Chapter 3Lois kept stealing glances at Clark as they walked, which was probably only worrying him more. But she couldn’t help it. She was still holding his hand—for some reason desperate to not let go of him. His palm wasn’t sweaty, which made sense.
He wasn’t sweaty—there was only the faint dampness left in his hair, not fully sun-dried after his shift in the dunk tank.
Lots of things were making sense now. A lot more sense.
That Superman had avoided her all summer...why it had felt like he didn’t trust her...
That Clark had...that Clark had worked so hard to hide his heart again after what she’d said...
And she was feeling relieved and confused and terrified all at once. This man walking next to her, somehow so patient with his love and acceptance, hadn’t said a word or otherwise pressured her into talking yet even though he had no idea what was wrong. He was just walking her home, holding her hand this entire time, taking her at her word that she needed to leave the carnival and talk—no questions, just concern and support.
Lois drew in a deep breath and blew it out. Next to her, Clark glanced briefly to check on her and squeezed her hand. Oh, it felt so incredibly nice and so safe to be holding his hand. Why had they never held hands before, all this time?
...it was more intimate, wasn’t it? Holding hands. Her mind reeled, unable to even try and catalog all the thousands of little touches they’d had in the year or so they’d known each other. She touched him all the time—a hand on the chest to emphasize her point, a swat on his arm to mock-scold his teasing; and he always touched her too—a hand on her shoulder as he edited her copy, his hand on the small of her back as they entered or left a room.
But holding hands? She took another deep breath. That hadn’t happened until the Ferris wheel. And ever since then, it’d seemed like they’d both crossed some invisible line, from partners and friends to something almost indefinable.
As they went up the stairs to the lobby of her apartment building, and then rode the elevator up, still in silence, Lois could feel her heart racing, wondering what on earth she was going to say to him once they were behind closed doors.
When they finally reached her door, she hesitated just a second before letting go of his hand, half scared that he’d fly off without another word. “Keys,” she said awkwardly, gesturing at the locks on her door before fishing through her backpack.
She kept watch on him out of the corner of her eye while she unlocked each of the deadbolts. He wouldn’t fly off, right? This was Clark. Clark wouldn’t do that.
But Superman had. Oh god, how was he still here? All summer...how had he managed to still be her friend after what she’d said, after she’d broken his heart so much worse than she’d even realized?
The last of the locks unlocked, she opened the door and went inside without checking behind her because...she both wondered if and knew for certain that he’d follow her. There was silence—only the sounds of her apartment, the fish tank filter bubbling gently, the low hum of the refrigerator and the air conditioning—as she let her backpack drop to the floor beside the couch and went to adjust the thermostat.
When she heard the sound of Clark reengaging all the locks behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He’d stayed. Of course he’d stayed. He would always stay, right?
She turned on her heel and found him watching her—only concern in those beautiful brown eyes, none of the hurt and hate she half expected to find. Her heart was in her throat as she blurted out, “I’m sorry!”
His expression softened more, somehow, and he stepped toward her. “It’s okay, Lois. We didn’t have to stay at the carnival. I’m not mad.” He paused two steps away from her, and his arm came up halfway before he let it drop again, as though he was hesitant to touch her. “Did you...want to talk about it, tell me what’s wrong?” His voice was so soft, so concerned.
The cold air from the AC was hitting her still-warm skin and the sweat-dampened areas of her shirt, and she shivered. “I’m going to go change my shirt,” she said, turning away from him, retreating to the relative safety of her bedroom.
She closed the door and rested her forehead against the cooler wood. What was she doing? She didn’t know how to do this, any of it! She took a deep breath and headed for her dresser to grab some lounge pants, a long-sleeved v-neck, and some clean,
dry undergarments.
As she changed, she tried to gather her thoughts, tried to take deep breaths to calm the shakiness in her limbs and the pounding of her heart.
This is Clark. This is Clark. You can trust Clark, she told herself.
But part of her
did doubt that...just a little. After all, it was clear that part of him didn’t trust her fully. How could he when he hadn’t told her the single biggest thing about himself?
And while she felt keenly the anguish and guilt of how she’d treated him, how he must have felt that day and later that night...she knew she wasn’t fully to blame for that. No, she’d somehow fallen in love with two men who were one and the same. Of course, it made perfect sense
now how that had happened—but how was she supposed to have known? How, as someone who felt so strongly about being monogamous, was she supposed to reconcile the fact that she felt she truly loved two men at once?
It hadn’t been fair. And while part of her wanted to lean into that, the fact that she wasn’t wholly to blame, pick a fight to deflect and distance them both from her own culpability...the fact of the matter was that they had both hurt each other.
Now, months later, after all that time slowly rebuilding their friendship...the last thing she wanted to do was fight with him. Her heart wouldn’t be able to take it if he flew out her window like that a second time.
Lois took a few deep, shuddering breaths and headed back out of the bedroom. She found Clark in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his legs crossed at the ankle. Next to him, the kettle was on the stove, and she could hear the water roiling as it got closer to its boiling point.
“I know it’s hot out, but I thought...I thought maybe you’d like some tea?” he said seemingly casual, though a bit tentative. He was still unsure how she was feeling, what was wrong.
She nodded, not entirely sure how she was feeling either. Superman was making her tea. In her kitchen. Her partner, her best friend, and her hero...just standing there sexily, leaning against the counter, all forearms and charm, making tea for her.
Just like he was going to make her dinner. She frowned—make that
had been going to. There was no way she felt right making him pay up when he hadn’t even had a chance to compete. The idea had been impulsive anyway, reckless. Lois Lane may jump in without checking the water level first, but that was when it came to work. She wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind when it came to her personal life, not anymore.
But this was Clark. The incredibly too gorgeous, most kind and compassionate person she'd ever known. Not to mention patient. Because even now, though he had to be worried out of his mind, he was giving her the space she needed to settle, waiting until she was ready to talk. But she had no idea if he was being Patient Friend Clark or...or if he still...cared about her—loved her, like he’d told her that day in the park.
She finally looked up at him and said the first thing that came to mind. “Were you going to cheat?”
“What?” he asked, surprised.
She was surprised too; it wasn’t exactly the first thing they ought to have talked about. “If you’d had your turn, were you going to cheat?”
“Is this about the bet, the prize?” He straightened, turning off the burner for the kettle and moving away from the counter slightly. “If it’s...If you’re feeling uncomfortable, we don’t have to do anything at all,” he said, his tone somehow still patient, understanding.
“What would have happened if there was a tie?”
“I’m not sure...What are you trying to get at, Lois? I’m confused.” He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. She couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or nervous. Why would he be nervous?
“I need to know if you still want to make me dinner!” she blurted out.
She watched and waited as a whole host of emotions flickered across his face, and the silence stretched between them for a moment before he stepped closer to close the distance between them. “This isn’t about dinner...”
She nodded vigorously, tears pricking again at her eyes, and her voice trembled when she spoke. “It is,” she insisted. “I just...I need to know if you’re going to make me dinner.”
“I’ll make you dinner whenever you want,” he said without hesitation, his voice soft and just a little thready, and the sound of it made her breath hitch.
A few tears spilled out, hot as they rolled down her cheeks. In an instant, it seemed, he was right there in front of her cupping her face and wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “What’s really going on, Lois?”
“Oh, Clark!” she sobbed. “I’m sorry about that day in the park. I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back.”
Clark was quiet, but she could see the emotion written plainly on his face as his eyes searched hers. And he nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“I just...” she trailed off and turned from him, needing a break from the intensity of the moment. She took a deep breath and turned back to face him. “I’m no good at relationships, Clark. I ruin them. And didn’t want to risk the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Her breath was coming faster now, the tears spilling as they pleased. “I was so conflicted, more than conflicted, Clark...I loved you—
love you. And I love Superman. How was I supposed to know? What was I supposed to do?”
She’d seen his shock—her own revelation of love—and then his flinch at the words ‘love Superman’. And he looked torn. Anguished. Just like that day in the park. Just like that night he’d come to reject her. No...not the same, a different pain but just as anguished.
“Lois...” he said, his voice gruff and thick with emotion. “I need to tell you...”
She shook her head, but she couldn’t get the words out past the lump in her throat. Instead, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, tightly because she didn’t want to let him go ever again. He buried his face in her neck and held her, his strong arms unyielding with their desperate comfort and regret.
“I choose you,” she whispered in his ear. “Both of you.” Lois felt him tense in her arms for just a moment, so she held tighter. “All of you,” she promised.
He let out a shuddering breath, and she felt the tension drain from him, his body relaxing but at the same time, his arms tightening more around her. “Thank you,” he breathed against her neck.
The hug seemed to last forever, but it was the most comfortable forever. Warmest. Safest. And she was sure she could feel his love for her within his embrace, but the scared and unsure part of her—the one that found it hard to trust, to let go—needed to hear it.
Finally, she loosened her arms and he did too, her hands coming to rest on his chest. And though she didn’t expect it, her heart leapt at the fact that he didn’t fully let go—he let his hands slide down to the small of her back, holding her closely, though they’d both pulled back just enough that she could see his face.
The look on his face took her breath away—she could see it now clearly, the love that he’d hidden away for months and months, yet his eyes still seemed to hold a hint of apprehension. It was as though she could feel his heart, his hope held suspended on the precipice...waiting to fall for her a second time if that’s what she wanted.
And she wanted it, oh so desperately.
So she answered him, tipping her head and leaning in until her lips met his. There was warmth and tingling and a slow tentativeness that made them both a little breathless. She drew back only for a moment before they fell back into the kiss, and as their lips moved, she was overwhelmed with a surge of feeling she could only describe as love and desire and consummate belonging. One of his hands came up to cup her face and he ran his thumb across her cheek as he deepened the kiss. Threads of love and desire raced through her at will, making her whole body feel alive and free.
When they finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers as they both worked to catch their breath. “Wow...” she whispered.
Clark let out a breathy chuckle that sounded like half relief and half amusement. “Yeah...”
“You’re Superman...” It wasn’t quite a question, but not quite a statement.
He pulled back ever so slightly and nodded. “Yeah...” He ducked his head and added, “I’m sorry. I...I...should have handled things so differently. I could ha—”
She put her fingers to his lips to stop him. “Clark, we both could have done so many things differently...and we have a lot to talk about...” She paused, taking in his features, his expression, trying to see him—all of him. Her fingers ran along his lips and then over his jawline. “But today...maybe today you could just hold me and don’t let me go?”
He shut his eyes tightly for a moment and nodded, then he opened them only to steal her breath again with the look of absolute love and longing. “I can do that,” he said, smiling, his voice husky. “I can definitely do that.”
The End (stay tuned for the epilogue…)
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