Just want to say a big, fluffy, sentimental, sincere thank you to the BR mafia of Wendy, Pam, Lynn and Elena (who wasn't able to stay the entire course because of circumstances beyond her control but was great in the beginning) for BRing this monster. What a team to have helping you! I'm so lucky. 
Lois stirred her wooden spoon despondently around the pale yellow glop in her saucepan. This had seemed like a great idea when she’d first dreamed it up. A simple, but effective and rather sophisticated meal for two, courtesy of the Swiss. Fondue: what could be easier than a bowl of melted cheese and some chunks of crusty French bread, all washed down with a nice crisp white wine?
She groaned and tried a swift beating action to try and make the gloopy mass coagulate into the smooth texture she remembered from whenever she’d eaten fondue in a restaurant. Nope, not a hope.
“Everything okay?” called Clark from the dining table.
“Yes, fine,” she said, darting over to grab a fork. If only the darned lumps would break up...
“Shall I pour the wine?” he called.
Yeah, whatever. He could do a dance on the ceiling for all she cared. Just let the stupid gloop turn smooth and silky! “Sure, it’s coming right up,” she replied.
“You’ve added the flour?” he said.
Her shoulders sagged. “Flour?”
“Yes, flour.” And then he was beside her at the stove, a light hand on the small of her back. “Let’s see...”
She stopped stirring. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?” she said, dropping the spoon into the yellow, lumpy gunk. “I thought you just melted cheese and poured in lots of wine.”
“Okay, I admit it looks bad,” he said, gazing down with her at her sad attempt at cooking, “but we can fix it...”
Ten minutes later they were sitting down at her small table, the candles lit, the fondue pot bubbling nicely, and the wine poured.
Clark lifted a glass. “Cheers,” he said with a brilliant smile. “Here’s to the newly formed reporting team of Lane and Kent.”
She smiled, putting her culinary disaster behind her now that everything was redeemed. “Cheers,” she replied, lifting her own glass.
At last. This was the dinner she’d planned nearly three weeks ago, shortly after she’d moved into the studio apartment. So much had happened since then, she hadn’t had time to organise it until now. In a way, that was nice, because now they really did have something to celebrate – the successful conclusion of the art theft case, Perry’s return to the Planet, and, if Perry’s recent hints were to be believed, her imminent reinstatement onto the full time staff. At the very least, she and Clark had, on the strength of the last few days writing together, formed a strong working partnership which Perry had endorsed.
And at her last session with Francine, she’d finally talked about what had happened at the Barton warehouse; how she’d emptied out all of her anger onto the guard, and how she’d awoken the next day to feel oddly calm. Francine had told her this was actually a very healthy sign of progress, particularly when Lois had informed her that her ensuing nightmare had been focused mostly on Clark’s fate, rather than the guard’s threat of sexual violence towards her. In fact, Lois had difficulty remembering when she’d last experienced a full-blown panic attack.
“Hey.”
She blinked out of her reverie to find Clark smiling across at her. “Sorry,” she said. “Just thinking how much has happened lately.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, sliding a hand across the table to hers. In the candlelight, his eyes seemed extra bright and twinkly as he gazed at her. “Maybe too much, huh?”
She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve had so many distractions lately, I’ve hardly noticed that I’m supposed to be crazy.”
He smiled. “You’re not crazy, Lois. You’re the sanest woman I know.”
She chuckled. “Then you need to keep better company.”
He laughed with her. “But seriously, how are you?”
“I’m okay.”
There was just this small matter of Clark himself, and how close she wanted to be to him.
As an experiment, and feeling terribly daring, she swivelled her hand around under his and clasped his hand. Palm to palm and fingers entwined – in the soft glow of candlelight and with their rather romantic dinner laid out around them, the simple contact felt intimate. As usual, sparks of electricity danced between them where skin met skin.
The feeling was nice, she decided, but also a little scary. She cleared her throat nervously. “So okay, in fact, that I’m moving out of this place very soon.”
His eyes widened. “Really? You agreed it with Francine?”
“Yes,” she said. “So all I have to do now is find someplace to live.”
Clark’s hand tightened a little on hers. “I...I know somewhere you could live,” he said huskily.
He did? Why hadn’t he mentioned it before, then, when she’d told him the clinic was putting pressure on her to leave....oh. She’d caught on to his anxious, hopeful look. “Clark...that’s really sweet of you, but I couldn’t possibly,” she protested. “You’ve already done so much for me, I couldn’t let you do this, too.”
<<He’s only offering what you wanted yourself the other day.>>
So why did his offer make her feel uneasy?
“It’s no trouble,” he said. “You’d have your own room, of course. I’ve got space upstairs that would easily convert into a bedroom.”
She shook her head. “You’d hate sharing your apartment with me,” she said. “I’m horrible to live with. Grumpy in the mornings, always untidy, useless at cooking...”
<<But in need of a place to stay.>>
She squashed the stray thought, the feeling of unease growing.
“I can cook,” he replied. “And superspeed is great for doing the housework.” He smiled hopefully. “So how about it?”
The room was beginning to crowd in on her. Clark was too close. There were too many shadows - she needed more light. She withdrew her hand from his, forcing herself to move slowly and calmly. Stood up as casually as she could manage. Walked to the light switch, her heart thumping in her chest, and ever so casually flicked it on, bathing the room in sudden harsh, bright light.
Better.
Shakily, she moved to the sink and filled a tumbler with cold water. Drank some, savouring the cold liquid as it slid down her throat and settled in her stomach.
Better still.
And she’d managed to make the whole thing look like all she wanted was a glass of water. No big deal.
“Lois?”
Painting a fresh smile on her face, she swivelled to face him. “I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not yet, anyway.”
He nodded. “Too much too soon, huh?” he asked.
Okay, so he’d read her like a book after all. Her smile faded and she nodded jerkily.
“Lois, I’m sorry,” he said. “I did it again, didn’t I? I should know better than to push you into something you’re not ready for.”
She walked slowly back to the table. “No, it was a kind offer. It’s just me.” She gave him a weak smile. “See, I am still just a little crazy.”
“No, I really should have known better.” He speared a chunk of bread on his fondue fork and swirled it around the pot thoughtfully. “See...the same thing sort of happened to me.”
“Oh?” She sat down and took a sip of her wine, studying him over the rim. He was staring down at the fondue pot, stirring it slowly. “What happened?”
His gaze darted up to her and back down to the pot. “When Mayson and I were dating, she was always pushing for more. I was always holding back. I’d only just pulled myself together when I first met her, you see – I wasn’t really ready for a serious relationship.” He grimaced, his gaze still on the fondue. “Unfortunately, Mayson was. Everything came to a head one night when she tried to get me into bed. I...couldn’t.”
She winced. “I imagine she must have been pretty mad.” Not that she was entirely sure what precisely he meant he couldn’t do, but there was no way she was going to press him for that level of detail.
He nodded. “It was awful. Worse than you could possibly imagine.” He pulled out the lump of cheese-covered bread and nibbled on it, his eyes cast downwards to the table. “After she left, I fell apart. Took an overdose and might even have...well, if George hadn’t found me the next morning, I’m not sure what would have happened to me. So, you see, I should know better, because I’ve been there myself.”
“You took an overdose?” she exclaimed, wincing inwardly at the obvious shock in her voice.
“Yes.” His eyes flicked up to her face briefly. “Not something I’m too proud of.”
She’d seen the devastating effects of an overdose in Brazzaville. The results had been ugly and distressing, and of course, being where it was, the person concerned had received very little help. At least Clark had been lucky enough to have George to find and rescue him. If only she hadn’t gone to the Congo, none of this would have happened to him-
No. She was forgetting the late-night talk with George: Clark’s troubles weren’t of her making. She still needed to remind herself of that from time to time. Still, she was a little unnerved to discover Clark had once been so unstable.
“You...you don’t think you’d do that again, though?” she asked softly.
“God, no!” he said harshly. “Once was enough,” he muttered. “Anyway, once I’d recovered, Mayson and I tried again, believe it or not – dating, I mean, not...sex.” He speared another piece of bread and began turning it around in the cheese mixture. “She treated me with kid gloves the second time around, which was just as bad. I always knew she wanted so much more, you see, but was constantly holding back on my behalf. Drove me crazy.”
He looked up. “Actually, I never realised until now how much alike the relationships between me and Mayson and you and I are.”
She nodded slowly. “One person wanting a lot more than the other. But if that’s the case...”
“Why do I think it’ll work this time, when it didn’t between me and Mayson?” he finished for her. “Would you accept unstintingly blind optimism?” he asked with a lopsided smile.
She smiled and shrugged while forking up a piece of bread and dunking it into the fondue. “It’s a start.”
“There are other reasons...we broke up over Superman, for example,” he said. “Mayson never wholly approved of him, you see. As an Assistant DA, she believed in using the proper authorities and official organisations to fight crime. She viewed Superman as little more than an unpaid vigilante.”
Whereas Superman was in Clark’s lifeblood: to prevent him from rescuing people was tantamount to stifling him to death. In fact, it occurred to her that he’d broken up with the two most important women in his life because they hadn’t supported Superman.
Which left her...where? She believed in Superman, there was no doubt about that. She supported what he did and what he stood for. Whether she was strong enough to bring him into her daily life was another matter. Could she stand the media attention? Would she mind when he suddenly disappeared in the middle of a date, or when he came back home reeking of smoke and in a foul mood because things had gone awry?
Oh, boy. Already she was planning how to cope living with him when they hadn’t even agreed to date!
“Whereas, I get the sense,” he continued, “that you’re okay with Superman. Am I right?”
“I am,” she confirmed, hoisting out her cheese-soaked bread and nibbling cautiously. “I can’t pretend I’m not a little daunted by all the publicity that surrounds him, though.”
He shrugged. “Me, too. I never get used to it. All I can do is try and turn it into something positive – if you think about it, I get a free ticket to promote everything Superman stands for whenever the press shove a microphone in my face or chase me around with telephoto lenses.”
She smiled. Trust Clark to find something positive to say about the lowest form of journalism – the paparazzi, scourge of the rich and famous. “So we agree on Superman,” she said. “What else do we have going for us that you and Mayson didn’t?”
“Well,” he began. “We have a lot more in common. We’re both journalists, for a start.” He ticked the items off on his fingers. “We work for the same newspaper. We share the same boss. We’re...” He looked stumped for a moment, then brightened. “We’ve both been mental health patients – and attended the same clinic, no less.” He grinned in triumph. “Heck, we almost share the same therapist! Is there no end to the similarities?” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up theatrically.
She laughed. “That’s it? That’s your compatibility list? We both know George, so we must be made for each other?”
“Yup, that’s it.” He grinned broadly. “So how about it? You prepared to see if we can make this work?”
Her heart did a little flip-flop. “I’m not exactly sure what ‘this’ is,” she replied carefully. “What exactly did you have in mind?”
His grin faded: the moment of silliness had passed. He leant forward, the dancing candlelight softening the angular lines of his solemn features. Slowly, he reached a hand up to his glasses and pulled them off.
A different Clark was revealed. An open and honest Clark, willingly baring himself to her close scrutiny. The real Clark Kent, maybe, neither Superman nor ordinary man, but a unique and complex blend of strength and vulnerability. “A beginning,” he murmured. “That’s all I ask. Nothing complicated or intense, just a beginning.”
How quickly a conversation could turn from light banter to serious matters which could change lives. He asked, on the face of it, for so little, yet wanted so much. Truly, he’d been one hundred percent correct when drawing the parallel with his uneven relationship with Mayson Drake. Could she trust him to hold back, let her catch up to his level? Would there always be a tension between them because of their mismatched feelings?
His glasses sat on the tablecloth, glinting in the flickering light. She picked them up and turned them around in her hands. They were heavier than she’d expected, perhaps because of the lead glass lenses. One of these days she’d have to ask him where he got them made.
Had he removed them for Mayson? For Lana? How many people got to see the real Clark Kent?
And he’d never slept with Mayson. Or probably not, from what he’d told her. So despite all those one night stands, all that sexual experience he’d accumulated, when it had come down to a long-term relationship, he hadn’t immediately jumped into bed with his girlfriend. Why? “Clark, can I ask you a really personal question?” she asked, keeping her gaze resolutely glued to his glasses. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you sleep with Mayson?”
She tensed, waiting for a sharp rebuke for asking such an intimate question. It didn’t come, but then neither did an answer. She’d gone too far, clearly. They didn’t know each other well enough to delve into such personal matters. An apology was probably in order. “I’m sorry-“
He let out a long sigh. “You’re still concerned about all those one-night stands I had, aren’t you? I told you, that wasn’t me, that was the kryptonite-“
“I know that,” she said quietly. “I just thought...you had all that experience and she’s an attractive woman...why wouldn’t you sleep with her?”
Another long silence. God, what was she doing, asking him all these impertinent questions? He’d never asked about her sex life, so why did she think she had a right to ask about his? This was a bad idea-
“Because I didn’t want to,” he answered. “That’s the short answer. I never felt that way about her. It was the one thing I learned from all those women I took to bed – heartless sex without any kind of emotional meaning just isn’t for me.”
Just as she’d expected, really, and she supposed that on the whole, it was good news: Clark wasn’t the type of man to jump into bed with a woman unless he loved her. Which would be absolutely fine if the woman he currently thought he loved wasn’t scared rigid by the prospect of sex. “Oh,” she replied in a small voice.
“Oh, Lois,” he exclaimed softly. “Surely you know me well enough by now to know that I would never pressure you into anything like that? I know what a difficult issue it is for you.”
She nodded. He was right – she did know him pretty well, and she should trust her instincts. She raised her eyes and gave him a weak smile. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be pressuring you before long,” she said, feeling her cheeks burn red. Now where had that comment come from? Sometimes she could swear that someone else was driving the parts of her brain that made words come out of her mouth.
He smiled. “We’ll take each day as it comes, okay?”
“Okay.” Better head back to safer territory. “So...I have an idea for a place to stay.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I remember you telling me that you lived with Perry and Alice for a while when you were a day patient at the clinic,” she said. “Do you think they’d be prepared to put up with another crazy lodger?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “I’m sure they would! You know that Perry practically thinks of you as his daughter.”
She laughed. “If I’m his daughter, then you’re his son.”
“You think so?”
“It’s obvious, Clark!” she told him. “You’ve told me how much he helped you when you were fighting the red kryptonite. Do you think that was easy when he was trying to hold down the mayor’s job at the same time? He must have moved heaven and earth to be with you when it mattered.”
He fiddled with the fondue burner, trying to reduce the flame a little as the smaller quantity of cheese mix left in the pot was now bubbling too fiercely. “You know, I never really thought of that before. I guess you’re right.” He gave up with the burner and closed it off completely, making the flame die. “He’ll never replace my Dad, but he’s a pretty good substitute,” he added quietly.
“Yeah, and he’s a thousand times better than my Dad,” she agreed. “So I guess that makes us pretty lucky.”
He nodded. “And we have another thing in common...except...” A slight smile spread across his face. “If you’re his daughter and I’m his son, does that make us siblings? In which case...um...” He gave her a mildly quizzical look. “Just how strongly do you feel about incest?”
She almost choked on her wine as she burst out laughing. “Clark! That’s...that’s...”
“I mean, I’m not sure whether it’s actually taboo on Krypton, so if you like, I could make you an honorary Kryptonian,” he continued. “Or we could ask Perry to disinherit one of us, if that would help.”
“I don’t think he’s got any savings for us to inherit, so that’s no good,” she spluttered. “I guess you’ll have to make me an honorary Kryptonian. What does that involve?”
“Oh, it’s a simple ceremony,” he said, pushing back his chair to get up. “We don’t believe in elaborate arrangements,” he continued, moving around the table to stand before her. With his hands, he encouraged her to also rise.
Hesitantly, she put down her wine glass and stood to face him. “Now what?” Although she knew really, and her racing heart was the proof that she knew.
Dark brown pools gazed intently down at her, unfettered by the usual barrier of his glasses. His lips were slightly parted and she fancied that in the flickering candlelight his cheeks were a little flushed.
“Now this,” he murmured, reaching out a hand to slip behind her head and draw her to him.
She went willingly, touching her lips softly and delicately against his, feeling him press gently back, feeling his arm slide around her shoulders, letting her lips open just a little more, slanting her head to one side to allow the kiss to deepen, wrapping her arms around him to hold him tight against her...
All too soon, they parted to draw breath.
Still cradled in his arms, she found that she’d made up her mind. “I think I may have an answer for you.”
“An answer?”
“About the beginning thing.”
“Oh, that.” He kissed the top of her head. “What’s the verdict?”
She glanced over at his glasses. Looked up at their owner, who gazed back down at her without any sort of barrier, either physical or emotional. He’d answered every one of her questions, no matter how personal or intimate. He’d nurtured and supported her through the most harrowing experience of her life. He’d told her he loved her, and that no longer frightened her. In fact, she was pretty certain she was falling in love with him.
And time and again, they’d discovered how keenly they needed each other.
She met his gaze steadily. “Yes,” she told him. “I’m ready for a new beginning.”
His eyes, already so clear and bright, grew a little brighter and his breath caught at the back of his throat. “Hey,” she murmured, reaching up a hand to caress the side of his face. “It’s okay.”
Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into a tight hug. “More than okay,” he murmured huskily over her shoulder. “This is probably the best day of my entire life.”
His emotion was infectious. “Me, too,” she replied, her voice wavering as she returned his hug with an even fiercer one of her own. Her legs began to wobble and then her eyes went all blurry when an incredibly powerful sense of coming home at last overwhelmed her. She clung to him and let the tears come, sensing that he was equally tearful as he held her tight.
“Look at us,” she said, chuckling through her tears when they drew apart. “What a pair we make.”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“If George could see us now, he’d haul us straight back into intensive therapy.”
He chuckled with her. “Somehow, I doubt it,” he said. “I think he’s been rooting for us to get together from the start.”
She nodded. “You’re probably right.” She snuck a playful glance up at his face. “So...am I an honorary Kryptonian now?”
He smiled. “Absolutely,” he replied. “How does it feel?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “When does the flying start?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Any time you like, Lois,” he said. “Any time you like.”
THE END
*****************
