This was written pre-Season 4, so it would make the most sense if you nixed these eps when reading this. Thanks to bbabaojay for Beta-ing this!
Brick Veneer
He sat at his desk, characteristically contemplative. The Metropolis skyline glittered and beckoned across from us. He was staring at a hidden something, eyes muted behind austere black frames.
"What are you ogling there" I ask him. "Never took you for the Maxim type, Smallville," I teased, waiting for the requisite eye roll over my affectionate nickname. I love to tease him about freaksville. Freaksville and everything related to it.
But he doesn't hear me. Taken aback, I head over to his maddeningly organized desk and stand behind him, squinting at the object in his hands.
Damn him.
It's moments like these that make me wish I were dead.
It's a photograph. It's a beaming, plaid-clad farmboy with his arm draped over a petite blond in a detestable skirt-pants combo.
What was I thinking? It's been a long time since I've seen him wear plaid. I eye his fitted navy suit and silk tie. I try to remember those simpler times. The smell of the hay in his barn as we sat and taunted each other late into the spring nights.
My voice is hoarse as I ask him who it is in the photo.
He still doesn't hear me. I tap his wrist. "Who is she?" I ask, controlling my voice. I need to hear it.
Startled, first by the contact and then by the question, he pushes up his glasses and plasters a faux side ways grin on his face.
"She was..my girlfriend."
"Just another girlfriend, huh? Like that Lori that came by once? Or that tra—Lana?' I wonder what runs through his mind whenever he hears that edge in my voice when she visits.
"More than that. She's," he coughs, "uh, was more than that." He stuttered. "She was the love of my life. Although I wouldn't admit it for the longest time," he said more to himself. "Maybe because it was real, and that scared me. She was my first…" Another cough. "First kiss." He blushed madly.
I smiled and turned away, afraid that he'd seen me blush, too. But he was too engrossed in the photo.
That night was perfect. He'd come to the Torch late one night after one of our epic arguments, hellbent on compromise. Heh. Apt puns. It had started with a searing kiss that ended my irate ramblings...
Forget it. Forget Clark. It's the only way.
I threw my energy into Superman. Unattainable, perfect, righteous Superman whose only foible was the whole underwear-over-the-tights thing.
It didn't hurt that he reminded me of Clark.
I now play the game that Clark used to play with Lana. Play it safe. Except I'm not desperately seeking normalcy. I'm staving off happiness so I don't end up hurting him. Again. That close call with Lionel and and his morality-starved scientists. ..
Clark was not invincible. This much I knew. From those times he broke his ribs, or when Perry had that brain fart in Smallville and Clark cut up his hands on that rope, that near-deadly fever, that nightmarish week in Lionel's lab…
But he did have a secret. He seemed to know when and where others needed help. I'm pretty sure he has a keen psychic ability when it comes to those situations. Maybe that explains why he was so enamored with Ryan, beside being..well, Clark.
"Kent."
"I couldn't save her."
"What have I told you about that abominable guilt complex, Smallville?" I say through gritted teeth.
He spares me a glance, eyes haunted. For a split second, the façade of mild mannered reporter lifts and I can see him for what he really is. He is broken inside, like that teenaged boy all those years ago that had ran home from the debacle at Belle Reeve and sobbed on my shoulder. He swipes roughly at his eyes not letting me see. Swivels his chair around to gather his things distractedly.
"Clark."
He stops. I walk over to him and face him, cupping his face in my hands. I kiss his cheek, forcing my self not to stray any lower than the corner of his mouth, and envelop him into a hug. "Go home. Relax. I'll finish up here and come over later so we can talk about Perry's latest crisis."
"Alright Lois." We pull back he smiles languidly. He looks into my eyes, brows knit together, and I see a fleeting tinge of recognition, then desperation, and finally acceptance with a shake of his head.
He thinks I don't know what's going through his head. But for once, I'd love for him to see what's going through mine. Relieve me of the burden of having to tell him myself.
"Story of my goddamn life" I mumble at his retreating back.
"Say something, Lois?"
No. Lois didn't say anything. It was Chloe.
Your Chloe.