If you're reading this note, you might be thinking, holy shit, Sunspots.
I feel the same way.
Before you get started, thank you for being here. But I have very important news: If you haven't read this story in a while, you should re-read it now. I have edited a lot over the years; I had to in order to make this story survive. This isn't the old Chapter 20, and you should go back and see what I've done to make sense of the future.
Welcome back.
Philos
Clark had expected to be tired this morning. Actually, after the last three nights he expected to be exhausted. The example in point was Lois, her eyes heavy, her shoulders bent, mouth open in a yawn more frequently than usual.
But instead, Clark felt energized and alive on this windy Thursday morning. He'd even had a good time on his morning rounds, diving in and out of the Pacific like a dolphin and sincerely hoping no one could see him doing it from space.
Here he was, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and absolutely thrilled to be at work, ready to face another day of his dream job. He glanced at the news feed from where he was reclined in his desk chair and really hoped there wouldn't be any tsunamis to ruin the mood. They always ruined the mood.
"What do you look so chipper about, Smallville?"
"Nothing," he replied easily, tilted back in his chair and bobbing up and down a little, arms behind his head and staring at the ceiling. "Just daydreaming."
"I wish I were actually dreaming."
Clark flopped his forearms down onto the armrests and turned to look at her. He remained reclined in the chair, still bobbing.
Lois looked back at him from across the aisle, face pressed against her monitor and appearing downright bedraggled. Clark thought she looked very young in that moment, innocent somehow. Being tired was another of one of life's great equalizers, and a surge of affection rolled through him at the sight.
He gave her a genuinely sympathetic smile.
"Why don't you go home? Go get some rest. And let's skip the stakeout tonight."
She blinked at him, useless in her own defense.
"'mfine. I'll wake up. Won't skip it."
"You're exhausted. You've hardly gotten any sleep for the last few nights."
"Yeah," she agreed, though that wasn't really the point.
"Go home. I'm sure Richard would understand."
"He'll yell at me. Because of Henderson."
That wasn't true for last night, but Clark knew she needed the lie. Still, he had dropped her back at the Planet at a reasonable hour; she should be more rested than she looked.
He thought for a moment. This never used to be a problem when Lois lived around the corner, or when she could catch a nap in the breakroom without a fiancé and his well-intentioned concern. Clark's own apartment was too far uptown to offer her his couch, and that wouldn't have been his first choice anyway. He wasn't sure where Jimmy lived, but that wasn't his to offer.
He searched his mind for an option and a memory rose up to him from the file cabinets of his brain.
Clark leaned back in his chair and focused his vision back towards the ceiling, turning 180 degrees and seeking out the old Photography Department on the 33rd floor. X-raying to a specific depth, especially through a building, was usually very difficult for him, so he concentrated hard on only penetrating certain layers, else he'd end up staring at the sky.
But this time, it was quite simple. The usual jumble of steel and furniture and people just fell away, his eyes parting the curtain of matter like a veil, and there, in the southwest corner of the 33rd floor was the old Photography Department's men's bathroom.
Clark quickly righted himself in his chair and moved his mouse. The screen blinked back on and he opened Word, typed a few words, hit ctrl+p, and then Enter. He stood up and quickly went to fetch the warm paper from the machine.
A moment later he was back, standing next to Lois' desk and taking a bit of tape from her tape dispenser as he called her name.
"Lois," he said quietly. Her eyes were closed, her face still resting on her monitor. "Lois."
She groaned, "What, Smallville?"
"Here, take this to the Photo Department."
He held out the sheet of paper with the words 'OUT OF ORDER' printed on it. She looked from the paper to his face, too tired to ask.
"The men's room has a couch. It's been there since the 70s and probably the setting of a few indiscretions..." Now that he said it, he realized that Lois likely knew about said couch. "But still. No one but Jimmy ever goes up there anymore. Go take a nap."
She blinked at him again.
He answered her with, "I'll cover for you. I'll say you're downstairs researching if anyone asks. But no one will."
Lois took the paper, stood up slowly, stared straight up into his face, and bleated simply, gratefully, "Nap."
A rumbled Lois Lane walked out of the elevator ninety minutes later, and while she looked by no means rejuvenated, Clark was glad she'd gotten a little sleep. He smiled as she approached his desk, and he set aside the folders of Henderson court dispositions he'd accumulated in the last week as he smiled up at her.
"You know you don't need to print all that Clark, you're wasting trees."
"It comes from the DA this way, this city needs to embrace PDFs. Are you feeling better?"
She nodded, smiling at him in a way that showed him how much his suggestion had been appreciated. "You up for some coffee?" she asked, reaching for her mug on her desk. Clark grabbed his, and together they walked east across the Bullpen and towards the breakroom, exchanging a few head-nods with their colleagues amidst the noise and conversation.
Lois tended to the coffee machine while Clark washed out his mug. He was looking forward to a long day of sitting next to Lois and listening to her hum as she read. He wondered if this coffee break would hold more deep questions. He followed the script automatically, waiting for his cue.
"Clark?"
"Mmmm?"
"Can I tell you something else?" she asked, picking up from yesterday.
"Always, Lois."
The water ran in the sink, Clark swept the sponge around the rim of his mug. He didn't turn around to hear the secret.
Lois spoke plainly: "Richard was a one night stand. I didn't know he was Perry's nephew."
Clark plunked down the mug into the basin. He looked at Lois looking at him. The water kept running.
Lois looked put-off by his reaction.
"I thought you had dated." It was now very essential that he hear this entire story.
He continued, prompting her to correct him: "I thought Chief hired him, you met, and you started dating." And once you thought you'd conceived his child, you got engaged...
Lois offered the facts with a stricken face, "It was a hotel bar. And the worst coincidence ever."
He frowned deeply at the improbability of this.
Unfortunately, Kyle walked into the break room at just that moment and gave a brief, confused glance at the running water and the two stationary people locked in what was obviously a weighty conversation.
"Um," Kyle held up a finger, asking for them to excuse his interruption as he hopped over to the fridge, pulled out a yogurt, and hurried out of the room.
Lois was looking down, ashamed, and he wasn't sure why. Clark knew about her one night stands; who didn't? Lois didn't have boyfriends or lovers or whatever she might call a stable partner… she just had sex. Sometimes it was with people she knew and liked, and sometimes it was with complete strangers, and every time Clark heard about it, he tried to ignore it.
He didn't understand it, but only because that wasn't the way he was, or at least he imagined that wasn't the way he was. But he knew that's who Lois was, so he hardly judged the number of partners she had. Lois was Lois, and for her, sex was a consensual romp with no consequences and very little conversation.
But she looked away and bit her lip in a way reserved for when she was afraid of what he would say.
Clark turned off the water and grabbed the wet mug from the bottom of the sink. He couldn't parse this fast enough, unable to think of an appropriate response. Silence was safest, so he went about preparing his coffee.
A one night stand changed everything.
Everything.
Richard wasn't a man she'd turned to when Superman left her life, a man she'd come to love, slowly and deeply.
He was a man she'd picked up at a hotel bar, just another of Lois' distractions, another in a line of men that Lois had thrown a leg over and grinned at, taking what she wanted and giving just enough back to make them feel lucky as hell.
And that didn't mean that Clark could just ignore him, it didn't mean that they hadn't formed a real and solid life together these past five years, it didn't undo the fact that Richard had raised Jason… but it still changed everything.
"Why are you telling me, Lois?" he pushed the conversation forward, wanting more.
She didn't answer, and he looked over at her. She looked upset at the question, and he replayed this whole thing in his mind, trying to hear it as Clark Kent, not as a man in love with Lois Lane.
He'd been very forthright, moreso than usual; she was acting ashamed and defensive, something reserved only for him and Perry the few times the Chief had really called her out on poor behavior. He tried to rally, but he was too late.
"Never mind, Clark. Sorry. Just. Never mind."
This was difficult to bear, being in the break room and not someplace they could really talk. He watched her shut down and turn to walk away and back out into the Bullpen where he'd have no way to make his way back into her confidence on this. Damn.
This called for immediate emergency measures.
Clark left his mug on one of the breakroom tables as he quickly made his way across the space. He put a hand out onto her shoulder, looked concerned, and asked very sincerely: "Are you and Richard having problems, Lois?"
She looked surprised by the gesture, but still reluctant to answer. She looked down and to the side, biting her lip.
"It's just…"
He had precious few seconds to think, but it didn't matter. He could see her pulling in.
"Maybe we'll talk later, Smallville. Thanks."
He had no choice but to let her go, staring after her with his mind reeling. She left the breakroom and Clark went to the doorway, watching as she walked back to their side of the Bullpen.
But she went past her desk, and straight to Jimmy's instead. The younger man turned to her, evidently reading a world of things on her face. He stood up, coming to her aid and sharing a long and significant look. Clark could read them perfectly, and knew immediately that they were commiserating on a secret. A serious one. And while critical thinking would caution against connecting that secret to the conversation he'd just messed up so badly… there was no ignoring it.
Post hoc ergo propter hoc.
Clark was suddenly afraid of how much Jimmy knew. He trusted Jimmy, he did, but it was unsettling to be left out of Lois' secrets, especially when they involved him. If she shared things with both Jimmy and him, she always shared them with Clark first. Except…
There were definitely times that Lois hid things from him, and those were (again) the times when she was deeply ashamed of something. And her behavior in the breakroom confirmed it. Clark closed his eyes and rested his head on the doorframe for a second, absorbing the depth of his mistake.
He opened his eyes to the sight of Jimmy standing with a few file folders in his hand and waiting for Lois to get her cigarettes out of her purse. He watched them move together towards the elevator, and he thought back over the last few months, mulling over the many times when Lois had let her eyes turn to Jimmy and not to him.
What else should he expect? He'd left her. He'd left both their relationships, and Lois may not have turned to Richard as he thought she had, but she had certainly turned to Jimmy in place of Clark.
He wished he could be the one listening, he wished he could undo the last fifteen minutes and be the friend he should have been instead of the jealous lover he barely was.
Lois turned a little and saw Clark staring, and he blushed, pushing himself off the doorway. She gave him a sad little shrug, and then turned her attention back to the photographer.
Clark sighed, wondering a thousand things.
And so a tsunami had come after all. Richard had been a one night stand.
By the time Lois knocked on Clark's door that evening she was completely exhausted. Truly, truly tired. The weight of a thousand decisions rested on her shoulders and she slumped listlessly against his door while waiting for it to open.
Clark was wearing socks when he opened the door.
"Hi," he said, sounding surprised, "I thought you'd call up, just let me get my shoes…" and he turned away, leaving the door open.
"Don't bother, Smallville," she sighed, meandering in and letting her purse fall from her hand to land as a gentle thump on Clark's hardwood floor. "I parked in the deck. Did you know your building has a deck?"
She came forward into the living room and walked around the couch, Clark following her. Then she gave a dramatic flop! onto the cushions and groaned in relief, closing her eyes.
"I never had a deck, and you don't even have a car."
She heard the whisper of his pants as he came around the other side of the couch, probably peering down at her. She cracked an eyelid, catching his puzzled expression.
"Clark, I am very, very tired," she said plainly, her voice betraying the emotional toll such exhaustion was having on her. She watched his face grow slightly concerned, and then understanding.
She made it simple. "Let's stay in."
"Stay in here? Why don't you..," he paused for a second, "Why didn't you stay home?" he asked quietly, in a way Lois remembered Clark asking certain kinds of questions, the ones he feared the sad answers to. She was again reminded of how long it had been since she'd had his ear, his shoulder to cry on.
That had been happening more and more lately.
Jimmy was right. She'd missed it.
Lois turned her head in order to address him properly, even though doing so smushed her face into a couch pillow. The simplest way to explain was to let the pain from their aborted conversation show on her face. She tried to make him understand that she didn't want to be home.
And he seemed to get it in that ever-reliable 100% Clark way, the way he just went with things when she needed him to.
She'd missed that, too.
"I bought some ingredients on the way home," he offered to the room, as if they had been talking about cooking just a second ago, "Why don't we make my dip?"
Lois thought she was a pretty shitty cook, which was something she didn't exactly care about until she'd been forced to move to the suburbs and away from the cheap and varied food of the city. And more than that, away from delivery. But, she had learned to follow recipes as part of the great transition to domestic life, usually alongside Richard for their shared cooking duties throughout the week. And she could do that at least, but she certainly couldn't improvise.
Hence she watched in awe as Clark measured without actually measuring, threw dashes of things into the bowl without any sense of proportion, and then just tasted his way to this or that a conclusion. She could understand statements like "more salt," but never things like, "wait, turmeric, definitely turmeric."
Clark had set up his laptop on the kitchen counter and immediately put on an alternative rock station, something else he'd remembered about her over all the lost years. They had opened a bottle of wine, red, since he didn't have any white chilled, and they were now on their second glass each.
Lois was enjoying a gentle buzz, and through this contentment a thought rose like the sun. "You live near Buddha Hut!" she smacked her hand down on the island, "Let's get delivery, I'm starving."
Their eyes went to the stove to check the time. It was 9:46. In the city that meant there was still over an hour before anything closed. This generated a feeling of elation in Lois, where years ago it would have just been expected.
Clark grabbed the menu out of a drawer and placed it on the countertop, near the hand-written recipe card with the original crab dip recipe from Clark's mother. Lois started to scan the vegetarian options to see if she was in the mood for something other than her usual; Clark's usual was circled in red pencil from the last time he'd ordered.
Lois took a sip of wine as she let her attention wander a little, her eyes reading over "Fried Bean Curd with Mushrooms" more than once. Clark moved around her where she was leaning against the counter. He was silent, still in socks, something that made their friendship seem intimate again, the way it used to feel.
Lois looked over at him. He was leaning down to peer through the oven window at the breadcrumbs toasting on a cookie tray. He stood back up, and turned to face her, meeting her quiet gaze. She sighed.
"This reminds me of old times," she said simply, looking at him. "You still like cold noodles."
Clark smiled and nodded, but didn't respond. His look was warm, like he wanted to say it reminded him of old times, too, and he appreciated it as much as she did.
She did miss the ease of their friendship, especially since the time they spent outside of work had always been very easy. No awkward silences, no forced conversation, no negotiating entrances and exits from their personal spaces. In fact Clark had had a set of Lois' keys from the year after they met each other, always checking in on her place when she was away. He had never offered her a set, looking away anxiously the one time she'd asked if he needed her to check on anything for him while he was back in Kansas for a weekend. She'd understood; Clark was the most private person she knew.
Nowadays there wasn't a need. Richard was her backup for everything, and when Jimmy had moved recently he hadn't offered her a spare set to replace the one she'd given back to him. She hoped that was just because he hadn't thought to.
Lois shook herself out of her melancholy and remembered the food. She got her phone from her purse and dialed the number, ordering for both of them. Clark was a creature of habit, and so she didn't double-check with him before ordering whatever was circled from the last time.
Once that was finished she looked around a little, then gave the newly modified dip a sniff.
"Look at you, Smallville: a good decorator, a good cook, a neat home," she cocked her head at him, "You'd make a great dad. Do you want a family?"
Too late she realized that this was pushing it with him. They certainly had shared things in their friendship, but it was rare for Lois to outright ask him a personal question. She didn't need a good memory to know not to ask him about women; that had been a sore and humiliating topic in the past.
But the wine and the haze of years meant she didn't quite have her Clark Kent buffers back in place; instead, as soon as she said something wrong they came back online, too little too late. She winced.
Clark seemed taken aback, but he answered. He looked down into his glass, took a sip, and then without making eye contact said, "Until recently I believed I couldn't have children."
Lois put a hand to her mouth. In an instant they were past 'too personal for Clark' and into 'too personal, period.' That explained his morose reaction to the kid uniforms at the stadium last week.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Forget I asked."
He shook his head, "It's alright."
She tried not to think too hard about that; there were some things you didn't need to know about friends and sperm count was-ew! She slammed the brakes.
"What about you?" he asked, ultimately avoiding the question, knowing Lois wouldn't call him on it now, and continuing with, "I know you never wanted a family, but do you think-"
"Absolutely not. Suffice it to say I love Jason, and I'm glad I have him, but I have zero desire for more. One is enough."
Clark nodded readily. He seemed to expect that answer. The timer on the oven went off a moment later, chiming that the breadcrumbs were now appropriately toasted. Lois leaned on the counter as Clark went about taking them out of the oven. He took a spoon out of the drawer near the sink and scooped some of the recently modified tempeh dip out of the mixing bowl, then sprinkled some of the warm bread crumbs on top.
He offered it to her, "You'll have to mix in the breadcrumbs when you serve it, but tell me how it tastes now."
She smiled again, worries drifting away, and took the spoon. The flavor profile was radically different, certainly, but somewhere under the lack of crab there was the very distinct taste of Clark's cooking, something she hadn't tasted in years. She smiled, her eyes closed.
"It's perfect."
Thirty minutes later they were on their third glass of wine and hungrily digging into takeaway cartons on Clark's coffee table. They didn't bother with plates, and Lois was sitting on the floor, tucked into the small space between the couch and the table with a whole meal at chin-level. She was starving, and they ate in silence for the first few hungry minutes.
She finally broke the silence with her mouth full. "Mwan I needed 'his."
She could see Clark nodding in her peripheral vision. She was nice and buzzed, not needing to be any more drunk on this particular night. She had the safety of Clark and his apartment to get her through the rest of today, what little was left of it.
"You wanna watch TV?" she gestured to the screen in front of them. Clark had a moderately sized flatscreen on the wall.
He shook his head, chewing his recent bite of cold noodles and swallowing before responding. "How about a movie?"
"Too late for a movie," and she yawned on cue.
"It's too late for TV, too, Lois. You need sleep. Stay here tonight. You can go home and change before work."
Lois let herself sigh with relief.
"Thanks, Clark."
"Anytime," he smiled, and then reached for his fried rice, having had his fill of cold noodles.
"To answer you from earlier, yes. I am having problems with Richard. But he doesn't know."
Clark braced himself; this time he was going to do this right. He swallowed the triumphant joy this confession brought to life and then took a good, long look at the misery on his beloved's face. It grounded him, reminding him exactly what about this was important right now.
He waited, silent, but expressed his concern in the long, careful look her gave her, inviting her to share. They looked at each other, and Lois seemed to be gathering her resolve.
"I was never meant for motherhood Clark, you know that."
He nodded. He tamped down the guilt this brought on, even though neither of them could have known they would conceive; he was an alien for god's sake.
"And I'm not meant for marriage, either. Richard is a good man, but that doesn't mean I want a husband. Just the word makes me shudder."
Clark nodded again, because Lois engaged had been almost as shocking as Lois as a mother. Probably moreso. And now that he knew their relationship hadn't exactly been a long courtship, he took a moment to wonder why exactly they got engaged in the first place. They may still have fallen for each other, but the more obvious question presented itself first.
And suddenly he had a theory about her avoiding his eyes earlier in the day: he knew that Jason had been conceived in love; Lois might be ashamed to have Clark think he wasn't.
The guilt felt red-hot. He winced.
He had to re-focus on the issue at hand.
"I never thought you'd worry about convention, Lois. I can't believe you only got engaged because you'd had a child together."
Lois nodded slowly. "You're right, I didn't."
"Then," he tried to think of a way to say this, "Then why? There must have been a good reason. Is any of it still there?"
Lois stared at him, obviously thinking. She blinked slowly.
"I don't even know if I had a reason to say yes. It was just all so fucked up at the time, I didn't know what to do. I still don't," she sighed. She closed her eyes, obviously pained.
Clark gave her a moment, his heart yearning for her. He wanted to take it all away, and suddenly he felt like he could. If Superman walked up to her, asked her to be his, promised her a home with a good salary to help raise Jason… he could undo all the wrong he'd done. He really felt like he had a chance to make it right if she were free and he were willing. And he was certainly willing.
And that made this conversation extremely difficult. He was more tempted at this moment than ever before to push her where he wanted her to be. With him. And more importantly, away from anyone else.
Clark's hands curled into fists and he shoved them behind him into the crease of the couch, feeling crumbs and hair there; the unpleasant reminder to vacuum helped disperse the sudden want in him.
Lois sighed and opened her eyes.
"Whatever the reason, no, there's none left. I don't want to be with him anymore, out in that house, alone with my mistakes."
Clark took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, hoping she wouldn't notice.
She did.
"What?"
"I'm concerned for you," he assured her, not wanting her to think he disapproved and have a repeat of this morning, "This is big news. And I'm sorry."
She looked at him and Clark had the sudden urge to reach his hand out across the couch. They'd done that before, had little hand-holding squeezes of friendship. Clark unclenched his fist, moved his arm, and slipped her small hand into his. She squeezed, obviously touched by his gesture.
He tried not to break her hand in return.
He took a shallow breath, his heart clenching in affection. Their hands stayed together, her holding onto him for strength. And then Lois said:
"I was alone."
He looked up from their hands to her face, her very tired face. She clarified. "I said yes because I was alone, and because it wasn't just me anymore."
Alone.
Contrition burned the edges of his soul. One day soon he was going to bleed for what he'd done. For leaving Lois alone to face motherhood without her protector or her confidant.
And Clark stared at her, stricken, hopeless, with his ever-so brief elation soured by his own mistakes.
"And it gets worse."
He felt faint with panic. The only worse thing she could say would be Jason's parentage, and Clark was already horrified that Jimmy may know. She could not keep telling people that.
Lois looked away, ashamed again. Clark concentrated on squeezing her hand, trying to let her know that she was safe in his confidence even though he prayed she would not use it.
"Richard isn't Jason's father. And I just found out recently. And now-" her voice shook, and Clark's heart leaped into his throat, "Now I don't know how to tell him. Or what to do. I could have forced myself into staying, but now it's more than my issues... Now I've stolen a man's life and made him love a son that isn't his."
Clark was literally swallowing against the rush of nausea he felt at this, at the horror of the situation he'd caused. He had taken her memory and then left her to discover her pregnancy with no memory of a conception and nothing but the conclusion that a one-night stand was the father. He needed to fix this.
He needed to tell her.
He almost moaned in agony at the thought. He'd wanted to tell her so many times, in so many moments, but this time it was real pain in her eyes, real stakes, a real family about to be torn apart and telling her would only make it worse. But it would put the blame where it belonged, on him.
She went on. "Who knows, at this point he might be happy if I left, if I just stopped putting off the engagement for stupid reasons and was honest with him… I wouldn't have gone through it with it anyway. But Clark, I have no idea how to tell the man that his son isn't his. It's horrible. Richard never did anything to deserve this."
He didn't know what to say. Richard wasn't his favorite person, but losing Jason would be terrible, and in that moment he wished he wasn't his son in particular, only because it would allow Lois to give Richard that at the very least. But his powers were going to manifest, and it was truly dangerous not to tell Richard the truth.
"Oh Lois," he said, his voice a whisper. He leaned closer to her and this time she reached for his hand.
"Oh Clark," she mimicked, a sad smile as they squeezed hands once more. "Look how much you care. I missed you."
She went on with a few simple words, "But you're back, and now I'm not alone."
Clark blinked like an owl, surprised. Lois looked away. They never said things like this to each other, and now she was telling him this… and it didn't even matter if she meant Clark Kent or Superman or both. She said she wasn't alone anymore, and that meant that short of Jason, he was the luckiest man on earth to be so regarded by Lois Lane.
The clouds lifted, and impossibly, the sun shone down on two old friends and the secrets they kept.
He swallowed, trying to embolden himself. He needed to tell her, he did. The clock was ticking and both of them were going to get found out and he needed to tell her.
But somehow this conversation trumped that vital point. And right now, after hearing this, he needed to make sure she knew something else that had never been said. If it was all going to get torn away, he needed her to know how he felt, as her friend, as just Clark:
"I missed you too, Lois. I missed the Bullpen and Jimmy and Chief and the deadlines and Betty's and everything. But I missed you the most. Because I was alone, too, and you were my best friend," he swallowed, digging up the last of his courage, the awkwardness of two adults trying to express themselves this openly taking its toll on both of them, "And I'm deeply sorry I wasn't here to help you."
After nearly six (ten) years of friendship, this was absolutely the most either of them had ever said on the matter. Friendships like theirs weren't shared over red wine and Chinese food. They were shared by running from explosions and testifying for each other at hearings and spending countless hours cooperating against high pressure deadlines.
But Lois stared into him, and she put her other hand on top of his, and squeezed their hands together, and Clark felt their fragmented friendship slowly re-aligning itself in the air around them.
It brought him genuine peace for the first time in months.
"I'm really glad you're back, Smallville."
They had decided to put on a movie, one they'd both seen before because they knew Lois was going to be asleep in minutes.
Clark was half-watching from the kitchen and he took a very deep breath as he put the leftover food in the fridge. And then he took a very deep breath as he washed his hands. And then he took a very deep breath when he looked out into the living room and saw Lois' head turned towards the TV.
He took deep breaths because the imminent loss was ballooning into a full blown panic attack after the euphoria from their confessions of friendship. Luckily, Lois was too tired to notice much of anything at this point.
So Clark took long, deep breaths in the kitchen, trying to focus his emotions away from panic and back towards peace. His meditation skills were rusty, his mind clogged, his pulse beating lightning fast under his skin.
He was going to lose her.
It was almost a certainty.
And it made the air freeze in his lungs, and now his breath glowed a ghostly blue in the light from the television.
Clark slipped and skidded down the path towards panic, hoping that Lois would not turn around while he struggled to regain control. Hiding always hiding. Lying always lying.
He wished for a moment that she would look around, would see him for who he was and get it over with.
End the torture and start the aftermath.
They both knew the better path. Lois knew she should tell Richard that Jason wasn't his before he found out in some dangerous incident, and Clark knew he should tell Lois before he acted in anyway whatsoever to maneuver into her intimate life.
But as he walked slowly towards the couch and sat down, and as her head came to rest on his shoulder as they only half-watched The Blue Brothers… he couldn't do it.
The precious few minutes passed until Lois fell asleep, her head hanging heavier and heavier against his shoulder until he heard her breath even out and saw her hand go slack.
He stayed perfectly still as he looked down at her sleeping face, then across her body as it moved with easy breaths, down to her legs where they were curled up into her. Seeing her this way was precious. It made Clark forget all his rules, all his obligations, and he simply stared at her like a lover would. Like he wanted to. As if she were his.
There was both affection and desire in his eyes as he let them wander over her, noting the wrinkles in her pants, the tufts of hair across his own chest, the pale skin at her neck where it joined her shoulder.
All these things were his to see, his to guard, in this perfect moment that could not last.