I totally meant to have this chapter up last week.
Kitchen sink pipes are the devil's lower intestines. Holy shit you don't wanna know how long it took us to realize there was mold down there.
Chapter Thirty-One: Relapsing
Thanksgiving Day dawned so bright and clear and sunny. It had a cloudless blue sky and a warm sun and barely a breeze on the air to stir yesterday's snowfall. The new layer crunched under-foot when Lois crossed the median to Clark's building, Lucy walking in her foot-prints.
It was a day of reckoning.
Okay, not really.
But she would be a liar if she tried to claim that she had any idea what today was going to be like. It would be the first real Thanksgiving Lois would have in some time. The first time in several years in which she would spend the holidays the way they were supposed to be spent instead of holing up in her apartment with turkey breast, rehydrated mashed potatoes, and previously frozen biscuits to accompany store-bought cupcakes.
With the Kents.
They were pure farm.
Clark's farm-charm was diluted from two years walking half the globe, but his parents hadn't left the homestead in years and it showed, at least to Lois's eyes. They were the flannel-wearing, hay-baling, boy-howdy, darn-tooting farm folk with homegrown apples in their pies and cow pats on their boots, tans that ended at their hemlines and a bow in their legs that showed they were no stranger to riding horses. Even their Kansas country drawls were thicker than Clark's, the vowel sounds drawn long and wide, the 'er' sounds squeezed for all they were worth, and the whole of it was almost frighteningly friendly.
Johnathan and Martha were good, polite salt-of-the-earth folk whose hospitality knew no bounds. They couldn't have been anything else for the way Clark had turned out.
Lois wasn't used to people like that.
Into the building and up the stairs, onto the fifth floor and she couldn't turn back now, not when Clark was expecting her and she didn't want to disappoint him or his parents.
"Hey, Lucy?"
"Hey what?"
"No swearing." Lois instructed. "And I mean that seriously. No swearing at all, especially not in front of Smallville's parents. You don't want to leave the wrong impression."
"Why, do you like them?" Lucy wondered. Her sister had to, because since when did she start caring about the impression she left on people? The sister who had purportedly nearly spat on a haughty-minded lieutenant colonel.
"No, but I have to work with Clark for the foreseeable future and I don't want him thinking poorly of you." Lois reminded her sister. She drew her shoulders back proudly. "And we're Lanes. That name has dignity, little missy. Respect it."
Lucy considered the words for a moment and then shrugged. Personally, she had never seen much in the way of dignity with their surname, not with Lois's record of self-inflicted near-death experiences and General Dad's prevailing pigheaded-ness making them look more than a bit foolish.
But she could indulge her sister this time.
Lois shifted the tin of cheesecake into one arm and reached up to knock on the door of Clark's apartment. Faintly, she could hear the sound of the television and a voice that sounded like it might have belonged to Colletta yelling about fouls and illegal tackles. The door opened and there was Clark all of a sudden, framing the doorway with a warm and welcoming smile and her brain went Ah, the wild and elusive Clark Kent in its natural habitat.
"I know, we're a little late." Lois said, before he could say anything. "But I had to put a load of clothes through the wash before I could take a shower and taping this thing up every time is a hassle, I can't wait until they can give me the waterproof one." She reached back and dragged Lucy forward. "And this is my little sister."
"Ah, you must be Lucy." Clark said, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
Lucy initially ignored the hand in favor of looking him up and down curiously. It was only when she reciprocated the handshake that she said: "You look exactly like Lois described you. I thought she was joking."
"I hope I exceeded your expectations rather than came in below them." Clark said, standing back out of the doorway so they could come in.
"I can never tell when she's joking." Lucy said.
"That's 'cause I'm never joking." Lois stated.
They were late enough that they were the last to arrive. Nearly all of the food-prep had come and gone, the dishes cleaned and drying. A pot of potatoes boiled on the stove and the turkey sizzled and popped in the oven, looking close to being done, and there were loaves of perfect golden brown bread on the counter. The dining table had grown another four feet thanks to a matching extension and four more chairs were stacked up beside the terrace doors. A live football game played out across the television screen and everyone else had packed themselves into the living area to watch the game with either passing interest or avid predatory-ness.
Dr. Sullivan was there in one of the arm-chairs, but of course he would be attending. Long-lost family tended to get the automatic invite. He watched the game like he didn't understand the rules, but found it nonetheless amusing.
Steve and Pete seemed to have made fast friends for they were practically sitting on top of each other and not just because of the lack of room on the packed couch. They were clutching each other and looked more like they were watching a horror movie rather than a football game. Clark's parents were definitely into the action, but it was Colletta who stared at the next play like she had a personal stake in the outcome and sheer force of will could effect it.
Lurking in front of the coffee table was Krypto (or Shelby, as far as Lois knew). The big white dog was eyeing the crab-cheese ball with the calculating look of a dog who was wondering how much of it he could sneak off the table before anyone noticed.
"Ah, Lois!" Martha rose up from the loveseat to greet her. "You made it, wonderful! I wasn't sure if the parade was going to delay the train schedule. They used to stop the trains altogether for the whole thing."
"You--" Lois blinked. "You know they used to do that?"
The city had stopped shutting down the trains for the parade's duration only about ten years ago after enough people complained about the hassle it caused. Bad enough that one of the city's biggest arteries was closed off for the route, but shutting down the trains too even for just an hour paralyzed the entire city.
"Clark didn't mention?" Martha glanced at her son to see if he would dispute her. "I was born in Metropolis. I lived in the Old City until I graduated high school. I went to Central University. That's where I met Johnathan."
"Ah... No, Clark didn't mention that." Lois replied, her perception of the farmer's wife suddenly flickering. If she was right about this woman's age, then Martha hadn't moved out until at least the mid-seventies. That meant she had lived here through the collapse of the copper mine and witnessed the fall of Copper Hill and the rise of the Suicide Slums.
It wasn't that Lois considered the country life uncivilized, but she couldn't fathom the reason why someone would leave behind a city like Metropolis regardless of the ills it had suffered and go live in the empty nowhere fields of Buttfuck Kansas instead.
"It didn't come up." Clark said protestingly.
"Right..." Lois hefted the pie tin to prompt the change of subject. "Well, I made a cheesecake, raspberry and chocolate."
"It sounds delicious. Let me take that off your hands and put it in the fridge. Clark, don't just stand there; take Lois and her sister's coats." Martha instructed, gathering the cheesecake from the reporter. "You two help yourselves to some nibbles and drinks; there's soda and home-made fruit punch on the counter, wine-coolers in the fridge. The turkey won't be out for another forty minutes."
And she swept off, somehow managing to not look like a fussy, harried matron.
Lois tossed her coat in Clark's general direction and decided to save the alcohol for the meal itself (something light that wouldn't fuck with her prescription too much), helping herself to a glass of punch instead. The punch had a distinct citrusy tang, with little icebergs of red and orange sherbet bobbing on the surface. The punch bowl itself was new; she could still see where they had scraped off the barcode sticker. She went into the living area, rescued the crab-cheese ball and its accompanying crackers before Krypto could make his move, and then wedged herself into the couch beside Colletta.
"Who's playing?" she asked
"Us versus them." Colletta said, a savage bite in her tone. She didn't take her eyes off the screen.
That meant the Metropolis Meteors were going up against none other than their long-time rivals, the Gotham Knights. The two cities might have been sister-cities, but they definitely had the relationship of estranged sisters that could only fight and fight viciously whenever they were brought into contact with each other.
It also explained why Steve and Pete acted like they were watching a horror movie. Except for the hockey team, the sports teams of Gotham were brutal and the first exposure was always startling.
"Who's winning?" Lois asked, probably the more important question.
"Them." Colletta growled.
The showdowns between the Meteors and the Knights were always things of sports legends and they were well-known for being extremely close and nerve-wracking. The Knights were only ahead by two touchdowns right now, but there was a reputation at stake. They would do everything in their power to hang onto that lead. Likewise, the Meteors would do everything in their power to overtake their opponents.
It was actually a comfortable way to spend the next hour and most of Lois's nerves ebbed away as she got caught up in the game and Colletta's bloodthirsty enthusiasm. She was glad that the cop had invited herself along (Clark actually hadn't extended an invitation; Colletta just knew how to worm her way into almost anything) or else this might have been a bit more unpleasant.
The delectable scent of cooked turkey saturated the apartment when it came out and as Johnathan carved it up for easier distribution, everyone kept watching the progress with hungry anticipation. The potatoes were mashed up, mixed in with sour cream, butter, garlic, and poppy seeds for a bit of crunch, the bread was sliced, and the table was set for nine people. By the time Lois sat down (seated between Clark and her sister), she had forgotten all about her nerves.
The plates filled up and then Dr. Sullivan stood up, tapping his glass to get their attention.
"Hello, I'm not sure we've all been introduced to each other. It seems we have some mutual friends, but not all of us were formally introduced." he started. "So before we go any further, I'm Anthony Sullivan, mechanical engineer up at S.T.A.R. Labs. My relation to our host, Clark Kent... Well, it's very recently been confirmed that I am his grandfather."
"I'm adopted. My biological parents are deceased." Clark informed the table before anyone could voice their confusion. "But these two are also my parents, Johnathan and Martha Kent." he added, gesturing to them.
"Well," Steve cleared his throat. "I'm Steve Trevor and I'm in between jobs at the moment. I actually met Lois first... Two weeks ago? It was a bonding experience."
"I'm Colletta." The police officer waved a hand jauntily. "I'm with the Metropolis police department, Special Crimes Unit, and I have known Lois since college. We were room-mates."
Pete raised his hand next. "I'm Pete Ross, aspiring politician. Me and Clark have been friends since diapers, literally."
"Lois Lane, Daily Planet reporter." Lois stated automatically, since they were going around the table. She pointed to the thirteen-year old beside her because Lucy wasn't likely to introduce herself. "And that's my little sister Lucy."
"Most pleasant to meet all of you. Thank you so very much for coming." Dr. Sullivan said sincerely, smiling (and suddenly, his relation to Clark was a little more obvious). "The holidays mean something different to all of us here, but there is something about this time of year that causes amazing and unexpected things to happen. By wild chance, I found the grandson I thought I'd lost for good and gained family anew and I don't know what you'd call that other than divine design. So I hold up my glass to found family, to good friends old and new, and to the extraordinary circumstances that bring people together from so far away."
"Hear, hear!" Johnathan saluted the toast first and the rest of the table followed suit.
It was a beautiful toast and it did the job of encapsulating the general tone of the last two months. Finding family where you never once imagined looking. Making friends with the last people you would have expected. Reuniting from across twenty-seven light-years...
Though that last one only applied to Clark and Dr. Sullivan.
But the rest of it rang true for all of them. Even Lucy, to some extent.
"So," Martha began, once the first few bites of food had gone down and the praising had gotten out of the way. "How does the Daily Planet celebrate Thanksgiving?"
"Turkey Tackle." Lois answered promptly. "It's the GBS's sponsored Thanksgiving dinner for under-privileged families and individuals and Daily Planet employees who aren't off visiting. After food, there's a tackle football tournament."
"Not unlike the policemen's Flash Fry, which actually did not get its name the way you might think." Colletta added. "Yes, the turkeys are deep-fried, but if you believe the origin story, it goes like this: The 1966 Met P.D. annual turkey give-away didn't have enough birds to give out to the under-privileged, so they gave out the ones they were planning to cook up for themselves. Somehow, word of their altruism got all the way down to Keystone City and the next thing they knew, the Flash himself ran a dozen turkeys up here so the police could still have a full Thanksgiving."
"You don't believe it? It sounds like something the Flash would have done." Johnathan pointed out. Altruism had been a large part of the speedster's legacy (and it was not even a small part of Zoom's behavior).
"Oh no, I dispute the number of turkeys." Colletta corrected. "One frozen turkey is heavy, but a dozen? The man was super-fast, not super-strong."
"Maybe he made multiple trips." Clark suggested. As fast as the speedster was purported to run, he could have easily run a dozen times up to Metropolis from Keystone in half an hour. "They clocked him at... What, Mach 6 by the time he retired?"
"Mach 9, I think." Steve corrected, a little frustrated that he wasn't entirely sure. Really, he should have known this.
"Yeah, speakin' of superheroes," Pete started, his eyes flickering very briefly towards Clark. "What's this I've heard about Metropolis having one?"
Lois looked up from her plate. "Oh, you mean Superman."
"Superman?" Martha repeated incredulously and she glanced at her son like 'Did you agree to that?'
"It's the name that's sticking. I used it in my last blog and it went viral in two hours." Lois shrugged. She wasn't going to fight the great machine that was social media and its ability to get things around the world and back in ten minutes. "It's not exactly the most suitable name, but it's really resonating with the general populace and I think that's the most important part."
"You think?" Clark prompted.
"Well, yeah." Lois shrugged, even if her expression said 'fight me'. "Look Smallvi- Clark, half of putting a message across is being able to communicate the gist of it to a wide range of people in a form they can easily understand. If you were writing an article on, say... sewage overflow pollution-- That doesn't happen; we actually have a good sewage system. But it's whether or not you're aiming the article at the micro-level or the macro-level that matters the most. Speaking on the macro-level means you speak directly to the people of the city and you grab their attention. Once you communicate to them the dangers that raw sewage would pose to them and their loved ones, they'll turn on the city leaders and scream for change. But the only way to get to that point is to ensure that your message is understandable across every social and language divide."
"You're saying that the name 'Superman' is speaking on the macro-level. It's grabbed the attention of the people because it communicates across all those divides." Dr. Sullivan concluded.
"And it fits the theme." Lois pointed out. "I mean, Captain Triumph. Commander Steel. Wonder Woman. Mister Terrific."
"Stargirl. Starman. The Star-Spangled Kid. Man-At-Arms. Shining Knight. The Crimson Avenger." Steve added. Old names, all of them, most of their bearers since passed away.
"Superman. The name reeks of old-school heroism." the reporter asserted. "It recalls nostalgia from the older generations and communicates a very simple message to the younger generations and that's what makes it a good name. He is a man and he is super. Enough said."
"And no, he actually hasn't reappeared in the last two weeks." Colletta put in, shaking his head. "There's a really good chance that was a one-off caused by the circumstances. My guess was personal business that nearly spilled over into all of Metropolis."
"Oh come on, the way he was dressed just screamed 'I'll be back'." Lois declared. "No one shows up in a freaking cape and a very form-fitting unitard that colorful unless they plan on coming back."
Clark briefly choked on a bite of turkey about halfway through the sentence. He cleared his throat.
"And what if he doesn't come back? What if it was just a one-off?" he asked and there was a good question to consider. Did he want to pick up superheroics on a regular basis or just stay as regular old Clark Kent, boy reporter? "The thing is, the idea of superheroes soured in the early eighties. People stopped liking the idea of super-powered individuals running around their cities doling out vigilante justice. If this guy, Superman, comes back, would anyone even want him to stay?"
The table went thoughtfully silent. Thanks to a lack of information, the White Scare still worked to unnerve anyone who tried to read up on it. All textbooks spoke on the subject in vague, ominous terms. They got less and less exact as the years went on, as though the writers of history were slowly erasing it from all but living memory. By the time Clark and Lois had reached the topic late in high school, their teachers (both old enough to have lived through it) had framed the Scare as though it was an extension or a side-effect of the Cold War and had very little to do with metahumans at all.
Steve broke the silence first. "My biased opinion is yes."
"First, I want to know why your opinion is biased." Lois said.
"Well, I can't prove it without breaking half a dozen confidentiality agreements in the process, but whether you believe me or not, my mother was actually a member of the Justice Society." the former sergeant said.
"No way!"
"You're serious?"
"You can't prove that!"
"You're right, there's no way I can prove it." Steve acknowledged, waving a hand. "The government might lock me in a hole, but Mom would blast me off the face of the earth first. She never unmasked after Order 57 and she wants her body in the ground before anyone gets to reveal her secrets."
As the Justice Society still had nine members left of its original eighteen, the civilian names and the full record of their war-time activities could not be divulged until the last living member had passed away or unless the current living members unanimously agreed to allow that information to be divulged.
"Well, that's a good reason to be biased." Colletta commented.
"Indeed." Johnathan agreed. "Now I don't mean to one-up, but my great-great Aunt Susan is Bulletgirl from the All-Star Squadron."
"Still no way!"
"You're even more serious than he is!"
"Ooh, World War One vintage!"
"And you could prove it too."
All of its members now deceased, the All-Star Squadron of World War I had been completely declassified. And Johnathan had it in writing that Great-Great-Aunt Susan Kent-Barr was a member of the first superhero team of the twentieth century.
Clark turned to his father. "I didn't know that."
Johnathan shook his head. "It never really came up." he admitted.
But it gave Clark another reason to ponder the merits of putting the armor-suit back on and being... well, Superman. He might not have been a direct relation- Hell, he wasn't a Kent by blood - but he was still family. And he had Bulletgirl of the All-Star Squadron sitting in his family's legacy. Would it mean something to try living up to that? Would it honor her memory and the sacrifices she had made?
Pete kicked him under the table and Clark tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Colletta say:
"I think anyone who grew up witnessing or hearing all of their parent's heroic exploits would be super-biased towards the idea of having a superhero back."
"Anyone who grew up in the age of superheroes, you mean." Lois corrected. Anyone who had grown up in the age of superheroes and hadn't led the Scare taint their perception. "The Baby Boomers, the Silent Generation, whatever's left of the Greatest Generation; they'll eat it up. All that's been colored up by nostalgia. It's Generations X, Y, Z where you're going to find the greatest resistance. And there are five of us at this table."
As though that were the cue, they all looked at Lucy who had been, thus far, only listening and not contributing. And she looked a bit startled that they were expecting her to put her own two cents in.
"Um... I think he sort of needs to show up again and actually do something more than just rescue my sister before anyone can start calling him anything." she said, after a moment of thought.
Pete kicked Clark again under the table.
I know! I know! He wanted to shout, but he bit down on the words for now. Pete would bring up the subject later, for sure, after everyone who wasn't in the loop had gone home. They could discuss it then, if there was even anything to discuss.
It wouldn't be the first time they would have a long, circular conversation about Clark possibly using his powers for the benefit of others. Of being a superhero in the style of the Justice Society.
They had talked about it so often in the last eight years that Clark didn't think there was much left to actually discuss.
The rest of the dinner conversation (really, it was more like lunch for the time of day) was much less 'heroic'. Martha wanted to know more about how the Daily Planet worked and Johnathan swapped places with Steve so he could better talk to Colletta about the best way to start a garden and Steve seemed to have taken a particular interest in Pete's civic duties and Dr. Sullivan found himself talking to Lucy about the best ways of getting into the field of robotics. All the while, Krypto circled the table with big puppy eyes and a show of cuteness to get as many hand-outs as he could until Clark finally caved and let the dog lick out the tin the turkey had cooked in.
All in all, it was a remarkably pleasant way to spend the early part of the afternoon.
But it wasn't until the dishes had been picked clean and Clark was collecting the plates and silverware for washing that Lois felt it starting to sink in. The slow realization working its way through the faint buzz of alcohol and the distant fuzzy feeling of tryptophan until it reached where it was going and the fluffy warmth of a good meal and good company that Lois had been enjoying started to fade.
No one even raised their voice.
She looked around the living areas, shock slowly edging into her mind. Lucy had shifted to Colletta for conversation (they had always gotten along well) and Pete was relating childhood horror stories about Clark to Dr. Sullivan while the former brandished the dish sponge and squeezed it ominously. Steve was slugged out on the loveseat, nursing a food-baby, and Martha looked like she was going to nap on her husband's shoulder and this was all so weird...
They had made it all the way through dinner and not one person had tried to goad another into a screaming argument. There had been no stony silences or underhanded insults. Not even one dirty look, much less a mass one that rippled from one end of the table to the other.
It was like everyone here was actually capable of getting along like decent humans.
Because they were.
What the hell kind of Twilight Zone is this? Lois demanded silently, a nervous sweat starting to break out under her collar. Look at this happy families bullshit, people actually act like this around the holidays?
She stood up so abruptly the chair legs screeched and clattered on the wood floor, and heads turned towards her to see what the fuss was.
"I need some air." she said.
And without another word, she grabbed her coat off the rack and let herself out the door.
The wintry air outside was a relief and the first breath of it soothed some of the nerves jangling under her skin. She walked two blocks away from the building until she found a low wall to sit on.
So that's what a Thanksgiving meal is supposed to be like.
Just plain freaky, honestly.
Then again, holidays with the combined Lane-Sullivan family had been rife with unfinished arguments. The in-laws couldn't stand each other. The Lane family had a long proud history in the military and bred such uptight bastards that things like questioning plans and being late were looked upon as cardinal sins. The Sullivan family, in contrast, had a long proud history in being rabble-rousers, for more than half their adult members had been arrested at least once for being part of protest mobs. They did nothing but question plans and authority and nitpick like professionals.
When the two sides came together on the holidays, they were determined to finish what arguments they had started the last time and get the last word in and one-up each other verbally and sometimes physically.
For some reason, the get-togethers always lasted a few hours. Both sides did have a ridiculous amount of pride and a stubborn determination to never be the first to back down. So no one had ever tried to duck out early to avoid the drama and the shouting and the regular bouts of fisticuffs that they were just polite enough to take outside so everyone could gather 'round and egg the combatants on (it had to be acknowledged: if the argument brought out the fists, the Lane side usually won more often than not).
It sounded terrible, but the one good thing that had come out of Ella's death was that no one had expected General Lane to show up at Christmas. In fact, he had taken the first opportunity to duck out of the familial obligation altogether.
Lois hadn't been to a Lane-Sullivan holiday reunion in nearly ten years and she felt that her stress levels had decreased dramatically for it.
And if what she had witnessed back in Clark's apartment was how these things were really supposed to be, then no wonder people spoke of their family get-togethers so fondly.
"Lois?"
And speaking of the farm boy himself...
Clark had pulled a hoodie on over his flannel, with footwear that looked more like slippers with rubber soles rather than shoes.
"Need something, Smallville?" Lois asked.
"No, I just came to check on you." Clark replied. "You've been out here for ten minutes."
That long? Huh, time flies when you're lost in your own head. Lois mused absently. "Is anyone expecting me to come back in right this minute?"
"No."
"Then I'm staying out here for a little longer."
Clark had the feeling, though, that if he didn't convince Lois to come back in for dessert, she wouldn't come back in. Her pulse had shot up, her face had paled, and she had looked like she had just seen something morally objectionable. He didn't think it was any coincidence she had fled the apartment just after.
"Lois, are you feeling okay?" he asked. Her first name still sounded strange coming out of his mouth. "I mean, I know they've got you on different painkillers now, but it's probably still not a good idea to have alcohol--"
"I'm fine, Smallville!" Lois snapped impatiently. "I just needed some air, what's your excuse?"
I came to see if you were all right. Clark thought, but he couldn't just come on so boldly like that, as that would imply he thought (or knew) there was something wrong with her.
Instead, he sat down on the wall beside her. Lois didn't shift away or stand up and leave, but she didn't look at him either. Nonetheless, they sat there in the November silence for a few long minutes until he decided to try and say something.
"Lois, we're-- we're friends, aren't we?" he asked.
It was a poor opening line, because again, it implied that there was some kind of issue, but he was really very curious to know what she would say. Lois didn't use the word 'friend', according to Colletta, regardless if that was the best word to define the relationship. He wondered what word Lois would use as a substitute if she didn't fall back on 'partner'.
"No." Lois answered, staring at the curb. "But we also can't be friends if you don't open up a little."
What? Open up about what? Talk about myself? I've done that. Clark frowned. "Lois, I know less of you than you of me. It's incredibly hypocritical of you to tell me that I need to open up when you don't." he said, firmly but gently. It was frustrating to hear her say that, but he was going to stay calm. "It makes you seem like you want someone to be your friend, but you don't want the hassle of being theirs. I know you don't like getting close to people-"
"Who told you that nonsense?" Lois demanded, snapping her head around to look at him with all the menace of a tank turret.
"No one told me and it's not nonsense." Clark said. He was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. "I know there's plenty of people who think poorly of you and I'm pretty sure they've said ugly things right to your face, and as a result, you keep everyone at a distance. But you can't demand to be let into someone's personal bubble and then shove them out of yours whenever it's convenient. It doesn't work like that."
His tone was quite calm and hopefully reasonable and not confrontational at all, but with every word that came out of his mouth, Lois's expression contorted a little further in a sort of vengeful denial. And then a layer of red and orange flared up her face and Clark realized he was actually seeing the temperature increase on her skin. Her expression shifted into downright angry, like he had just asked her to do something utterly unspeakable, and she stood up in a towering rage that made Clark feel small for the first time in years.
"Well fuck you too Smallville!" Lois bellowed, in a voice so loud for a woman so small. "Some of us didn't get the happy families Norman Rockwell childhood with the nostalgic Christmas card holiday yule log bullshit!"
"S-Sorry--" Clark started, mentally backpedaling because hello! brand-new infrared vision choosing that moment to kick on in full and with such intensity that he was seeing it over the edges of his lead-plated glasses. Every inch of Lois's exposed skin that was visible in his peripherals turned fiery red.
"Sorry? Sorry for what?!" Lois demanded, still at a bellowing volume that surely Dr. Sullivan could hear all the way back at the apartment. "What have you got to be sorry for?! Sorry that you have a family you can actually talk to?! Sorry that there's a place for you at the table every holiday?! Sorry that your parents actually have a holiday dinner every year?! Yeah, what the hell have you got to be sorry for?!"
"Lo-- Ms. Lane--" Clark tried to start, suddenly feeling like he had vastly under-estimated the situation.
"There is no 'talking' in my family! You shout in Dad's general direction and watch the words bounce off!" Lois shouted. "We don't sit down and chit-chat about our feelings! It's 'do this, do that, leave college, and no, no, you're coming to goddamn Corto Maltese, I'll make a solder out of you yet, and don't question my authority young lady'! Because fuck back-talking, fuck logic, fuck rational arguments, and fuck your farm boy apple pie life, Kent!"
Clark flinched.
"I didn't think--" he started, even though he wasn't sure how it was going to finish, but he had a sudden, urgent need to cough up something like an apology or it was all going to go wrong!--
"Well, maybe you were wrong." Lois said with a smirking sneer, but there was a particular edge to it that wasn't at all malicious. "How does it feel to be wrong?! Go be self-righteous somewhere else, hayseed!" she half-screamed.
Then, with her skin seeming to blaze for the heat coming off it, she turned and stormed away like a thunderhead. She could have left sparks in her wake, so furious was her stride. Clark was left where he sat, feeling much like a super-hot wind had blown over him.
What just happened?
He had to think on it for a second, to backtrack his way through the conversation because it changed very quickly.
He had called her out her habit of distancing people. He had been trying to provoke a response, to get her talking, but he must have poked at a sore wound in the process that had triggered something else in her mind.
Lois had looked around the apartment and fled because she spoke like happy holidays were not and had never been a thing in her family. She wanted Lucy to have at least one good Thanksgiving because no such thing had happened even while Ella Lane had been alive.
The problems didn't start or end with her father; it encompassed the entire range of aunts and uncles and cousins.
No happy families Norman Rockwell vibe for her.
If Clark had known what sort of forbidden, dangerous territory had lain right in front of him, he never would have stepped forward. Their friendship over the last seven weeks had been related largely to work, with not much conversation on personal topics in between. But in his mind, you couldn't spend seven weeks around a person and not learn a fair bit about them along the way.
Unless that person was Lois.
Lois who steered every personal topic away from herself, often very blatantly. Too many times she said something vague that only just hinted at a deeper story, but never elaborated. The times she actually went into more than just vague detail were so far in between that Clark could still count those on his hands.
And Lois might even have been a little jealous of the fact that Clark had a good relationship with his parents, where they expected him out for dinner at least once a month and still welcomed him every other time.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part was that he might have accidentally rubbed that in her face. He'd had little reason to suspect that she hadn't had a happy home life. Maybe not the most ideal one; one where things were a bit more rough around the edges and the holidays could be an awkward time of year.
But he hadn't expected her to blast her insecurities all over him.
The worst part was realizing that, like everyone else, Clark had thought he had gotten Lois figured.
A fiery, impulsive woman who took no prisoners and gave everyone hell. The hard-hitting reporter who stormed the news world and sliced through the curtain of lies with her poison pen. A career-driven woman who scared her coworkers with her intensity and methods. A bold, brilliant young woman who always sought the truth and the only person who seemed to appreciate her efforts was Perry White.
Or, a psychotic, half-suicidal bitch who didn't like anyone and no one liked her.
That was why everyone had seemed to skirt nervously around Clark Kent. They had asked themselves what kind of person he had to be if he was within choking distance and why wasn't he unconscious yet? Because Lois didn't work with people. Lois didn't like people. Lois didn't trust people. Because people had hurt her. People had abandoned her just as she started to count on them. People didn't like her and they pigeon-holed her into the category of stone-cold bitch without ever trying to understand how she had come to be that way. People pretended there wasn't a warm heart and real feelings under that spiky exterior.
People didn't believe there was anything there to hurt.
But that's not me. Clark though desperately, staring down the sidewalk where she had vanished around a corner. That's not me. I'm not like that. I could never be like that. How do I tell her that? How do I make sure she believes it?
-0-
Lois still has issues with people and her own insecurities. Don't worry friendly Clois shippers. These dorks have only known each other for all of two months. What's the fun if they're perfect from the start?
For those who may not be aware: the All-Star Squadron was one of the many WW2 superhero teams that appeared in the Golden Age. In comics canon-time, it existed right alongside the Justice Society and had many overlapping members. In Shatterpoint, the All-Star Squadron has been pared down to eight members and shifted to WW1 to provide a better sense of historical longevity.