A/N: How about some season 4 Clois? Please note that this chapter takes place in episode 4x02, "Gone," and while none of the dialogue is directly quoted, most of the events of 4x01 and 4x02 are referenced at some point. Also, brief mention of Lana if that is a thing for you (it is for me haha, but it's minuscule and there is no angst, I swear!).
The first night she spends at the Kent Farm is awkward as hell and it's all Clark's fault.
She'd been nervous when he invited her to stay with them—Lois has never really been good when it comes to the impressing the boy's families thing—but she'd shaken off the feeling because the thought of sleeping in an actual bed and not her car seemed heavenly. Besides, she has absolutely zero interest in ever dating Clark and she's heard Chloe's never-ending praise for Martha Kent's cooking for years, so she accepted the invitation and hauled her bags upstairs after the inquisition following their not-so-shared shower and brush with helicopter death. If nothing else, she just wants the chance to convince the Kents that she isn't a harlot there only to corrupt their son. Why couldn't she have just kept her mouth shut in the bathroom this morning?
Lois tries to help Clark set the table for dinner, but he keeps swatting her away, so she heads into the kitchen to assist Martha, but she brushes her off too, so eventually Lois just asks which seat is hers and sits patiently until the rest of the family joins her.
Her stomach gurgles expectantly as soon as the rich, tomato and garlic sauce smell of lasagna hits her nose and she inhales deeply. It's been years since she's had honest-to-God handmade lasagna and not the frozen boxed kind the General has her pick up from Walmart.
"Everything smells amazing, Mrs. K," she says sincerely as Martha sets a steaming plate of garlic bread on the table next to her. Lois stretches a hand toward the salad bowl as Martha takes her seat, but stops when Clark clears his throat from across the table and gives her a swift kick in the shin. He grips his parents' hands and looks at her expectantly. Lois inwardly groans at her faux pas. Of course they pray before meals.
She offers Jonathan and Martha an apologetic smile and accepts their outstretched hands. She stares daggers across the table at Clark, though, because he's grinning like he can't get enough of her embarrassing herself in front of his parents, before she squeezes her eyes closed and says a short prayer of her own. Please don't let me mess this up any more. Please let them like me.
She expects (and maybe hopes for) a short, simple "God is great" number, but the Kents actually pray, thanking God for their day and that everyone is healthy and that they're able to enjoy the meal together as a family.
"And thank you for bringing Lois to us." Her eyes snap open when Jonathan mentions her name. "We are grateful for her new friendship with Clark, and hope that we can make her stay as welcoming as possible."
There's a little more, but she's so distracted and touched by the fact that they included her, even after catching her in a rather compromising bathroom situation with their only son, that she can't concentrate on anything but the warmth she feels.
Mrs. Kent escorts Lois to Clark's room as they turn in for the night and reminds her that she only needs to ask if there's anything she needs. Then she pulls Lois into a hug and apologizes for Chloe's untimely death again. It would sting unbearably if Lois didn't have herself almost one hundred percent convinced that somehow Clark knows what he's talking about when it comes to the supposedly empty grave. And it just feels so damn wonderful to be hugged by someone's mother that Lois returns the gesture enthusiastically and is a little disappointed when Martha releases her and bids her a final goodnight.
Lois enters Clark's bedroom and pulls closed the heavy wooden door behind her. She stops and surveys the room, trying to get a sense of what about him fascinates her cousin so much. So far, she hasn't seen much to be impressed with. Other than the obvious physical attributes, of course, but she's trying hard not to think about that. There's a desk with a few random books against the wall, a powered-off computer, and a corkboard with a handful of pictures haphazardly pinned up. There are no sports trophies, no FFA ribbons, no accolades of any kind. Desperate for something to hold over his head, she even slides her hands between the mattress and box springs looking for a well-worn Playboy or Hustler or something. But there's absolutely nothing. She sighs. Clark Kent is officially the most boring person alive.
She throws herself onto the bed and smiles as she bounces a few times. Good. She'll definitely sleep well tonight. Farm Boy's super-comfy bed beats the back seat of the Mustang any day.
She really hates that she's an optimist. She was so sure that running from the Army and having to go all third-degree black belt on that guy would guarantee her a night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep. But as she lies in the dark in Clark's bed, she can't stop thinking about how absolutely sure of himself he sounded when he asserted that Chloe was still alive. She hadn't pressed the issue too much—she was just grateful to have someone else who believed her and so desperate to believe that her cousin was still alive—but now she wishes she had. Sure, Clark said there was no body in that coffin, but how could he possibly know for sure? How could she, for that matter. Unless… But no. It is absolutely insane to go to the cemetery in the middle of the night and dig up a grave to check for a body, right? But she needs to know beyond a shadow of a doubt and that might be the only way to know for sure.
She shakes her head and snuggles further into the blue sheets. If she can just stop thinking about Chloe, maybe she can get some sleep and be able to make better decisions in the morning. Perfect plan. Sleep is always a good thing, especially when it comes to decision making. She rolls onto her side and takes in a deep, cleansing breath. She makes a mental note to ask Mrs. K what fabric softener this is. It's vanilla and sweet and fresh and something she can't quite pin down—utterly unlike anything she's ever smelled before. She wants to wrap herself up in it every night for the rest of her life.
Lois lies silent and still for a few moments, just breathing deeply and trying to sleep, but she keeps identifying new layers to the magical fabric softener—is that a whiff of pine? Musk? Fresh-cut wood?—and then before she knows it, she's thinking about Chloe again and planning the logistics of actually digging up that damn coffin.
"Pie." She sits up suddenly and throws the blankets off her legs. "I need pie."
The Kents hadn't expressly told her to help herself to anything in the fridge, but they had told her to make herself at home… And Chloe was totally right: Mrs. K was a fantastic cook. Lois has been dreaming about another slice of apple pie practically since she'd finished the first at dinner. Martha had offered her another helping, of course—Clark had two, after all—but Lois had declined because she was already stuffed. But now it would be a perfect and more than welcome distraction to the maelstrom in her head.
She pads downstairs lightly and is grateful that the moon is bright enough through the windows that she doesn't need additional lights. After some searching through the counters, Lois locates the saucers and then she finds the pie in the fridge and cuts herself a sizeable serving. Fork in hand, she climbs into the bay window seat and tucks her legs underneath her. With the moonlight casting silver rays, she can see across the farm, but if it weren't full tonight, it would be pitch black outside. She shudders involuntarily. She's always preferred cities.
But wait. She shifts, fork dangling from her lips. The moon wouldn't cast that yellow light from the barn. She glances at the couch in the living room where Clark is supposed to be sleeping, but his blankets are still folded neatly over the arm.
She decides she will never forgive him if he's working on the Chloe's case without her.
Clark's barn loft thing is kind of cool, she grudgingly admits as she climbs the stairs as quietly as possible, still trying to catch him doing something highly embarrassing to hold over him. He's bent over a telescope at the window when she enters and she snorts. No wonder she couldn't find any damning evidence in his room, if it even exists, it's up here.
"Oh my God, you're such a nerd," she says as she runs her hands over the astronomy books laid open on his desk.
Clark stands up too quickly, startled by her voice, and bumps his head on the window. "Ouch."
Lois laughs and continues her perusal of his things. But then her eyes land on a framed picture of a pretty, petite brunette with dark eyes. That must be the infamous Lana Lang she's heard so much about from Chloe. She suddenly feels like she's intruding—which doesn't happen often—so she abandons her search and plops down on the futon, pulling her knees up to her chest.
He's still rubbing the back of his head as he accepts the plate of pie she brought up to him and sits next to her. "Couldn't sleep?"
"It's very…" She pauses, remembering how the short walk from the house to the barn had been void of sirens or car horns or any of the noise she's used to at night, "quiet out here."
He chuckles. "I guess it's what you get used to."
She watches him eat for a minute and picks at a string on her pajama pants. "And I couldn't stop thinking about Chloe."
"Yeah."
"You were so sure today," she starts, unsure of how exactly to breach the subject. "It's like you knew for sure that she wasn't in there."
He shrugs noncommittally and digs into his pie.
Lois studies him for a minute. He was also right in what he said about her this afternoon. It does drive her insane when she can't get a read on someone and Clark Kent, who just might be the least complicated person she's ever met, is totally throwing her for a loop. It's absolutely infuriating. Well. There's no point in beating around the bush.
"I want to dig up her coffin and check out your theory."
He chokes, snorts, and coughs for a solid ten seconds. "Lois, that's insane," he finally manages, reaching for the bottle of water on the coffee table in front of them.
"Why?" She pushes herself to her feet and paces across the small loft space. "If your theory's right, we have nothing to worry about."
"Yeah, and if I'm wrong…" Clark shakes his head. "Neither one of us needs to see her like that. Just let me handle it."
Lois stops pacing abruptly, crosses her arms over her chest, and stares him down. "Yeah, right."
"She's my best friend."
"She's my first cousin."
He leaps to his feet and stands right in front of her, staring down his nose at her. She's sure it's intimidated other people before, but she's not other people. Her father is a three-star general for Christ's sake.
Clark's jaw twitches the tiniest bit and she knows she's won, but she stands her ground until he finally turns away from her and runs a hand through his unruly hair.
"Fine," he spits. "You can help. But we are not digging up Chloe's grave."
"Fine." She holds up her hands in surrender. The General's daughter knows how to compromise. If he won't help, she'll just have to do it on her own. First thing in the morning. "We'll find some other way to prove that Chloe's still alive."
"Thank you." He returns to his seat on the futon. "And thank you for the pie. It was nice of you."
She shrugs. "I figure anybody who's as close to my cousin as you are can't be all that bad. And your parents are pretty awesome."
"They like you." He says it quickly, like he hasn't had the time to fully process the words before they slipped from his lips. "I mean… Even though I think you scare them a little." He smirks.
"I'm used to it," she replies with a grin.
A moment passes between them, one that she might almost characterize as the beginning of a friendship. Truthfully, she's been almost jealous that Chloe has a friend like Clark and Lois has no one. She supposes she should be used to it. Army brats aren't known for developing long-lasting relationships. But when she looks at Clark, she sees someone who could potentially remain in her life for a long time. That is, if she doesn't completely destroy the boy while she's living with him searching for her probably not-dead cousin.
In a moment of weakness, or maybe just sheer exhaustion, she leans her head over and rests it on his shoulder. He stiffens in response, but doesn't move to push her away. Her senses are flooded with the scent of the fabric softener she's come to love. Then he turns his head and his hair brushes against her cheek and she realizes that the note she hadn't been able to identify is pure Clark—his own heady, musky, masculine scent. She jerks her head away, embarrassed at her brazenness.
"Well," she says, rubbing her hands on her thighs. "We should try to get some sleep if we're going to hit the ground running tomorrow."
Clark nods.
"You know…" She pauses at the edge of the stairs and turns back to him. "I think I'm starting to see what Chloe likes about you."
"Goodnight, Lois." She could be mistaken, but she would almost swear she'd seen the hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks.
A/N: Thank you all so so much. I wasn't sure what to expect when I decided to start posting, but I have been overwhelmed by your kind words and encouragement. You make it easy to keep going. 3 meggie