Story: you lost me somehow
Summary: It hurts like hell when Smallville tells her that her cousin and Miss Perfect already know about his super-sparkly meteor powers from Mars; Lois has always just been a disembodied pen.
Notes: Written because, in all seriousness, 'Infamous' was probably the worst episode of Smallville in the history of ever, and the Chlois was just about its only redeemable quality.
Disclaimer: If I owned Smallville, Ollie would have been in this episode. Preferably without a shirt.
It hurts when Smallville tells her that her cousin and Miss Perfect already know about his super-sparkly meteor powers from Mars. She's not surprised, exactly (he'd never have forgotten Lana freaking Lang at the airport, burning bus full of nuns or whatever aside, and certainly not the chance to go ga-ga over that ridiculous haircut), except that she'd thought that at some point, she and Clark had reached an understanding. There's a reason half of her possessions are scattered between her Metropolis apartment and that rickety mess Smallville calls a house, and it's not just because she's cuckoo for corn rows.
(She tells him to start from the beginning, because she's just masochistic like that. It's how we roll here, folks. She needs to know everything she didn't deserve to know about before.)
Okay—so she has a thing for The Red-and-Plaid Blur. Apparently he's a hero now, anyway, so maybe that negates the fact that his wardrobe is composed of two colors and that one tie she got him for Christmas. And he's got an arm like freaking Hercules, too, so cue the swelling theme music and brilliant sunsets in the background.
(If this were a movie, Lana would be the love interest and Lois would be the pithy, genderless boss who has five minutes of screen time and is hailed to be one of the best, if underutilized, parts of the film.)
Lois is trying her damndest not to show Smallville that she's pissed off. Maybe pissed isn't the right term, except saying that she's hurt so much that it feels like he just popped one of her arteries right out of her chest makes her sound like she's twelve. When he tells her that he has X-ray vision (she can't decide if she's annoyed that she shared a bathroom with a hormonal walking MRI or intrigued if he ever took a peek), her hand rises to her throat for a second, fiddling with the collar of her shirt, and she wonders for a really, really horrifically chick-flicky moment if he can tell that her heartbeat goes sham-wa whenever he's around.
Then again, the fake-out kiss might've clued him in—
Just in case he can read minds, too, she derails that train of thought.
(The important thing is not that she knows now, it's that he obviously needs something from her and is only spilling his guts to reach that end. Lois certainly wasn't born in the back of a turnip trunk, but wow, she never expected something so moronically heartless out of Captain Corn-fed Gentleman over there. She tells him to consider it done to get him out of the room before she starts sobbing like a leaky faucet.)
(Good God, when did her spine get vaporized?)
So yeah, in summary, it sucks to be Lois Lane when Clark Kent decides to pull a make-or-break-er with the front page of the Daily Planet; because her name is on the byline and she's kind of officially famous and she takes great joy in taking a bite of her morning Danish the day it goes to press, thinking about buying a steak and writing up a list of names, but she's not special enough to be first, or second, or anything other than a disembodied pen.
No matter what Smallville says to the contrary, not knowing doesn't make her special. It just puts her in a glass house.
Lois has never been good around glass. She always breaks it.
(She wonders, as he slips on the ring, if breaking glass earns you seven years of bad luck or just persistent memory loss. She thinks she might prefer the bad luck.)
Er. Right. More Smallville post-episode angst. Thoughts, anyone?