Author's Note: Okay, I've got to 'fess up to something before anyone reads this chapter. There's a detail in Chapter 2 that I completely contradict here. It's partially because I started this story not too long after seeing the film and thus didn't have as much time to think about how the premovie events went; or I could blame it on the fact that I always wait, like, two months between each update. Either way, I don't think it's anything too major that messes with the rest of the storyline; a tiny shift to the scene in Ch. 2 and this makes perfect sense. I considered going back and re uploading that Chapter but I really hate doing that unless absolutely necessary, so I figured this explanation would suffice. And a part of me is hoping that it's been so long since Ch. 2 came out that no one will even remember what I'm talking about, so... ;)
Anyway, on with the long overdue chapter!
"That was fun," Richard said, loosening his tie, keeping his tone light. It would be impossible not to notice the tension radiating off Lois, but he knew that trying to broach the topic before she was ready could very well mean that they'd never discuss it. If she couldn't get her footing secure in an argument she wouldn't participate at all.
And how many times over the years have we bottled up all the things we've needed to say?
He started working at his shirt, surprised when she actually responded to his comment.
"I'm glad you invited him," she said, shifting her body so she was half-facing him now, her dark curls sweeping down and covering her face.
Then why do you sound so sad? "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner—it was a last minute thing. Poor guy seems like he could use some friends. I guess five years was a little longer than he thought, huh?"
Lois's head jerked up at that, eyes narrowing and honing in one him. He blinked; he wasn't used to seeing the steely reporter's gaze here in the house—she usually reserved that for interviews.
"What did you say?"
Richard froze. "Clark could use some friends?"
The whites of her eyes slowly re-appeared. "Yeah, sure." She shook her head like she was clearing it and dropped her gaze again.
"Richard, there's something I… something I need to talk to you about."
He sat on the bed and took her hand, as much an anchor for himself as a comfort to her. He was thrown off-balance by the note of—what was it? Regret? Distress? But no, Lois wasn't a damsel in distress. Not even for Superman.
"What is it, honey?"
"Oh, Christ, Richard." Her fist closed up tighter in his hand and he saw the fine frown lines form at the sides of her mouth. "Don't call me that."
"I—"
She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. This is just really… I hate myself for this."
He scooted closer, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as all that."
I've been expecting it for weeks now, anyway.
She barked out a laugh that was actually painful to hear, head dropping further. "What if I told you that I lied to you about Jason's birthdate?"
He'd already had words prepared about how it was okay that she was still in love with… with, well, him. About how he understood. But this wasn't processing.
Lied? Why would she…?
"Oh."
And then there wasn't enough air in the room to understand what she was telling him—God, the pain—it was lightning swift and deadly, clutching around his heart and closing up his throat so that not a sound would come out.
"While you were gone, you remember?" She spoke in a monotone that trembled just below the surface. "I was the only one who knew how to contact you, other than Perry. And I told him not to talk to you about it because I was worried it would distract you while you were in a war zone."
He swallowed down the weight of it, hardly able to stomach it, arm locked onto Lois's shoulder.
"I called you as soon as he was out of the hospital. And a few people made comments… but not many. Jason was so sickly that first month that no one was too suspicious. No one knew for sure when we'd gone from being friends to…"
The trembling in her voice shifted into her body; he felt her crumbling apart under his touch.
"Anyway." She dashed at her eyes. "I didn't want it to be true, Richard. I wanted you to be… I wanted us to be…"
He choked out the words. "A family?"
"Yes," she said, voice dripping with condemnation. "I thought I could put everything behind me—start a real life. I couldn't really think, watching them put all those tubes in Jason and worrying about you coming back in a body bag. And when you came back… the way you looked at Jason… I couldn't. I couldn't take that away from you."
An eternity later, she raised her head, looking up at him. "I did what I thought I had to."
The instinct to reassure her was impossible to resist, even bleeding from freshly opened wounds as he was. "I don't care where Jason came from. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
A tight smile pulled at her lips. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that."
He tried to smile back but couldn't muster up the energy. "Was there something else I was supposed to say?"
"I think this is the part where you hurl names at me and storm out," She said, relaxing into her smile a bit. "That would make it easier for me, you know."
He took a breath. "I don't think Lanes are cut out for taking the easy way."
She chuckled, a little raw around the edges, but nothing that time wouldn't heal. He hoped. Putting a hand on his cheek, she looked up at him uncertainly.
"There's more?" He was almost afraid to ask.
"No, but…" She bit her lip. "You're Jason's father. There's nothing that will change that."
And the part of him that'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the pieces had started fitting together tensed.
"But…?"
Jesus. Not Jason, too.
She quirked her head to the side. "But nothing." Her eyes slitted into the answer-extracting gaze again. "What did you think I was going to say?"
"I—" Now he was the one who didn't know how to say his piece. "I thought since he's back, that…"
I can't even think it, much less say it.
She rose up off the bed, pacing, nervous energy bouncing off her.
"You really think there's still something between me and him? After all this time?"
Richard shrugged. "Like you said. He's Superman." He cringed. "What more would Jason need?"
Chewing at her thumbnail, she continued pacing, backlit by the moonlight streaming in the window. She looked like a vision even in her plainest pajamas.
And he couldn't help thinking that he'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd never have her shortly after they met. That all of this had been icing on the cake. But Jason… if he lost Jason…
Not my boy. I can't lose my boy.
"Don't even talk like that," she snapped. "If Superman thinks he can just up and act like the last five years didn't happen, well. That's his business." She went to stand in front of the window, as if she were hoping that Superman might hear her, too. "It's not that I don't want him to see Jason. I do. But it's going to be on my terms."
Richard rose, coming up behind her.
"You have my blessing," he said, quiet.
He was glad when she didn't question him, because he wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about the full implication of the words just yet—if he was ready to believe that ending five years was so simple as four words, spoken from the heart.
When Richard stifled another yawn Clark raised an eyebrow. "Long night?" He asked, sliding into the booth and setting down his briefcase while Richard did the same.
Richard's lips quirked. "You could say that." He opened the menu and shut it just as quickly, nodding like he'd just wanted to double check his order. He wasn't kidding about this being his favorite place for lunch, was he?
"I went on a late night flight, actually. To clear my head." He smiled. "That probably sounds crazy, doesn't it? Taking a plane out at 3a.m. and just circling around. But that's what I did."
"Not at all." Clark couldn't help but smile back; something about Richard's smile was so open and infectious that it just begged to be shared. "In fact, I know exactly what you're talking about."
"Really? You fly, too?"
"Oh, not planes," Clark heard himself saying; he grabbed the menu and held it up in front of his face to cover up the fact that his face had just re-arranged into an expression of panic.
Why did I just tell him that? Oh, God, think of something fast—
But thinking fast wasn't really Clark's strong point. Oh, he could go through an advanced Trigonometry book and have every problem solved a millisecond after he'd finished reading it, but when it came to lying on the spot he didn't really have the flair for it.
"Paraglider? Clark, I wouldn't have taken you for the type."
He almost dropped his menu. "Yes! That!" He lifted his hands up in some motion that he hoped looked reminiscent of a paraglider. "That's me."
"You don't go paragliding at 3a.m., do you?" Richard looked worried, possibly because Clark could feel a flush spreading from his neck to his forehead.
"Oh, no, of course not. No. Never."
Well, at least that's the truth.
"Some weekend you should teach me—and I can take you out on the plane. What do you say?"
That I need to learn how to paraglide today after work? "That sounds swell."
Thankfully the waitress came to take their order before Clark could get himself in any more trouble and watching Richard order for both of them in fluent Cantonese, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He'd have to watch himself around Richard. The man was more dangerous than he looked.
"Jason likes you," Richard said, apropos of nothing other than he'd been meaning to tell Clark. "He asked if you could come over to dinner every night."
Clark fumbled with his snow pea, picking it up and dropping it three successive times. The reporter actually seemed a little panicked, and without thinking, Richard reached out and snagging the snow pea in his chopsticks deftly, holding it up in front of Clark's face.
Clark's eyes widened. "I'm sorry—I didn't—I'm not used to—"
"Don't apologize." Why are you always apologizing to me? Richard moved it a bit closer. "Just eat."
Clark ate the pea with the strangest expression on his face, blinking rapidly like he was trying to clear his vision. "Thanks."
Richard smiled. Clark was always so heartfelt. "My pleasure," he said, getting back to his own dish of Hong Kong style noodles.
"And, uh, I like Jason. Too."
"He's a good kid, isn't he?" Richard felt the noodles settled like a hard rock in his clenching stomach, so he tried to change the subject.
"We'd love to have you again, sometime, if you don't mind eating vegetarian. Lois put her foot down on that. But I do make some pretty mean veggie noodles, and if you close your eyes, the tofu almost tastes the same."
"Tofu?"
"Tofu," Richard said grimly. "Can you believe it? Now that Jason can eat soy, it's one his favorite foods. I swear that boy gets it all from his—"
Damn.
It was so easy to forget.
"Well, anyway," he said, bravely soldiering on, taking a heaping sip of tea to cover up the sudden break in his voice, "Our door's always open. I know you've been out of the country for a long time, and I remember how hard it can be to get back into the flow of things."
"I—yes. I'd love to come to dinner again."
"Great," Richard said. "And I can show you Marina."
"Marina?" Clark's mobile brows drew together, "I thought your new cat's name was Little Lane?"
Richard laughed, resisting the temptation to reach across the table and smooth the tiny wrinkle marring Clark's face. "Marina's my plane—my other baby. She's been with me for five years now, never steered me wrong."
"Oh! Now I remem—I mean, uh, right. Your plane."
"Can't let a lovely lady like that steer me around the skies without a name, can I?" He pointed his chopsticks at Clark. "You should feel lucky—usually I don't introduce her until the third date."
Clark blinked at him a few times before he got the joke and laughed a little too loudly. Richard grinned, digging into his noodles, but the hard pit in his stomach had been replaced with an odd, light feeling.
Third date?
And what did I mean by that?
