And it's Alright
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Disclaimer: Nooope. Still not mine.
Rating: T
Note: Stiletto is TONIGHT! I had an hour and a half to kill this afternoon, so I wrote this. One-shot, set during the aftermath of a speculative Doomsday. Uhmm… shamelessly fluffy. I regret nothing. Shorter than it should be, because I really wanted to post it before Stiletto actually aired.
Dedication: For Angela.
Genres: Romance/Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort
Pairings: Clark/Lois
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"And all the colors start to change beneath the light, you might forget that the world's so sad, you might forget that things are awful bad, and it's alright…"
- Begin to Hope, Regina Spektor
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She's lying in his arms, her head on his chest, her hand idly playing with the collar of his shirt. It's a ridiculous position for them to be in, she knows that, but some things just can't be helped. She was crying and he was shaking, and they ended up tumbled together on his old bed with the sheets pulled haphazardly over them. He has one arm locked around her waist in an effort to secure her to his side (it's pointless – she's not going anywhere anyway). It's cold, borderline freezing, and his free hand occasionally rubs up and down her arm.
She has never been this comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. She's uncomfortable for all the obvious reasons. She's cold, she has a headache, she's trying really hard not think about anything that's happened today, and to make matters worse, she's almost positive that she's going to have to wake up early tomorrow and plan a damned funeral.
But she's comfortable, too, because she's snuggled in against his side, and his shirt smells a little like ginger and a lot like hay and sort of like apples, and every few minutes he kisses her forehead, or her hair, or her cheek, or her temple.
He shifts a little and tightens the covers around her, smoothing the blankets down around her.
"Lo?" he says hoarsely.
"Mmmm?" she responds, closing her eyes.
"Are you comfortable?"
It's a ridiculous question, but it's him in three words, three farm-boyish small-town Smallville-ish words, and she just continues toying with the collar of his shirt as she responds,
"Yeah, very."
He relinquishes his hold on her waist, and slips his hand up her back to stroke her hair gently. She moves her hand from the collar of shirt, to find his free hand, and lace their fingers together over his heart. The shirt he's wearing is one of his plaid ones, and the lines run together in oranges and yellows and reds and browns. It reminds her of leaves in fall, and there's a sort of homey feeling she associates with it.
She wonders if he's always felt like home to her. She struggles to remember a time when he didn't. Lois is pretty sure, at the risk of sounding cliché, that she's known him all her life without even realizing it.
"I'm sorry."
The sentence startles her from her thoughts, and she tilts her head back to look him in the face for the first time in hours.
"What for?" she asks.
She's genuinely curious.
He shrugs a little, and pulls his hand free of hers to caress her cheek.
"I dunno. I feel like I should be sorry."
Lois shakes her head.
"You're crazy Smallville, you know that?" she murmurs, smiling just a little bit.
He nods.
"Yeah, I know," he agrees.
Clark tilts his head forward and kisses her lips carefully and sweetly and gently, and Lois realizes why. Why she bothers getting up in the morning, why she hasn't gone crazy yet, why she hasn't sunk into depression…
But mostly she just remembers why she loves him.