Summary:
When Superman and Clark team up to keep Lois safe, undermining her current investigation, Lois is equally irritated with both the men in her life. And after a couple glasses of wine and a little time to vent, she's suddenly seeing things much more clearly.
Author's Note:
This story leaped fully formed from my head after seeing a funny Superman meme the other day. Thanks, as always, to Kathy for beta reading and helping me find the spots that needed to be improved. And that's to Sara for sending me the meme that inspired this. (I'll post the meme in the feedback thread.)
The sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze as Superman descended gently through the window into the living room of Lois Lane’s third floor apartment. The intrepid reporter was cradled in his arms, but her back was stiff, arms crossed over her chest, jaw clenched, and gaze pointedly averted.
He lowered her gently, setting her feet on the ground, and she jerked out of his embrace immediately, finally fixing him with her fiery gaze.
“Thank you so much for the escort home,” she spat out, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
The corners of his mouth twitched up, only adding to her fury. Nothing about this was amusing.
“Always a pleasure, Lois.” The casual affection in his voice belied the formality of his words, but she refused to be charmed by him. She could not believe he had just hauled her home like a recalcitrant child. It was basically kidnapping. She could see the headline in tomorrow’s Daily Planet: Superhero Kidnaps Local Journalist.
She huffed out a sigh. It wasn’t kidnapping. She knew if she really insisted he leave her there, he would have. He might have hovered or blown her cover, but he wouldn’t have held her against her will. As irritated with him as she might be, it wasn’t in her to turn down a flight with him.
“How am I supposed to get to work tomorrow?” she asked, still sulking.
“I’ll stop by tomorrow morning and take you to your car,” he offered immediately. “If you think the view is pretty at night, you should see it at sunrise.”
“I was perfectly capable of driving myself home,” she said, ignoring his conciliatory offering and intentionally reigniting their fight.
Superman crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a dour look. “Capable? Yes. Willing? Doubtful. If I had left you at your Jeep, you would have been back inside the warehouse the second I flew away.”
“And how do you know I won’t head right back there the second you fly out that window?” She waved a hand at the window in question, both inviting and daring him to take his leave.
This time he couldn’t hold back the grin. “You might do that,” he conceded. “But the warehouse is a thirty minute drive from here, and you have no vehicle. That should give me plenty of time to intervene.”
“Assuming you even know I’m headed there without your little spy to rat on me,” she said, her furious thoughts straying momentarily from the caped Superhero in front of her to her traitorous partner.
“I have spies everywhere,” Superman replied, grinning widely now and holding out his hands in a wide jazz hands position, wiggling his fingers in the air to indicate his vast network of spies.
Lois huffed out a frustrated growl and threw her hands in the air, before turning her back on him and stalking into her kitchen. She jerked open the refrigerator and grabbed the bottle of white wine she’d purchased during yesterday’s grocery store run. This very long day called for a drink…or three.
She reached for the drawer beside the fridge next, pulling it out abruptly and setting off a cacophony of metal on metal as the various utensils inside crashed together. She reached, still blinded by her rage, and cast around wildly until she landed on the object of her search. Her fist closed around the bottle opener, and she lifted it from the drawer, slamming it with more force than she intended on the mouth of the bottle.
“Do you need a hand with that, Lois?” Superman asked, the amusement in his voice only adding to her frustration.
Lois didn’t deign to respond to his goading, focusing instead of extracting the cork and pouring herself a generous glass of the pale amber liquid.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay for a glass of wine?” she said instead, turning to face him. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be a total waste, she thought, imagining the superhero seated casually on her sofa, wine glass in hand.
He hesitated for a moment, obviously caught off guard by the invitation after enduring her antipathy for the last fifteen minutes. Slowly, one side of his mouth quirked up into an apologetic smile.
“I can’t,” he said gently. “I should…” He tilted his head toward the open window, indicating his imminent departure.
Lois sighed, a prickle of irritation clawing at the back of her neck. “Of course,” she replied, not bothering to disguise the hint of bitterness in her voice. “I’m sure there’s a cat in a tree or a stranded motorist somewhere that needs rescuing. Or maybe a vicious pick pocketer who needs to be brought to justice before he can relieve any more tourists of their pocket change? God, you’re as bad as Clark. Just go.”
“Lois,” he said slowly, clearly unsure what else to say.
“It’s fine. And you can call off your legion of spies. I’m not going anywhere tonight,” she said, lifting her glass to him in a mock toast. It was already half empty, and while she might have a reputation for jumping without checking the water level, she wasn’t stupid enough to try to pull off any covert investigations while anything less than stone cold sober.
“I…care about you, Lois,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to sabotage your story. I just don’t want you to get hurt. The men who own that warehouse-”
“I know,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “You care. Clark cares. I get it. You’re both very concerned about my safety. Nevermind the fact that I was winning Kerths without getting myself killed for years before either of you showed up in Metropolis.”
Superman looked appropriately chagrined, but didn’t offer an apology or attempt to justify his actions again. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment, wondering when exactly he had tumbled from her pedestal. There was a time, not long ago, when she would have swooned over this level of attention from him. Just the slightest indication that he was aware of her actions, that he was keeping an eye on her, used to set her heart aflutter. Yet, here he was: begging her to be more cautious, flying her across town, standing in her living room, and then offering an unprompted declaration of his feelings for her. And instead of reveling in it, she was bickering with him. There was an underlying flirtation to it, even without her normal wide-eyed lovestruck gaze, but this was the sort of sniping she usually only reserved…for Clark. Not that she flirted with Clark. Because she didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Superman said again, jolting her from her wandering thoughts.
She sighed heavily. “It’s fine. I’ll figure out another way to get those files. If you see Clark, tell him he better not have any dentist appointments or emergency plant watering to do this week. We’re going to be working a lot of overtime.”
Superman smiled fondly and nodded. “Okay, I’ll do that.”
She lifted her glass to him in another mock toast and then drained the last sip. She turned her back on him and took a step toward the kitchen, intent on getting herself a refill.
“Good night, Lois,” Superman said softly.
Despite her earlier certainty that he had fallen from her good graces, she stopped in her tracks, her heart twisting at the naked wistfulness in his voice. She spun around to face him.
“Super-” she began, but his name died on her lips. He was gone, the only sign of he had been there the fluttering curtains left in his wake.
She sighed, her irritation rising immediately. “Of course.”
She finished her walk into the kitchen, and poured a second glass. Her movements were calmer now, but her mind still raced. She was so close to breaking this latest investigation. And she really needed a win right now. After everything that happened last summer, with her failed relationship with Lex and the fallout from his treachery, she had just started finding her footing again.
And then Clark had won that Kerth.
She was happy for him. She was. And no matter how much grief she gave him about that story, she knew it was top notch reporting and high quality writing. If she was totally honest, her anger had never been about the fact that she didn’t think he deserved the nomination or the award.
It was because she knew he did. And she didn’t.
Even after throwing herself into her work to try to drown her sorrows and stop herself from perseverating over her own idiocy, the quality of her work just wasn’t what it had been.
Lois took another generous swig of wine from her refilled glass and made her way back into her living room.
A quiet, nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her that there was more to her professional woes. The truth was, as much as it galled her to admit it, her best work lately were the stories she co-wrote with Clark. Mad Dog Lane, who never accepted a partner, who worked alone because that was how she did her best work, who ate her competition alive and then gloated about it…she was gone. Replaced by a simpering little lady who couldn’t write an award-winning article without her big, strong partner man.
Okay, that might be going a bit far, she conceded, taking another smaller sip. The wine was beginning to have an effect. Her mind was still clear, but she felt the liquid warmth seeping into her veins, relaxing her muscles.
She sighed and closed her eyes, and Clark’s face swam before her, imploring her not to do anything stupid tonight, offering to come with her if she insisted on breaking into the warehouse. She had snatched the notepad with the warehouse’s address from his hand and accused him of trying to steal her story, earning herself an aggrieved sigh.
Truthfully, she had known even then he wasn’t trying to horn in on her story. He had plenty of leads of his own. Since winning the Kerth last month, he seemed to have more leads and interview requests than she did. And besides, that wasn’t Clark. As aggravating as he could be at times, he wasn’t a thief or a cheat.
He was probably being completely honest when he said he just wanted to keep her safe. After all, just last week she’d spent the night on his couch after fleeing her apartment in terror. She had arrived on his front porch with pizza and Mel Gibson movies, and he had kept asking questions until she finally admitted she was terrified Kyle Griffin would make good on the death threat he’d made earlier that evening. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she had confessed that she didn’t want to die. And rather than blowing her off or making light of the threat, Clark had held her and promised he would not let that happen to her.
An unwelcome fluttering in her stomach accompanied the memory of that moment and the long, pregnant pause that followed.
Lois stood abruptly and began pacing the room. She took another sip of her wine and forced herself to stop envisioning the depth of feelings in Clark’s eyes that night. None of that mattered now. No matter how much he cared about her, or what that look meant, that didn’t give him the right to tell her what to do. And it certainly did not give him the right to use Superman as his own private enforcement squad.
It was bad enough that he was butting in where he didn’t belong, how dare he send Superman after her? And how dare Superman agree to do his bidding?
The confusion and conflict she had felt a moment ago recalling that night on Clark’s couch was effectively wiped away by her righteous indignation.
Her second glass of wine was gone now, and she was really starting to feel them both. Vaguely, belatedly, she realized she had skipped dinner and that was probably why two glasses was hitting her harder than expected.
The more she thought about it, the more angry she was with Superman. Clark was…Clark. He was bullheaded and quick to overreact and far too cautious for his own good most of the time. He was forever crashing into things and tripping over his own feet and getting himself lost. He was a walking disaster, so it made sense that he assumed everyone was as incompetent as he was.
She forcibly quieted the small voice that told her she was being unfair. That Clark was neither a walking disaster nor incompetent. Still, he was an absolute Boy Scout. That much was true. He had to be dragged kicking and screaming into half their investigations, always warning her that she was rushing in without thinking, jumping in without checking the water.
Lois looked at the empty wine glass in her hand. That was more than enough for now, she told herself. She needed to stop drinking and make herself a snack. She sat the empty glass on the coffee table, her gaze catching on that morning’s edition of The Daily Planet, sitting unopened where she’d left it earlier.
Superman’s smiling face beamed out from above the fold, the headline declaring the new children’s wing at Metropolis General Hospital now officially open. Her eyes fell to Clark’s byline, and she rolled her eyes. It was just a puff piece, nothing to be jealous about, but seeing his name without hers on the top story of the day still irked her.
Speaking of irksome, Superman’s grin ate at her too. It was so perfect, so handsome. She flashed back to that same grin pointed in her directions just a half hour ago as he brushed aside her fury at having been hauled unceremoniously back to her apartment.
Seriously, he really was just as bad as Clark. He may be handsome and charming and…well, super. But he was also pig headed and overbearing and downright annoying. He was supposed to be off saving lives and capturing criminals, not babysitting her and preventing her from doing her job. He and Clark both needed to get it through their skulls that she was perfectly capable of doing her job without their assistance.
And how about his disappearing act? Usually at least his excuses were more understandable than Clark’s frankly downright bizarre explanations – just how many cavities did that man have? – but he was still just as likely to disappear mid-conversation leaving her alone and frustrated.
The two of them really were birds of a feather.
In a fit of pique, emboldened by the wine, Lois reached out and grabbed the pencil that lay beside the newspaper. Laughing at her own childish antics, she impulsively drew glasses on Superman’s photo – if he wanted to act like Clark, he might as well look like him too. The two Boy Scouts deserved each other.
She sat the pencil down and straightened, paper in hand, and surveyed her masterpiece.
The grin slid from her face.
Slowly, her head tilted to the side…and then her whole world began to tilt.
She picked up the pencil again and roughly sketched some loose hair on Superman’s forehead, approximating Clark’s messy style.
She shook her head silently.
Birds of a feather.
Oh.
My.
God.
Before she could stop herself, she took a deep breath and summoned the scream she saved for the most life and death of situations. Only this time, instead of crying for Metropolis’ favorite superhero, it was her partner’s name she screamed.
She couldn’t hold back the laughter when Superman appeared in her window, curtains fluttering, his face drawn with concern.
“Lois?” he said. “I heard you scream. I-”
“Sorry to alarm you,” she said, tossing the newspaper on the coffee table between them, and watching as his eyes took in her graffiti before meeting hers with a look of amused resignation. “But I was curious to see who would come running: Clark…or Superman.”
