A three-year lay-off isn't that bad, right? Right. At least this one is getting finished and isn't consigned to the Well of Lost Fics. This is the last chapter, but I want to thank a) ANYONE who has actually kept on with this fic over its near seven year run and b) anyone who reads and reviews.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except this laptop, though I wouldn't have minded writing the second Blue Beetle.

For Clark, this was a liberating experience, to say the least. He didn't tell anyone this (except for dear old Ma Kent, who grumbled about a lack of gratitude for a job well done), but the costume was really tight.

He only wore it under his clothes half the time, after all; sometimes it was in a briefcase, sometimes in a special compartment on his belt that only he and Batman knew about. Once, he'd been convinced by Zatanna that she could magic it so that it would appear on him once keyed to a special word of power (he went with "rutabaga" because, why not?)

This made for an embarrassing episode on the Watchtower, once Zatanna had realized she had the ability to shut Superman's clothing off. On the other hand, whenever his costume had been summoned away, it would come back smelling delightful. After the fifth or six time he'd decided to never again comment on a female Justice Leaguer's costume ever again, even if it was a silly hat.

Sometimes, Clark didn't understand magic at all. However, sometimes, when he was with Lois and it was late and she gave him that look – the look that he'd never been able to put into words, not quite ("which, for a man of words, is a little humbling") – that look that said she was so content just to be where she was at that exact moment…well, Clark began to understand magic. Or at least the appeal of three little magic words.

For Lois, seeing Clark in his civvies, looking so happy as he flew through the heavens, as much a creature of them as a bird, it was a joy to behold. She'd known for a while, but marveled at his acting ability. Granted, it was only two roles acted, and one role that was real.

"Clark Kent", the mild mannered reporter, who was so easy to talk to even as he bumbled and acted the fool. "Superman", the larger-than-life figure from another world. Both part-acts and part-real, but just shadows of the man she saw now, "her" Clark.

The Clark who brought her favorite soup when she was sick. The Clark who would fight her for by-lines as a game, because they were comfortable enough with each other now to know what the dance looked like. The Clark who never looked below Cat Grant's neck, even when she wasn't looking.

Her Clark. And looking at him now, a boyish grin on his still-young face as he stared into her eyes, it was like seeing him for the first time.

Maybe another time or another place, he'd have been afraid to say it. Or Superman would have been needed elsewhere. Or any one of a number of problems could have popped up. But maybe, sometimes, life just wants us to be happy.

"Lois, I love you."

She smiled. "I know."

A beat, and he stared at her, mouth agape. "Did…did you just Han Solo me?"

Her answer was a laugh and a nod, and he kissed her. Maybe, as kisses go, it wasn't the greatest of all time. But there, in that moment, it was perfect. Eventually, she pulled back, and answered. "I love you too." His smile was like a 1000-Watt bulb as she came back in for a kiss.

As far as magic words go, those are pretty great.