THE REVEAL

Clark's arrival at the Daily Planet the next morning was shrouded in a profound melancholy. As he traversed the familiar path from the elevator to his desk, the usual assurance and bounce in his steps had yielded to a more measured cadence. Each footfall resonated with a subdued echo, carrying the unseen weight of a burdened spirit. His gaze remained lowered, avoiding the myriad of TV screens in the bullpen that, around this time every morning, dedicated segments to report on Superman's latest feats.

Passing the break room, he grimaced, silently regretting not choosing a more circuitous route to avoid the familiar early morning ritual that unfolded within. The room was abuzz with the usual crowd, enthusiastically cheering on Superman's exploits displayed on the solitary screen. The playful atmosphere occasionally escalated into colleagues reenacting Superman's feats, complete with humorous sound effects. Usually adept at tuning out the silliness, Clark now found it to be an unwelcome intrusion into his somber disposition.

At this moment, Lombard was spinning around, with his arms stretched out, making sputtering noises, pretending to be a helicopter spinning out of control. Gil jumped to attention, puffed out his chest and sang "Duh, duh duuuuuuh!" He charged toward Lombard and grabbed and held him until he stopped spinning. Lombard grabbed Gil's hand and shook it heartily. "Thank you, Superman. Wow, I was getting dizzy." Gil, crossing his arms over his puffed out chest, responded in his deepest voice "You know, of course, flying is still the safest way to travel." Several people burst out laughing.

Clark thoughts turned to the patient that had been aboard that air ambulance. It had just been a few hours earlier he had flown over the scene of a severe two-car collision in Normandy, France. Both vehicles were mangled, with one having an extensively crumpled front compartment. Some drunk dude was being loaded into one ambulance. Other than a couple of fractured ribs and extensive bruising, he seemed fine. The EMT of a second ambulance was tending to a small girl who looked to be about four years old. Other than some bruising, she was physically fine, but she was wailing and crying and in shock, and screaming for her mother. Her pitiful, piercing cries echoed in the air. A body bag lay on the ground, already occupied by whom Clark assumed was the driver of one of the vehicles. There was nothing he could do to help anyone at the scene of this particular tragedy, so he flew on.

The child's cries were still reverberating in Clark's ears when he spotted the medivac helicopter in distress just a few kilometers to the west, losing altitude and spiraling. After safely bringing the out-of-control helicopter to the ground, he assessed the patient. The young woman's injuries were extensive, and she was in shock, but she was still conscious. A glimmer of hope crossed her face.

"Superman. Ma fille, ma fille, où est-elle?" she murmured fervently.

"Où est ma maman!" Clark heard the girl scream just then.

Clark gave the woman the most reassuring smile he could as he gently lifted her off the stretcher. " Elle va bien. Elle n'a pas été blesse." He cradled her in his arms while also juggling the medical equipment that was attached to her.

"Je sais que je vais bien maintenant," she mumbled before losing consciousness.

Clark attempted to maintain a stoic demeanor for the sake of the medivac crew, but as he turned to leave the helicopter, he abandoned the facade, only to discover half a dozen cell phone cameras focused on him. The moment he realized their presence, he swiftly composed himself, hoping that none of them had captured the fleeting expression that had crossed his face just a nanosecond earlier.

"Alright you clowns," boomed Perry's voice. "It's time to get to work."

Clark slumped heavily into his chair. Lois was on the phone with one of her contacts at the Department of Homeland Security. She glanced at Clark briefly to give him a smile and a nod of acknowledgement. He gave her a slight wave before turning his attention to the pile of paper he had retrieved from his inbox on his way into the newsroom and began mechanically sorting through the day's assignments. The ambient hum of conversations, ringing phones, and clacking keyboards surrounded him, but his thoughts lingered on the profound weight of his recent experiences. He grabbed the computer mouse and jiggled it.

The woman's heart had stopped beating on its own merely seconds after Clark had begun their flight towards CHU Caen Normandy hospital. He used his auxiliary powers to perform CPR and stabilize the woman's condition the remainder of the journey, continuing his ministrations while he laid her gently on the exam bed in the emergency room and rattled off her vitals and a list of her major injuries to the physicians and nurses that gathered round. Only when the code blue team had fully assembled and taken over the woman's care did Clark back away. He stood there for a few moments, watching the woman's condition deteriorate, as he had known it probably would. In the hands of mere mortals, only a miracle could save her life.

Or he could save her.

"All those things I can do. All those powers, and I couldn't even save him."

Having determined to never again suffer the agonizing helplessness that had overwhelmed him following his father's death, he had zealously studied human biology in a relentless pursuit of knowledge and understanding. He honed his powers over gravity into telekinetic precision to manipulate the human anatomy. He taught himself how to generate and focus electrical and electromagnetic and other forces to meticulously control human physiology, stimulating just the right nerves and glands and tissues to do his bidding. Stabilizing blood pressure, delivering oxygen directly to dying cells, and orchestrating blood flow were just a few of his many talents.

If he stayed and kept her stabilized while the doctors gave her a blood transfusion and patched up her wounds, the woman had a good chance of surviving. Even now, as the delicate thread of her life was slipping away, each passing moment was an unspoken plea for intervention. Despite the best efforts of the resuscitation team, in a few more moments, the woman's condition would be beyond even his capacity to help her. He grappled with the silent struggle within. The desire to intervene, to utilize his extraordinary abilities, clashed with the profound conviction that he must not.

"Où est ma maman!" The memory of the little girl's cries pierced Clark's heart. "Your mommy is in the hospital, dying, and Superman, her only hope, is about to abandon her," he bitterly imagined himself saying to the girl. If only he had never discovered what he was capable of, he could have left simply feeling helplessness, instead of the bitter turmoil that was now ravaging his conscience. Situations such as these tested his soul, challenging his resolve to remain hopeful and resist succumbing to broodiness and despair.

His eyes, burdened with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths, remained fixed on the mortally injured woman. His heart, though not vulnerable to physical harm, ached from his self-imposed limitations. His thoughts, in the midst of the controlled chaos, wrestled with the conflict that echoed through his superhuman existence.

In order to maintain the delicate balance between heroism and humanity, he had to step away.

Revealing his abilities would jeopardize the trust he sought to foster among Earth's inhabitants. Public knowledge of these powers would result in incessant pleas to stay and save every individual he brought to the hospital. If he did acquiesce to such requests, that would only lead to more death and suffering, since each moment spent on saving one life was precious time he could instead be spending saving hundreds or even thousands of others. He would no longer be a beacon of hope, but a visage of a capricious god, one who decided, perhaps without even caring or feeling, who would die on a certain day and who would live.

That wasn't far from the truth.

….except for the uncaring and unfeeling part.

With a heavy heart, Clark turned away, immediately forcing himself to initiate the mental ritual he had developed over the years to cope with his perpetual exposure to suffering, death, destruction, and evil. He allowed himself the luxury of mourning for just a fleeting moment, focusing his mind intensely on the tragedy that had just unfolded long enough to ensure that the that the encounters with each individual involved resonated within him. The woman's presence in his life, however brief, became a poignant part of his own journey. Clark bore the weight of the collective human experience, a tapestry woven with threads of joy, sorrow, and everything in between. He was both witness and participant in the ceaseless ebb and flow of existence. Then he relegated the tragedy in its entirety—the dead mother, her daughter, the drunk, the helicopter, the hospital—to its own compartment in the recesses of his mind, finding a strange solace in knowing that each life he touched, whether saved or lost, left an indelible mark on his immortal memory where they would live forever.

As he left the trauma bay, his mind preoccupied in thought, he was startled by a sudden jostling to his side. He turned toward the disturbance.

"Superman, puis-je prendre un selfie avec vous?" a young woman in nurse's scrubs was leaning against him, holding her phone up with the screen pointed toward the two of them.

Clark's brow furrowed and his nostrils flared in annoyance and resentment. The intrusion was a particularly unwelcome encroachment on the sea of emotions raging within him at the moment. Despite the internal turmoil, he immediately calmed himself and recalibrated his demeanor, reflexes he had carefully cultivated and strengthened over the years. The internal conflict continued to churn, but it was no longer manifest outwardly. With practiced ease, he managed a faint smile and responded to the nurse's request, "Oui, bien sûr," he answered in his most Supermanly measured and calm voice. Clark turned towards the phone screen as the woman snapped the selfie.

Clark's computer screen flickered to life. He entered his password 'Sup3rStr0ngPassword.' The screen transitioned from a blank slate to a jarring image from his newsfeed widget that immediately sent Clark back into the emotional turbulence he had been feeling on and off all morning. The image, though not new to him, was now thrust directly in front of his face, magnifying every detail. The large, high-resolution photograph of himself exiting the medivac helicopter dominated the screen. The part of the image with the dying woman had been respectfully blurred, despite unedited versions of similar pictures circulating on the internet. However, his own countenance, tense and etched with worry and grief were laid bare for the world to witness.

But precious little attention was being paid to his facial expressions.

"COPTER CURLS CATASTROPHE: DID SUPERMAN'S STRANDS SUFFER FROM HELLICOPTER HAVOC?"

The headline blared at him.

A smaller image, the selfie with the ER nurse, was inserted into the corner of the article with the caption. "When even Superman's hair can't escape the chaos of a rescue mission. Unexpected selfie shock! #SuperSelfieSurprise." The snapshot captured the horror and dismay on Clark's face as he caught sight of his image on the screen of the nurse's phone. He had not even thought about his hair since seeing his reflection in Metropolis many hours earlier. The gravity of the situation had struck Clark like a bolt of lightning, as he immediately understood the repercussions of the photo going viral, as he knew it surely would.

Those were some of the images that been splashed over and over again on billions of screens, newspapers and magazines around the world the last 5 hours.

Clark lowered his face into his hand and shook his head slowly. He had successfully put the horrible experience behind him and had forged ahead with resilience and hope. But now, all the emotions came back, crashing down upon him along with intense shame. Oh god! The intense shame and remorse he was feeling was overwhelming. Not only had he let this woman die, but his indiscretion had turned her death into a media circus.

Clark glanced briefly at the rowdy group exiting the break room, filing past the scowling editor in chief. Gil attempted to smooth down his hair, unsuccessfully though, as Lombard kept reaching over to mess it up again. Gil was being good natured about it, but Perry had had enough.

"Enough, Lombard!" he bellowed at the sports reporter.

Clark couldn't shake the profound sense of detachment that settled upon him like a heavy cloak. The joviality around him seemed to exist in a separate realm, with him on the fringes, looking in on everyone else, unable to join them in their carefree merriment. In that moment, Clark, the man of two worlds, grappled with the irony of being simultaneously present and absent. The detachment he felt wasn't just physical; it was a poignant reminder of the emotional isolation that came with carrying the weight of the world on his superhuman shoulders.

The incident with Lauren's hair, initially a small, personal gesture to ease the discomfort of a friend, an attempt to bring a moment of levity to an embarrassing situation, now carried the unintended consequence of adding a layer of complexity to the grief of a family, of a young girl left without a without a mother, or a father - as it had been the father's body in the bag at the scene of the accident. What a delicate tightrope he walked, between living a semblance of a "normal" life as Clark Kent and the responsibilities that came with being Superman. The line between personal connections and the potential repercussions of his superhero actions seemed to blur more than ever.

This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, that he found himself questioning the choices he made. Could he truly afford to have personal relationships, to share in the everyday struggles and joys of ordinary people, without inadvertently causing harm? The desire to be relatable and connected to humanity warred with the stark reality that every action he took as Superman had the potential to reverberate far beyond his intentions.

Clark couldn't deny the dichotomy. It was precisely the connections he forged with humans that grounded him in the warmth and intricacies of the human experience and acted as a balm for the ache within. Each shared smile, every supportive gesture, became a lighthouse guiding him through the storm, without which he would be lost. His ability to make a difference in the world was intricately tied to the relationships he formed, those very connection offering the greatest source of resilience against the encroaching shadows.

His gaze shifted, drawn instinctively to Lois, who had just finished her phone conversation. Clark's eyes, tinged with a mix of weariness and contemplation, watched her intently. She didn't need to be aware of the tempest raging within him. There was no need to exchange words or glances. Clark found solace simply being in her presence. She was his utmost refuge, direction, and healing. She was a beacon that beckoned him away from the abyss. Each passing moment in her company became a subtle elixir, a remedy that mended the frayed edges of his spirit, a sanctuary where pain melted away and darkness retreated, leaving behind a sense of calm in its wake.

Clark let out a deep sigh of relief. The storm had passed.

Lois, with her unwavering dedication to journalism and a tenacity that matched his own, was now absorbed in the details flashing across her computer screen, details that surely included the viral photos of him. In that moment, a flicker of curiosity crossed Clark's mind. He wondered if Lois had made any connection between the disheveled state of his hair at Bruno's the night before and the messy-haired Superman on her screen. The idea lingered in his thoughts, adding a touch of intrigue to his current state of contemplation.

However, unlike the past times when anxiety and dread had plagued him at the thought of Lois discovering his secret, Clark felt an unexpected sense of peace. Today was different; he had decided that later in the day, he would finally reveal to Lois that he was Superman. There was no trepidation, only a calm determination to share his secret. The mystery of why this moment felt right eluded him, but Clark embraced the tranquility surrounding his decision.

For a moment, Clark found solace in silently observing Lois, appreciating the steadfastness and resilience she brought to their shared pursuit of truth. As she typed away, focused and determined, Clark's curiosity about her perceptions mingled with his newfound sense of peace. In the midst of the bustling Daily Planet newsroom, he continued to watch Lois, the gravity of his thoughts softened by the comforting familiarity of her presence. It was a brief interlude, a quiet moment of reflection before the forthcoming revelation would change the dynamics between them forever.

Lois must have sensed Clark was watching her. She looked up and turned towards him and met his gaze with a perplexed look on her face. "Did you and … you-know-who… " Lois paused for a moment and then gave a little shrug and lowered her voice. "… I mean… your hair… did you …. coordinate or something?"

Clark grinned. "Something," he answered cryptically, as he briefly scanned both their desks. He had gotten in the habit of periodically performing bug sweeps at the Planet, as well as in Lois's home and car, with her permission, of course. Occasionally he found surveillance devices placed there by various agencies and individuals, hoping to gather information about Superman. He had scanned this particular area yesterday and removed a miniature audio transmitter inside a benign-looking Bic pen on his own desk. But if Lois was going to talk about Superman today, he felt the need to check again just to be sure. He didn't find anything new, though.

Unexpectedly, Lois's face broke out into a big smile. "I have to admit I haven't been too happy about you taking over as his media contact. But…. you could be a good influence on him… get him to loosen up a little."

Clark couldn't believe Lois had just said that. "Really?"

"Yeah! The guy needs to relax more… not take himself so seriously all the time. I see it when he's with…" Lois lowered her voice to an inaudible whisper. "…Jason." Lois darted her eyes around her for a moment before continuing in a normal tone. "You know… just being able to relax and be himself. It's good for him."

As Clark had told Lauren the previous evening, he always assumed Lois admired Superman's stoicism and gravitas, so Lois's remarks surprised him. He gestured to Lois's phone. "What did Mitchell have to say?"

"They're looking into it." Lois shook her head in exasperation. "I couldn't get a good feel for how seriously they're taking this."

Clark stood up and walked around his desk so he and Lois could talk more comfortably. He perched on the side of his desk, as he was in the habit of doing when he guessed a conversation with Lois might last more than a couple of minutes. "He hasn't done anything illegal so far, that we know of. They can't just shut him down capriciously." He folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. "There's all sorts of regulations and limitations placed on them to make sure they don't abuse their power."

"That never stops them when abusing their power benefits them. Now, when it really matters, suddenly they're worried about congressional oversight committees? I don't buy it."

Clark knew Lois well enough to know that when she didn't "buy" something, she wasn't going to leave it alone either. "What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know yet. Blackmail? Bribes? Kickbacks? All of the above? I'm just starting to dig. I don't have much to go on yet. But this is Lex Luthor we're talking about. We know it's out there somewhere." Lois paused and leaned toward Clark with an earnest expression and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Clark, can you please help me talk some sense into Superman? I get that the guy has principals, but Luthor could be about to open a pandora's box bigger than New Krypton. I'm going to do whatever I can on my end to push whatever three letter agencies I can into squashing this. But it's nothing compared to what he can do."

"Squashing Luthor is only going to push him underground again." Clark pointed out.

"He should have let Lombard kill him," Lois muttered.

"Dr. Donovon or someone else would have just taken over, and probably stayed underground and we never would've found out what they were up to till it was too late."

"Luthor obviously wants us to know what he's up to, which means we would probably be better off not knowing."

"True."

"But why?" Lois took off her reading glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Ugh! Trying to get into Luthor's head is like one of those nightmares where every door you open takes you to disturbing realms no one should ever explore." She gave Clark a pleading look. "Will you please just talk to him? I can't get through to him."

Clark wondered how he should answer her, considering she was going to soon find out that he agreed one hundred percent with Superman. "We can talk to him together later today. He'll meet us on the roof."

"He's coming for an interview?"

"Not exactly. He wants to talk to you about something."

"What time?"

"When are you leaving?"

"Four thirty."

"So, how about three thirty?" Clark figured it would be best to wait till the end of the day so he and Lois could both get some work done beforehand, since afterward one or both of them might be emotional wrecks.

Lois cocked her head to the side and let out a huff. "You didn't agree on a time yet, so you're just going to… what… summon him?"

Clark nodded his head. "I have his phone number." And his phone, he added, to himself.

"He has a phone?"

Clark nodded again.

Lois let out another little huff and shook her head in annoyance. "Why would he give you his phone number, when he never gave it to me?" She lowered her voice and added "…the mother of his child."

Clark didn't have a good answer for that, so he just shrugged.

Lois waved her hand dismissively. "Well, let me know when he stops by," she said in a mocking tone before turning back to her computer.

Clark supposed it didn't matter if Lois believed him or not. She would know the truth soon enough. He stood up and started to walk back around the desk to his chair.

"Wait!"

Clark froze in his tracks and turned back to face Lois.

She was staring at him with her jaw clenched and brow tightly knitted. She raised a hand and balled it into a tight fist, before releasing her forefinger and wagging it at him. "… watching me… from the inside!" Her eyes flashed with anger and her voice took on an accusatory tone. "It's you isn't it?"

Clark's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. This is not how he wanted her to find out. "Uh…. I…."

"You've been spying on me for him! This whole time!"

Despite the tense situation, Clark let out a relieved sigh. "No. That's not it."

Lois stood up and put her hands on her hips and shook her head in consternation. She was sure she had finally figured out the truth. She was fuming. "I can't believe this! Why does he need you to spy on me? If he has a phone number, why didn't he just give it to me? Wouldn't that make more sense?"

Clark let out frustrated groan. This was not going well, and it was getting worse by the moment. He quickly glanced upwards, checking to see if the roof was deserted or not. Despite being officially restricted to almost everyone except building maintenance, Lois wasn't the sole individual in possession of a key that allowed the elevator to reach it. "OK fine, let's go." He gestured toward the elevator lobby.

"Go where?"

"To the roof."

Lois extended her palms into a hand shrug and spoke with naked sarcasm. "Oh, are you going to call Superman now? You're going to just summon him?" She twirled her hand around.

"No. But he'll be there… when we get there. I promise."

"Alright. I'll play along." Lois gave Clark an irritated look before turning on her heel and leading the way to the elevator. She didn't really believe Superman was at Clark's beck and call, but if he was, boy was Superman going to get a piece of her mind!

They walked to the elevator in silence, other than Lois's huffing. Several other people rode upwards with them almost to the top of the building. They continued to the last few floors to the roof by themselves. Lois kept throwing annoyed sideways glances at him.

Curiously, Clark felt no butterflies in his stomach or clamminess in his palms, sensations that only Lois and kryptonite were ever able to give him. It was unfortunate that Lois was already upset, but as for himself, he felt at peace. He felt ready and confident to face whatever reaction Lois was going to have.

Lois exited the elevator and looked around. "Didn't you say Superman would be here?" she said with derision.

"I am," Clark said in his regular Clark Kent voice.

Lois turned to look at Clark.

He took his glasses off.

Lois barely registered that he had taken his glasses off. As usual, she barely looked at Clark. "You're what?" she muttered, shifting her gaze to look past Clark and then turned her head a little side to side to scan the rooftop again.

"Lois!" Clark took a step toward her and brought his face to within inches of hers while he smoothed his hair back with one hand, leaving behind his signature spit curl. "I'm right here."

She took a step back, confused. Then…

Lois finally looked at him.

She stared blankly at him for a few moments. Slowly, her mouth dropped open, reminding him of Lauren. How strange he would think of Lauren at such an awkward moment. Clark could hear Lois's heartbeat speed up.

"Oh…. my…. god…."

"Lois…"

"No!" Lois shook her head and took another step back. "What… the… fuck!"

"I know this is a shock."

"Shock!" Lois shouted in disbelief. She shook her head again. "Is that what you call this? I can't even…"

"I'm sorry." Clark fought the urge to look away. It was difficult to watch the emotions play out on Lois's face. Shock. Fury. Hurt. Betrayal. He forced himself to look at her, to confront her, to not look away. "I know I should have told you a long time ago, especially after you told me about Jason. I have no excuse. All I can do is apologize and hope that we can find a way to move on from here, for Jason's sake."

For perhaps the third time in her life, Lois was speechless, but at least she didn't faint. Clark waited for her to say something, but she just stared blankly at him. After about a minute of awkward silence, she turned and walked a few steps away toward the parapet while patting the pockets of her suit jacket and skirt, probably hoping she had a cigarette or nicotine gum stashed in here. No such luck. She took a deep breath and sighed before turning to face him. "I really don't know what to say." She crossed her arms in front of her and stared at him with slightly furrowed brows.

"That's understandable," Clark told her gently. "It's totally fine if you're not ready to discuss this right now. You need time to process. I just want you to know that whenever you're ready, I am too."

Another minute or so of awkward silence passed before Clark spoke again. "Do you want me to stay… or… should I go? Or… it's up to you." Clark waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. "It's just… I told Perry I'd file my article before one."

The furrow in Lois's brow deepened further as she continued to stare straight into his eyes. She opened her mouth again as if she was going to say something, but nothing came out.

"….which really isn't important right now…." Clark pressed his lips together and forced a strained smile and nodded his head. "Yeah… uh… I'm at your disposal. You can glare at me… all day… if you want. I deserve it." Despite his brave words, he averted his eyes for a moment while he cleared his throat, trying to fill the awkward silence. He wished she would say something.

Lois was trying to grapple with the incongruity of Superman worrying about handing in an article entitled "Investigative Report: Unveiling the Secrets of Metropolis's Underground Ping Pong Clubs" to a grumpy grey-haired old man. She had just entered into a new surreal reality, a parallel universe, one in which Superman spent a large part of his days sitting at a desk next to hers, typing away at a computer. Many people, Lois included, suspected Superman had a secret identity. It was pretty clear from just a cursory examination of his "schedule" that, other than sporadic superheroic appearances here and there, he was regularly occupied with something or other besides being a superhero weekdays between roughly 8 am till 6 pm Eastern Standard Time. It's one thing to harbor suspicions. It's another to be confronted with the stark reality. She had never considered before that the man of steel ever engaged in such mundane tasks as tidying a desk, dumping coffee grounds into the trash, or loading paper into a printer. Nor could she ever have imagined he was besties with Gil and Jimmy. But there he was, all 6-4, 225 pounds of him, standing with Clark Kent's slouch, wearing Clark Kent's nondescript suit, fidgeting nervously with Clark Kent's glasses, speaking to her in Clark Kent's voice. Who was this man, anyway? "I'm not glaring at you. I'm processing."

"OK." He continued to look at her for several more uncomfortable seconds before letting his gaze wander out into the Metropolis cityscape. "Do you want to talk?" He glanced at her again. She didn't answer. "No?" Pause. "OK." Pause. He averted his gaze again. "So I guess I'll just… ahem… stand here awkwardly…. while you process."

Lois continued staring at him for another moment. "No… no… I'm sorry…"

He turned toward her and shook his head. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Lois. This is all on me. I messed up. I want to make things right with you, but I'm going to need helping figuring out how to do that."

Lois lowered her eyes and shook her head slowly. "I'm just not ready to talk about this." She sighed. "But it's silly to just stand out here… "

As they walked back to the elevator, Lois asked casually, "What am I even supposed to call you?"

Clark didn't answer right away. He leaned forward to push the elevator button before turning toward her, an enigmatic expression on his face, as if the moment had an air of poignancy to it that Lois could not fathom. It was just a simple question. His brilliant azure eyes locked on hers. His visage was clouded with uncertainty and doubt. Yet his voice resonated with unwavering sincerity.

"Clark."

The elevator ride back to their floor was quiet and awkward.

Clark couldn't get over how anticlimactic the whole reveal thing had been, after fretting over her learning his secret identity for so long, and all the nightmarish scenarios he had envisioned over the years.

Lois couldn't get over how bizarre it felt riding in an elevator with Superman, although she realized she had unknowingly done so many times before. She kept steeling glances at Clark, who had again donned his glasses and his Clarkish hairstyle. His hands folded in front of him, he cut a casual, unassuming figure staring patiently at the floor number indicator as the elevator descended. Yet to Lois, every detail of Clark's countenance now seemed to be illuminated with newfound clarity. His features, once concealed beneath the veil of anonymity, now stood out in bold relief—the chiseled contours of his jawline, the endearing cleft of his chin, the regal slope of his nose—all accentuated by his flawless complexion. How had she failed to recognized him all these years? As if in answer to her question, he - Clark - looked at her sideways and gave her his signature goofy grin and wave.