clean, damp – wearing his own flannelette bottoms and white t-shirt. A mug of hot-chocolate cradled in his hands. She ruffled his hair gently, before lowering herself to the couch, snuggling into Martha's warm, open-armed, motherly embrace.
Martha gently stroked Lois' damp hair, her arm wound around the younger woman – who sighed softly, her eyes drifting closed contentedly.
'Casablanca?' Martha asked softly, smiling as Lois nodded into her shoulder.
'Got any more of that hot-chocolate, Smallville?' Lois asked glancing at him. Her hazel eyes, warm and still slightly red from the tears she has shed.
'I'm on it.' He sighed with a smile.
Lois clutched the warm mug in her hands and nestled her body further into the cushions of the comfortable couch, between Martha and Clark, their feet resting on the coffee table, the sounds of Casablanca filling the room.
Clark glanced contentedly down at the soft, warm sleeping body that had somehow curled itself slightly into his side. He wasn't complaining. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, her hair; now soft and dry, lightly redolent of strawberries. He listened to her steady heartbeat, the comforting rhythm of her breathing. Clark's eyes flicked across the couch to his mother, who caught his eye with a smile.
'She's nice like this.' He whispered with a small smile.
'Clark.' She chided softly with a grin. 'She's always nice.' Martha added in a whisper as she tucked loose strands of Lois' flowing hair behind her ear. 'I think it's time for me to turn in…' Martha began, glancing at her son and the young woman, sleeping beside him. She picked up their now empty mugs from the table before them.
'I got her.' Clark replied with a smile as Martha nodded before lightly kissing Lois' forehead and then his own.
'Goodnight, you two.' She whispered, making her way out of the living-room.
Clark looked down at Lois' sleeping form once more, wondering how he was going to move her without stirring her. Clark shifted in his seat, moving slightly as he attempted to untangle his feet from hers.
'No…' Lois mumbled quietly, her hand fisting into the fabric of his shirt.
'Lois?'
'Don't disappear on me again.' She whispered, her eyes still closed, gripping his shirt. Clark smiled, repositioning himself beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer as she snuggled sleepily into his collar-bone.
'I'm not going anywhere, Lois.' He whispered tugging a fluffy blue throw from the back of the couch and covering her with it. Lois sighed as she shifted her body slightly, giving Clark more room on the accommodating couch and allowing the blanket to envelope the both of them.
'How is it I always end up sleeping on the couch when you're around?' He chuckled quietly, closing his eyes – feeling more content than he had in a long time. Lois snickered softly as her blanket covered arm came to rest around his waist.
As the warm, morning sun filtered through the living-room window, Martha Kent was confronted with a sight that made her smile. Her couch was occupied. She glanced down at the sleeping bodies, comfortably snuggled together – the silver bracelet that adorned Lois' wrist caught in the morning light, Clark's hand covered hers palmed on his chest, positioned over his heart - as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lois shifted beneath the blanket that cocooned them, mumbling incoherently as she nuzzled sleepily into Clark's neck.
Martha made her way into the kitchen, occupying herself with the coffee machine and breakfast preparations as she heard the tell-tale sounds of her two young adults awakening. Martha stared out the large kitchen window at their farm. Although he was no longer with them, she knew that she would always be able to feel the presence of her Jonathan, on their farm, their home. She grinned into her steaming mug of coffee as she heard a shocked gasp, followed by two startled cries and a loud thud as her son hit the floor.
'Small-ville!'
'Lo-is!'
Martha sighed, filling two fresh cups and smiling to herself knowingly as her kitchen was invaded by a grumbling, sleepy but smiling Lois Lane and a disgruntled but relaxed and smiling, Clark Kent.