*25*
Clark Kent walks down the street.
He walks down the street, and no one stops. No one stares. No one calls the media. One man does come over, but only to smile and shake his hand and thank him for what he did for Superman (a quiet, somber thanks next to the overwhelming gratitude often given Superman for his acts of heroism, but it means every bit as much to Clark Kent). When Clark replies, with a thanks and a shrug and a smile because it’s hard not to smile back when someone is offering him such acceptance, the man doesn’t do a double-take or gawk or stand in amazement to hear his voice.
Clark Kent speaks, and it is accepted as a perfectly normal thing to do.
He walks in public, in the open, with a suit on and glasses shielding the disbelief in his eyes, and it is not an occasion worth noting.
It has taken him this long (five weeks, three days, seven hours) to accept that he is here again. Alive and real and accepted and dual. He still goes out mainly at night, like now, when there are fewer people out (because he is afraid to tempt fate or mess with a good thing). He still stays quiet and fairly solitary in the newsroom (because he has forgotten the art of casual conversation, and has no impetuous, brave, foolhardy, compassionate woman to sweep him up in her wake). He still tenses up every time anyone looks at him (because he is used to eyes, thousands and thousands, millions through television screens, but one on one, they terrify him, so much more intimate and invasive). He still finds himself afraid he will face accusations or denunciations or disbelief (because this is a dream he has never allowed himself to fall into before for fear of how much it will hurt when he wakes up).
But despite all that, he is getting better. He does come out, as Clark, walking down a street instead of flying over it. He has begun, sparingly, tentatively, to talk to a few fellow reporters, those who weren’t there the last time he worked at the Daily Planet. He may tense up, but he relaxes almost immediately (reminds himself that Clark matters too, and maybe he is vulnerable again, but being Clark Kent is worth the danger).
He never thought he would have this (be this) again.
But here he is.
Clark Kent. Walking down the street. In the open. Smiling. Talking.
Heading to a date with Lois Lane.
That was something he’d never let himself consider (even before he was split into two and then ripped back into one and then merged back into two again), never really expect or fully envision. He’d hoped--oh, how he’d hoped--but lies and species and alter egos and ambition stood between them, a moat that could not be crossed, and even in his innocent naiveté, he’d known that the odds were so astronomical as to be nearly impossible.
But now…now here he is.
Centennial Park comes into view ahead of him, and Clark does an odd skip as he first speeds up and then slows down. Because he is Superman as well as Clark, even on this dark street, and he can see Lois already waiting, sitting on a bench and looking up to the sky where he has so often floated alone and looked down at the earth below. She is muttering something under her breath, as if rehearsing a speech. He could listen, but he doesn’t, choosing instead to focus on the sound of crickets and the hush of wind and the beat of a heart not as far away as he’d once thought. Choosing to approach this evening, this bench, this woman, as Clark primarily and Superman only incidentally.
It’s the little things that matter the most. Big things steal attention and draw eyes and command respect or fear, but the little things fill up the days and offer moments to remember and stay with you long after the big things have faded away into history. The little things provide all the reasons he needs to keep doing the big things, give him the strength and the courage and the hope he needs to be more than a lonely hero wandering the skies and trying to hold the shattered pieces of his heart together long enough to find something worth being whole for.
He does not think he can really call Lois a ‘little thing’ (even in her darkest days, her personality still filled up that suite of rooms and made it impossible to think of other things), but she made it okay for him to start finding those small moments again. And he hopes (hopes, with as much joy and belief and innocence as he did once before, when they both worked in the Daily Planet newsroom) that she will share those small moments with him, give him things to remember, be there in the future opening up before him, sprawled out with all its promise and glory, stand at his side for the days when he can be happy (rather than just content) as she was in the days when even contentment was far outside his reach.
But first, he has to walk into that park. Sit next to her on that bench. Reach past rusty inexperience and find the words to give her.
It had taken him only a minute after she left him in that hospital (so obstinate and beautiful and frustrating) to realize that he just couldn’t go back to a life without her. It had taken James and a team of scientists and his parents’ encouragement for him to dare coming down into the world she inhabited again. It had taken him weeks to figure out how to approach her, to feel like he fit in enough to be able to offer her something, to practice his speech and imagine the different responses she might give him.
But in all that time, he hadn’t ever thought about what he would do after that oh-so-important conversation. Now, he regrets that. Now he looks back on evenings spent furnishing his new apartment with James’s teasing, laughing, joyous help and days flying from rescue to rescue, and wonders why he hadn’t put more thought into what balance he should strike with Lois in a world where they don’t work together and they have erred and forgiven and moved on. Now he scrabbles frantically for some idea of how to approach her.
In the end, he simply walks up to the bench and sits beside her. No ceremony. No pomp or circumstance or speech. Just a man walking up to a bench and sitting by his date. Simple. Ordinary. Absolutely amazing.
“Hey,” he says.
She smiles shyly, almost nervously tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. “Hi,” she replies.
“Thanks for coming,” he offers after a moment. “I know it’s late.”
“Not a problem.” She shrugs, then laughs. “You know I’ve never really kept normal hours.”
“Yeah,” he says, and he relaxes (because he does know, remembers it from those dreamlike days of a lifetime he’s only just beginning to reclaim, and because she is acknowledging that shared history). “So…should we walk?”
“That sounds nice.”
There’s even fewer people around now, strolling along the park’s pathways under the light of a crescent moon, but Clark doesn’t mind. He likes his relative anonymity, but he also likes solitude…in the right moments, with the right company. His life has made him used to solitude, even as it has offered him a few true friends. And now, maybe more.
“I love this,” he observes, letting his hearing drift just a bit (just enough to hear their shared footsteps crunching over miniscule particles of dirt and leaves and grass, to hear their twinned heartbeats, to hear her steady breathing and her clothes rustling and her hand brushing ever so often against his; just enough to hear that no one is phoning in the newsworthy report that Superman has been seen walking on the ground like a normal human being). “Being able to walk in the open. Being able to be…normal, I guess. Being with you, in public, not having to hide.”
The sounds of their companionable togetherness are too loud, growing in volume and harshness as Lois remains silent herself. Her mouth is closed, her eyes tight, and Clark feels the familiar tightness winding his muscles in on themselves. The old Clark might have teased her (would not have confronted it openly); Superman might have left (would not have pushed the boundaries he was already so bad at keeping); even his silent in-between self would not have done anything (would not have known what to do). But he is freed now, and braver now, and has both Clark and Superman within to give him boldness, so he stops walking and turns to face her.
“Lois?” he asks, and when she does not answer, he makes himself continue. “Are you all right? Is this…is this still something you want?”
It’s not as clear a question as he might have made it, but boldness only goes so far. After all, he has been given a new lease on life, but Lois is faced with suspicion and accusations every time she turns on the news. Plenty of people are wondering where Lois got the information to print her exposé on Clark and Superman, and whether she was in on the cover-up or not, and if she truly deserves her Pulitzer if she was lying. Clark had James talk to her about announcing that Superman had asked her to write the article she did, to include her in their elaborate ruse, but James said she had refused. Now, Clark wonders if maybe he should try to talk her into it, try to lighten her own load--or if, maybe, there is nothing he can do for her. He has forgiven her, and perhaps that is all she really wanted.
Maybe she does not really love him. Maybe it is only relief and guilt that has made her come this far.
But she looks at him, her eyes reflecting back twin moons, and she smiles, her hands clasping his. “I do want this, Clark. I just…sometimes I have a hard time believing that you can, after everything I’ve cost you. Still,” she takes in a breath, straightens her shoulders (demonstrates a strength equal to Superman’s), “I’m trying to remember that that’s all in the past.”
Clark doesn’t even try to hold back his own smile (it has been so long since smiles came so easily, so quickly). “Exactly. Lois, I’m sure there are going to be days the past will still hurt, but we have so many more future days to look forward to, and I think they will outweigh our yesterdays.”
Her hand leaves his, moves to caress the side of his face. He cannot quite decipher the expression on her face. It almost seems as if she is trying to decide if he is real or not (it almost looks like the expression he is sure he wears, sometimes, when he looks at her). “I’m beginning to actually believe that, Clark. And…I want you to know--I can’t remember if I told you before--but…I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that you can always walk down any street you want. I will protect you.”
Clark cocks his head. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely. “But I don’t want just a protector.”
And when she smirks in response, he realizes there must be extra boldness still swirling through him, or else he is just seized with a sudden wildness, a mania conferred by the freedom and elation bubbling up inside him, because he leans into her touch, and leans farther, farther, down, down, falling until she catches him with silken lips and flavored gloss and jasmine scent. Until she fills him up with warmth turning into heat as her arms wind around him, with affection turning into love he cannot deny as her mouth parts beneath his and sends him tumbling into worlds and galaxies he has never before even dreamed existed.
Her mouth curves up, though, into a smile, a grin, so wide it breaks the kiss (and Clark is glad, because this is not for the open streets, even in his newfound freedom, even as he is disappointed because he does not want to leave that unexplored cosmos until he can map its every hidden corner and uncover every sweet secret). She is breathless, her arms binding him to her, her smile enthralling him. “Well,” she says, the words tickling his upper lip. “Good thing I plan on doing a lot more than just protecting you.”
And she tilts her head up to his, and kisses him.
He hasn’t dated in a very long while, but as much as he has missed in the past year (in a lifetime of secrecy), he is pretty sure this date counts as a success.
*
The walk into her apartment building, up the stairs, and down the hallway to her door, is as familiar to him now as if he has walked it a thousand times rather than a mere dozen or so a year ago. He wonders, briefly, if it is ridiculous to be so excited about such simple things as retreading steps before he decides that he doesn’t care. It is excitement that has been bought by James and a team of scientists and loads of publicity stunts and a multi-million dollar robot, so he will savor it all he wants.
Lois opens the door almost before he can knock, her smile every bit as bright as it has been during each of their dates. This is their twelfth date, two weeks after he told her he loved her, but only the fifth time they have not met in the park. He still loves taking walks, especially with her at his side, but he also loves getting to come here, to her apartment, surrounded by her things, a world of intimacy enveloping them in cozy arms while they eat take-out and laugh over fortunes and watch movies. He loves getting to know her all over again, falling all over again, becoming comfortable with each other.
He loves letting her see the real him. He loves that she wants to know him. He loves that she smiles every time she sees him.
A flurry of anticipation has been whirling about through Clark’s bloodstream as he makes the walk to her front door, and now that she is standing in front of him, dressed in blue and silver, her hair curling atop her shoulders, he feels almost giddy. She opens her mouth, and he leans down and gives her a small kiss. A brush, a caress of lips, a tiny sip of that galaxy she possesses within her--a greeting unparalleled by any other.
She stares up at him. He grins down at her.
“Hello,” he says, and relishes the word. He is so used to saying goodbyes (or thinking them; so many times there was not even time to deliver them in person); hellos are new and intoxicating.
“Hello,” she says, and her smile comes back. “The best hello I’ve ever had.”
He can feel his grin turning a trifle satisfied, even smug, so he changes the subject before she can tease him over it (and she does tease him now, sarcasm and affectionate mocking that is almost as welcome as her kisses). “How’s work?”
“Good,” she says, but as she pulls him inside and closes the apartment door behind them, she seems almost distracted. He doesn’t have time to register curiosity before she turns and faces him. “So,” she says, “I can call for some take-out like we’ve been doing, but…I was thinking maybe we could go out somewhere for dinner.”
Abruptly, he is nervous. Unsettled. (Afraid.) He shoots a glance to the window, covered by sheer curtains, gilded with sunlight. “Out?” he asks, and hates the tremor that mars his voice.
Lois is suddenly earnest, tender, so careful not to crowd him as she comes just two steps nearer him. “I’ve noticed you only ever go out at night, to places that aren’t very busy. But, Clark, you have nothing to hide.”
“I don’t know about that,” he tries to joke. His smile fails before it can do more than twitch along his mouth.
Her hand reaches out, her fingers curl along his, and he is suddenly grounded, anchored. Supported. “You’re Clark Kent,” she says. “Ordinary guy, but no less a hero for all that. Don’t you think it’s time for you to get to live your ordinary life?”
This time, his smile does not fail. “I don’t think any life with you in it could ever be anything less than extraordinary, Lois.” He hesitates (contemplates whether he can lose his new boldness for just a moment), then finally blurts out, “They’ll be able to see you with me.”
She winces (flinches), then firms (bearing up under her burdens, handling them rather than being crushed by them). Her eyes are alight as she unearths a smile to dazzle him with. “And Lois Lane would never date a guy who lied to her and pretended to be two people--unless, of course, she’d realized how wrong she’d been.”
That is not what he meant, and they both know it. But maybe it is what matters.
When she’d come to California in search of him, into the suite where he and his family had been trying to piece themselves back together, Clark had seen how fragile she looked, and he had been so afraid that she was broken beyond all mending. He’d been terrified that his secret had added yet another life to its collateral damage. But now, staring at her as she makes light of this past year, he thinks that he had misjudged her as badly as she misjudged herself.
She is brave, and strong, and above all, strikingly resilient. Life and her own mistakes have beaten her down (as surely as life and his own secrets have crushed him), yet she still brushes herself off and stands straight and tall and unflinching. She learns and grows and moves on, and if she can be that unwavering, then Clark has to try to match her. Has to try to live up to her.
So he swallows (cannot quite muster up a smile) and says, “All right. Dinner it is.”
Her spontaneous embrace is reward enough, and the kiss she lands on his cheek is an extra prize. He tries to make himself relax as she grabs her purse, tries to remind himself of his parents, loving him enough to risk going back to Smallville even after everything they’ve endured, and James, encouraging him to go out and about. They make him brave. They make him strong. They make him better than he is on his own.
When they turn to leave, Clark reaches out and grabs Lois’s hand. She looks back at him, her eyebrow arched questioningly. “Just in case,” he says. “If I do end up having to leave in a hurry again, I want to make sure this time I take everything I need.”
Her purse drops to the floor as she reaches up and tugs him down into a kiss, but her hand never lets go of his.
*
“Why don’t you come over to my place?” he asks, casually, not quite daring to look up at her from the water sparkling beneath them. They are leaning, side by side, against the railing on the dock along the oceanfront; from behind them, the sunset casts jeweled lights in reality and in reflection while the sea merges its scents with Metropolis’s. A perfect night, a perfect moment, but Clark wonders if he’s ruined it.
Lois stills. It’s something new about her, he’s realized. When he first met her, she’d pace and flail her arms and talk a mile a minute, but now, when she does not know what to think or how to react, she grows silent and still and composed, locking up immediate retorts and kneejerk reactions. He thinks that the change would have bothered him-as-he-used-to-be. Now, it only reminds him of how far they have come and how willing she now is to protect him. (Now, her new stillness matches his new boldness, counterparts even as they switch places.)
“It’s different than my old place,” he continues after a pause to let her adjust, “but I think James and I have got everything settled now. I’ll be there all day tomorrow if you’d like to drop by.”
Easy and casual and not at all pushy--or at least, he hopes so. It seems a small thing to ask, but it isn’t. They don’t usually see each other two weekdays in a row, and they usually meet up either at her place or in a neutral location. This relationship is new and fragile and budding. They are both careful in each gradual progression, each new stage a valuable lesson, each step claiming more ground. And this, somehow (he is not quite sure why), is a very important step.
“All right,” she finally says softly, her voice reverberating off the water, dipped in salt and breeze and fading sunlight. “If I don’t work too late, I’ll come over.”
He is on pins and needles all the next day, but she arrives late in the afternoon, her satchel bulging with papers from work. He greets her easily, as if he is not surprised that she is there, and shows her around (there are less of his world-traveling souvenirs so as not to draw attention to the Superman parts of his past, but there are more trinkets from James and his parents, so it rounds out). She follows him from room to room, and listens to him, and when he finally asks, “Why did you not want to come?”, she takes his hand and urges him to sit beside her on the couch.
“I wanted to come,” she says evenly, “but I didn’t want you to feel like I invaded absolutely every place you’ve lived.”
He pulls her into him, tension draining away, leaving him loose and free and uncontained. “Not invaded, Lois. Never invaded. You are welcome anywhere I go--I always want you.”
Her smile is hesitant. Beautiful. Shy and wondering and relieved all at once. “Really?” she asks, a teasing note touching her voice with every bit of affection and happiness he could ask for. “So if I want to see every place you’ve lived, in all the world...you’d let me?”
“Of course.” His laugh slips out of him without his permission, dancing along his spine and leaping up his throat and spinning into open air with gleeful triumph. It’s still strange, to hear his own laugh. Strange, to have things to laugh over. Strange to hear his laughter joined with Lois’s. “I moved around a lot, you know. It might take us…well, years…to visit them all.”
“Together?” she asks, but she does not wait for the answer, just slides closer and tugs his head down (his bones of steel turn soft and pliable at her merest touch) and covers his mouth with her own, hot and open and world-spanning.
“Together,” he confirms when he can breathe again, and for his trouble is rewarded another laughing kiss. He is beginning to get used to them (well, at least he no longer seriously wonders if he is dreaming anymore) even as he begins to realize he can no longer live without them.
(Without her.)
*
He cannot help feeling a bit melancholy and wistful as the one year anniversary of Lois’s world-changing story approaches. Sadness twines its subtle poison through his veins as he steps out of the elevator into the newsroom, alone, every day. Regret courses along the electrical current of his cells as he walks home alone, or tells Perry good night and receives only a careful, measured good night in return instead of an Elvis story. A bitter wish for what-might-have-been sometimes descends on him in a cloud as he calls his parents in Smallville and hears about their encounters with eager journalists still hoping for at least an interview.
He retaliates against this unwished-for nostalgia with meticulous planning. Lois is determinedly cheerful whenever he speaks to her, purposely forgetful of the date fast-approaching, but they cannot hide from it and Clark is tired of avoiding acknowledgement of the things in his life (even the painful things). They will not be able to forget or ignore the day, so he speaks with his parents and arranges James’s scientists to have Superman make a public appearance on the anniversary day (somewhere far away from Smallville), and he asks Lois if she will go to dinner with him.
“Of course,” she says, studying him a bit suspiciously.
He smiles at her, blandly, absurdly glad to see her investigative instinct turned his way once more. “You’ll let me plan the whole evening?”
“If you want to.” Her fingers thread through his, all her suspicion melting away (or rather, tucked away where he cannot see it). “I trust you, Clark. I hope you know that.”
It’s become a habit of hers, recently, to reassure him that she will not betray him or leave him or report on him or do anything he would not approve of. To remind him, again and again, that she trusts him and wants to be with him. He wishes she did not feel so unsure, but it is a delicate, complex task, to build a strong and sturdy and lasting relationship out of debris and rubble, and some scars will take a very long time to fade, so he merely smiles and nods whenever she repeats her vows.
“I know,” he says. “I just want to take you somewhere special.”
She meets him at his apartment a few minutes early on the anniversary of her story. Clark is happy to see her--almost too happy. Everyone at the Daily Planet knows what day this is, and it has been a long day of everyone tiptoeing around him, afraid to bring it up, giving him sidelong glances when they think he is not looking. Perry is the only one who acknowledged the day, but since he did so by apologizing profusely despite Clark’s reminders that he’d apologized already, Clark could have done without the experience.
“Lois,” he says with a small sigh of relief, and she steps forward immediately into his arms. This physical easiness between them, developed only in the last few weeks, is still new and intoxicating enough that Clark is silent for a long moment, preoccupied with memorizing every sensation about this moment. Lois trembles slightly in his arms; he thinks her day probably has not been any better than his.
“So,” she says when she finally pulls back. There is a tentative smile curving her lips, but her eyes are locked on him almost desperately. “Where are we going, Clark?”
“Well,” he says, swallowing and then stepping to the window. He stops, turns back, and holds out a hand to her. “Do you want to fly?”
She studies him, her eyes alight, her smile turning into a mischievous grin. “I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that my whole life,” she says, and before he can blink (and he is Superman, after all; he can blink rather fast), she is kissing him, her hands in his hair, fire erupting along his nerves, a cosmos of desire kindling so that he feels as if he is witnessing the birth of the universe, feeling it in every cell.
He finally pulls back (and a good thing he is Superman, because it requires a bit of superhuman speed, strength, and self-control to do so), breathless and shaken. “That’s…not exactly the kind of flying I meant.”
“Oh.” She gives him a deceptively shy smile (and he thinks he is probably the only one who can recognize the desperation at the edges of her mask; not because he is Superman, but because he knows her as well as if looking into a mirror). “Your kind of flying is good too, I guess.”
“I hope so,” he murmurs. “It’s certainly a better kind of flying to do just before meeting my parents.”
He lets her pause in place, just for a moment, just so that he can change into Superman and sweep her into his arms and into the sky without anyone seeing (without giving her the chance to kiss him again or make a movement that will make him decide to forget his plans for the evening and his long-held, long-cherished fantasies of a special wedding night). When he allows time to flow back into its normal current, she gasps and clings to him. She stares about her at the sky opening up all around her, her eyes wide and alight and so full of curiosity and wonder that he is reminded of why she captured his heart so quickly. As cynical and hurt and scarred as she is, she has always had a way of looking at the world and seeing all its mysteries and wonders.
He cannot help but wonder what she will think of the mystery he wants to show her tonight.
“Your parents,” Lois says. Her voice is feathered with a fear she uselessly tries to hide. “That’s where we’re going?”
“Yes.” He smiles at her (and wonders, in a small part of his mind, how he is here: free of secrets, holding Lois in his arms, flying through an open sky, headed to family and home, his contentment completely given up in immolation to complete and utter happiness). “James will be there, too. They’ve…they’ve wanted to see you for a while now. I guess I just wanted to keep you to myself while…”
“While we figured out who we are together?” she finishes for him, arching a brow.
He chuckles. “Yes. Maybe it’s a little silly, but--”
“No.” She strokes her hand along the side of his face, and even though his eyes flutter shut at the tender contact, he can hear the gentle fondness in her voice. “It’s not silly. I like that we’ve had this time together.”
“Yes, well.” Clark clears his throat and opens his eyes again. “They’ve been getting a little impatient.”
Lois looks away, her eyes tight. “I’m surprised they want to see me at all.”
“Things are different now,” he reminds her quietly. “And besides, after you passed James’s interview with flying colors, there was no doubt that you were part of our family now.”
He hears the catch in her breathing, can smell the salt of approaching tears, can feel her body shudder with her reaction to his words. She stares at him. For a long moment, she is as still, as hushed, as present as the wind flaring his cape behind him. But all she eventually says is, “James’s interview? I knew he wasn’t there about the Foundation position.”
“No,” Clark admits. “He and my mom insisted on the interview. Dad said that we didn’t need it to know you were one of us, but Mom and James wanted everything to be spoken out loud. I hope you don’t mind,” he adds, hesitantly. “They were just worried.”
“I know,” Lois says calmly. “And actually, I’m glad they did it. It is better to have everything out in the open. Besides, like I said, I think I knew what he was doing. I just hope they’re okay with me coming into their home again.”
“They are,” he replies confidently. “You make me happy, Lois, and they’ve seen that.”
“Happy,” she whispers. “Not content? Not okay? Happy?”
“Happy.” He smiles at her, draws her closer so that his aura will combat the chill of the sky. “Happier than I’ve ever been. And you?”
“Happy doesn’t even come close,” she says, and she rests her head against his shoulder.
He planned to show her his place up here, the sliver of sky between earth and space, the prison that had become a sanctuary. He’d wanted her to see that he didn’t think of her presence as an invasion, but that he wanted her there so that it would no longer be so lonely.
But suddenly, he decides he doesn’t need to show her. Maybe one day, but not now. She is already here with him, already complacent and happy and trusting in his arms, and willing to fly with him. She is his, and he is hers, and they have a family and a home awaiting them below.
They’ve both been lonely. Isolated. Haunted by the past and cut off from any future they wanted.
But now here they are.
Together.
Scarred, but still alive and whole and with a future sprawling out before them, filled with as much promise as the Earth hanging beneath them.
Wounded, but stronger for it, and that is a mystery bigger than any he had planned to show her.
And he isn’t afraid anymore. Whatever happens, whatever comes, they will be able to face it, and endure, and come through on the other side better than they were before.
So, Clark wraps his cape around the mystery cradled against his chest, and kisses her brow, her cheek, her lips, and she is right.
He is not happy.
He is joyous.
*
