"Thank you," he nods, raising his glass to hers as the waiter leaves them, politely nodding back.

Taking an appreciative sip, he then looks back at her. "So: how is life going?"

"Good," she answers neutrally. "I just finished my article about Senator Johnson less than glorious past, so that's at least one bastard exposed."

"I look forward to reading it." A pause. "And how are things at home?"

Frowning, she looks up at him.

"What do you mean, 'at home'?"

"I mean your personal life, Lois." For a moment, they just stare at each other, her suspicion raising with each passing second.

He never aks her about her personal life.

"Why are you asking me that?"

"Is it so surprising that a father would ask something like this to his daughter?", he simply answers, not missing a beat. She doesn't, either.

"It is when it's you."

"Well, then consider me a changed man who wants to be more involved in and aware of his children lives," and she snorts. He doesn't even blink.

(Then again, he is made of the same stuff she is.)

"So?"

"So everything is going perfectly well at home as well, thank you. I've just changed a bulb in the living room and the place looks brighter than ever - a true revelation. I feel like my entire existence has just been enhanced."

"Glad to hear it. Any other changes, lately?"

"You mean apart from having to deal with your non-existent subtility?", she answers behind her glass, eyes not wavering. "None, no."

"I'm simply wondering whether there's been new – additions to your life."

Repressing an annoyed sigh, Lois purses her lips.

"No: you just want to know if Lucy's latest gossips are true." The corner of his mouth goes up.

"Isn't that the same thing?"

The waiter comes back with their plates and, anger raising in her chest, for some reason, Lois takes a breath to smile at the young man in thanks before setting her napkin on her lap, eyes not meeting her father's similar ones yet.

She knows it doesn't make much sense, but she's furious.

"Don't be mad at your sister: getting your nose in other people's business is a passion you've always shared. You've even made a career out of it, for God sake."

"I'm happy to see that you still see me as a professionnal gossiper, Dad. And next time you see her, do thank her for me: it really feels amazing to know she still goes running to you with details about my personal life whenever she gets hold of it."

"Oh please, Lois – stop being such a drama queen," he reprimands, raising his eyebrows at her as he cuts his steak. She glares, and it almost seems to amuse him.

Probably does. "Whether you like it or not, I'm your father, and I'd like to know who you're seeing. Especially when it sound so serious."

"The surprise in your voice flatters me."

"Long terms relationships aren't usually your thing."

"And how would you know what my thing is?", she points out cooly, taking it out on her own steak. Which leaves him completely unphased, of course.

"So: Clark Kent, huh?" and she chuckles, no trace of humor in it.

"Have you pulled out his records yet, General?"

"Not yet, no. And I probably won't have to if you simply tell me about him." Arms either side of his plate, he stops and looks at her, expectant, and she knows he won't let it go.

Damn the Lane stubornness.

"Yes, his name is Clark Kent. As you probably already know, he's from Kansas, and he works with me at the Daily Planet. Blue eyes, nice smile, blushes easy and likes coffee. Satisified?" Chuckling, he returns to his food.

"Well, he certainly must be quite something."

"What?"

"We both know you never went for anything less than the best, Lois. And for you to be so defensive - "

"I'm not on the defensive," she protest with a frown, on what she annoyingly realizes to be a defensive tone. Shit.

"Right. Are his parents still in Kansas?"

"Yes," she sighs, giving up at she starts eating as well. "He lost his father, but his mother still lives there."

"Has he been in Metropolis for long?"

"No."

"Is he a good man?"

"Yes."

"Does he treat you well?"

"Better than I deserve. Are we done?"

"Has he been married yet?"

"No."

"Does he like football?," and she rolls her eyes. Men.

"Yes."

"Can he cook?"

She frowns.

"Yes. How is that relevant?"

"Well, giving your legendary cooking skills, it would be nice if your other half is able to at least put together a meal - and keep you alive." He pauses, then shrugs slightly. "Maybe teaches you how to not set the kitchen on fire while attempting to cook an omelet, too," he deadpans, serious as he keeps eating.

She can see the ghost of a mocking smirk as he briefly looks up at her, though, and, hiding her own smile – and swearing to herself to never let Clark find out about that particular memory - Lois gets back to her steak.