Summary: What does one do when the woman you love cares only for your alter-ego? What can be done to make her see you when you're not wearing a cape? How can there be a happy family when she doesn't see you unless you wear a costume? Dichotomy is confusing enough without adding romance to the mixture.

To Love a Dichotomous Man

Chapter Three

Clark had long since abandoned that bed in favor of Lois using it, but the lack of his presence did not seem to change the feel of the room. The clue cotton sheet, though washed twice in the months she had been using them, still clung desperately to the scent of the man that once slept upon them. Images of vast golden fields, of flannel shirts warmed by the sun, of working happily even as the night fell flooded Lois' mind every night as she tried to sleep. Was that how Clark's childhood had been? Had he run, laughing, after a dog through rows of wheat that stood a head higher than him?

Clark was such a carefree and easy going man. He exuded confidence, something she had only begun to notice after living with him. He was rugged, but gentle; strong, but soft. How had a man such as him come to live in the noisy, busy city of Metropolis? She often found herself surprised by her recent perceptions of him and by how much they varied from the impression of him she had had in their time as partners. Indeed, she was beginning to realize she had never truly gotten to know Clark and certainly regretted it.

Lois rolled onto her side, pulling the covers over her bare shoulder, and inhaled deeply as her head sank into the pillow. Though se felt entirely too feminine doing so, she sighed with contentment. She could not have known the Clark could hear every sound she had made. His scent immersed her mind and caused her to compulsively close her eyes. She found the she had never felt safer or more at ease than when cocooned in those simple, worn cotton bed linens.

Only yesterday, as she had sat at her desk, staring at the monitor, Lois had come to a realization. Normally, her mind wandered a bit when she was having trouble putting pen to paper, so to speak. Usually, her thoughts turned to her son and the objectives she had for that particular evening. Occasionally, they would turn to her most recent tryst with Superman, or such romantic thoughts of the hero of Metropolis. However, lately her mind, or rather her heart, seemed less occupied by the man that had fathered her son. The most recent development was the fixation of her thoughts on the man who was helping to provide for her and her son.

Having Clark to share responsibilities was a blessing indeed. He paid his portion of rent, utilities and whatnot, cooked even more often than did Lois, and with much more skill, and was more a father to Jason than Superman or Richard had ever been.

However, these emotions that had crept up within startled Lois. Living with Clark had been an arrangement of necessity, but, as time went on, Lois was becoming more accustomed to the presence of this man. In truth, accustomed was not so accurate a word as dependent.

Her mind turned to him more often than she could have anticipated and the thought she has were bringing her closer every day to reaching a startling conclusion. Lois believed she was falling in love with Clark. Heavens, she was falling for goofy, clumsy, quiet, and insecure Clark, but while he was all these things in public he was someone entirely different in his own home, though he was still a bit goofy. Perhaps he was not so nervous and, therefore, unafraid to be his own self.

Lois chuckled a bit, rolling onto her stomach and attempting to find a position that would bring sleep. "You can take the boy out of the country…" she mumbled into the pillow before lifting her head and pulling out the clump of hair she had taken into her mouth with her words. Again she sighed, though it was in frustration this time. Flipping onto her back, she folded down the covers and stood, donning a robe. The dark green terrycloth clashed terribly with her yellow sleeveless pajamas, but she didn't notice.

Trying to organize her disheveled hair, Lois widened the crack in the door and stepped into the living room, stopping abruptly when she realized Clark was still awake. He sat in an armchair by the window, a book in hand, though not a light was on. His eyes drifted up to hers slowly, as his attention became distracted from the book. She shivered slightly and drew the rove about her, wondering if Clark had taken in her frame or merely skipped straight from the book to her face. Dangerously, she hoped it was the former.

"Are you reading?" she questioned, stunned. "Why aren't any lights on? You're going to ruin your eyes."

He smiled at the tone in her voice, more concerned and motherly than it had been before he had left, before she had born his child. "I didn't want to disturb Jason," he replied, closing the roughly covered book quietly. He wore flannel pants and a t-shirt that stretched slightly over the torso and biceps as most clothing did for him. She had discovered Clark bought his shirts too large for him when he intended to wear them to the office. His voice grew husky as he lowered it to a whisper to avoid waking the child. "Are you all right? You've been tossing and turning all night."

Though it struck her as strange that he knew that, Lois did not comment. Clark, she had determined, tended to know things he could not. "I'm fine," she replied. "I just can't get to sleep."

"Can I get you something?" asked Clark, smiling slightly in the dark. He could hear the changes of her pulse and could guess at what had caused them. "Something to eat of drink?"

"I just got up to get a glass of water," she told him as she turned and took a step toward the kitchen.

"I'll get it for you." He was up, the book left in his chair, and in the kitchen before she could argue, leaving her to take a seat on the couch. Doing so, she sat on her legs to keep her feet warm. He entered the room after a moment with two cups. "How about some tea instead?"

"That sounds much better." Lois took the proffered cup and held it in both hands, letting the warmth soak into her cold skin. She took a sip, pausing when Clark sat next to her so it would not spill.

They sat in silence a moment, drinking their tea or blowing on it to cool the liquid faster. "So," he enquired, breaking the quiet. "What has you up so late?"

"I…" she stalled, but figured there was no point in hiding things any longer. "I was thinking about someone."

He did not reply immediately, but rather looked forward. When he did ask, his tone was somewhat pained. "Superman?"

Lois, caught unaware, merely took in his expression. It seemed he had feelings for her, and this was encouraging. After all, why else would the thought of her pining for another man upset him? She smirked; the look adorning her face was one he had seen often. It was usually work related: she wore it when she knew she was on to something.

"No, not Superman."

"Who, then?" He stood to take his cup to the kitchen. Following, she took a deep breath and prepared to plunge into this. Her heart beat faster, her palms began to sweat, and she grew warm all over. "You, Clark," she said after clearing her throat softly.

He stopped where he was, his cup halfway in the sink. His eyes sought hers and held their gaze - searching, probing, for confirmation. "Lois…"

She pulled up close to him then, arching her back in order to meet his gaze. The cup touched in the bottom of the sink and made a hollow, metallic clank. His hands, free now, enveloped her back instinctually. He was confident, but still could not anticipate the words she was about to say.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, Clark."

He was still a moment, gazing into her deep eyes, before a small smile spread across his lips. He bent down low to her, his lips hovering a hair's breadth from her own. "I love you, Lois. I've loved you since that first time on the roof."

"On the… roof?" she questioned, her breathing labored as she prepared for his kiss.

"Lois, I never told you, but I'm Superman."