Disclaimer: If I owned Superman and Lois, they'd be getting the full seven seasons
Author's notes:
1) Inspiration for this came from those first two incredible episodes where Elizabeth Tulloch acts her heart out
2) Complete spoiler alert for those two episodes
3) Flashbacks are italic.
Summary: Lois working through her feelings, as only a writer can
Title: Writer's Block
The cursor blinked in, and out mocking Lois Lane. After countless stories about Superman's exploits, she couldn't find the words to start. She slammed shut the top of her laptop, poured herself a glass of wine, taking a few sips, and left it on the table. She leaned on the porch railing looking out at the final rays of the last day Superman would be on earth.
The thought both angered, and saddened her. Everyone would mourn the death of the world's greatest hero, and nobody knew he was also Clark Kent; father of two boys, beloved husband of Lois Lane. It drove her crazy that for a while at least she'd have to pretend Clark was still alive until they could think of some assignment that gets him killed. She'd have to put her own grief into a box, and still play the dutiful reporter, despite her heart shattering at his loss.
She wished the boys weren't with her when they found the body. The extra moments of innocence with the girlfriends, and having a dad before she robbed them of it. He wanted to tell them, was bugging her for years to break the news of his other job. Knowing the weight of the secret herself, she wanted to be sure they were ready for it. She was proud of the way they'd weathered the shock, and grateful that it expanded their family to include John Henry Natalie, Kyle, Chrissy, Lana, and Sarah. The extended family she didn't know she wanted.
"It should have been me first," she whispered to the darkening sky. "You'll beat it." He wouldn't hear of any other outcome, his effortless positivity so easy to buy into. She remembered the moonlight was playing shadows on the wall, and she'd fallen asleep with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. " I need to say it Clark," he was awake instantly; a light sleeper. She'd sat up, and was facing away from him hoping she could gather courage from the space between them.
"I might die," she whispered into the dark, certain he heard her. She waited for an answer, feeling him squeeze her hand as he sat beside her. Not wanting to see the kicked puppy look, she stared at the wallpaper, tracing the pattern with her eyes. She felt her bottom lip quiver as he knelt before her, his hands surrounding hers. She looked down at him.
"I know," he didn't want to see it. He turned away, wanting to say different. Remind her of her toughness, the technology they had now. The drug trials. He wanted to remind her of the boys, sleeping upstairs that still need their mother. But it was the truth. He pulled her up to him, and put it all into a single kiss.
Lois started laughing at the cruel irony of it. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed the one here picking up the pieces. The one balancing being Superman, an all-star reporter, while teaching Jordan how to use his abilities. "To the universe, and its sense of irony," she took the empty glass as a cue to resume work.
She checked her email, now overflowing with news releases about Superman experts and their survival theories. She skimmed the messages, shocked at the stunning array of thoughts. From 'faking his death' to an illness that only strikes Kryptonians, and being a murder victim. She kept a few for laughs. The messages from local clubs were next, a reminder that life goes on, despite whatever agony there was. She marked off events for the following month to follow-up on.
A scroll through social media was next. Collective mourning, as everyone shared their favourite Superman memory, and a conspiracy theory factory. Solitaire was next, and she played it until her mind was sufficiently numbed. Finally, she took a deep breath, and reopened her word-processing window.
The cursor still blinked. She had a piece to write. It couldn't be too personal, otherwise she'd put her family's remaining privacy at risk. It couldn't be too impersonal, because that wasn't the tone for the Gazette. She put the coffeemaker on. Maybe if she "just wrote it" everything she thought, and felt, her and Chrissy could make something out of it.
She filled her mug, wishing he was there for that smallest puff of frost breath to cool it to drinking temperature. Instead, she blew on it, and sipped at it before starting to type. It surprised her how quick it came; memories of her first story on him, his first television interview. The first time he rescued her. How annoyed she was at first to have a partner at work. She wrote on through the night, until Jon stumbled down the stairs with his bag for the firehouse, and took a mug of coffee out to the barn. He muttered nothing more than chores.
The routine of chores relieved her. But if there was thing her eldest twin understood, it was the need to put on an appearance. Farm work continued no matter who did it, and it needed to appear that the farm was still running, even while its owner was no longer there. She kept writing, alert for any sound of Jordan, and finished just as he came down.
"Chores," he said, on his way out the door. She watched him from the kitchen window join his brother in the barn. They did the barn together before Jon's shift; Jordan would finish morning chores, and his brother in the afternoon.
"You, and your brother can come to the office after school, and do some homework before dinner," she didn't want them out of her sight for longer than they had to be.
"I'll make sure he knows," Jon assured her. She opened, and closed the fridge. She read through the piece again, her finger poised over the delete button. It read to her like a trail of bread crumbs the attentive reader could follow right to her door; something she wanted to avoid. But the world would at some point figure it out, especially after Clark's 'death.' And paying tribute to the man who meant so much to her felt right. She attached it to an email ready to send to Chrissy with a note to make necessary changes.
Less than five minutes later her response came. It's a great piece Lois, but I want to hold onto it for a while in case there are any new developments. Sit tight, and rest. It was the permission her body waited for as she lay on the bed, his work coat covering her.
A one-off tag based on the first two episodes