Title: Just Like That
Author: Valentine Michel Smith
Category: Movieverse/Superman Returns with hints of Comicsverse/Superman
Rating: T (mild language)
Notes: Sequel to "An Afternoon in the Life of Lois Lane, Pin Dropper"
Summary: Lois does what she should've done a long time ago.
Just Like That
Lois knows impulsivity. Hell, there're days when she expects to go to Wiki, type in the word and see her picture. It doesn't take Wiki to confirm though: Lois gets she's the very definition of "the inclination to act on impulse." She says the words aloud because that's what Lois does.
The kiss in Clark 's apartment affirms and reminds: she's still who she was before tacking "mother" and "significant other" to the list (journalist/prize winner/woman/pain in the ass...). Sure, being a mother's softened an edge or two, but... she never stopped being Lois Lane.
The thought makes her smile.
"Lois?" Richard's standing at the sink, hands on a plate, wiping the last dish from the sink. He's stopped using the dishwasher; he's doing his part to reduce his ecological footprint. Not flying is not an option.
"Hmm," she answers. The sound of her voice is far-off, like it belongs to someone else. She's in full-out contemplation mode, and there's something bubbling under surface thoughts she can't quite make.
"What's going on?" Richard leans against the counter, hands splayed on granite. They look small against the stone.
"Story," Lois lies.
She looks at him, and he looks back, eyes warm and well meaning and concerned. Richard has never said anything about banishment to the space between fiancé and husband – even after five years. That's where she put him, and that's where he stayed. Five years with Richard, and Lois has all the comfort and the stability of a marriage; five years with Richard, and Jason has a man to call "Dad."
It's not right.
"Oh? Which one?" His face is open and inquisitive but... there's something missing.
"Edge," says Lois.
Richard chuckles knowingly. "Yeah. I can see how Morgan Edge would make your head a little more..."
Richard keeps talking. He leads Lois into the living room, seats her on the couch. He follows her down onto the cushion, hand placed gently on her knee.
Lois knows she says something, not that she remembers exactly what. She says a lot of things. She even manages to hang her head and laugh like she means it. Only, she doesn't.
She has to tell him.
"Just opened the Calera." Richard says. He's standing at the far corner of the room. Lois doesn't turn around. She doesn't remember Richard getting up. "The Pinot," she hears him say.
"Sure," says Lois, answering the unspoken question. This time, she pays attention, she listens as he pours, filling one glass, then the other, listens as he pads over to her. He hands her the glass.
Lois says, "Thank you."
Richard smiles and his eyes crinkle just a bit at the corners, like his mouth's sharing the happy.
She has to say something.
Instead, Lois tips the glass, talking a huge swallow. She exhales lightly. "Richard, I need to tell you."
Richard's already sinking into the couch. He never seems to take up much space; now, he's managed to collapse into himself like a telescope returned to the shelf. He knows her well enough to read what's coming; he knows what's coming can't be good.
"I love you. I really, really do." Richard says nothing. Lois pushes on. "You've been a wonderful, stabilizing influence, and Jason adores you."
"No need to sell anybody here," Richard half-jokes. He does that when he feels hurt coming.
"I love you." Lois makes herself keep talking because if she stops, if she doesn't say it, it's back to status quo. Status quo isn't the way to live. It's not a life. It's not fair. "I love you, but I'm not in love with you."
"Oh," says Richard.
And just like that, it's over.
Richard packs his things quietly while she stands outside. The cigarette nearly chokes her, but she pulls on the filter again, inhaling, determined to focus on something other than the pain she feels, the pain she's caused. She coughs and snuffs out the cigarette with the toe of her shoe, the taste of nicotine and tar heavy on her tongue.
Lois's house re-entry is one part stealth, one part "do I dare?" She goes to the bedroom, the one she shared with Richard, and finds all traces of man removed.
"I'll send someone for the rest," says Richard from behind her, his voice soft, wounded.
"Okay," says Lois.
And just like that, he's gone.
Lois finishes Richard's glass of Calera. She finishes a second of her own. It's not planned. Most of what's happened in the last few days hasn't been planned. The only plan on record was Jason spending the weekend with his grandparents. That, thinks Lois, was utterly fortuitous. She's not sure how "fortuitous" is spelled, but she knows it's the right word.
She should probably cry, but can't.
The doorbell rings. Lois swirls the red liquid in the glass, stares at the legs as the wine trickles down from rim, Pinot returning to settle in the bowl.
The doorbell rings again. "Lois, are you there?"
It's Clark. Lois sighs heavily and lets her head roll onto the back of the sofa. Not today. Not now.
"Lois?" There's a pause, then Clark's voice drifts through the open window, concern heavy. "Are you okay?"
Why is Clark talking like he knows she's there? If she doesn't answer the door, he might do something stupid and Clark-like – say, sit on the steps for hours or call "911." Lois shakes her head, shoves herself from the couch and opens the front door.
"Is this a bad time?"
Lois is about to let into him when she realizes she doesn't have it in her. Not now, not after... "No, it's a great time, Clark. C'mon in." Lois swings the door wide. She points herself toward the wine. "Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Coffee? Milk?" So much for opstaying with the armfay jabs.
"No, I'm good." Clark pushes his glasses up on his nose, though given they're sitting where they should be, Lois doesn't get it. Must be a nervous tick. "Are you sure you're alright?" Clark stares at the wine glasses. Lois sees he's trying not to be obvious, but not being obvious isn't exactly Clark's strong suit. Clark smiles politely, and in that smile, Lois sees something familiar.
"I'm fine, Clark. It's just been a hard week."
"Work?"
"Yes."
"Home?"
"Oh, hell yes." Lois sprawls on the sofa, nearly spilling the wine. Clark sits down next to her.
"Is it because of me?" Lois's head pivots. She watches Clark, the aw-shucks ma'am persona intact, apple pie and baseball and Chevy rolled into a farm-honed package. "Because if it is, I just want you to know I wouldn't do anything to come between you and -"
And Lois loses it. She starts laughing, laughing so hard tears fall from her eyes. "No, Clark. It's not you. It's absolutely not you."
"Good. I mean, I'm glad to hear it. I'd hate to –"
"Clark? Can you stop talking for a minute?"
"I suppose. Yeah. I could stop. Talking." Clark folds his hands onto his lap and stares across the room. He turns back to Lois. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." Lois hiccups, stifling the laughter. She wipes her face with the back of her hand.
"Okay." Clark shifts, knees moving out and in as he tries to find a comfortable position between the sofa and the coffee table. "Do you want me to leave?"
Lois uses one foot to push the table further away to make room.
Clark settles in, stilling himself.
Lois sits there on the sofa, Clark at her side. She says nothing. She's already said too much. It needed to be said though. It did.
"Lois?"
"Yes, Clark?"
"Where's Jason?"
"Gone for the weekend."
"What about Richard?"
"Gone."
There's silence, then Clark's voice again. "Gone?"
"Yes, Clark."
"Gone where?"
"Not talking about it."
"Right." Clark sits, chatter silenced. In the hush, Lois swears she hears gears turning as Clark awareness dawns. He turns toward her, then away, then settles for a neutral angle as he leans forward. The higher pitch of his voice tells her he understands. "I should go."
Lois nods solemnly. "No, wait." She pulls Clark back onto the couch. He tucks a foot underneath him and rests one hand on his thigh. He has the patience of a saint. A second thought occurs - and all the social grace of a camel. He'll sit right there until she boots him out.
"Richard and I had a conversation." Lois finishes the wine and returns the glass to the table. "I didn't mean to say, no, I did, I meant to... Of course, what I should've said -"
"Lois? Are we still –" Clark gestured, fingers indicating, "'not talking''?"
"Yes." Lois shifted and went on. "I thought I wanted to be alone, but do you mind? Sometimes, it's nice to have a friend. Someone who'll make sure I won't do anything stupid. Or stupider."
Clark nods.
She looks at him. His face is more full of angles than she remembered. Then, there're those eyes, still as blue as they looked when Clark wore the black cashmere turtleneck even though he's wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. Lois sees something different in Clark - or maybe she's remembering what it's like to be with someone who has no expectations and can't be let down.
It's comfortable, companionable even. There's a calm that overtakes her, like she should be here, like this. Lois sees Clark with new eyes.
As for the rest, she'll get it figured out in due time. She curls herself in the far corner of the couch, legs curving beneath her, and dozes off, sleep welcome.