A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long. I've been experiencing a particularly terrible case of writer's block. I hope this one was worth the wait.

For all the feels (and to experience the incredible song that inspired this piece), check out Penny and Sparrow's "Duet."

The Daily Planet's fundraisers have always been a little bit of an inside joke for him and Lois. After all, the Wishing Well Fundraiser two years ago was where they had their first truly public outing—where he first wrapped his arm around her waist and led her around the room and realized how wonderful it felt that she was on his arm and truly his.

He'd had big plans for them that night; he'd wanted to take their relationship to the next level, the physical level, because he'd been thinking a lot about his time spent in her memories of the future and how amazing her body had felt under his and he wanted that for real. But she'd shot him down with a sly grin and a flip of her hair and the somewhat startling revelation that she knew he was the One…

So he'd kissed her chastely goodnight and postponed Clark Kent's tour of the galaxy until another evening. Then he'd gone home, taken a long shower, and thought about the curve of her neck and the cupid's bow of her lips and the way she said his name when he kissed that one spot on her neck and he'd stroked himself until he came, chanting her name like a prayer. This he could handle: he'd pined after Lana for years and then spent even longer worried that he'd never be able to control himself long enough not to kill a human woman if and when he bedded her. Frustration was nothing new for him.

Truthfully, he's glad they'd waited now. It had been perfect and meant so much more that she'd known the entire truth about him before they'd made love for the first time. And Lois was definitely worth the wait. Especially since they couldn't get enough of each other now. He'd always heard that sexual chemistry was the first to fade in a relationship, but honestly, he just didn't see that happening with them. If anything, it was growing stronger.

They always looked back on the Wishing Well Fundraiser as the first major turning point in their relationship, so for the past two years, they'd looked forward to any evening event, where Lois would drink crantinis and smile at him over the rim of her glass from across the room, just as she had that first time, and he would nurse a beer, even though alcohol doesn't affect him in the least, and then after they'd been there long enough to make an impression on the right people, he'd slip her coat over her shoulders and whisk her home and they'd fall into bed, laughing and moving together as they whispered secrets into one another's skin.

This is the first event since he's become Superman—ironically, it's this year's Wishing Well—and as much as he hates it, there's some doubt as to whether they'll actually be able to attend the soiree. Crime in Metropolis has been on an upswing since the return of Lex Luthor—although the two can't definitively be connected, the Chief of Police has told them on numerous occasions—and Clark stays busier than either he or Lois ever thought possible.

Still, she'd purchased a new dress last week (that she refuses to let him see) and remains positive that everything will work out for the best. He loves her for that.

They're sitting on the couch, her bare feet in his lap, watching TV and eating pizza and thinking about getting in the shower and starting to dress for the evening when he hears the sirens. He tries to control his face as he finishes chewing, sets his plate on the coffee table, and gently nudges her ankles to the floor.

"No…" she breathes as he pushes himself to standing.

He shrugs. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "No, I get it. I guess I was just hoping…" She brushes the crumbs off her hands and chews the inside of her cheek. "But you have to go. I know that." She looks so defeated, so downtrodden that one of their favorite events of the year will be ruined. He won't stand for it. She already gives up too much because of what he does.

"It's just a fire," he tells her, thinking quickly. "Maybe it won't be too long and I can meet you there?"

Lois nods and smiles up at him, but the light doesn't quite reach her eyes. "If you can. But don't sacrifice anyone else because of me. And don't be reckless." Then she rises onto her knees and grabs his t-shirt in both hands and pulls him into her, kissing him fiercely.

She tastes like pepperoni and garlic, but he doesn't back away, because deep down he's always worried that every kiss could be their last.

Lois pulls away before he's ready and she pulls his glasses from his nose. "Go get 'em, Superman."

Over the past eight months or so, ever since they moved into their rent-controlled loft in Metropolis with the killer view of the skyline and convenient access to downtown and the Suicide Slums, Clark's taken a liking to watching Lois sleep at night. He's well aware that it can be kind of creepy, so he tries not to do it often, but there are some nights when he returns from patrol and sees her sprawled on the couch in her favorite pajamas—which are really just his softest, oldest Smallville High football t-shirt and a washed out pair of black leggings with a hole in the left knee—with her hair piled onto her head in a messy bun and tiny smears of zit cream on her face. And he just can't help himself.

He's told her time and time again that she doesn't need to wait up for him on the nights that his routine patrol runs into the early morning hours. Sometimes she's still awake when he returns to their loft, sitting on the couch with her long legs tucked underneath her, reading or watching TV or typing away on her laptop, always trying to get ahead on a story. But ever since he became Superman—ever since she named him Superman—his nights have been getting longer and more unpredictable. Now, more often than not, he finds her curled into a ball on the couch, a book open across her chest or the TV casting a soft, blue glow across her features. Still, she won't go to bed without him. It just isn't the same, she tells him.

God, he loves her.

He loves her so much that he has to stand over the back of the couch and just take it all in for a moment, take her all in for a moment, listening to the steady lub-dub of her heartbeat in the darkness. The soft, dependable rhythm that reminds him what he's fighting for every day. How did he get so lucky? How could she possibly love him back?

Then gently, so as not to wake her, he slips his arms under her knees and carries her to bed. Sometimes she wakes and kisses his neck and runs her hands down his back and then he has no choice but to take her to bed and peel her leggings off and plant delicate kisses along her ribcage and stomach… And some nights she sleeps through it all and only sighs contently when he slips into bed next to her. Eventually, though, he pulls her into his arms and sleeps, dreaming of the day he can make the world a perfect and safe place for the woman he loves more than anything else.

God… He loves her.

That's why, he decides as he pulls on his suit jacket and tightens his tie, he absolutely cannot tell her about what happened at the fire tonight.

It's not that she wouldn't understand. In fact, Lois always understands. She's been his biggest supporter ever since he'd gone public. She's always believed that he can make a difference in the world. More than his mother, more than Chloe, more than himself. On the day that he put on the suit and introduced himself to the world, she'd taken him into her arms and kissed him breathlessly and told him that she'd do whatever it took to help him fight for what was good and right and just. She's an optimist. She's lovely and beautiful and the best thing about his life.

God. He loves her.

And he'd been kidding himself if he said he didn't think this day would ever come.

So he will not, under any circumstances, be telling her about the charred remains of the four-year-old boy he pulled from the building that he arrived at too late.

He won't tell her about the accusatory glances from the weeping mother that nearly broke his heart because all he could think about were the three women in his life that meant the world to him and how he could never forgive himself if Chloe or his mother or, God forbid, Lois ever looked at him like that woman had.

He won't tell her how the fire chief had wiped sweat off his brow and shrugged and clapped him on the shoulder and told him that sometimes you just lose them.

He won't tell her any of that. Because no matter how much he hates it, there are things about his life that Lois must be protected from. It isn't lying… Not really. It's keeping her safe from things that would upset her. Because he needs her to remain that positive beacon of light in his life, the one thing he can always count on even when things look terrible. Like they do tonight.

He spots her almost immediately after he enters the ballroom of the Metropolis Grand Hotel, and she is resplendent. As if he expected anything less.

Her dress is a dark cranberry color and it ends just above her knees, hugging her body in all of his favorite places. Her legs look five miles long in the gray suede stilettos that effortlessly adorn her feet. Her hair is curled into soft ringlets and swept over her left shoulder, exposing the long, slender lines of her neck. She's wearing more makeup than normal including a deep, wine-colored lipstick a few shades darker than her dress, and all he can think about is those stained lips, plump from rough kisses, wrapped around him in the most intimate way. And then she sees him across the room and she smiles at him over the rim of her martini glass.

He pushes his way through the crowd to her and slides his arm around her waist, pressing his lips to her temple, a silent announcement to anyone watching. She is mine. She is the one thing in the world I haven't managed to mess up yet and you can't take her from me.

Then she turns to him and smiles. "Everything good, Smallville?"

He nods curtly. "Everything's perfect now. Can we dance?"

"Absolutely."

He leads her onto the dance floor, pulls her into his chest, and buries his face in her hair. Then he breathes in her scent and closes his eyes and sways, holding her tight in his arms, the rhythm of her heart guiding him as much as the rhythm of the music does.

They barely make it into the loft before they tear their coats off and his fingers find the zipper on the side of her dress and tug it downwards. Then his hands run under the straps of her dress, over the smooth skin of her shoulders, and he nips her bottom lip impatiently. He needs her so badly.

"Clark…" she says breathlessly, shrugging out of his kiss and pushing the shoulders of his suit jacket down to his elbows. "Try not to rip this dress, okay? I'd like to wear it again."

He nods, but he doesn't make any promises, because not telling Lois about what happened at the fire has turned out to be harder than he expected, and all he wants to do now is bury himself so deeply inside of her that he can't tell where he ends and she begins.

And rinse. Repeat. Until they're both delirious. Until sunrise. Until work tomorrow. Until he forgets. Until the next time he saves someone's life. Until he redeems himself. How many lives will it take to atone for the four-year-old that will never see another sunset?

Something hot surges in his chest. Their bed is too far away. He needs her now. So he grabs her hips and hoists her up against the door and pushes her skirt up and presses his mouth to her exposed neck.

"Clark…" she says quietly, her hands pushing gently at his shoulders.

His fingers spread against the inside of her thighs.

"Clark, stop." She pulls away and stares down at him.

Gingerly, he lowers her to the floor and watches as she smooths the dress around her thighs and pats down her tousled hair. She's quiet as she steps out of her shoes and folds her arms across her chest and stares at him.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" Her voice is even, quiet, steady, like she's interviewing a source, but her hazel eyes are wide and worried as she searches his face for some sign of what's truly going on with him.

He shakes his head. "I can't, Lois."

"I don't think it's red-k," she says softly, still peering into his eyes, "because you haven't been enough of an asshole. And you haven't once asked me to call you Kal..."

"Lois, please don't."

"So I see us handling this situation in one of two ways: you tell me what's wrong, we fix it together, and then continue what we've started here; or you stand there, stubborn as a mule, one of us sleeps on the couch tonight, and we both go to bed angry and sexually frustrated." She shrugs. "If I were you, I'd go with option A. Because let me tell you, Clark, I'm nowhere near drunk enough to handle option B."

He hangs his head and shoves his hands in his pockets and studies the wood grain of the floor. He wants to tell her. He knows she'd understand, but he can't put that kind of pain on her. He can't expect her to shoulder the burden of his work the way he has to. It isn't fair. He just wants to protect her.

"Or stand there," she scoffs and begins gathering her coat, purse, and shoes. "That's fine, too."

He rolls his eyes, annoyed that she won't just drop the subject and let him kiss her senseless when he clearly doesn't want to discuss it. "What do you want me to do, Lois?"

"I just want you to trust me." She whirls around. "I… God, Clark, I just want you to look at me like I'm not made of porcelain. Like I'm not going to break every time something bad happens."

"I know you aren't," he says softly.

"And something bad did happen, right? And that's why you won't talk to me, because you think I'm not strong enough to handle it. I'm not breakable, Clark. I'm human, but I am not breakable. Stop treating me like I'm fragile. I'm not Lana!"

Clark has no response for that.

So they just stand there for a few moments, staring at each other, each waiting for the other to give in, the oppressive silence bearing down on them. And then finally, Lois sighs and closes her eyes.

"Okay, Clark. You win." And she shakes her head sadly and walks down the hallway to their bedroom.

He follows her, unsure as to why when he knows he can't give her what she wants, but he can't just let her walk away from him like that. It feels wrong. It feels like the end of something he can't put his finger on.

Her pajamas are in a ball on their bed and she's taken the pins out of her hair, allowing the chocolate curls to cascade down her back. She's struggling to remove the back from one of her earrings with shaky fingers when he crosses the threshold into the room. He can't exactly blame her. This is the first real fight they've had.

"Damn it," she mutters as her fingers slide around the earring and she raises her thumb to her mouth and sucks on it briefly. She must have pinched it.

Clark steps behind her and meets her eyes in the mirror above their dresser, asking silent permission to help her remove the earring. She nods, a barely perceptible movement, and pulls her hair out of the way. A rush of her shampoo and perfume hits his nostrils as he works the tiny metal piece that's turned sideways on its post and he studies her neck and her collarbone and her wine-colored lips.

"There was a little boy," he says quietly, still turning the earring around in his fingers, even though he easily could have popped it free by now. Maybe he's worried that she'll push him away as soon as he finishes helping her. Clark isn't sure if it's the memory of the child or his worry that Lois could possibly turn him away that hurts him.

He clears his throat and tries again. "The apartment building was pretty much completely gone by the time I got there," he says, losing himself in the memory of the charred wood skeleton, licking yellow flames, and billowing black smoke that had greeted him upon his arrival. "And the fire department wasn't too concerned because it was supposedly abandoned. But I x-rayed it just in case and I could see two people inside. So I went in and grabbed them, but the mother, she kept saying her son was still in there. So I went back in and I kept looking and kept x-raying… And I finally found him in the basement, behind a lead-lined cabinet… But… Umm… He was gone. I was too late. God, Lois, he couldn't have been more than four."

Lois turns to him and presses a palm to his cheek. "It wasn't your fault, Clark."

He nods. "I know." And deep down, he does know. The building was supposed to have been abandoned, he'd flown there as fast as he could, he'd found the boy as quickly as he could... And truly, it was only a matter of time before there was someone he just couldn't save. Clark just didn't expect his first loss to be a four-year-old boy in an apartment fire. Still, now that Lois knows, he can't believe the weight he feels has lifted from his chest.

Clark turns Lois's earring over in his palm and holds it out to her. She takes it, sets it on the top of the dresser, and then silently pulls his dress shirt from the waistband of his pants and begins to slowly unbutton it.

His hands go to the straps of her dress and slide them to the side, and he presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder.

They lie together afterwards, foreheads pressed together, her hands running up and down his arms, his making small circles on her lower back. Somehow, to him at least, this has always felt more intimate than when he moves inside of her.

"You know, I can tell so much about you from your heartbeat," he murmurs, trailing his fingertips up her side. "I know when you're scared, when you're excited, when you're about to come… I know the minute you fall asleep all by just listening to you... But I can't tell what you're thinking."

"That's probably a good thing," she says. "Evens the playing field a little."

He shakes his head. "It makes me feel weak."

"You're invincible," she points out, matter-of-factly.

"I don't feel that way when I'm with you. I've never felt that way with you."

Her hands come to rest on his biceps. "Is that why you didn't want to tell me?"

"Partially," he nods. "I guess I was afraid you'd gotten so used to super-me that admitting that even I can't save everyone sometimes… Well, I want to be better than that for you."

Lois nods. "Speaking of insecurities… I'm really sorry that I brought up Lana."

"I just thought we were past it."

"We are," she agrees, but then adds, "most days. But there are still times when I feel… Compared, I guess."

Clark takes her hand and twines his fingers through hers. "Lois, you weren't completely wrong. I think sometimes I forget that I don't have to protect you as much as I did her. And, God, even I forget how strong you are. You know all my secrets and you've never been anything but supportive. You can't know how much stronger you make me. But I will always worry about you because I love you."

She leans forward and captures his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Let's promise never to lie to each other again, okay? Not about anything. Not even stupid stuff like what we had for lunch or if you don't like my shoes or if I hate the tie that Kara sends you for your birthday."

He chuckles. "Deal. I promise to tell you when I hate the Christmas gifts your sister sends us."

"Also, let's never fight again because I really, really hated it."

"Mad Dog Lane never fighting with me again?" He snorts. "Never gonna happen."

"I concede," she laughs, and then reconsiders. "Although, I will say, the making up part was fun."

"Mmhmm…" He nods, already catching her not-so-subtle hint and moving on top of her.

"And," she continues, as he kisses her neck. "The General always said that marriage is the only war where you get to sleep with the enemy."

"We aren't married yet," he says gruffly right in her ear.

"The devil's in the details," she shrugs. "Besides… I kind of like living in sin with you, Mr. Kent."

He kisses her then and his hands drift down to her hips and her heart begins to race, just as it always does when he touches her.

He's sure there will be more people to rescue tomorrow, but for tonight, maybe the person who needs the most saving is himself.

A/N: Thank you so much!