Okay, I'm nearly sure I'm done here, and I'm a little worried about a certain somebody turning up in Farneigh with pitchforks and such <g>, so I'm going to bite the bullet and post the rest of this today 
I have lived and breathed this story for almost two years at this stage, and I'm finding it really, really hard to believe it's actually over 
While I have to admit that I'm shaking in my shoes, posting this final part, I've had so much fun with this. It would never, never have been finished without the support of my *fantastic* beta readers - I'd like to thank Lynn, Saskia, Pel, Erica, Rachel, Sara and Avia for their amazing help. You guys are just incredible - thank you all so much
And finally, a *HUGE* thank you to everybody who's stuck with me through eighteen parts I can't believe what a fantastic response this story has gotten - I'm very, very honoured 
Part EighteenShe was so small. So small and delicate in the hospital bed, swamped in blankets. Her spirit shrunken while asleep.
Her face. Her beautifully alive, passionate face. A band of black and blue rising across her right cheek. Her split lips and her puffed eyes. The marks of her struggle, and its crescendo.
"Clark?" A hand on his shoulder, a deep voice in his ear. Glad to see Perry, really he was, but this was where he was meant to be. Couldn't move. Couldn't go. Couldn't leave her on her own in this dark place, this hospital room, the wires and the machines trailing nightmare.
Somebody lingering in the doorway, two somebodies, but no, he wasn't focusing on that, wasn't concentrating on it. They didn't exist; nothing existed beyond the tiny little hospital bed, with the bars at the side like she had to be restrained and the IV bag oozing fluid into her wrist.
He picked up her hand, held it, stared at it. The whorls of her identity stitched into her fingertips. He brought them to his mouth, kissed them, it wasn't enough but it would do.
"CK?" A young voice. A familiar voice. Jimmy, oh it was good to have Jimmy there, he liked Jimmy, he'd missed Jimmy. Not enough to stand up, or turn around, or speak, though. "She's gonna be okay. Really she is."
He mumbled something, his eyes intent on her face.
"Son, don't you think you should maybe see a doctor?"
He shook his head, fiercely. Wolff had snapped his nose back into place, outside, and that was all he'd permit anybody to do to him. That was all anybody would ever do to him, ever again. That was it, that was all, finished, done, nobody was allowed to touch him ever.
Except for Lois. If she ever woke up.
If she ever got up...
"Uh... Mr Kent?" Another voice. Unfamiliar this time. Nervous and unsure of itself. Unsure of *himself*. Male voice.
Lois's breath puffing against the tiny downy hairs that spun their way across her mouth. Comforting.
Perry's voice, again. "C'mon, kids. Let the man alone."
Grateful. Perry would understand. Had always understood. Understood him, understood Lois.
Lois. His need for her. His aching love.
Sometimes he thought it would overpower him, sometimes he battled against it, trying to slam it into something manageable.
It wouldn't go, though. It wouldn't go.
His love was untamed and stormy. His love was thunder and lightening, whirlpools and tornados, earthquakes and volcanoes - the extremes, nothing grey or uncertain about it.
His love was Lois. Lying there in a hospital bed, placed there by him, by her, by both of them. By the cruel hands of fate which had twisted their lives into distortion.
He would never forget finding her there, hearing her screaming, hearing Luthor's threats behind the locked door, not being able to help her. He would never forget being so utterly helpless - again. Yet again, Clark Kent didn't pull through. Yet again, he failed her. Yet again, the magical superpowers let her down.
She hadn't needed him at all, though, had she? Not in the end. Whatever she'd said, whatever she'd done, however she'd driven Lex Luthor off the highest balcony in Metropolis, she'd done it on her own.
Driven him off the highest balcony in Metropolis... and now she would never be rid of him. Now a tiny piece of her would always belong to him - whether or not the police report came out in her favour. Never mind the fact that it was clearly in self-defence, or that it might even be manslaughter - it didn't take away the fact that a man was dead.
And if he'd been one *second* faster...
She hadn't needed him. She'd *never* needed him. She was so much stronger than he was - with or without Superman.
He wrought his fingers with hers, her creamy skin contrasting with his; scratched and nicked from a thousand little accidents. Contrasting, she was white against his black, she was beauty against his freakishness, she was hope against his despair.
He bent his head over their hands - joined.
~&~
It was irritating; like one of those dreams she couldn't seem to wake up from. Her eyelids were impossibly heavy, almost glued to her cheek, and she was...
Staring blurrily at something above her, something dully cream. Beige squares with rectangular lights on them - lights that hurt her eyes.
Her dry lips cracked as she formed a "huh?" with her mouth. Her eyes fell shut again, but she was awake now, she was alert. The smarting smell of antiseptic hit her nostrils, and she recoiled, reminded of all the hospitals she'd ever been in...
Hospitals. Tentatively, she moved her legs, feeling a stiff mattress crack at the shifting weight.
A hospital room, a hospital bed. What had happened?
Her eyes drifted open again, and she saw - tousled black locks and something was gripping her hand, he was, he was bent over their joined hands. In a moment, all the strain gushed out of her muscles. He was here, he was alive, he was holding onto her hand like he'd never let her go, and everything was going to be okay now.
"Clark," she whispered, trying to smile as his head shot up immediately. His eyes were so tired...
Instinctively, she raised a hand to his cheek, stroked her thumb under one of those weary brown eyes. Immediately it closed and a drop of salty water spilt out onto the pad of her finger.
She wanted to lean forward and kiss him, she wanted at that instant to tell him how much she loved him and how she never wanted to let him go, but she was so drowsy...
Her head fell back against the cushions, her hand fell down and was caught by his as once again she tumbled into the darkness of sleep.
~&~
On the morning of her departure she was dressed and ready half an hour before Clark turned up. The dull non-colour room seemed smaller without her things in it - her flowers, her candy, her discomfort pulsing against the walls. She traced tiny circles on the fog-misted window with her forefinger as she waited, tasting freedom.
Two days in bed had left her with a dizziness whenever she tried to move - like her mind was trying to pull free from her aching body. When he'd arrived, she'd stood up too quickly and had had to put her head between her legs. The terrible worry in his eyes afterwards made her hate herself.
She felt strangely apart from her surroundings as she heard his pleasantries with the day nurse, noted his dapper suit and patented Clark tie, felt his solid arm around her.
It happened in an instant. One second, they were standing beside her bed, the next the hospital doors were hissing open and they were both expelled from a calm, serene world into a sea of shouting journalists.
She wanted to crumble and cry, or rage and stamp about - she wasn't sure which would be better, easier.
"Mrs Luthor... can you confirm that..."
"Mrs Luthor... can you comment on..."
"Mrs Luthor... what's your response to..."
Bile rushed swiftly around the pit of her stomach. Mrs Luthor, Mrs Luthor, Mrs Luthor, like a pack of hyenas. These people had been her colleagues and competitors for nearly ten years, and now... now she was just another story, Lex Luthor's wife back from the dead *again*.
"Mrs Luthor... where's Alex?"
She turned blind and staring eyes onto the reporter in question. Sandra Ellis, one of her old cohorts at LNN. Of course. "Who?"
Sandra paused, clearly wrong-footed. "Your son. Alexander Luthor."
She took one step forward and then Clark's steady hand caught hers, Clark's steady voice saying no comment, Clark's steady shoulder anchoring her shaky body as he led her to the car.
A beat, and then they were moving. They were in the car, and it was pulling away from the hospital. How was this possible when Clark was sitting right beside her, his hand in hers, his fingers stroking rhythmically?
"You okay back there?" She heard the gruff voice in a dream, in a state of bemused bewilderment.
"Fine, Perry," Clark answered. "We had a couple of rough moments, but we're okay now."
Perry. Perry was here. Her old friends were rallying around her, even though she didn't deserve it, even though she deserved less than nothing because of what she'd done to them.
She found her voice. "Perry, I..."
"I know, honey. To see you, well... it's... I'm happier than a preacher in a month of Sundays."
She closed her eyes, not wanting him to see her tears.
"Me too, Perry. Me too."
"Plus, you're giving me hope here."
"Hope?" she asked weakly.
Even from where she was sitting, she could see his eyes crinkling up at the corners.
"Well, if you can come back from the dead *twice*, I reckon there's hope for Elvis."
It took a minute, and then she giggled.
Perry and his Elvis anecdotes. Clark and his wacky ties. They'd both slipped back into their old familiar roles so quickly... without a hint of trouble.
Could it be the same for her? Could she make this try, this leap, this decision? Could she slip back into being Lois Lane, Star Reporter and All-Round Grouch?
She closed her eyes, tilted her head back against the headrest, and went on holding tightly to Clark's hand.
~&~
"Clark?"
"Hmm?"
"What next?"
He opened his eyes, startled and strangely uneasy.
He chose his words carefully. "I don’t know. What do you want to happen next?"
They'd snatched this, these ten minutes alone together, to sit in Perry's den and do absolutely nothing for a while. Soon all hell would break loose, and they'd wanted to have a few moments of peace before the madness ensued. Alice was out with Jon. Jimmy and Charlie had gone AWOL. Perry had said something vague about calling Detective Wolff to let him know they were safe.
He half-smiled as he surveyed her, cuddled into the crook of his arm. He should have known; Lois Lane thrived on craziness. It was her natural habitat, and she could usually be found right in the middle of it.
"I just want all of this to be over." Her quiet voice tugged at his heart, and against his better judgement he dropped a downy kiss on the crown of her head.
"I know. It's gonna be hard."
They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes more.
"I guess we're going to have to confirm those statements we gave Wolff," she offered. "And go along with whatever further investigations the police want to do."
He nodded cautiously, watching her. She seemed so in control...
"And we're - I'd better decide what to do with all Lex's *stuff*."
He almost-chuckled at the disgusted way she mentioned billions of dollars and at least a thousand other assets.
"What are you going to do with the money?"
She sighed softly. "I guess I should do the noble thing, right? Forget about all the things we need and pour it into a couple of charities. Wouldn't he just hate that?"
He smiled against her hair.
"But I keep thinking of the life I could give Jon if I held onto it. I wouldn't ever have to worry about money or security. I could be right here with him all the time, he wouldn't end up hating me because he never saw me when he was growing up."
"This is probably blood money, Lois... and besides, you'd hate that kind of life. Still living with Lex, constant reminders of his hold over you."
She stuck out her chin obstinately. "I could learn to like it."
"But wouldn't it be so much sweeter to do it on your own terms?"
"I just want a *break*, Clark." She dropped her head against his shoulder. "I know, I know I'm being crazy and really I would never take his money. But I just want to stop fighting the tide for a little while..."
"I know," he murmured comfortingly.
"I thought once we had Lex out of the way, it'd be like - snap! Everything fixed. Job, baby, home. But it's not. From here on, it's just going to get harder and harder and harder."
"You'll get a job no problem -"
"Ha!"
"Lois -"
She looked at him sadly. "No, really, Clark, I'm being serious. What have I got to offer any prospective employer?"
He stared at her. "You've got to be kidding me!"
At her enquiring look, he elaborated. "What about loyalty, hard work, sheer brilliance, nearly ten years of experience at the best paper in the country and three Kerth awards?"
"What about hassle, flightiness, dim excuses? 'Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't go on that stakeout last night because my babysitter was booked up'. 'Oh, I'm sorry I didn't make that deadline, my son had his first Little League game'. 'Oh, I'm sorry I wasn't there to collect my Pulitzer, my kid had chicken pox'. Really, Clark..."
"Are you forgetting about what a great support team you've got going here? You think we'd bail on you when it comes to taking care of Jon for a few hours? Not a chance, Lane!"
She turned to him, her eyes anxious and yet deeply excited at the same time.
"We're not talking about a couple of hours, Clark," she said seriously. "If I'm going to do this, I need an employer who's... well... more than a little understanding."
"Somebody like Perry."
"Exactly." She nodded enthusiastically. "Someone like Perry..."
She was staring at him as if she expected him to chime in with a brilliant solution.
"Lois, I'm not following you here..."
She sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you? I need *Perry* as my boss. And Perry... is a newspaper editor."
"But he'd never work for a rival paper..." He trailed off at her fierce nod. "Ah."
"We need the Planet back, Clark," she said simply.
The Planet. Security, stability, life, work, passion, Lois.
"You could do that?" he whispered.
"Why not? It is possibly the one thing I could do that Lex would hate the most."
He had to smile at that.
"It would get us all our jobs again."
He looked at her, her beautifully alive face.
"It would get us being partners again," he said uncertainly.
She nodded. "Definitely."
"Do you think you could stand it?" He tried to say it lightly, but it came out too full of hope.
"I think I could try." Her eyes dark and very, very serious.
He allowed his hand to slide along her check and slip into the dark silk of her hair. She closed her eyes briefly and when they opened, they were focused on his lips. She shuffled nearer... he swallowed has her perfume invaded his senses...
"Knock kn - oh god!" said a voice from the doorway, and the second was shattered. Clark looked up, his lips almost posed to kiss her, to see Jimmy framed in an agony of embarrassment.
"I'll be in the... I'll be... I'll be outside," he fumbled, his cheeks flaming. "Good to... ahm, good to see you again, Lois." And he was gone.
What was he *doing*?!
He jumped up and off the couch in one fluid movement. He had to get away from there before he did something really, really stupid, before he wrecked everything irrevocably...
//She's just gotten rid of her *husband*, Kent, and here you are trying to kiss her.// He recriminated himself in a nightmare of self-disgust.
"I'll... I'd better check on everybody. I'll be in the kitchen," he muttered, and beat a hasty retreat backwards.
~&~
~One Week Later~"You're sure you've got everything under control?"
The four of them immediately assumed wounded, aggrieved expressions.
"You think we're anything less than competent?" Perry asked pointedly, arching an eyebrow at her. She grinned.
"I wouldn't dare assume otherwise... So you're clear on what you all have to do?"
"They're clear, Lois," came Clark's voice from beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder lightly. Platonically. She swallowed.
"You all have the Kents' number, right?" she asked anxiously, ignoring him.
"Lois. I know that this is a big deal, but honestly, we won't let the plans fall apart while you're gone," Jimmy pointed out, his tone teasing. She smiled at him, wondering at how much he'd matured since she'd seen him last. The old Jimmy Olsen would never have dared to rib her gently like that.
Alice stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "Don't worry, Lois," she heard whispered in her ear. "Everything will be taken care of - everything."
She smiled and hugged the older woman back, full of appreciation at her discretion. "Thank you," she whispered back.
Discretion. Because what better way to spend Lex Luthor's money than in a safe haven for wives just as herself, wives with nowhere to go and nobody to understand. Wives who walked into lampposts and fell down stairs. Wives who tiptoed and spoke in whispers. Wives who stole money and dyed their hair blonde.
Not a Lois Lane Foundation, not a Lex Luthor Foundation. No huge charity extravaganza, no hype, no gloss, no publicity. Just a place somewhere in the city where women could get the help they needed, where they would never be looked down upon, where they could start living again. The first step along the path.
And who better to help them along the way than Alice White, former social worker, wife of one of the most influential people in the city, someone who cared deeply and someone who Lois trusted implicitly?
She stepped back, and then hugged Perry and Jimmy in turn. When she got to the last person, she kissed him on the cheek, grinning as he abruptly turned an interesting shade of magenta.
"Thank you for all your help, Charlie," she said, smiling. "I'll be seeing you soon. Keep up the song-writing."
"Count on it," he promised, grinning bashfully.
Stepping back, she picked Jon's carrier up by the handle, smiled at them one last time, and walked with Clark through the departure gates. On the way, as his hand squeezed her fingers reassuringly, she snuck a glance back at them, half-wishing that...
...she could stay and...
She closed her eyes and bit her lip. No, no, that was... that was selfish and... and... this was what Clark wanted...
Couldn't she do this, this one little thing, without complaining or feeling...
...pressured...
As Clark's fingers squeezed her own once more and then withdrew, she had the sudden, painfully acute sensation that the walls were closing in around her.
~&~
~*Twenty-Four Hours Later*~"Okay, out with it."
She looked up from her seat and stared at Martha with no small degree of surprise.
"Out with what?" she asked.
"With whatever that's making you pick holes in my sofa cover."
Lois looked down at her fingers, which had been worrying at a loose thread, and jumped up as if scalded.
"Oh god. I'm sorry, I didn't even -"
"That's okay," Martha said calmly, smoothing an iron over a checked shirt. "Slow down, *sit* down, and tell me all about it."
She sat, tucking one ankle behind the other and brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
"It's nothing, really," she began, brightly.
"Oh, Lois, honey." A sigh, and Martha's cornflower eyes looking impossibly sad. "Please don't insult my intelligence. It's Clark, isn't it?"
The even motion of hissing iron over creased cotton soothed her somewhat. "What makes you say that?"
//Careful, Lois. She's his mother. Think of how you'd react if somebody badmouthed Jon.//
She felt a surge of anger grip her at the suggestion, then flicked a glance over to the bassinette.
Maybe she should check on him. Just to make sure he wasn't... wasn't...
...gone.
"Let's see. You don't address him directly. You avoid eye contact. You jump like a frightened kitten at the mere thought of being alone with him. You watch him through the window when he's outside working and sigh mournfully. You're not eating. And you're now staring at me like I have a direct line to your soul."
Her mouth was gaping wide open. She shut it with an audible click.
Okay. Out with it.
"I... I resent him, Martha," she blurted out, shakily. "I resent him *so* much... and I love him at the same time. I really do."
Martha's obvious shock was quickly schooled into an expression of pure concern. As if the surprise had never been there in the first place. As if it didn't gore her to the heart to think that somebody hated her only child.
She was just there to listen, not to pass judgement. How did she do it? *How*?
//I could make a fortune out of this stuff,// she thought hysterically, //if only I could siphon it out of her, bottle it, and sell it under the brand name 'Sheer Mothering Instinct'.//
"What makes you think that, dear?"
No animosity in Martha's voice. None at all.
"I... I'm not sure."
Silence. As if she were waiting for Lois to draw her own conclusions, figure it out on her own. No magic solution handed up on a silver platter - she had to work for it.
Why *did* she feel this about Clark? Why did she feel so resentful towards him?
Could it be tied up with Jon? These reasons?
But that made no sense either. Clark had been nothing but gentle and kind and fatherly to Jon from the second he'd started existing independently - and ever before that, if she was absolutely truthful. She knew that he would be there for her son, in whatever guise - as a friend, as a confidant, as an uncle, as a... a...
...father...
And Jon would need that - would need a male presence in his life. Surely. Surely he would.
How would he react to hearing Mommy pushed Daddy off a balcony...? Did she tell him? Did she wait until he found out for himself? How did she explain about his father without making him fear or hate her?
Not even a mother a month and already she'd screwed up...
She swallowed and dragged her mind away from the stray thought. Jon wasn't it... what was left? What made up Clark Kent?
Decency... a lust to make things better... unbending ethics, moral standards, and...
...and...
His love for her.
That had been a huge part to his personality from the very first moment she'd met him. The light in his eyes when she spoke to him, the complete comprehension of her craziness, the quiet acceptance of her flaws, the admiration of her good points.
And it was *gone*, wasn't it? These past few days. Gone completely. His eyes now flickered with warm camaraderie, deep appreciation for her friendship, and... and...
...absolutely nothing else.
She supposed she couldn't really blame him. To stop loving her after what she'd done. All the pain and agony and heartbreak she'd caused him, the man she'd just killed - all of it.
What was a man's love, anyway? Complete and unconditional? Phooey!
She'd made them unequal forever - she'd made sure she was the lesser party, hadn't she? A part of her would always be shrouded in darkness, shrouded in Lex, bursting with insecurities and self-recriminations - and he didn't deserve that.
She didn't deserve him, and he didn't deserve her. Whatever way you looked at it, Clark Kent, former champion of all that was good, either got landed with a victim or a murderess - and the jury in her mind was still out on which one was worse.
Love would never work between them now - he'd made that *very* clear.
A gentle, discreet cough.
Martha. Seemingly concentrating on the task at hand, but keeping a surreptitious eye on her - waiting for her. They all waited for her, even though she deserved less than nothing.
Oh, how she loved this woman, and loved Clark for allowing her to share his mother.
"I hate that I can't love him as much as he deserves to be loved," she whispered.
~&~
"So how have *you* been, son?"
He looked up from where he was stacking the tools back in their places, surprised by the serious connotation he heard in his father's voice. "I'm fine, Dad."
"Are you?" Jonathan's eyes clear and intent.
"Oh!" That metaphorical light bulb above his head sparked itself out. "You know that Luthor had Kryptonite with him, don't you?"
His father nodded, looked at him strangely. He fidgeted self-consciously.
"What's wrong?" he asked with faux casualness.
Jonathan shook his head. "Nothing. It's just you sound so... chipper."
What was the best way to approach this?
Don't show fear. Be blase. Don't care too much.
"So... yeah, Luthor had Kryptonite, and my powers aren't back..."
"...yet. They aren't back *yet*."
He shrugged uneasily. "I guess."
"Clark." His father's hand on his shoulder. "You've got to keep thinking positive, son."
"I am... I am." He swallowed, sighed. "But..."
"But?" Jonathan's voice was sharp, and despite himself he jumped a little.
"I don’t know, Dad. I just... I'm not letting myself really... think about it."
"How can you not think about it?!"
"It just... won't be the worst thing if they don't come back, that's all."
"Clark, you *can't* give up -"
"No, Dad, I didn't mean I'm giving up. I'm not. And of course I'll be thrilled if they do come back, and pretty devastated if they don’t... but it's not going to kill me. I'm not banking my entire life on it." He straightened up. "I have to prioritise. I have Lois and Jon now, and we're..."
"You're not his father, son."
He sighed. "I know."
"What exactly do you see happening? You and Lois and the baby in a little cottage with roses around the door?"
He half-smiled, then grimaced. "No!"
"But it *is*, isn't it? Have you even spoken to her about this?"
He fell silent, taking a deep breath and gazing out to where the sun pierced the purple hills.
"How does she see you here? As a father figure for Jon, or as a friend?
He resented his father for making him think about this. Resented him for making him doubt forever.
"I don't know, Dad."
"And... how do you see her?"
He laughed sadly, a small sound. "You have to ask?"
"So you want... what?"
He swallowed. "I want what I've always wanted. To settle down, raise a family."
"And you're banking on Lois making you part of hers?"
~&~
"What makes you think Clark deserves to be loved, Lois?"
Her heart nearly stopped beating. Of all the answers Martha could possibly have given her, she had *never* expected that one!
She stared at her, Clark's mother, so calm, challenging her son's right to love.
"No, really. I'm interested to know. Why do you think Clark deserves to be loved?"
"Because he's... nice?" she said uncertainly, laughing a little, hoping it was a joke.
Martha shrugged. "So are you."
Lex. Dead on the pavement. And the thud to her stomach, the nauseating consciousness that she'd killed another human being...
A frown creased her forehead. "He's good. And kind. And giving. And generous. And really, really loving."
Martha raised an eyebrow at her.
"For Pete's sake, Martha, he's *Superman*!" she burst, finally.
A tiny giggle burst from Martha's lips.
"Forgive me, dear," she said by way of apology, "you just sound so much like someone who's trying to convince herself."
She shook her head, shook her body, trying to snap herself out of it.
"Well, why does anybody deserve love?" she said briskly.
"Exactly, Lois. Why does anybody deserve love? What makes you think Clark deserves love any more than you do?"
She swallowed. Tightened her lips. Hardened her heart.
"Clark wants a happy-ever-after, Martha. He wants a big wedding, and a family, and a house with roses round the door and a white picket fence, and... and... goodness knows, he deserves that, after everything, but I'll never be able to give that to him."
Martha's voice, sharply, making her jump. "And Clark has told you all this, has he?"
Space. She needed space.
She drew a deep, steadying breath, wrapped her arms tightly around herself then stood up and walked over to Jon's bassinette. She picked him out of it, smiling as he gurgled and grabbed at her hair.
"He doesn't want to hurt me." Lightly. Bouncing her baby boy on her hip, supporting his head with the palm of her hand.
"That's not what I asked, honey."
She kissed the top of Jon's head, inhaling the sweet special smell of him. He smelled of talcum powder and baby oil, he smelled of purity and freshness. His creamy skin, his round innocent eyes - heartbreakingly new. A tiny bundle of dreams waiting to be formed.
"You know, Jonathan's been an awful long time out there," came Martha's voice, casually. Lois's head flicked around in surprise as she noticed the change in gear. "I need him to do some lifting for me, and I'm sure Clark can finish up on his own. Would you run out to the barn and ask him to come in for me?"
She narrowed her eyes at Martha suspicious. Heavy lifting? Just about the phoniest excuse since the Cheese of the Month club...
Noting the guileless innocence in Martha's eyes, she sighed and gave in, handing her baby over.
"I'll be back in a minute," she said grudgingly, and headed out the door towards the barn.
~&~
"I don't know how Lois sees me," he said, frowning. "I'm willing to wait until she puts me into a category. I'll be there for her, no matter what."
"But what happens if Lois decides you're 'just a friend'? What will you do then?"
He shrugged, stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well, I'll be 'just a friend'. And I'll wait."
Jonathan sighed. "You're always waiting for her, Clark."
Hating his father now. Hating him for making him think like this.
"There's nobody else, Dad," he said simply. "There will never be anybody else."
His father's hand on his shoulder. "I just don't want to see you hurt, son."
He swallowed. "I know."
"From what I've seen, you're already acting like you two have a definite future."
His head snapped up and around. "What do you mean?"
Jonathan's eyes on him, watching him quietly. "You're always... there, Clark. You're always around her. Being with her. Watching her. Rushing to Jon when he cries. And at the same time, you're pulling away from her."
"So what?" Belligerently. How dare his father do this? How dare he?
Jonathan sighed again. "Don’t be angry, son. I'm just saying - be careful not to confuse her, and at the same time be careful not to crowd her. Things aren't going to fall perfectly into line for her - for either of you. You two still have one heck of a lot of issues to work out. Be careful not to scare her away in the process."
Tightness in his chest, in his throat.
"I'm just so *sick* of it!" he half-yelled. "I'm so *sick* of hiding everything, I'm so sick of Luthor hanging over my entire life, making me afraid to tell Lois I love her, I'm so *sick* of pretending it doesn't kill me to see her so downtrodden... I just want to make it *better*! I just want it to be better..."
His knees buckled and he sat down with a thump, surprised.
And then his head snapped up and around as a dark shadow caught the corner of his eye. His innards jumped unpleasantly.
"Lois?"
~&~
She moved her feet very slowly, towards him. Her mouth opened, telling Jonathan his wife wanted him, and some nether region of her mind watched him scurry from the scene. Everything else was fixated on Clark.
Clark, who was white as a sheet. Clark, whose eyes were wide and torn with anguish. Clark, whose chest was heaving agitatedly.
Clark, who she'd just heard screaming... screaming that... that...
"What was that?" she asked abruptly.
His dark eyes were watching her fearfully, and she wanted to scream. He was *afraid* of her reaction, afraid that she'd... she'd what? Shun him?
"I... I don’t know," he answered shakily.
"Oh, don't give me that," she snapped. "You do know. You know very well."
Watching her warily. Like she was a snake, or something.
"Why didn't you tell me you felt like that?" she barked.
"Felt like... what?"
She barely paused to roll her eyes. "If you felt bad about me being... what was the word you used? Downtrodden, wasn't it? If you felt bad about me being downtrodden, why the heck didn't you *tell* me?"
Still he hadn't moved. Still he was watching her. Still.
"Dammit, get up," she said suddenly. Surprised, he heaved himself off the ground and stood before her.
She examined him there, the sunlight streaming through the door. His eyes blinked rapidly behind their glasses, his bruises vivid, his hands clenching and unclenching, his arms bare and less tanned than she'd ever seen them in his sleeveless top.
And she came to realise - she'd been wrong.
She'd thought he'd snapped right back into himself - as if the past few months had never happened. She'd though he'd bounced and reappeared as Clark Kent - good as new.
And she'd been wrong. This fidgeting man before her barely resembled the Clark she'd known.
All her reservations came crashing down around her. She'd thought he had no scars from the fiasco with Lex. She'd thought it had barely affected him - thought him so perfect, so Man-of-Steel-ish, that it hadn't even fazed him.
She'd thought him so perfect and so strong - that he could survive on his own, without her. She'd thought him so free from Lex - so free that wasting his time with her would hang around his neck like a stone. So faultless that to saddle him with a murderess and her child would be outright brutality.
She'd thought he was indifferent to her. She'd thought he'd completely changed his opinion of her.
And she'd been *wrong*.
Now she could see the carefully constructed mask he'd built around his true features. Now she could see exactly what Lex had done to him. Now she could see how much he was hurting. Now she could see how much he needed help, needed her - how much they needed each other.
The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she put her arms around her neck and hugged him to her tightly.
"I'm here, Clark," she whispered, her eyes shut tightly. "I'm here."
His hands came up to her shoulders, holding her against him, and his forehead drooped to touch the crown of her head. He sighed.
"I had a dream last night," he whispered. She froze. "Lex was back, and he was taking you away, and I tried so hard to rescue you... but at the last minute you turned around and said to leave you alone - that you wanted to go."
"Never," she murmured despite herself.
"You'll never want to go?"
She drew back and searched his face.
"I don't know, Clark," she said simply, watching as his forehead twitched. Hating herself for making him doubt her. "I don't know what I'm going to feel in the next year... five years... ten years. I don’t know if I'll never want to go. Maybe I will. Maybe I will want to leave you."
She could see him swallowing - the sight bringing fresh waves of pain to her heart, and also a strange sort of elation. This man didn't want her to leave, this man's feelings ran way, way beyond friendship.
"I wanted to leave you," she said, wincing as a spasm passed his face. "Just now. I wanted to leave you. I wanted to leave this, I didn't think it would work, I still don’t think it'll work..."
"What won't work?" His voice, quiet. He let her go - took a step back - but kept his hold over her hands.
Staring at his temple. The rich deep pools of his eyes threatening to draw her in.
"This. Us. Together. We're both so damaged - both so broken - how are we supposed to have any kind of relationship?"
His fingers squeezed involuntarily. Inwardly, she smiled. He wasn't shrinking back - she'd used the r-word, and he wasn't shrinking back.
"Oh." His voice, faintly. "I didn't know you... I didn't know..."
"I wanted to leave," she repeated.
He dropped her hands. "Well, if that's how you feel..."
"Clark, you're not listening." She placed a hand under his chin, forced him to look up. "I said I wanted to leave you... but I don't any more. And you know what else?"
"What?" His eyes uncertain.
"I can't be certain I'll never want to leave you, ever again," she told him honestly. "What I *can* guarantee... is that I'll want you to stop me."
A flame of hope engulfing his iris. "Stop you?"
"Always," she said quietly, and she knew it was true.
She was going to trust him. Trust him to like her, to love her, to forgive her and never to forget her.
She was going to go through this with him - go through the banishing of their ghosts, go through the police investigations, go through the fiasco of Lex's will, go through the dividing of his property, go through the rebuilding of the Daily Planet, go through whatever else life threw at them.
Because she loved him. She knew that.
"I want us to do this together," she said, sliding her hand down to find his - squeezing his fingers. "I want to work through the next stages with you. I want to help you - and I want you to help me."
He sucked in his breath. "That's what I want too, Lois - that's all I've ever wanted. For us to be together. As friends."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "Not as friends. The one constant in my life, Clark? The one thing that will never change?"
She watched him standing there with his heart in his eyes - wanting to imprint the memory into her brain, wanting to remember the last time he was ever doubtful about her love for him.
"That I love you," she said quietly. "That will never change."
~&~
~*Epilogue - one week later*~
The moon came through the branches of the oak tree like shards of glass, jagged and beautiful around her. She sat leaning against the solid trunk, fragile in her simple white robe. A breeze played with her hair, her arms wrapped around herself in the moonlight, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the black of the night.
He'd caught his breath when he'd seen her, a glowing apparition at the top of the hill, and he caught his breath now, standing there in front of her. Incredible that this woman could be so perfect and so unaware of perfection, so innocent and yet so knowing, so oblivious to her flawlessness in the ink of the darkness and the lustre of the moon.
"Lois," he breathed finally, a whisper, the beat of gossamer wings in the silky night.
Slowly she opened her eyes, and he knew that she'd known he was standing there. She surveyed him for a long time before opening her mouth.
"Hey." It was both an acknowledgement and an invitation. He slid down beside her, wrapped his arm around her, aching with tenderness for the glimmer of barely-suppressed tears in her eyes.
"A bad dream?"
She nodded, as if ashamed to admit it, and his heart nearly burst with the depth of his feeling.
"It'll stop eventually," he murmured into the silk of her hair, watching stray strands ripple and sway at his breath. "You do know that. It'll go away."
She nodded slowly, her hands clasped around her knees. "I know. It's just..."
"The waiting." He knew. He completely understood. "I have it too. Flashbacks of... of..."
Her hand on his. Squeezing gently, kneading his knuckles with her thumb. He fell quiet, let his cheek slip down onto the top of her head.
He didn't say any more for a long, long moment. He knew that his presence there was worth whatever explanation he could have given her.
Finally, he curved his hands gently around her shoulders and shifted her onto his lap. She settled like she was made to fit there, and he closed his eyes and hoped...
"We're floating," she said, after a minute.
He murmured a proud assent. His first step, all over again.
He could hear the smile in her voice. "They're coming back?"
"Slowly but surely."
He brought them once around the circumference of the tree and then back to settle on the ground.
She withdrew her head, looked at him. Her dark eyes a question.
"Is this a good thing?"
He fell silent for a moment, thinking hard. Was it a good thing? Was he ready to be a hero again?
"I think so."
He felt, more than saw, her smiling her approval.
"I have motivation this time, you see," he continued, and abruptly the question was there again. "Same as before, really. I need to be able to protect you and Jon."
A flash of indignation in her eyes. He laughed gently.
"I know you don’t need protecting. Good grief, if you've proved anything you've proved that. Doesn't mean I can't pretend I'm the hero in this relationship."
Her eyes were filling.
"You're my driving force, Lois Lane. Without you, there's nothing super about me."
A tear spilt out onto her cheek and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb as he would a drop of condensation on a priceless work of art. She caught his hand and held it to her face, closed her eyes.
"I don't think I've ever met anybody as 'super' as you," she said quietly, finally. "With or without me."
He shook his head. "Without you, I'm nothing."
"Not true."
"Yes, true. There would never have been a Superman without you."
"Is there going to be a Superman again?" she asked, quietly.
He looked at her for a long time, wanting to sear her in his memory, wanting to brand the moment into his heart forever.
"I don’t know," he said softly. "I don’t know if I'll be... if I'll be able to go back and do the job properly, with everything that's happened. I think I can safely say I won’t be able to live in the city without helping out - but I don't know if I'll be donning the boots again."
"It's who you are, Clark," she reminded him softly.
"I know. But... if I do go back - go back in the superhero business - I'll always have to be somewhere else when I could be with you and Jon."
"It's who you are, I accept that - it's part of the deal."
"But I'm not sure if *I* accept that, Lois. To have to leave you two unprotected..."
"Hey, mister, remember who you're talking to," she flared indignantly.
He smiled, drooped his head a little.
"I guess I should stop doing that, huh? Stop pretending I know how to protect you both."
"No," she said. "You need to stop thinking we're going to *need* protection."
"I love you, Lois," he whispered into her hair.
And then her mouth was on his and all his promises to himself about waiting took a flying leap into the lake at the taste of her. Oh, the feelings, the feelings uncoiling in the pit of his stomach, he loved her so much.
He ran his hands through her hair, over her face, welcoming her taste like a man in a desert would welcome a drop of water, as lost in her as she was in him. The silk of her hair, the softness of her neck, the touch of her hand on his chest...
A baby's cry broke out plaintively over the scene. As one they drew back, looked at each other and groaned.
"I love you, Clark," she whispered, looking straight into his face.
"I know you do," he said, a lump the size of a boulder forming in his throat as he looked at her - his love, his life, his future.
He heaved her up off the ground, and together they walked back to the farmhouse, to the place of fire and shadows where her son cried.
Behind them, the moon shone on and on, illuminating the branches of the big oak tree, intertwined forever and startling in their beauty.
~&~
(c) Sara, July 2005.
