A/N: Thank you all so much for your kind words. They mean so much to me! Please enjoy.
The first time she sees the odd distance in his eyes that turns them from their normal bright blue-green to a darker, stormier shade of almost gray, it's preambled by the most intense and earth-shattering sex she's ever had.
He wakes her with hard kisses when he returns in the middle of the night and doesn't even bother to completely remove the suit before he tugs her panties to the side and sheaths himself inside her roughly. It's dangerous and she knows that; they're too exposed for one thing. Everyone knows that Clark, not Superman, lives here with Lois, and she wouldn't put it past that bald freak Lex Luthor to have spies watching their every move through the bedroom window. But as rash and wrong as it is, it's also hot as hell and the cries that escape her throat are guttural and fierce and by the time he finishes inside her with his own strangled gasp of her name, she's gripping his back so tightly she's worried that her fingers might bleed.
He showers afterward and she's tempted to join him, but something about this whole thing—maybe the dull ache between her legs; Clark has never been that animalistic and rough with her before—doesn't sit right with her so she just dresses silently and waits for him to come back to bed. They lie together for a moment, each studying the other's features as they so often do when they have quiet time like this and that's when she notices his eyes and the pain in them that wasn't there when she kissed him goodbye earlier today.
Tentatively, she reaches out a hand to stroke his face. If he were on red-k he'd snap and tell her not to touch him, and she's pretty sure Bizarro is dead and gone for good, but when your fiancé is the last son of Krypton and the prince of all things weird, you can never be too careful.
He leans into her touch and closes his eyes. So he is Clark, her Clark, not some cheap, made in the Phantom Zone imitation. She lets out a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he whispers, tangling his fingers in her hair. "I know I hurt you."
"No, you didn't. I mean, it was… different." Lois smooths the damp hair from his forehead. "A good different," she adds quickly when she sees the tortured look on his face. "It's just… You've never been so…" She struggles to find the right word, "forceful before."
Clark squeezes his eyes closed. "I just so badly needed to feel you… I needed to know you were safe, that you were here and okay… And I got carried away."
Ahh. So that's what this is about. She chews her lip, trying to decide how to phrase her question. She settles for what she does best—bluntly. "How bad was it tonight?"
"Earthquake," he croaks. "In the Middle East… I got there too late. I saved some, but…"
"Oh, Clark… You can't save everyone." She and Chloe have been trying to pound this idea into his head for the last year, ever since he put on the suit and went public, but underneath the primary colors he's still Jonathan and Martha Kent's son and his heart still breaks for every life lost.
"I know." He pulls his hand from her hair and strokes the delicate skin of her lips reverently. "But every time I lose someone, I'm reminded that it could be you or Chloe or my mom and I…" He sighs, unable to go on.
"But it isn't us."
"Not tonight."
Lois rolls over and presses her back to his bare chest. His arms wrap automatically around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. They've slept like this since the beginning, knees tangled together in a mess of sheets, her hair fanning out over the pillows, tickling his nose in the most delicious way.
"Not ever," she says firmly and squeezes his hands that rest protectively over her stomach as his lips speak silent volumes against the back of her neck.
She acquiesces quickly to her tiredness, but sleeps fitfully that night, dreaming of falling infinitely with no Clark there to catch her.
In the morning, as soon as she gets to work and can escape his super-hearing for a moment when he rushes off to an emergency, she calls Martha Kent. Lois briefs her on the events of the previous evening—leaving out the mind-blowingly good sex, of course—and expresses her concern for Clark's well-being.
She isn't sure what she expects her to say. After all, Lois barely remembers her own mother and the General was never one to offer up advice of this sort, but Mrs. Kent is the only other person on earth that knows Clark as well as Lois does, with the exception of Chloe, and that call will come later. She needs all the help she can get. She never wants to see that look in his eyes again.
Martha remains quiet for such a long time after Lois stops speaking that she checks her cell three times to make sure they're still connected.
"Look, Mrs. K…" She wrings her hands nervously. "I could be totally overreacting here, but I'm just worried about him. I've never seen him like this and I'm not sure what to do…"
Finally the older woman sighs. "Lois, I think you just have to do what you do best—"
Lois scoffs. "And what's that? Worry? Annoy everyone? Make an awkward situation even more mortifying? 'Cause those are all my strong suits."
"No, sweetie." She laughs a little. "You just need to love him."
Chloe tells her more or less the same thing only far less eloquently and over a soundtrack of baby cries. Jonathan has come down with colic and Oliver's singing is the only thing that calms him.
"It's great for the baby," Chloe says exasperatedly, "but sometimes I think I'd rather listen to incessant crying than another off-key rendition of 'Copacabana.'" Lois just laughs and thanks her cousin for her advice and they talk about planning a visit as soon as it's feasible for both of them.
She doesn't feel any better when she disconnects the call, because as easy as it is for Mrs. Kent and Chloe to tell her just to love him, actually finding a way to show him that without also being annoying clingy is another story.
She is absolutely useless for the rest of the day. All she does is stare at her computer screen absentmindedly, and sneak glances at Clark every time he sighs or checks his wristwatch. She knows he'll head back to the Middle East as soon as he can slip away unnoticed, and truthfully, he wouldn't be the man she fell in love with if he didn't want to do all he could to help everyone affected by the disaster; but she also knows he didn't sleep well last night either and the haunted look in his eyes hasn't dissipated any today.
Just as she anticipates, he kisses her cheek at five on the dot and points to the roof. Lois just nods and tells him to be careful.
She orders Chinese for dinner, and falls asleep during her repeated prayer that Clark is safe, all right, and saving everyone he can.
She wakes up alone the next morning, the blankets on his side of the bed completely undisturbed.
He makes it to work just after eight, wearing the same blue oxford shirt and red tie he did yesterday, and he steps into her office sheepishly, carrying a bag of maple doughnuts and a take-out cup of coffee from her favorite bakery. She accepts her breakfast from him without a word before turning to the window to study the skyline while she wishes she could be absolutely livid with him right now. He's never failed to return home, no matter how big the tragedy, no matter what he's gone through the night before. It stings because this morning's absence reminds her that even though he has shared almost every part of his life with her, there are always going to be things he feels the need to protect her from.
Lois has just about worked herself into a state of truly righteous anger when she hears him sigh heavily from her desk. When she turns to him, she's surprised to see him propping himself up with unsteady arms, head bent to his chest in exhaustion, shoulders shaking from the silent sobs that wrack his body.
Her heart breaks for him and she hates herself for being pissed off because he's been so wrapped up in helping people that he forgot to come home. It's not like she expects to find Mia Dearden's lipstick on his collar. He's saving people, for God's sake, and he's willing to kill himself to do it. She could not be more self-absorbed.
"Hey." She drops her breakfast on the window sill next to their silver-framed engagement picture and insinuates herself between his body and her desk, taking his stubble-covered chin in her hands. "Clark, look at me."
He breathes deeply and lifts his head, but he refuses to meet her eyes. "I'm fine."
"You aren't. Tell me."
He shakes his head and rubs a hand angrily across his eyes. They're bloodshot from both the tears and the lack of sleep and his skin is eerily pale, the pallor only intensified by the dark circles that have etched themselves underneath his eyes.
"I'm here. I'm safe. I'm okay." Carefully, gently, Lois steps onto the toes of his black wingtips, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him softly. He doesn't respond immediately, and when he does it isn't with his usual verve, but that doesn't surprise her.
"You're here… Safe… Okay," he repeats slowly between kisses.
The words become a mantra for them and she doesn't pull away until his tears stop and his breathing evens and slows.
Here, safe, okay.
"Thank you," Clark sighs as he pulls her tightly against his chest. "I love you."