Epiphany
By LabRat <labrat@blueyonder.co.uk>
Okay, this has now been approved for a gfic audience. Grateful thanks to Kaethel for a superfast run through on irc this evening. You rock, girl.
Even worse, it's been languishing for all that time 90% done.
I guess other stories just kept rudely pushing it back in the queue.
When I finally began posting this over in nfic, I really hadn't anticipated that it would be suitable for conversion. At that point it was only two segments long; take away the nfic content, there wasn't a whole lot left. However, halfway through writing and posting, the Muse went off on a few tangents and ended up doubling the total page count - and with a lot of gfic material too - which made me wonder if I might actually end up with enough to make a gfic vignette after all. So...here it is.
Thanks to Kaethel and Wendy for all their help. And to the members of these mbs for providing answers to my questions. Thanks too to AnnieM, who beta-read this one from the midway point and who helped enormously with some insightful comments and laughing in all the right places. <g>
I had intended this to be a birthday fic for Annette. Was somewhat hampered in my plans by the fact that for some reason I got the date wrong, but anyway...this is for you, Annette. Call it a belated birthday present or a very small thank you for all your hard work in providing us with our marvelous playground.
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~~~ Epiphany ~~~
Lois stepped out into the darkness of the hallway and winced as the bedroom door clicked to a close at her back, seeming overly loud in the calm silence of the slumbering farmhouse.
She stood for a moment, breathing heavily as though in the midst of some clandestine burglary, waiting to be discovered. But nothing stirred, the silence was unbroken, the darkness continued to press against her.
She peered over the banister and down into the living room, trying to adjust to the blackness taking shape around her. She had never realized until now just how dark it was in the heart of the country. Here, there were no streetlights to illuminate the room through its large windows on her right. No buildings across the way to shed a faint ray of light to guide her steps. It had been a warm, muggy night, so there'd been no need to light the fire in the mock Georgian fireplace. There were only the blackness and the shadows. Deep and somnambulant and somber. Weighted and old. Like everything it seemed, in this alien territory that scared the hell out of her.
Why had she let herself be persuaded to come down here anyway?
She knew why. Because Perry had snow-blinded her. Although…she mused reluctantly as she gingerly made her way to the foot of the staircase, wincing at the inadvertent creak of a loose step halfway down, and paused again to take new bearings…it did seem that her partner *could* have been right and there was a story here after all. Maybe.
She barely held back a derisive snort as she glanced upwards into the shadows of the upper hall. Who could have known her partner actually had instincts? A nose for news? Did he feel the same tight clenching in his gut when he heard Farmer Irig's story secondhand as she did when she caught the scent of a story hiding in the shadows? Did the hair raise itself up on the nape of his neck?
She shook her head. <Why do you want to know?> she asked herself scathingly. <Like it *really* matters. And anyway,> she added, <even a Hack from Nowheresville is entitled to fall into a story by accident now and then.>
Her conscience protested that slight, apparently more convinced than she was that luck had had nothing to do with this one. But she refused to listen. If Clark was actually a half-decent reporter then that meant...well, all kinds of things she'd rather not think about, thanks very much. Like she'd been wrong to dismiss him so lightly for one. And maybe just a little -
<...unfair?>
She frowned.
<Dishonest? Lying to yourself? You knew he was good right from the first. Right from the moment you listened to Perry reading out that story about the theatre and - >
Her frown deepened into a scowl.
< - if you were wrong about that, maybe you were wrong about other things too. Maybe you were lying to yourself about more than that. Maybe he's - >
< - worked his way under my skin, just like every other creep I've ever known,> she growled silently, shutting down the irritating voice in her head before it could make a dent in her psyche. <Men are all the same, Lois. They use that trick all the time to make you notice them. Worming their way into your good graces, pretending to be sweet and...cute...interested in what you think and want...and having that gorgeous smile that makes you just want to...>
She shook herself mentally, steering herself back on track. <...and then when they get what they want...boom...suddenly they're Jack the Ripper and Benedict Arnold combined. Tearing your heart out and dropping the pretence.>
<Clark's different.>
The small voice broke into the suddenly bitter turn of her thoughts.
<No, he's not,> she told herself in disgust. <He's just better at hiding himself, that's all. You'll see. You give in to his tricks and he'll turn out to be just like all the rest of them the morning after.>
She tore her thoughts clear of musing over her partner abruptly, unwilling to let that other self within her tell her she was wrong. Unwilling to let herself be tricked into believing that maybe in this whole, rotten world there might just be one guy who was honest and decent and who meant it when he seemed to care. She wasn't going to let him get to her that way. Or spend any more time mooning over him like this.
<Mooning!> she protested the idle thought. <I do not moon! And I definitely do *not* moon over any man!>
She ignored the faint snort of disagreement from deep in her head and impatiently surveyed her surroundings.
Her eyes were adjusting to the complete absence of light now. She could make out the huddle of blankets on the sofa that formed her partner. He seemed to be blissfully asleep, even though the accommodation must be less comfortable than he was used to. Or...that he'd expected? Lois felt a soft flush heat up her cheeks as her mind flew back to Martha Kent's misconception when detailing the sleeping arrangements. How could the woman possibly have thought…?
Her eyes narrowed as she made a mental note to discuss that one with her partner at some later date. What *had* he been telling his mother about them? About their... <we don't have a relationship,> she protested the thought even before it formed and innocently shorn of all romantic connotations as it was. <We don't have any relationship at all. And if I find out, Clark Kent, that you've been telling good ol' Mom that we're...that we've been....>
Her pique escaped in a low, indeterminate growl and, aware that she was becoming angry enough to march over there now, pummel her partner awake, and demand to know just what he'd been saying about her to people he shouldn't, she stamped down on it thoroughly.
She wasn't going to get distracted with personal asides. Not now when there was a story to be had. She contented herself with directing a dark glare at her partner's oblivious back as she passed through the room. If there were any justice in the world, it would sink into his skull and give him nightmares, she thought grumpily.
Her only consolation had been that Clark seemed as embarrassed by the assumption they were lovers as she was. Although that would have been hard. *She* had felt like sinking through the floor and just dying there and then. And he'd probably just been faking it anyway. He'd probably planned the whole thing. "Oh, I'm sorry, Lois, it's just a mistake, but let's not upset Mom any..." Har! Well, she'd spiked *that* little notion right off the bat!
She gave her slumbering partner another furtive glance and sighed softly. Actually, he did look pretty comfortable. She wished she could have found sleep too. But she was restless. Out of sorts. The silence disturbed her. No cars passed by her window. There was no occasional tuneless, early morning drunk or the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Aristino fighting again in the apartment building across the street. Lois scowled. It just wasn't natural for anywhere to be this quiet.
Of course, the lack of decent background noise to soothe her into sleep wasn't the only reason for her bout of insomnia. If she was honest, she just couldn't settle knowing she was in her partner's bed and, somehow, the fact that it wasn't really his at all anymore, that he now used it only occasionally on fleeting home visits, hadn't slept in it more than a handful of times in the past years, didn't help ease her any. It was still too weird to rest easy with. It unsettled her. The core of Clark Kent was stamped on the room like a tangible presence, even so many years after he'd left it behind. Almost...as though he was there in the room with her.
She'd found herself imaging she could smell the scent of him on the pillows. That familiar combination of maleness and fresh cologne that she had begun to attune herself to in the newsroom. That somehow always ignited a warm glow in her when she became aware of it close by as he approached her desk. Together with the savory smells of the coffee and Danish he always seemed to bring with him, those scents had become a part of him in her head and she found that each day she welcomed the routine of that more and more. Welcomed seeing him. Missed that small part of her day on the odd occasions it wasn't there....
Missed him.
Lois shook her head, dislodging more, unwelcome thoughts, telling herself firmly that you could miss a rat if its running up to your desk and offering you cheese became enough of a daily habit. What did that prove?
<Does he have anything *to* prove?>
She sighed. This was what came of letting your guard down. You started to believe there were actually good and decent men out there. She'd had *fun* earlier tonight - dammit! She directed another scowl at her oblivious partner as though it had all been his fault. And it *had* been. Where did he get off being fun? Being...different. Being...
<Clark>
<Well, that's who I am. Clark.>
She snorted. Yeah. Her expression smoothed itself out - the traitor - and she found herself staring just a little wistfully at the sofa again, standing indecisively in the middle of the room. It had been nice. Maybe one of the nicest evenings she'd ever had. Clark had been...sweet...and they'd laughed a lot - really a lot - and okay he hadn't had the opportunity to pressure her into ending the evening - spoiling the evening - with a tussle on the sofa or a fumble in the cab on the way home, not with Mom and Pop hanging around. But...well, maybe, he wouldn’t have anyway. Somehow, she thought that maybe it hadn't even been in Clark's head to invite her in for coffee, that the thought hadn't even occurred to him. That he'd just been enjoying the fun of the festival and good company...just like she had.
Now, there, you see? That was weird. Wasn't it? He hadn't even taken advantage of the darkness, and the fact that she'd had a few of those lethal pink lemonades they'd been selling (masquerading under the innocuous, innocent-enough sounding name of Peach Georgias when they really concealed a kick like a six-legged mule) to sneak a quick kiss under the old maple tree. What kind of guy didn't have sex on his mind constantly?
Did he think she wasn't worth kissing?
The scowl was back. Her eyes narrowed on him.
Maybe he was gay.
All the sweet and considerate ones usually were.
Her other self gave her a skeptical look.
No, maybe he wasn't gay. But, for goodness sake, there had to be *something* wrong with him. Hadn't there? He couldn't really be what he seemed. There had to be something. Something he was hiding. The wolf beneath those appallingly garish ties.
And what was it with *those* anyway?, she considered grumpily. Signs of a disturbed personality, you asked her. Schizoid even. She cast another wary glance at the recumbent form on the sofa. Nah. Not Clark.
<Why not Clark?> a surprised part of her spoke up, with not a little scorn in its undertone. <Geez, Lois, haven't you learned yet that you can't trust a pretty face and a few...amazingly firm...abs?>
Well, Clark though...he was pretty laid back. To the point of aggravation and where it should really be a criminal offence. Maybe that was the point though? Maybe those ties of his were a desperate cry for help. A struggle for the repressed rage inside him to work its way out. An unconscious pointer to the serial killer within.
<Clark?!?> The image she'd worked up almost made her giggle. She suppressed it with an effort. You might as well imagine Big Bird with an Uzi taking out a few Saturday Blue-Light Special shoppers.
But then...who could tell? Those ties definitely were an aspect of *something* not right in that head under that dark, thick hair that...had that really cute habit of tumbling over his forehead so that her fingers itched with the compulsion to stroke it back into place and....
Those ties. Definitely not right. Definitely a sign of a split personality. No doubt, one day, she'd probably be the one staring fish-eyed at a camera lens and telling the world, plaintively, 'but he always looked so quiet....'.
<But, Miss Lane,> said the LNN reporter in tones of incredulous scorn. <Are you *seriously* trying to tell us that you worked side by side with Clark Kent every day for six months, you saw those abominable *ties* and you never suspected that one day he might snap and climb to the top of City Hall with a high-powered rifle?!? That you just didn't have a *clue*?!?>
She glared at the hapless illusionary hack in her head in a way that made it fortunate he was a figment of her imagination. Well, how was anyone supposed to know what people were carrying inside them these days, like some malignant cockroach? Clark was as likely a candidate as anyone else.
Except....
Well, he looked so...vulnerable. Lying there, huddled under his blankets. That dark hair tousled, his features shadowed. Besides, she thought with an amused twist of her lips, how could anyone who still kept his favorite Snoopy blankie in the top drawer of his bureau be anything but a great big softie?
<You keep the Woodstock tooth mug you got for your third birthday in your - >
Yes, well that was entirely different! Not the same thing at all. They weren't talking about her, she told her other half primly. They were talking about Clark.
Yes. Clark.
She sighed. An enigma wrapped up in a mystery bundled up in a Snoopy blanket. What was he really?
Someone she could trust?
Well, actually, she supposed she already did. In a way. She trusted him - kind of - with her story notes. That was new. Wasn't it? She hadn't trusted anyone with anything relating to a story since...well, since that rat-faced slime monster with the name beginning with C.
<We're not talking about work though and you know it, Lois.>
Absently she began to chew on her lower lip. Okay, no, they weren't. Did she - could she - trust him with her heart? That was the sixty million dollar question. No. Could she? No. Well...maybe. Perhaps. She sighed. She didn't know. She only knew that, for some reason she hadn't quite fathomed yet - beyond the tug and familiar ache of physical attraction that she had to admit she felt for her partner (and what did that prove about anything other than people were bundles of reckless hormones just keen and eager to mess up someone's life?) - she *wanted* to trust him. And that was a startling enough step forward all on its own. And definitely all that she could bear to analyze for the moment.
Clark was...well, he was okay. Not half as irritating to be around as she'd figured he would be when Perry foisted him on her. Even, maybe, almost...nice to have around. Good to be with. There were days - moments - when she almost thought it was fun - exciting - to have him as a sounding board, to be able to toss ideas around with and brainstorm on a story. Maybe he was becoming a friend. She thought that she could live with that. Clark as a friend. But, beyond that? Well...anything beyond that was just clutching at moonshine and starlight. The kind of thing that happened between the covers and between the sheets of the romance novels she devoured late at night in her
<lonely>
bed. And that kind of thing just didn’t happen in the real world. Surely life had taught her that if nothing else? And taught her painfully, too. So, he couldn't possibly be...
<- what you've been looking for all your life?>
In the moment of black silence that followed that thought, that followed her appalled dismay that the thought should even be in her head - let alone have the gall to work itself into her conscious mind and present itself to her as though it expected her to take notice of it, even act on it for pity's sake - the clock over the mantle softly marked the hour with a musical chime.
Startled by the unexpected interruption to her musing, Lois was propelled abruptly back to an awareness of her surroundings. And to the realization of the fact that she had apparently been standing there, in the center of the room, lost in licentious speculation and starry-eyed mooning over her partner, for at least a good ten minutes. She blinked and then glanced furtively around her, as though afraid a shadowed observer - no doubt snickering as it watched her sink deeper into her hormone-clouded haze - might have been watching her stand there like the most brainless, ditzy, bodice-ripper heroine, drooling over some....beefcake.
<Boy, those months of abstinence must finally be getting to her, huh, if she could even contemplate breaking the fast with....>
Abruptly, Lois shook herself briskly, like a dog getting rid of fleas, and pushed all thoughts of Clark Kent firmly out of view before they could lead her down the rose-strewn path again, vastly annoyed with herself and them now. And him. Definitely with him.
<Lane, get a grip! He's not *that* interesting.>
She'd been trying to get away from him, hadn't she? Away from that room, thick with memories of the boy he had been and thoughts of the man he had become. Away from that adorable little bear that somehow had ended up in the bed with her, even though she'd insisted his winning it for her didn't really mean that much - not to him and certainly not to her. Lois Lane wasn't that soppy! But there it had been - propped up on the pillow next to her and watching her with black eyes that seemed to know too well what she was thinking.
Which...she just wasn't going to do any more of, thank you very much! <And damn you, Clark Kent, for making me!> Her gaze fixed, smoldering, on the sofa and its occupant and this time there wasn't the remotest iota of longing or romance in it. Disgust, maybe. Yes, disgust, that was it. And damn irritated, too.
Men. Why were they always so confusing? Never straight forward? They were simple beasts after all, their needs uncomplicated, their motivations basic. Beer, sex and football. In varying order depending on opportunity and means. You'd think fathoming them would be easy enough!
And why was she still standing here?
With a puzzled backwards glance at the sofa, she made her way carefully through the living room and into the kitchen. Stealthily, she pushed her way through the screen door and out on the stoop, rolling her eyes as she did. Didn't these people lock any doors at night? Hadn't they heard of muggings?
It was cool on the stoop and there was a fresh, faint breeze rising up out of the west. It stirred rough fingers through her hair as she leaned against the porch frame at the top of the little flight of stairs down into the yard. She shivered slightly and considered that she should really have gotten properly dressed before she ventured out; it was too chilly to be wearing just the sleep shorts and t-shirt she'd pulled on before falling into bed.
Her partner's bed. Where it was too easy to imagine his body pressed against hers in the darkness, that soft, smoky voice murmuring endearments against her skin as her heart cried out for that connection, that warmth...for the touch of tenderness that would take away the loneliness, if only for one small moment....
Lois frowned darkly. <Would you quit that?> she told herself ferociously. Even if it were true...which it wasn't!...Clark Kent wasn't exactly her ideal candidate.
She turned her gaze to studying the yard and outbuildings for a time, letting her thoughts drift, and then tilted her head. The sky was cloudless and clear and the stars, she had to admit, had a sharp, glittering quality that the smog of Metropolis leeched out of them. They seemed so close too. Like she could almost reach out and touch them with the tip of a finger. She stretched out a hand briefly, watching the nearest of the stars vanish beneath her spread fingers, and then lowered it again with a shake of her head, chiding herself for the indulgence.
She snorted softly. "God, Lane," she muttered aloud in disgust. "One day in Wonderland, one sniff of the scent of corn, and you're acting like a wide-eyed kid in Disney World."
"Wheat," a soft voice murmured from directly behind her and she started violently as a pair of large hands settled themselves gently on her shoulders.
Lois didn't scream. She'd long since trained herself out of that instinctive fright reflex - what good was screaming when you were surprised into fright? It could destroy a good reporter's chance of getting the take, screaming at the slightest startle. But he had scared her, even so.
She whipped around, eyes stuttering wide in her suddenly pale face and she teetered dangerously on the edge of the stairs for a moment with the violent motion, before Clark reached out hastily and gripped her arms tight, steadying her and pulling her upright before she could tumble down them.
"Dammit, Cla -- !"
Her furious yell was cut off as one of those hands clapped itself against her mouth. Her eyes stared up belligerently into her partner's before he sheepishly removed the gag. He let her go, stepped back a pace. Maybe he was expecting her to take a swing at him. She might have too - the nerve of him, manhandling her like that - except for the fact that she seemed unable to move, all at once. The touch of his hands still lay against her skin, so that she almost imagined that if she looked down she would see the imprint of his fingers glowing there, like a brand. The heat of that touch seeped into her, sparking a fierce, answering glow of warmth deep within her....
She felt herself grow hot. With embarrassment now rather than anything more romantic.
Looking down was impossible though. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on his face, a face shadowed into mysterious plains and hollows by the darkness. She stared into those shrouded eyes, like some lost soul trying to find its way home in the depths of the gaze that was intent on her now.
"Sorry," he whispered, with a judicious glance upward and across one shoulder for the darkened upper level windows. "I didn’t mean to scare you, I -- "
Lois started violently and then, as though he'd broken some kind of spell, recalling her abruptly back to the present, her expression clouded. "*Scare* me!" she began furiously, but sotto voice now as she too darted a swift look upwards, before returning her scowl to him. "What else did you expect, sneaking up on a person like that out of – what about it?"
He looked confused. "What?"
"No, wheat. What about it?"
"Oh. Just that it's mostly what we grow around these parts. Not corn. It's a popular misconception, but the yield in corn just isn't -- "
"Clark?"
"Yeah?"
"Save it for the next 4-H class."
"Oh. Okay." He tilted his head, eyeing her curiously. "What are you doing out here anyway?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Kent. I wasn't trying to sneak off into the night with the family silver," she told him tartly.
Somewhere within, a dim part of her was aware that she was retreating into sarcasm to counter the disconcerting effect this man seemed to have on her this evening, this strange and frightening hold he appeared to have gained over her, so powerful, so deeply bound in longing, that she was mired in it like Brer Rabbit in the tar, unable to break free of it. That understanding of a new vulnerability, though not acknowledged, simply made her more annoyed.
Clark sighed. "Lo...is."
She shrugged. "Might ask you the same question," she tried deflecting him further.
He shrugged back. "I heard the screen door. I wondered why you were up; thought I'd come see if something was wrong."
"No. No, nothing…nothing's *wrong*. Nope." She shook her head decisively. "Just came out for some air. No local ordnance against that, is there?"
"Well, only if you bring a cow and two chickens with you," he said drolly. "And even then, I think you're okay providing there isn't a hailstorm going on at the time."
She rewarded him with a moue of impatience for his lame attempt at wit. "Cute," she said. And then added brightly with the saccharine false charm of a hostess prodding a guest that had outstayed his welcome long since, "Well, anyway, now that we've cleared that up...."
He frowned. "You're not intending to stay out here much longer are you?"
"And if I am?"
"Well, you're cold," he said, studying her with an anxious pinch in his brow. "I mean...you look cold. It's cold out here..." He paused, drawing in a small sigh of breath, and then continued on a new tack, "Couldn’t you sleep?"
She hitched her shoulders in a noncommittal reply.
"You know my Mom has a recipe for warm milk that's guaranteed to settle you. Always worked for me when I was a kid." He grinned at her. "Wanna give it a try?"
"I hate warm milk."
Clark ignored the grumpy undertone and her scowl. "I can always put some chocolate in it," he coaxed, apparently unaffected by its sting.
Lois paused. Her scowl deepened as she tried to hold on to grumpy, but to her dismay the lure of chocolate made it waver. Geez, was she really that...pathetically dependant?
"I know how you like chocolate." His smile warmed as he reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
"How do you know I like chocolate?" Lois said suspiciously as she stepped back a pace, out of his reach. Her heart was hammering hard now, every fiber of her, every molecule and nerve, seemed to be aware of him, standing there, so close she could almost feel the warmth radiating off him, could almost reach out and return the gesture. That darned lock of hair. Why did it have to look so adorably cute?
Almost unconsciously, she curled her fingers into tight fists and then folded her arms over her chest for good measure. Not that she was afraid she'd give into the temptation. Uh uh. Lois Lane wasn't ruled by her hormones. She had better control than that.
Didn't she?
Clark cleared his throat, glanced away from where his gaze had been drawn downwards by her movements and then shrugged. "I've seen you pigging out…uh, picking out a lot of chocolate bars when you're stressed. That's all."
Lois flushed. "I like *health* bars," she said, in a tone that contradicted him. "If that's what you mean." Clark seemed to be hiding a smile. She frowned at him, but that only seemed to encourage him to let it out a little more. She looked away, out into the night.
"They're good for you," she added, her gaze fixed on the quirky shadow of a stunted tree over on the other side of the yard.
"Health bars? So I hear."
She flicked a glance his way, bristling. Yup, he was laughing at her. She hated that. On the other hand...there had been chocolate mentioned. She closed her mouth on the retort that had sprung ready to roll and loaded like an Exocet to her lips.
"Chocolate would be nice," she conceded reluctantly and then, as he gave her a look that seemed way too knowing to her, as though he'd anticipated her positive answer, as though he thought he could predict her responses, "That is...aren't I keeping you awake?"
He shook his head as he reached to pull back the screen door and allow her to proceed him through.
"I couldn’t sleep either. I was thinking about Wayne Irig. I hope we find him soon."
Their story. Lois seized on the opportunity to get onto a professional tack, distract herself from the closeness of that male body, too near for comfort after the whirling confusion of her earlier thoughts. Thoughts that had surely only been the product of the darkness and the night. A time when loneliness and lust snuck up on a person, more often than any other. A time when the emotions were distorted, magnified, into something they really weren't in the clear light of day.
She glanced back across her shoulder at him as she passed through and into the kitchen. "You really think he's in that much trouble?"
"Don't you?" He glanced back at her, surprised, and she shrugged.
"I guess. Let's just say I don't think he's holed up in some motel anymore," she added as he lifted a brow. "In fact," she continued, "I think maybe we should go back to the site in the morning, do a little bit of snooping around."
"You think Sherman was lying too, don't you?"
"Little Miss Welcome Wagon? You bet. And Irig phoning to let us know we should just forget about him right after we spoke to her?" She made a face and then shook her head forcefully. "There's something going on here and I'm going to find out what it is." She stopped. He was grinning at her. Why was he...oh. She frowned at him. "I mean in a backwater like this it's probably not going to be front page stuff...whatever it is...but, you know...maybe, there might...just...be...something."
"Right." He nodded. "Probably just the boondocks branch of government corruption then...small change stuff, definitely." He laid a mock sympathetic hand on her shoulder and then moved off for the cozy kitchen. She seared a black look after him, able to spot his grin widening even in the shadowed room.
As he reached to switch on the kitchen lights and they bloomed into life though, she was suddenly struck by something that had been on the periphery of her awareness right from the moment he'd ambushed her. The shadows of the stoop and the darkness of the house until this moment had mercifully blurred the realization though...till now.
He was naked.
No, no...geez, Lane, what are you thinking? He's not naked!
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, feeling herself blushing furiously at the licentious fantasies of her mind - shame on it! - and then opened them again cautiously.
Clark hadn't changed. He wasn't naked - that would be too much to - no, not hope for, she wasn't hoping for...at least she hadn't meant to...eeesh.
No, not naked.
He was however wearing nothing but a faded pair of boxer shorts. Which explained one mystery that had been on her mind for some weeks now.
Her blush deepened. She did not spend all of her time wondering if Clark wore boxers or briefs!
<Yeah...sure...>
"Are you okay?"
She started and then abruptly closed her mouth, becoming belatedly aware that her jaw was hanging as she realized she was staring fixedly at a smooth chest with abs that Fabio would have happily died for. She'd only got a brief glimpse of that body once before, but she'd never had the chance to actually...
<stare at him like you've never seen a nak - bare chest before?>
<Geez, Lois, why don't you just drool and ring the dinner bell for pity's sake?>
"I uh..."
But to her horror his expression suddenly changed, he dropped his head, and then brought it back up to look at her. A deep flush had spread on his cheeks.
"I'll...um...just go put a shirt on..." he said hastily, before he headed rapidly for the sofa.
Behind him, she closed her eyes again. <Lane, you complete idiot.>
~@*****@~
<You idiot, Kent.>
Clark felt the heat in his cheeks deepen as he hurriedly pulled on the college t-shirt. What the heck must she be thinking?
<You have to ask what she was thinking? Looked pretty clear to me.>
Well, any woman would ogle like that, if you displayed yourself like...like a prime side of ribs in a butcher's window, he told himself scathingly. She might have been looking, but she'd been embarrassed. First he'd scared her, then he'd embarrassed her. Way to go, Kent - two for three. Want to try for a home-run?
He hadn't meant to do either. But he had been concerned when he'd heard her moving around restlessly upstairs. And then when she'd gone outside...
It had been a strange thought - to worry about her out there in his own backyard. Before this week he would never have considered that his childhood home could be a dangerous place. Smallville? He'd have laughed uproariously at the thought, had it been suggested to him. That yard out there, where he'd spent days lost in fantasies of cops and robbers, cowboys and indians, with his friends or alone? The woods surrounding the farm that had been treasure troves of light and shade, where he had wandered without a care or thought of alarm? Suddenly, that security seemed something lost, a memory from years past that had faded and was gone.
Suddenly, Smallville seemed a place of harbored secrets and danger. He could almost smell it on the air. Sherman was lying, he knew she was. And where was Wayne Irig? How could Wayne possibly be in danger here - in this tranquil backwater? It seemed...ludicrous. And yet...
So, sleep had been eluding him. Apart from worrying over the whereabouts of his father's friend, and the possible dangers to his home town and the people he loved that such a huge and obviously not entirely on the up government operation could bring, he fretted over the loss of his powers.
Curious that he could. There had been times in his life when he would have given everything he had just to be normal. Just any other ordinary man. And even when he had grown more easy with himself, he had still never imagined that his powers defined him. He was Clark Kent. Son of Martha and Jonathan. And his powers had no part in that.
Initially, he had almost been pleased when he had discovered that the strange green crystal had given him what he'd spent more than one angst-ridden teenage night longing for. But the bloom had faded from that particular rose pretty quickly. The world was so strange now. It seemed...washed out and faded. Colors were less bright to him. The small, incidental sounds that he had subliminally learned to attune himself to habitually were gone. It disturbed him that he couldn't hear the soft, familiar and comforting sound of Lois' heartbeat. He had never realized until now how much of his powers he used to judge a person's mood, to keep himself aware of them. He felt...disconnected from the people he cared for. As though he were trapped behind a sheet of glass. As though he was living in a world populated by shadow-folk, rather than real people.
He knew that it was all relative. That he was a perfectly fit and healthy human. And that if his condition persisted and his powers never returned he would learn to compensate for their loss, adjust to being...ordinary. But the loss was disturbing all the same. And for the first time in his life he'd become aware of just how much a part of him his powers truly were. Something he had long denied.
And then, of course, to round it all off - there was Lois. How could he sleep when she was there in the same house? Only a few rooms away? So close that he could almost hear the steady cadence of her breathing as she slept and the soft, burrowed sound of her heart...
Or, at least, imagine that he could, an illusion based on memory rather than the reality of now.
Except, to his surprise, Lois hadn't been sleeping either. And when he'd heard her move down the stairs into the living room and then outside, he'd been anxious enough to follow and check that she was okay.
Feeling sufficiently decent as he tugged the hem of the shirt into place, he turned back with the thought, and was transfixed anew at the sight of her, standing there awkwardly on the other side of the room.
Lois Lane. In his parents' kitchen. Drinking warm milk and chocolate. With him. At three a.m.
Clark found himself smiling as headed for the kitchen. Ah, well…he'd had worse fantasies.
The guest star in most of the better ones eyed him as he began to pluck mugs and spoons and chocolate powder from the cupboard overhead and fill the kettle from the sink faucet.
"What's so funny?"
"Huh?" He glanced at her, surprised out of his thoughts, as he plugged in the kettle. "Oh…um...nothing. I was just...thinking…" He trailed off as he got his first good look at her under the warm glow of the kitchen's light. No trace of make-up, hair sleep-tangled out of its usual sleek and shining bob and fluffed into a brunette halo that framed her face. And her eyes. Wow…those eyes. He felt himself drowning and it was only the sudden, startled look that took over her face and the quick hand Lois raised to pat at her hair that made him realize he'd been staring.
One perfect eyebrow in that perfect face rose dangerously. "Thinking what?" Lois's eyes narrowed on him suspiciously.
"That..." he paused and then finished with simple, honest sincerity, "That this is nice. Just…really nice."
Lois blushed faintly. "Oh."
She sat down at the small table to watch him as he moved around the kitchen.
"So, where do you think he is?" she said finally. "Irig, I mean."
He glanced at her, but he had the suspicion that Wayne Irig wasn't really what was on her mind. Her tone was less interested than her question suggested, and he had the feeling that she'd spoken more to break the silence and stop it from developing into something uneasy between them.
Nevertheless, he gave it serious consideration, as he poured hot water into the mugs and moved to place them on the table. "Well, he can't be that far away. He must still be here - in Smallville - or close by," he pondered as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table.
And if he was, Superman could have found him in an instant, he thought, surprising himself with the bitterness of the thought. Something he hadn't considered about his sudden 'good fortune'. Without his powers how was he going to feel, the first time someone died in a train wreck that he could have saved? When a child he could have rescued suffered? When he wasn't there to help?
"Or maybe one of those army trucks shipping him out. He could be anywhere - is there an airport close by? A private airport?"
He shook his head. "Crop dusters, but that's about it. Nothing the army would use."
She picked up her mug, sipping thoughtfully as she considered. "But maybe they could - " she started and he listened attentively as she outlined her theories and gave him her suspicions about what was truly happening in his home town.
But for some reason Clark couldn’t find any interest in discussing the assignment. Or in listening to Lois's latest theories on it. In the end, he simply settled himself back against his chair, cradled the warming mug of chocolate in his hands, and let her words flow over him, delighting in the sound of her babbling on. Simply savoring the fact that she was here. With him. That, with barely a nudge, he could almost imagine that they were…
"Clark?"
"Huh? Oh." He straightened up abruptly, placing his half-empty mug on the table before him. "Sorry. I…" He rubbed a hand through his hair. "I guess I was starting to drift."
Lois gave him a look that he was sure revealed more anxiety for his health than she was aware of, or probably wanted him to see. "You are okay, aren’t you? I mean, you looked so sick earlier and I know you said you were fine now, but -- "
"No, I'm okay. Really." He smiled at her as she looked less than convinced and then shook his head. "It's just been…a long day." And he was only now becoming aware of how much he relied on his powers to stave off tiredness. Without them he was bushed. Wiped out. But he couldn’t tell her that either.
Silence settled on them again. And something else. Something that sizzled through the air between them, unvoiced, unacknowledged, but all too familiar. Powerful.
Attraction.
He swallowed hard and buried his nose in his mug again, trying to deny the force that was seeding a soft heat in his stomach, clenching the muscles there tight.
Nothing more than the time and the place, he told himself firmly. Her guard is down, that's all. She's lonely, out of place here. Vulnerable. It doesn't mean anything. Strange place, the companionable warmth and sense of intimacy that rose inevitably out of sharing a mug of chocolate and soft talk in the early hours, knowing the rest of the house slept soundly around you. That kind of thing always inspired closeness. Like conspiracy. But it wasn't always real, was mostly illusion. Nothing more than that.
Lois had ducked her head to bestow a fascinated stare on her own mug. "Yeah," she said finally. "I guess. I mean...we should go back to bed. Uh - " Her head jerked up, her eyes widening. " - I mean, you should go back to the sofa. I should go back to bed."
He couldn't resist a grin. "Yeah."
Neither made the first move. Clark's grin faded. "Um…well, I guess I'll just…" He got stiffly to his feet, glanced across his shoulder and gestured haphazardly in the direction of the sofa. Lois nodded.
"Well, goodnight, Lois."
She nodded again.
Clark turned and ambled for the sofa, a curious sense of regret welling up in him.
~@*****@~
tbc...
