❤︎⁠

CHAPTER TWO: AFTERLIGHT

“Gary!” Lois’s cry tears through the stillness of the Fortress crystal walls. Her weak, trembling arm curls around Clark’s waist, doing the best she can to hold him up, but it is Mr. Terrific who bears his weight for the both of them. She can barely stand on her own two feet.

“Miss Lois,” the droid starts off with the usual optimistic stance, the panicked register in her voice completely lost to him… until he comes closer and sees the scene before him. “Oh, dear. What happened? What happened to Superman?”

“Kryptonite,” she shrieks. “I don’t think he’s ever been exposed to this much.”

“SUPERMAN.” The units assemble at once, gently collecting him from Mr. Terrific’s firm, stabilizing grasp. Two of them steady Clark by the shoulders, another two support him by the calves. His slumped, sagging head is held in place by Droid 22, while the remaining units rush in the opposite direction.

“Thank you, Miss Lois. We’ll take it from here. But we must start promptly.”

She knows this place. Knows the pattern of it. How things work when Clark is hurt. The droids usually move with calm, methodical certainty. Before, it had always been about time. Rest, reset, sunlight. Letting Clark slowly rebuild his strength.

Not this time. This is urgency unlike anything she has ever seen before. It’s different. Different in a way that threatens to hollow her chest out entirely.

“Can I wait here?” Her fingers slip from Clark’s hand as the droids take him to the back, disappearing behind a large entryway covered in icicles.

“You are more than welcome to stay, but it’s going to be a while. We don’t know just how long, but a while.”

“FOUR.”

“I must go at once,” Gary turns toward the voices echoing through the Fortress.

“Okay, okay,” she doesn’t need to tell the droids to take good care of him, but it comes out anyway, frantic and broken. “If he wakes, play him the footage of his parents, okay? It’ll—It’ll soothe him.”

Michael sees it from the corner of his eye, how she presses her palms flat to her face, stifling the sobs that spill to the surface, her knees bending. “Hey,” his hand comes to steady her by the arm, gentle but firm. “He’s going to be okay, Lois. He’s going to make it through this. He’s strong.”

“I should—,” she stutters, unsure as to whether she actually believes his words. “I should go see Ma and Pa.”

He nods. “Take the T-craft.”

“But what about you? How are you going to get back to Metropolis?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures. “Besides, I should go meet Green Lantern and Metamorpho anyway. We got uh… some work to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I insist.”

“Thank you, Michael.” Her words come out weak and muted.

“Of course.” He gives her arm another comforting squeeze. “And hey… he’s going to be okay.”

**

She doesn’t stay for too long at the Kent farm, just needs to relay the latest to Martha and Jonathan. Martha brews her some tea, a soothing hand on her shoulder as Lois recounts, through tears, the events leading up to that moment. “Take a breath, dear,” Ma says, kind and concerned. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Please, just… just take a deep breath.”

The Kents speak gently to her, but the alarm for Clark is noticeable in their voices. Lois deeply regrets not having better answers to give, not having anything to give, but promises to keep them informed every step of the way. As they watch her fly away into the Kansas moonlit sky, they clutch each other’s arms, dread creeping into their chests.

**

It takes about a full minute for Gary to meet her once she makes it back to the Fortress. It feels more like ten. The air is quiet and somber, sending a rush of blood to her head.

“How is he?” She can barely get the words out, terrified of what the answer might be.

“He’s… stable,” Gary manages. “I think it’ll be a while before we can say he’s ‘okay’.”

“And his wounds?”

“Due to the sustained direct contact with the kryptonite, the damage to his chest, inner arms, and left cheek is significant. But he will heal eventually, with time and the proper care.”

The pressure builds in her chest. “Is he awake?”

“Not at the moment, no. But he did wake up for a brief moment. We showed him the footage of his parents, and…” Gary hesitates.

“What?”

“I don’t think it worked this time. I don’t think it soothed him. It didn’t bring a smile to his face like it always does. I think…” he pauses again. “I think it actually distressed him. He tried to hide it, but it was obvious. He… he was crying, Miss Lois.”

She bites down on her lip and winces at the pain… an unwelcome reminder of the bruise Lex’s men had left behind. “Can I stay with him?”

“Of course. But it could be days before he wakes up.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Very well,” he bows. “Droids 12 and 22 will arrange accommodations for you by Superman’s bedside.”

“Thank you, Gary.”

“In the meantime, as long as you’re here… would you like me to take a look at that?” He gestures toward her broken lip.

“Oh, I, uh… I’m fine.”

“Superman would have wanted us to tend to your wounds. We’re instructed to look after you.”

“But…”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

“All right, then,” she concedes.

It gets quiet again, too quiet. Gary gently holds a compress to her jaw, immediately releasing the pressure upon seeing the tears swell in her eyes.

“Miss Lois, am I hurting you?”

“No, Gary. It’s not that, I…” she swallows. “I’m okay.”

“You’re worried about Superman?”

“I know he’s in great hands,” she sniffles. “It’s just… it’s my fault he’s in this predicament.”

There’s a pause before Gary speaks. “Superman has a serious case of kryptonite poisoning. That is hardly your fault.”

“It’s a little bit more complicated than that,” she manages a weak, teary smile. “It’s… sort of hard to explain.”

“Because us robots lack the emotional capacity?”

“Something like that.”

There is almost a hint of sympathy in Gary’s face. “It may take longer than what we’re used to, but he will recover.”

“Yeah…” Lois hopes against hope that he’s right.

“There. You’re all set.”

“Thanks, Gary,” she stammers as the tears continue to silently fall.

“Come, I’ll take you to Superman.”

**

Lois sinks onto the chair by Clark’s bedside, swallowing the lump in her throat. She’s never seen him like this… so frail, so small. Bandages cover nearly all of him, winding around his arms and torso. A pale gauze traces the familiar lines of his left cheek. His breathing is slow, barely there, but when she rests a gentle hand against his chest, it rises and falls alongside it.

His rest isn’t as peaceful as she hopes. At times, his heart races against her palm, his eyebrows twitch, his body jolts, as if whatever he sees behind closed eyes refuses to let go. She tangles her fingers in his, pressing her lips to the protruding, darkened veins, willing her touch to lull him back to rest.

Clark drifts in and out of consciousness as time passes. It alarms her, but Gary assures her it’s to be expected and nothing more than his body’s way of surviving the kryptonite.

The hours blur into days after that.

Some days, she reads to him. Some days, she hums softly under her breath while fondling his hair. On others, she places the Kents on speakerphone, letting their voices fill the quiet room with reminders of just how much they love him. But every day, she stays.

**

The first time he opens his eyes, the world is nothing but a blur. Lois straightens slowly in her chair, hardly daring to breathe. She waits for recognition, for focus, for his glossy eyes to find their way to her.

At first, she’s only a shadow. A shape. Dark hair and hazy edges. Then his vision sharpens.

But his reaction is not what she expects.

“No,” he jerks his hand away from hers, his mind a turmoil. “Don’t, please don’t.”

“Clark,” she keeps her voice steady. “Hey…”

“No. Stay away from me, whoever or whatever you are…”

“It’s me, Clark. It’s me… Lois.”

“No,” he pants, sweat sticking to his hairline. “You can’t be. Lois… she, she walked away… she’s gone… she doesn’t…”

She feels it in her chest. A sharp, bitter ache that twists deep like a knife. “No, no, no. I promise you, it’s me. I’m not a double. I’m not from another dimension. It’s me. The real me.”

“Please…” his shoulders sink. “Don’t make me do this to her again.”

Lois exhales, a broken, shaky thing. She reaches for his hand again, squeezing it gently. He doesn’t pull away this time, but his muscles tense up and fold into a rigid fist.

“You’re not her…” he mutters under his breath, confused and agitated. “You can’t be…”

She searches his face, heart pounding. She needs to pivot. Needs to try something else.

If words of reassurance won’t reach him, maybe their history will.

“Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?” Her thumb traces calming circles around his knuckles. “We were at your apartment. The Justice Gang was fighting the dimensional imp outside your window. Your uh—your morale wasn’t the best after seeing the full message from your biological parents…”

Lois swallows before continuing.

“I made you some hot cocoa. Like that could fix anything,” she lets out a hoarse chuckle. “You probably didn’t even want it, but you took it anyway and even took the time to tell me how good it was.”

His head sags, brows creasing faintly, but she keeps going.

“And then I said it back, just a few days later,” her voice is soft. “You kissed me some 60 feet in the air and nothing ever felt so right. I was terrified when I got off the T-craft and didn’t see you right away. But then I heard your voice and I… just knew. No matter how scared I was, nothing was stopping me from telling you then.”

Clark starts drifting. His breathing evens. His fist loosens under her touch. Still, she doesn’t stop.

“Remember that time you dragged me to the Mighty Crabjoys’s concert kicking and screaming? I never admitted it, but… I had a really good time. The best time.”

Lois swears she sees the semblance of a smile on his face before his lids fall heavy, pulling him back under.

**

When he opens his eyes again, she’s already in focus. No nebulous shape. No indefinite outline. Just her. Clark is quiet at first, taking her in, wondering whether his mind is playing tricks on him again.

“Lois?” his voice is small, almost skeptical.

She smiles weakly at him, a hand coming to ruffle the hairs falling over his forehead. “Yeah, yeah. It’s me.”

“You…” he hesitates. “You came to get me again.”

He searches her face closely. Too closely. As if she might slip away if his gaze falters.

Lois just nods at first, fervent and tremulous, desperate for Clark to see her resolve, to believe it. “Yeah, I did,” she clasps their fingers together. “And I always will.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

But the light that ignites in his eyes dims just as quickly when his gaze falls to her lips and he sees it. The bruise, the swelling, the flush of purple under the bandage.

“Lois? What happened? Who did this to you?”

“Oh, this?” Her fingers hover over her mouth. “It’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Clark tries to sit up, but the pain from his blisters rubbing together draws a guttural hiss from his throat.

“Shh. Careful, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she eases him back onto the mattress with gentle hands. “Just lie back down. You need to rest, okay? You need to allow your body to really rest.”

His fingers curl around hers with certainty, eyes drifting briefly to the sunlit ceiling before falling back to her.

“How long was I out?”

“A little under an hour. We can do better next time, can’t we?”

Clark feels disoriented, but soothed by the calming, gentle circles her fingertips trace along the nape of his neck.

“Sleep.” Her voice floats into his ears like an astral whisper.

The word should bring him comfort. Instead, it tightens his chest, fear creeping in quietly.

“Will I see you again?”

“Of course. Of course you will. I will be right here, okay? No matter how long it takes for you to get better, I’ll be here.”

“Promise?” He can’t hide the falter in his voice, the doubt.

“Yes. I promise.” Lois is firm, certain.

“Don’t… please don’t leave, Lois. Don’t leave me again,” he’s barely conscious at this point.

“I won’t,” her hand travels to his face to caress his jaw, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I promise you, Clark. I’m not going anywhere.”

Darkness swells around his vision, and then he’s out again.

**

The third time he wakes, his surroundings are no longer unfamiliar. His eyes find hers with ease, her grip steady around his wrist.

“You’re here,” Clark blinks with a thin smile.

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” she raises his hand to her face, stroking its back against her cheek.

They stay like that for a while, warm glances and easy silence, the bright light of the sun reflecting off the white sheets of ice.

“How are you feeling?”

He seems much calmer now. Mellower. But Clark isn’t sure how to answer, isn’t even sure how he really feels. So he just shrugs in response, mustering his best neutral expression despite the tears that flow to the surface.

“Clark, what is it? Talk to me.”

He hesitates for a moment, tries to measure his words, but they fall out of his mouth exactly as they come to his heart. “Are you going to leave me once I’m fully recovered?”

“What?”

“I mean, are you here only because…” his chest burns. “…Because you feel like you have to be?” He braces for an answer he doesn’t want to hear, but fully expects.

Lois feels the blood drain from her. “What? Clark, no…”

“I just…” he offers quietly, before she has the chance to continue. “I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want.”

Lois shakes her head, a strangled sound trapped in her throat. “Clark, that’s not… I’m not… I’m not leaving,” the guilt twists in her gut. “…Not unless you want me to.”

“Want you to?” he stammers. “Lois, do you know how hard it was for me to watch you go? Do you have any idea how much it hurt?”

Her lips tremble. “I… Clark, you are not forcing me into anything. I want this, okay? I want this. I’m here because I want to be,” she pauses, trusting her words are enough, careful not to say too much… afraid of what too much might do.

The silence that follows is no longer easy and comfortable. It’s suffocating, brittle, raw. It crawls beneath her skin. She knows that look. The way his muscles strain. The faint downturn of his mouth. The way his eyelids droop. As if her words reach him, but don’t quite land. As if he has trouble trusting them.

It shatters her all over again.

All she wants is to reach inside of him and quiet the hurt. Shroud his chest in something soft and warm. Make him trust her. Make him believe her. But how can she blame his reluctance when she remembers the sound of his voice breaking… pleading her to stay as she walked away?

How can she?

And then the thought springs into her mind unbidden, cruel, haunting. But impossible to ignore.

“…Was it because of me?” Her voice cracks at the edges.

The question hangs between them so heavy it feels as though the words might split in half.

“Was what because of you?”

She draws a shaky breath. “The way you held onto that thing…” her shoulders sink, barely keeping herself together. “Clark… why? Why didn’t you let go? What… what were you trying to accomplish?”

Clark doesn’t answer. At least not directly. He can’t.

“Maybe Luthor was right,” he averts his gaze from her misty eyes, fidgeting with his own fingers. “I—I shouldn’t be here. I… I don’t belong.”

It hits her like a punch. “Clark, you don’t mean that.”

“Everyone hates me, Lois.”

“That’s not true.” She shakes her head, reaching for his hand, now slumped by his side. A slow, measured move, as if she’s asking for permission to come closer.

“Yes, it is. I saw it on the news. I saw everything,” his muscles tighten. “The things they said about me. The… the disgust in people’s faces.”

“Clark, people are just… chaotic and complicated. Stagnation drives them crazy. Normalcy bores them. So they cling to anything that’s ‘different’, anything that deviates from the day-to-day monotony. They don’t hate you.”

But again, it’s as if he can hear the words, but they fail to anchor.

“Maybe Krypton was destroyed for a reason. My parents shouldn’t have sent me here. I should’ve just disappeared with the rest of them,” the tears drag lazily down his temples, soaking into the pillow beneath him.

“Clark, stop,” she cries for him in the same way, her breath caught between her chest and throat.

“He’s right. He’s always been right. Everyone would be better off if I wasn’t here.”

Lois sees the pain in his eyes, the anguish. Her fingers tremble on the way up to his face, her knuckles sweeping his tears away tenderly.

“That’s not true, Clark. It’s simply not true.”

“It is. They hate me, Lois. They all hate me,” his head throbs. “I couldn’t even go outside after the news broke. People shouted. Pointed. They threw things. Someone even spat at me.”

Clark swallows, body shaking as if he’s still there. “The kids…” and this is the one that hurts him the most, “…they crossed the street to get away from me. They hid behind their parents…” his voice breaks. “They wouldn’t even look me in the eye.”

The tears continue to fall. Faster, heavier. His eyes are glassy and raw when he finally musters the courage to open them.

“You said so yourself, right? I’m not enough,” he shudders. “…My love isn’t enough.”

The sob tears from deep within her chest. “Clark…” she grips his hand, shaking her head profusely, eyes flooding. “That’s not what I meant,” she chokes. “I didn’t mean your love. I didn’t mean you.”

She stays in his orbit, one hand wrapped around his, the other tracing trembling circles on his cheek. “Not you,” she repeats, grief carved into every broken breath. “Never you.”

His gaze drifts, fixing on nothing in particular. He hears her, but can’t quite bring himself to believe her.

“I interfere in matters that are none of my business,” his voice is quieter now, flatter. “I insert myself where no one’s asked me to be, telling myself I’m only helping. That I’m doing the right thing. But all it does is make things worse. All it does is hurt people. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am.”

Her fingers curl gently around his, thumbs never stopping their soothing motion. “Clark…”

“… I’m not human. I’m an imposter. A monster. A freak. That’s all I’ll ever be.” He leans into her touch, his breath hot and ragged against her wrist.

“Don’t say that. You’re still sick, Clark. You’re not thinking straight,” Lois struggles to keep her voice steady. “You are not a monster. You are so kind and so wonderful. You’re more human than Lex Luthor will ever be. You hear me?”

His eyes are squeezed shut, but even then he can’t hide the dampness still gathering in his lower lids.

“Remember what I said before? About the hot cocoa I made for you? Not only did you take it, you also made a point to tell me how good it was. Even though you were hurting,” her breath hitches. “It was nothing special. It came from a box.”

She leans forward slightly, enough for him to feel her warmth against his cheek.

“That is who you are, Clark. You always put people first. You make sure everyone is all right even when you’re not all right. You wear your heart on your sleeve and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Tears slip quietly but bitterly down her face.

“And you know what else?” Lois waits.

Waits for his heart to calm beneath her palm. Waits for his breathing to slow to a steady rhythm. Waits for his eyes to open and find the light in hers.

“…I love you. All of you. I love your kindness. I love your thoughtfulness. Your optimism, your heart… all of it, Clark. Every little detail that makes you, you.”

“Lois…” he tugs weakly at her hand.

“Shh, sleep now. Your mind needs rest.”

Their eyes meet for the briefest of moments, something fragile and unspoken settling between them.

“When you wake up and you’re well enough to get out of here, I’m taking you to Kansas, okay?” She presses her trembling lips to his palm. “We’re going to see your parents.”

His grip tightens faintly around her fingers.

“Go on, close your eyes. I’ll be right here,” her palm comes to rest gently on his chest, a weak smile on her face.

This time, when sleep takes him, Clark feels safe and at peace.

**

A few days later, after Gary finally agrees to release Clark under very specific conditions, they soar through the skies on the T-craft en route to the Kent farmhouse.

He’s not fully healed yet. Not in body, and certainly not in spirit. Though he’s put back together enough to stand, Lois is certain continued isolation is surely not the fix to the quiet exhaustion he still carries behind his eyes. He needs his parents. Needs the fresh air of home. So Gary eventually yields to her pleas—he knows she’ll take his detailed recovery plan seriously.

Once the T-craft hits cruising speed and everything looks clear ahead, she rotates her chair slightly to the left, turning back to find Clark watching her with a look she can’t quite place.

“What?” She giggles.

“You’re doing that thing…” his lips curve into the hint of a smile.

“What thing?”

“Concentrating so hard you’re sticking your tongue out.”

“No, I’m not,” her ears turn pink.

He chuckles softly now, eyebrows slightly raised. “…It’s kind of hot.”

She almost detects a hint of mischief in him. “You better behave back there, Mister.”

“As you wish, Miss Lane.”

The levity in his aura warms her chest, but she also senses a bit of restlessness.

“Almost there.”

Clark nods, resting his eyes for what feels like a blink before he feels the soft bump of solid ground beneath them. Lois helps him down the steps onto the grassy farm fields, where Ma and Pa come rushing toward him, drawing him into their arms.

Despite being almost twice their size, Clark fits perfectly inside the warmth of their embrace. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Martha’s voice thrums against his hair, warmth and tenderness seeping beneath the Kents’ touch. ‘We love you, son.’ It brings him peace and comfort that transcends words, transcends even thought.

Lois hangs slightly back, standing by the T-craft, a fire kindling in her heart and tears burning in her eyes. Then, without looking up, Martha extends her arm toward her, inviting her to join them.

She hesitates at first, allowing the moment to breathe a while longer between them. When she slips in, her arms wind tightly around Clark’s waist, as if she’s trying to fuse them into one. He folds himself around her, burying his nose against her neck as Pa’s arms come around the group, anchoring them all together. Finally, Clark breathes easy, enveloped in the sunlight of the three people he loves most in the world.

None of them dares let go. Not until Clark makes the first move. Not until Clark is ready. They just cling to each other, not a single dry eye amongst them.

**

Hours later, when the sun begins its quiet descent below the horizon and the world starts to still, Lois comes into his bedroom for the tenth or fifteenth time to check on him. Her heart flutters at the sight of him: peaceful and relaxed, no lines on his face, no tension in his jaw. Just quiet and peaceful sleep at long last.

With a smile, she tiptoes back toward the door, trying her best not to make a sound. Unbeknownst to her, Clark shifts on the bed, blinking slowly to adjust to the orange hues that filter through the window curtains.

“Hey,” his voice carries softly through the air.

She pokes her head back into the room, lingering at the threshold before inching closer to the bed. “Hey… I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Clark shakes his head, slow and sleepy, then edges carefully to one side of the bed, making room for her to settle onto the space beside him. Her hand finds his hair almost instinctively, fingers threading through it with practiced gentleness, her smile soft in the low light.

“How’s my little mummy?”

“Ow,” Clark winces, the chuckle that follows a little too sharp, pulling at something sore. “Hey, I hardly look like a mummy anymore,” he pouts, but it’s playful and lighthearted. The bandages are still there around his arms and chest, but hidden beneath clothes now. It’ll be a while before he no longer needs them, as per Gary’s strict instructions.

Her fingers brush along his jaw, light as feathers. “Seriously,” she murmurs. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods, small and careful, his palm curling around her wrist as if anchoring himself to her.

“You hungry? It’s after five. I could make you some pancakes.”

“I’m okay.”

“Hot cocoa?”

“Mm-mm.”

She squints at him, mock-suspicious. “You’re saying no to pancakes and hot cocoa? Are you sure you’re okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just huffs a quiet laugh. The levity lingers for a breath, then thins, his smile shifting into something more serious, almost somber.

“Lois?”

“…Yeah?”

The space between them narrows, charged with whatever is on his mind. He looks like he’s searching for questions he doesn’t quite trust himself to ask. Neither of them moves, but then Clark’s gaze drifts down and settles on the faint discoloration that dwells on her lower lip, his brows furrowing.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened there?”

Lois knows. She knows that isn’t really what he means to ask, but she answers anyway.

“It’s not important.”

“Stubborn.”

She rasps a quiet laugh, her fingers never stopping their gentle tracing. “You really should eat something.”

“Later.”

She shakes her head, fond despite herself. “At least have some water,” she reaches for the bottle on the nightstand, pressing it into his hand. “You’re dehydrated.”

After a reluctant sip, he smirks faintly, relieved at how much better it actually makes him feel.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Calling me stubborn,” she clicks her tongue. “Now go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon to check on you, okay?”

“No. Don’t go.” The words come out heavier than Clark intends.

“I’ll be right outside.”

He pauses. “What story can be that important right now?”

That catches her off guard. “What?”

“I know that look,” he says quietly. “You’re working, aren’t you? That’s why you’re in such a rush to go.”

“What?” She exhales, a breath caught between honesty and deflection. “No. I mean… I was. And yeah, it was important. But I’m done now.”

“More important than me?”

She doesn’t answer, not directly. Instead, her fingers trace the familiar lines of his jaw, a reassurance she hopes he’ll accept in place of words.

“I’m not in a rush,” she says, gently ruffling his hair. “I just… you need space.”

“You’re a tiny little thing,” his voice dips. “Stay with me? Please?”

She hesitates, only long enough to choose her words. “Okay. But I can’t lie on your chest.”

“How did you know?”

“I know what you like. And I know that look.”

He waits a beat, inhaling deeply. “I do like it when you lie on my chest.”

“I know, baby. I like it too. But we can’t just yet, okay? Gary’s orders. You’re still pretty hurt.”

“Gary also said to do whatever it takes to make me feel better.”

Her lips twitch. “Did he, now? I must have missed that part.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“It’s not the same. I miss holding you and feeling you close to me.”

She smiles, warmth blooming in her veins. “I’ll tell you what… when you’re all better, I’ll lie on your chest for as long as you like. The whole afternoon. The whole weekend. Whatever you want.”

His cheeks warm at the thought, a shy smile pulling at his mouth. He can barely wait.

“…In the meantime,” she says, softer, “I can just lie right here next to you.”

She shifts, easing herself fully into the narrow space beside him, lying on her side. Outside, the hums of the farm fade into something distant and insignificant. They face each other, the room settling between them. Small, soft, familiar.

Before the silence can stretch for too long, a sudden chuckle escapes Clark.

“What?” Lois asks, amused.

“I knew it all along. It was all over your face, you know?”

“What was?”

“How happy you were at the concert.”

She can’t help the smile that crosses her face. “Yeah, yeah. You got me. Now close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at her, open and unguarded.

She blinks softly. “What?”

“I’m a cat,” Clark deadpans. “All I’ve been doing lately is sleep.”

Her laugh is light and genuine. The most genuine laugh she’s had in weeks.

“And you’re going to do some more of it,” she says, brushing her index finger along the bridge of his nose. “Close your eyes.”

“How can I when the alternative is looking at you?”

“Nice try,” she attempts to appear indifferent, but her chest flutters violently.

Still, he doesn’t move, his gaze lingering like he’s memorizing her.

“You’re not a cat,” she murmurs, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “You’re a child. Look at you, fighting those heavy lids.” Her finger traces slow, steady lines, coaxing rest from him.

The sense of relief is like no other. Being here at home, with her. Knowing that he is surrounded by people who want nothing but the best for him. Feeling safe… loved. It’s so overwhelming the tears gather in his eyes before he can stop them. But there is no judgment.

Her fingers move from the bridge of his nose to the corners of his eyes, brushing the tears away, her own breath catching.

She waits until the beating of his heart settles. Then, her voice hits him again, quiet but certain.

“I love you.”

The smile that reaches his lips is almost imperceptible in the darkening room, but she sees it clearly. “I love you too,” he whispers against her touch, pressing his lips lightly to the pad of her thumb.

“Sleep.”

He lets exhaustion finally win, slipping his eyes closed. His body completely relaxes to her constant, grounding touch.

When he wakes up a few hours later, the room is dark and quiet. She’s still beside him, her breathing slow and even, left palm resting gently beneath her cheek. Her other hand curls gently around his fingers. The realization makes his lips curve upward before he closes his eyes again, tightening his grip around her hand. This time, he doesn’t wake again until morning.

**

By the time day breaks, the farmhouse is already alive with the sound of birdsong and the faint chatter coming from the distance. Clark follows the voices into the kitchen, drawn by the simple comfort of knowing he is not alone.

The feel of every single face lighting up at seeing him is something he can’t explain.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, son.”

He pads toward the group, a sunny grin on this face. “Morning.”

Lois doesn’t ask. She just approaches him, handing him the plate of pancakes she put aside for him, already slathered in heaps of chocolate and strawberries, muttering a soft, ‘Morning, Sunshine,’ under her breath.

He scrunches his nose at her before a chuckle escapes him. “Are you trying to make all of us sugar addicts?”

But he takes it with affection and eats the entire pile with a smile, groaning softly after the plates are scraped clean and they’re the only ones left in the kitchen and she leans in to kiss the smear of syrup from the corner of his mouth.

With a teasing smile, Lois coaxes him outside by the arm, where they end up lying on the lush green grass, soaking in the sun.

Lois protects herself from the sweltering rays under the shade of a tree. Clark lies to her left, completely exposed, taking in the radiation, feeling its healing power course through his veins. Their arms stretch toward each other, the tips of their fingers just meeting and curling together.

They find a relaxed rhythm under the sun as the wind howls around them. There are moments of comfortable silence and reserved smiles interspersed with moments of effortless conversation. They talk about nothing in particular for an intentional long while, before the avoided topic inevitably comes up.

Multiverses.

The information they’d been able to gather from Mr. Terrific was limited but it was something.

Unbeknownst to her, the other Lois had been taken from her dimension, kidnapped in effect, by Christopher Smith, a.k.a. Peacemaker. He’d been deceived into believing he’d get his freedom back in exchange for his help. And that they wouldn’t hurt Emilia Harcourt if he cooperated. Unsurprisingly, they had lied to him and threw him right back into Salvation after he placed that Lois in this Clark’s apartment.

“How did everything go with that, by the way?” Clark starts with a restrained tone, careful not to say anything the wrong way. “With, uh… the other ‘you’.”

“She’s back where she belongs,” Lois breathes slowly. “In her world. With her Clark.”

The way her face glows saying ‘her Clark’ sends a shiver through his body.

“They’re married, you know?” Lois continues. “Our counterparts.”

“Yeah, she asked me where my ring was,” Clark pauses in remembrance. “It was a bit disconcerting.”

“…For a year and change,” Lois turns on her side, resting her head on her palm, her elbow propped on the grass. “And she has a tattoo of the House of El crest, too.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw it.”

Clark stops abruptly, eyes widening for a split second, afraid he’s said too much. But Lois continues, unbothered.

“I wonder if I should get one too.”

His head snaps in her direction. “You—you want to get a tattoo of the crest?”

“I think it would look good on me, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Clark stammers, lost in the thought of Lois bearing the House of El crest in her body. An everlasting symbol of her love and devotion. “It—it would.”

“Where do you think it should go?” She lifts her shirt slightly to reveal her unmarked, natural skin.

“You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” Clark splutters, barely able to contain his excitement.

She doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow, a playful laugh escaping her.

“It would—,” he says again, focused on her teasing face, so stunned he can hardly speak. “It would look really good on you.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Maybe I should get one, too?”

“Now, that’s a thought.”

“I’m serious. Maybe I could get one of Earth,” he says. “It’s perfect. Think about it. You, the crest. Me, Earth.”

“And we’d have cute little matching tattoos or something?” Lois smiles. “Well, sort of.”

“You’re right. The Earth could mean literally anything. Or anyone. It has to be something else. Something specific.”

He thinks on it a while longer and regrets his next suggestion the moment he voices it out loud. “What if I got your family symbol? The Lane family shield?”

Their expressions mirror each other in unflinching disapproval.

“Oh, I know,” Clark chuckles, a semblance of mischief crossing his face. “I can just get the spellcheck symbol. Then there is absolutely no mistaking what its meaning is.”

His reflexes are fast and Clark promptly ducks at the acorn cupule that flies in his direction. Though it’s hollow and harmless and wouldn’t hurt him anyway.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” Lois quips, scrunching her nose. “You’re lucky you’re hurt or I’d be coming up there.”

He smiles, lowering his head back to the ground and extending his arm so their fingers brush again. In the silence that follows, Clark hears his heart hammering in his ears, unable to stop the thoughts from creeping in.

“…Do you think there’s a chance they’ll mess with this stuff again? Luthor and his people?”

Lois exhales before responding. “I guess it’s possible. But we are more prepared to deal with it now. Michael has been learning everything he can about it. If it ever happens again, they won’t get away with it that easily.” She squeezes his fingers reassuringly.

“I don’t know what his problem is with me…”

His face turns darker, more subdued. He remembers the last he’s seen on the news, the things people said about him, the way they treated him. The words ‘hated’ and ‘inadequate’ take over his thoughts like an avalanche.

Lois notices this, turning to face him with a concerned look. “Clark? Don’t go there.”

His face drops. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she sits up, closing the distance between them. “Just, don’t dwell on things that aren’t true. Don’t even think about giving these lies the light of day. Okay?”

“I just… I don’t understand. All I’ve ever done was try to be good and just.”

“You are.”

“Then why?”

Her palms come to cup his face, eyes reflecting the sparkling light of the sun. “If you try to make sense of everything, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. Some things are just what they are and not worth your energy.”

He leans into the solace that seeps through her touch.

“He’ll pay,” her thumb brushes his cheekbone in soft, rhythmic strokes. “Lex Luthor will pay. They both will.”

Clark finds her gaze, recognition crossing his features.

“You mean… the General?”

Lois just nods faintly, not wanting to give it too much thought.

“He…” Clark swallows. “He’s still your dad.”

She shakes her head, shoulders tensing. “Not after this. Not after what he did to you. I don’t want him in my life… in our lives.”

Lois sees it in the way he looks at her, and it’s so much like him. Guilt. As if he is to blame for her decision of not wanting to see Sam again. As if Sam himself wasn’t the one responsible for finally crossing that line and driving a wedge between them.

“Hey,” her words are soft as she rubs his face. “Don’t worry about it.”

Despite the momentary relief, he can’t keep the pressure from crowding his chest. Even after her continued words of reassurance.

“Lois… I’m sorry,” his breath catches. “I’m so sorry I can never take back what I did. I know you said it was still you, but…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Clark. They manipulated you. Manipulated all of us.”

“I would never ever betray you like that.”

“I know this. And you didn’t,” she assures, brows meeting slightly in a frown. “In all the time that I’ve known you, I have never doubted your loyalty, your character. Never.”

“I…” Clark starts, but his words fail him.

“I forgive you, okay? I don’t have to, because you didn’t do anything wrong. But if this is what you need to hear, then hear me, Clark. I forgive you. Forgive yourself, too.”

He holds his breath, then leans forward to rest his cheek on her shoulder. He’s spent, wrung out, but loses himself in the comfort of her fingers curling against his hair.

“It’s all going to be okay,” she whispers against his ear, eyes falling shut like his. “Everything will sort itself out. I promise.”

“How do you know?”

She pulls back to meet his eyes, poking the tip of his nose with a gentle tap. “It’s inevitable.”

The smile that reaches his lips is small, but there.

“You know,” Lois continues, running a hand through his face. “Michael did a fair share of exploring before he located Lois’s door. He came across some really interesting stuff. There are like, multitudes of universes out there.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “A lot more than we thought. He didn’t want to tell me at first, but I convinced him. Do you know what he found during his research?”

Clark shakes his head, entranced by the grin illuminating her face.

“Well,” she tilts her head, hands settling on his shoulders. “There’s her world, where we’ve been married for over a year.”

“Yeah…”

“I talked to her for a little bit. She told me saying yes to you was the easiest choice she’s ever made. And that married life is wonderful.”

He goes very still, heart thrumming loudly in his chest.

“A whole year,” Lois emphasizes, eyes dreamy. “Can you believe that?”

“I—yeah, kind of. Does that surprise you that much?”

“No,” she reassures him. “I just… knowing all this stuff is actually real and not something out of a theoretical journal is just so… well, surreal.”

“That it is,” Clark watches her carefully, holding his breath in his chest. “…Was there more?”

Lois nods, almost to herself, as if she’s mapping the realities in her head. “In another one… we’ve known each other since high school.”

“We met in high school?”

“Apparently.”

“And…” Clark hesitates, his breath catching. “We’re together there, too?”

Lois nods, the sunny smile on her face never fading.

“Since high school?”

“I don’t know that we’ve been together since, but that’s where we met. And we’re certainly together now.”

Clark laughs soundlessly, almost in disbelief. “I can’t… I can’t even imagine what you were like in high school. I’ve never even seen pictures.”

“And it’ll stay that way.”

“Aw, come on.”

“Just think fishnet stockings and lots of black eyeliner.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle at the wide smile that spreads across his face. “Punk rock.”

He pauses for a moment, taking everything in. “You’re right. This is all so… so crazy, but also so cool.”

“That’s not all of it,” Lois comes closer, shaking her head. “In this other one, you have some help fighting crime and bullies. And no, I’m not talking about the Justice Gang.”

“Oh?”

Her smile widens. “Kara. Krypto,” she intentionally pauses, reaching for his cheek. “…Our children.”

Clark’s breath catches again. “Children? Plural?”

Lois nods. “The Superfamily I believe is what the moniker is.”

He presses his palms to the grass more intensely with each new recount, trying to ground himself. One where they leave the hustle and bustle of Metropolis for the quiet farm life of Kansas. One where they marry young and raise their girls to become heroes of their own. One where they never tire of the reporter life at the Daily Planet and go on to fight crime in a more unconventional way, with the written word.

“And those are just the ones Michael was able to get information on,” her voice finds him again, shifting into something softer. “There were many, many others he never even looked at. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Wonder what?”

“How small the universe really is. How even in alternate dimensions, nothing ever changes. Imagine that.” Lois blinks slowly, reaching for him.

Clark takes her hand, but otherwise sits very still. “What are you saying, Lois?”

She inches closer until there is no space left between them.

“I’m saying… in every universe there is, you’re here. On Earth,” her hand comes to cup his face. “In every universe, you belong. You belong right here, Clark”

The world goes strangely quiet and still.

“I’m saying… in every universe, it’s us. In every universe, I love you.”

“Lois…”

“Every version of me loves every version of you. There isn’t a single dimension out there in which this isn’t true. Not one,” Lois presses her lips together, eyes locking with his. “…Including this one.”

His face beams so bright it pinches at her chest. Bringing his lips over hers, Clark cradles her face, curling his fingers against her jaw. The kiss is soft, measured. They move together in a rhythm that is comfortably familiar, pulling each other closer by the neck.

A shared chuckle muffles the sound of the cows grazing the green pastures. When they part for a quick breath of air, their foreheads fall together, warmth settling deep in both their chests.

**

Martha meets them at the front door as they walk back to the house hand in hand, a sense of urgency in her.

“I was just coming to get you. Come see this.”

They stand in front of the television as yet another breaking news report comes on. It starts with Mr. Terrific presenting irrefutable proof that all the videos from before had been manipulations. He explains how Lex Luthor had been able to fool the citizens of Metropolis and the world yet again, exposing his agenda in detail.

Clark’s grip tightens around her hand with every testimony, every civilian apology, every chant of his name. Lois watches him more than she watches the news, heart proud and warm. And when Ma and Pa aren’t looking, too distracted by the broadcast, she stands on her toes to catch the tear that gathers in his lashes before it has the chance to fall.

“This was you, wasn’t it?”

“Huh?” Lois acts innocent, but her smile is all the answer he needs.

“This is what you were working on yesterday when you kept coming in and out my bedroom, wasn’t it? You exposed him. You exposed Luthor again.”

“Someone had to,” she shrugs like it’s no trouble at all. Because it isn’t. Not for him. “With a little help from my friends. Your friends, Clark. Your friends who love you. Your friends who adore you.”

He doesn’t have to thank her, it’s all over his face. The way he stands. The way he lowers himself to envelop his arms around her. The way his body shudders gently as he releases a shaky breath. Yet, his lips brush her ear with the appreciative words anyway.

“Oh, please, baby,” Lois waves it off, holding onto him.

The relief that floods his senses is unlike anything else, but short-lived. Before long, the television is blasting with the news of a new crisis across borders. He’s in his Superman suit in a flash, making his way out into the farmland with sheer determination.

Lois follows him, slowly going down the porch steps, through the grassy fields, until she reaches him. Clark turns to face his true north, wraps his arms around her and breathes her in.

“I need to go. I need to help them.”

“I know.”

His fingers massage her back, tangling in the strands of her hair before he pulls back to look at her.

“Wait for me?”

Her lips curve into a smile. “Always.”

He kisses her fiercely, palms resting on either side of her cheeks. Lois responds in kind, breaking the contact only briefly to rest her forehead against his. “Be careful,” she breathes. “You haven’t fully recovered yet.”

He nods, pressing his lips to her parted ones once more. Clark looks up to find Ma and Pa standing by the front door, waving and smiling. He returns the warm gesture, then turns back to her. His fingers brush her jawline in slow strokes before he disappears into the sky with a woosh.

The three watch the television as it covers Superman’s every move. Every time he takes a hit, Lois winces and white-knuckles the couch cushions beside her. At one point, it seems like he’s staying down. He lies immobile for what feels like an eternity to them. But it’s him. So he picks himself right back up and sees the fight through to the end.

Once it's over, he only stays long enough to welcome the rushing children into his arms. He folds himself to hold them, the weight he’d been carrying in his heart before lifting like a feather catching in the wind. But he’s not interested in the media coverage. So he just makes sure everyone is safe and unharmed then shrinks into a blur in the sky, disappearing behind the skyscrapers.

Lois rushes out the door to find the blue and red outline come into focus as he descends into the plains of the Kent farm. Once he hits the ground, he runs toward her and they meet halfway, colliding into each other. Ma and Pa watch from a distance with blissful joy, waiting by the steps with their own share of hugs and kisses. Clark and Lois stay there, clinging to each other like there’s an invisible tether between them.

“Are you okay?” She pulls back enough to meet his eyes. “Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the Fortress?” Her fingertips trace the lines of his suit.

Clark shakes his head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

He just nods, enveloping his arms around her waist.

“Did you see that?” He lets out an overjoyed chuckle.

“I did.”

“The kids didn’t run away from me,” he continues. “They don’t hate me.”

“No, they don’t. They ran toward you.”

Clark cracks a shy smile, emphasizing his dimples in a way that tugs at her heartstrings. She’d missed those. The look on his face is so pure in the light of the sun, it makes her chest overflow with love.

“Come,” her fingers rub the back of his head affectionately. “Let’s get you inside.”

**

Lois helps him out of his suit, exposing the fresh cuts and old burn marks that linger on his chest. She tends to the new wounds first, stopping the trickles of blood and disinfecting the area with a soft touch. Clark watches her work, barely able to breathe.

Just then, Ma and Pa walk in to check on them. “You kids okay?”

Martha’s hands sink gently into Clark’s locks, while Jonathan squeezes his shoulders where there aren’t any bruises. They both give Lois an appreciative, ‘Thank you for taking such good care of your son,’ look. She smiles in return.

“We’re good,” they answer in unison.

“We’re turning in. Let us know if you need anything.”

After goodnights are exchanged and the Kents leave, Lois keeps laser-focused on him. She moves with determination, moistening the gauze sponge in water, squeezing off the excess, then ever so gently running it up and down the faint traces of his burns. A different kind of burn stings at the back of her eyes, and Clark readily notices the tears gathering.

“Hey,” he brushes her cheekbone with his thumb. “What is it, love? Why the tears? Hm?”

She shakes her head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing.”

But he doesn’t let her off that easily. “It’s not nothing. You’re crying.”

Again, she shakes her head. But the tears fall down her cheeks now, betraying her.

“Lois, I’m all right. Really,” Clark assures her. “I know it doesn’t look great, but it doesn’t even hurt anymore. I promise.”

“I know. I just…” she lets out a slow breath. “You’re a very special person, Clark.”

The sight of him… the kindest, most deserving soul, sitting in front of her, laid bare, marked with the shadows of the choice he’d made that day. The choice she’d forced him to make. It tightens her chest with the cruelest, most crushing pain of all. The pain of regret.

“And I’m the worst person in the world,” she blurts out.

“Lois, you’re not…”

“No, I am. I kicked you when you were already down.”

“Lois, you are far from being the worst person in the world. You’re not even in the same stratosphere.”

“That’s how it feels like,” she chokes out. “For letting him get to me like that. Him, of all people. I know better. So much better.”

Lois edges away from him, just a smidge. Not in rejection, but self-punishment, because allowing Sam’s words to dictate her actions seems absurd now given their history. Because she thinks there is no part of her that doesn’t deserve to feel this pain.

But Clark stops her, pulling her closer, and Lois doesn’t fight it. She lets him tangle his fingers in her hair. Lets the warm press of his cheek to her shoulder calm her. Lets her own arms come around his torso, locking him in.

“I… I’m sorry,” she sobs. The tears come in waves, refusing to stop.

He waits for her body to stop shaking before pulling back to meet her gaze.

“Listen,” his voice is low. “I’m not going to lie to you and say that seeing you walk away like that wasn’t painful. I really did think you wanted nothing to do with me anymore. And that hurt more than any amount of kryptonite ever could.”

“And that’s why you…” she can’t even bring herself to say it.

“No, no,” Clark knows exactly what she means to ask. “That wasn’t the only reason. I…” he feels embarrassed for letting them convince him the world would be a better place without him. “It’s like you said. I wasn’t thinking straight. I let Luthor get to me.”

She leans forward, resting her forehead against his. “But you know now you belong here.”

“I do. But that’s what I’m saying,” his palms rest on either side of her face, rubbing her cheeks. “I’m not the only one they manipulated, Lois. You were also a victim in all of this.” A smile crosses his face then, heaviness lifting. “So we both know a little something about letting other people get in our heads.”

She can’t help but return the smile, but picks the thread back up. “I need you to know that me leaving had nothing to do with how I feel about you, Clark. That was never a question. I… I thought I was holding you back.”

“You’re not.” There’s no doubt in his voice. “I don’t believe in anything my biological parents stand for. I don’t agree with any of it. Not the part about Krypton’s legacy. Not the part about humans being confused and weak. None of it.”

“I know.”

“All that matters to me is that we’re together.”

“Me too,” she nods heartily, still misty-eyed. “Just like in those other worlds, whether we’re celebrating our anniversary, or fighting crime as a family, or living a quieter life… that’s what I want for us, too.”

She takes a breath, then continues.

“It seems they’re all one step ahead of us already,” she teases. “I think it’s time we give them a run for their money, don’t you?”

Clark tilts his head, wondering whether he’s reading too much into her words.

“Are—are you implying what I think you’re implying? Because I really think I should be the one to ask.”

Lois chuckles, face beaming. “I’m not asking. I’m just giving you information. What you choose to do with that information is up to you. I don’t even know if this is something you want.”

“Oh, I want it,” Clark stumbles over his words. “Of course I want it. I just… I want it to be special.”

“Then surprise me. And whenever you’re ready, you know what my answer will be.”

“You mean that?”

She nods slowly, never breaking eye contact.

Clark leans forward, kissing the bridge of her nose first, then the apple of her cheek. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” she murmurs against him. “I love you, too.”

She captures his upper lip between hers, sending a ripple down his chest. They move slowly, tasting each other as if uncertain of the coming of tomorrow. Clark glances up once to find her hovering in place, eyes closed and lips parted. Tipping his forehead toward hers, he brushes her mouth softly, deepening the kiss until they’re completely lost in each other and left breathless.

She chuckles then, a bubbly laugh that rumbles through his ribs as much as it does her own.

“What are you giggling about?” His lips part from hers with a distinct pop.

“When we get married, I call dibs on Michael.”

“What?”

“I’m going to ask him to be my maid of honor.”

Clark grins, utterly amused. “Can I be there when you ask him? There’s nothing I want more than to see the look on his face.”

“Joke’s on you, Kent. I know he’ll be thrilled.”

Lois nudges his shoulder, leaning in to kiss him mid-laugh.

**

Later, in the late hours of the night, after everything is said and done and the world quiets down to the sound of owls hooting and insects chirping, Clark grunts softly, fingers twisting around her hair as she helps him ride out his pleasure.

“Hey, hey. Come here. Come up here,” he rasps through clenched teeth.

She obliges, carefully crawling up his body to straddle his lap. She’s wearing nothing but one of his flannel shirts, unbuttoned and open just enough to expose her skin to him, the curve of her breasts peeking out the corners.

Lois sinks onto him, kissing the scars on his chest with tender lips. Clark pushes up toward her, hitting her in a way that drags a moan from her throat. He withdraws and rises to strike the same spot, burying ravenous kisses in the valley between her breasts.

As she holds onto the wall for support, her body starts twitching in a way both of them know particularly well.

“You close, baby?” His teeth graze steadily up her jaw to the edge of her ear, suckling at her lobe.

Lois nods, biting down at her lip to stifle her whimpers. She moves with him, back arching as her hips find a steady rhythm that matches his.

“Right there, baby,” he sputters. “You always get it so right. God, you’re so beautiful.”

In one single motion, Clark pushes his hip up while pulling her down to him, sending a heatwave down her spine. Despite the spams that numb her body, Lois clenches her walls around him, tugging up until he reaches his own release.

She lets her head fall limply against him as Clark runs a hand up and down her slick back.

“You okay, baby?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you hate that?”

She tilts her head, a quizzical look on her face.

“It’s just, I know you like things a bit more… fast-paced.”

She grins, brushing her nose against his. “I’m nothing but open to new experiences. And no. I didn’t hate it. Not even a little bit.”

Clark tastes the cocoa they’d shared earlier on her tongue, lips soft against hers. “I like it this way. This way, I can look into your eyes. I can kiss you better. I can feel your chest against mine. Our hearts beating as one.”

The look on her face is pensive, almost melancholic.

“What?” He asks.

“You’re going to make me fall in love with you even more.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad. I just… didn’t think it possible.”

His bright smile is once more marked by deep indentations on his cheeks, one so sweet it makes her heart swell.

Her thumbs brush his face, inevitably stopping at the hollows on either side. “I hope you never stop smiling like this.”

“I don’t think I will.”

With a smile of her own, Lois leans against his chest with instinctive care, mindful of the welts and scratches.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, and don’t you dare move.”

Slowly, their breathing pushes from erratic and uneven to slow and calm. And later, when his lids start to feel heavy, he doesn’t fight them like before. Lets them sink at once. He dreams easy, comforted by the certainty of what tomorrow holds.

**

It’s almost implausible just how regular the day feels.

That fateful Friday, almost four months ago now, was supposed to be theirs. Cooking together, dinner, watching something unimportant on tv, talking all the way through the night. They hadn’t counted on things derailing so catastrophically and changing their lives forever.

Normalcy isn’t immediately restored after that. It has nothing to do with them and everything to do with the circumstances.

Between dealing with Sam and Lex and the aftermath of their actions, the ramifications with the government and the public, and Clark’s return visits to the Fortress—his healing, life had remained amiss for a while.

Until now. This Friday, the world feels predictable and steady.

Clark leaves the Daily Planet, swings by the flower shop, and makes it to his apartment by 7 p.m.

“Hey,” he greets her with a smile, one she readily reciprocates.

That’s their first tell. It already feels right.

Clark closes the distance, pulling her toward him with hungry eyes. But Lois keeps him at arm’s length, stopping the kiss on his lips with an index finger.

But it’s playful and all in keeping with a little routine they’d devised in order to avoid another misunderstanding.

“Ask first, kiss later,” she teases.

“Hmph,” he sighs in frustration, standing so close his breath fans over her mouth.

“Clark, I’m serious,” she chuckles, but makes no motion to back away.

“I know it’s you.”

It’s not so much about intention anymore. What started off as caution and protection had turned into a playful ritual. One they’d grown quite fond of.

“Okay,” he concedes. “How long?”

“Three months after our first date.”

“And what was on the menu?”

“Pancakes, eggs, and bacon.”

“And what else?”

“You pouted all the way through that interview,” Lois laughs, lost in the warmth of his breath against hers.

“You were mean!”

“I wasn’t mean. I was preparing you for what a real interview looks like, Superman,” she bites her bottom lip, flirtatious and coy. “My colleague Clark Kent? He’s too soft.”

“Is that so?” He raises a brow, resting his fingers on the back of her neck.

“Hmm, yeah,” she pauses, remembering. “You looked so hot that night. All I wanted to do was jump your bones.”

His chest rumbles beneath her palm. “I know. I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

“You sure did.”

His expression turns more solemn before he continues.

“And this?” Clark peels the neckline of her shirt to reveal her cleavage. His fingers slide across the symbols on the top of her right bosom in black print. Nine letters, spelling out his name in the Kryptonian language.

Her hands snake up his button-down in response. The shirt drops to their feet soundlessly as Lois’s gaze falls to the characters below his left pec. Kryptonian letters just like hers, only eight of them instead of nine. Her name.

“We got it three months ago. After we came back home.”

“Do you remember that day?”

“Boy, do I ever.”

The tattoos sit on opposite sides of their bodies and at different levels such that the etchings come in contact when they hold each other, but offset enough that individually they rest right by their hearts.

“Is it weird that this makes me feel even more connected to you somehow?” His fingers send a rush through her spine as they brush the symbols again.

Lois shakes her head. “I feel the same way.”

“We covered everything, right?” Clark doesn’t wait. Before she has the chance to answer, his lips cover hers in a kiss so intoxicating they both feel it everywhere.

**

Everything that follows goes according to plan. They slip into a familiar rhythm while in the kitchen cooking dinner. They eat by the windows under the flickering glow of candlelight. They make love, slow and sensual first, then hot and fast, putting on their favorite act: it is Clark’s first time and Lois is more than happy to take the lead and ‘teach him’.

By the time they make it out of the shower and back into the living room to watch his favorite comedy, Lois is already drifting. She curls up to him in the chaise lounge before the episode even starts. Clark pulls the covers over her shoulders, placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

“Will you bring me to bed when your show is over?”

“I can take you now if you want to be more comfortable.”

“No. I want to stay here with you. If it’s not a bother.”

“Bother?” Clark scoffs lightly. “Baby, you’re lying here in my arms. I’m in Heaven.” He pauses for a moment, ears turning faintly pink. “I didn’t mean for that to sound like a Bryan Adams song.”

Lois huffs a snort, peeking up at him with one eye, heart fluttering. “Goober.”

Her head falls back to his chest and the apartment quiets down to the faint hum of the tv on the background.

“Don’t forget,” he whispers. “We need to get up early tomorrow if we want to catch that sunrise.”

Clark hopes she doesn’t notice his heart racing when he uses his x-ray vision to look into his messenger bag. For the seventh time that night, his nerves settle once he spots the velvet ring box inside the very same pocket.

She groans softly. Clark had told her about the special trail weeks ago. A sunrise unlike any other, according to all the reviews. “You’re still set on doing that?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, checking for the ring yet again. “I promise it’ll be worth it,” he tries controlling his ragged breathing. “I need you to not be crabby.”

“I won’t,” she nudges his neck with her nose, already half asleep.

Clark breathes easy, twisting his fingers softly against her scalp. “Night, baby.”

“Night,” her voice is barely audible. “…Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Clark brings his attention back to the tv box and tries not to laugh too hard at the funny bits. But Lois continues to sleep soundly, breath even and slow.

When he carries her to the bedroom later, his grip is firm around her frame. He holds her like she’s made of porcelain, carefully lowering her to her side of the bed, a gentle hand on the back of her head. He slides under the covers himself and before long, she’s back by his side, nestling across his ribs like he’s a magnet.

Clark goes over his speech in his head, mouthing the words softly against her temple. He inhales the sweet marigold scent in her hair, heart floating at the thought of tomorrow. As the hours stretch and the night settles, he finally allows himself to drift, relishing in the best feeling in the world. The feeling of her lying on his chest.

CHAPTER ONE: FRACTURE

Lex Luthor marches down the narrow passage, his sluggish footsteps bouncing off Belle Reve’s concrete walls.

A guard escorts him through a security checkpoint, past the reinforced glass, and into a claustrophobic interview room. The heavy doors lock behind him with a metallic buzz.

Sitting at the far end of the room is a man with immaculate posture. The rows of colorful ribbons, sharp insignia, and glinting stars adorn his pristine uniform.

Lex sinks onto the chair opposite him with a scornful chuckle. “General Lane,” he pauses for effect. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Luthor,” his tone is detached, eyes perusing him with something akin to amusement. “You let a little dog do that to you?”

“Little?” Lex retorts. “Have you seen the thing? I’d love to see how you’d fare against that ‘little’ dog.”

Sam lets his taunting grin grow wider.

“I don’t suppose you came all the way here to mock me, General.” Lex’s grip tightens around his crutch, his knuckles turning white.

“Of course not,” he turns serious in an instant. “I am here because I need your help.”

“My help?”

“We have a common enemy,” Sam deadpans, shifting his expression back into something mirthless.

“Do we, now?”

“This… alien,” he continues, not wasting time. “My daughter is becoming too close with him. I’ve tried putting a stop to it. I’ve tried everything I can think of to come between them… to make her see the light,” he sighs. “Nothing has worked.”

Lex raises an eyebrow, a derisive grin on his face. “Your daughter?”

“Lois Lane. Reporter for the Daily Planet.”

“I know who your daughter is, General,” his eyes turn somber. “She’s the reason why I’m here.”

A crackling silence falls between them.

“So… you’re not a fan.”

Lex studies him for a beat. “Exactly what is it that you came here for? A man as important as yourself doesn’t travel thousands of miles to discuss their family issues.”

“Like I said. Common enemy,” the General exhales slowly.

“So you want me to…” Lex pauses, measuring his words. “…Help you help your daughter?”

“Right.” A wicked smile spreads across his face. “I need to… nudge her in the right direction. Make her see him for the menace that he really is.” Sam holds a stoic stance. “…I need her to suffer.”

“That’s cruel even for you, General.”

“She’s stubborn,” he folds his arms across his chest. “If she needs to learn her lesson the hard way, then so be it. I am only looking out for her.”

“Clearly.”

“I don’t want him near her. I don’t want him putting his filthy hands on her. This ‘superhero’, this abomination… he can’t be trusted and I won’t have him disrupting the unity of my family.”

“Funny because that is exactly what I have always tried warning you imbeciles about. And where did it get me?” Lex gestures toward his bright orange jumpsuit.

“Maybe we can come to an agreement.”

That does it. Finally, the General earns his full attention. Lex sits back, relaxing onto his chair. “I’m listening.”

Sam leans in closer, shoulders tight, gaze steadfast and ruthless.

“What do you know about this Quantum Unfolding Chamber?” He pauses, lowering his voice. “…And red kryptonite?”

**

“Have a good weekend, Nino,” Clark calls behind him as he steps out the revolving doors of the Daily Planet. Chatter fills the streets of Metropolis with that signature excited buzz of people coming together to enjoy their Friday night.

Despite the draining week, and day, his stress readily dissipates into the crisp air at the thought of the evening they have planned. And her.

Clark beams, twisting his wrist to check the time. It’s still early enough. He can easily detour into his favorite flower shop in the corner, with time to spare.

The bell above the door chimes gently as he steps into the store. The sweet, organic smells inside are a welcome contrast to the bullpen.

“Great choice,” the teen behind the counter utters excitedly as she rings him up. “Any special occasion?”

“Oh, that’s Clark, honey,” the florist emerges from the back, introducing him to his daughter. “He’s a regular. This is just a regular Friday for him.”

The girl smiles, handing Clark the exuberant flower arrangement. “Your girlfriend is really lucky,” her cheeks tingle. “…Or boyfriend.”

Clark chuckles, nodding in appreciation. Pleasantries are exchanged between the trio before he exits the shop, thinking how he is the one who’s lucky.

He keeps the flowers carefully tucked against the crook of his elbow as he walks, mindful of every leaf and petal.

The moment he makes it home, the glasses are off, clattering against the surface of the console table. He drops the messenger bag onto the floor, slowly making his way toward the kitchen, where he spots her standing by the stove.

Her silky locks bounce as she turns to look at him, a hint of annoyance on her face.

“You’re late.”

The faint tick of the kitchen clock draws his gaze. The pointers read a perfect 6:45 p.m. As he suspects.

“It’s 15 minutes to the hour,” Clark’s not defensive or looking to win an argument. He just states it as the practical fact that it is.

“Right,” she keeps her eyes fixed on him, trying to ignore the dazzling bouquet he’s holding. “You’re 45 minutes late.”

“But,” Clark shakes his head, searching his brain. “We said we were meeting at seven tonight.”

“We said six.”

“Was someone too immersed in work again to even listen to what I was saying?”

“I was listening to you, Clark. We said six.”

“Baby, we said seven. My shift ended at six tonight. There’s no way I would’ve made it in time if I had said six.” He traipses over to her with a smile so disarming it infuriates her.

Each remembers their earlier conversation vividly. Lois recalls agreeing on six o’clock. Clark, on seven. Yet, both also recognize the sincerity in the other. They’re not making excuses… each truly believes they have the right time.

“I only stopped for these,” Clark continues, offering her the bouquet. His free hand reaches out to brush the line of her jaw. “Aren’t you going to take them?”

The cellophane paper crinkles against her fingers as she brings the flowers to her nose, peony and lavender invading her senses.

“They’re beautiful,” she returns his smile. His stupid smile. “Thank you.”

The closer he gets to her, the more he feels it. A lascivious need for her unlike anything he’s ever known. He always wants her, can’t get enough of her. But tonight, it feels different. Almost supernatural.

The push is so strong he even forgets to ask her if she’s coming down with something—her voice doesn’t sound quite the same. Something about its cadence feels strange, unlike herself. He can’t exactly pinpoint what.

Lois sets the bouquet to the side and welcomes Clark’s arms around her with a contented sigh.

“These need water,” she laughs, shivering at the teasing brush of his lips on her neck.

“In a minute,” he lifts her up by the waist with a grin, grasping her legs to wrap them around him as her rear hits the counter.

A chuckle escapes her, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. With fumbling hands, she traces the length of his chest, fingers coming to cover his bare hand when she abruptly opens her eyes, head snapping back with a jerk.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, brows furrowing.

“Clark,” her eyes settle on his left hand, “…where is your ring?”

“My what?”

She sighs, exasperated. “Clark, if this is your idea of a joke…”

“I don’t—,”

His gaze focuses on what looks like a ruby sparkling on the outside of her ring finger. Next to it, rests a shiny white gold band.

The red reflects deeply in his irises. Whatever confusion briefly strikes him is just as quickly replaced with something else. Suddenly, his mind is a jumble. Suddenly, the urge to have her is greater than he can resist.

Lois is useless to protest, her own mind going blank at the press of his lips to hers. Curling her fingers behind his neck, she returns the kiss without restraint.

Clark pulls her shirt over her shoulders and tosses it onto the floor, lips coming to meet hers again. With a shared smile, Clark watches her hands move south to unbuckle his belt, his gaze falling on the House of El crest in rich red and yellow colors etched on her hip.

This time, his head lurches back, eyes wide. “Lois?” He gasps. “You got a tattoo?”

“Clark, what’s gotten into you?” She’s met with a blank expression that annoys her more than she cares to admit. “Just drop it, okay? It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, Lois. I—,” he looks genuine in his puzzlement.

Lois huffs. “I’ve had this for months. Don’t tell me you don’t remember?”

Still, nothing.

“I got it for our anniversary? Came home and surprised you with it? You were so excited you finally agreed to…” she pauses, winking at him with a coy smile, “…give it a go. You know, out there.”

His crave for her isn’t gone, much less with the way she’s recounting this tale, but he resists the urge to gravitate toward her. It physically hurts him, like having the air knocked off his lungs.

“…It was windy,” she continues. “Your cape kept slapping you in the butt,” Lois chuckles, eyes glinting. “You were blushing all the way through it. Much like you are right now.”

“I…” Clark shakes his head, searching the depths of his mind for such lovely a memory, wishing he’d been part of it, but he doesn’t find it.

They are so wrapped up in the moment, and each other, they don’t even notice the approaching footsteps. All they hear is a faint rumble bouncing off the walls as it slowly edges closer to them.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I ended up falling asleep at my place. Turns out I was super tired. I tried your phone, but didn’t get any answer. Something really weird happened…”

Clark’s chest tightens, head snapping in the direction of the kitchen entryway. The voice carries that familiar rasp that sends shivers down his spine when whispered in his ear.

“…I would’ve come sooner, but I wanted to make a quick stop to bring you your favorite…” Lois walks into Clark’s kitchen to find him leaning against the counter. But he’s not alone. Wrapping her legs around his waist, is another woman.

She stops dead on her tracks.

Their eyes meet and immediately the fog in his brain is gone, as if a spell has just been lifted. But the hurt he sees in her is harrowing.

Clark takes a step back, stumbling over the crumpled blouse at his feet. The woman sitting in front of him releases her limbs from around him, a stunned look on her face.

Making matters worse, where one confusion ends, another begins. He glances between the two women and sees the same person. Lois.

But the Lois who’s just walked into the room doesn’t see herself. She sees someone else. A beautiful blonde with perfectly straight hair, a flawlessly small nose, pointed chin, and some other characteristics she doesn’t care to pay attention to.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she drops the plastic bag onto the floor, takeout containers spilling all over, and rushes out.

It’s unlike her to react so viscerally, to let her emotions get the best of her. But something about the look on Clark’s face holding that stranger, the look she believed was reserved for her and only her… it stirs something within, breaking her.

“Lois! Wait!” He makes a start to go after her, but abruptly stops, interrupted by the Lois that stays behind in the kitchen.

“Clark?” She climbs down from the counter, as dumbfounded as the rest of them. She’s just seen her doppelgänger walk in on her and Clark, after all.

“I…” he picks her shirt up from the floor, handing it to her. “Sorry, do you mind waiting here for a little bit?”

“I don’t understand…”

“Just wait here, okay? Please.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, disappearing in a flash after Lois, his Lois.

She’s long gone by the time he reaches the cold Metropolis streets, his heart heavy. His superpowers are all but useless. He can’t find her, can’t hear her. All his phone calls and texts go unanswered.

Clark has no idea where she is, where she’s gone. He tries her apartment, but she isn’t there. Calls everyone he can think of, but no one’s heard from her. With a dejected sigh, he leaves a note on her coffee table, begging her to call him back.

When he returns to his apartment, the other Lois is sitting on the couch in his living room, arms wrapped around her waist.

He locks the door, eyes small and downcast.

“Clark,” she rises, not looking so chirpy herself, “…what is going on?”

“I… you saw that, right?”

“Yeah, that was… me.”

“I don’t understand. Did she not see that it was you? That it was her?” Clark ponders, trying to make sense of everything.

If Lois, the Lois he so desperately loves, had in fact seen a carbon copy of herself… why did she run away like that?

Once more, his eyes are drawn to the ring on her finger, irises turning a deep shade of red. Only this time, Lois is on his mind, repelling the impulses that threaten to break him. The crimson rock shines brighter when his gaze befalls it.

Abruptly, Clark straightens up, a flash of realization striking his face.

“Lois, what is that?”

“That… is my ring, Clark,” she can’t hide the frustration she feels. That is until she takes a closer look at her left hand, only to realize something is different, foreign.

“Actually… maybe it isn’t,” her eyes grow wider. “Clark, is this…?” She gasps, her open palm coming to cover her mouth.

Red kryptonite.

He disappears behind his bedroom door, returning an instant later with a small, ashen box. “Here. It’s lead-lined.”

Lois understands immediately, setting the ring inside to block its effect.

“Clark…”

“I know,” he nods. “Come with me.”

**

“Hey, Clark,” Mr. Terrific turns around in his chair to greet him. He pauses then, looking past Clark’s shoulder with curious brows. “Everything all right? Who’s this?”

“It’s me, Michael,” she huffs, irritation creeping in. “Lois?”

“You’re not Lois,” he scoffs.

They exchange a look. The drive over had given them plenty of time to swap stories and catch up… theorize. To try and make sense of it all. Not that it had helped. If anything, it had only made things more confusing.

“That’s what we thought. And exactly why we need your help.”

Michael frowns. “What the hell is going on?”

“Where do we even begin?”

“You won’t believe this.”

Their voices overlap as the story spills out. It’s fragmented and muddled. Despite their best effort, the three interrupt each other with questions and sighs of disbelief.

About half an hour later, Michael just sits there, staring at them, mouth slightly agape. Floored.

There’d been some buzz about a so-called ‘Quantum Unfolding Chamber’ on the streets, an interdimensional portal of sorts. A doorway into alternative universes. Experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely, however.

“Where is Lois now?” Michael turns to Clark. “The, uh,” he clears his throat. “…the other Lois,” he stops himself from saying ‘the real Lois’ just in time.

Clark shrugs, chest tightening. “I haven’t been able to reach her yet.”

“What we don’t understand,” the present Lois interrupts, trying to take his mind off the pain. “…Is why Clark is seeing, well… me. But you aren’t, and she didn’t.”

“We’ll find out,” Mr. Terrific assures them. “Will you let me run some tests?”

“Of course.”

Michael peers at her, doing a quick scan, brows drawing closer together. “Do you wear contacts, by any chance?”

“No,” she replies.

“Well, you’re wearing them now.” He shines one of his specialty lights at her eyes, a quizzical look on his face. “What the—,”

“What?”

“These lenses…” he examines her, retrieving a small case. “I need to take a closer look at them. Do you mind?”

She shakes her head. Unsurprisingly, the change is immediate the moment she returns from taking them off. When Michael looks at her again, he sees her as Clark does, as her true self. 5’3”, glossy black hair, piercing blue eyes. He sees her as Lois.

What in the world…

His breath catches. “I’ll figure it out, I just need some time to sit with it.”

After about an hour, many phone calls, the continuous clacking of keyboards, and his incessant pacing, Mr. Terrific’s eyes glint with insight.

“They’re from Earth,” he finally says. “This Earth. Same tech as your hypo-glasses, Clark. They never changed her, they just change perception. Only, they only affect humans.”

He takes a deep breath before carrying on with his explanation.

“That is why you actually saw her, Clark. The lenses never changed the way she looked in your brain. They don’t affect your DNA. Now, that is not the same case for me…”

Clark’s heart sinks. “So when she came in… Lois saw me with someone else for all intents and purposes?”

“Afraid so.”

“So she thinks I—,” he swallows the lump in his throat.

How could she think that?

The conversation drowns out to background noise, Clark taking out his phone to check for messages. Nothing. His throat tightens at her contact image. His favorite photo of them. Lois, wearing that shade of purple that brings her eyes to life, dark locks cascading down her shoulders. His lips on that spot of her neck he knows tickles her, causing her to squint with a smile as big as the sky.

“Clark?”

“What?” He snaps out of his reverie.

“Are you seeing this?”

The screens buzz with news reports from around the globe. It’s like déjà vu. On every channel, citizens of Metropolis, of the whole United States, of the entire world, turning their backs on Superman. Appalled at the unseemly images of him with multiple different women. His harem. He can’t be trusted. Lex Luthor had been right all along. He is a menace.

“That—,” his stomach turns. “That’s not me,” there’s a tinge of torture in his voice.

“We know that, Clark.”

“People aren’t going to fall for this again, are they?”

“I don’t know, man. They might.”

Clark’s only thought is Lois. There is no way she’ll believe that. No way.

“This has got to be Luthor,” Mr. Terrific interjects.

“How? He’s locked up.”

“With all the shit that’s been going on, you never know,” Michael shrugs. “I gotta give it to him, it’s quite brilliant.”

“You sound like you’re admiring him.”

“I’m just saying… the ‘hypno-lenses’, and now this?”

“Do you think he knows, then? About my hypno-glasses? Do you think he knows who I am?”

“Unlikely,” Michael shakes his head. “My best guess is it’s just an unfortunate coincidence.”

Clark sighs heavily, turning to the alternate Lois. “Do you remember anything? Anything at all? Like how you came to be here?”

“I’m sorry, no.” She feels terrible, searches her brain far and wide, but comes up blank. The only thing she remembers is lying on their bed to rest her eyes a bit before getting ready for their dinner date… at six. Now she’s unsure whether the odd buzzing sound had been just the humidifier or something more sinister.

Clark feels as though there’s no ground left to stand on.

“Hey,” her hand comes to rest on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Go find her.”

“Yeah, we’ve got things covered here.” Michael reassures.

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “Go, man.”

He turns toward her, a sharp pain in his chest. He cares for her, she is still Lois, after all. Albeit a version from another universe. The fear lives in her eyes, too.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.”

Her smile looks so much like hers.

“Good luck,” he tells her.

“You, too. I hope I, she,” she chuckles. “I hope you find her. If she’s anything like me, and it seems that’s just a fact, everything will sort itself out. She knows you.”

The words echo in the hollow of his chest as he steps out into the bleak, dark night.

**

Lois reaches the cold Metropolis streets with a heavy heart, but glad to have lost Clark. Deciding not to go to her apartment, Clark has the keys, she wanders around the city in an attempt to clear her head.

Her phone buzzes incessantly inside her pocket. She doesn’t even bother to check. Knows exactly who’s on the other end.

She passes the display windows of many stores as the hours stretch, all of which remind her of him somehow. Themed T-shirts, action figures, caped costumes for little kids. It’s like it’s mocking her.

After a few quiet minutes, which tricks her into believing Clark has finally given up, her phone rings again.

With a groan, she reaches for her pocket. “Clark, I’m not going to answer…” her finger hovers over the ‘decline’ button, freezing midway. To her surprise, Clark’s name doesn’t illuminate the screen. Her father’s does.

“General,” she answers, cold.

“I came by your place. You weren’t there.”

“Well, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”

“Still abrasive, I see.”

“What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Nothing that can be discussed over the phone.”

Taking Lois’s silence as a hint, Sam carries on. “I’m sending you a location, meet me there.”

“Why?”

“For once in your life, stop questioning everything and just do it.”

Lois hangs up, exhaling deeply. The last thing she needs right now is a quarrel with her father. So she taps the GPS notification, looking puzzled at what comes up.

She knows the moment she arrives she should have trusted her instincts. The place is some 20 miles outside the city. A remote, warehouse-looking facility, surrounded by nothing but desolate silence.

Sam is the first one she sees upon entering.

“Are you going to tell me what I’m here for?” Lois doesn’t even bother greeting him.

“You’re here because we want to help you.” Lex emerges from the shadows.

“What is he doing here?”

“He’s with me,” Sam retorts.

“Isn’t he supposed to be in Belle Reve?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to your actions.”

“Well, I don’t really see it that way.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Your face looks a little swollen there, Miss Lane. You haven’t been crying have you?” Lex’s tone is mockingly sympathetic.

Her resolve wavers. “What do you want?” 

“I trust that you haven’t seen the news tonight?”

Her hesitation brings a devious smile to his face. With the push of a button, the walls around them come to life, videos from the earlier news reports reflecting in her eyes.

“And those are just the ones PG enough for broadcast television. There are children out there, after all.” Lex sneers.

Lois’s breath stutters, her pulse thrumming in her neck.

“Such a brilliant reporter. So blind to what is right in front of her.”

Lois remains silent, her expression unreadable.

“Oh, I know, Miss Lane,” Lex continues. “It must sting. You did it all for him, took me down because of him. Risked your own life to rescue him from that pocket universe, and this is how he repays you? I feel for you. I really do.”

“Men, right?” Sam pitches in. “They’re all the same. Human or not.”

“Anything else?” Lois finally speaks.

“You need more?”

“I appreciate your public service, but I’m afraid I have to go,” she makes it to the exit, jaw tight, shoulders heavy.

Lex and Sam exchange uneasy looks, the latter catching up to her outside before she makes it into the car.

“Lois,” he calls.

“What?”

“You may not want to see it, but I just want what’s best for you.”

“Right, you’ve always looked out for me.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Lois,” he inches closer. “Look, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but you can’t ignore what is right in front of you.”

“What are you doing with the likes of Lex Luthor?”

Sam pauses. “He… has resources.”

“Resources for what?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, what’s best for me,” she scoffs.

“You may think you know this ‘man’, but you don’t,” he blurts out, more urgent now. “He can’t be trusted. The mask has fallen. His ‘I just want to help people’ facade has dropped. You saw it on the footage.”

But Lois knows better than to believe Lex Luthor, or her father for that matter. He never liked Clark, always made it a point to criticize Superman and highlight his flaws in front of her.

“I gotta go,” she opens the car door.

Sam intercepts it with a foot, blocking it from moving any further.

“He’s not like the rest of us. Do you even know anything about your compatibility? You want to be some sort of guinea pig? We know nothing of him, of his species,” he doesn’t even try to hide the contempt in his voice. “What if in a few years we find out he releases some sort of radiation or something? You’ll be severely ill, or dead. He’s unpredictable.”

Lois listens quietly, not giving an inch.

“My daughter. The pragmatic woman who questions everything. Except this. Aren’t you scared? Of getting involved with an alien we know nothing about? Are we supposed to just trust this ‘paragon of virtue’ persona? We’re just supposed to take his word for it? You’re not that gullible, Lois.”

Nothing.

“Maybe there are things even he doesn’t know about,” he continues. “Wasn’t he sent here as a baby? He claims to not have known about the second half of his parents’ footage. Maybe there are other things he’s unaware of.”

Still, Lois remains silent.

“And what about these rocks from his planet? Kryptonite? It started off as one. How many different kinds are there now? Four or five? That we know of. What if there are more? Who knows what sort of effects newfound ones could have?” He pauses, vision turning dark. “If he turns on you, you don’t stand a chance.”

Her indifference infuriates him, setting off his temper.

“Alright, fine. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you, but you care about him. I’ll never understand why, but I know that you do,” Sam’s tone turns sharp. “He’s the last of his kind, is he not? You know what comes with that. He’s meant to build something that lasts… meant to leave a legacy behind. And you? That’s not your priority. You tie him to a future where all of that goes out the window,” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “You want to be the reason an entire species goes extinct?”

The pressure builds behind her eyes like a dam ready to burst, each word feeling like a punch. Each word cutting deeper than she expects.

Sam withdraws his foot from the sill plate, allowing her to get into the car. He hides his triumphant smile, knowing he’s finally struck her where it hurts. Knowing that beneath the brave face she’s holding, her resolve is shattered… crumbling right before his eyes.

“You’re an intelligent woman,” he adds, cold. “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

Lois starts the ignition, driving away without a word, eyes straight ahead at the gravel road. After putting some distance between herself and the warehouse, breath heavy and faulty, she sees the notification. A voicemail from Clark. With shaky hands, she lifts the phone to her ear to listen to it.

Hey… Where are you? I’ve been looking all over for you. I’ve been to your place several times now, but you weren’t there. I just need to know that you’re okay. Okay? Please. Just let me talk to you. Let me see you. If anything, just send me something, anything to let me know that you’re okay. Okay? Please. I lo— … Just… please.

Her fingers twitch against the wheel, gripping it tighter. The sound of his voice breaking the deafening silence feels like cover against a swelling storm.

She doesn’t know it, but Clark’s heart nearly stops when his phone lights up with her name at the opposite end.

I can meet you at your place in an hour.

Lois replays his message over and over, just to hear his voice, to feel the gentle warmth it brings to her chest. Around the time she makes it back to the city limits, the playback is interrupted by her ringtone. She glances at the caller ID, furrowing her brows at the name flashing on the screen.

“Michael?”

“Oh, thank God. I’m so glad I caught you,” he lets out a relieved breath. “I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

**

A shudder runs through her veins whilst standing at his front door, fingers perched tautly over the doorbell. The hinges creak open the minute she rings the bell, a surge of electricity coursing through their shared glance.

Clark’s impulse is to pull her into his arms, hold her against his chest, breathe in the scent of her hair. He needs it. Has wanted nothing but since leaving work earlier. But he thinks better of it.

“Hey,” he murmurs. It’s quiet and vulnerable.

“Hey.”

He steps to the side to let her in, heart beating out of his chest. Lois walks unhurriedly, halting her steps once she reaches the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment.

“Thank you for coming,” he slowly turns toward her, feeling like he’s about to be sick.

He sees it all over her face. In the way her lids seem darker. The way her waterproof eyeliner smudges faintly at the corners of her eyes. The way her nostrils appear slightly irritated. His shoulders sink.

“Lois…” his voice barely carries. “There’s… there’s some really weird stuff going on.” It feels as though the room is closing in on him. “If you saw what was on the news earlier today… that person you saw me with…”

“I know,” a flicker of affection softens her features.

He searches her eyes for something he’s unsure of. “You know?”

“I tend not to believe slanderous sensationalism.”

“But then…” Clark ponders, awestruck. “But… but you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she shakes her head.

“I ran after you. Tried everything I could think of to reach you,” he counters. Not because he wishes to be combative, but because he’s intent on clearing the air between them. “You wouldn’t return my calls.”

“But I did, didn’t I?”

His frown relaxes. “Yeah, and I’m so glad you did. But it took you hours. And I… I was worried.”

A tinge of guilt covers her face. “I was shocked. And I needed some time to process, and to think.”

Clark’s stomach drops, the mere mention of ‘think’ shattering something in him.

“Think about what?”

Lois averts her eyes, not knowing where to start.

Clark fights for every breath, mind unraveling further before she has the chance to answer.

“Look, I know, it all seems absurd. It is absurd,” he starts, unable to take the silence. “But none of it changes the fact that I betrayed your trust, I know…”

“No, Clark,” her tone is tender and caring. “You didn’t. I want you to know that I don’t think that. Not even a little. You hear me?”

“I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for you. To see me…”

“It wasn’t your fault. You thought it was me. It was me. From another world, but still me…”

“I should have known. I did know. Something felt different. And still, I…”

“That was the red kryptonite, Clark.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out so broken it barely reaches her ears.

“Clark…” her lips quiver.

He knows that tone all too well. The words come out of her mouth with the utmost sincerity. She doesn’t blame him. She forgives him. But it doesn’t feel like a victory. It doesn’t feel like they’re putting the previous events behind them.

“Those videos…” Clark continues, because it’s the only thing he can think to do. “They’re not true. Not one of them.”

“Of course not. I know that. They had Lex Luthor written all over them. And I wouldn’t have believed them regardless.”

“I don’t have a harem, Lois. I don’t want a harem. You know that.”

“I know. But…”

“But what?” The hurt on his face is palpable.

Lois bites her lip. “As bad as the footage of your biological parents was, maybe they were right,” she pauses for a beat, heart stuttering. “Not the part about lording over Earth, but, …maybe your people deserve a chance to live on.”

Every muscle in his body stiffens. “You… you can’t possibly believe that.”

“Clark, listen…” she takes a hesitant step toward him.

“No,” he rebuffs. “This was your father, wasn’t it?”

She draws a shaky breath. “What happened to Krypton was a tragedy, but you made it out alive. Maybe you were meant to survive so your legacy could live on. To prevent your people from dying out.”

“I don’t believe you,” his voice breaks. “This isn’t you. They switched you again.”

“No, Clark. It is me.” The sting in her eyes threatens to spill.

“I… I don’t care about any legacy, Lois. I care about you and us.”

“That’s what I’m saying though, Clark. Maybe you should. Maybe you should care.”

“Why are you doing this?” A strangled sob escapes him.

It takes everything in her to maintain her resolve. “Clark, do you know how long it would take to rebuild if it’s up to just the two of us?” She doesn’t really expect him to answer. “Eons, probably.”

“So it takes eons, then.”

She approaches him carefully, taking his hand in hers. The touch of her skin feels intoxicating.

“It’s not fair for us to make that decision.”

“Is it fair that I was sent here as an infant because my planet was under attack and now it falls on me to rebuild?”

His eyes carry such sorrow, her brave face starts to crumble.

“I can’t be the reason your people cease to exist, Clark. I can’t live with that burden.”

“I never asked you to. I would never ask that of you,” his voice grows thick with desperation. “We have always said we’d discuss having children when the time was right. If we do, it’ll be because we want to. And because we love each other. Because we do. Don’t we?”

An unsettling silence hangs.

“Don’t we, Lois?”

Her touch is feathery against his flushed cheeks, fingers tracing his features as if she’s trying to memorize them.

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t need an answer. Not really. He knows. He can see it in her face.

He pulls her to him, finally allowing himself what he’d been craving all day. His arms envelop her, back slightly arched to reach around her chest. Lois welcomes it, just as desperate for his embrace.

“A—Answer me, Lois.”

She doesn’t. Not verbally, but her grip around him tightens. Because of course she loves him, but admitting that now would only make things unbearable.

His voice rises to the surface, soft, wrecked. “Don’t let him get between us, Lois. I just want us to be together. All I want is to be with you,” his breath is hot against her ear. “…I love you.”

She exhales, open-mouthed and shaky.

“I know you do,” her fingertips sink into his hair, cheek pressed against his. “But love alone isn’t always enough. We’re just not right for each other. We’re not compatible.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You’re extraordinary, Clark. You’re meant for greatness. I don’t want to tie you to a life where you have to renounce the things you deserve. You already sacrifice so much because of me.”

“That’s not true,” his body shudders against hers.

For an instant, the silence that follows is kind. For a fleeting, illusory moment, it feels as though they can hit reverse and start anew. But then she shifts in his arms.

“Lois, please,” he holds onto her like she’s his lifeline, fists tugging at her hair. “Please don’t do this.”

It’s not easy for her either. Every part of her wants to cling to him, to choose the warmth of his arms over the cold settling in her veins. She wants to stay. To kiss him. To let the evening unfold the way it was supposed to.

But his words cling to her in a way she can’t shake off. ‘You want to be the reason an entire species goes extinct?’

“Clark, I have to go.”

His first instinct is to pull her closer, hold her tighter. Latch onto her like a permanent magnet and never let go.

“No.”

Her head sags slightly against his chest, fingers clutching at the back of his shirt despite herself.

“Clark, if you love me, let me go.”

“But…”

“…Please.” She feels the wicked stab of broken glass against her throat.

With incredible effort, he unwraps his arms from around her. But not before pulling her closer one last time. Not before feeling the thrum of her heart against his. Clark turns his face to the side, unable to look at her. He anchors himself to the nearby window frame, certain he won’t be able to stand otherwise.

Lois staggers on her way to the front door, vision tunneling. The tears pour down her face, cruel as a flood, her mind, body, and soul shattering into pieces.

**

“Any status updates?”

Mr. Terrific squints at the computer screen, swiveling on his chair to see Lois approaching, her bloodshot eyes and puffy face not going unnoticed.

“Hey,” he says gently. “You okay?”

Lois nods, but she doesn’t make eye contact.

Michael doesn’t press, doesn’t ask unwanted questions. He just catches her up on the latest the best way he can.

“Luthor is getting better. I haven’t been able to find a way to prove that these are doctored. Yet.”

He rolls his chair to the opposite side, clacking away at the keyboard of a second computer.

“But I am getting closer to finding our guest a way out of here.”

“Where is she?”

“Right here.”

Lois turns toward the source of what she now recognizes as her own voice. Only, this time she doesn’t see the blonde woman from before. She sees herself.

The pair exchanges quiet, astonished glances.

“This is so trippy,” they say in unison, extending a hand toward one another, but keeping a safe distance.

“Do you think the world will implode if we come too close?”

“That’s pure fiction,” Michael slides over to where the interdimensional portal is located, closely examining data readouts. “But you’re right, it is trippy.”

They realize he is out for the count, laser-focused on analyzing the many doorway options in front of him.

“Hey,” the incongruous Lois breaks the silence that arises. “I’m sorry… about all of this.”

“‘Sorry’? None of this is your fault. You’re just as much a victim as the rest of us.”

“I know, but still…” she twists the gold band on her finger, now absent the engagement ring. Her engagement ring. Probably taken when swapped with the red kryptonite one. Probably lost forever.

Lois watches the movement with a twinge in her stomach.

“How long have you guys been married?”

“A year and four months.”

Lois smiles in awe. “Were you scared?”

“Of which part? Being asked? Saying yes? Marriage itself?”

They laugh together, both understanding exactly what the other means.

“…I thought I was going to be,” she finally answers. “But when it happened, it all just… clicked. You know? Everything is just so easy with him.”

Lois pauses for a beat, a spark of recognition crossing her features. She does know. Her chest tightens, lungs feeling devoid of air.

“What’s it like?”

“Wonderful.” The other Lois beams, but the sorrow in her counterpart’s face is obvious, so she grows serious. “Look, it’s probably none of my business but… I hope you guys can work through whatever this is.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well,” she chuckles softly, tilting her head in her direction. “Your face doesn’t exactly say ‘I’m walking on sunshine, woooah, and don’t I feel good.’”

“I see being tone-deaf carries across dimensions.”

“Hey! I resent that.”

The heaviness wanes for a bit, replaced with a brief moment of levity that is rudely interrupted by the news blasting on the background. It’s the same nonsense as always. Lois rolls her eyes in frustration, but feels a tightness in her chest for Clark. Knows how deeply the popular opinion affects him.

Last time the news outlets had reported on Superman’s ‘Mission to Destroy Us’, some had turned against him, some had graced him with the benefit of the doubt. Now, people seem more upset. Vile even. They say terrible things about him. Wish him harm. Wish him gone.

She takes out her phone, starts tapping a message to check on him, but cowers away mid-sentence. She doesn’t know Clark is watching intently on the receiving end, how his heart lifts when the typing bubble emerges on the screen, or how low it sinks when it disappears.

“It never changes, does it?” The other Lois huffs, all too familiar with people’s antics.

“Is it also like this where you’re from?”

“Yep.”

“…Is our dad also…”

“An asshole?”

“…in your world?”

“Yeah.” She exhales, eyes traveling from the broadcast to her doppelgänger, who’s intently staring at her phone screen, looking a little petrified. “You know, for what it’s worth… when he came home earlier, he was really excited to see you. Brought a lovely flower arrangement,” she grins. “If you like peonies and lavender. My Clark does it better.”

Lois chuckles, the load on her shoulders subsiding for a moment. “Is that so?”

But there is no malice in the statement, just light teasing.

“I found it!” Michael’s voice comes from the distance, drawing their attention to him.

“Already?”

“I am goddamn Mr. Terrific,” he singsongs with a victorious smile.

He punches the last few commands into the mainframe when a doorway materializes with a crackle.

Voilà.

“Holy shit,” the alternate Lois wobbles toward the portal, recognizing the cozy, familiar place she calls home. Clark’s apartment, which is now their apartment. She turns around to face the other two, an appreciative smile on her face.

“Well, I guess this is it,” her lips quiver. “Thank you so much for your help.”

“Anytime.”

“…And Lois,” her tone is low but firm. “Don’t listen to anyone other than yourself. Follow your heart, not those fears and doubts that I know wind their unwelcome little fingers every now and then.”

With hesitant steps, Lois follows her double toward the door. It feels weird, the scene before her. Seeing her mirror image like that, saying goodbye like that. It’s almost as if she’s losing a piece of herself.

The other Lois waves one last time, spinning around to cross the threshold. It disappears before their eyes with an electric buzz as soon as she goes through it. Lois can’t explain why it brings tears to her eyes.

“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” She asks.

“I am positive. I’ve been looking at these signals for a while.” Michael silences, looking at her. “Are you going to be okay?”

But then, before she can even think of answering, a high-pitched beeping sound blasts through their ears, making her and Mr. Terrific flinch. He turns to pinpoint its origin, eyes widening at the chaos of blips and blinks on the screen.

“Are those…” Lois inches closer. “…Clark’s GPS trackers?”

He nods, a startled look on his face.

“We have a problem.”

**

She watches the portal dissolve behind her, nerves finally settling at the homey smell of their living room. Her eyes fall to the picture frame on the side table, and it immediately warms her heart. Their wedding photo. Clark’s attention turned to her, nose pressed to that spot on her neck that tickles. Her eyes are peeking at the camera, hands dangling around his neck holding the bouquet of cerulean blue hydrangeas.

Then, she is startled by a loud gasp.

“LOIS?”

His strong arms come around her, enveloping her with such desperate need she melts right into him.

“Where have you been?” His breath is erratic, his hands shaky around her shoulders.

Lois pulls back to look at him, the sight of his wedding band in its rightful place sending a sense of calm and relief through her body.

“Hi,” she traces his face with her fingertips to make sure this is not just a dream.

“H—Hi,” his register dips, warm and unsteady. “Where were you, Lois? I’ve been trying to reach you all day… everyone has. Your phone was out of area. You weren’t at the Planet. Weren’t at the farm. You… you scared the shit out of me.”

“Easy there, Mister ‘language’!” she chuckles, a teary, unsteady thing.

“The situation calls for it,” he folds himself into her frame again. “I thought… I thought you left me.”

“What?” She pulls back again, just enough for their eyes to meet. “Oh, Clark, no. Never. That is never going to happen.”

“But you left this on your nightstand.”

Tears catch in her eyes at the sight of the ring. Her engagement ring.

“I thought I lost this.”

“What do you mean?” Confusion covers his face.

Lois swallows, holding out her hand. “Do the honors?”

Clark slides the ring back into her finger with ragged breaths, gaze never leaving hers.

“I’m here,” she kisses him. “I promise I’m here. And I’m never leaving again,” she whispers against his lips.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His hands roam her body, looking for any signs of injury.

She shakes her head. “I’m not hurt, not physically. But my soul aches a little.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hurt us, Clark. Well, not ‘us’ us, but, yeah… us.”

“Lois, don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re not making any sense. What’s going on, baby?”

Her face darkens, the day’s fantastical events on replay in her mind.

“You better sit down for this one.”

**

“What have we here?” Lex’s voice echoes through the dimly lit bunker as the heavy metal doors shut with a bang. “This is supposed to be a private party.”

All they see at first is Lex and General Lane sitting behind a network of computers, blue light bouncing off the concrete walls.

“Where is Superman?” Mr. Terrific doesn’t waste time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We know he’s here,” Lois’s voice echoes through the dark.

“I told you… it’s impossible to extract nanobot GPS trackers,” Lex clicks his tongue at the General, ignoring the other two.

“But it was fun to watch him bleed.”

Lois’s vision obscures, panic spreading through her body like a slow and cruel venom. Even if he was dead, those trackers would still be there. Terrific’s words the first time he explained the trackers to her twist in her head, clear as day.

“Where is he?” Her voice comes out cracked.

“You disappoint me,” Sam eyes her with disdain.

“Superman,” Mr. Terrific calls out, scanning the room with his T-spheres.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Lex rises, beckoning his men closer with an index finger. “I should have known that out of all the ‘clown gang’ members to show up, it would be you.” His voice falls to an icy register. “Restrain them.”

Two bulky men pin Lois’s arms behind her back. Another two immobilize Mr. Terrific.

“Don’t get any ideas.” At Lex’s ominous warning, the men holding Lois adjust their jackets a fraction, just enough for Mr. Terrific to see the guns holstered underneath.

“Your own daughter?” He turns to the General, sickened. “Despicable.”

Lois doesn’t care. Doesn’t expect any different from the man biology tells her to call ‘father’. All she cares about is Clark.

“Where is he? What did you bring him here for?”

“My dear,” Lex is scornfully dramatic. “I assure you, Superman is here of his own accord.”

“SUPERMAN,” Michael tries again, but it’s to no avail.

“Don’t worry, we saved the best for last.”

She’s not exactly sure why, but her mouth goes dry, her heart seizes, her stomach turns at the way Lex delivers the line.

Then, a stir upfront gets their attention. Something murmurs in the dark, a mechanical whir shakes the ground, reverberating beneath their feet. Suddenly, a surge of light illuminates the obscured corners of the room.

It takes a minute for their eyes to adjust, but the shapeless outline straight ahead comes into focus, the sickly green glow reflecting off its jagged edges. Kryptonite. The crystal stands nearly seven feet tall, broad and noxious. A fractured spire of radioactive death.

Lois searches Mr. Terrific’s eyes for something, anything. But she can’t find the answers that are otherwise invariably there. She only sees the same anguish mirrored in his own gaze.

In the haste of panic, she doesn’t notice him until the green light casts his shadow across the cracked walls.

Clark.

The crystal towers over his form, almost a foot taller than him and as wide as the span of his shoulders.

Lois tries to free herself, strains against the unforgiving grasp around her wrists, but the hold they have on her is too strong. She doesn’t even move an inch.

And Clark… he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even make a sound. He just stands there, close to the bringer of his own undoing. Too close. Lois knows the toll the green poison takes on him all too well. Her throat closes, a suffocating weight wringing its way into her chest. NO.

“What is this?” Mr. Terrific stutters.

“This… is the final reckoning,” Lex retorts triumphantly. “The moment we have all been waiting for,” he pauses, a vicious grin on his face. “Because finally, our ‘friend’ here understands…”

Lois and Michael share an alarmed glance.

“…we don’t want the likes of him around.”

Lois turns to Clark, tuning everything else out, his form the only thing in focus. “Hey.” Though it comes out as nothing but a frayed whisper, she’s certain he can hear her.

But Clark doesn’t react. He just stands there, head bowed down, motionless. As if he’s not really there, as if his body is nothing but a shell, empty and unfeeling.

“That’s right,” Lex continues. “People finally see this freak for what he truly is. And they don’t like what they see.”

“Don’t listen to him.”

He chuckles. “Oh, it’s not me, Miss Lane. It’s the whole world. Haven’t you seen the news?” His demeanor lights up with a smile so vicious even Mr. Terrific winces. “I gotta tell you… seeing the tears on his face watching the playback… it almost made me feel sorry for him.”

“Crying like a little bitch,” Sam cackles.

Lex nods, his smirk growing wider. “Who am I kidding? It was thrilling to see. People really don’t like him. Matter of fact, they hate him.”

Clark takes a step forward, inching closer to the crystal. It’s just a fraction, but she sees it.

“What are you doing? STOP!”

Lois desperately pushes herself forward, trying to reach him. But it is no use. Lex’s men are triple her size. Their hefty hands come around her shoulders now, fingers digging into her tensed muscles.

“Michael?” She pants, lightheaded from hyperventilating. It breaks him that he is powerless to help.

Clark takes another step forward.

Lex and Sam watch with glee.

“STOP IT!”

“Don’t waste your breath, Miss Lane. The alien has finally come to terms with the truth. He’s unwelcome here. He doesn’t belong.”

“Don’t listen to him,” her voice cracks.

Lex scoffs. “Do everyone a favor, alien,” he makes a point of emphasizing the last word. “Do humanity a favor. You can end this the easy way.”

Clark takes another step toward the crystal, head sagging.

“STOP. PLEASE.”

It takes everything she has to keep his name from falling off her lips. Saying it might steady him, comfort him. But she swallows it down… the chance of exposing his identity a risk she’s not willing to take.

“Please. Don’t. Move away.” She lowers her voice, hoping something quieter might breach his resolve.

But it doesn’t. Though her vision is distorted, she can see it clearly. How he inches closer, step after calculated step. He straightens himself, one arm lifting, hand shooting out to reach for it, slow but intentional. Lois stands there, watching… the silence eating at her, the tears slipping soundlessly down her cheeks. And then the unbelievable happens. With a final, decided step, Clark moves forward, wrapping his arms around the radiant crystal.

The pain is unbearable. It burns… sears… sizzles. It threads through every bone in his body, every muscle, every nerve. Yet, he doesn’t recoil, doesn’t scream, doesn’t fight. He just latches onto it with grim acceptance.

“NO. STOP.”

Her frantic protests are met with a punch to the jaw, but Lois doesn’t care, not even when Mr. Terrific curses at the coward who delivers the blow. All she can focus on is the scene before her. She can’t see the kryptonite’s effect on Clark, but she can hear how it hisses against his body.

“STOP IT. STOP IT.” It comes with more urgency now.

Still, Clark doesn’t budge. Lois feels the ground crumble beneath her feet.

“PLEASE.”

With every tick of the clock, it gets worse. The hissing gives way to a crackling noise. Even from across the room, she sees it. Green-tinged smoke starts swirling into the air from where the rock’s frayed edges contact his skin.

Lois’s eyes fix on Clark, her mind taken over by one single thought: his pain. And not only the evident physical pain caused by the kryptonite, but the emotional pain. The one driving him to willingly stand in the face of his worst enemy and not only not fight back, but embrace it… embrace his own doom. The tears pool in her eyes without mercy.

She breaks.

“STOP… STOP… PLEASE…”

Clark continues to clutch the kryptonite, not giving an inch.

And she breaks.

“LET GO OF THAT THING.”

His body jerks violently, but Clark remains resolute, arms encircling the crystal with even greater force. The most she gets from him is a stifled grunt.

And she breaks even further.

“…YOU’RE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF.”

Her head sags, breath stolen from her lungs. The steadfast grip around her is the only thing that keeps her from hitting the ground.

“Stop, stop, please,” her voice no longer comes out loud and fierce, it can’t. It hides, tucked somewhere between her lungs and throat, shallow and frail.

She has nothing left in her. No fight, no prayer, no bargain. The only thing that remains is one simple, evident truth.

“…I love you.”

At those words, a tear slips down his cheek.

It’s barely a whisper, her energy completely depleted, throat ablaze and raw, heart numb and hollow.

But Clark hears it.

I love you. I love you. I love you. It reaches his ears, over and over again.

Despite his best efforts, Clark’s will begins to falter. His grip weakens, kryptonite poison pulsing through his veins, merciless, deadly. Every muscle in his body spasms, every blood vessel burns, his head pounds with a shrill so brutal he tastes bile on his throat. Finally, he reaches his breaking point, body crashing to the ground with a heavy thump.

“…Clark.” The wretched gasp rips out of her before she can stop it.

The flicker of hope that comes next barely registers at first, eclipsed by Lex and Sam’s triumphant laughs. Her eyes are too focused on his immobile frame for anything else to matter. But it catches on her blurred peripheral vision regardless… a brilliant, warm green light. Nothing like the menacing hues of the kryptonite.

It all happens in a flash. The heavy metal doors burst inward, launching General Lane onto the ground headfirst. A foreign object follows the blast, knocking Lex off his feet. Lois feels the iron grip around her wrist and shoulders loosen, her knees slamming onto the concrete floor with a loud crack. When she turns, Lex and his four henchmen are entrapped in a green cage-like force field.

“Did anybody order a Green Lantern?” Guy Gardner prances in, hand folded into a fist to display his radiant ring. Metamorpho walks alongside him, watching the hammer that struck Lex mold back into his wrist.

“Son of a gun,” Mr. Terrific gives them an appreciative nod, immediately raising a shield around the kryptonite monolith looming over Clark’s fallen form. The same kind he’d used to protect Lois at Fort Kramer.

Lois, on the other hand, rushes ahead with faltering legs. She stumbles to the floor halfway through due to sheer exhaustion, crawling the rest of the way.

When she reaches him, Clark is facing the ground, his breathing so shallow she can barely see the rise and fall of his chest. She reaches for his shoulder with trembling hands, turning him around carefully, like she’s handling a dwindling flame in a storm.

What she sees crushes her right at the spot. It’s not just the familiar dark green winding up his veins, not just the clamminess of his skin, not just the strained, rutted muscles. His torso is burned down, his garments becoming one with his flesh, blood seeping through.

God. Oh God.

Lois draws him to her, angling her body so that she doesn’t come in direct contact with his wounds, but cradling his face gently in her hands.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers softly against his ear, her quivering lips pressing wet kisses to his lobe.

Clark’s eyes flutter open, his strength fully lost to him. He feels her soft hands gently tilt his head up to her face, her striking, luminous, beautiful face. Though he tries, he is physically unable to reciprocate the smile she braves through tears for him. But his heart? His heart beams at her.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

He shifts weakly against her, tears gathering in his own eyes. But then darkness takes over, his head feels heavy, and Clark drifts into unconsciousness in the safety of her arms.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

She doesn’t look away from him. Not until Sam rises from where he’d landed earlier following the blast, casting an eerie shadow behind them as he inches closer.

“You stay away from him.” Her body instinctively comes between them, shielding Clark as best she can despite being a foot smaller than him.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice,” his voice is hoarse and uneven, almost monstrous.

But General Lane hits the ground before he can make it any further, shackles coming between his wrists and ankles. “Stand down!”

The Justice Gang members rush in their direction, freezing in place at the sight. At first, there’s an ominous silence in the room. It stretches so long that she starts to hear ringing in her ears. Then, it’s a turmoil of crumbling voices all at once.

“Jesus.”

“Big Blue?”

“Oh, my God,” Mr. Terrific kneels before them, a gasp in his throat. “Lois, this… this is bad.”

“I know, I know,” a wounded cry escapes her.

“I’m afraid I am no match for something this serious.”

“I know a place,” she chokes out. “Can you drive, please?”

“Go,” Rex and Guy say in unison. “We’ll take care of… things back here.”

“Help me get him up?”

Lois doesn’t even bother taking a seat in the T-craft. She just sits toward the rear, nestling Clark into the space between her propped knees, his back against her torso.

“It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay,” she rocks his body, a hand in his forehead, lips pressed to his temple. “We’ll be there soon. Just hang in there. Okay, baby? Please, just hold on for me a little while longer.”

For a moment, it almost feels peaceful. For a moment, she just keeps him anchored to her, a cheek lightly pressed to his hair. But that quickly changes when his hand starts feeling stone-cold against hers, fingers trembling faintly before going slack, sweat clinging mercilessly to his forehead.

“Michael, please, can we go any faster?” Her nostrils drip onto her lips, voice shattering like glass.

He nods, determined. “Hold on tight.”

The T-craft rattles under the push of acceleration, and then soars into the night at full speed.

CHAPTER THREE: RISE

The smell of antiseptic fills Clark’s lungs, waking him in a daze of soft beeping and bright lights. His eyes quiver, the amorphous silvery blurs slowly shaping into machines thrumming through the floor. IV lines tug at his arm, sensors cling to his chest like unwelcome hands. A dull pain pulses through his head, making its unholy way down his jaw, his neck, his shoulders.

But none of it hurts as deep as the hollow ache inside him, the cavity that burrows wide where his heartbeat should be. His arms feel wrong without her weight curled against them, his chest feels gutted, scraped clean. The thought of adjusting to a world without her, of merely trying, burns with a sharpness no kryptonite can ever match.

He doesn’t care where he is or how he got here. Friendly or hostile hands, it makes no difference. The only thing that matters is her. Where she is. Where she’s being kept. Whatever this place is, whoever stands in his way, he’s not leaving her behind. He’s bringing her back home. One way or another.

A quiet, almost imperceptible sound hums faintly in his ears. Heartbeats. Not his own.

His head drags sideways, unfocused and heavy, until he spots a second bed not ten feet away.

Clark’s eyes widen at the fragile outline lying across the clean hospital sheets. He registers the bruises darkening her delicate skin, the swelling gathering around her features, the bandages framing her face. A heart monitor ticks out a steady, miraculous rhythm. Her chest rises, falls. Rises. Falls. Each breath catches in his own lungs, tearing something loose in the depths of his stomach.

He lurches toward her, darkness swelling at the edge of his vision for standing up too fast. The IV lines tear from his veins, monitors shriek in protest. His legs nearly give out, but he claws forward, sending a metal tray crashing to the floor. Her name rips from his throat, voice cracking like shattering glass. She doesn’t stir. Doesn’t flinch. Just breathes life back into herself, each inhale guided by the set of tubes curling from her nose.

That alone is enough to keep his heart beating.

“Lois?” His voice is raw and desperate. “…You… you’re…”

Before he can reach her side, the door clicks open. Mr. Terrific strides in, eyes wide, hands already reaching to steady him. “Easy, Clark. You’re in no shape to be moving around like that,” his voice is calm.

Clark rejects the lifeline. “Terrific?” He winces. “What—Where are we?”

“Careful, don’t push yourself,” he stabilizes him at the shoulders. “You’re in the clear. It’s over, man.”

“She…” Clark swallows hard, eyes fixing on Lois. “Is she okay?”

“She will be,” he assures. “It was touch and go there for a moment, but she pushed hard. Refused to let go. There was something primal in her fighting for survival… I’ve never seen anything like it.” He offers a comforting smile.

Clark holds back the storm raging behind his eyes. “She hasn’t woken up yet?”

“She will.” Terrific’s voice leaves no room for doubt, but Clark can’t stop the panic twisting in his gut.

Sensing this, Terrific steps closer, gaze anchored with unflinching certainty. “Clark. She will.”

It’s the only thing that keeps him standing.

“Any… any long-term damage?” Clark’s voice shudders.

Mr. Terrific hesitates. “We can’t know for sure yet. She’s stable, and that’s what matters right now.” His eyes study Clark, weighing his condition. “You, on the other hand, need to get back to bed.”

“No,” Clark snaps, breath ragged. His eyes never leave Lois. “I’m not leaving her.”

“You won’t be leaving her, Clark. Just—,”

“No,” he says again. “I need to be near her.”

Terrific studies him, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. He nods once, tight, and rests a hand on Clark’s shoulder. “All right, man. But take it easy. I’ll return once she wakes up. We’ll have more answers then.”

His footsteps are quiet when he turns away to give them privacy.

“Michael,” Clark calls out as he reaches for the doorknob. “…Thank you. For…” He only manages to half gesture toward Lois, tears distorting the room in his periphery.

“Yeah, man,” Mr. Terrific gives him a short, solemn nod. “Do your best to get some rest, yes?” He disappears into the hallway, leaving behind a cavernous silence.

Clark turns toward her, frozen in place for a solid minute. He stumbles forward, tearing away the remaining wires and sensors clinging to him.

When he reaches her bedside, his legs finally buckle. He sinks onto the narrow space beside her, every breath threatening to tear him apart. Her hand feels small and warm as he cradles it between his own, thumbs tracing the soft skin of her knuckles.

“Hi,” his voice cracks. “Can—Can you hear me?”

His gaze drifts to her eyelids. Battered, tired, purpled… but beautiful. The very heroes that allowed this moment to exist. He brushes the fine skin with a light, loving touch, catching the faintest twitch.

“You’re here,” he whispers. “You’re really here.”

Gently, carefully, he draws her to him, holding her against his chest. Without delay, tears spill down his cheeks, hot and relentless, spotting the hem of her polka-dotted gown.

“You’re safe,” he tightens his grip around her. “You’re safe now.”

Her steady pulse thunders beneath his fingers, breath mingling with his. The warmth of her temple seeps into his own, melting away the fear that’s taken residence in his gut, even if momentarily.

After holding her frame for a while, just to feel life bleed between them, Clark eases her back onto the mattress, guiding her head to the pillow. When he settles onto the chair beside the bed, he keeps their fingers locked together, grazing her wrist with a swaying motion, words slipping between them unpretentiously.

I love you. I need you. Come back to me.

Minutes stretch into hours, then days. Michael checks in on them, urging Clark to rest, but he refuses to leave her side. Even as he watches the rise and fall of her chest, even as he feels her heartbeat pulsing at her neck, relief never quite settles in. It won't unless she wakes.

Finally, his head bows down onto the mattress, hand still entwined with hers. Clark stays like that, forehead pressed to her arm, face marred and swollen. She’s only sleeping, he tells himself. Recovering. And God knows she needs it. But reason does nothing to dull the unbearable ache that lingers deep within his chest.

-

Soft light filters through the room as Lois stirs. The first thing she notices is there is no more pain. It’s not eased, not dulled. It’s gone.

She opens her eyes slowly, blinking at the ceiling. Her body feels weightless, foreign in its relief. Green doesn’t spill out. Daggers don’t dig at her skull anymore. There is only the gentle embrace of light where darkness used to be.

Then she feels warmth. Hears quiet breathing. Turns her head to the side and sees him.

Clark.

Slumped at her bedside, forehead resting against her elbow, one hand tangled with hers. His hair falls messily over his brow, streaked with sweat and exhaustion. His skin is drawn tight, veins still a dark green winding up his neck. Even in stillness, he looks like he’s fighting for every breath.

Her chest clenches. She lifts her free hand with effort, fingertips trembling as they sink into his hair. Soft, familiar. She threads them through, tender and cautious.

Clark shifts at the contact, eyes fluttering open, unfocused for a beat before snapping to her. Relief surges so fierce it nearly topples him. He pushes himself upright, gaze trained on her as if afraid she’ll vanish if he blinks. His irises catch the light, then disappear beneath the tears rising to the surface.

The room holds its breath with them, echoing the silence of two people reckoning with what they nearly lost.

He raises their joined hands to his face, squeezes gently. Then, his voice cracks. “…Hey.”

“Hey.”

“…You… you’re okay?”

She nods.

“Are you in pain?”

She shakes her head.

“Promise?”

She nods again, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

His head falls to her hip, and he releases every shuddering breath he’s been holding inside. Lois brings her fingers back to his hair, closing her eyes shut and letting the tears spill down her cheeks. It drags for a moment, before Clark’s sobs finally subside and he lifts his head again.

“You’re okay,” he chokes, pressing his lips to the palm of her hand.

He doesn’t look away from her, not even for a second. His eyes are bloodshot, raw, and tired down to the marrow, but they stay on her. Drinking her in. Keeping her close with nothing but the depth of his gaze and the constant rhythm of his hand stroking hers.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

Lois brushes her fingertips over the protruding veins on his neck, his cheeks, his brows. “…Are you?”

“I will be. Now that you’re awake… now that you’re here,” he says like it’s the only thing that matters.

Here? Her last lived experiences are all shadow and pain. Fear, curling its twisted tendrils around her ribs. And the certainty that she’d drawn her last breath. Yet, what’s left is light, warmth, peace. Him, anchoring her back into the world she thought she’d lost.

She can’t help but tangle gratitude with confusion.

“Clark… how?” Her voice is barely there, hoarse and wondering as her fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw. “…How?”

He swallows hard, sees the same disorientation he felt waking in this room. The words are shaky as they spill out. “Mr. Terrific. He found us in time, brought us here. I don’t know the full details. He said he’d be back to explain everything.”

For now, it suffices.

Tears gather in her eyes, shimmering with relief. She brushes his cheek, thumb tracing the curve of his eye. Her voice breaks, a quiet, awed whisper. “It’s gone,” she blinks slowly. “It’s really gone,” a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I can… I can see you. Clark, I can—I can look at you.”

He matches her gesture, thumb coming to graze her cheek with a smile that beams all the way up to his halo. They drink each other in, eyes locked, breaths ragged—too many words unspoken, too much pain burned into their bones. Yet here they are. As one.

Lois’s gaze softens. “You look like hell,” she murmurs, not referring to the scars she can trace with her fingertips. A crooked smile breaks through her tears.

His laugh is brittle, strangled, weighted with the horror they shared. “I was there,” he says quietly, voice thick with grief. The words hang heavy between them. “Believe me, I was there.”

“You should have let me go.”

“Never.”

Silence swells, full of hurt and gratitude, their hands gripping tighter, knuckles pale. The ache of it is almost too much.

He draws a shaky breath, voice barely a whisper. “Lois… why?” He pulls the question from the deepest part of him. “Why did you do it?”

She lifts a brow, mustering her best smirk despite the tears. “Guess I was… feeling generous,” she shrugs.

“Lois—,” the sound is broken when it escapes him.

Her smile fades, eyes going fierce, honest. “You know why.”

“I don’t want you to…” his throat closes.

She cups his face in both hands, eyes burning into his. “It was my choice, Clark. Mine. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

He shakes his head, anguish carving deep lines into his face. “Don’t,” he pleads, voice cracking. “If this is what it takes… if it costs this much,” the words splinter out. “…Don’t love me like that.”

She cuts him off, eyes dark, unwavering. “Too late.”

The machines hum. The curtains shift in a gentle draft. And for the first time in too long, Lois can breathe without gasping.

She looks at him, really looks, and sees the exhaustion behind his eyes. The pain he’s still carrying in his body. The weight of everything they survived. The faint trace of darkness still in his veins.

She tugs gently on his hand. “When was the last time you slept?”

He blinks. “Not that long ago.”

She gives him a look. “You can’t fool me, Kent,” she says, voice soft but firm.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You need rest.”

“I can’t.” His voice cracks, just enough for her to hear it. “If I close my eyes and fall asleep and you’re not here when I wake up…” he swallows hard. “I can’t take that risk.”

Her heart twists. She knows exactly what he means. That fear has been living in her too, the terror that this, all of this, could dissolve into nothing at a moment’s notice.

“Clark, I am here. I’ll be here.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You know I can see you right now, right?”

They stare at each other for a beat, stubbornness sharpening into something softer. “I won’t be able to sleep that far away from you anyway.”

“…Then get over here,” she tilts her head toward the narrow bed she’s lying in.

He blinks. “What?”

“It’s small,” she says, patting the space beside her. “But we survive your Smallville twin bed every time. I think we can manage,” she curls her fingers, beckoning him closer. “Come on.”

A faint, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. God, even that makes her heart ache.

He hesitates, but he knows he’s already lost this fight. He slips out of his chair, moving slow, careful not to pull at any wires. The bed dips as he climbs in beside her, folding his long frame into the tight space until they fit together as best they can.

Lois rests her head against his chest, arm draped across his ribs. She feels the steady thump of his heart beneath her cheek and closes her eyes for no other reason than because she can. No pain. No green. Just agency.

He buries a kiss in her hair, fingers gently resting at the base of her neck. Warmth radiates from her skin. Every breath and heartbeat throb against his chest. It’s so achingly different from the stillness he carried before that his eyes sting all over again.

It’s not immediate, but the quiet works its way into them. Their breathing syncs. His arm finds its place around her shoulders. At some point, their fingers tangle together. And then the exhaustion that’s been circling them for what feels like an eternity finally takes them both under.

-

When she wakes again, it’s to the feel of warmth and the soft press of another body against hers. His chin gently rests at the crown of her head. For a moment, she is lost in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

Then, a soft rumble under her ear brings her back. His voice. Low and husky.

“…You’re drooling on me.”

She snorts. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

She opens her eyes and tilts her head just enough to look up at him.

“You’re not a great pillow, you know,” she murmurs.

His lips twitch. “That’s not what I’ve heard before.”

“Desperation makes liars of us all.”

“I think the drooling proves that I am, in fact, a great pillow.”

The heaviness doesn’t disappear, it’s still present in the way they hold each other, but for a moment, there’s levity and laughter under it. The kind that feels like the first steps out of a storm.

A creak at the door draws their attention.

The man who enters is relaxed, unhurried. Dressed in a dark tactical suit trimmed with white, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal tech-laced gauntlets that glow faintly at the wrist.

He’s holding a tablet. Calm eyes scan the room, then settle on them with something close to admiration. His face is composed but not untouched by the sight of them sharing a bed that’s far too small.

Lois props herself up slowly. “Michael,” she says.

“Miss Lois,” he answers, a hint of relief threading through his smile. “It’s good to see you like this. You’re tougher than you look.”

Her lips curve into a weary smile.

“You too,” his eyes flicker between the pair. “How are you both?”

They exchange a look, not knowing what to say. No single word describes the feeling. So they don't.

“Michael,” Lois whispers, measured. “What happened?”

“I pulled the kryptonite-augmented nanostructures from your cerebral cortex before they fried both your nervous systems,” Terrific’s voice is steady as he fills in the gaps.

Lois listens, brow furrowed, soaking up every word. “You got the—stuff—out of me?”

“Every trace.”

“And it’s not… going to just come back unexpectedly?”

Michael looks at her with sympathetic eyes. “No. You'll have to be monitored every other week or so for a while and have regular check-ups. But you’re clean. That much I can promise you.”

Clark barely hears him. His eyes keep sliding to her profile, cataloging every detail, every expression. His eyes narrow faintly. “How did you even find us?”

Mr. Terrific smiles thinly. “I’ve been monitoring residual kryptonite spikes in Earth’s atmosphere for months. That, and the nanobot GPS trackers too,” he looks at Lois knowingly. “Sharp waves started popping up at this site,” he turns the tablet toward them, a 3D model spins slowly.

“…Which is where your GPS signal was located… and where I later found you. It started with a single sharp surge. Then, about an hour or so later, we detected four very distinct, rapid spikes in close succession, and then nothing. I figured that wasn’t random.”

He taps the tablet off.

“Luckily, we got there just in time to get it out of you before it was too late.”

A moment passes before the weight of it all sinks in.

“They used you, Lois,” he says gently. “Weaponized you. Set a trap designed to force you to destroy him… or destroy yourself if you didn’t.”

Her throat tightens. Clark’s hand grips hers.

“I suggest resting. You both need it. When you're ready, I can walk you through some other details. Starting with who orchestrated this.”

“Was it Luthor?” Lois asks bluntly.

Mr. Terrific pauses. “Not directly. He’s still locked up.”

“Then who?” Clark asks.

And then the name slips from Michael’s mouth like a boulder dropping into water.

Marcus.

It’s not loud, not accusatory, just a fact. But Clark hears it like a wrecking ball.

Marcus. If that’s even his real name.

The air in his lungs turns thick. His hands, still loosely around Lois, clench before he can stop them. Every muscle pulls tight. He swallows, but the taste of bile is already there.

Terrific keeps talking, but the rest is just noise. Clark doesn’t even realize when he leaves the room, or when he says the threat has been ‘eliminated’. All Clark can hear is her voice, low but firm, telling him Marcus made her uneasy. That something was off. And his own voice, brushing it aside, assuring her that it was fine. That he was fine.

God.

The things Marcus did. The things they endured, she endured, because Clark invited the wolf to their door and held it open.

Clark’s chest constricts. It’s like there’s not enough air in the room.

The words are out before he even decides to move. “I need…” he’s already trying to sit up, shifting away from her, like if he puts enough space between them she won’t have to see the man who failed her so catastrophically.

“Clark?” Her voice is wary now.

He shakes his head, mutters, “Lois, I…”

But the moment his weight shifts off the mattress, her hand clamps around his arm. Not gentle. Not asking. Stopping him.

“Don’t,” she says.

“I can’t—,”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Lois, it’s my fault.” His voice splinters. “You told me. You told me and I—I didn’t listen. I kept… I let him stay close, and now…” he can’t finish. The image is too sharp. Her body twisted in pain, her breath gone still.

Her grip tightens. “Clark, look at me.”

He tries, but it’s hard. Shame feels like gravity, pulling his gaze to the floor.

“Look at me.”

He does. Barely.

“This isn’t on you,” she says, the steel in her tone softened into something else, something fierce and fragile at once. “If we start pulling the thread of who’s to blame, we’ll unravel everything. I’m not doing that. I’m not losing another second to him.”

“But—,”

“No. Listen to me.” Her eyes don’t waver. “We are here. We’re breathing. That’s it. That’s the only thing that matters. Do you understand?”

The words hit him like hands to his shoulders, pulling him back down to solid ground.

Her thumb brushes over his arm, slower now. “Stay here with me. You’re not going to let him win, are you?”

His throat is tight enough to hurt. “I don’t think I can live with…”

“Shut up,” she says gently. “You’re here. That’s all I want. Stay with me. Please. I need you to stay.”

For a long beat, neither of them moves. Then she pulls him closer, and he doesn’t fight. The bed creaks under the adjustment.

He wants to argue. To insist he can’t. But her hand is still on him, anchoring him in place.

His forehead tips toward her shoulders, eyes finally closing. But the guilt is still present. His head throbs heavy with shame.

“Lois… I really did think he was just a source.”

“I know,” her fingers twist around his hair.

“I would never do anything to deliberately put you in jeopardy.”

“I know.”

“Forgive me,” his voice cracks.

“Shh. Sleep.”

She stays awake long enough to feel his breathing even out, the tension in his body loosening against hers. Only then does she let herself close her eyes, still holding him like she’s afraid he might vanish if she lets go.

-

They spend a few more days in the hospital, letting their bodies mend themselves together. Clark reluctantly accepts the sun therapy Michael arranges for him but only agrees to leave the room at times when Lois is asleep, and only because Michael promises not to leave her side while he’s gone.

Slowly, the aches in his body subside, the ones in his heart are slower to heal. Lois insists she doesn’t blame him for anything, but he can’t stop blaming himself. How could he not? Marcus was just a name, a front—Lois had told him as much herself—but the danger was always going to find her because of him. He wonders if he’ll ever learn to live with that.

Yet, he’s also grateful whenever he allows himself relief from the guilt and stops to look at her. His eyes capture her steady heartbeat, her sunny aura, a smile bright enough to trip his own pulse. Every night, though he tells her she needs the bed to herself to rest properly, Lois demands he joins her, lifting an arm to let him in. Her nearness alone is enough to quiet the noises in his head and pull him into a peaceful slumber.

On their last morning, Michael walks in with two charts in hand, flipping both to the very last page. “You’re officially clear to go,” he says. “No heroics for a week. At least.” He turns his pen to Lois. “That goes double for you.”

She rolls her eyes but wraps him in a hug so fierce it knocks the breath from him. He’s not one for people’s emotions, but his arms come around her without hesitation, holding her as if she’s family.

“Thank you,” she says, holding back tears.

For once, his gruffness softens. “Believe me, Lois. It was my genuine pleasure.”

*

The drive home passes in near silence. The city lights feel too bright, almost otherworldly. Clark’s hand reaches for her knee, thumb moving in slow, smooth circles—an anchor both of them desperately need. Lois leans into his shoulder, looping her arm around his, eyes closed, her breath soft and even as if she might drift off.

Outside, life hums along, oblivious. Laughter spills from a busy café. A pedestrian weaves dangerously through traffic. Up front, the driver chats indistinctly on Bluetooth. No one is the wiser. The world has no idea what hell they just crawled their way out of.

Coming home carries an unfamiliar strangeness. The apartment is the same—they are not. Michael had insisted Lois’s place was safe, promising he’d keep them out of harm’s reach. They’d agreed for the time being, but decided to find someplace else when the raw edges of the first days dulled. Somewhere that wasn’t his or hers, but theirs.

They step inside and hesitate. The air smells familiar, like fresh linen and newsprint, but it feels wrong somehow, borrowed. He glances at her, pale, still unsteady, but standing upright. His thumb traces the curve of her jaw.

“Dinner?” He asks softly.

“Later,” she murmurs. “I need to rinse off. I just… I need to feel like myself again.” Her hand slips down the length of his arm before she turns to the bathroom. “…You coming?”

With a nod, Clark crosses toward her, feeling the same itch to wash their lived nightmare off his skin.

When Lois sees her reflection for the first time since their ordeal, her breath catches. Dark circles shadow her eyes, her cheekbones stand sharper than she remembers, her once rosy lips fall pale and dull. Before she can linger, Clark tips her chin away from the mirror, toward his steady gaze. ‘Beautiful.’ It slips off his tongue easily, like it’s not even a question. She leans into his touch, holding the swell of emotions at bay.

His gaze catches on the faint, healing mark along her temple—the indelible souvenir of her grit and strength. He presses his lips there with unhurried devotion; Lois traces her nose along the faint bruises in his jaw and hollow of this throat.

Slowly, they undress each other, each layer shed a held breath, each brush of skin a rediscovery. The hiss of the shower starting fills the room, warm mist swirling around them. Clark tests the temperature first, shielding her with his body before the hot water spills over them in heavy sheets. With gentle fingers, he smooths shampoo over her strands until the tangles loosen, thumbs finding the corner of her eyes to trace slow, steady circles.

She tips her head back, reveling in the simple joy of the warm water running down her scalp. Her hands roam his chest, his arms, his back, releasing the tension in his muscles with the soft brush of her fingertips. Standing on her toes, Lois lathers his hair with playful care, shaping peaks and swirls into the curls that flop to his eyes. A grin blooms wide across her face, one that Clark reciprocates with ease.

Clark lowers his brow to hers, shared grins shifting into something softer, something deeper. They relish in their bliss, foreheads pressed together while the suds slide between them, carrying more than just sweat and dirt away. His hands trace her side and when they settle at her hip, he lifts her effortlessly, pinning her to the warm tile. His lips trace the line between her neck and jaw, only stopping when they finally meet hers in a kiss edged with the hollow ache of almost losing her. She curls her fingers against his jaw, answering with the same fervor, melting into him completely.

He pulls her closer, gripping at her thighs. Heat ignites low in her belly as the rise and fall of his chest against hers builds. Her palms flatten against him, the brush of his mouth lingering long enough on her lips to steal the air from her lungs. She leans in and claims him fully, the warm slide of his tongue pulling a helpless yelp from her throat. The space between them vanishes, every wound and sorrow, every shared breath, every tangled heartbeat leading them here, into each other’s arms, alive and unbroken together. She gasps into his mouth as he eases into her, rhythm slow but steady. Her fingers knot in his hair as his hips press forward with aching precision.

She clings to him, unrestrained, legs locking around him, hips rising to match his rhythm, face pressed to his neck. Clark holds her close, breathing in her hair, whispering her name somewhere under his ribs. Warmth ripples through her veins, a steady burn that spreads until the tension coils sharp inside her and her body shudders in surrender. Every brush of his mouth against hers carries the weight of what they endured, every shiver, a promise. They let the weight of everything slip down the drain, clinging tighter even as the steam begins to thin and the water stills to a slow drip. After catching his breath, Clark slides her gently down the tiled wall, steadying her faltering legs once her feet find the floor.

He never breaks contact as he leads them out into the dense haze of steam. He reaches for a towel, working slowly through her damp hair, hands tender as he dries each strand and brushes them smooth. Then, Lois takes a razor to his jaw, trimming the edge of his stubble with steady hands. He watches her, entranced and breathless, gaze never wavering from her quiet focus. When she leans in close to check her work, her mouth brushes his without thought, and Clark kisses her with such devotion the taste of his aftershave lingers on her lips long into the night.

-

Later, in the low light of the bedroom, Lois drapes herself across his chest, ear over his heartbeat. He runs a slow hand down her spine, steady and unhurried. She murmurs something soft, half-asleep, and he answers, but his voice has a slight delay, as if he’s pulling himself back from somewhere far away.

Her eyes slip shut, and she lets herself drift, trusting the solid weight of his arm around her. She doesn’t see his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight, or the way his hand stills at her back as the hours stretch. She doesn’t wake when he jolts up in a cold sweat. Or when he turns to her with blotchy red eyes, unable to shake the image of her lifeless body in his arms. Or when he brushes her skin, simply to make sure she’s real and warm to the touch.

When she does wake, her hands drift to find cool and empty sheets beside her. She sits up, still a little dazed from sleep, and spots him at the foot of the bed, hunched forward slightly, elbows propped on his knees. Even in the hush of night, she can see his solemn and distant expression.

“Clark?” She murmurs, a hint of drowsiness in her voice.

He doesn’t answer.

She slides from under the covers, carefully edging toward him, lets her breathing steady before she speaks again.

“Clark? …What’s the matter?”

Still nothing.

“Hey…” she leans in to loop an arm around his shoulder, cheek resting against his back. Clark catches her hand, pressing it to his chest.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly, though it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “…We’re… We’re going to be okay.”

Her chest tightens at how abruptly his voice hushes. With a faulty breath, Lois tucks him closer, trying to keep him from drifting as the words echo in the dark.

We’re going to be okay.

*

But some events leave marks too deep to silence and promises can bend under the weight of what his heart can’t forget, no matter how much he wishes it away.

In the days that follow, something in Clark begins to shift. It’s subtle at first: a pause too long before he answers, a smile that doesn’t quite find its way to his eyes. Small enough that Lois almost convinces herself she’s imagining it. Almost.

It’s all in her head, she says. Maybe she’s just a little too aware after everything. Maybe they’re really just tired and spent.

For a while, it doesn’t change.

A kiss at her front door, warm and lasting, his hand on the small of her back, breath brushing her lips with a soft, whispered, ‘please be careful.’ He watches her go, only able to exhale once he makes it to the Daily Planet himself and sees her dark, silky waves bouncing as she leans over a newsprint page.

For a while, it stays that way.

…Until it starts to feel like holding onto smoke.

One evening, he kisses her like he means it, lingering long enough for warmth to bloom in her chest. “I’ll be right there,” he murmurs. She climbs into bed, heart fluttering with the promise. Minutes pass. Then an hour. At some point the shadows stretch across the room and she clicks the lights off. His side stays vacant, cold. She hugs the pillow to her chest, staring at the space where he should be, until her eyelids drag her under. Then, sometime long after her breath has softened, Clark dips down onto the mattress, careful not to wake her. He looks at her with sad eyes, whispers, “I’m sorry,” into ears that cannot hear him. In the quiet of the night, his voice barely exists. “I love you.”

The next time she notices it, his kiss is shorter. Not rushed, not cold, just… less. A press of lips that feels more like a period than it does a sentence. Lois brushes it off. They’ve both been drained lately, distracted. There’s nothing more to it.

Nothing more to it.

Then, one morning, she wakes to find a note from him. No greeting, no signature. Just a single line explaining he had to leave early. She crumples the paper, abandoning it between the sheets before dragging herself to the kitchen. There, waiting on the counter, is a bag from her favorite bagel shop and a second note: Cream cheese in the fridge. She eats the food, bite after bite, but the taste is lost to her senses.

And when the whole gang is gathered on the bullpen of the Daily Planet, laughter and chatter filling the air, she searches for him several times, searches for his gaze. But Clark never makes eye contact, never looks at her, just through her. The smile disappears from her face, and Lois retreats onto her desk under the guise of catching up with her inbox, unaware of Clark’s now fixed gaze on the back of her head as she scuffles to keep herself together.

One other night, she comes home aching for him, the comfort of his arms, his sincere laugh. Dinner’s waiting for her, still warm from the oven. Clark asks about her day, lips curving weakly into the shadow of a smile. She answers, trying to coax him into sitting, staying, but he tells her he’s turning in early, he’s too tired. He brushes her cheek with his thumb, shoulders sloping with exhaustion.

When she climbs onto bed later, the room is dark, his breathing deep and steady in the practiced rhythm of someone already asleep. She pulls the covers over her shoulders without a word. A lump swells in her throat until it breaks, tears slipping silently into her pillow before sleep finally takes her.

Sometimes, too many times, Lois tries to get him to open up. To talk about it. But he always finds a way to push it aside, to avoid the subject. He disappears, quiets down, turns inward into a place she can’t quite reach.

Another time, she’s tidying the living room when her fingers brush a photo frame, the photo frame, Clark’s gift. The picture that reads LOIS—written across the blue sky in perfect, fluffy white script. She lifts it, angles it toward him with a grin, expecting, wanting, that wide beam that lights him up every time it comes up. Needing his boyish sparkle, recounting how the timing had to be perfect, how he nearly missed it because of headwinds but didn’t care because her face when she saw it was worth everything.

Instead, Clark glances over, offers a small, closed-lip smile and lets his eyes drop back to the page he isn’t reading. Lois sits there longer than she means to, frame clutched to her chest, staring at the man who once gawked in wonder every time he looked at this very sky, wondering whether she’s the one dimming his light.

By then, their physical contact dilutes to almost nothing. Lois can’t even remember the last time their lips met, really met, in the type of kisses that carry lingering lean ins, the curling of fingers into skin, the warm spill of laughter between them. The nights pass untouched, the space in their bed growing wide as a valley. Most days, she just stands there after he kisses her cheek in the mornings, wondering if he suddenly feels the bitter ingress of cold as well.

They never fight. Not once. Nothing is intentional… which almost makes it worse. Clark tries to make sure she’s taken care of, even if in small, quiet ways. Lois practices how she’s going to lay the cards on the table each night. But when morning comes and he’s lying beside her, scowl on his face, fists gripping the sheets like peaceful rest hasn’t touched him in weeks, the words die in her throat.

Somehow, they drift into a vacuum without meaning to, and neither of them knows how to crawl their way out of it. Time closes its walls on them until the press starts to feel suffocating. As if avoidance and emptiness is all that’s left. As if there is no going back. So when the buzz of the phone cuts through the silence and Martha, cheerful as ever, asks them to spend the weekend, neither of them hesitates. Maybe the country air will do them some good. Maybe the open skies will ease the heaviness between them.

*

When the old Kent farmhouse rises into view, a warm sense of belonging settles in their chests, even Lois’s. Clark barely shifts the rental into park before the Kents rush onto the porch, waving excitedly. Martha ushers everybody in, “It’s freezing,” she says, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Inside, the air smells of cinnamon and pecan pie.

Martha pulls both of them into hugs, grasp lingering a beat longer on Lois, like she can feel the weight of the unsaid. Lois doesn’t know just how much she needs that lifeline.

They settle in slowly, breathing in the fresh Kansas air. Clark drops their bags by the bedroom door without meeting her eyes, mutters something about not wanting to crowd her, and grabs a pillow from the bed for the floor. Lois doesn’t argue, though she feels a tightness burn in her throat.

When they emerge onto the living room to catch up, Martha and Jonathan do most of the talking. They recount stories about the stubborn tractor that refuses to start, the calf born during last week’s storm, the Giants’ surprise win, and Smallville’s new business strip. They listen, nodding in the right places, but their minds drift.

Shortly after the conversation thins, Lois finds herself on the wooden bench outside, watching Jonathan and Clark disappear into the barn. A crisp breeze drifts across the silvery fields, carrying the faint smell of coming rain. It lifts her hair, sending a chill down her neck as the porch door creaks open and Ma Kent steps out, easing onto the empty space beside her.

“Six sugars. Just the way you like, honey,” Martha says, holding out a mug.

“Thank you,” Lois smiles faintly, winding her fingers around the ceramic. Warmth seeps into her palms as Martha drapes a blanket over her shoulder with gentle hands.

“Haven’t seen you kids in a while.”

“Sorry, we’ve just been… busy.” It’s the only thing she can think to say.

“I never get tired of this view,” Ma’s gaze drifts toward the pale horizon, blurred by the overcast sky, but still beautiful in its own way.

“It’s pretty spectacular,” Lois’s eyes glint just a little too bright.

“Everything okay, dear?”

Lois nods quickly, too quickly. Martha’s kind, searching eyes say she knows better.

Her hand comes to rest lightly on Lois’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Lois’s throat tightens. She looks at Martha and her gaze carries such gentleness that something inside of her comes undone.

“I… I don’t know. Everything is just…” she stares at the mug on her lap. “He’s distancing himself, slipping further away every day and I can’t—,” she cuts herself off, swallowing hard. “Sometimes I can see that little flicker of light and I think it’s over, he’s back… and then…”

Tears slip before she can stop them. Martha offers her a tissue, fingers giving hers a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know why, I don’t know how to fix it. How do I hold onto him if he won’t let me?”

Lois dabs at her cheek, staring down at the swirl of steam as if the answer might be hiding there.

“Why won’t he let me?” Her voice falters.

Martha inches closer to her, warm and motherly.

“Even as a boy, Clark always tried to carry the weight of the world alone,” she says quietly. “Thinks he’s protecting people if he carries the burden for them.”

“I just… I don’t know what to do. I want to help him, but he won’t let me,” her breath catches. “I just want things to go back to normal.” Tears pool at her chin, hot and ready to fall.

Martha lets the silence breathe for a moment.

“You know, Clark has seen more than most people could bear. But in all these years, I’ve never seen him as shaken as he was when he told us… what you two went through.”

Lois swallows hard, the words pulling images to the surface she wishes she could keep buried.

“I know it’s hard,” Martha’s voice softens. “Sometimes, he just needs a little time to find his way back. And all we can do is hold on. But, honey… that boy loves you. That is not going anywhere.”

“It feels like it’s long gone already.”

“Not possible, dear,” Martha shakes her head firmly. “That kind of love doesn’t just go away like that.”

A flicker of a smile tugs at Lois’s lips, though doubt keeps her from trusting the words.

“Which reminds me… I never had the chance to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For what you did for our boy.”

“…I… I didn’t do anything.”

Martha’s gaze drifts from the darkening horizon toward her. “It’s because of you that he’s still here. You gave him back tomorrow,” her palm settles at Lois’s shoulder, smoothing the strands near the back of her neck in an achingly maternal gesture. “I will never forget that.”

Lois leans into Martha’s warmth and allows herself the comfort of being held.

-

Clark and Jonathan’s voices float across the porch before their shapes reappear, walking side by side from the barn. The light is softer now, sky heavy with clouds as the evening settles in. Jonathan heads toward the house to wash up, winking at Martha on his way in. Clark is about to follow when she glances up at him from the bench.

“Sit with me a minute, sweetheart.”

Clark hesitates, glancing toward the door. “Is Lois inside?”

“She is. Said she wasn’t feeling too well.”

“Is she alright?” His brow furrows.

“Nothing to worry about. Just a little headache.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.” The word alone makes his stomach turn, dragging him back to that day, to the image of her slipping through his fingers.

“She’s fine, honey. She just needs the rest.”

Martha pats the empty spot beside her. He sinks down, a quiet hum settling between them.

“Everything okay with you two?”

Clark turns his head, searching her face. “Why?”

“She seems to think she’s losing you,” Martha’s words hang.

“…She said that?”

“She didn’t have to. I’m not blind, son.”

Clark rubs at the back of his neck, jaw tight. “I… I’m not trying to hurt her.”

“I know that.”

“It’s just… every time I look at her, I think about what happened. She almost—,” he shakes his head. “No, not almost, she did… she gave herself up for me, and I let her. I just sat there and did nothing. I—I should have stopped it.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

He blinks at her. “What thing?”

“Carrying it all like you’re the only one strong enough. Making it your fault because that’s easier than admitting you can’t protect everyone from everything,” she pauses. “Honey… there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“Ma, you don’t understand. I failed her. Miserably. What she endured because of me… the pain. I don’t think I can reconcile that.”

“Well… that’s for her to decide, don’t you think?”

Clark leans back against the bench, eyes on the darkening stretch of land. “She deserved better than that day. Deserves better.”

“She deserves you. And right now, that means letting her know you’re still here. Not just in the room, but here,” her hand rests briefly at the center of this chest. Her voice is soft, but it cuts right through him.

Martha takes his hand. “There is always going to be something or someone. The world will never be a safe place. You can’t protect her by pulling away, son.” Her gentleness feels like shelter. “I know what she means to you.”

Clark looks down at his hands, eyes shining in the dim light. “She’s the light of my life.”

Martha gives his hand another squeeze. “Are you going to let her forget that?”

Clark’s breath catches, eyes drifting to the horizon. He leans sideways, resting his head against her shoulder like he used to when he was little. The crickets sing around them, quiet enough that Martha’s words echo between them long after night falls.

-

The weekend slips away before they know it. By morning, the heavy evening clouds morph into cotton-like shapes that glide across the blue sky. After a hearty breakfast, Martha packs a bag full of homemade treats for their trip home.

She folds Lois into her arms first, holding her as if she means to shroud her in safety and warmth. A few steps away, Jonathan grips Clark tightly.

“Take care, honey,” she murmurs into her hair. “Don’t be a stranger,” she pulls back, tapping Lois’s jawline with her palm.

They trade places, and Martha draws Clark in by the shoulders, holding him close. He bows his head toward her. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” she cups his face in her hands. “And come visit more often. Both of you.”

Her thumb brushes his cheek, tender but firm. “Don’t get so busy carrying the weight of the world that you forget to hold onto what’s right in front of you.” Her voice is soft, no reproach in it, only love and quiet concern.

Clark swallows hard and nods, but the words scrape something raw inside him.

He glances over and catches it. Lois laughing at something Jonathan has said. The world slows as he watches her in that instant: eyes alight, aura radiant, hair cascading down her shoulders. Her presence is the only thing in focus. The sight squeezes his chest until it aches.

“…Ma,” he stutters, throat tense. “Do you think I’m too late?”

Martha’s hands find his, reeling him back from the spiral of doubt.

“Not at all, son.”

*

The trip home is long, the silence longer still. They’re close enough to share space but not warmth, close enough to talk but not to say anything that matters. Metropolis greets them with noise and bustle, a stark difference from the quaint quiet of the farm life of Smallville.

In the apartment, their evening routine is familiar, but nothing feels like it used to. Laundry gets thrown in the washer, doors get locked, the television hums faintly in the background as they make their way around each other. At some point, their arms brush in passing. Clark hesitates, turns slightly to her and opens his mouth. Lois stills, vision tunneling, heart in her throat. But Clark waves a hand in dismissal, chest heavy, and goes his own way.

When he finally steps into the bedroom, Lois is already loosely under the covers, propped up against the headboard with a laptop balanced on her knees. She’s scrolling through the headlines absentmindedly when he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks quietly as he stretches beside her. “You’ve been getting a lot of headaches lately. I’m going to ask Michael if he can see you sooner for your check-up.”

“You don’t have to pretend to care,” she deadpans, gaze never leaving the screen.

His head turns sharply toward her, brows furrowing. “…What?”

“What do you care how I’m feeling or if I have a headache if you treat me like I don’t mean anything to you?”

His face twists, bewildered. Before he can gather his thoughts, Lois tosses the laptop on the nightstand and turns to him.

“You’re here but you’re not. Not really. I can’t remember the last time you touched me like it meant something to you, like I meant something to you. It feels like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me as of late. And the worst part… you barely even look at me anymore.”

Clark stills mid-motion. “Lois… I—that’s not… I look at you,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“You don’t want to ‘crowd’ me?” She lifts her fingers to emulate air quotes. “Clark, we’ve shared that bed more times than I can remember. Sure, sometimes you hog the blankets, sometimes we kick and elbow each other in our sleep, and most times, the pillows are lost to the floor halfway through the night. But we make it work. And we like it that way.”

Her eyes prickle, but she holds her chin high, refusing to let him see her crack.

“I’ve just been wondering when I stopped being me to you. When I became just anyone. Someone you care about like you do everyone else. Because you do… you care about people. But that’s all I am now, just anyone. The way you care about me now is no different than how you care about Guy, or Perry, or any of the countless people you’ve saved.”

Clark stares at her, stricken. His chest tightens as if she’s physically reached inside and crushed his heart. “Lois…”

“Maybe you were put off by what you saw that day. Seeing me like that… maybe it made you realize this isn’t what you wanted.”

His breath stutters, chest tight, as if he has nothing left to stand on. “Lois, that’s not fair.”

“You don’t want me,” she continues. “You’ve stopped wanting me. Just admit it, Clark.”

“Lois…”

“You didn’t leave me that day, but you are now.”

His breath catches between his lungs and throat. There’s so much he wants to say. Answers he wants to give to every wound she’s just laid bare. But the thoughts get tangled in his brain, the words lodged in his chest.

Lois waits. Hopes. Desperately hopes this is the pivotal moment she’s been waiting for. But Clark only manages to shake his head. Stunned, mute, feeling the twist of barbed wire around his throat. Lois just resigns.

“…Okay,” she says quietly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. She turns to her side of the bed, shuts off the light on her nightstand and coils into herself. “Good night, Clark.”

He sees the small shudder on her shoulders, the way she tucks her knees in tighter. He presses his eyes together, willing it to numb the ache in his chest. His hand rises instinctively, hovering over her arm. His fingers tremble, wanting to close the distance, to anchor her to him.

“Lois, you are not just ‘anyone’ to me,” he says barely above a whisper, voice shaking.

She doesn’t move.

“I didn’t know how to face you, how to face what I did… or didn’t do. I still don’t know,” he admits, voice rough. “I don’t know how to forgive myself for letting you go through all of that.”

Her breath hitches. Clark keeps his hand suspended above her shoulder, aching with the want to comfort her.

“I didn’t want to suffocate you. I didn’t want you to see how bad it’s gotten,” he hesitates, measuring each word. “Every time you’re not near me, my heart doesn’t stop pounding until you’re back… until I know you’re safe. Every night I wake up and—,” his voice breaks “…I have to check your pulse just to make sure you’re still here.”

Lois stifles down a sob at his confession and he inches closer, lowering his hand by a fraction.

“I wake up every day scared someone is going to do something to you again. Take you. Use you,” he pauses. “…Hurt you.”

Her shoulders quake with another sob, breath stuttering against her pillow. Clark lets his hand fall slowly, fingertips grazing the loose ends of her hair where they spill across her back. The whisper of contact draws a startled inhale from Lois, her body tensing for an instant before softening again.

“That day? You think what I saw that day made me recoil? Lois, that day is burned into my core. I saw you bleed for me, fight for me, choose me when you had nothing left to give,” his chest aches, heart pounding. “I will always carry that with me.”

His fingers slip from her hair to the curve of her shoulder, warm and trembling. Clark takes her quiet stillness as an invitation. Gently, carefully, he coaxes her to turn toward him.

“You’ve never stopped being you to me. It was never about that, Lois.”

His gaze is steady, unwavering. The tears on her face cut him deeper than any wound, and he lifts his thumb to brush them away. She leans into the touch, fragile and unflinching. For a long moment the silence holds them, until he extends his other hand. She takes it, and he draws her upright, easing her into his arms. His hand slides to the back of her neck, locking their faces together.

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice is low, rough. Her lashes lift just enough for him to see the shimmer in her eyes. “You’re right, Lois… I don’t just want you. I ache for you.”

Her eyes shine in the dim light. She doesn’t answer with words, just moves closer, close enough for his breath to warm her lips. He leans in, brushing their noses, and the touch is almost unbearable in its tenderness. The air between them feels heavy with all the nights they’ve gone without this. His thumb traces the soft skin under her eye, and he feels her lean into his hand, not just a press, but a surrender.

Her hands clutch at his shoulders like she’s afraid he’ll vanish if she lets go. Clark pulls her closer, hands at the small of her back, as he leans in to kiss the salt from her cheeks. Every brush makes his chest ache with the thought of how long he’d starved himself of this, of her… of how foolish he’d been to think distance could spare them any pain.

Clark trails lower, across her cheek, the corner of her mouth, until finally, inevitably, his lips find hers. Lois’s eyes squeeze shut, like she’s never experienced greater relief in her life. Her mouth answers his, warm and trembling, until he can’t tell if he’s pulling her closer or she’s pulling him.

His hands frame her face, desperate to hold on, and he kisses her hungrily, just to feel the shiver that proves she’s here, alive, with him.

“You’re not just 'anyone',” he murmurs against her skin. Her pulse beats fast and steady under his mouth. “You’ve never been just 'anyone.' You are it for me.”

He feels her exhale like she’s been holding it in for weeks, maybe longer. Her hands roam, sliding under his shirt, tugging it over his shoulders. He pulls back just enough to see her face, to make sure she knows exactly where he is, what he feels. Her lips are swollen from his kiss, eyes bright and wet and steady on him. Even as heat radiates between them, sharp and certain, the brush of her fingers over his bare skin brings shivers to his spine.

When he kisses her again, there’s no hesitation left in him. His hand finds her hip, the other tangles in her hair. “I love you,” he breathes, and she makes a sound against his mouth that nearly undoes him.

Her hands clutch at his shoulders, tugging him down with her until the mattress catches them both, his weight settling over hers. She laughs through her tears, need and relief tangled in the space between their mouths.

“I adore you,” he pulls back just enough to hover above her, one knee braced on either side of her waist, gaze never wavering from hers. Her breath fans against his jaw, quick and uneven, and Clark claims her mouth again, deep and unrestrained.

His hands trace her sides, memorizing every curve as if he’s relearning her by touch. They drift to the hem of her top, pausing before sliding underneath. The fabric yields slowly, and he peels it away with trembling care, baring her to him. Her skin is silk beneath his palms.

“You…” his voice is hoarse, wrecked with want.

Her palms press against his chest, solid and heaving, and she tugs him closer. He goes willingly, pressing chest to chest, heart to heart, the heat of her skin against his threatening to unravel him completely.

“…are…”

She shifts beneath him, hips aligning, heat arcing between them like the crackle of lightning. His hand tightens at her waist, drawing her flush against him.

“…everything.”

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and he tastes her sigh, feels her body arch into him. His hands trail lower, determined, until every last barrier of fabric is discarded between frantic kisses and trembling touches. Until nothing separates them anymore. He moves with her then, hips pressing into hers in a rhythm that is all about her, about letting her know she’s the only one.

“You’re my everything.”

“Clark…” her voice breaks on his name, half gasp, half prayer. He drags his mouth down the line of her throat, tasting the soft, heated skin there, feeling her pulse jump under his lips. His teeth graze lightly, just enough to draw another one of those sounds that curl low in his gut.

She pulls him in, greedy and unashamed, and he goes willingly, every inch of him tuned to her. When their hips meet again, there’s no mistaking the hitch in his breath, the way his body trembles with restraint he’s not sure how much longer he can keep.

“…You’re holding back,” she breathes.

And he is. Because in this moment, even as their bodies sway deeper into it, even as he teeters over the edge, it’s all about her, about the way her heart beats against his, about letting her know she’s it, she’s always been it. About how he’s never felt more hers than he does in this moment.

“I’m trying,” he presses her against the mattress, mouth claiming her lips with urgency. “I’m trying to hold on for you,” he rasps, lips brushing hers again, soft before they deepen.

Her legs tighten around his waist, urging him on. He answers without hesitation, moving against her in a rhythm that’s less careful yet still tender. His hand grips the small of her back, coaxing her toward him, the other cradles her head, protecting, anchoring, while he kisses her hard enough to steal her breath. Lois gasps into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Let go,” the warmth of her breath against his ear wrenches a low, husky groan from him.

Clark buries his face against her neck, tracing fire down the line of her collarbone. He pulls her closer still, until there’s no space left, until he can’t tell where he ends and she begins. He lifts his head just enough for their eyes to meet in the half-light, dark and wanting, but softened by a love so fierce it makes them share a shivering smile. A smile that holds everything they survived, everything they’re still holding onto.

He moves slowly, reverently, exploring every part of her with his touch. Their breaths tangle, their foreheads brush, and the world outside their bodies seems to fall away. Lois meets him with equal urgency, body answering his, pulling him deeper into her. Her lip catches between her teeth, a muffled whimper slipping free, until the ache that’s lived between them for so long spills over. Her body yields, trembling, and she cries out his name as she falls back against the mattress, bringing him down with her.

The room is hushed except for the sound of their breathing, deep, uneven, trying to find a rhythm again. Lois keeps him cradled against her, one hand smoothing slow circles over the small of his back, the other still tangled in his hair, feeling the wet press of his lips to her jaw.

They stay like that, tangled together, wrapped in the afterglow, everything else irrelevant, the clock meaningless. Just the two of them, breathing the same air, feeling each other’s smiles against bare skin, holding onto this perfect, unguarded quiet they belong to.

*

Lois wakes to the smell of coffee and something fragrant sizzling in a pan. For a moment she lies still, letting the morning light fall across Clark’s side of the bed. Empty, but warm. Her lips curve into a smile, warmth settling in her stomach, her thoughts drifting back to the night before. The press of his skin on hers, his whispered endearments, falling asleep at two in the morning tangled in kisses and intertwined fingers.

She pads barefoot into the kitchen, wearing nothing but his flannel shirt. Clark is standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration as he flips something onto a plate. His hair is still mussed from sleep, and there’s a softness in his shoulders she hasn’t seen in weeks.

“Morning,” she murmurs, leaning against the doorway.

He glances back and nearly drops the spatula at the sight of her. “Lois,” he says with a smile that lights up his entire face. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I was. Then I got hungry.” She strolls over, shamelessly stealing a piece of toast from the plate he’s just finished assembling.

“Hey,” he tries to look stern, but she just grins around the bite, arching her eyebrows, eyes sparkling.

Clark sets down the pan and turns to her, sliding one arm around her waist. “Good morning,” he murmurs, stealing a kiss before she can steal anything else. A faint, smoky smell cuts through the air, forcing him to turn back toward the stove.

“Aah, golly,” he groans, tossing a piece of charred toast into the sink.

Lois perches onto the counter, legs swinging, systematically stealing strawberries, bites of pancake, another piece of toast. Each time he turns his back, something vanishes from the plates.

“Lois.”

“What?” She blinks innocently.

Clark narrows his eyes but can’t help the laugh bubbling up. “I should just hand you the skillet and be done with it.”

“Mm, no,” she says, leaning forward to snag his wrist and pull him in for another kiss. “I like this system better.”

“Of course you do.” He smiles, brushing his thumb over her cheek, kissing her with earnest longing. “Also, I almost forgot…”

“Yeah?”

“We’re out of sugar, so you’re going to have to take your coffee straight up.”

Her eyes widen. Half joking, half serious.

“…Kidding,” he grins.

“You better be nice,” she smacks his shoulder playfully, feeling a dizziness that has nothing to do with hunger when he leans in to kiss her again.

They eat breakfast right there, Lois perched on the counter, Clark leaning against her knees, enjoying the simplicity of the moment. Between bites and sips, they laugh, kiss, steal glances, and let the morning stretch until it’s time to ditch plates and mugs in the sink and prepare for the day.

As Lois moves past him in the living room, Clark catches her arm and pulls her down onto the couch. She goes willingly, landing on his lap, straddling her legs on either side of him. His hands settle at the small of her back, holding her steady, and she leans into him, brushing her nose against his jaw.

“I missed you,” he murmurs into her hair.

“I wasn’t going anywhere, you know,” Lois whispers back.

“I know.” He can’t say it, but that only makes the ache sharper.

“I missed you, too.” He has no idea.

For a moment, they stay like that, wrapped in each other. He needs to feel her close, to soak in her easy warmth. They both do. Lois traces lazy circles on his shoulder, and Clark’s fingers find her hair, tugging at the strands gently as he breathes in the scent of her shampoo.

“Lois, I meant what I said,” he inhales. “The last thing I want in this world is to see you hurt. You know that, don’t you?”

She pulls back to meet his eyes. “I know.”

“…Especially if I’m the one doing the hurting.”

She hushes him with a finger against his lips, then lets it drift down to trace his jaw. “It’s all right, Clark. You just… you don’t have to shut me out. If it gets scary at all, you don't have to go through it alone. Just… talk to me,” the warmth of her gaze pulls at something in his chest. “…You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I do,” his lips curve upward.

“Do you want to talk about… it?”

Want? No. He wants to bury that day, forget it ever happened. But he knows he’ll have to face the music if he wants them both to heal. And he does.

“We will,” he exhales a shaky breath even as he tugs her closer, calm and certain. “I just… I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay.” Lois doesn’t press it. Relief floods him when she leans back into his chest.

“You know what I think?” He says, after letting the quiet of the morning settle between them for a while.

“What?”

“We should look for that apartment.”

“…What?” Lois pulls back slightly to look at him.

“I mean, we talked about it, right? Getting a place that’s ours before things… derailed,” a flash of guilt runs across his face. “You still want to do that, right?”

“Y—Yeah, I suppose.”

“How about today?”

“Clark…” she laughs. “Work?”

“We can call in sick.”

“Both of us?”

He shrugs. “Everyone probably knows about us anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she scoffs.

“Jimmy knows,” he says casually.

Her head jerks back. “CLARK!”

“What can I say? It’s really hard not to gush about you when your articles and work ethic come up. And your Pulitzer?” He shrugs again, sheepish. “…Yeah, Jimmy caught on. I'd be a fool if I tried denying it.”

Lois looks at him in awe, surprised and glowing at once. Clark is totally oblivious to what he just did.

“Come on, say yes. It’s just one day,” his grin is soft, hopeful.

“…Okay.”

He smiles and kisses her again, slow and sure, hands framing her face.

“A whole day of running around, going up staircases, moving back and forth looking for apartments,” she pulls away from him, lowers her voice. “You think anyone will notice I’m walking funny?”

He chokes on air, ears instantly pink. “Lois.”

“What?” She grins, biting her lip in a way that makes the scarlet spread to his cheeks. “You started it.”

“You’re the one who was ready to go again at… whatever time that was.” He says, cautious but amused.

“Only because someone needed a long time to recover,” she teases, eyes glinting.

“Hey, I warned you. You can’t use that against me now,” Clark hides his face on the crook of her neck, tracing it with his lips. “…And it wasn’t that long.”

“Hm,” her spine tips back, fingers curling on the back of his head.

“Go get dressed.”

“Alright, farm boy,” she fires back with a grin.

-

When she emerges from the bedroom, Clark is standing in the middle of the living room, the bright colors of his suit catching in the morning sun. Lois pauses, brows lifting as her eyes dart to the silent television, surprised not to see a breaking news report.

“Change of plans?”

“Sort of.”

Her chest tightens despite herself. She knows some things will always come before stolen kisses at breakfast and apartment hunting with her boyfriend, but it doesn’t stop the sting of disappointment.

Catching this, Clark shakes his head and reaches for her hand. “I need to swing by the farm.”

“We just came back from the farm.”

“I know. But I forgot something important.” A smile tugs at his lips like he’s up to something. “Will you come with me?”

“Sure,” Lois says, slipping her fingers into his.

“We’re taking the sky,” he gestures to himself with a grin. “Want to face up or down?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she raises an eyebrow. “Both great options. You can’t beat either view,” she winks at him.

Clark blushes, gathering her close and pressing a kiss to her temple. Then they’re out in a flash.

Lois tucks herself into his chest, cheek pressed against the crest of his suit. With a smile, Clark spins them around midair, back facing the Earth now. Lois’s gaze settles on the ethereal curvature, eyes sparkling in awe at the privilege of having the world laid out as he always sees it.

She tilts her head toward his solid frame beneath her. Even from this angle, world inverted, Clark’s focus never falters. He flies with the ease of someone born for the sky, cradling her gently within the safety of his iron grip.

The air sharpens as they move west, cool currents brushing her face as the ground hurtles beneath them in rushes of blue and green. Lois is grateful for the jacket he insisted she wear, and even more so for the way he slows down, mindful of the effect the g-forces would have on her if he didn’t. He doesn’t mind, though, savors every moment he gets to keep her anchored to him.

When the Kansas plains finally extend wide below them, Clark begins their slow descent, enjoying the look of wonder that blooms in her eyes. The winds ruffle Lois’s hair until their feet hover just above solid ground. Clark helps her steady herself after touch down, one hand on her shoulder, the other brushing loose strands back behind her ear.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She leans into his touch, a bit dazed still.

She squints against the blinding yellow light, expecting the farmhouse to rise up before her, but it doesn’t. “Where are we?”

Her gaze drifts to a colorful, hand-painted sign stretched over the land, letters looping in a way that feels like summertime. She doesn’t need his answer. 

“You can get anything you want,” his voice is soft at her ear, his hand warm around hers. “I made sure they had plenty of the strawberry cheesecake flavor.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Clark, it’s like 8 a.m. here,” she points out. “Are they even open?”

“Found a way around that.”

“When did you do this?”

“I have my ways. Someone took an awfully long time to get ready this morning,” he grazes her jaw with his thumb.

“Clark…”

His face darkens. “I don’t know if you heard, but I made you a promise when we were trapped… in there. And I didn’t keep it. Not because I didn’t want to, I just…” he struggles with the words. “Well, we’re out now. We made it. So we’re here.”

“I heard.”

“I should have brought you here the minute we got out. I should have brought you here this weekend. I’m sorry… I, I should have done a lot of things.”

“Stop,” her hand comes to rest over his, gentle. “Let’s forget about ‘should-haves’ and apologies and… just… live in the now,” she rises on her toes to press her lips to his. “Deal?”

He smiles, the knot in his chest finally loosening. “…Deal.”

*

They pad through the sunlit fields, blades of grass still soft and heavy from the weekend rain. Clark laces his fingers through hers as the familiar outline of the Kent farmhouse comes into view.

Martha hurries out to greet them, eyes sparkling. “To what do I owe this surprise?” She beams, drawing them both into her arms. “You kids finally taking a little time for yourselves?”

“We’re trying.” They say with a soft laugh.

She hugs them tight, then pulls away only to drag them right back in for another squeeze. “Oh,” she says gleefully. “You’ll stay for dinner? Jonathan is at Hector’s and won’t be back until later. Please say you’ll stay.”

“Yeah, Ma. We’ll stay.”

“I’ll call Jon and let him know you’re here.”

Lois and Clark exchange a warm smile as they follow her up the steps. The house hums with the comfort of their presence. The smell of fresh bread seeps into every corner. The day is cozy, filled with quiet conversation, warm glances, and easy laughter.

By mid-afternoon, they settle on the porch bench, sun starting to dip lower in the sky. Lois drapes her legs over his knee, head resting on his shoulder. Clark’s hand settles on her thigh, the other scrolls through his phone, bookmarking the apartments they think might work.

He turns to her, amused at how she licks the paper cup as if she’s determined to finish the ice cream down to the last atom.

“You know we have more in the freezer, right?” He quips.

Lois makes a face at him, spoon halfway through her mouth. “I know. You smuggled enough for a lifetime supply,” she laughs.

“Then why don’t you go get some more?”

“I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

Clark arches a brow. “Since when?”

“Since Ma is the one doing the cooking.”

He gives her a mock-offended look. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply with that, but she’s taught me everything I know.”

“I’m not trying to imply anything,” she grins. “You know you’re looking forward to it too.”

“Guilty,” Clark brushes his nose against hers, holds her gaze before turning his attention back to the phone.

“Well, it seems like we’re getting nowhere,” he sighs in frustration. “What do you think of this one?”

“Too far from work.”

“Okay, how about this one?”

“The kitchen is too small.”

“Your kitchen is small.”

“Not that small. And that’s my point exactly.”

Clark scrolls on, stopping at a one-bedroom a few minutes away from the Daily Planet.

“This one is available now.”

Lois frowns, looking less than impressed.

“What’s wrong this this one?”

“It would be nice to have an office space.”

“This one?”

Another blank look.

“Come on, what’s wrong with this one?”

Before she can answer, the buzz of her phone catches her attention.

“Oh, look at that. Jimmy is texting me.”

‘Clark wasn’t feeling too good today either’

     …followed by a teasing emoji.

She rolls her eyes, sends back a GIF flipping him off.

“Jerk.”

Clark leans over, curious. “What did he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

‘How are things with Eve?’

     …she sends back.

Unsurprisingly, Jimmy doesn’t answer.

“See what you did?” She looks up at him, pretending to be annoyed.

Clark smiles unashamedly, apologies all over his face, then turns back to his phone. “So, what is wrong with this one again?”

“It’s just not the vibe.”

“You are very hard to please,” he chuckles, ears immediately burning red. He doesn’t need to look at her to know what expression she’s making. “I set myself up for that one.”

She laughs into his arm, tiny murmurs of contentment slipping past her lips as he kisses the top of her head.

A gentle breeze lifts her hair as the screen door opens and Martha pokes her head out. “Lois, could you lend me a hand, dear?”

“Of course, Ma,” she turns back to Clark, scrunching her nose as she leans in to kiss him quickly. “Don’t go closing any deals while I’m away.”

Martha glances between the two of them as Lois walks past her. When the door closes, Martha lingers outside, gaze steady on him. She gives him a knowing look, eyes brimming with joy. Clark blushes, looking down with a sheepish grin.

-

The porch grows quiet after the women disappear inside. Clark rises from the bench, eyes trained on the horizon as the light shifts toward evening. Nearly an hour later, Lois steps out again and finds him bathed in the oranges of the setting sun, leaning against the railing. She pauses, just long enough to take him in, before crossing the porch to wrap her arms around him, pressing her ear to his back.

“You’ve been out here this whole time?” She leans in closer, fingers tracing the soft plaid of his shirt.

He nods absentmindedly, hand coming to rest over the clasp of her arms.

The breeze picks up, warm against her face. Lois closes her eyes for a moment, letting the sunlight soak into her skin. When she opens them, he’s watching her, quiet, contemplative.

“What?”

He turns in her arms, facing her fully. “Walk with me?”

She tilts her head to his offered hand, slipping hers into it. “Lead the way.”

The sky burns gold as they step off the porch toward the grassy fields. They walk in silence, the cool evening air settling around them. Clark’s palm is steady against hers, thumb grazing her knuckles. When they reach a puddle, he steers her around it with easy care.

He’s present, but quieter than usual. Not withdrawn in the gutting way he was before. Just pensive, deeply immersed in his thoughts.

Lois notices, looks up at him. “You’re awfully broody for someone strolling through paradise, Kent.”

“Not broody,” he says softly. “Just thinking.”

But then he falls quiet again, as if he’s turning something over in his mind. Each step presses on Lois’s chest, heavy with the fear that the walls are rising back up, brick by brick. The thoughts creep in despite herself, crowding her chest until it aches.

“Hey,” she calls, shaking their joined hands to catch his attention. “Are you in there?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face her. The sunset frames him like a halo, but his gaze is missing something. It makes her breath hitch.

“What’s wrong?” She asks softly, breaking the silence before it breaks her. “…Clark?”

“Lois,” he swallows, voice low but firm. “I’m sorry.”

The words are quiet, but they feel immense. Lois’s stomach twists. For an instant, she braces for the worst. For all the things she doesn’t want him to say: Sorry I failed you. Sorry about Marcus. Sorry I put you in danger. Sorry I wasn’t enough. Sorry I watched you suffer and did nothing.

But that isn’t what she hears.

“…I’m sorry I shut you out. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you,” his thumb skims her cheek, anchoring them both. “I’m sorry I pulled away. I’m sorry I distanced myself. I’m sorry I didn’t let you in when you tried reaching out,” his throat quivers. “…I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Her eyes glisten. “Clark…”

“I’m sorry for every moment I made you doubt how I feel about you.” His hands frame her face, fingers threading into her hair. “You're enough. You are more than enough. You’re what keeps me standing.”

The golden light catches on his skin, his hair, his eyes. But none of it shines brighter than the way he looks at her.

“I thought we agreed to stop with the undue apologies,” she smiles through her tears, trying to ease the weight of the moment.

He shakes his head, leaning closer to dry her lashes with his thumbs.

“You don’t understand, Lois, I…” his voice deepens, as if he’s finally breathing right. “… I don’t want to waste any more time.”

The air stills around them. She feels the words before they register, searches his face, finding nothing but certainty. Clark brushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear, and she presses her hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat there.

Her lips curve into a trembling smile. “Good,” she whispers. “I don’t want to either.”

Clark exhales, almost laughing in relief. His arms slide around her waist, holding her fast in the space where distance used to be. His kiss is soft and certain, carrying everything words cannot: How much she’s loved. What she really means to him. How much he is committed to this. To her.

They part only to breathe, gazes tangled, sunlight pooling in their eyes. Lois giggles, pulling him back in until their lips meet again. And again.

Whatever distance existed between them, whatever walls fear and hurt tried to build, disappear. The miles they walked apart fold into nothing. What remains is something unspoken, unwavering. A sacred bond, forged in darkness, sealed in sacrifice, immortalized in love.

Lois feels the earth slip away as he gathers her closer, arms tightening around her waist. Their kiss is warm and tender, a quiet confession, reshaping their understanding of each other. She clings out of reflex, but feels more grounded than she ever has. Knows this won't slip through. Knows Clark won't let go.

And he doesn't.

Not now.

Not ever.

CHAPTER TWO: SHATTER

“Can’t you at least try to see my point of view?” Lois muttered. Not angry, not upset. Just… worn thin.

“I do see it,” his expression was unreadable yet soft, only making things worse. “But you’re assuming the worst again.”

“I’m being careful,” she shot back. “God, Clark… you’re too trusting.” The sharp edge in her tone gave way to something quieter. “It’s beautiful, really. That you always want to see the best in people. But not everyone deserves it.”

There was no use arguing with that. He’d always had a way of seeing light in places she’d long given up on. Most days, she loved him for it. Tonight, it just felt exhausting.

“But that is one of your favorite things about me.” A small smile tugged at his lips.

And just like that, he disarmed her.

“It is,” she admitted, sighing. “I just—just be careful, Clark. Not everyone is out to get you, but not everyone is a friend, either. Something about him just seems off to me.”

Clark stiffened. “Marcus? Lois, he—he’s helping us. He’s a whistleblower. He—,”

“You met him once.”

“He gave me verifiable intel.”

“He gave you a nice smile and a first name. That’s not intel, Clark, that’s bait.”

He stood a few feet away near the bookshelf, one hand resting on its edge like it might anchor him.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“You don’t think he seems a little too interested in you?”

Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“He doesn’t know I’m Superman, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” he finally said.

“Right.” Lois pressed her palm to her temple and exhaled slowly. “…Listen, I need to work on the elections piece,” she paused. “I—I’ll concentrate better if I work at home.”

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even a real decision. Just the kind of statement that hung in the air when the nerves were frayed and the lights were a little too blinding.

His brows lifted, just a fraction. Not with offense, but something like concern. “Lois…”

“It’s not a big deal,” she added quickly. “I’m just tired. I need a hot shower. And some of that terrible maple pecan coffee. And maybe to not feel like I’m always the bad guy when I tell you someone might not be who they say they are.”

Clark stepped toward her, slow and careful. “You’re not the bad guy. You know I don’t think that,” his voice was quiet.

Her arms crossed and uncrossed again. Not putting up walls, just trying to ground herself.

“I haven’t told him anything,” he said before she could respond, gently coaxing her. “Come on… stay?” The tone was soft, affectionate.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose, pressing her thumb into the spot between her brows. Clark was all too familiar with the gesture.

“You have a headache?” He asked, reaching for her with slow, instinctive care.

Lois let her shoulders sink a little. “It’s not bad,” she sighed, voice quiet now, gentled by his touch.

His thumbs swept lightly over her temples, a practiced, familiar motion. “Have you eaten?” His voice dipped into that warm, worried register he used only for her.

She leaned into his touch, exhausted but comforted. “Not since… I don’t know. Coffee counts, right?”

“Lois.” His frown was tinged with that particular brand of exasperated affection only he could manage.

She opened one eye, smirking faintly. “Don’t give me that tone. I didn’t have time.”

Clark shook his head, letting out a fond tsk tsk as he gave her an aggravated look. “Let me make you something.”

“As long as it’s not pancakes,” she teased, lips curving.

“Ouch,” he laughed under his breath and kissed her forehead. “Okay, no breakfast for dinner. Loud and clear. You lie down. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Lois softened into the kind of melting that only happened when she felt entirely safe; warm, full, anchored by love.

“You’re very convincing,” she murmured.

He grinned. God, she loved that grin. She didn’t say anything, but her arms looped around his waist. He held her there, chin resting on top of her head, the argument draining out of the space between them. Not gone, but gentled.

“I just need to grab my files from the car.”

“Lois, no. Rest now. It can wait until tomorrow,” he leaned back to look at her.

“I just want to look at them,” she said lightly, slipping from his embrace.

“All right, fine,” he sighed, moving to follow. “I’ll get them for you, but please go lie down?”

“Bossy,” she muttered affectionately.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.”

She rolled her eyes, turning from him toward the hallway just as Clark reached for the doorknob.

Click.

It was small. Barely a sound. But Clark heard it. Something foreign in the lock. Wrong.

His body shifted in an instant, instincts faster than thought. His hand shot out, curling gently around her arm.

“Lois, get back.”

She barely had time to blink. He was already in front of her, arm outstretched, shielding her with his body as the door creaked.

The sound roared a second later, a blast of heat and light that shattered the door inward. Clark locked his arms around her body, his own frame absorbing the fury of the explosion. Lois felt herself flung back, ears ringing, breath stolen from her lungs. The only thing she could register was the steady, solid rhythm of his chest pressed to her back.

And then nothing.

**

Clark hits the ground hard.

He’s still weak, the kryptonite still not out of his system entirely. His limbs scream with the weight of it. Somewhere ahead, voices murmur in the half-dark, footsteps echoing against concrete. Shadows move across the walls like ghosts.

One of them steps closer, slow and deliberate. Confident. Like he’s already won.

“Superman,” the man says, crouching just enough to meet his eye. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Or should I say…” He smiles, teeth gleaming like knives. “Clark Kent.”

Clark’s jaw tightens. He forces himself upright, hands braced against the floor.

“Where is she? Let her go.” He says, voice low but unshakable.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be doing that… Superman.”

“Let her go,” he repeats, frazzled. “She’s done nothing.”

“I suppose not,” the man says easily. “But you did, didn’t you? Couldn’t help yourself. You had to fall for her.” He tsks. “That was your first mistake.”

“She doesn’t know anything. You won’t get any information from her.”

The man chuckles. Not kind. Not amused. Just cruel.

“Oh, we’re not interested in her. She’s just…” He lifts a hand and twirls a finger in the air, searching for the right word. “A means to an end.”

He steps closer. Clark doesn’t move, but every muscle in his body coils, straining against the fatigue.

“You see, Superman… people think you’re a god. And gods don’t have weaknesses.” He leans in, voice dropping like a blade into flesh. “Except when you strike them in the heart.”

Clark’s stomach turns. “Who are you?” He asks, his breath catching. “What do you want?”

“I just told you… to strike you in the heart.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Oh, I’m glad you asked. It’s quite brilliant, actually.” The man claps once, slow and theatrical. “We laced her optic nerves with kryptonite nanostructures. Precision-engineered. State of the art.”

Clark’s heart misses a beat.

The man’s tone turns mockingly mournful.

“It’s a tragedy, really. Because if she opens her eyes, the radiation will kill you. Eventually.” He grins wider. “But if she doesn’t release it… it’ll kill her.”

Clark’s throat goes dry. “What… what are you talking about?”

“The longer she keeps them closed, the more pressure builds. Right now? It’s just headaches. But give it an hour, two? Her synapses start to fry. Her nervous system collapses.”

He pauses for effect.

“She’ll seize. Hemorrhage. Shut down, piece by piece. It’ll be… slow.”

Clark staggers to his feet, rage and panic overtaking the weakness in his limbs.

“Stop. Please. You don’t have to do this. I’m right here. Take me. Take whatever you want from me. Just—just let her go.”

“And miss the fun of watching Superman unravel? I won’t even have to lift a finger. You’ll do it all on your own.”

Clark’s fists shake at his sides.

“She’s not part of this. She’s not a threat to you. She’s earthborn, just like you. Flesh and bone. Please… don’t do this. You have me. You want me. Do whatever you want to me.”

But the man only tilts his head. “Touching.”

Clark’s breath catches in his chest. “Where is she?” he chokes out.

The man gestures vaguely. “Safe. Contained. A little 10-by-10 soundproof cell. Padded. Isolated. You’ll join her soon enough.”

Clark’s voice breaks. “Please…”

His body shakes as the other shadows step forward. They don’t hold back, their grip is brutal, unforgiving. Again, Clark doesn’t fight. Doesn’t resist. All he can think about is her… and the ticking time bomb they’re about to be thrown into.

As they drag him out, the man calls after him, still smiling.

“Have fun.”

**

She doesn’t know how long it’s been.

Not since the blast tore through Clark’s apartment. Not since the sickly green started glowing behind her eyes. Not since they dragged them apart.

Time stops mattering.

The pain is beyond anything she’s ever known, sharp and blinding, so deep it turns her stomach.

The darkness in the room doesn’t compare to the place she’s pushed herself into. A prison of protection and pain behind shuttered eyes… her own doing.

She curls inward in the corner of the cell, forehead pressed to the cool, damp wall. Her knees are pulled close, body tense with ache. The darkness is suffocating. But it’s better than the alternative. It’s the only choice she can control.

And still, every time her heart pulses in her ears, it brings him back.

Because she still hears it.

The scream.

The one that ripped out of Clark’s throat the moment she released that poison into the room.

She hadn’t meant to. They’d forced her. Pried her eyes open like she was some kind of weapon. And the second the light hit him…

God. That scream.

She wishes to forget it. But it haunts her, looping endlessly in her mind. Every breath she takes is one that echoes with guilt.

Lois hopes he’s far away. Not because she wants him gone, never that. But because distance means safety. And she’d rather live in this nightmare alone than watch him suffer again.

Still… if she could reach out and feel his hand right now, just once…

She presses her forehead harder to the wall. It’s useless. She’s alone. Her head throbs so violently she thinks she might be sick.

She tries to think of better things.

The warmth of the sun the day he took her flying for the first time.

The late-night drive to nowhere when they couldn’t sleep.

The time he sang to her in the kitchen just to distract her from a strict deadline.

The memories linger like faint glimmers she desperately clings to. They distract her for a fleeting moment… until the faintest trace of warmth brushes against her skin.

Even behind closed lids, she senses the glint of light that pushes through the darkness before it’s swallowed back again, restoring the gloom and drear with a heavy metallic clack. The shift in the room’s quiet static carries a warm and familiar presence that settles deep within her chest.

Silence stretches again, thick and oppressive, wrapping around her like thread.

-

Clark adjusts slowly, breath shallow, mind reeling under the avalanche of information just thrust upon him. Each revelation weighs him down, a war raging inside his chest with every ragged inhale.

He brings his head up, disoriented. And then his eyes land on her… curled into herself, pressed to the corner like she’s trying to disappear, hair mussed.

He takes a cautious step forward, then stops himself, shoulders shaking. Everything in him wants to rush to her, but he can’t. He can’t risk it. He can’t risk her. When he finally speaks, taking a long, ragged breath, it’s barely more than a whisper.

“Lois?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and frayed. “…It’s me.”

Nothing. But he’s not giving in.

“I know—I know what they did to you, Lois. I know why you’re avoiding me.”

The words taste like soot. Sorry isn’t enough. Guilt gnaws at him. Because if it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be here, trapped in this nightmare, scathed and in distress.

“Are you hurt?” He continues, voice cracking. What a stupid question. He knows she is. “I mean… how’s your head?”

She stays silent, her chest heavy.

He tries again, desperate, broken. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s me, it’s us. Don’t shut me out.”

“…Clark” she breathes at last, voice ragged. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m here.”

“You have to go,” she says, the words trembling like they’re tearing her apart.

“Tell me how bad it is, Lois… tell me what you’re feeling.” He starts to move toward her.

“Clark—,” she backs away, hands raised. Like she’s trying to ward him off. “Don’t. Don’t come closer.”

“You don’t mean that.”

She turns her face sharply toward to the wall. “I’m serious,” she lies.

“I know you’re not,” he whispers. “I know you’re trying to be strong, but I know the exact sound your voice makes when you’re trying not to cry.”

Her closed eyes can’t hide the tears leaking out.

He steps closer, slow and careful.

“How bad is the pain?”

Closer.

“I’m fine.”

Closer still.

“You’re lying.”

He doesn’t touch her yet, but his warmth reaches her like a promise.

He sees her fully now, face ashen, sweat slicking her brow, skin a shade too pale, lips nearly colorless. Her eyes are squeezed shut, dark circles like bruises beneath them. She looks like she’s breaking apart from the inside.

“Come here,” he murmurs, voice as gentle as a feather.

She just shakes her head, palms pressed flat to her face.

“Lois, let me hold you.”

“No,” she breathes. “Clark, no—,” but she’s already reaching for him.

He gathers her into his arms, tender, deliberate. She sags against him, head falling to his chest, sobs shuddering through her as she clutches his shirt with desperate fingers. He holds her like she’s his center of gravity.

They stay there, breathing each other in.

Her skin is clammy, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain.

He brushes a thumb across her temple, the other hand gripping hers like an anchor keeping her tethered to the world. He traces slow circles around her knuckles. Her eyes remain tightly shut, lashes wet, each breath a shiver.

“I’m sorry, Lois,” his soul shatters. “…This is… this is all my fault.”

“No, Clark.”

“Yes, it is. It’s all because of me. If you didn’t—,” his voice cracks. “God, Lois… please forgive me.”

She pulls him closer, fingers curling tight in his hair, as if by doing so the ghosts of his self-blame can be drowned.

“Clark…” she utters, voice fractured and so, so small. A question and an interjection all in the same.

There are so many questions in her head, she can’t put them into words. How did this happen? What do we do now?

He lifts his head, heart pounding.

“…I’m scared.”

It hits him like a punch. His throat closes around her words, because he’s seen her fearless in the face of a gun, before tyrants, at the end of the world, in the midst of a bomb threat. But not this time.

He wants to tell her everything will be all right, but he can’t. He won’t lie to her. Not like this, not here.

His voice is rough when it finally returns.

“I know.” He leans closer, forehead resting lightly against hers. “I am too.”

The truth hangs between them, raw and merciless. His hands rise to cradle her face, thumbs catching her tears and sweeping them away tenderly.

“I wish I could tell you I know how this’ll end,” Clark swallows hard, throat burning. “And I’m sorry I can’t promise you it’ll be okay.”

Her lips tremble with a sob she tries to swallow. He keeps talking because silence would drown him.

“…But no matter what happens, no matter how dark it gets… you won’t be alone. We rise or we fall together, okay?”

Her hand drifts to steady herself against his chest and a quiet hiss slips from between his teeth.

“You’re hurt too.” Lois’s touch is feather-light against his ribs.

“No,” he flinches. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s just a little bruise.”

It tears at her that she can’t meet his gaze, that she can’t let him see the solace she’s desperate to offer. She knows how strong he is, but she also knows it’s more than just a little bruise. Still, he shields his pain from her, holding himself together for her sake alone.

Then his voice, broken and beautiful, sensing her pause, threads the silence again. “Really, nothing to worry about.”

“And the kryptonite? Are we not underground, Clark? The sun’s not reaching you here.”

He gives a soft laugh, like it’s all so illogical. “I’m fine, really. The effect is wearing off.”

“Mm.”

“Really, Lois.”

She knows he’s lying. Maybe not about the physical injury, but about the weight of it all.

…The same way she’s lying too. Pretending it’s bearable. Pretending she can keep the poison in, like sheer will can hold back the storm.

But her body is betraying her.

Her breaths come shorter now. Shallow. Each inhale feels like she’s swallowing glass. Her fingers twitch against his shirt, gripping and releasing like she’s losing time.

Clark notices. He shifts to cradle her more fully, trying not to let her notice the way his heart begins to race.

“Lois…”

She doesn’t answer. She presses her lips together hard, like silence might hold her together better than speech.

He cups the back of her neck, palm warm and steady. Sweat clings to her hairline. Her face is pale, sickly. And when her jaw clenches, he feels the tremor move through her like an aftershock.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispers. “Please.”

“I’m fine.” She can barely get it out. The words splinter in her throat.

“Stop lying to me.” There’s no edge in his voice, only ache. “Please, Lois… talk to me. It’s me. You can tell me anything.” He pauses. “Please… let me help you.”

His hand finds hers, warm and steady, like a shelter in the storm.

“I’m fine,” she repeats, but it’s a sob now. A brittle, crumbling thing.

“Lois…”

“Really…”

“Lois.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her throat moves as she swallows, like she’s trying to force the truth back down. But it doesn’t hold.

“Of course it matters.” He moves closer, the pads of his fingers tracing slow, steady circles along her temples. “You matter.”

Her body curls tighter. Her head jerks forward, just slightly, a movement she doesn’t control.

“Clark…” It’s just his name, but it shudders out of her like it weighs a thousand pounds.

“Please, let me in,” his jaw clenches against helplessness. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not with me here. Let me carry some of it… please. Please talk to me.”

Lois hesitates. Measures every word. But her heart is already falling into honesty, because that’s what he does to her.

“It feels like…” her voice wavers, lips trembling. “Like something is burrowing through my skull, trying to claw its way out. Like my head is too small for my brain and is about to crack open.”

Clark exhales, slow and shaky. He sees the pain carving her out from within. Her hair sticks to her skin, damp with sweat. Her lips are pale, and under her eyes are sunken shadows that weren’t there before. She’s trembling in his arms.

“You have to let it out,” he says quietly, brushing his hand gently against her cheek.

Lois stiffens in his arms. She knows what he means. She’s known, deep down, from the second he came into that room. From the second she felt his warmth, his goodness, pressing against the crook of her.

“Open your eyes.” It comes as no surprise.

“No,” her voice is thin but sharp.

“Lois…”

“No, Clark. I know what this thing does to you.”

“I don’t care what it does to me,” he breathes. “I care what it’s doing to you.”

“It’s not—,”

“Don’t.” His voice is quiet, pained. “Don’t deny it, Lois. I can see it.”

Her face tightens in a new wave of pain, her trembling fingers frantically clinging to his chest.

“Open your eyes,” he beseeches.

“No,” she recoils. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Lois…”

“I said no.”

“I can take it,” he looks at her with something worse than fear or frustration, grief. “Please, let me help you… let me do this for you.”

She goes still. Just for a second. Like the words pierce something raw inside her.

“Please,” he says again. His hand brushes her back, trembling. “Just give yourself permission. You can make it stop. You can save yourself. You just have to open your eyes.”

For one fractured second, Clark thinks he’s reached her. And then…

“…No,” but there is less fire in it now. She stumbles over the words.

Goddamnit.

Even as her body trembles in his arms, even as each breath seems like it might split her in two, Lois Lane keeps her eyes shut. Because to open them would mean hurting him. Poisoning him. And even in agonizing pain, that is a price she refuses to pay.

Clark sees it. Every flicker of discomfort on her face, every shallow breath. And it kills him.

His hand, which has been stroking gently through her hair, stills. His arms, wrapped around her like shelter, begin to shake. His throat works against a cry he’s been holding back for too long.

And then, he moves. Not roughly. Not with rejection. Just resolve. He carefully lowers her back against the floor, his hands lingering on her shoulders, brushing her cheek one last time, like he’s apologizing even for the thought of letting go.

Then he stands. Steps back. And breaks.

With a roar that tears from the pit of his soul, Clark spins and drives a punch into the concrete.

Again. Again. Again.

His fists slam into the walls, the floor, the metal embedded in the corners of their cell. His knuckles split open. The floor cracks beneath his feet. His voice rises into something primal, something ragged, something inhuman.

“LET HER GO!”

It echoes through the walls. “She’s done NOTHING. You want me? YOU HAVE ME! UNDO THIS!”

But no answer comes. Just silence. And the shallow, stuttering breaths behind him.

He turns…

…and sees her.

Lois, curled in on herself, shuddering worse now. Faulty hands pressed to her ears. Her face contorted in fear and confusion and pain. And his heart sinks.

In a flash, he’s back at her side, dropping to his knees, bloodied hands hovering just above her skin. His voice shatters with guilt.

“Lois—baby, I’m sorry.”

He gathers her gently into his arms again, like she’s made of ash, and he’s terrified to scatter her.

“I’m sorry I screamed,” his voice a whisper of dust and agony.

He presses kiss after kiss into her hair, her temple, her fingers. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t answer—can’t—but her hand finds the back of his neck and tugs weakly. That’s all. But it’s enough. It’s forgiveness. It’s trust. It’s still them.

There’s no space between them now, just breath and heartbeat and the heavy hush of everything unsaid. She melts against him, pliant, shaking, arms circling around his shoulder. He presses his face to the crook of her neck, breathing her in like it might undo the last few minutes.

For a beat, the silence is merciful. For a beat, it feels like maybe the moment might hold. But then, her breath hitches. She stiffens in his arms.

Lois lets out a cough, trying to swallow the sickness clawing up her throat. Her body convulses, shudders like it’s just been pulled from a nightmare.

“Lois?” Clark’s voice is sharp with fear. “What’s wrong?”

“I—it’s getting worse,” she rasps. “Clark, I can’t... I can’t stop it. Stand back.”

She tries to push him away, desperate to keep him safe. Maybe if he moves, just to the opposite corner of the room, it’ll spare him some of it. But he doesn’t budge.

She claws at her face, pressing her palms hard to her eyes. As if sheer will might help hold it back. But it’s not enough.

She doesn’t want to hurt him. She’d do anything to protect him. But she’s unraveling. She’s too tired. Too raw. And when Clark pulls her back into his arms, offering comfort instead of space, she lets him. Because her body wants it, needs it.

And then—it happens.

Her eyes fall open. Not from choice. From failure. From exhaustion.

Clark winces like her gaze burned him alive. She feels it in the way his grip trembles, the way his breath stutters and catches. His body jerks, quiet pain threading through him as he tries, and fails, to suppress the sound.

She squeezes her eyes shut, sobbing. “I’m sorry. Clark… God, I’m so sorry.”

But his arms don’t let go. His body doesn’t flinch away. He pulls her closer, tighter, like that alone could shield them both.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

Even after the scream.

Even through the agony.

Even as the light in his eyes flickers like a dying flame.

The pressure builds again, relentless, involuntary, and before she can stop it, the poison spills from her like water cracking through a shattered dam.

He screams as his nails scrape the wall behind her, clawing for anything to ground the pain. And yet, he never lets go. He keeps her curled against the crook of his neck, and even as his body writhes, one arm stays firm around her.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps. “I’m so sorry, Clark—,”

“Don’t,” he wheezes. “Don’t be. Just... let it go. Let it all go.”

Her fingers fist tighter into his shirt. Her sobs shake them both.

“I can’t do that to you again—,”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is raveled but steady. “You have to.”

“I’m trying… I’m trying to hold it in, to keep it at bay, but it’s stronger than me. No matter how hard I try, I—I can’t—,” her voice breaks.

He cups her face, trembling. “Then stop fighting it.”

She doesn’t even realize it when her eyes fall open again.

The blast is stronger this time, violent, guttural, alive. Kryptonite light pours from her like venom, like grief incarnate.

Clark jerks in her arms. His body seizes. A scream rips from his throat so broken it barely sounds human.

“No—no, Clark, please—,”

“Just keep looking at me,” he rasps, gently framing her face.

Each time she opens her eyes, it’s worse. She sees what it does to him. The skin paling. The veins darkening. The aggressive shudders ravaging his body.

But he just holds her tighter. Maybe his arms falter during the worst of it, maybe his muscles spasm or go slack, but he never releases her. He holds her like a vow. Like no pain in the universe could pry him away.

Once more, the pressure builds and Lois, fallible and only human, can’t hold it in. Her lids betray her. The kryptonite slips through.

Clark doesn’t scream this time, he grits through it, as if bearing her pain is a privilege. Lois sees the toll it takes… in the strain carved across his face, the scarlet blisters, the sagging muscles. Only, just before she retreats behind the quiet curtain of suffering she’s taught herself to survive in, she also sees the love in his eyes. The devotion. The unbreakable kindness.

The world narrows to the barest rise and fall of their chests and tremble of their limbs.

“I’ve got you,” Clark’s voice is low and raw as his thumb draws soft, unconscious circles along her spine.

She nods once, an infinitesimal movement, just enough to relay, I know.

Lois had felt a sliver of relief, fleeting as it was, when the pressure behind her eyes had broken. When her body, not caring about her reasons, or her love, or her will… just craving relief… had betrayed her and let the poison loose.

But the pain returns, brutal and unrelenting, worse than before. As if it had only paused to gather strength, lurking just out of reach before striking again.

Clark’s shallow pulse flutters beneath her fingers, cold and staggered. He shifts her with unbearable care into the crook of his body, so that every point of contact teems with warmth. With him. He hums something, soft and meaningless, fingertips drifting behind her ears, down the back of her neck, tracing calming circles along the base of her skull.

-

“…Talk to me,” she says, breaking the silence that stretches. Her voice is thin, ragged at the edges.

When Clark answers, it’s like gravel and glass. “Won’t it hurt if I talk?”

She feels his words more than hears them… in the hollows of her ribs, in the ache beneath her chest. And still, even now, they sound like comfort. Like home.

Her answer is silent. Just the faintest shake of her head.

No. Talk to me. Please.

Clark exhales slowly, as if drawing the memories up from somewhere safe and warm. Somewhere far away.

“You remember the first time you met Ma and Pa?” His voice is rough but gentle, a tremor in every syllable. “Not that time you brought me home from the pocket universe… although Pa said he thought you were really nice then. Called you Louanne, though.” A laugh escapes him, thin, ragged, but real.

Lois feels it in his chest… the low vibration as it rattles against her cheek. Her lips twitch faintly, a ghost of a smile flickering through the pain.

“…No, I mean that time several weeks later, when I brought you over for dinner. You were so nervous,” he breathes, eyes distant with memory. His thumb drags slowly across her temple, as if trying to soothe the fever burning beneath her skin. “You had nothing to be nervous about. They adored you. Ma told me later you were already part of the family.”

A shaky exhale rattles out of him. She squeezes his hand, weak but certain, like she needs him to keep going, needs his words to hold her here.

“You kept glaring at my feet,” he continues, voice soft but hoarse. “I’d stepped outside for a second to help Pa with the fence. I didn’t bother changing, just pulled on the first thing I could find.” His voice hitches with a laugh, almost fond. “It was… sandals. And I still had my socks on.”

A hoarse, humorless chuckle. “You told me, dead serious, that nothing was going to happen between us that night if I kept wearing socks with sandals. Said it was an ‘instant mood killer’.”

Lois shudders, a tiny involuntary shake that tears through her. Her face is pale and clammy, hair plastered to her forehead, but a flicker of mischief brightens her face even through the pain. He sees it, and for a second, his own grin ghosts across his lips.

“But I think we both know,” he murmurs, leaning closer, forehead brushing hers as if he could share his strength by touch alone, “that you were wrong about that.”

Her breath catches, half a laugh, half a sob, before dissolving into a choked whimper as the agony spikes again. Her eyelids twitch with the force of it, and a tear slips free.

He draws her closer still, his voice dropping to a hush. “…You with me?” The words feel like barbed wire in his throat.

Again, she only nods. Small, shaky… the barest flicker of movement to let him know she’s still there.

“Remember that time you lost that big scoop and tried to act like it didn’t bother you?” His voice trembles on the edges, ragged with pain he refuses to let show. “You said that creamery near the farm had the best ice cream you’d ever had, and you really needed some after that story slipped through your fingers.”

His chest shakes with a shallow laugh. “You tried so hard to brush it off, but I could see it in your eyes. So I… I flew to Kansas and back at eleven at night, because you swore nothing else tasted like it.”

His words crack. He swallows hard, like forcing them out takes everything he has left. “When I brought it back… you cried into the first bite.”

He pauses, breathing heavy, each inhale a stutter. His thumb sweeps across her cheek, gathering the dampness of her tears, or maybe his own. Her breath shudders, a quiet, broken sound.

Clark lets the silence stretch, but not long enough to let her drift into the dark again. “We’ll get some more when we get out of here,” he murmurs, voice raw with promise. His eyes flutter closed, but his arms never loosen. “I swear it.”

He exhales, sluggish and shaky, like he needs the breath just to steady himself.

“Do you remember the beach?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper, yet every word is loaded with warmth and grief.

“That tiny, half-forgotten stretch of sand we stumbled upon when the GPS died? You just looked at me and said, ‘screw it,’ and we followed the sunset instead.”

His throat works around the words. “You packed one towel. Just one.” His thumb sweeps along the line of her jaw, tracing it like he’s memorizing every angle. “We ended up tangled on top of it, laughing so loud we scared the gulls away.”

Clark pauses. The silence between them thickens with memory. Lois shifts weakly against him, her body limp but her head nestled at the crook of his neck, a silent yes, a quiet plea to go on.

His breathing grows uneven, but he pushes through. “You laid on me, kissed the salt from my skin and Lois… I know the sun healed me that day, I could feel it filling me up. But it wasn’t just the sun.”

His arms tighten around her, holding her like the world might steal her away if he lets go. His cheek brushes against hers, sweat and tears mingling where they touch.

“It was you,” he whispers, fierce and soft all at once. “It’s always been you.”

For a moment, her eyes soften, lids heavy. But the flush of fever is worse now, her skin an unhealthy shade of grey, her breathing shallow and ragged. She’s slipping, he can feel it in the tremor of her muscles, the weight of her head sagging more heavily against his chest.

“I don’t know what to do,” he rasps. His hands tremble where they cradle her, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do,” he repeats, more broken than before.

She drags in a ragged breath, lashes trembling, words scraping out like they cost her everything. “Stop. You don’t have to solve the world’s problems.” Another breath, harsh and wet. “I just… want you… here.”

His heart seizes, eyes burning. She can barely hold herself upright, but she still reaches for him, her fingers curling weakly around the front of his shirt, clinging. Her voice is a husky hitch, each word edged with agony. “I don’t need Superman right now.” Her head slumps, forehead brushing his. “I just need… Clark. Clark Kent. The man who thanks printers and says ‘excuse me’ to desk chairs. That Clark. My Clark.”

He shudders, a strangled sound escaping him, pressing his lips to her clammy cheekbone. It’s desperate, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that tastes like salt and grief and everything he’s ever felt for her. His tears mix with hers.

“I love you, Lois Lane,” he breathes into her skin, every syllable a vow. His voice wavers, eyes squeezed shut against his own pain. “I think I’ve loved you since our first press conference together… the Centennial Park one. Do you remember? You fixed my tie without saying a word before we walked in.” He lets out a breathless, tear-choked laugh. “…It wasn’t until you walked away that I realized I’d stopped breathing.”

Words don’t come out aloud, she’s too weak for sound waves to carry. But her lips move against the hollow of this throat, soundless but sure. I love you too.

-

Clark isn’t sure if he drifted out for a second… or if time itself just splintered under the weight of it all. But something shifts. The air thickens. The edges of reality toughen around him, like the world is in suspension.

He’s rocking her now.

It’s barely noticeable at first, just the smallest motion, a faint sway like he’s forgotten how to stay still. It isn’t conscious. It isn’t even hopeful. It’s instinct. A primal, helpless gesture, as if some distant part of him still believes that if he just holds her close enough, moves gently enough, he might be able to lull her back from the edge. That if he cradles the pain out of her body, whispers enough I’ve got you-s into her skin, the world might right itself.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, his voice smaller than it’s ever been.

She doesn’t answer. Not with a twitch, not with a breath, not even with the faintest flutter of lashes. Her head rests limply against his chest, heavy now in a way that feels unnatural. Her limbs, once trembling, are still. Her face is pale, too pale. Her hair is damp, clinging to her forehead, and somewhere along the way, her lips lose all trace of warmth.

Clark’s throat closes.

And then, slowly, dread begins to unspool in his chest.

It isn’t a lightning strike. It isn’t a scream. It’s the slow, suffocating crush of understanding, seeping its way beneath his ribs and settling there with a weight that threatens to hollow him out. His breath catches. He swallows, but his throat is closing. He breathes her name again.

“Lois.”

Still, nothing.

His grip tightens around her instinctively, and when he presses his nose to her temple, it’s breathless and shaky, his tears wet and hot against her skin. He doesn’t remember when they started falling. He only knows they won’t stop.

He finds a thin line, rust-dark and dried trailing faintly from her ear. He hadn’t seen it before. Now it seems impossible to look away from. As if her body had been quietly breaking down while he held her and he hadn’t even noticed.

He shifts her in his arms, closer, closer, impossibly closer, as if he can mold her into his own chest, as if he can force their hearts to beat in tandem. But her weight’s changed. Not heavier. Not lighter. Just... wrong. Disconnected.

“Stay with me,” his voice breaks. “I’ve got you. I swear, I’ve got you.”

He runs a hand through her hair, trembling fingers catching on tangles. The motion is gentle. He touches her face like he’s trying to memorize her. Like he’s afraid she might vanish if he lets go.

“Forgive me. Please… forgive me.”

He draws her in until their foreheads touch. His cries come in stuttering, silent heaves that rack his chest and leave him gasping. He rocks her closer, cheek to cheek, until the warmth of his tears slicks against her skin. Every breath sounds like it might be his last. Every exhale carries a wordless prayer he’s too late to speak.

He holds her like a man trying to outmatch loss with devotion. Folds around her, as if he can shield her from a fate already sealed. And in that silence, in that unbearable hollow where she should be breathing, laughing, teasing him about something absurd, he presses his lips to her temple.

Again.

Again.

He whispers her name. Not because he expects her to answer, but because he doesn’t know who he is if he stops.

“I’ll carry it,” he breathes, voice shaking, the words catching in the hush around them. “All of it. The hurt, the fear… I’ll bear it for you. If it means you won’t hurt anymore… I’ll carry it all.”

Somewhere beyond the pounding of his heart, a tremor of hope stirs… so faint it could almost be imagined. But he doesn’t look up. Doesn’t dare believe. Because right now, all that matters is the weight of her in his arms, the love spilling out of him like a flood, and the quiet resignation settling cold and heavy in his chest.

If letting her go is what it takes to spare her any more pain, he will surrender everything.

I’ll carry it. I’ll carry it all.

CHAPTER ONE: ECHOES

The air is damp and stale, laced with a bite of rust and rot. Above, a flickering fluorescent bulb casts long shadows across the concrete floor. A disquiet silence hangs, broken only by the rhythmic clacking of keyboards and the faint, unsettling hum of machines ticking in the distance.

Clark’s eyes crack open, vision stuttering in and out of focus. His head throbs with a dull pain, blood dripping down the sides of his face, warm and wet. His ribs scream when he breathes.

He blinks, tries to sit up, and the world tilts violently sideways.

Where…

It’s all fragments. A memory, too hazy and far away. His apartment. Dim in the late night. Lois’s voice, intentional but not cruel. Frustrated. Just wanting to keep his feet on the ground.

And then a flash. Sudden. Brilliant. Tearing the moment apart at the seams.

As Clark struggles to hold himself upright, cracked walls and rusting support beams overhead, something flickers at the edge of his vision. A silhouette.

Soft. Small. Familiar to every fiber of his being.

His heart stutters.

She is standing just a few feet away with her back to him. Head lowered, hands over her face, elbows drawn in close as if she’s trying to disappear into herself.

“Lois?” His voice is hoarse, raw. Like it’s been torn from him.

No response. No movement. No reaction to his voice. Like he isn't even there.

He tries again. “Lois,” a beat louder this time, confusion rising.

She doesn’t answer.

The tension in the room spikes. Something is wrong. It’s not silence, it’s avoidance. Deliberate.

Her shoulders tremble, the smallest flinch. Clark hears the subtle stagger in her breathing.

Why won’t she answer?

Clark tries to rise, wincing as fire shoots up his spine. He presses one hand to the floor to steady himself.

And still, Lois doesn’t move. There is no anger in her body, no rage in her stillness. Just, containment. Like she’s holding something back.

His mind fumbles for an answer. Is she mad at him?

No. That’s not right. Whatever happened in his apartment wasn’t a fight. Not really. A disagreement, sure. It hadn’t ended in anger, only exhaustion. She’d tried to walk off like she always did when her heart got too full. But he'd convinced her against it, like he always did.

His pulse races, panic building. Not from the pain in his body, but from the distance in hers.

“Lois, please. Talk to me.”

She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t lift her head. Her arms tighten around her body.

“I know you can hear me.” His voice breaks.

Clark tries to move again, crawling now. But the moment he inches closer, she reacts. Almost slams herself into the corner trying to keep the distance between them. Like she wants to merge with the wall.

“Don’t,” she utters. Quiet. Flat. Barely audible. But it knocks the breath out of him.

He freezes in place. Her voice isn’t angry. It’s something worse.

Scared.

“What is going on?” His voice rises, thick with desperation. “What did I do? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

A sob breaks from her throat.

“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Just turn around. Please.”

“Just go,” she flinches like the words cost her.

Clark’s hands fall. He stops moving. Something shatters inside him.

Then, the faint sound of footsteps closes in on him. Soft but steady. But he doesn’t look back. Doesn’t care. His eyes are locked on her.

“Lois…” it escapes him like a prayer, but it’s meant for no one’s ears but his own. The sound clings to the hollow of his throat, soft and stilled, as if speaking her name might keep him from slipping under.

And just as he’s about to be dragged away, too defeated to even care what happens next… he’s already lost… the words echo between them. Barely a whisper, barely real.

Late … Too late … Kent.

Her voice trembles through the syllables, like they’re knives. Clark staggers back a step, his face crumpling.

The world drops out from under him.

Mere words, spoken in a murmur that barely disturbed the air. Simple. Meaningless to unknowing ears, yet unmistakable. Familiar. Theirs.

Clark doesn’t resist when they reach him. Not because he’s given up, but because he finally understands. Something is wrong. Very wrong. But not between them.

Late.

Too late.

…Kent.

**

The copier had jammed for the third time that morning, and Clark, ever the helpful new guy, ws wrist-deep in the machine’s inner workings, muttering apologies to the feed roller like it could hear him.

“C’mon, you were doing so well…” he coaxed under his breath, and when the tray finally slid back into place with a victorious little click, he smiled and said quietly, “Thank you.”

“Were you just talking to the copier?”

Clark startled. She’d appeared beside him like a trick of light, coffee cup in one hand, perfectly unimpressed.

He blinked. “Uh. Maybe.”

She raised an eyebrow, sipped her coffee. “…Did it answer you?”

He grinned, half-shrugging. “Not in so many words.”

She stared at him for a beat longer than strictly necessary, like she couldn’t quite decide if he was messing with her or if he was just like that.

Then she smirked and turned.

When he finally made his way to the break table, lured by the scent of warm sugar and fried dough, he stopped short.

“You’re too late, Kent,” came the voice again, this time with smug satisfaction.

He turned just as she breezed past, shoulder bumping his with easy familiarity, as if they’d done that dance a hundred times. Lois held the cronut in her hand, victorious and casual like a woman who always won.

“I already took the last one.” A wink. A smile. A slow bite.

He blinked, speechless.

And she was already walking away, hair swaying, back to her desk as if she hadn’t just set something in motion.

Clark stared at the table where the pastry box had been, the echo of her smile still burning somewhere beneath his ribs.

**

“You’re late, Kent,” Lois said without looking up, the tap of her pen hitting her notepad either irritation or a calculated assertion of control. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Clark came to a sheepish halt by her desk, breathless, adjusting his glasses like the gesture might fix the rest of him. “Sorry,” he said, earnest as ever. “Train stalled.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, finally glancing at him, eyes sharp, skeptical. “Next time, take the sky.”

He blinked. “The—what?”

“Never mind,” she muttered, standing and grabbing her bag. “Let’s go. We’re already behind.”

They walked side by side to the elevator, headed to a courthouse for a developing corruption case. She was brisk, typing on her phone as they moved, dictating notes into her voice recorder, calling a source with barely a glance his way. Clark mostly listened. He asked good questions when he did speak, soft-spoken and precise, and Lois had to admit, reluctantly, that his notes were excellent, almost eerily so. She tried not to be charmed by his old-fashioned style or the way he held doors like someone who still believed in courtesy as currency.

By the time they stepped back out into the sunlight, Lois was mid-thought, already composing the story in her head as she crossed the sidewalk toward the corner.

She kept talking as she moved, only to realize after a few steps that the sidewalk beside her was empty. She stopped.

“Kent,” she rolled her eyes, spinning around.

He was half a block behind, trotting toward her with an apologetic look on his face and a paper coffee cup in his hand.

“Figured you wouldn’t have time to grab one,” he said, holding it out to her.

She hesitated. Just for a second. Then took it.

“…Thanks,” she said, quieter than before. Less guarded.

There was something about him. Something off. Not in a dangerous way, but in the way he didn’t feel like other people. As though he was always holding his breath in a world that didn’t quite fit him.

They started walking again.

She didn’t look at him.

But she was suddenly aware of the space between them.

Something had shifted.

She didn’t know what.

But it was the first time she forgot to be annoyed.

**

The bullpen was quiet. The kind of quiet that only comes with 1:00 a.m. and too many coffee cups stacked around keyboards. Most of the lights were off, save for the island of brightness around Lois’s desk.

She sat hunched over her monitor, hair up in a messy twist, blazer long since abandoned on the back of her chair. She didn’t even look up when the paper cup appeared in her peripheral vision.

“I already have three,” she muttered.

“I know,” Clark said gently. “This one’s tea.”

That earned him a glance.

“You looked like you might start vibrating through the floor,” he added, setting the cup down carefully.

Lois stared at it. Then at him.

“It’s late, Kent,” she said after a pause. “You don’t have to stay.”

He gave a small shrug. “I want to be here.”

“You know,” she said, sitting back, rubbing her eyes, “most people would’ve gone home by now.”

“I’m not most people,” he replied, without even a trace of ego. Just… fact.

That made her laugh. A tired, genuine thing. “Yeah. I’m starting to get that.”

They sat in silence for a while. It didn’t press, didn’t rush. Just was.

Lois looked back at her screen, but her fingers didn’t move.

“The lead’s good,” Clark offered. “Sharp. You’ve got the numbers down cold. Just need that final confirmation.”

“Yeah.” She hesitated. “I thought it’d come through by now. I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the whole thing’s a dead end.”

“You’re not wrong.”

She looked at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice.

Clark just gave a soft half-smile. “You’re never wrong.”

That landed somewhere she didn’t expect. She blinked, fast, and looked away. Lois didn’t speak for a moment. Just looked at the screen. Then back at him.

Something about his demeanor loosened a thread in her chest.

“My mom used to say I had this… engine. That I didn’t know how to turn off. Even when I was a kid.” Her voice was low, a little rough around the edges. “She’d find me trying to fact-check my homework at 2:00 a.m. Used to say I was going to run myself into the ground chasing something that didn’t exist.”

Clark listened, silent. Present.

“I just… I don’t know how to stop. Not really.” Lois gave a small, crooked smile. “I miss her.”

She let out a slow breath, regret flickering sharp in her chest. Like he wanted to hear about her damage. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

Clark’s gaze was steady. “It wasn’t.”

“I just dumped that all on you.”

“No. You were honest,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “…I’m glad you were.”

She looked at him, really looked. There was no pity in his face. No awe, either. Just… kindness. A quiet steadiness she hadn’t expected.

Lois blinked again and turned back to the screen, suddenly aware of the tea cooling beside her hand.

“Alright,” she said, voice a little gruffer. “Let’s land this thing.”

Clark could only smile.

**

“I can’t believe Perry wanted us to work together again.”

Clark turned his head toward her, lips tugging in that soft, wry smile. “Yeah, he must be punishing you.”

Lois gave a short, amused exhale as she adjusted the AC vent in the clunky, overworked sedan. Outside the windshield, the dark alley behind the 24-hour pharmacy buzzed under a single flickering light. Their stakeout had already stretched into its third hour, and Metropolis was quiet around them, hushed in that strange, charged way cities get just before dawn.

“I know,” she added lightly. “Stuck with you and your farm boy playlists.”

“I resent that,” Clark said, laughing. “The Crabjoys are timeless.”

“They’re terrible,” she laughed. “You’ve got layers, Kent.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Lois turned to look at him then, just a glance, her smirk half-hiding something gentler underneath.

He went quiet for a second, fingers flexing on the wheel. “Hey. I know you’ve been carrying a lot lately… the Metropolis Hospital piece, the follow-up on the mayor’s ethics leak, and—,” he hesitated, as if unsure whether to say the next part. “I just want to say… you’re doing good work, Lois. Really good. I hope someone’s told you that.”

Her breath caught for the briefest moment, soft and sudden. Then she scoffed lightly, trying to brush it off, but not quite brushing it away. “What, are you moonlighting as a motivational speaker now?”

He smiled, eyes on the empty alley. “No. I just mean it.”

She turned toward the window, heart thrumming a little harder than it should’ve been. “You always do that,” she said finally. “You always mean it. And you never try so hard that I have to wonder if it’s an act.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Something passed between them then, unspoken and electric. The air thickened. Clark reached down and cut the engine, the low hum fading into silence.

Then, very gently, he turned toward her, inching.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sweeping. It was quiet and hesitant, as if asking permission before he’d even crossed the center console. Her eyes flicked to his. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t even flinch.

When their lips met, it was soft. Barely there at first.

Lois’s hand rose to his shirt, not pulling, just resting. Her thumb brushed against the fabric near his collarbone, the tiniest pressure, grounding herself. Clark’s fingers cupped her jaw as if he were holding something fragile.

They broke apart slowly, like neither of them quite knew how.

Lois blinked. Words caught on the tip of her tongue, then vanished.

Clark sat back slightly, a nervous laugh escaping before he could stop it. “Lois, I'm… we can… we can take that back,” he said quickly, voice cracking just enough to betray his panic. “I mean, if that made you uncomfortable, or if I misread—,”

“Clark.” Her voice was low, steady. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

He gave her a quizzical look.

“I don’t think either of us imagined getting here. But we’re here.”

He froze. “Right,” he said. “Of course. I just… I don’t want to ruin whatever this is. Whatever we were. Before.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the dim light.

“We’re not pretending, are we?”

Clark’s mouth opened slightly, unsure of what to say… if he should say anything at all. But then her hand reached for his again, warm and certain, threading their fingers together. She leaned in, one breath, two, until they were close again.

And this time, she kissed him.

It was unhurried, more certain than the first, but still new, still testing the shape of things. Her lips moved with quiet confidence, not demanding, just… exploring. Learning.

Clark answered in kind. His hand slid to her waist, drawing her in until the console was no longer an obstacle, only a minor inconvenience.

Her fingers curled loosely behind his neck. He smelled like rain and something warm she couldn’t name. There wasn’t urgency. Just presence.

When they drew back, it was slow. Careful.

Their foreheads rested together for a breath. Maybe two.

Lois exhaled a soft laugh, not mocking, just faintly surprised. “Well,” she murmured. “That happened.”

Clark smiled, a little dazed. “Yeah.”

Neither of them moved to break the moment. Outside the windshield, the city glowed on in flickers of gold and neon. But here, inside the quiet hum of the parked car, time had tucked itself into something smaller.

She didn’t say what it meant. Neither did he.

But she didn’t let go of his hand.

And he didn’t ask her to.

**

Clark stumbled in through the restaurant door, half out of breath, hair tousled like he’d just raced a tornado, glasses slightly askew.

It was their first official date in the traditional sense of the word. They’d shared lingering coffees, impromptu lunches, and even an accidental museum visit that turned into a hand-holding marathon through time periods and oil paintings. There’d been a rainy walk home that ended in a kiss under her apartment awning, and a heated moment in the Planet elevator that left Clark dazed when the doors slid open to a very crowded bullpen… Lois walking out without a glance back, cool and unbothered. As if she hadn’t just scrambled every coherent thought in his head. But this, this was formal. A proper, agreed-upon “Friday night, 8:00 p.m., your favorite steakhouse” kind of date.

It was a stupid technicality. She hated technicalities. But still, she’d spent an embarrassing amount of time picking a dress and taming her hair. She didn’t usually go for anything too showy, but tonight she was wearing a shade of red lipstick that could probably stop Clark’s heart mid-beat.

Lois was already seated, back straight, legs crossed, chin resting on her hand like it wasn’t even a big deal. She looked like summer and firelight and danger, all wrapped up in that one crooked smirk she gave him when he finally reached the table.

But her eyes flicked up as he approached. And he saw it there, a simmer of irritation she’d try to pass off as casual. Just enough heat to make him squirm.

“You’re late.”

He deserved it. And he had been late. Only five minutes, but late all the same. Because he couldn’t decide on a tie.

He’d stood in front of the mirror, sweating bullets, holding up one after the other. Blue? Too safe. Gray? Too funeral. He ended up settling on the maroon one Martha once told him he looked handsome in.

He had tugged it on, hands slightly shaking. Because somehow, even after all the time they’d been spending together… late-night phone calls, Sunday brunches, stakeouts turned into shared fries, quiet walks home, and the kind of conversation that stretched long past the midnight hours… she still made him nervous. She always did.

“I know,” he said, catching his breath, reaching into his coat pocket with sheepish fingers. “But in my defense… I was having a tie crisis. And then, I made an emergency stop.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “An emergency?”

He pulled out a bouquet, half-tucked into his coat lining, slightly squished, but still beautiful. Wildflowers. Not the grocery store kind. The kind that looked like someone had picked them by hand in a field of sunlight.

“I remembered you liked these,” he said, awkwardly holding them out.

Lois blinked.

He could see the exact second her irritation melted into something warmer, something reluctant and terrifying and real.

She reached for the flowers slowly, like her hands might give something away she didn’t want to say yet.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured.

“I know,” he replied softly. “But I’m here.”

She didn’t say I forgive you. She didn’t say You’re off the hook. Instead, she gave him a look, a kind of startled surrender, like she just remembered she was supposed to be annoyed at him but couldn’t quite hold on to it.

Clark had no idea how someone could look like that and roll their eyes in the same second, but Lois Lane managed it.

“Sit down, Kent,” she said. “Before I start thinking you’re worth the trouble.”

Clark chuckled, tugging out his chair. “Noted. No more tie crises.”

Lois smirked. “Or at least text me next time you’re stuck in a mortal combat with your wardrobe.”

“I promise.”

They ordered wine. The steak was perfect. And somewhere between the first laugh and the second stolen glance, she reached across the table, curled her fingers into his, and didn’t let go.

**

The takeout containers sat on the kitchen counter half-eaten; a shared meal interrupted by conversation and soft laughter. The television was on but muted, casting soft blue flickers across the room. Lois padded back in from the kitchen, wearing mismatched socks and holding two glasses, one already half-full.

Clark was on the couch, unusually still, his hands resting against his knees. Not watching the TV, not doing anything really. Just... sitting.

Lois tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”

He blinked, glanced up at her with something too much like panic in his eyes, and then smiled too fast. “Yeah. Yeah. Just… thinking.”

She handed him his glass and dropped beside him, curling one leg under the other. “Dangerous,” she teased lightly, nudging his arm.

He gave a laugh, quiet and distracted.

Something was off.

She took a sip of wine, watching him from the corner of her eye as he fidgeted with the stem of his glass, rotating it, setting it down, picking it back up.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said finally, softly.

Lois turned to him fully. “Okay,” she said, voice just as quiet.

Clark cleared his throat. “I’ve wanted to say it for a while now. It’s just… you matter to me. And this, whatever this is between us, I don’t want it to be built on half-truths. I was waiting for the right time. Maybe I’ve waited too long…”

She leaned her elbow on the back of the couch, wine glass still in hand, and looked at him with something achingly fond.

“You did,” she said gently.

Clark blinked. “What?”

“You’re too late,” she gave a small shrug. “…Superman.”

He stared at her. Utterly frozen.

“You—,” he was floored.

“I’ve known,” she said, smile widening a little. “For a while now.”

“So you’ve just been letting me—?”

Lois softened. “I was waiting for you to tell me. I figured… you’d want to do it your way.”

“You—how did you—?”

She lifted her brows. “I'm a reporter, Clark. You disappear every time there’s a breaking news alert. You flinch at every police siren. You knew about the bridge collapse before it even hit the scanner…”

“But I—I wore glasses,” he said, dazed.

Lois laughed, setting her wine down so she could reach for his hand. “You changed your posture. Your voice. Your whole presence. It was actually really impressive. But still… it was always you.”

He was quiet, trying to piece this into something he could understand.

“You’re not mad?” he asked, quietly.

She shook her head. “I’m not mad.” She paused. “I was letting you find the right time. You were trying so hard to protect something that was never in danger.”

His fingers closed around hers. Gently, like he couldn’t believe she was still letting him hold her hand.

Lois looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back up. “Besides,” she said, “it’s not exactly news. Just… finally confirmed.”

And then she leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. Not rushed. Not a tease. Just a quiet kiss that said she was still here.

And he let himself melt into it, into her.

**

They had been texting earlier that afternoon, trading flirty lines over lunch breaks. Lois had sent a photo of the takeout she was eating at her desk, captioned “Not as good as the Thai place by your apartment. Fix this?” He had responded with “Dinner at 7. You bring the sarcasm, I’ll bring dessert.”

That had been the last she heard from him.

Seven turned to nine. Nine turned to eleven.

The first hour, she’d been mildly annoyed—he was late, big surprise. The second, she’d grown irritated, texting him again. By the third, her anger had begun to harden into something raw and brittle. She had called. She had tried the secure channel. Nothing. Radio silence. And sometime after midnight, when all she had left was silence and the echo of her own fury, her reflection out the window no longer looked like her own.

And now, as the clock blinked 12:53 a.m. in a mocking red hue, the front door finally opened. Quietly, carefully. The apartment was dark, save for the dim lamp over the sink she’d left on by instinct rather than intention. Clark stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He didn’t call out her name. He didn’t have to.

She was already there, standing in the middle of the living room with her arms folded tight across her chest like she’d been holding herself together for hours. Because she had.

He took one look at her and stopped cold.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” No inflection. No warmth. No affection. Just ice.

“I know,” he said, soft. “I’m late—,”

The words were meant to be gentle. Familiar. A callback to the teasing tone they’d shared earlier. But her face didn’t budge.

“Don’t be cute.” Her voice cut sharper than she meant. “Do not be cute with me right now.”

Clark’s smile faltered.

He took a careful step forward. “Lois, I—,”

“You didn’t text. You didn’t call. Not even—,” her voice rose with each word, anger crashing against the edge of panic. “Not even the emergency channel worked.”

“I had to ditch my phone,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “You were in danger. It wasn’t safe for me to call. They could’ve tracked—,”

“There’s always something,” she snapped, voice faltering. “There’s always some excuse, Clark.”

“It’s not an excuse—,”

“Isn’t it? Because you sure as hell didn’t think about what it would be like for me.” Her eyes were glassy now, hands shaking. “You couldn’t even get someone to pass on a message? Or do you just not care?”

He told himself she didn’t mean that. “I was trying to keep you safe. I had to lay low until—,”

“You were just gone. Vanished. For six hours. And no one knew where you were. Not Guy, not Michael. No one. Just silence. And now, what? A threat to me? Really?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it was.”

“And that’s convenient, isn’t it?” Lois stared at him, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

He blinked. “You think I’m lying to you.”

Her shoulders tightened, a breath caught in her throat.

Clark laughed, but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow, frayed, like something inside him had just snapped. His shoulders trembled as he dragged both hands down his face, then dropped them uselessly to his sides.

“Really, Lois? That’s what you think?” He said, voice sharp with disbelief.

There was no composure left in him. No restraint. Only raw, unsheltered hurt. He stepped back like the air between them had scorched him, like he couldn’t bear to be near her while she looked at him like that.

“You think I just willingly ignored you? That I chose to leave you in the dark? That your voice didn’t reach me and tear through me when I couldn’t answer?”

His gaze lifted to meet hers, tired and ravaged. Like she was both the wound and the balm. The only one who could hurt him like this… and the only one who could ever truly make it right.

“After everything we’ve been through…” His voice cracked again, collapsing into something small and hoarse. “Everything we’ve fought for. Everything we’ve survived. The late nights we held onto each other like the world might end. The arguments that ended in stubborn apologies and bland takeout. The mornings you stole the covers and pretended not to. The times I couldn’t sleep, and you didn’t ask why… you just stayed. That time you almost ended things because you thought we were too… incompatible.”

Her breath hitched, barely, but he caught it.

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “I know about that.” There was a dragged, aching pause. “Is this really what you make of what we built?’

That hurt.

“I—,” her hands trembled. “…There were no alerts. No news. No plane crashes, no alien invasion, no goddamn anything. You just… disappeared.”

His shoulders tensed, jaw tightening. “If they’d intercepted any signal—,”

“You always find a way to reach out. Always.”

He faltered. “I… I couldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Clark stared at her, stunned, like he’d just been hollowed out. “You… you still don’t believe me?”

“You’ve lied to me before.”

It left her lips before she could stop it, and the moment it did, Lois slapped a hand over her mouth like she could shove the words back inside. But it was too late. The silence that followed was raw and blistered.

Clark knew what she meant. Of course he did… The truth of who he was… what he was. But the omission had never been malice, never manipulation. It had been fear. Protection. Love. Misjudged maybe, but never hollow. And she had known that, too. She’d told him so herself.

He looked down, and something in him dimmed, quiet, resigned, like the last of the daylight slipping behind a cloud.

“…Maybe… maybe I should give you some space,” he stepped back, the words like glass in his throat.

“Wait,” she breathed out, bobbling.

Clark stopped mid-step, hands clenched at his side.

“Don’t—,” her voice cracked. “Don’t do that. Don’t walk away like that.”

Clark’s eyes flicked to hers, and they were already full of something too big to name. “You’re upset. And you have every right to be. I—,”

“…That doesn’t mean I want you gone.” It came out broken. All the fire went out of her as fast as it had flared. “Please,” she said, softer now. “Please don’t go,” her voice trembled, and so did she.

Clark was moving before the last words left her lips, crossing the room in three quiet, urgent steps. His hands lifted in instinctive offering, not even reaching for her, just waiting.

That was all it took.

She fell into him with a sound like a sob caught halfway to silence, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he came around her waist. They collided hard enough to stagger her back a step… and then another… until they tumbled together onto the couch behind her, tangled in each other.

His hold tightened, strong and certain, wrapping her in warmth. Her fingers slid into his hair, and he pulled her with a force that almost hurt. But she welcomed it. Needed it. It felt like crashing into a lifeline after hours of drowning. And Lois clung to him with everything she had left.

He rested his hand on the back of her head, voice barely a breath. “I’m sorry,” his lips brushed her forehead. “I tried, Lois, I swear… I tried reaching you. But—,”

“No, no…” she whispered, shaking her head, as if trying to physically undo the words she’d thrown at him. “I’m sorry, Clark… I didn’t mean it,” the words were jagged in her throat. “I do trust you,” she breathed. “With everything. You’re the only person in this world that I trust. Completely.”

“I know, I know,” he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world.

They stayed like that for a long time; entwined, breathing each other in, tears soaking silently into fabric. The world could have crumbled around them and neither would have noticed. Because finally, finally, they were here. Whole. And real.

“I thought…” she choked out. “…I thought you were dead.” Her eyes welled, the words trembling against his neck.

His forehead fell to hers like gravity had pulled him there. His breath trembled against her skin. Clark shook his head, raw and wrecked. “I’m here.” A kiss to her temple. “I’m right here.” Another to the corner of her eye, tasting the salt of her tears. His mouth found her cheek, her jaw, desperate and gentle, like he could stitch her back together one kiss at a time.

She touched his face then, reverent, disbelieving. Her thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, like she was trying to memorize him before he disappeared again.

Lois pulled him closer, impossibly closer, her mouth brushing his temple.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she choked out. “Don’t you ever—,” she pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes were tinted red, wide and unguarded.

But Clark didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because how could he promise her something the world would never stop asking him to break?

And Lois knew that. She always had.

It was a plea that carried no expectations, just the desperate, hollow ache of knowing the price of loving him.

**

The memory fractures like glass underfoot. Clark blinks hard, the echo of her voice still slicing through his chest as the present slams back into focus.

Late.

Too late.

…Kent.

The footsteps echo behind him, closing in. Clark braces, instinct coiling in his chest.

But they walk past him.

His breath catches.

They’re not coming for him. They’re coming for her.

“No,” Clark stumbles, forcing himself up, legs trembling beneath him. “Lois—,” his voice breaks, raw and low.

He blinks through the haze, vision fractured, unreliable. The figures move around her. Shadowed, deliberate, indistinct.

He can’t see their faces, can’t tell how many there are. Just shapes shifting in the dark, like wolves circling their prey. There are no blows, no shoves, no violence. Just an eerie lingering.

Then, a hand reaches toward her.

“Don’t you touch her,” Clark lurches forward, growling, then falters.

Dizziness crashes over him without warning, like a wave of darkness surging up from somewhere deep inside, thick and sickening. His head turns heavy, too heavy, like the weight of it might snap his spine. Numbness blooms in his chest first, then spreads, slow and merciless, like poison threading through every vein.

The sudden, sharp flash of green light that follows barely registers in his peripheral vision… a color akin to perky summer leaves but not joyful, wrong. Menacing.

A scream shreds from his throat before he can stop it. Everything inside him convulses. Muscles spasm, blood screams, veins burn like fire. His knees slam into the floor with a blow.

And still, through the fog and distress… he finds his voice, fractured and strained. “Lois… I’m still here.”

And then, suddenly… it stops.

His vision steadies just enough to see her.

Lois.

She’s in the corner, curled in on herself. Her back still turned. Her hands still over her ears. Her shoulders quake. The soft, broken whimpers spilling from her lips tear him apart.

She’s in pain.

“Lois…” His voice is soft now, almost gentle. “Lois, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hands haul him off the floor. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t look at them. Not even as his heels drag limply over the ground. Not even as his wrists are wrenched tighter, skin biting against metal.

“Don't be scared, Lois,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go. I promise.”

His eyes never leave her.

Lois doesn’t move. Not at first.

The silence devours everything.

Then she breaks.

Her knees give. Her back curls in on itself like she’s trying to fold away from the world. Her hands stay over her ears as if they could shield her from the sound of his scream, the echo of it lingering in the room like smoke.

A soft, wounded sob escapes her throat. Another. Another. But they’re soundless, strangled. Like grief that forgot how to breathe.

She had stood there. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t spoken. Not when he called her name, not when he reached for her, not when his voice cracked like it did when he was scared.

She’d just ignored him. Let him believe she’d wanted him gone.

But the truth, the cursed and bitter truth she carries still, is much crueler.

Kryptonite, poisonous and unforgiving, burns inside her. Not in her hands. Not in a lead-lined box. Behind her irises. Lodged like shrapnel beneath her gaze.

She cannot open her eyes. Will not. Because they no longer see… they sear.

And if she dares look at him, if she dares even catch a glimpse… she’ll be his undoing. Breaking him down, molecule by molecule, until there is nothing left but ash and the distant memory of hope and warmth.

Lucy doesn’t even bother knocking. She marches into the agent’s office hurriedly, the speech she had so carefully rehearsed turning into a simple demand. “I need to see Wyatt.”

Denise Christopher looks up from the paperwork in hand, a look of astonishment. “Excuse me?”

“I know you have the authority to give me permission.”

“Lucy, he’s in an undisclosed location. No visitors allowed.”

“So blindfold me, have me ride the trunk of a car, whatever you have to do.”

Denise looks at her skeptically, left brow up. Lucy sighs, that’s not the way to get what she wants.

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “Please … I need to talk to him, okay? I just need to talk to him.”

“What’s this about?”

“I’m not going to try to break him out or anything … I just … I want to explain some things to him. He was given no time to process his losses … or just anything that happened after he came back from that trip,” Lucy explains. “Please, I just want to help him out.”

The agent looks at her knowingly. She’s right, Lucy’s right. It couldn’t hurt. Denise had been planning to pay him a visit herself that afternoon. She didn’t like doing this … having him locked up … but it was her job and she had to do it. She couldn’t deny the anguished look Wyatt displayed while being taken away … and with reason. He could certainly use a friendly face.

“Make it quick.”

**

There’s bright light engulfing the cell for the first time in … how long? He doesn’t even know how long he’s been in there. It’s definitely the most light he’s seen since he was thrown in that cubicle … well, “seen” being a stretch since he didn’t bother to look up or even open his eyes.

The heavy door closes with a thump and the ringing in his ears from the sweeping silence resumes. What the hell was all of that for? Had a meal just been brought to him? Opening a cell door just to close it right back was not protocol. So why had they just done it? He didn’t know and frankly … he didn’t care.

Lucy stands by the door, watching. Wyatt has his head down, stance unchanged by the commotion that has just transpired. He’s sitting on the makeshift-bench-improvised-bed (or whatever it is those excuses for lounging places are called) in the far end of the cell, hands clasped together in cuffs.

The sight makes Lucy’s blood boil. Had Wyatt made a mistake? Absolutely. Should he pay for it? Sure. But this seemed a bit extreme for her likings … the conditions in which he was being kept, these conditions … it was outrageous. Wyatt hadn’t gone on a murder spree, he hadn’t committed treason or conducted a terrorist attack. It was reckless and impulsive and even wrong of him to steal the Lifeboat, but he had returned it safely and even surrendered to the authorities upon his return, no fights.

She takes in a breath of what she would like to call fresh air but in this place, it’s anything but. Her mouth opens and she hesitates for a second, but then she finally manages a stammer.

“W- W- Wyatt?”

The sound registers in his ears and he considers whether delirium might be starting to kick in. Despite the daunting thoughts he brings himself to look up in the direction of the gloomy entryway, squinting his eyes in an attempt to adjust to the poorly lit quarter. He knows that voice … it sends a shiver down his spine the moment he hears it, but he’s afraid to acknowledge it … afraid to give it power over him. What if he allows that voice to make him hopeful … just to find out he’d been in a daze?

His sight finally adjusts and relief swells in his chest, followed by a foreign fleeting pang. That is her all right … all dark hair, dark eyes, and the casual look she always has before stepping inside the Lifeboat … the casual look she pulls off so well. Her signature Adidas bring a quick smile to his face that is soon replaced by concern. Her facial expression displays disturbance, he notices, and the strength with which she secures a tablet to her grasp turns her knuckles white.

“Lucy?” Wyatt is fast on his feet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

That’s just like Wyatt Logan, Lucy thinks … worrying about other people when he’s the one in a crumbling situation. Lucy forces a smile, walking past him to sit by the spot he had just vacated. As if by an unspoken request, Wyatt follows suit.

Lucy regards him for a while. He looks so battered … so downcast and broke and dispirited. She wishes she could reach out for him and make the pain go away as easy and fast as flowers wither in the dead of winter. And so she follows her instincts and locks her emotions away … deep down … in a place no one could possibly reach, or so she thinks.

“How are you?” She knows the question is as stupid as it sounds the moment the words part from her.

Wyatt is gentle enough to simply shrug at the question and not chastise her for it.

“Wyatt, I’m so sorry,” she says in a low tone. “I’m so sorry about Jessica.”

Wyatt was half hoping she wouldn’t bring that up … but that was just stupid, a child’s whim. What else would Lucy be doing there? With a tablet in hand no less. She had come to help him figure things out, he was sure. It was such a nice gesture on her part … they were so intent on the task of taking him away … his brain didn’t have the time to process the information that was given him. He had heard Lucy’s voice, and then Rufus’ … “Jessica is still dead”, “the other two women are alive”, “I’m so sorry, Wyatt,” … none of that had actually registered.

The moment his body hit the cold cell floor the previous day he wept … at what exactly? Everything. The confusion, frustration, sadness. How was it possible she was not alive? It made no sense. The other two women were alive … why wasn’t Jessica alive as well? He needed someone to explain it to him … walk him through it.

As if Lucy had just read his mind, he is momentarily blinded by the brightness on the screen as she brings it to life with a tap.

“It happened the same way it did before,” she measures her words … careful with every intonation, as if she were defusing a bomb.

Wyatt takes a quick peek at the screen but soon averts his eyes … he knows that article really well. He spent the last five years of his life reading it front to back, looking at any hint that could point him toward a new clue.

“I don’t understand, Lucy. How did this happen? How is it possible?” He is shaking his head and his breath is getting more erratic with every syllable. Lucy feels helpless … just as confused as he is, wishing she could be of more help than to just state the obvious to him.

“I don’t know,” she says, desperately trying to reach deep within … trying to find words that’ll make him feel better, give him a little bit of comfort. You can do this, Lucy, she tells herself. You have a PhD in History; words should come easy to you. But she has nothing.

“I killed a man, Lucy. And not a serial killer like H.H. Holmes … a good man,” he says, the guilt cutting him like a knife.

Rufus had told her all about their adventure. Lucy nods sorrowfully. “I know, Wyatt. It was an accident,” she tries reassuring him, knowing he won’t believe it.

Wyatt looks into her eyes now, reaching, searching, and a jolt of pain is sent through every fiber in Lucy’s body as she knows he’s not going to find anything there. He shakes his head, Lucy hears the word “no” several times before he laughs nervously and she’s so concerned for him … concerned he might be having a breakdown.

“Why?”

The word comes out in a monotone and it’s cracked and broken … Lucy doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this desolate before. She feels helpless and her emotions mirror his … she opens her mouth but there’s only void where her mind used to be.

Wyatt is not ashamed of what happens next. He trusts Lucy, he cares for her … they are close … good friends, right? He’d told Rufus on occasion he had no one … Jessica was all he had, but the truth was … Lucy was the closest thing he had to “having someone”. Fuck it, he thinks. This is Lucy. If he couldn’t be comfortable and himself with her … then who? He lets it all out. He doesn’t care about anything anymore, he just allows her to see him in his most vulnerable, the emotion he had been struggling to keep in finally free … he’s an open book for her to see.

He slowly gravitates towards her, his forehead cautiously coming into contact with her shoulder, as if he’s asking for permission to do so. Lucy is stiff for a split second, taken aback … surprised by the gesture, but quickly recovers and allows him to relax. Wyatt adjusts and cries into the crook of her neck and Lucy softens up, pressing her eyes together … willing herself not to breathe in his scent. He’s shivering rhythmically and the silence in the room is impaired by his quiet sobs. She brings her hand up and stops midair …  considering her next step, calculating … and settles on brushing her fingertips against his messy hair. She whispers a suppressed “It’s okay,” she’s sure is inaudible to him.

And so that’s how the pair remains for what feels like … forever. For both of them. Wyatt can almost fall asleep, he feels that calm and serene … his shudders slowly subsiding to Lucy’s strokes. Lucy, on the other hand, fights to keep herself alert … represses any impulses she might want to give into. Her eyes fill with tears many times over.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt. I really am,” she breaks the silence.

She’s being completely honest. She admitted Wyatt’s visit in the middle of the night before stealing the Lifeboat had thrown her off her game a little, but the grief she felt for Wyatt was real … despite herself. She’d spent the entire day while Wyatt and Rufus were back in 1983 stressing out over what it might mean … what Jessica coming back might mean to her … him … them. But now all she felt was guilt. How could she be so selfish? How could she even think that? What gave her the right? How could she feel so entitled to even allow the thought to cross over her mind?

“It’s possible … ” Lucy starts it as a statement, but quickly changes her tone to make it a question. “Is it possible … that … he didn’t kill her?”

Wyatt is silent for a moment but Lucy feels him react to it on her own body … he’s considering, pondering.

“He said he did it,” Wyatt says, and Lucy shifts in her seat at the shiver his hot breath sends through her neck.

“Maybe … he lied?”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Wyatt … I- I don’t know. With everything we’ve been shown lately … all this Rittenhouse crap … time travel, I don’t know. I guess anything is possible.”

Wyatt remains still. She’s right. He hadn’t considered that possibility … or didn’t want to consider that possibility … but it made sense. The problem was … that only evoked more questions.

Another moment of silence falls between them and Lucy considers whether it is a good time or not to do this, if it was selfish of her to do it … but she has to, she just has to share it with him.

“Wyatt, I have to tell you something.”

He brings himself up immediately … he knew it, he saw it plastered across her face the moment he set his eyes on her. He wipes away the reminiscent tears in his eyes but it is not much help since the trace is still there to be seen … left behind in redness and swelling.

Lucy is struggling. She opens her mouth to speak but trails off before even starting. She’s calculating the right way of saying it, but can’t find a solution to her predicament.

“You know you can trust me, right?”

“I know,” Lucy nods. “I know. That’s not it … it’s just,” she digresses.

“What? What is it, Lucy?” The concern in his voice is evident.

She won’t let this surge of emotions take over her … she won’t. She curses herself in her mind and clears her throat so she can finally share this burden with him. Ever since she found out … he was the only person she wanted to tell.

“Remember when I told you about my father?” She’s cautious, as if she’s handling something flammable. “My biological father,” she quickly clarifies.

“Yeah. We were just about to travel to … to Watergate,” he waits expectantly for her to continue.

Lucy nods. “Well, yeah … while you guys were out … I found out … he … we found out,” Lucy takes in a sharp breath to keep her from breaking down.

Wyatt doesn’t want to rush her or startle her, so he just lets her take her time ... even if it worries him beyond words.

Lucy takes another shaky breath and shuts her eyes tightly. “He is Rittenhouse,” she finally manages to get out.

She doesn’t have the guts to look Wyatt in the eyes, so she just keeps going. “He’s been working with Mason, he’s the one who’s been terrorizing Rufus and his family … Rufus was pretty upset when he found out … I guess you can’t blame him, you know”?

Lucy clears her throat and just stares at her limp hands sitting on her lap.

Wyatt tries taking the information in, dumbfounded. Lucy is clearly distressed, hands shaking now, and Wyatt tries his best to offer some comfort all the while not alarming her.

“Lucy … ” he starts. His tone is considerate and understanding, and that just makes her want to cry even more. “Are you … are you okay?”

Lucy just shakes her head “no”, mustering the courage to look him in the eye for the first time.

“I know things are going to change now. The DHS won’t trust me anymore … and with reason. Rufus, you … ” her voice cracked at the last one “ … anyone wouldn’t want to associate with someone like me.”

Wyatt normally found it endearing when Lucy went at it like this … not this time. The distress she was feeling was very real … it showed in her tone, her body language, her aura.

“What are you talking about, Lucy?”

“I am Rittenhouse,” she spits out. “I’m everything we’ve been fighting this whole time. I’m a fraud.”

While it breaks him, he’s not surprised Lucy thinks that way. If the things that had been going on around Mason Industries lately were any indication, it wouldn’t surprise him if they actually did start treating her that way, like an outcast.

“Lucy, you are not Rittenhouse. You are not a fraud.”

Lucy scoffs as if she wants to believe him but doesn’t, can’t. “It’s in my blood, Wyatt. It’s who I am. It’s what makes up my very existence.”

“No, it’s not. It doesn’t mean anything, Lucy. It doesn’t dictate who you are.”

“It does, Wyatt. It does. That’s what biology is all about,” she cries. “I’m losing everything, Wyatt. My sister … my identity. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Lucy, listen to me,” he says. “You are nothing like those bastards, nothing. You are the complete opposite.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, Lucy. And I mean the complete opposite. There’s still much about Rittenhouse we have yet to learn but so far we know they kill everyone and anyone in their way … including children. And they do it just for the mere heck of it … to hurt other people. They kill people for not sharing their beliefs.” Wyatt’s tone manifests just how disgusted and infuriated he is. “You, Lucy … will not allow us to take out bad people … because if we do … it might cause ripples in ways we can’t possibly predict. You have to sit idle and watch some of your idols … some of the best individuals history has ever seen … get murdered because saving them might also bring about something bad in our current reality,” the emotion in Wyatt’s voice was raw, unrestrained.

Lucy feels her breath catch in her chest, no strings to hold back the hot unshed tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Lucy. I’m sorry on top of everything this has to be a part of your reality now … but it means nothing. Nothing. You’re still you.”

“But,” Lucy tries to counteract, to which Wyatt simply holds his index up.

“You’re a good person, Lucy. No biology, blood, or DNA is ever going to change that. There’s not one ‘Rittenhouse’ bone inside of you,” and they both briefly chuckle at treating the word as an adjective. “You make your own history. You, Lucy. You’re the only one who can determine the person you are.”

She looks at him, her heart is warmed beyond belief. She cannot believe him … this man … sitting a few inches from her, is he even real? Not minutes ago he was going through his own ordeal but he pulled himself together … to comfort her. She didn’t know how much she needed to hear those words until they left his mouth.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

They sit in silence for a moment and electricity goes through Lucy’s body when their little fingers brush together. Lucy is trying to decide whether the brush was accidental or not … it was all due to reflection, right? Their hands were resting on their sides and they were close to each other … so it was only natural their fingers nudged upon movement … wasn’t it? A loud thud brings their attention to the door, and a man in black uniform announces they are waiting for her.

“Flynn jumped,” he says. “They need you ready to go now.”

Lucy eyes Wyatt, she so doesn’t want to go on a mission without him … but she has to. It’s something she’ll discuss with Agent Christopher as soon as she comes back. “I’ll see what I can do about this,” she tells him.

“Don’t worry about it, Lucy,” he shakes his head. Too late. Of course she worried about it.

She gets up against her will, breaking the physical contact between them and takes just a little too long to walk to the door. She stops midway and turns to find his attention fixated on her … and she needs to take a deep breath to fight against the sudden weakness manifesting on her knees.

“Thank you, Wyatt,” she simply states.

He smiles and nods. Takes a while before adding. “Thank you, Lucy. Thank you.”

Lucy is just about to turn the corner and make it to the frigid corridor outside his cell when he calls out after her.

“Hey, Lucy?”

She turns to face him, happy she has an excuse to get lost in the vastness of his blue eyes one last time.

“Nothing’s going to change. This dynamic,” he motions back and forth between the two of them “it’s not going to change. If everything else is lost to you … I’ll still be there.”