lane.

“--and if you change the world, then you could be happy.”

Maybe, under different circumstances, Clark would tease her, something about how he never expected Lois Lane to call any morning beautiful. But right now, he just smiled. “Yeah. They are.” She started to get dressed, and he ran a hand through his hair, finger-combing into some semblance of place with the least effort possible, just to have something to do while he waited for her to get ready.

She wrapped an arm around his waist and his hugged her shoulders. “Good morning,” Clark said, before his arm slipped down to take her hand. Then they made their way down the stairs – still slightly creaky, familiar – and past the living room, where Bruce was still sleeping, crunched onto the couch. Clark carefully closed the screen door and the front door behind them, locking them and slipping the keys into his jacket pocket. (His clothes were that slightly uncomfortable sort of new, having only been bought a few days ago, but it was what it was.) It was that morning coolness still, orange lining the horizon but getting no further, the deep blue of the sky the sign that night was loosening. 

It was… still a little unsteady, was the best way he could think to describe it. He was back, yes. Everything he remembered, everything he could think of, was back, and he was fine. But there were still moments where he would notice something and remember a small detail he hadn’t before, like going down stairs and hitting the next step a second earlier than expected. Clark had the feeling it would fade in time, that everything would even out eventually, so to speak, but sometimes it still struck him, like particularly strong deja vu. 

“Okay,” Clark said as he turned back to her, heading down the porch steps, hands in his pockets. “So we’ve got two options. Ma said you could borrow the truck. Or we can walk into town. It’s not too far.”  He reached for her hand again. The cornfield rustled in the breeze, still a little more shadow than green yet. 

His arms come around her, and Lois takes the opportunity to bask in the warmth of his flannel shirt: new and yet so fundamentally Clark that she has to smile at the familiarity. “Morning,” she says, stepping back and accepting his hand as they continue to the first floor.

Each gentle creak of the stairs is magnified by the quiet morning. Luckily, Bruce is still sound asleep, which Lois sees as they pass through the living room. Only then does it strike her how worn out he looks. It’s at least as worn down by the last several months as she feels, and there’s some comfort to that.

Soon enough, they’re soundly outside, and Lois releases a breath she had been unknowingly holding in. Then, as her hand slips from Clark’s hold, she walks to the edge of the porch and brings both hands atop the railing. This is a much better view of the farm than of that through the curtains upstairs, but it’s nice to know that her original conjecture still stands. The sound of the fields rustling in the wind, the orange peaking above the horizon, the calmness―it’s beautiful.