Intensity

"Please enter your password."

Tone, tone, tone, tone.

"You have. THREE. unheard messages. First. message. sent. THURSDAY. August. second. at. Eleven. Forty-five PM!"

Clark was tapping his pen on the desk in front of him and staring at the elevator, watching irate employees make their way out of the crowded cabin and to their respective desks. Clark counted no fewer than twelve people in the last load, and was taking bets in his inner monologue as to what the ratio was going to be of people who went straight to the coffee pot versus people who went straight to their desks. Clark had his cell phone to his ear and was forever irritated at how long it took to hear a message. The elevator was descending to get the next load of unfortunate souls to be evenly distributed throughout the building.

"...click." Long pause. "To delete This message. Press. SEVEN..."

Clark hit seven and waited.

"Next. unheard message. Sent. FRIDAY. August. third. at. Twelve. Thirty-one. AM!"

The elevator was ascending again. A number of people complained on an almost daily basis that while the building is beautiful and historic and all that jazz, couldn't we just PLEASE tear it open and install a second elevator?

"...(a man's sigh) click. To delete This message.. TONE."

Clark rocked in his chair, trying to wake up out of the stupor he had been in since he woke up nose-to-nose with the ceiling that morning. Even the abrupt fall back into bed hadn't shaken the exhaustion from staying out all night. He hadn't woken up on the ceiling in years.

"Next. unheard message. Sent. FRIDAY. August. third. at. Seven. Fifty-five. AM!"

Richard, sans the usual presence of Lois, appeared from behind the elevator doors and began walking, with much determination, right at Clark. He looked fierce.

"I spent the night at the Planet." Lois' sleepy voice sounded in his ear seconds before Richard summed him up from right in front of his desk and shot a question at him like a High Inquisitor before the Spanish royals:

"Where was Lois last night?"

"I believe she spent the night here," Clark said without pause. He hit 'end' and turned to regard Lois' desk, looking for a sign that this was in fact true. No evidence presented itself, but Clark thought the coffee he had thoughtfully flown her in from Italy this morning was either going to damn Lois or save her, being a helpful sign of an early morning coffee run or the proof that she hadn't been around if she showed the slightest hint that she wasn't expecting to find it there.

Richard had also snapped his head in the coffee's direction, steaming innocently from next to her keyboard, "Is that her coffee?"

Clark wanted to roll his eyes.

"Yes." should he say more? Clark hated being in these situations. Lois didn't go home? Well, it might have been better that way; they hadn't stopped talking until 4:30 in the morning, when he had dropped her back on the roof to gather her purse. Clark started in his seat as Richard followed up:

"It's not from the normal place."

Clark had nothing to say to this: that was true, it was from Milan. Richard was a shrewd one, or else highly suspicious. Clark's mind thought wildly of knocking something over to defuse the situation when Lois' voice sounded from behind the steely gaze; Clark realized she must have come from the breakroom.

"That's because it's special, isn't it Clark?" she came up on Richard's left, smiling down at Clark and looking red-eyed, but alert enough to deal with the subtle spinning she was going to need to do to get out of this one. She turned to Richard, "Clark used to get me that coffee all the time, best in the city, yet he refuses to tell me where he finds it!" Her voice was light, the epitome of not having done anything even slightly suspicious, which Clark figured, she really hadn't. You know, from an outside point of view.

She turned back to Clark, "You know, I've been searching for five years, I thought the place must have closed." Richard was glaring at her.

Clark tried to keep pace, looking warily at Richard while Richard's gaze was directed at Lois and Lois' gaze was still directed at him, trying to relay to her that Richard was still on alert, "I figured that after pulling an all-nighter that you would need an extra strong pick me up."

The silent communication between the two of them was instant: Lois recognized that Clark was reaching the limit of his plausibility and Clark was assured that she acknowledged his gesture, both the coffee and the spin.

"Lois, we need to talk." Richard walked away, indicating that Lois should follow him. She shared one more significant look with Clark and went off after him. Clark tried, he really did, to not listen once Richard closed his office door a bit too hard.

"You spent the night here?"

"Where else would I have been? I told you I was going in. I didn't mean to, I just sorta feel asleep..."

"You fell asleep? Where?"

Jimmy was making his way in from the elevator, holding a plain envelope and heading towards Lois' desk. But once his line of sight moved past her partial wall he realized she wasn't there, and made off towards his own desk, shooting a smile at Clark as he passed and remarking, "TGIF!"

"On the couch, in the breakroom. I woke up to Maurice making a fresh pot of coffee. Someone thought it was funny to cover me with yesterday's edition." She gave a weak chuckle.

Clark couldn't help it: he turned his head and applied the infinitesimal amount of energy it took to look through Venetian blinds. Just as he suspected, Richard was staring, glaring more so. Lois was apologetic looking, but not the kind of look that says, 'I am sorry to disappoint you, I am your servant.', but the patented, 'Um, sorry I acted in a way that was unexpected and somehow inconvenient for you, but get over it?'

Clark read her like a book. Richard did not.

"The breakroom couch," he said matter-of-factly, obviously expecting more of an explanation.

"Yup, I got tied up in research, found six more boxes than I anticipated, and by the time I was finished thought I might as well just catch some sleep rather than wasting the time going home." Simple logic, no harm done.

"Wasting the time going home? Do you realize I needed to explain to Jason where mommy was this morning?" You're a terrible mother, lax in your obligations, this behavior is inexcusable!

"And you told him I was here..." So...?

"YES!" And what scandal it is!

"And?" This is hardly traumatizing for him, seriously, so he got to spend the morning with dad, children aren't orchids...

Richard was staring at her. Clark thought this was a fundamental miscommunication. And frankly, a little difficult to watch. He pulled in his sight and his hearing to back around his desk and into his mind, cringing at the trouble he'd caused her. It was his idea to stay out, to try that window in the south tower of St. Luke's, and then to spend four hours in a pew talking about, well, everything. From Gothic architecture to the early immigrants to Metropolis who built the church to "Why St. Luke?" "Patron saint of glass." to learning how to play an instrument, old friends from high school, what really happens when you sneeze...

Lois punctuated that thought by slamming open Richard's door and huffing her way back to her desk. Jimmy looked up and noticed the bad mood emanating off Lois, thought twice about approaching her (Clark guessed with the envelope he was holding), so he came over to Clark instead.

It was a well-known fact that no one did anything until at least 11:30am on a Friday. Then they went to lunch for an hour. And then nothing until 2:30. People the Bullpen over where chatting, sleeping, and playing games on their phones.

"Hey, CK!"

"Hey, Jimmy."

Jimmy gave a nod at Lois, whose desk was close enough to be in earshot, and she gave a half-hearted flap of her hand before popping the lid off her coffee and tearing open a sugar packet. He had provided a variety of sugars and other substitutes off to the side, which Richard had not seen. There were also two little creamers each of whole milk, skim milk, non-dairy creamer and half and half for her selection. He didn't know her taste anymore, as most other aspects of her diet had changed. She caught Clark's eye, held up the non-dairy creamers and natural "raw" sugar. He nodded his understanding, held up a hand indicating that he would like her remnants, and deftly caught two whole milks (she remembered!). He popped the lid off his own coffee and looked up at Jimmy, who had perched himself on Clark's desk.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," Jimmy yawned, "An all-nighter?" he said towards Lois.

Lois was, after all, still wearing sweat pants (the nice, formfitting ones that rich business women wear to the gym for pilates), a loose shirt that was longer than usual and hugged her hips, and beaded summer sandals. If Clark was expecting her to be irritated at this question, he was surprised at her sigh.

"Yes," another sigh, and then Lois let the lack of sleep take her over and she put her head on her monitor, blindly stirring her coffee.

"Research on the Henderson case? You really hate that guy."

"Yes I do, all my favorite CDs were in that car, fucking bastard," she kept stirring, "But I wasn't researching Henderson last night. Don't tell Richard."

Jimmy gave Clark an excited look and made some kind of swooping motion with his hand, which Clark assumed indicated flying with Superman. It looked more like an indecent proposal to a horse.

"What's wrong with your eye, Jimmy?" He asked to cover up the pause.

"I got shaving cream in it."

Lois laughed, fogging up her monitor, "You shave?"

Jimmy pouted at her, "I'll have you know I have a full and manly beard!"

"Good Olsen, now get the hell off that desk and do some work and maybe I'll lend you some chest hair! FILE SOMETHING!" Perry had walked in a bit later than usual, and if the parking ticket in his hand was any indication, he was a might angry. The few people awake in the immediate vicinity hurriedly minimized windows and put down their phones. They, like Clark, had probably assumed the editor-and-chief was already in his office. Jimmy, as usual, got most of the heat.

"Yes, Chief!" he slid off Clark's desk and hurried away.

Clark swiveled in his chair and leaned down to turn on his computer. What was he supposed to do today? He had a plan, it was just lost in his exhaustion. Oh, he was going to call the DA's office...

"Did you manage to find your way to Mount Saint Michelle in your world journey, Clark?" came out of nowhere.

Clark turned slowly to Lois. His pragmatic side was telling him to Lie lie lie. It's not like he went there during the last five years, there was no 'world journey,' you can just lie!

"Why, yes I did, Lois."

He hated the mire of parallels between him and Superman that Lois would unwittingly discover. It was a long-standing struggle for how much he should reveal about either personality; he was constantly having to sift through his memory about who had said what, wonder at whether or not Lois would pick up on one thing if he said another.

"Who's Saint Michelle?"

"Um, it's Saint Michel," the subtleties of the French language were probably more than should be expected from Lois at this hour, "Michael. The archangel."

"Oh. Good, I've at least heard of that one," she paused, "What's so special about it? It's a mountain?"

"Well, sort of..."

Clark tried to direct her attention away from Mont Saint Michel by going off about St. Michael himself, and then the Alps, but Lois did not let him get very far and he ended up having to invite her to roll herself over to his desk while he did an image search. In the meantime he tried to make his knowledge of the island seem as Clark-esque and inexpert as possible. He was really getting tired of this illusion, what was the point now, really?

"So I ended up getting stuck in the mud and was up to my calves by the time anyone noticed me, waving a baguette at the shoreline and trying to get someone's attention..."

Lois was laughing at this ridiculous story, which was based off the combined wanderings of a full three days compacted to sound like it had happened all in the space of a few hours, since his bus tour of elderly nuns ("I booked it in French, I don't really know why they thought that was what I wanted...") was waiting for him in order to get back on the road (which hadn't happened on that trip, but the next).

Fortunately for Clark, Jimmy walked into the conversation about five minutes in and helped bolster the story from all angles by relaying how Clark had sent him a postcard from there while he was away (Clark had collected them around the world for years, and was lucky to have a stash on hand for his trip). Lois and Jimmy pointed at the picture on the monitor for awhile and then Lois retold Clark's story about the motherly advice he'd gotten from the South American nuns, but with many snide remarks and mocking embellishments. Clark made a mental note to never mention any knowledge of Gothic architecture as Clark for all his days and cursed his passion for art history. He then added to the list all history and hagiography in general and wondered why on Earth he'd said so much last night about sights around the world and pilgrimage churches and medieval kings.

Lois knew that Clark loved history. Damn.

Lois and Jimmy were sharing a 'remember when' by the time Clark stopped berating himself.

"No no, that's not how it happened, you're definitely wrong, Jimmy!"

"You did, Lois, you did! And then you cursed out the Archbishop of Metropolis! It was May of..." he struggled to remember the year, "MAY, though, because it was my birthday week and you offered to bake my cake with holy water in it!"

"It was six years ago and I did not!"

"You did too! You poured some on Clark and threatened to exorcise him after you stole that bottle from Bishop Infante!" Jimmy looked at Clark for support.

"You did," Clark confirmed.

"See?" Jimmy was laughing.

"That was his name!" Lois' face cleared in realization.

Clark was indeed quite happy that Lois had taken a renewed interest in him: she was reading his favorite book, went to a baseball game (which was something that could not be overstated), and had been interested enough in his passion for travel that she asked a co-worker for additional information. But this seemed like very dangerous ground, and he really wanted to move away from the subject as quickly as possible.

He knew just how to do it.

"Hey, Lois?"

He had interrupted her mid-response and she shot out a quick, "What, Smallville?"

"Does, um, Richard have my cell number?"

This knocked the argument out of Lois and she rolled back a little from Clark's desk, bumping into him in her haste.

"Why?"

"Well, I received two voicemails last night from an unknown number and you seemed to know that he would ask me where you were..." he trailed off at her harsh look. He picked up his phone, opened his call log, and showed her the number.

"He asked for it, yes, weeks ago when we were assigned together, just in case he couldn't find me in an emergency," she gestured over her shoulder as if daycare were right next door and not five floors down on the other side of the building, "But he called you last night, why not me?" she said this last bit more to herself. Clark had figured Richard probably had called her, but she left her phone on the roof and probably went to sleep on the couch as soon as she got back to the Planet. But certainly it was just because he was concerned...

"He was probably concerned, you know, since you haven't spent many nights here recently..."

She was still pondering, but added, "Yeah, I know. But I told you because I knew you came in very early and wouldn't ask too many questions, not because," she said this next part wonderingly, "Not because I thought he would call you. I told him I was going alone; I mean I would expect it if I were using you as a cover..."

Clark appreciated this honesty, whereas most people would have been incensed that they should be used as a 'cover.' As Lois rolled back across the aisle, slipping in the cutest way (Clark surged with fondness for her as she cursed the sandals, pushed off harder than necessary, and collided with her own desk) Clark found his mind back where he had initially wanted it this morning: on Jason.

He had not yet properly reeled from the conversation last night, since the sudden shift in Lois and into their old rapport had him more in the moment than in the over-arching, broad implications of being an active father. He meant to spend his morning contemplating this new feeling. Knowing you had sired an offspring is one thing, being invited into said offspring's life made it more about being a father to a son than a genetic component in a human being. Half a human being. A one-of-a-kind being. Jason.

Clark sat back in his chair, suddenly panicked. Should he be reading some kind of book, maybe? The Idiot's Guide to Parenthood? Or perhaps take time to meditate on his father, on the things he cherished and appreciated most, the ideas and ideals passed on to him? Clark's thoughts were moving through realizations about responsibility, affection, leading the way through life; he thought of his mother, of finally telling her she was a grandmother, something he had not wanted to do until he knew for sure whether she might ever be able to be a part of Jason's life. Now at least it seemed a distant possibility rather than a cold, hard, 'no!' He froze in renewed panic at that conversation. He cringed, wondering how to steel himself for it.

Clark looked over at Lois. He had no idea what he was doing. Birthday party? Should he bring a present? Does Superman bring presents?

Lois was reading her e-mail, unaware of Clark's agony. Her voice came back to him, though, soft in conversation: 'I understand that you weren't expecting to return a father, trust me, I know the feeling, so I'll help you.'

Clark tried to calm himself. He would just simply ask Lois whether he should bring a present. Oh, and Clark had to come up with a good excuse for not going to the party when the invitation came his way, if it was coming his way... He thought again about his own father, something he had not done in a long time, and figured that was a good course of action. He also thought back to the first interviews he had with Lois when, owed to her insatiable curiosity, he had learned more about his powers in a few short months than in all the years he had experimented back home through maturity. Remembering these illuminating conversations might help in Jason's acceptance of his own powers, whatever they may be. Clark's mind drifted off into hypotheticals about Jason and his half-preterhuman heritage as he stared off into space, daydreaming with the rest of the early morning Bullpen, staving off the worry with a logical course of action...

And so it was that when Richard's voice suddenly broke the nearby silence, Clark - heavily sedated in thought and exhaustion - let out a mighty "AH!" and literally threw his coffee (which at that point was in his hand on the way to his mouth) up and into the pillar above Betty's desk.

Richard's evenly toned, "I'm sorry, Lois," was punctuated by an explosion of lukewarm coffee onto Betty, and her near scream of shock.

Clark had always had a real problem with being startled by voices, ever since he was a child, which was remedied by super hearing at about thirteen years old. He must have pulled in his hearing again.

Richard, Lois, Jimmy, Clark, Kyle, and Heather stared in shock at Betty as Clark practically fell out of his chair, overcome with bumbling apologies. He ran to the break room for paper towels and offered to clean the whole thing and pay for dry cleaning. The bottom of his suit was getting stained with coffee as he blotted Betty when Richard, after being apparently dumbfounded into observant silence by the sheer level of clumsiness that Clark seemed to possess, continued to address Lois:

"I, uh, am sorry, Lois," Richard's voice got its strength back, Clark didn't need to expand his hearing to listen to the exchange, "It was just unexpected."

"I understand, it's okay," came Lois' warm response. She smiled in relief, indicating that she really wasn't looking for a fight despite it all, and leaned up for an innocent kiss. Clark glanced over just as it happened.

Human intelligence has a way of ignoring the instinctual thoughts that sometimes descend upon highly evolved faculties. That sudden surge of terror when you know you're safe in a movie theater, but you think a murderer is stalking the audience from on-screen; the adrenaline when you once believed a smoke alarm was not just a fire drill; the aggression that possesses a parent that perceives a threat to its child. These are startling, disturbing departures from the normal, rational thoughts that most people are used to. And Clark, human in nature but not in body, was suddenly overcome by such an event.

And it was blind rage.

He found himself itching to not only throw a desk at Richard, but point out everything negative about the man, including about a thousand points that he was sure he was inventing. Coming short of screaming that he was all wrong for her, he just stood there with dripping wet paper towels, jealousy raging inside him.

Don't apologize. Don't explain why you were wrong. Keep fighting. Push all her buttons. Make her leave you. Give her to me!

"Ow!"

Lois looked around at Richard, curious.

"That was weird, it felt like a hot wire was just pressed to my shoulder," Richard was already rubbing the spot curiously, rolling his arm in its socket like he was feeling if anything was out of sort.

"Maybe it was a pinched nerve," Lois offered.

Clark outright panicked. He was normally calm in the worst of scenarios, like, the end of the world, but Clark was freaking out.

"More towels! Got to get more towels, janitor!" and Clark ran (as fast as one can run in a room full of desks) towards the stairs, not even pretending that he could wait for the elevator in this state of agitation. He slammed open the door, slammed it shut, and pressed his back up against it for support. A second later he ripped the glasses off his face and pinched the lenses between his thumb and forefinger. Sure enough they were warm. He held them up and the glass was slightly wavy in the fluorescent light.

"Crap," he spoke aloud, his voice hollow in the barren, concrete space, "What just happened?" he asked the glasses desperately. He stepped away from the door and looked around at it, but not through it, thinking wildly that facing that direction would help explain something. He had never felt that angry toward Richard, had never hated him despite loving Lois, despite watching her embrace him, despite watching the gentle familiarity between them.

He hadn't lost control of his powers in years, and hadn't hurt someone by accident in decades. He sought explanations from his ruffled mind.

It must have been last night, last night, being with her, being comfortable with each other again. That was it.

One of the hardest parts of watching Lois from afar this time was this 'long-term' thing; Clark had known about her one night stands, had seen her in the laps of other men, but never for more than a night, never for more than a simplistic, basic exchange. This time, it spoke of love, of commitment, of home. That was much, much more difficult to watch. Maybe Richard had finally become a personification of Clark's lonely vacuum, a man who had everything Clark wanted...

He thought back to the brief time between his return and learning about being Jason's father, that time when he harbored hope that he might outshine Richard in her life, get her back. This was reborn last night as he watch Lois skirt around Richard in order to be with him. It renewed the hope. He secretly enjoyed their fighting, wanted Richard to be angry, wanted Lois to defy him for his sake, wanted her no matter what...

Clark leaned his head against the door, berating himself. How could he? How could be write off an engagement? How could write off the last five years of Lois' life? He'd had this conversation with himself back when he first returned, but then it had been a small thought somewhere, not a rage that ended up physically harming someone. Reminding himself of this frightened him.

It was just a reaction to being so angry, like when his speed increases when desperate; it was thoughtless.

But having explanations only helped so much. Clark was still ashamed of himself for his jealousy.

"You're entitled to self-pity, to hate, to failure, and yes, to death." Lois had seemed to know everything that was bothering him, not only now, but for the last three months. This is why he loved her; no sooner did they speak again and her concern for him was soothing his worries, endearing him to her all over again.

He spent about ten minutes in the stairwell, breathing deeply and employing long neglected disciplines, meditating, soothing himself, and shielding his actions from his impulses as he had learned under instruction so long ago. Finally, convinced that it was a fluke born of three months in the fire of longing for Lois, Clark emerged from the stairwell. While for him the world had just tilted a little on its axis, nothing was out of place in the Bullpen. No accusing or suspicious stares were directed his way, and while Clark felt everyone should be looking at him in harsh judgment of his terrible misdoings, only Betty even gave him a second glance when he walked past. He smiled sheepishly and told her he had not seen the janitor.

"BRIEF! NOW! Last one in gets to give my wife a liver!"

Pushing all thoughts aside and promising himself to spend some more time in meditation this evening, Clark brushed past Richard and Lois on the way back to his desk to get his regular supply of two pens and a legal pad.

"I don't give a damn who turned you away, you get that interview!" Perry was irritated, which was really the point from which all other lines were drawn in his life, anyway. He turned his head a little to the right.

"Ahhh, Frank, tell me, how is the First Lady?"

Frank opened his mouth- "AND WHERE ARE THE PICTURES FROM THAT EXCLUSIVE! I'm on medication because of you, you have five minutes, OLSEN, help him." And the two baby faced men tripped over people on their way out the door and towards the processing room on the 4th floor.

"Blood thinners. Do you know how difficult it is to get through life without whiskey? NEXT! Yes, Health, good job, take the rest of the day off." The rest of the conference room looked at Health, sour faced and bitter at the rare show of good favor.

"SCIENCE!" Rao jumped, twitchy little thing, "Melting ice caps, because I don't give a shit if Conservative Radio says it's passé, I still want to know!"

"Lois!" Lois was resting her chin sideways against the high shine of the conference room table, feeling around by feet for the pen she let roll off the table at almost every brief that she was able to sit at for the last nine years. Clark, as usual, handed her the second pen he always carried for her like a torch of never-ending love and devotion, "Dead yet?"

"No."

"Shot at yet?"

"No."

"Addicted to coke yet?"

"No."

"Staked out yet?"

"Tonight."

"Great." He turned to Clark, "With her, Kent?"

"Um, yes Sir."

"Just fantastic. You'll conquer evil together, you will."

A few head-shaking smiles floated through the room.

Perry sighed and hung his head, "Sports?" he gave a dramatic pause, "Trades? New manager? Anything, please, give me some good news." Sports didn't say a word, "Fine, get out, all of you."

Lunch had been a rare treat for Jimmy, as Lois decided to stay around the office near the noontime hour rather than dragging Clark out by the tie or stomping out on her own adventures for the afternoon. Instead, Lois and Clark took their lunch with Richard and him.

They went to Lois' favorite bar, which had a relatively good kitchen, and each ordered bar pies with a different topping and then all traded, save Lois who only got the veggie toppings. Conversation had been good, there was alcohol, Clark insisted on getting Richard's beer and apologizing for nothing every time he finished one.

Jimmy had suggested they rent one of the hokey trivia machines, favorite of regular drunks the world over, and thereby started an all out cage match between Lois and the rest of the table. She had snagged Clark as a team member before Jimmy even finished his sentence, and while he gave most of the answers, Lois was the one who mocked the rest of them for their dismal performances the entire cab ride back to the Planet.

He had sincerely missed how the days used to pass when Clark was around, because besides having a friend back, life was more enjoyable when Lois was on target. She was never as fast, as funny, or as furious as when she was bouncing her spectrum off Clark's mirror. Jimmy realized that it was almost as if the last five years had not happened, not so much for it being back to the way it used to be (which it was), but for the fact that Jimmy didn't feel the need to even remember that time. He had been, quite frankly, lonely and now felt like he had part of his family back.

He smiled around the table and raised his shot glass in a toast with the rest of them (Lois had championed The Dessert Shot many years ago). He pinched his nose and tilted his head back, but nearly choked as he heard Lois try to embattle a hesitant Clark with the cry of, "Cowboy up, Smallville!"

Back at the office after a silly lunch, Clark called the DA and watched Jason fold paper airplanes at Health's empty desk, as Lois had asked him to keep half an eye on the most fascinating thing in the room while she ran something downstairs. Fridays, being so lax in general to begin with, was also the day that various parents would bring their young into the Bullpen family, to be reared by the community of foul-mouthed bad examples. Todd had just shown Jason how to fold little fins into the wings and had pointed at Guy, indicating that Jason should use him as a target.

"I am aware that all assets were frozen, but didn't they go up for state sale yet? Henderson was incarcerated over a year ago..."

Jason threw his plane. Clark, now a proud father, was sure to watch its progress. It went straight up, looped, and landed not five feet from Jason.

"I told your secretary, my name is Clark Kent, we used to have lunch on odd Wednesdays..."

Jason threw another plane, this time compensating for the initial lack of momentum, and it made its way halfway to Guy. Clark tried to get Jason's attention by waving at him and making gestures with his hand meant to indicate an embrace of advanced aerodynamics.

"The public has a right to know what's going on at that property, there must be something you can tell me..."

Jason threw his third plane, this time embellished with blue squiggles, and blew at it. Clark sat forward suddenly, terrified. No extraordinary gust of wind made its presence known, but Clark had had enough of this call anyway. He had a swift surge of pity for Lois, now on the constant look-out for singed wallpaper, broken toys, or frozen anything.

"Alright, fine Mr. Icharo, that's fine, I'll mind my own business, thank you."

He hung up the phone and stood up, stretching the heavy lunch out of his muscles and making his way over to Jason, all irritation forgotten. He glanced at the news monitors as he went, checking to see if the world needed him at the moment. It did not, at least not at a "Breaking News!" level, and he crouched next to Jason and began folding a plane.

"Here, Jason, I'll show you how to aim!"

Richard followed Lois out the elevator and into the Bullpen, in the midst of discussion. He had bumped into her downstairs in Archives and as enough time had passed since their disagreement this morning, had thought it was time to bring up something he had wanted to run past her. As they passed the desk that Jason was stationed at, Richard witnessed a paper airplane fly from Jason's little hand and into Guy's ear. Clark cheered from next to him, patting him on the back and pointing enthusiastically at Guy to Lois and Richard. Lois chuckled from next to him and waved back mockingly.

"You'd never figure Clark for an anarchist."

Guy was glaring and rubbing his ear, "Whose idea was it to put staples in the nose, huh? Come on, guys!"

Clark was shaking his head, adamantly refusing that he had anything to do with it. Richard shook the image from his head and turned back to Lois.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"Yes, Richard, it sounds like a lot of fun, you'll leave long after the party is over, I'll put Jason to bed early, he'll probably be tired anyway, just GO!"

"But..."

"Richard! You've haven't spent any time at the club lately, you haven't flown since May, it sounds like fun, hell, I didn't think those people even knew how to think up such an interesting idea. Even I think it's fun, go!"

Richard had to agree. It was only due to the singularity of a group flight plan that Richard had even considered it when he found his monthly newsletter on the couch two nights ago. It was like a road trip with the guys, but with planes. He had until today to register, it had been announced months ago.

One good thing about having Lois as a significant other is that she didn't immediately go nuts about the idea of him being a pilot. There was no, 'But, that's so dangerous, can you imagine how I worry?'

"Richard." Lois was trying to get his attention. "GO! And now get out of my way. Piss off, I'm busy." And she walked away, just like that.

Uncle Perry burst out of his office, shattering his thoughts.

"Fifty dollars, right here, right now!"

"Double it, I'll double it Perry, there's NO. WAY." An older man that looked familiar but un-namable stomped out after him, digging for his wallet.

"OLSEN! Find me an ATM! LOIS! COME HERE!"

"What, Perry, what? I'm busy!"

Uncle Perry came to a halt at her desk and slammed his debit card down.

"Tell him you know how to waltz, and that Kent taught you, and you did it together at that fricking," Jason was in the room, "Golden Globe or Emmy Grammy Oscar thing."

Richard had no idea how to contemplate that sentence.

"He's out of his mind, Matt."

"KENT!" Perry bellowed past Lois and then added in a stage whisper right to her, "Isn't it unlucky that Bouncy over there blushes when he lies?"

"Um, yes Chief?" Pretending he didn't hear him.

"Did you teach Lois to waltz?"

"Um, yes."

"Did you then waltz with her at an event?"

"Um, yes, on assignment at the Oscar's."

This impressed Richard, aside from all the shock, he was actually impressed by them having covered the Academy Awards.

"One hundred dollars. Right now."

"Prove it."

"OLSEN! Archives! Go!"

Betty's calm voice came from outside the focused circle, "Actually, there might still be a copy on someone's computer, that was a favorite."

If you can pinpoint a certain moment in a certain day that starts the tear in the fabric of your reality, then you can chart how it all went wrong after that. Such a pattern of moments in the tapestry of Richard's consciousness would probably be shaped like the silhouette of Clark Kent and Lois Lane waltzing at the after-party of the Academy Awards seven years ago. Oh, he also learned all about the scandal they were chasing down and the page tearing, explosive journalism that followed (headlines, that was what defined Lois and Clark). But there it was, and Richard just couldn't get over it. The two irregularities juxtaposed so closely: that Lois would dance, and that Clark could dance, and well. He watched them weave across the dance floor in a flurry of improbability.

And he was pretty sure there was no waltzing after awards shows in the 21st century.

Richard glanced across at Clark, standing at the other end of the semi-circle of onlookers at Jimmy's computer, and saw a man just as enthralled as he was by the image. While everyone else was laughing, pointing, or yelling about ATMs, only Clark looked completely mesmerized. Richard kept wondering lately what his uncle was hiding from him about Clark. Now he thought it might be right in front of him; maybe it was just that no one else could really see it, but for all the joking about puppy love, Richard could not help but think that Clark Kent burned for her.