[Rating: PG-13 - For occasional mild profanity, and for mature dialogue.]
CHAPTER 12
His mouth agape, her buoyant figure before him, he peers down at the keys one last time. Beyond belief, he raises his free hand to rub his brow and to scratch his head as he looks about him at a modest, two-way galley kitchen off to his side, and a spacious living room, completely unfurnished except for simple beige drapes covering an entire wall on the side of the open space opposite him. Glancing up, he sees the rows of recessed lights lining a slightly lofted ceiling, and casting a crisp, ambient glow throughout the room. And glancing down, he sees the glossed finish of dark, hardwood floors.
After several long moments of silence, he begins to fully grasp the situation. Finding her elated gaze, he shakes his head, hoping, "Lois, you didn't…"
"Yes," she admits, rushing over to him. "I sorta did."
"Lois -"
"- Wait, wait, wait. Before you say no, let me explain." Stopping in front of him, she slides her hands underneath the shoulders of his open coat, and starts to push the heavy fabric down his arms. "I knew how much you've wanted to move into the city ever since Mrs. K. got resettled. And I knew how frustrated you've been with the whole process since you've never done it before, and since you've been too busy with the whole red-and-blue thing to put all that much time into it. So, maybe a week or so after you went public, I kinda started looking around for you. And had I been the only party involved, this place would not look as good as it does, and you would be renting."
"Okay…?"
"But as it happens," she gently says, finishing taking off his coat and draping it over her arm, "you have a fairy god-pal who was really sorry for the grief he gave you when he first got here, and who insisted on waving his magic wand a bit when I mentioned that I was having trouble finding you somewhere that fits your unique needs. So…it's yours. I mean, you'd have to sign some things. But, otherwise, it's totally taken care of. So just say yes, and it's yours."
Thunderstruck, he blinks a few times and runs his gaze back over the room. "Is this why you wanted me to play nice with him?"
"Yes and no. I figured you'd be more receptive if you weren't still pretending to hate him. But mostly, I just thought you boys have too much in common to keep bickering for no good reason."
Raising both of his hands and then dropping them in confusion, he looks back down at her, and tells her, "I don't understand. You… When did… Lois, this is -"
"- Totally not a big deal," she interrupts, exaggerating her tone for effect. "He put one of his assistants off on me, and she handled the details. And he doesn't even know where this place is, and, believe me, he doesn't really care. He actually totally forgot about it at one point. And anyway, he just wanted to help out since he understands the position you're in, being who you are."
His mind jumbled, he rubs his unoccupied hand against the back of his neck as he tries to catch his sense of bewilderment up to her sense of excitement. But, despite his efforts, he fails, as he can't help the odd feeling that something is amiss.
"I don't know what to say to this."
"That's okay," she insists, maintaining the brightness in her voice and reaching for the hand behind his neck. "Speechless is fine. I can work with speechless. Lemme give you the grand tour."
At a loss, he lets her thread her fingers into his, and he follows behind her as she leads him into the kitchen. She sets his coat down near her belongings, and he leaves the keys there, too. Tugging him along and gesturing toward things with her hands, she points out the cupboards, stove, and other mundane features, and then mentions that they're roughly the same easy distance from their workplace as they are from her apartment, which, she grants, bears more on her travel time than his. On their way back into the entryway, she assures him that although the kitchen is smaller than the one he's used to, there's still plenty of space for him to set up a dining area just opposite the bar dividing the kitchen from the living room.
"Now," she goes on, ushering him toward one of the open doors leading out of the main area, "I know it's kinda overkill, but there are two bedrooms and two bathrooms. I figure you're always letting people crash at the farm, and your buddies are bound to follow you wherever you go." Switching on a light and leading him into and through a smaller room, she says, "So you could put a bed in here, or you could use it as an office. Either way, one of the best things about this place is that it's at the end of the hall. Which means there'd never really be anyone other than you and your guests outside of your front door. And which also means that you'd only be sharing one wall. That one."
As she points toward the side of the room opposite the open door, he simply nods, and lets her continue.
"But take my word for it, the building is amazing, so even if someone screams bloody murder in here, your neighbors - who, by the way, are a boring-beyond-belief broker and his latest boy toy - still wouldn't really hear anything. Oh, and the ceilings and floors are totally soundproof. So you'd basically be in your own little universe…"
Studying her animated gestures and listening to her attention to detail, the cause for his concern becomes increasingly clear. After she's gone on about various other things for several more minutes - noting the contemporary but still homey design and architecture, describing the amenities that come with living in a high-rise, and envying him being able to park in the building, which isn't a luxury she enjoys - he attempts to get in a word.
"Lois -"
"- No, wait," she interjects, leading him out of the spare bathroom and back through the living room. "I haven't even shown you the best part."
He reluctantly lets her go as she releases his hand and hurries off to the side of the room with the wall-length drapes.
"Are you ready for this?" she asks, full of exhilaration.
Seeing her so energetic and so enthused, he can only sigh, and nod his head.
Taking his cue, she throws back the fabric, revealing a lofty, panoramic view of the city beyond several floor-to-ceiling picture windows and what he quickly realizes is a sliding door.
"Tada!" she proclaims.
He lightly laughs, affected by both her thoughtfulness and her theatrical presentation.
Holding out her hand, she insists, "Well, come here."
Obligingly, he walks over to her, rethreads his fingers into hers, and observes the recessed balcony on the opposite side of the glass.
"See?" she smiles, leaning up and quickly kissing his cheek. "You could come and go whenever you want, and no one would ever know."
Feeling her affection and hearing her consideration, he takes a long, contemplative breath.
"What is it?" she asks, sensing the change in his mood.
He looks up from the city's skyline and notices for the first time that they're high enough above the light pollution to see many of the brightest stars. Recognizing the view of the night sky as another of the touches she must have had in mind when she settled on the apartment, he feels his throat constrict and his chest ache as his sudden gloom increases.
"What's wrong? Do you hate it?"
"Of course not, Lois," he quietly replies, his eyes far away.
She studies the side of his face, trying to figure out what could be the matter. Thinking that he's working up to declining her offer, she rallies her remaining cheer and starts to tug at his hand. "Alright, that's enough stargazing, Galileo. I still haven't shown you the master bedroom."
"I don't need to see it."
"Oh, c'mon," she says, pulling him a few steps away from the windows and toward a closed door. "You're gonna like it. I promise."
"Lois -" he starts to protest.
Feeling him resist her lead, she lets go of his hand and quickly cuts him off. "- Look," she begins to ramble, presuming the nature of his objections, "I know how much your dad means to you, but please don't go Pa Kent on me. You would still be taking care of insurance, and taxes, and utilities, and whatever else."
"It's not that -"
"- Well, there's no ulterior motive here," she swears. "He's not trying to buy you or anything. He's just trying to do me a favor - one buddy to another. And he's just trying to do you a solid - one cape to another."
"No, Lois, he's not the issue."
She lifts her eyebrows, questioning him. In response, he sighs, clenches his jaw, and then moves toward her to rest his hands on her shoulders. She looks at her upper arms and instantly recognizes his gesture. Finding his gaze, she asks, "Well, what did I do?"
He pauses for a moment, bracing himself for what he's certain won't be a pleasant reaction, and then starts to say something. But upon seeing his solemnity, she inches closer to him, reaches for the bottom of his cardigan, and breaks into their silence. "Are you mad at me?"
"Why would I be mad at you?"
"That's not an answer."
He quickly glances down between them, seeing her fingers wringing his sweater. Meeting her gaze, he rubs her arms, saying, "It's okay. I'm fine."
"No, you're not," she worries. "You haven't even answered my question."
He feels his top slacken as she lets it go and, growing more anxious, steps back and out of his reach. Observing her shoulders slumping and her brow creasing, he moves toward her again, and tries harder to reassure her.
"I'm not mad at you."
"Yes, you are," she fears, instinctively continuing her retreat. "I went overboard and now you're angry with me."
He halts his progress, understanding that it's the only way to get her to stop recoiling, and then answers her honestly: "Yes, Lois, you did go way, way overboard. But that's just because you don't know how to do anything halfway, which isn't -"
"- And that's why you're upset?" she asks, standing in place.
"Of course not. You know that's one of my favorite things about you. It's just…" He trails off, and then, looking around the room, he sharply exhales. "Lois, when have you had time to apartment-hunt for me?"
"I had help," she shrugs, not following his line of logic.
"Okay. But why are you doing this?"
"I already told you: You've been busy, so I figured I'd help you out."
Hearing her reply, he huffs, and drops his head into his hand. Distressed, unsure of how to get her to engage him without sending her into a rage, he racks his mind for a viable option. Still at a loss, he lifts his head and turns around. After making his way back over to the windows, he pulls the drapes closed, removes his glasses and tucks them into the pocket of his cardigan, and then turns back to her.
Seeing his face and anticipating how serious he's about to get, she groans, "Oh, great…"
"We need to talk."
"No."
"Yes."
"No. Absolutely not. I am not having any conversation that starts with 'We need to talk.' I have dumped way too many people to fall for that one."
Ignoring her deflection, he gets right to his point and asks the question to which he's afraid he already knows the answer: "Lois, have you missed me?"
"Oh, god," she scoffs, unfolding her arms and rolling her eyes.
"I'm serious," he says, taking a few steps into the space between them. "Because this is what you do when you miss me."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do," he adamantly replies, pushing back against her refusal to discuss what, unbeknownst to them both, has been going on with her. "When either of me used to disappear, you'd do something to distract yourself. If it was The Blur, you wrote an article about him. If it was me, you took Shelby for the weekend or something."
Cocking her head at him, she evenly retorts, "I like my job, and I like your dog. Big deal."
"Don't do that."
Her first instinct being to avoid whatever he's driving at, she balks. But, appreciating the gravity in his tone and gaze, she takes a deep breath, and gives in. "Fine."
At the sound of her concession, he shifts his stance, and presses, "Is this how much you've missed me? You've been making recipes, and planning my wardrobe, and finding me a place to live?"
He watches her pause. He watches her blink. He watches her lift her eyebrows in question. As he slowly begins to comprehend her genuine confusion about a problem she doesn't even see, his mind and his body begin to sting from agitation. He scoffs, bringing his hands to his face once more. Trying to temper the anger he feels mounting within him, he squeezes his eyes closed and grits his teeth. She'll take it the wrong way if he says anything just now, he knows. Whatever energy he gives out, he'll get back in exponential degrees. But with this matter of all, he simply doesn't have the patience for restraint. Feeling her perplexed gaze and feeling his exasperation brimming, he shifts and turns, beginning to pace.
Discomposed, irate, he muffles into his palms, "Lois. You cannot keep doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Letting me get away with everything!" he shouts, jerking his hands away from his face.
Startled by his deafening reply and worried for his distressed state, she starts to take a step toward him, but thinks the better of it. Watching him stalk around aimlessly in the wide-open space, she lets him vent, trying to understand what's wrong with him before she tries to calm him down.
Furious, he glares at her and tosses his hands about as he rages, "This didn't have to happen! I know that things haven't been ideal. I know that we've both been busy. And I thought it was okay because I thought you were mostly fine. But had I known that you missed me this much, I would have gladly taken you away to someplace in the middle of nowhere for a weekend, and given you as much of my undivided attention as you could stand! We could've done anything! We could've done nothing! We could've done whatever would've made you happy!"
At the sound of such an accusation, she plants her hands on her hips, and demands, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"About you being upfront with me!"
"About what?"
"About us!"
"Alright, back it down, Clark." Shifting her weight to one leg, she firmly insists, "I am not jealous of your calling. I know what I mean to you. And I don't need my hand held 24/7. So -"
"- But would you like your hand held 24/7?"
"Oh, my god, Clark. Speak English!"
Halting his pacing, his head having begun to throb, he squares his shoulder to her, and thunders, "I am asking you what you want from me! I do not care if you think you do or do not need it! What do you want?"
As if the answer were plainly obvious, she shouts back, "For you to stop being mad at me!"
"I'm not mad at you!"
"Then why are you acting like I'm a bad person for not giving you grief about who you are?"
"Really?" he yells, incredulous. "That's what you're hearing right now!"
"Well what the hell am I supposed to hear when you're speaking alien?"
Throwing his hands up and sharply groaning, he turns away from her again and takes a few steps in one direction, and then a few more back in the other direction. Feeling no better, he shakes his head and struggles to find his way back to himself. Finally, in a quieter voice, he sighs his frustrations, "I thought… I thought we were clear."
"About what?"
"About us," he repeats in a calmer tone than before.
"I don't understand this, Clark," she shrugs, taking her hands from her hips. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."
"And you have. You have done an incredibly nice thing for me," he says, stopping in place and facing her. "But given how big a thing it is, it's making me wonder whether the time and energy that you put into it is, in some way, you channeling all the time and energy that you haven't been able to spend directly on me."
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"I want you to answer my question."
For a moment, she considers pretending to not know what he's asking. But with the truth written on every surface of the space she was so intent on finding for him, there's no point in denying the obvious. Still though, saying the words would make all-too clear what her actions have only implied.
He watches her, seeing the changes in her face that signify her ambivalence. Confronted for the second time today with the consequences of her permissiveness and her self-possession, he resets his jaw, contemplating. And then, after a weighty pause, he assumes a determined stance, holds her gaze, and speaks directly to the matter at hand:
"Lois, I spent over two years in the shadows, just like every other faceless, unaccountable vigilante - helping the people I could, but affecting very little beyond them. It drove me crazy sometimes - trying to be everywhere, trying to save everyone. And I suffered for it. And so did my relationships."
"Clark, you don't have to -"
"- Stop talking," he gently interrupts, holding his ground against her reluctance to hear the avowal to which he's building. After seeing her resign herself to his sincerity, he begins to slowly close the distance between them as he goes on, "But it's not like it was then. Now, I get to see the light in this world, instead of just the dark. Now, with people hearing me, with people seeing me, I have become so much more than my deeds. It's what I mean to people - it's what I stand for and what I symbolize - that matters. Because of that, my influence doesn't end after I stop something bad from happening. And knowing that I don't have to always be out there to still give people hope and to still inspire them is what allows me to commit to you in a way that I never could before."
Standing directly in front of her, he takes her hands in his, both affirming his connection to her, and keeping her from withdrawing. And then, quietly and tenderly, he tells her, "Lois, you are every reason why. I am better, stronger because of the person you are, and because of how having you in my life grounds me and elevates me… So if I am ever, ever getting this balance wrong, then you have to tell me. Because there is absolutely nothing that I wouldn't…"
He trails off as she breaks their gaze and her chin shudders.
"Oh, no. Please, don't," he implores, letting go of one of her hands and reaching up to touch the side of her face. "I didn't mean to make you -"
Having heard as much as she can take, she pulls away from him before he can make contact with her cheek, and cuts him short before he can start to apologize. "- Stop. You're just gonna make it worse."
"No, I'm not," he says, starting after her as she takes off in one direction.
"Yes, you are."
"Lois, please -"
"- Leave me alone."
"No," he flatly refuses, hearing her tone growing more agitated, and watching her pace around and fan her eyes. "You've already done that twice more today than you have in the past three months. I'm not gonna let you do it again."
"Well, what the hell do you expect, Clark?" she snaps, her indignation growing. "I've already been on an emotional roller coaster with you since this afternoon, and now you wanna grandstand about how you feel about me."
Trying to corral her, but finding it impossible to do with every odd twist and turn that she makes, he calmly attempts, "Lois, come here -"
"- Oh, screw you! You are such a pain in my ass. You do nothing but infect me with your stupid goo, and then you have the nerve to ask me if I miss having some super-powered spaceman around to make me cry all the damn time. I mean, what makes you think…"
He sighs, absorbing the turnabout of his ill temper. Hearing her lash out at him with one empty accusation and one overblown complaint after another, he nonetheless manages to take comfort in her hostility. He well knows that she's just channeling an emotion that she doesn't want to deal with into one that she's always happy to indulge.
By the time she's zigzagged her way across the room for a second time, she's stopped wafting air at the tears that, to his relief, never fell. And so, still trailing behind her, he once again tries to break into her rant, "Lois -"
"- Don't talk to me."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't wanna hear anything that you have to say."
"Why not?"
"Because it only ever serves your sick fascination with watching me blubber like an idiot. And I spent too much time on this makeup to give you the satisfaction of seeing me ruin it."
Knowing there to be no point in waiting for her to run out of what fourteen months with her has assured him of being an endless amount of steam, he raises his voice just enough for her to hear him clearly, and insists, "Would you hold still, please?"
"Fine!" she shouts, turning on her heel and stopping in place so quickly that he nearly runs into her. "Go away!"
"You don't mean that."
"That wasn't a question -"
Before she can finish her remark, he quickly steps toward her, grasping the backs of her arms and leaning his mouth down to hers. But before he can capture her lips, she wrenches away from him and hits an even higher volume.
"Oh, my god!" she yells. "Is that your answer to everything? Maul her so she'll shut up?"
"I wasn't trying to shut you up," he says, regretting his split-second decision.
"Then what the hell were you doing?"
"Trying to calm you down."
"I am calm!"
"Okay," he says, with more sarcasm than he means. "Then calmer was what I was going for."
"Keep it up, smart-ass," she dares, moving past him.
Noticing the purpose in her steps and fearing that she's intent on leaving, he hurries to catch up to the hard, rapid clicks of her heels as she makes her way toward the kitchen.
"I didn't mean that."
"Tell it to someone who cares."
"C'mon, Sweethe -"
"- Finish that word and, I swear to god, I will redefine the phrase 'silent treatment' for you."
"Lois, please, can't we just call a truce or something?"
"Oh, stop being reasonable," she grates, passing around the side of the bar and stopping in front of the counter where they left their things. "You know I hate that."
He halts his pursuit of her just outside of the kitchen, clear of her personal space, and tries again: "I'm not trying to be reasonable. I just don't want us to keep fighting."
"You started it."
"I did. And I'm sorry."
"And now you're handling me."
"I'm not handling you."
Finding what she's after, she seizes the white envelope that she's been carrying around all day, and then turns toward him. Seeing his large form crowding the exit, she narrows her eyes at him, and demands, "Move."
"No." Standing firmly, he makes clear, "You can yell at me all you want, but I'm not going anywhere."
She sizes him up, and quickly realizes that she should've thought further ahead. As it is, she's trapped herself, and may very well have to accede to his wish of putting the place they're in into the context of their relationship.
But, defying him, she takes two determined strides toward the sliver of open space just off to his side. Anticipating her, he sticks his arm out and plants his hand on the counter, cutting off her escape. She looks up to glare at him and then takes a step to the side, but he puts his other hand on the pantry door, and asks, "Do you even know what you're so upset about?"
She lets out a maddened groan and retreats back into the kitchen. "Why does everything I say or do have to have a reason?" she grumbles, not really facing him. "Why can't I scream at you just because I feel like it? Why can't I give you a present without you x-raying the wrapping for hidden messages?"
"Is that why you're angry? You don't wanna admit to missing me?"
"I don't miss you!" she shouts, slamming the envelope onto a counter and squaring back around to him.
He takes his hands away from the opposite sides of the exit and shakes his head at her irritability. "You are a worse liar than I am."
"Do I need to remind you that if I hit you, it'll hurt?"
"You wouldn't hit me."
"But I would refuse to talk to you."
"How long are we gonna keep doing this?"
"For at least as long as it takes you to move."
"You can't get rid of me, Lois."
"Oh, really? Do you wanna test that little theor -"
"- May I kiss you?"
Her racing mind comes to a grinding halt at the sound of his request. Thrown, she blinks several times, and then scoffs, "Excuse me?"
"I would like to kiss you. I am asking for your permission."
"You cannot be serious."
He pauses, studying her. He only blurted out his question because he needed something to say to keep her from revving up again, and it was the first thing to come to his mind. But, to his relief, he's finally getting somewhere. Pursuing his tactic, he slowly takes a step toward her, and points out, "That wasn't a no."
"…Are you reading me?"
"As a matter of fact, I am not," he tells her, watching her withdraw farther into the kitchen. But, given the changes in her tone and bearing, he continues his approach. "Because the only detail I care about right now is that you haven't said no."
She glances about, trying to get some traction, trying to relocate her indignation, but before she can manage to, she backs into the wall directly opposite the entrance and fails to register anything but him coming upon her. Already flustered, she looks away from him and trembles as he reaches out with one hand, and slowly brushes the back of a single finger down the base of her throat and across her collarbone.
In a mostly futile attempt to steady herself and in a mostly ego-driven attempt to keep herself from touching him, she spreads her hands against the wall. After he's finished tracing the top of her shoulder, she feels his finger sweeping back across her skin, up her neck, and just underneath her jaw. She lifts her gaze to his when he applies a bit of pressure to her chin, and she finds him with a slight smile on his face.
"What?" she whispers, wary of speaking any louder lest she betray her instability.
"I just realized something," he quietly tells her, resting his other hand on her waist. "We're locked away in a tower."
She smiles at his mention of the fleeting notion he had earlier in the day, and watches him lean down to her.
He stops just short of his destination, and tenderly asks, "May I?"
"This doesn't mean that I'm conceding defeat."
"Of course not."
"And it doesn't mean that I'm not still mad."
"I know."
"It doesn't even mean that I like you."
"Understood."
"It only means that I feel sorry for you, and that I'm nice enough to let you get right the one thing that you never get wrong."
"Even when I maul you?"
"Just shut up and kiss me, Clark."
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, completing his journey and pressing against her glossy, rouged lips.
She sighs, instantly relaxing into him, and moves her hands from the wall to his sides. Carefully, thoroughly he attends her mouth, guiding her movements, offering her his textures and tastes. After a long, leisurely while, he pulls back from her, and warms at the sight of her still-closed eyes.
When she eventually finds his gaze, he reintroduces his voice to the peaceful atmosphere of the apartment, coaxing, "Answer my question. Please."
She licks her lips and leans back into the wall, and then begins making her final denials: "I see you practically every day."
"At work, which does not count."
"We've hung out."
"Occasionally."
"You're always trying to make out with me."
"Not nearly as often as I've wanted to." She chuckles a bit at his response, and, when her laughter quiets, he traces his fingers along the bottom of her jaw, and simply asks, "Have you missed having me to yourself, Lois?"
She takes a deep breath, moving her hands to hold the front pockets of his sweaters, and then, ever so slightly, she nods.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I know it won't always be like it has been. So I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
He takes a meaningful pause, sliding the tips of his fingers back into her hair and cradling the side of her face in his palm. Then, pointedly, he tells her, "Lois, how you feel is as big as a deal gets for me. So whether or not you think something matters all that much, I still need you to tell me about it… Because it may just take you giving me an apartment before I figure it out for myself."
She smiles in understanding, and reaches her arms up to encircle his neck. He leans down, wrapping both of his arms around her back and returning her hug.
Holding her closely and rocking her a bit, he whispers, "You can be selfish with me, okay? I want you to be selfish with me." After feeling her nod against his shoulder, he pulls back a bit and finds her eyes. "I'm serious, Lane."
"I know."
"Starting now. Ask me for something. Something that's not small. Something that involves time."
She exhales a sulking groan and pouts her lips.
"Come on, you can do it," he chuckles.
He watches her roll her eyes in as exaggerated a manner as possible, and he laughs even more. While she thinks, he steps back, leading her to the other end of the kitchen. When they get to a portion of the counter near their things, he turns them around a little, grasps her waist, and lifts her up.
"Okay, I know what I want," she tells him, as he gently rests her on the surface.
"Name it."
"Comic-Con," she nearly exclaims, already giddy at the thought. "San Diego is a mecca for every sci-fi fan. I have to pay homage."
Standing aside her crossed legs, he drapes his arms around her hips, and smirks, "Is this because Metropolis Wonder-Con let you down?"
"Well, it was a first annual, so it was no fun. No one famous came out and people hardly even dressed up," she sulks, toying with the collar of his shirt. "Besides, you weren't there for me to complain to."
He leans forward to quickly kiss her shoulder, and then says, "Well, now is not then, so I will be there to take you this time. We'll make a whole vacation out of it. We'll even go to Disneyland, since you managed to never have that childhood experience."
"Do they make mouse ears for grown-ups?"
"I'm sure they do," he replies. "I have one condition, though."
"Okay."
"Well, I figure you're gonna wanna wear costumes every day that we're at the convention."
"Of course."
"So, if it's alright with you," he slowly begins, steeling himself as he works through his long-held resentment, "I'd like to go as Han at least once. "
"Really?" she gasps, breathless from excitement.
"Really."
He grins as she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight squeeze, thanking him over and over again, and insisting upon how good he'll look in a V-neck shirt, with a blaster on his hip. He rubs her back, listening to her wonder about whether anyone makes an authentic metal bikini for what she plans to wear to match him. When she eventually starts to slow down a bit, he straightens back up, saying, "All that sounds great, but it's six months away. What do you want now?"
She bites her lip, considering. And then, after having glanced around for a moment, she reaches for his coat and peeks inside the pocket in which he always keeps her snacks. Finding a couple of granola bars, she smirks at his thoughtfulness, but dismisses the thought of something nutritious so late in the day. After setting his jacket aside, she finds his gaze again, and makes a different request. "One of your cookies."
He cocks his head at her and chuckles, contenting himself with her first steps in a more demanding direction. When he's finished, he unbuttons and takes off his sweater, and then spreads it across her lap.
Confused, she tells him, "I'm not cold."
"I know." Grabbing the tin, opening it, and then handing it to her, he explains, "It's just that it'd be a shame to get any crumbs on your dress."
As a thank-you, she breaks off a piece of one of the cookies and holds it up to his mouth. He takes the bite from her, and then happily watches as she picks up the rest of the cookie and begins eating away.
In the midst of one of her chews, she remembers something, and muffles, "I forgot. That's for you."
He peers over toward where she's pointing, and asks, "Do you want me to open it?"
"Now's as good a time as any."
"This can't possibly be from you," he figures, reaching over her lap and picking up the envelope.
"Why not?"
"Because if it were, then you would've waited for a precise moment."
He listens to her softly laugh and continue munching as he slides a simple white card out of the unsealed envelope. After setting aside the sleeve, he rubs her knee with his free hand as he reads the elegant lettering of a handwritten note:
CK -
As I'm writing this, she's telling me for the third time this afternoon about how perfect she thinks whatever place she found for you is. And for the third time this afternoon, she's swearing me to secrecy and threatening to clip my wings if I say anything to you about her surprise over our dinner tomorrow evening.
She's an exceptional woman, Kent. And that she cares so much about you says everything that anyone ever need know about the man that you are.
I hope you'll accept this token as an affirmation of my regard for the two of you, and as a gesture toward the friendship that I hope you and I may someday share.
- BW
He smiles to himself, looking from the note to her, and then back again.
"What?" she asks, unscrewing the top to the thermos and taking a sip of milk.
"Have you read this already?"
"No. He just didn't bother with sealing it." Craning her neck, she wonders, "What does it say?"
"That you're still as much of a bully as you ever were."
Preoccupied with drinking a bit more of the cool liquid, she kicks the side of his leg in lieu of a verbal reply.
Smiling, he keeps the card from her eyeline, tucks it back into the envelope, and then sets it down on the countertop. As he resituates himself next to her, wrapping one hand around her back and resting the other on her thigh, he ventures, "I think it says that he's gonna miss you when he leaves."
"It does not."
"It kinda does."
Biting into the second to last of his cookies, she asks, "Will you take me to visit him sometimes?"
"I'll gladly take you as far as the airport." After receiving another kick, he chuckles, "Kidding, kidding. I'll take you whenever you want. He's probably already having a wing of his home renovated just for you."
"Speaking of homes…" she slowly edges, breaking off another piece and feeding it to him. "You still haven't seen the master bedroom."
"I already told you: I don't need to."
As she takes her hand from his lips, she pauses, and studies him. Watching him suppress a smirk as he chews, she sets aside the container and pulls his sweater off of her lap. "Did I just hear a yes?"
"I'd have to be crazy to say no."
"So yes?"
"Yes, Lois."
"Oh, my god!" she exclaims, quickly sliding off the counter and launching herself into his arms.
He leans down, wrapping her up, and letting her hold onto his neck as she dots a series of kisses to his cheek and temple.
"Are you excited?" she beams, eventually pulling back to meet his gaze.
Smiling at her exuberance, he replies, "Very."
"Do you feel spoiled?"
"Ridiculously."
"And surprised?"
"Absolutely."
Tingling with every bit of the excitement she feels, she grasps the back of his neck and pulls him down into an eager kiss. Holding her closely, feeling how ecstatic she is for him, he bites back a grin and reciprocates as best he can.
"You're gonna love it here," she smiles against his lips. "I swear."
"I believe you."
She lets out a long sigh, calming herself down enough to let him go. Standing back in his embrace, she finds his eyes, and they exchange warm gazes as he traces his fingers along the strings crisscrossing down the back of her dress, and she runs her fingers along his tie.
After a brief while, he leans down to dot his lips to hers, and then says, "I suppose I shouldn't even bother asking."
"I don't play house, Smallville," she reminds, not needing him to explain his meaning. "I never have."
"Yeah, I know," he admits. "But who says we'd be playing?"
She chuckles, "Daddy would. And while we don't agree about much -"
"- Especially me. Both of me."
"Yes, while I don't agree with The General about either of you, I have always seen eye-to-eye with him on this kinda thing."
"Understood," he accepts, kissing her again.
As he pulls away, she cheerfully insists, "Besides, this place is yours. It's completely yours. Embrace the independence. Own it. Enjoy it."
He laughs, "I'm not exactly single, Lois."
"Well, neither am I. But I still have a bachelor pad."
With the sound of his amusement still in her ears, she takes her hands from his tie and turns around in his arms. Without needing a reason, he leans down and nuzzles her neck with his lips as she grabs the last cookie from the tin, and holds it over her shoulder for him.
"You don't want it?" he checks.
"I'm good, thanks."
"You sure?"
"Yes. Now, follow me."
He takes the cookie from her as she starts to lead them out of the kitchen. "Where are we going?" he asks, keeping one hand spread across her stomach as he eats the last of his dessert from his other hand.
"To your bedroom," she smiles, putting as much emphasis as possible on the second word. "I actually have one more surprise for you."
As they round the bar and head through the main area, he slips the final bite of cookie into his mouth, brushes off the crumbs on his fingers against his pant leg, and then wraps his other arm around her. When they arrive outside of the closed door that she previously tried to persuade him toward, she tells him to close his eyes, and he does just that. Deprived of his sight once more, he focuses on her movements, feeling her reach forward and turn the knob that he can still see in his mind's eye. After hearing a metal latch release and then hearing the hushed drone of the door as she pushes it open, he feels a soft rush of air drift past his skin, carrying with it the scent that he couldn't quite place when they first entered what he's already begun to think of as his first apartment. But now, as she leads him a few steps forward into the room and onto a carpeted floor, he's certain as to the source of the crisp, fresh notes, even if he can't yet imagine what they have to do with her surprise.
"You ready?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at him.
"I am."
"Open."
At the sound of her reply, he raises his lids, and into his vision comes the sight of a large space with the same slightly lofted ceiling and recessed lights as the main area, and with similar beige drapes covering a row of picture windows that, instead of lining the entire height of an adjacent wall, stops a few feet short of the floor at the top of a long, broad window seat. But those aspects hardly manage to capture his notice as he stands, bewildered, gazing at the room's centerpiece.
"What do you think?"
Her quiet, hesitant question draws his eyes down to her, and he finds her looking back at him, biting her lip in uncertainty. Glancing back up at the focus of their attentions, he parts his lips to respond, but no words come to mind. Having not expected what he's found, he shifts a bit and adjusts the circle of his arms around her. Then, after taking another few seconds to form a thought, he asks, "That's my surprise?"
"Not technically," she nervously replies, pulling his hands away from her.
He releases his embrace and watches her begin to make her way further into the room. "What do you mean?"
"Well, um…" She trails off as she passes behind a complementary bench and the two tall posts at opposite ends of a footboard. Stepping back into his line-of-sight, she meets his gaze and timidly fingers one of the sheer curtains hanging from a long wooden rail, and pulled back into a far corner of the object in question. After briefly clearing her throat, she explains, "The way I see it, you and me are probably gonna be, uh…roommates…someday. So I wanted you to have something that's as much mine as yours… I mean, it sounds really corny now that I'm saying it out loud, but, um… Well, anyway, what I'm saying is that if you want, you can just hold onto it for the time being, and think of it as…ours."
Upon hearing her last word, spoken softly and in a whisper, he pauses, contemplating the significance of her gift. After a long moment, a generous, disbelieving smile blooms across his face, and he repeats, "Ours?"
"If you want."
He lets out a slight chuckle and sticks his hands in his pockets as he regards the varying aspects of her gesture toward their future - the mahogany composing the classic and yet contemporary canopy frame, the pillows and comforter covering the considerable space, the matching nightstands on either side of the headboard.
Affected beyond measure, he speaks as much to himself as to her as he quietly says, "You got us a bed."
"I got us a bed."
He shakes his head and lightly laughs, looking from her to their shared possession, and back again. Instinctively, he takes a few steps forward and stops along the side opposite her. After taking in the impressive display for a few moments longer, he realizes that she hasn't said much, and he checks, "Do you like it?"
"Yeah, I do," she replies, almost shyly.
"Good." As a thought occurs to him, though, he asks, "But what about the mattress? I mean, I can sleep anywhere, but I know you can't."
She smiles at his consideration, and assures him, "I actually figured you'd prefer I get something more to my tastes. So I just went ahead and got the highest-end one that I could find. It's supposed to last forever - by mattress standards, I guess. Like twenty years or something…" She trails off, suddenly uneasy at the thought of suggesting how far into the future she's imagined their relationship enduring. Veiling her discomfort in humor, she jests, "Anyway, the lifespan thing is probably a load of bull. And if it's not, then you and your next 'plus-one' can benefit from the fruits of my labors."
"I'm sure Bart'll love it," he retorts.
She tilts her head at him and chuckles, both surprised by his subsequent comprehension of what she hinted at earlier in the morning, and thankful for his perception of her embarrassment and his careful handling of it. Feeling more composed, she mentions, "I wasn't so sure about the linens, though. So you can always change them."
"No, they're great," he insists, looking down at the rust-colored duvet, subtly accented with shades of goldenrod and maroon, and holding the very same scent of the detergent that she uses for her own sheets and blankets. "It's warm," he observes. "It reminds me of you."
She averts her gaze from his for a moment, feeling herself blush at his sentiment. Then, letting go of the curtain in her grasp, she moves away from the corner a bit, and makes another joke: "You know, the best thing is that this is a California King. So when we fight, I can just shove you to the other side and pretend you're not there."
He smirks, taking his eyes away from hers and sliding a hand out of his pocket. "You wouldn't let me anywhere near you if we fought," he absently replies, reaching out and gently touching their present for the first time. "And you definitely wouldn't let me sleep in the same bed - no matter how big it is."
She watches him run his fingers along a small area of the comforter, and she watches his wry smile disappear. Sensing the change in his mood, she remains quiet and lets him work through the thoughts that she cannot intuit. After several more moments of silence pass between them, she wonders, "What is it?"
Lost in thought and unsure of how to articulate what's on his mind, he swallows the swell of emotion in his throat and runs his gaze back up to the head of the bed, searching for something with which to answer her. More contemplative and more discerning than before, he recognizes the mostly obscured color and pattern of the item missing from her apartment. "Is that your pillow?"
She starts to press him about whatever he was thinking of a second ago, but decides against it. Making her way to the item under his scrutiny, she replies, "Yeah, it is." Reaching onto the bed, she plucks her misplaced pillow from behind the ones matching the linens, and explains, "I figured you might wanna take a rain check on your second night at my place, and just camp out here. So I threw some snacks and a bunch of our stuff into the closet in the other bedroom."
Amused, he manages to chuckle despite his preoccupied mind. "Just in case?"
"It never hurts to be prepared, right?"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"A little bit."
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
"As always."
"Because I'm your favorite toy?"
"Oh, god," she scoffs, making a show of rolling her eyes, leaving her side of the bed, and heading back around the footboard to the door. "It is way too late in the day for mush. What is not too late in the day for is Nintendo DS. So I hope you're prepared to get your ass kicked."
He watches her whiz past him at her usual brisk pace, but before she can leave, he manages to speak up. "Lois?"
"Yeah?" she asks, turning back around to face him.
After peering down at the duvet a final time, he clenches his jaw, steadying himself, and then takes his hand away from the fabric. "I um…" he slowly begins. "I know you said that you weren't done spoiling me, but, uh… I went ahead and got a bunch of stuff for a picnic."
"You went to China?"
"Yeah, I did," he admits, squaring himself to her.
"Well, I'm up for pampering," she smiles, trying to not betray her curiosity about his hesitance. "Are you saying that you don't wanna stay here?"
"No. Here, um… Here feels right."
"Okay. You know me and chocolate: anytime, anywhere."
"…That's not what I meant."
He watches her entire body tense at the sound of his reply. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, and blinks several times. Out of habit, she starts to cross her arms, but resists doing so when she realizes that that movement may send the wrong message. Instead, she channels the energy in her hands elsewhere, sweeping a finger across her brow and underneath her bang, and tucking a few imaginary strands of hair back behind her ears. After taking a few more seconds to rein in the thoughts racing through her mind, she asks, "We are talking about what I think we're talking about, right?"
Unsure of his voice, he simply nods.
Processing things as quickly as possible, she takes a deep breath, licks her lips, and swallows. Then, rather than give into her impulse to pace, she crosses the small distance between them, and takes one of his hands in both of hers. The slight contact manages to reassure him, even if only slightly. Instinctively, he takes his other hand from his pocket, and runs it down her upper arm to her elbow.
Rubbing her thumbs across his fingers, she gently asks, "Are you sure?"
He sighs, and then honestly replies, "No. Not entirely."
"But you'd like us to try?"
"…I would." Moving his hand from her arm to the loose waves flowing over her shoulder, he goes on, "But if you don't want to, or if you don't think we're ready, or if you'd rather we wait, then -"
"- Stop talking, Clark," she softly interrupts, spreading the palm and fingers of one of her hands against the smooth material covering his chest. "We can try."
"…Are you sure?"
Despite the gravity of their moment, she can't help giggling as she drapes both of her arms around his neck, and asks, "Do you want me to say no?"
"I don't want you to think you have to say yes."
"When have you ever been able to make up my mind for me?"
"Never," he confirms, resting his hands on her waist. "But that's not the point."
"What is the point?"
Firmly, he insists, "That this is as much your decision as mine. And that if for any reason or for no reason at all, you don't think we should, then we won't."
"You are unreal."
"Lois -"
"- I mean it," she grins, both amused and impressed by his steadfast gentility. "The things you say sometimes…just…wow. Who talks like that?"
"I can't believe you're joking right now."
"What? I'm absolutely serious," she tries to say with a straight face. But, despite her mostly insincere efforts, she begins giggling all over again, and can't help adding, "Just know that if we kill you, then I'm keeping your apartment - and probably your PlayStation too."
"You're laughing, but that's exactly the kinda thing I'm talking about. If you're worried, then -"
"- Just because I care about your health doesn't mean that I wouldn't like us to try."
"So you are worried?" he asks, with lines of anxiety creasing his forehead.
Trying for it as much as possible, she manages to inject a small degree of earnestness to her voice as she honestly replies, "I'm not worried so much as aware. But either way, I already gave you my answer. Do you need me to say it in alien?"
"Lois -"
"- Clark," she interrupts in an exaggeratedly deep and dour tone, mocking him for his solemnity.
In response, he chuckles a bit and circles his arms around her back. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Mm-hmm. But I'm totally worth it, aren't I?"
"Most days."
His taunt earns him an expression of feigned shock and incredulity, and a solid punch to his shoulder. After absorbing her blow, he wraps his arms farther around her and tilts his head down to tickle her nose with his. She smiles at his gesture, threading her hands into his hair and holding his brow to hers. As she strokes his locks and he rubs her back, they each close their eyes, letting the stillness around them fill with the significance of their intentions. Both hopeful, but neither certain, they sense one another's conflicting emotions, and their eyes meet. Without a word, they share a moment of complete understanding, acknowledging their concerns and embracing their desires. And then, as friends in need of the comfort only each other can give, they close the small space between them, and share the simple consolation of a promising kiss.
...