This story is for Lynn S. M. in response to her winning bid in the fundraising auction.

Time frame - mid to late Season 1

Rating - PG

Disclaimer - None of the characters are mine. I'm just borrowing them for a little fun and to help raise some money to keep the boards afloat.

Thanks to:
Lynn for bidding on my story and providing some ideas about what she wanted in the fic.
Iolanthe and Kathy B for betaing and (as usual) providing great suggestions for improvement.


Written in the Cards

Part 1

"Listen up, everyone."

Perry White's bellow across the newsroom snapped everyone's attention from their computer screens and to the editor-in-chief.

Everyone, that is, except Clark Kent.

Clark looked at Lois Lane. Because that's what he did. Whenever there was a disruption. Whenever his eyes wandered from his work. Whenever his thoughts drifted from his story. Whenever she moved. Shuffled. Sighed.

And sometimes, he looked at her for no reason at all.

Other than he was in love with her of course.

Her head turned towards Perry, giving Clark the benefit of her profile.

He smiled. Because she was here … with him. OK, not with him, but in the same room as him, working just across from him, and later, there was every chance they would go out together.

On a story.

Not a date.

And that was Clark's life in one bittersweet nutshell.

He was with Lois constantly. He talked with her. Laughed with her. Chased leads with her. Debated stories with her. Bantered with her. Edited her copy. Touched her shoulder, her back, her arm. He spent time with her nearly every day. But she had shown no inclination to be with him. Not in the way he wanted.

She had warned him. Don't fall for me, farmboy. I don't have time for it.

But her counsel had come too late.

And even if she had spoken before that magical, life-defining, heart-claiming moment in Perry's office, a few words were never going to be enough to hold back the avalanche of Clark Kent's feelings for Lois Lane.

"That's a ridiculous idea, Perry." Lois jumped from her seat, wrenching Clark from his reverie. "We're a newspaper. A newspaper! The best newspaper in the -"

"The best newspaper should have a heart," Perry said quietly.

"There are other ways to show we have a heart," Lois declared. "What's wrong with an auction? A carnival? Even a bake sale, for goodness' sake!"

"You can't cook," Cat drawled.

"I can't write jingles, either," Lois retorted, spinning around to where Cat was lounged in a desk chair. "I'm a journalist!"

"It's for the kids, Lois," Perry said in a voice of calm conviction. "They need our help."

"I'm not against helping them," Lois said. "Really, I'm not. But there has to be another way, Perry. How about we all give a donation?"

"This isn't something that can be fixed overnight, Lois," Perry said. "They need ongoing support."

"I'll write more stories," she said, sweeping over to the editor and looking him straight in the eye. "We'll get better stories. Bigger stories. We'll drive the circulation numbers so high that -"

"The suits have made up their minds."

"I think it's a good idea," Jimmy said, speaking up from where he was standing a few yards from Clark's desk.

Lois shot Jimmy a baleful scowl before turning her attention to Clark. "What do you think, Clark?" she asked.

Clark picked up his pencil and tapped it on his desk a few times, pretending to consider Perry's proposition. "Perhaps we should give it a try if it means we can help -"

"Urggh!" Lois turned from him. "What about the rest of you? Cat? Ralph? Pete? What do you think?"

"Lois," Perry said before anyone else could reply. "It's a good idea. We have the photographers. We have the writers. We have equipment that sits idle a few hours each day. Why not produce greeting cards?"

"I could not write anything that anyone would want to read in a greeting card," Lois said, flouncing back to her desk, sitting down, and pouting at her monitor.

"There must be one holiday that could inspire you to jot down a few words," Perry said.

"Nope," she said. "Not one. I'm a reporter. I write the news." As if to drive home her point, she began furiously tapping away at her keyboard.

"What about for Superhero's Day?" Cat said. "Surely you could drag out a few words about the big man with skin-tight spandex wrapped so snugly around his rock-hard muscle."

Lois broke from her attack on the keyboard to shoot a glare at Cat. "There is no such thing as Superhero's Day," she said disdainfully.

"We could make a Superhero's Day," Cat said. "Mother's Day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day. Superhero's Day."

"That's a great idea," Jimmy said enthusiastically. "And for the first Superhero's Day, the only place to get Superhero cards will be the Daily Planet Greeting Card Company. That should bring in enough to support families for months."

"And what, exactly, would one do on Superhero's Day?" Lois sneered.

"I can think of plenty of ideas," Cat offered. "Superman sans cape for breakfast. Superman sans belt for lunch. Superman sans boots for supper. Superman sans suit for -"

"Superman has people to rescue," Lois informed her coldly. "He doesn't have the time for -" She sniffed. "For whatever it is you're thinking."

"It wouldn't be just about Superman," Jimmy said. "If we're going to sell a lot of -"

"How many other superheroes do you know?" Lois fired at him.

"That's the point," Jimmy said. "On Superhero's Day, you could send a card to anyone who is your hero."

"Yeah," Perry agreed, swinging into the conversation. "Like your favourite singer. Or your wife. Your boss. Your partner. Your parents. It's a chance to say 'I appreciate you'."

"There has to be another way," Lois repeated, although her vehement opposition had waned a little.

"You have five minutes to come up with a better idea," Perry said. "Assuming you don't, I expect all the writers to be regularly submitting lines of verse appropriate for various holidays. And Jimmy, I want photos."

"Can't I write poetry, too?" Jimmy said in a whiney voice that was mitigated with a grin.

Perry stalled from his march towards his office and turned. "You think you can write poetry?" he asked, thick with scepticism.

Jimmy's grin widened. "Of course, I can. How about … Capes are Red; Tights are Blue; Send your favourite hero, A Planet card from you."

"I've got something," Ralph butted in eagerly. "Capes are Red; Tights are Blue; If your name's Mad Dog Lane, Supes'll rescue you."

The gathering laughed. Lois tried to pretend she hadn't heard. Clark, as he did whenever Superman was mentioned, tried to fade to obscurity.

"Perhaps you should leave the writing to the writers," Perry said dryly. With a meaningful look at Lois, he added, "I'm sure they can produce something better than that tripe."

She ignored him, staring at her monitor as if held all the answers to life, including tips for avoiding unreasonable editors-in-chief.

Perry shot Clark a look - pointed and persuasive.

Clark nodded, accepting his mission. Perry wanted him to try to ease Lois into a more favourable frame of mind.

Clark waited while the required five minutes ticked by. Then he stood, made a detour outside to get good coffee, and returned to Lois's desk.

"Thanks," she said as she took the take-out cup from him. She leaned back in her desk chair and sipped. "I'm not against helping the kids and their families," she said in a small voice.

"I know that," Clark said. He hitched his thigh along the edge of her desk. "Everyone knows that."

"It's all right for you," Lois said. "You're good at all the sappy emotional stuff."

"I think you could write something better than what I've seen in most cards."

"Hmph."

Clark forced a friend-shaped grin. "How about a small competition? I know how much you like to win."

Her interest sparked, and her back straightened. "A competition?"

"Let's see," Clark said, appearing to consider, although the perfect idea had already burst through his brain with the speed of a Superman rescue. "We both write a verse … something that could go in a card. We swap verses at the end of tomorrow and whoever loses has to pay for dinner."

She screwed up her nose … making Clark want to chuckle at the sheer cuteness of her expression. "I have a mountain of research I need for that feature Perry asked me to do," she said.

Clark knew exactly what was coming, but if Lois wanted his help, she was going to have to ask for it, so he simply raised an eyebrow in question.

Lois grinned, probably because she knew he knew, and said, "I win, you owe me a day of research."

"And if I win?"

"I buy you dinner at that new Italian restaurant across from Centennial Park."

Clark nodded his agreement, figuring she'd just given him some powerful motivation to write the best poem he could.

"How are we going to decide whose verse is better?" Lois asked.

Clark looked around. "Perhaps Jimmy could be the judge," he said. Raising his voice, he called, "Hey, Jimmy?"

The photographer hurried over. "What do you need, CK?"

"A poetry judge. Six o'clock tomorrow."

"Sure," Jimmy said, "I can judge poetry."

Lois looked dubiously from Clark to Jimmy. "You can't judge anything if your abilities don't go beyond 'Capes are red'," she said sternly, although there were tiny sprays of amusement glistening in her eyes.

"If I can write a poem in the next half an hour to prove my qualifications, can I be your judge?" Jimmy asked.

Lois appeared to think about that for a moment. "You can only be the judge if you don't know who wrote which poem."

"OK," Jimmy said. "I'll take a paper from both of you, scramble them without looking at them, and give you back one each. You both read the poem you have, so I won't know who's reading whose work."

Clark eyed Lois. "Is that OK?" he asked.

She nodded slowly, and Jimmy wandered away, muttering under his breath. "What sort of poem?" she asked.

"Anything that could go inside a greeting card," Clark said. "That will give Perry two verses to start his collection."

"Does it have to be for a particular holiday?"

"No. Perry said this would be ongoing, so we'll need cards for all the holidays eventually."

Lois glided her thumb along the rim of her cup. "What Perry said - it makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Clark agreed, not wanting to admit that he'd been too engrossed in looking at Lois to hear everything Perry had said.

"It must be awful … to have a child with a disability and not be able to afford to pay for someone to look after him so you can go to the dentist … or the doctor … or just have some time out."

Clark nodded, saying nothing so Lois could continue if she wanted to.

She looked up at him with a subdued smile. "I guess I can write a couple of lines," she conceded.

"You'll probably surprise yourself," Clark said. "Maybe you have the heart of a great poet and it has been struggling for years to scramble out from under the mountain of hard facts and exact detail."

Their shared smile was interrupted as Jimmy bounded up to them. "Got one," he announced.

"Got one what?" Lois asked.

"Got the poem that will prove I can be your judge."

"Go on," Lois said, looking mildly interested.

Jimmy held up a scrap of paper and began to chant. "There was a reporter called Clark J Kent; Straightest arrow, could not be bent; He chased down facts, And reported acts; And followed Lois wherever she went."

Lois drank from her coffee, her eyes dropping to her desk.

Under her makeup, her cheeks blossomed to cherry red.

Clark cleared his throat and tried to pretend he hadn't noticed her reaction.

"So?" Jimmy asked eagerly. "Can I do it? Can I be your judge?"

"We don't have a whole lot of choice," Lois said with a cold nod in the direction of Cat.

Perhaps sensing the allusion, Cat sauntered over. "So, Lois," she said. "You're going to write something about the big boy in blue? I could give you some 'inside information' if you know what I mean."

"No, thanks."

Cat smirked. "There was a man from out space; Bulging with muscle, fine of face; He runs, he leaps, he bounds, he flies; He can rescue me anytime … and then take off the disguise."

Lois slapped her cup on the desk and returned her attention to her computer screen.

"That's pretty good," Jimmy said with grudging respect. "Perhaps you should be the judge."

"If I were the judge," Cat said loftily, "Clark would win."

"A judge is supposed to be impartial," Jimmy said. "And you couldn't deliberately choose Clark because you wouldn't know which poem is his."

Cat slowly lifted her eyebrow to form a precise arch. "Really?" she said. "You don't think I'd be able to spot Lois's adoring tribute to Superman?"

Clark dropped his eyes to his feet, trying to save himself from seeing the affirmation he knew would be rampant on Lois's face.

Superman was her hero. Her only hero.

"Show time is six o'clock," Jimmy announced. He carefully tore two blank pages from his notebook and gave one each to Lois and Clark. "Write your entry on this paper, fold it, and hand it to me on the dot of six tomorrow."

Lois took the paper without comment. She wheeled her chair tighter into her desk and continued with her story.

"Good luck, CK," Jimmy said as Clark took the piece of paper.

"Thanks."

As Jimmy moved away, Clark's gaze drifted back to Lois. Her posture was severe and unwelcoming; her fingers drummed a rhythm of stony purpose.

"Keep tomorrow evening free," he called softly. "You'll have a dinner date."

"Keep Saturday free," she countered, her fingers not missing a beat. "You'll have a date with a few dozen tomes in the library."

"You haven't won yet," he tossed back at her.

"But I will," she said.

Accepting that their brief period of closeness had passed, Clark retreated to his desk.

Lois had been more prickly than usual lately. Sometimes, just talking with her had been like trying to navigate a minefield.

Sliding into his desk, Clark positioned himself as he usually did - where he could stare at his screen but still see Lois in his peripheral vision.

He had to write a poem.

A few lines, sufficiently sincere for a greeting card.

But much of the gloss of a possible win had faded.

He wanted to go out with Lois - but not because she was forced to. Because she wanted to.

And he had to admit, now that he'd set it up as a competition, she was probably going to win.

He couldn't write anything that could be construed as being about Lois. Already, the vibe around the newsroom, linking him with Lois in a way far more personal than mere colleagues, was making her uncomfortable.

He didn't follow Lois wherever she went.

OK, he wanted to. But he didn't.

Unless she was in danger.

And then he had no choice.

But perhaps that was why he'd sensed her withdrawing.

Withdrawing from him, Clark.

But still eager for contact with Superman.

Clark had long believed she imagined herself to be in love with the man in the suit.

And Clark was in love with her.

A triangle. Twisted and tortuous and veiled in so many secrets.

Clark was in love with a woman who was in love with a side of him that could never openly return her love.

And the side of him that could love her … did love her … would always love her … was the side of him she barely noticed.

Clark sighed.

He picked up a pencil.

Your strength and your grace inspire me

He scratched a line through his words.

Your presence sweetens my dreams

Pouring honey through my soul

He tore up the paper into tiny scraps and threw them into the trash can. He did not need to broadcast that he dreamed about Lois.

How was he going to write anything heartfelt when his heart was bound up in his love for Lois?

He glanced across to her desk.

Not for the first time, he toyed with the idea of responding to her clear overtones towards Superman.

But Clark had never wanted Lois on those terms.

He wanted her to love him … the ordinary man.

With another sigh that rose from the depths of his heart, Clark picked up his pencil. Lately, his hope had diminished that she would ever see him as anything more than a friend.

Taking another piece of paper, he wrote:

A friend is a blessing

Someone there in good times and bad

Someone who sees without judging

And shares the moments both happy and sad

A friend is a gift of memories

To catalogue, keep and store

But oh, how friendship batters the heart

That yearns for so much more

Clark crumpled up the paper and buried it in his pants pocket. He lurched from his desk and strode out of the bull pen.

Once outside, he ran into the nearest alley and spun into the suit. Someone, somewhere had to need rescuing.

Even the most difficult of rescues would be easier than trying to squeeze carefully anonymous poetry from a heart and a mind that was immersed in Lois Lane.

|_|_|_|

Lois had quickly covered her notepad as she'd heard the approach of Clark's footsteps.

To her surprise, he hadn't stopped at her desk but had continued right out of the newsroom without even glancing in her direction.

His phone hadn't rung, meaning he hadn't had a tipoff, so there was no need to chase after him.

Where had he gone?

And more importantly, why had he left so abruptly?

She coloured a little as she remembered the newsroom banter.

Was Clark upset that about the crack that he always followed her?

And if he were upset, was it his professional ego that had been bruised?

Or something else?

Was it possible that he had feelings for her?

He liked her. She knew that. He admired her. As a reporter, certainly. Perhaps as a person, too.

But did that equate to something deeper?

And if he had those feelings, why hadn't he followed up on them?

Because he didn't want to risk their work relationship?

Their friendship?

Or because his feelings weren't that deep or compelling?

Lois picked up her pencil.

What words sprang to mind when she thought of Clark?

She jotted down two.

Thank you …

She owed him so much.

Thank you for being my …

Her what?

Her partner? Certainly. She could work with Clark - and that made him different from everyone else. But it was more than that; she enjoyed working with Clark.

Thank you for being my …

Friend? That, too, was true. His presence in her life had gone from being aggravatingly interesting to comfortingly constant.

Comfort?

Is that what she felt for Clark?

Yes …

But …

Was there more?

Lois slammed down her pencil and reached for the coffee Clark had brought her.

The cup was empty.

She lurched from her chair and marched to the coffee machine, wondering how she was going to write anything intelligible when her heart was ensnared in a labyrinth of confusion.

|_|_|_|

"OK, everyone," Jimmy said in a big voice as the clocked ticked over to six o'clock the next day. "It's show time. Lois, Clark, hand me your best effort."

Clark rose slowly from his desk, taking Jimmy's notepad paper from his shirt pocket as a small crowd gathered.

He was unsatisfied almost to the point of humiliation with the poem he was going to submit.

But he had no choice.

He had discovered he was incapable of writing anything from his heart that didn't scream Lois Lane.

She didn't want to know how he felt about her. She certainly wouldn't want his fixation publicly aired in the newsroom like bold, black headlines.

Clark handed Jimmy his paper, forming a fake, confident smile to greet Lois as she came to stand beside him.

She didn't respond.

Jimmy put the identical pieces of folded paper into an empty trash can and energetically swished them around. Then, he offered it to Lois, lifting it above her line of sight. She reached in and took out a piece of paper.

Clark took the remaining piece.

He slowly unfolded it … and saw unfamiliar words.

He had Lois's poem.

He silently read the first line. His stomach clenched as the acid truth blistered the soft pockets of his heart.

Lois's poem was dedicated to Superman.

"You can read first, Clark," Jimmy said.

Clark cleared his throat, trying to make it sound as if it were the build-up to a swashbuckling performance. Then, he steeled himself to speak the words of Lois's love for her hero.