With a sigh, she opens her eyes, knowing there's no point in trying again.
She's used to it, now.
Some nights, she can actually catch a few hours of sleep. Rarely decent, often filled with images that leave her with a tear stained face in the morning, but still. Of course, no rest actually come from even those, the images of that night, of what could have been if he hadn't - gone , of what she could have done to stop it, always way too fresh and vivid.
(Nothing, Martha keeps telling her, her voice impossibly soft. It was his choice, and nothing could have stopped him.
But Lois can't help but think she could have done more - be there for him more. In the hours, the days, the weeks before. She could have, she should have, made him feel important, loved. Make him understand that he mattered, and that he was enough. Maybe she could have saved him, him who was always the one saving everyone else.)
Turning her head on her pillow, she faces the emptiness that swallows her a little deeper every night (every day). The one that leaves her cold, so cold. Her hand ghosts over the space where he should be, his blue eyes closed and his dark curls wild.
He was beautiful, when he slept. He was always beautiful, but sleeping, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders for a few hours, he was perfect. And when he slowly woke up in the morning, a slow smile growing on his face as soon as his eyes landed on her - well, that was her favorite sight in the world.
She pretends she knows her silent prayers to see it again, if only one more time, are foolish. Sometimes, she almost believes her own lies.
(She's always been a practical woman, even when confronted to death. Her mother's passing had taught her to be tough, to not forget but learn to accept the reality of things - that sometimes, people you love die, and you have to go on without them.
With Clark, with her beautiful, soft Clark, though - she still can't. She's afraid she never will.)
A familiar headache slowly building, Lois turns on her bedside lamp, and as she sits up, lets her fingers and eyes find the photograph of his bright smile and laughing eyes she keeps by her side, fighting once more not to let the tears fall.
It's raining today.
It doesn't change anything, of course. As soon as she's gotten her coffees, she heads to Heroes' Park to pay her daily tribute to her love. You don't miss a day, do you?, Jerry says.
How could she, when this is where she feels the closest to him now?
The soothing sound of the water falling on her umbrella does nothing to lessen the ache in her chest as she stares at his fallen statue. She didn't expect it to, anyway.
She doesn't go to work anymore.
She can't. Besides, it wouldn't be the same - nothing will ever be the same, and with Clark working at the Daily Planet with her for the past two years, there was really no hope that work would be any different.
Lois just knew that entering the office every day would feel like dying a little more. That she'd always fight not to look towards what used to be his desk every time she walked in, that the ring on her finger would always bring small smiles full of pity from their colleagues. That her heart would always twitch when she'd enter the archive room, remembering the way he used to always steal kisses and touches whenever they were in it will always feel wrong, going back home without his fingers linked with hers.
(Home. It doesn't feel like home anymore, the place too silent and empty and cold now, without his bright presence.
It would probably be better to move, but she knows she never will.)
She expected it, and she was right - she doesn't have the courage to go back.
It's the lack of drive, though, that mildly surprises her. The passion, the rush, the excitement running through her veins when she's after the next story - even that, it's all gone. Not only does she not want to go to the office anymore, she also has no interest in writing...anything.
Work has always been what defines her - what she is (or at least, what she used to live for, up until two years ago). The thrill of the next big thing had been what drove her since she was fourteen, and it had taken all of her time going forward, because, well, she lived for the stuff. The justice, the truth.
But they took her truth, her hope from her, a man so good and gentle, she had more trouble comprehending his character than she had his origins. They took him, and now, as pathetic and cliché as it sounds, there's nothing left of her.
She knows she should probably worry, at least care. She doesn't.
When she sends Perry her fluff piece of the week that afternoon, he calls her in the second.
"I put Colin on the Europe terrorist attack story, by the way."
She shrugs, even though she knows he can't see her. "Alright."
"It's going to be huge."
"I'm sure it will."
"And Kate is still working on the draft for that Emmanuel Macron interview." She doesn't answer. He isn't fazed. "You're welcome to take a look at what she has so far."
He's not pushing her. To anybody else, it might seem like he is, and the truth is, he could - she bets the board's probably on his back, badgering him about the fact that their two timed Pulitzer journalist hasn't written anything remotely worthy of interest in the past month or so, but he's not.
She's grateful. Still, she swallows as best as she can, and turns him down once again.
"I'm sure Kate's got it under control. Unless she has a question or something, I think I'll stay out of her hair. Bye, Perry." And, with that, she hangs up.
"Hi, this is Clark Kent. I'm sorry I can't answer right now, but leave me a message, and I'll make sure to call you back."
Fidgeting in the dark, Lois draws his shirt tighter around her body as she hits the call back button and waits, her hair spread on his pillow.
She opened the chest with his cape in it today. She shouldn't have. She does know how it always leaves her, by now.
His voice resonates again, and for a second, she can breathe a little better.
"Hi, this is Clark Kent."
After the funeral, Diana had come to talk to her.
They'd buried him over a week ago, and just like that, the tall and elegant woman had materialized herself next to Lois on the bench she was sitting on, the frisky air of the park enveloping them as it traveled over the frozen lake.
Lois hadn't even asked how she found her. It didn't matter, anyway.
Nothing really did now.
She'd offered her condoleances, while acknowledging how hollow they must feel on the receiving end. She'd apologized for not being able to save him, said how proud she was to have fought alongside him. How sorry she was to not have the opportunity to get to know him better.
He must have been exceptional , she'd said. She had no idea.
Then, Diana told her about her own story. Not who she really was, where she came from - nothing too detailed, nothing to lift the veil on the wonder that she seemed to be. But she did tell her about a man, one she'd lost once. One she'd found again only to lose one more time. She told her how nothing had ever hurt quite like this before, and nothing did ever since.
"I'm not really sure why I'm telling you this," she had admitted. "The truth is, I can't really end that story with a 'Don't worry, it will pass .' You already know that it won't."
Lois hadn't bothered to wipe out the tears that had made their way down her cheeks. "But I guess...I guess that ever since this happened, I've shut myself from the world. From everything, everyone. I never even told this story to anyone, before you - nobody could even come close to understand how it felt, anyway, and with him gone, there was no point in going on."
She's silent for a few seconds, and Lois finds herself grateful to that stranger who's sharing something so painful, only to try and help her through her own grief.
When she speaks again, her voice is even softer than before. "I would never pretend to know your pain, miss Lane. But I can relate, and if in any way, I can help you bear it enough that it doesn't swallow you like mine did, I wanted to let you know that I'll be here."
She hadn't seen Diana again after that. But when Martha comes to pay her a visit that morning, she's reminded of that day.
Come back to the living, she says. Asks. Begs, even, her hand holding hers tight.
Lois wants to tell her that she doesn't have the strength to. That she can't find it, just like she can't find the will to muster it, because what's the point of this world now? Is she supposed to go back to business as usual, as if she hadn't just lost the love of her life? As if there wasn't a hole where her freaking heart used to be?
As if she hadn't found happiness only for them to take it from her, never to be found again?
She wants to say it to Martha. To Lucy, who'd invited her to spend a couple of days at the beach with her, between sisters. To her dad, who had asked her to be as brave as she was when her mom died. Inside, she wants to yell at them, and ask them.
What is it - what's the point?
Lois wants to say all of that and more, but she looks back at Martha and sees the compassion in her eyes, the sincere worry. How much she cares.
So, instead, Lois squeezes her hand back, and whispers that she'll try.
(That afternoon, after his mother leaves, Lois breaks down.
It doesn't happen as much as it used to, not like this anyway - but that day, it all comes crashing down. She just waits for it to stop, the only thing she can do in these situations, she's learnt, trying to listen to that deep voice in her head that sounds so painfully like his, and that tells her to breathe.
On her finger, the silver ring burns into her skin.)
Sometimes on her way home, or at the Park, she crosses paths with little boys or girls dressed up in a Superman costume, parading proudly with their red capes moving behind them.
No matter how many times she sees the House of El's family seal all over the city and the news, it's always that sight that hurts the most. She tries not to dwell on the reason too much, to stop her mind from thinking about what's waiting in her nightstand.
Still, as that particular little girl rants to her mother about how she wants to become a lawyer to help people and try to do what he did in her own way, Lois can't help a small smile.
It starts like a typical Thursday.
Dawn hasn't even broken yet when she wakes, brought back to consciousness by the emptiness her fingers find when she reaches for him in her sleep. Her stomach twists with pain, longing.
She'd realized pretty early on in their relationship that she tended to do that. Before he even started working at the Daily Planet, in fact, back when he was still balancing helping out his mom, participating in the Metropolis reconstruction effort, and whatever job he could land, and she was more than happy to make room for him in her home on the too rare and too short occasions where he allowed himself to rest.
In the first few weeks after the attacks, the nightmares used to find her every night. The ships, colonel Hardy, Hamilton, the sounds of the world engine, the tremor of the ground beneath her feet, Zod - they haunted her, relentlessly. But whenever he slept next to her, an arm flung over her waist or his face buried in her neck, everything felt a little less...just less.
At some point, she'd realized that the night terrors had left her alone, yet she noticed it - the way that sometimes, she'd still woke up in the middle of the night. She always went back to sleep, but it did happen often enough to be clocked down. The reporter in her was ashamed it had taken her a couple of weeks to realize that this only happened on the nights that Clark was out being Superman, or the rare ones where he slept in his own new apartment.
Somewhere along the way, she'd fallen in love with Clark Kent, and somehow, she'd started reaching for him in her sleep, only to be started awake when he wasn't here.
It should have terrified her, really. That she'd need him, or anyone, to the point where her body would physically react to his absence, no matter how short.
But, as always, Clark seemed to be the exception to all her rules, and instead of panic, all she felt that night was impatience to hold him close. When he flew in an hour later, that's what she did.
It's not an option tonight, though. It won't be, ever again.
When she turns on the light and looks at the picture next to her bed - their bed -, at his face, his gentle eyes and soft smile, Martha's words come to her, making it a bit harder to breathe.
Come back to the living. Even if he can no longer be with you, she hadn't added.
Heart twitching in her chest, Lois opens her night stand, and grabs her Daily Planet badge. His laugh echoing in her memory, she reaches out and takes the box as well, and heads to the bathroom.
It's positive.
As the first lights of the day start to shine over the city, she goes to tell Clark that he's going to be a dad. The pain is unbearable, more than it has ever been since she's lost him, somehow. Still, she smiles. She knows he would have.
Before turning away, she promises him that she'll get back to the living - for him, and for their baby, she'll do it. She won't come back to Heroes' Park anymore, but she promises she'll love him forever.
Because she will.
Taking an imperceptible breath, Lois walks away.
Her feet have memorized the path to the Daily Planet from pretty much anywhere in town by now, and she's not even looking to where she's going as she scrolls through the news of the day, her cup of decaf in one hand, her phone in the other. She quickly notes what stories will be making the headlines of the day, which ones could be worth digging into a little deeper. A part of her realizes she'd missed that.
She's halfway through a Guardian article when suddenly, a loud noise echoes behind her, and she turns just in time to see a giant stream of water crack its way through the air, only to disappear as fast as it came. Then, silence.
That's when she sees him. That's when her heart stops.
Around her, everything stills. She's not sure if her own brain just court circuited, or if the city really did get the same electroshock she just did, but it suddenly feels like a moment suspended in time. Traffic, bystanders - in a nanosecond, everything suddenly quiets down.
She can't take her eyes away from the sky, frozen. Inside, though - inside, it feels like a volcano starts to wake up, and she wills her heart to slow down, her breathing to steady, way too aware that this hope, this foolish hope that's building in her chest is entirely misplaced, because it can't be. She feels it in her bones already, but it can't be.
There's a whisper, then. A gasp, so sharp that even if it comes from the next side of the street, she hears it.
It can't be, and yet -
Of course, he's way too high up for anyone to recognize him, but there's no need to see his features, not for her - not for everyone, really.
Who else would be hovering over Metropolis like that, if not Superman?
The silence stretches. Just like her, the entire city is in awe of this once familiar, out of this world figure above them, defying the laws of gravity when they all thought he'd taken his last breath to save them, and died. Because he did - he died.
They took him from her, and she felt like she was dying herself, the pain was so great, and every day since she dropped that handful of dirt on his coffin had been a blur. It's impossible. Yet, it's him.
Clark.
"Oh my God, it's Superman!"
The shout startles her, and it's like a jolt to her system, suddenly snapping her out of it and bringing her back to reality. Her rising heartbeat resonates in her ears like a drum, her breath is short - but despite the confusion, and fear, and love and the million other things pulsing through her veins, suddenly, Lois is more focused than she has been in weeks.
Clark's here. The second he lowers himself to the ground and disappears from view, she starts to run.
There's no doubt in her mind he's at Heroes' Park, and without a second thought, Lois launches into that direction, her coffee hitting the ground behind her. Thoughts of why he's reappearing here when he should be in Smallville, of why he just rose up only to drop down like this, of why he hadn't flown directly to her - of how, just how - start bouncing around in her head, but she pushes them away.
Now is not the time. Right now, she has to run.
Her lungs are burning as she goes faster, always faster, cavaling the streets one after the other. Memories come flooding back, of that other time she lost her breath as she ran across a fuming battlefield, her cheeks already stained with tears as she struggled to get to him, only to find his lifeless body at the feet of a defeated Bat.
It can't happen again, though. She has no idea what's going on, she's not even entirely sure she's not hallucinating all of this, but it can't - not this time, not ever again.
A last turn, an old couple avoided just in time, and she's at the now familiar east entrance of the park. Thankfully, there's still no one here, and she sprints past the doors. As soon as she enters, she hears it.
There's shouts, quickly followed by an explosion. For a fraction of second, the panic freezes her every bone, the new silence impossibly heavy. It doesn't last, though. All of a sudden, the familiar red glow of his heat vision shines in the distance.
And then, all hell break loose.
On instinct, Lois races back into action, her heart hammering in her chest. She's still so far away, but she sees a huge rock flying. She can make out three - no, four people, all scattered on the side. All scattered around him.
Lois hears more than she feels the sob breaking out of her at the sight of him so close. Tears blur her vision, and she wipes them away instantly, continuing to run, run, run. A young cop comes her way, but she doesn't spare him a glance, and easily frees herself from his weak grasp.
He doesn't reiterate, his trembling hands retreating as he backs away from the fight. She doesn't blame him.
Bullets start to fly, and she wants to scream, because she's probably in earshot now, and he might hear her - or, more importantly, they might hear her. Flashes of Clark lying down, a foot on his chest and a kryptonite spear over his heart, come crashing back, and she wants to shout at them to stop hurting him, to just stop, but her voice won't let her.
It doesn't matter, anyway: she's almost there now. She'll make it - she won't let anything happen to him this time.
But an arm suddenly grabs her, blocking her from the waist down, stopping her short in her tracks. It almost knocks the air out of her, but that's not the part she cares about.
Lois glances down to see a military uniform covered arm around her torso. She's about to look the man in the eye and tell him to let her the hell go - but though his grip doesn't ease, he's not looking at her.
She follows his line of view just in time to see Batman himself entering the scene. He hasn't been seen yet, and there's the sound of the heat vision again followed by screams and explosions. It's also at that moment that she realizes that one of the fighters is none other than Diana, and her mind fails to understand why they could possibly be trying to hurt him like this, especially when he's obviously not okay.
It's too much. She needs to stop them.
She kicks the man in the knee, hard, but despite his pained and surprised groan, he doesn't let go of her, managing to keep her still. "Miss, what are you - it's not safe!"
There's a - a robot coming at Clark now, and Lois keeps struggling as best as she can, desperation now holding her chest in a tight grip.
"Please, you don't understand - I need to go help him." Her eyes are full of tears again, and she wants to yell at him to look, to just look at what they're doing to her love -
She looks back to see Clark still standing, but then there's a loud crash as Diana lands in front of him, ready for battle. Throat burning, Lois finally meets her restrainer's eyes.
"Please, I need to stop them from doing that to him - to attack him like that, I - "
"'Attack him'? Do they really look like they're the ones doing the attack to you?"
The protest is already on her lips, but when she turns her head back towards the battlefield, Lois realizes that he's - right. They're not attacking him. Not Bruce, not Diana - neither of them.
Clark's attacking them.
And, right now, he's heading straight for Bruce, leaving a breathless Diana into the ground. His eyes start to glow. Lois' blood runs cold.
"Oh my God, he's gonna kill him - he's gonna kill the Batman!"
Again, he's right: bewildered, she realizes that if nothing happens, Clark's going to kill Bruce Wayne.
Giving it all she has, Lois drives her heel into the officer's foot, whose surprise and pain this time around are too strong for him to prevent her from slipping away.
Her head is spinning, tears blur her visions even more than they did before, but Lois runs as fast as she can.
The Bat hits the car, somehow having managed to survive the first blow of heat, but now trapped, and she watches in horror as his Kryptonian eyes light up again, and prepare to kill.
The red lasers shine almost violently in the daylight.
"Clark - Clark!"
Her bag slips from her shoulder, hitting the ground, and behind her, someone shouts an order to hold the fire. Because of her, most likely - because finally, she's standing between them.
She's standing in front of him, and, his deadly hatred now gone from his eyes, he's looking at her.
"Clark."
Even from the ground, she can see it - his sharp intake of breath at the sight of her, betraying the surprise that now reflects in his eyes. The confusion. She vaguely wonders if it's the same thing he sees mirroring on her own face.
The tremble in her voice is audible as she begs him. To stop, she thinks. She's not really sure of anything, not even of how she manages to get the words out when she's barely able to breathe.
His eyes are still fixed on hers though, this she knows, and she can't look away. Doesn't want to. Her heart is hammering against her ribcage so hard it might bruise, but she doesn't care, because she's looking at Clark, magnificent as he lingers over them.
Alive.
Something's not right, though - obviously. He seems lost, truly lost as he stares back at her, and the need to protect him grows even stronger in her gut, almost painful. Among the chaos, the foreign stares, the warriors, it feels like he's silently asking her - if he really does know her, maybe, if he really can trust her. If he's not mistaken in what he feels, she hopes.
So, Lois nods, just barely, and hopes he understands. Hopes he realizes how much she cares, how much she's dying to help him feel better.
He must, because as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths - he gets back down to the ground.
She doesn't waste a second, her body moving on its own accord.
The tears run freely down her face, but she's not sure what's causing them, at this point. The relief, the love. The fear, the concern for him. A minute ago, he was overpowering everyone and everything that stood in his way, and now, he looks almost fragile, scared, his breathing ragged. She's reminded of another time, two years ago, when she'd approached him just like this as he kneeled, helpless, in a deserted train station.
He needs her.
She's standing just in front of him now, and she can already feel his fingers on her shoulder, tentatively reaching out. It feels like an electric charge runs through her whole body, but it's nothing compared to what she feels when she touches him. She's so relieved, she barely manages to hold back another sob.
But she's smiling too, her eyes running over every detail of his face, his beautiful face that none of her photos or memories made justice to. He's perfect.
"Please," she hears herself say again. Please calm down. Please trust me. Please let it be real.
Please, please, please, tell me you came back to me.
She erases the few inches left between them and wraps her arms around him, and, just like that, there's nothing left around them anymore. All she can hear, their trembling breaths, all she can feel his body against her, so familiar, so wonderfully warm.
It vaguely occurs to her that she should start questioning her own sanity. Instead, she just holds him closer, determined to not let him go this time, whether this is all real or not.
"Please...just go." She's rarely wanted anything more. She needs to take him away from here, to shield him from whatever is happening around them. She needs to make sure he's alright.
She needs him. "Yeah. Let's go."
When he buries his face in her neck, the way he always did, the way he always has, Lois feels a wave of affection wash over her, only outgrown by the weigh that suddenly lifts from her chest, and that she now realizes had been here since she last hold him as she broke down over his dead body.
Clark breathes her in. A second later, he takes off the ground.
She's not sure how long they fly. Seconds, minutes - it could have been hours, really. She has no clue.
All she's aware of is the soft skin underneath her fingers, the strong arms holding her close. Things so comforting, once so familiar, that she was convinced she'd never get to experience again. The tears rolling down her cheeks are almost instantly dried by the wind, and Lois snuggles as close as she can, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
Breathing him in, letting herself believe that all of this is true.
That despite all odds and all reason - she has her world back, here in her arms.
It takes her a minute to understand that he's descending back down, and then softly, their feet touch the ground. She feels herself tighten her grip on him on instinct as he gently backs away, and she catches herself just in time and lets go.
A simple look in his lost, confused baby blues is enough to remind her just how much she has to, for now.
You're not entirely back - not yet.
Still, Lois smiles up at him, hope growing in the pit of her stomach when she understands where he landed. "You brought us here," she breathes, her eyes roaming over the familiar farm. In the orange coloured dawn, it never looked more beautiful. "You remembered."
"This is home."
Despite her warm clothing, goosebumps wake down her arms. "You spoke."
Her heart flutters at the sound, at that voice she was so afraid to forget - terrified . For weeks, the only thing she had was that damn, far too short voicemail message - and now, he's speaking.
Clark looks at her, frowns. "Did I not before?"
It takes her a second to understand what he means.
She does, eventually, and she's not sure if it's the lack of sleep, the adrenaline finally coming down, the relief, the happiness. Hell, maybe it's just the rush of the fresh air coming up too strong to her head from the flying. Maybe it's the combination of all those things.
But looking up at his adorable, questioning eyes, Lois wants to laugh.
He's genuinely asking, and it's terrible that he doesn't remember a simple thing like that yet - but he's got those confused puppy eyes of his, way too adorable for his own good, and it all comes bubbling up in her chest, making it hard to keep a straight face.
"Yeah, you did. I just - really missed your voice, that's all." Saying it out loud makes her realize just how much.
He must notice, because his eyes soften a little at her words - before turning a little sad. Guilty, somehow.
"I didn't, though." His hands fall from her waist, and Lois immediately misses their warmth. "I don't."
His shoulders slouch. "I don't remember," he adds before she can ask. "It's like I can feel things trying to resurface, memories, but they're - out of reach," and the helplessness, the apology in his voice break her heart.
"I know this is home," he explains, glancing at the empty house in front of them. Then, at her.
"And I know that you're - that you're important to me." The look on his face makes it even harder to force her hopeful heart still. "But I don't remember - I'm sorry."
The shadow and pain that ghost over his face suddenly remind her of the ones she saw when he came to see her after the explosion at the Capitol. A lifetime ago, now.
Literally.
"Hey, it's fine." Her hands come to cup his cheeks on instinct, and it occurs to her a second too late that that gesture might bother him - but he doesn't flinch. If anything, he leans into it.
Pushing her luck, she moves a bit closer. "It's okay, Clark. I promise you will - I know it." She hesitates for a few seconds, not sure how much she should tell him, but the defeated look in his eyes makes up her mind.
"You've been through a lot. So much that come to think of it, it isn't that surprising that you're experiencing this kind of - side effect," she concludes for lack of a better term.
He's still frowning, and she makes sure he's looking at her when she continues, more confident. "You will remember, Clark. The fact that we're here talking is proof of that. Also, I'm always right, and I'm saying so."
The uncertainty is very much still here, inked in every one of his features. But for the first time since she's seen him, a small smile forms on his face.
It's breathtaking.
"Is that so?"
"Oh yeah - you'll see, that'll come back to you too, I'm sure."
His smile gets the slightest bit bigger, and Lois feels it under her fingertips. She finds her right thumb running over his cheekbone. Her hand falls to his chest, ghosting over his strong jaw on the way.
For a moment, everything fades away. The weeks of grief, the fighting, the memory loss. For a moment, it's just them.
Of course, it doesn't last.
A large, honking truck drives by on the road, making them both look up. That in itself isn't surprising nor alarming, of course, but it's also at that moment that Lois notices the small gathering forming by the farm's entrance, down the alley. Five, maybe six people, probably neighbours from the two farms across from Martha's. Some pointing at them, now.
She knows she shouldn't be that worried. People in Smallville had never revealed Clark's identity, an unspoken gratefulness for everything done by Martha and Jonathan's kid always on their mind. Still, she'd rather not expose him to the public eye, as local as it might be - certainly not now.
She's about to tell him they should probably get into the house when she notices his deep frown as he stares at them as well. More than confusion, she could swear there's pain in his eyes. "Clark, are you okay?"
He's not though, clearly - he shakes his head, and from the corner of her eyes, Lois sees his fists clench shut. "My head," he breathes out as he closes his eyes, struggling. "It's too loud...too bright." Panic jolts at her throat.
She knows what this is - had found out very early on in their relationship, during one of the rare nights where she'd convinced him to take a break from the Metropolis reconstruction, and just rest. The lack of warmth behind her had woken her up, and she had sat up to find him head in hands at the bottom of her bed, almost trembling.
When the storm had cleared, and she had finally been able to make him speak, he had told her how sometimes, things got unbearable. How his senses were just too alert, too cutting, and how he felt like his head was going to explode from the million of noises that assaulted him at the same time, from the clock next to him to the siren he could hear cities away. The super vision made it even worse.
It was his mom who'd found the solution. Of course it was, he'd confessed with a smile. It had taken time, but in the end, he'd learnt to narrow everything down, to constantly focus on one single thing enough that everything else quieted down.
Weeks later, Lois had smiled, butterflies in her stomach, when he had put a gentle kiss on her shoulder, and confessed what he now concentrated on to keep his focus and, with it, the demons at bay.
She's yielded back to reality when Clark falls to his knees, grunting in pain. He brings his hands to his face, to his head, and Lois drops next to him, heart hammering in her chest.
It makes sense, of course - these relapses usually happen when he's too tired, or stressed, when the pressure and the weight of being Superman gets too much. Today is probably all of this and more, so much more she'd like to take on her own shoulders to lighten his burden, so it's to be expected. It really is.
It's still awful. It's worse, and it's getting worse and worse by the second.
Putting a hand on his back, Lois inches closer. "Clark - Clark, it's fine," and she hates herself for how generic and pathetic her words sound, even to herself. "It's happened before, alright - it's going to get better, just - "
"God," he hisses, folding himself back on his knees. The sight of him so distressed makes her want to vomit. "It hurts so much, Lo - I can't."
Two letters, and it instantly feels like the air is sucked out of her lungs.
Lo. He called her Lo. She feels her head lighten, and stares wordessly at the side of his face.
There's no time for this, though - Clark's in pain. Everything is going so, so incredibly fast, she feels so much, is so confused, but Clark's in pain, and exposed, and so unfairly more confused than she is, there's no time to be wasted.
"Clark, you need to focus." Her voice seems far, far away, but Lois goes on, ignoring everything else, from her own interior turmoil to the growing whispers of the strangers still standing meters from them. "This is all happening because your senses are going wild, picking on too many things - but you can take control, okay?" He's almost yelling now.
For the hundredth time that day, tears roll down her cheeks. She's surprised she has any left. "I know this hurts baby, but you can take control, alright? You've done this before, I know you can do it again. Focus - just focus on my -"
She doesn't get to finish that particular sentence, though.
Lois gets out of the way just in time as red, burning lights suddenly cut through his eyes and into the sky, two deadly lasers shining through the Kansas dawn.
Her breath cut short, she straightens on her arms, and watches as his body trembles, an agonizing cry resonating as he kneels, arms to the side and head to the clouds, the waves of what almost look like flames shooting through him.
It's terrifying.
Get it together, Lane. Move - she needs to move.
Her eyes not leaving his face, not once, Lois carefully crawls back to him, and takes one of his hands in hers. Her heart's pounding so, so hard against her chest but she's surprised to find that her fingers don't shake as she wraps them around his, and brings them to her chest.
"Focus on me, Clark," she says, voice more confident than she feels. She brings her other hand to the back of his neck, and gets closer so that she can whisper directly into his ear.
The heat of his laser warm her face. "Just focus. Focus on my heartbeat - pretend it's an island," she says softly, Martha's mantra still clear in her head. She presses their joined hands against her skin, her other one finding the hair at this nape.
"Your mother used to tell you that, remember? Pretend it's an island, and focus on this - only this. I need you to focus on my heartbeat, and just forget everything else, honey. Please."
She keeps saying it over and over again, begging, really, and a part of her is terrified that this isn't enough, that she's not doing enough, that she's not enough. But, after a few moments...It works.
At some point, she's closed her eyes shut, but as she opens them again, the red glow is gone, leaving him exhausted against her. The only remaining sound, his jerky breath, only covered by her own voice, and the sweet nothings she's somehow whispering to soothe him.
They're both breathless. It's the first thing she realizes clearly, before taking in the slowing pulse of his neck under her fingertips, the smoothness of his skin. Her face is close, so close to his cheek, everything much like it was all these months ago, when they kneeled in front of the battlefield while Doomsday fought both the Bat and the Goddess, mere seconds before everything changed. Her throat tightens just at the thought of it.
But this time, he doesn't fly away. This time, he doesn't leave her - this time, he stays.
In the back of her mind, Lois vaguely realizes that the silence is now complete. There probably should have screams, frightened gasps, the sound of the small crowd running away. But, there's nothing - for a few seconds, there's only this silence, similar to the one in church. Almost religious.
When he turns his head and meets her eyes, her heart skips a beat.
"I'm sorry," he finally breaths out. Then, rushes, frantically scanning her body, checking if she's hurt. "I'm so sorry, Lois, I couldn't - Are you okay?"
And she laughs. She must look absolutely insane, kneeling in the ground, her hair probably sticking in all directions after their flight, her eyes probably a little crazy looking from the roller coaster of emotions, and the fear, and adrenaline - but it all comes crashing down, a deep, deep relief settling on her chest, and Lois laughs.
She can't even remember the last time she's done that.
She covers her face in her hands for a second, willing herself to calm down. When she looks up at him again, he's reaching for her, a deep, half worried, half confused frown on his perfect face, and she has to bite her lips to stop from grinning. Her heart is so full and her chest so light, she's not sure she'll be able to, but that's alright.
He's about to speak again, but Lois closes the small space between them and puts their foreheads together, leaning against him as she cups his cheek.
"I'm fine, Clark." They're so close, the small sigh he releases tickles her face. "I've never been better."
His mother's front door clicks shut behind them. The small crowd by the side of the road is mostly gone, now.
She's grateful. Clark looks okay, and now that he's inside, he's entirely focused on his surroundings, anyway - for now, she thinks they're fine. Deep down, she still prays that none of the people that saw what just happened will bring more attention to them, even without meaning to.
They're from Smallville, he's one of them, and she knows they wouldn't voluntarily cause him harm, but the reporter - and red-blooded person - that she is also understands how it might be difficult to witness the return of Superman, and keep that to themselves.
When she turns, he's standing not far from her, still in the kitchen. She can't see his face yet, but his shoulders are tense again. His right hand is slowly closing into a fist, and on impulse, Lois takes the two steps separating them, and slides both of hers around it before it can.
He actually startles a little, and she almost flinches and lets him go. His fingers tighten around hers, though.
"This is where you grew up," she says softly, more to break the silence than anything else. He probably knows that anyway, given that he called it his home. Great start, Lois.
She clears her throat, suddenly feeling a little nervous. "We're in Kansas. When you were sent on Earth, you arrived here," she admits, carefully assessing his reaction. He swallows, eyes still on the living room.
"I'm not from this planet," he says more than asks. He's not even looking at her, but she shakes her head anyway. "The people who found me lived here. The three of us, we lived here."
"Do you remember them? Your parents?"
It's subtle, but Lois sees his jaw tightens."Not quite. I mean, in a way, but it's just - "
"Out of reach," she finishes for him. "It's okay, Clark. We have all the time in the world, we'll get you there." She's not sure of either of those statements, but they'll have to be true. They just - have to.
After a few seconds, he lets go of her hand and takes a few steps further into the house.
He seems almost hesitant as he slowly makes his way among the remains of the Kent family life, taking in everything - at least, she thinks that's what he's doing, eyes traveling over every surface, every corner. For the life of her, she can't tell what he's thinking - or feeling.
It shouldn't come from her, though. She's pretty sure there's no textbook titled 'How to help your Kryptonian fiancé who most likely doesn't realize he's your fiancé get his memories back after his resurrection ', though she has half a mind to look up ' temporary amnesia ' on Google or something. Still, it doesn't feel right.
The mere idea that he won't remember - her, their life, himself - almost freezes her in place, but she can feel it in her gut : he has to do this on his own. Almost like that time in Zod's ship, when he had to suffer through adapting to the Kryptonian atmosphere as he went back to the world he was from after so long. Except today, it's them he has to come back to - his real world.
She trusts him, though. He did recognize her - she knows that much, just like she knows it's him she can see behind that nebula blue, hidden somewhere.
Besides, Clark had always, always come to her when she needed him. He'll come this time, too.
So, Lois just gives him space, and leaves him to himself - to his childhood, his memories. She simply waits, watching from her corner of the room as the morning sun bounces off his broad back. She's more than happy to wait for as long as he needs, as long as she gets to see him.
When something in her peripheral vision attracts her attention, though, she figures there's one little thing she can do that might at least make him feel more like himself. Who knows - maybe it will even help him.
Browsing through the boxes, she comes across his father's old cap, some books - including his worn down edition of The Republic of Plato, she notes with a smile. She's at her third box when she finally spots what she's looking for. The familiar feel of the flannel material warms her stomach.
She's not necessarily planning on going to him now, but when she gets back up and turns, Clark's looking right at her.
"What happened?" he asks, gesturing around the room.
Well. Technically, it's not something he can remember by himself.
"Your mother got behind on payments," she explains as she comes to stand next to him in front of the window. Outside, the birds are singing their hearts away. "She never told anyone."
"I don't understand."
Lois is not sure if he means the situation, or Martha's behavior. "She's a proud woman, Clark," she states simply. He nods, although it's clear he still doesn't remember it for himself yet.
Nerves acting up again, for some reason, Lois moves before she convinces herself otherwise, and holds up his shirt.
"Here." Despite the slight awkwardness, she smiles at his brief confusion before he puts it on, and moves to button it. And then -
"She loved it here."
He says it so naturally, just like his earlier comment about his origins. But this time, there's something like surprise dawning on him, his blue eyes widening - almost like an epiphany. She's not sure what to do - again, not even sure of what's happening.
"So did I," he whispers, mostly to himself.
And just like that, Clark's smiling, a true, sincere smile. He looks up, and she thinks he sees much more than the cornfield outside the window.
When he turns to look back at her, relief behind his grin, Lois feels her heart skip a beat. "So did I."
It takes a little longer than she thought it would - for her boss to go get Martha, for one, and then, for Lois to try and find the words to explain what she still doesn't understand herself.
In her stunned silence, and then her voice, and the careful way she doesn't let herself get carried away just yet, it's easy to tell that Martha doesn't dare believe what she's hearing. Lois can relate.
"Just come, Martha - we'll be waiting."
In the past few weeks, Lois had to accept how powerless she'd become facing her own emotions - her own reactions to them. Unable to speak because her throat got too tight when their neighbour asked why he hadn't crossed paths with Clark in the stairs in a while. Not managing to stop her hands from shaking as her fingers trailed over his shirts in the closet. Physically incapable to stop the tears, of course, at the supermarket, the park, and pretty much everywhere else she'd been during that damn month.
This time, as she hangs up the phone, it's her smile that she can't stop, just like she can't stop the way it gets even bigger when she steps out, and sees him standing there in the fields, the orange waking sky stretched out in front of him.
He did love it here - always had.
She'd found out just how much pretty early on, and had immediately started teasing him about it. She'd adopted the Smallville nickname on the spot despite the roll of his eyes, winking at him over her beer. That night, he had bet her she'd come love it, too, and well - he won.
It's peaceful, for one. Beautiful, especially in the fall. There's Martha, of course, the rest of the people there. With the stories she'd heard, Lois had hated them for making his childhood hell, but Clark gently reminded her that not all of them were like this, and that today, some of them were keeping his secret, not fooled by the cape or slid back hair. He insisted they were good people. A couple of trips to town, a night at the Corn Festival celebrations, and she'd seen what he meant.
What she loved most about this place, though, was him. Seeing him there.
Because here at the farm, Clark was free. Sitting on his mother's porch, watching TV in his dad's old chair, he was just another Kansas boy, with no expectations, no burden on his shoulders. No pretense to be kept.
Of course, he had that freedom in their Metropolis home, too - without glasses, most of the time without even a shirt on because he didn't have to hide his figure, without that hero's facade he maintained outside in a space where he could allow himself to be comfortable, vulnerable. To be himself.
(I never thought I'd get to stop hiding who I was all the time, he'd confessed one night. To have a normal life. She could hear years of loneliness and fear in his voice, and even though she already knew his story, it broke her heart all over again.
Then, he'd smiled the softest of smiles, his finger grazing her jaw. Until I met you.)
In their apartment, Clark finally made the home he never thought he could. Still, Lois will never forget the day he brought her to the family farm to officially meet his mom. How the second they arrived, she got to see a whole new side of him. She had watched in awe as his smile got so big and bright, it was only competed by the Kansas sun shining over them. As he threw his head back at his mother's joke, his big, unrestrained laugh music to her ears. At how happy he looked just laying there in the grass, playing with his dog.
Carefree. Here, he was carefree, in the first home he had ever had, and that for the past thirty three years was the one place where he was always accepted, loved. Where he always will be.
That's why he came here today, even without really comprehending it. That's probably why he looks so relaxed right now as she approaches him, hand running over the green leafs, all tension gone from his broad shoulders.
She's about to ask him if he's alright, if he remembered anything else - but before she can, he speaks, and she has her answer.
"I'll take that as a yes."
She frowns. "What?"
It's silly, really. It doesn't make much sense, even to her, and she can't really explain it rationally. Yet, when Clark turns to look at her, that particular smile on his face, Lois is filled with a sense of absolute certitude. She just - knows.
"The ring."
Not for the first time today, it feels like the wind is knocked out of her. Her mind goes blank.
She reminds herself to breathe and looks down, her trembling fingers already subconsciously playing with the diamond shining on her left hand.
The look on his face - that smile - would have been enough. Him telling her this only confirms it, though.
"You're really back."
It comes out so strangled, she barely recognizes her own voice - but his eyes are soft and warm, and it's all that matters. His gaze still fixed on hers, Clark holds out his hand, and she's reminded of a quiet moment in the desert, when she had done the same as they waited for a Kryptonian ship to come take him away.
At the time, she thought it was a goodbye before she even got the chance to know him, when all she wanted was just that. Today, it feels like the opposite.
She can hear her own heartbeat in her ears again, going faster and faster, and she's a little scared her legs might give up underneath her as she closes the distance between them. Excited, terrified. She grabs his hand, and it dawns on her.
It's really him. She'd watched the love of her life die, had barely been able to keep on living herself, and now, Clark is back.
Clark is back.
He laces their fingers together, his body close, so wonderfully close, and uses his other hand to brush off the tear that has fallen down her cheek. Relief runs through her whole body, and comes so far and so heavy in her chest, it's almost painful.
"I have a second chance, Lo. I am not gonna waste it."
Earlier, when he held her in the middle of the battlefield in Heroes' Park, it had felt like coming home. As Clark kisses her, hand gently cupping the back of her head, Lois feels like she's coming back to life.
The drumming of her own heart in her ears fades away, just like everything else, and suddenly it's just him, him, him. She can feel his chest against her own, so wonderfully warm, his hand on her hip.
She's pretty sure she's never felt so much happiness in her entire life.
Again, time loses any kind of meaning, and she's not sure how much of it passes before he backs away, but it's far too soon. She reaches out, her fingers finding his neck, his hair. Anything to keep him close, to keep kissing him, again, and again.
She feels his smile against her lips. "Lo, breathe," and it does finally register that her lungs are indeed burning.
Well. It must have been a little while, then.
"Not important," she mumbles. His chuckle rumbles against her own chest as he leans back just a bit despite her moan of protest, dragging his lips to her cheek, her jaw, and pretty much everywhere on her face to compensate.
When he reaches her neck, he plants one, two kisses on her skin, and Lois drapes both her arms around his neck and holds on tight, almost dizzy.
"I'm not dreaming, am I?" She's had those kinds of dreams before, more than once. This time, she knows she wouldn't be able to handle it if she had to wake up yet again without him next to her.
It feels so real, though - the way he holds her tighter at that, his hand on her nape, warm and reassuring. She's weeping again, but this time, the slow and comforting patterns he draws on her back make it all a bit better.
"I'm here, Lo," he says. She'd almost forgotten how soothing that deep voice of his was. "I promise, I'm real - I'm here."
It's exactly what she wants to hear, what she has been wanting to hear for so long, and it only serves to make her cry even harder. A sob breaks through her, weeks and weeks of grief and regrets surging up through it at once as she realizes that it's finally all over.
The nightmare's over. She won't have to wake up to it every day, because he's here, and he's telling her, whispering it softly like a mantra to calm her down. He's safe, and sound, and hers.
She leans back, eventually, only slightly, just enough to look at him - make sure. Clark's smiling when he starts peppering kisses all over her cheeks, her temple, her neck, and just like that, she's laughing.
There's a good chance this might be the biggest emotional rollercoaster she'll ever ride.
He stops at her lips, and her fingers graze over the smooth, sharp angle of his jaw as she kisses him back. When she opens her eyes, the glimmer she finds in his makes the butterflies in her stomach go wild.
"Am I? Dreaming, I mean." A flash of apprehension briefly overshadows the happiness on his face. It barely lasts a second, and is as confusing as his question.
When his thumb comes to cover the diamond on her hand, it becomes clearer. "Will you really marry me?"
In the distance, Lois is vaguely aware of the sound of a truck approaching. She can't really tear her eyes away from him to check.
She doesn't want to cry, not again. He's really not helping her on that one though.
She really didn't think she'd get to hear those words.
Through her tears, Lois beams. "Of course I'll marry you, Smallville."
("Come back to me." She knows he can't promise that, of course. They both do.
Still, she asks, because as much as she understands he has to find the others, she's not ready to let him go - not so soon, probably not ever again. Certainly not when they have no idea what kind of danger he's flying to. Still, she needs him to say it.
Grabbing her face between his hands, Clarks leans his forehead against hers, and lands a small kiss at the corner of her lips. When she opens her eyes, he's looking right at her, his smile soft.
"I will.")
And, well - he does.