Author’s Note: So, I saw 90sfangirl79 on AO3 post an awesome one shot based on a
prompt from this list, and she has a whole collection of them (and I’m way behind on my fic reading). And then I had this idea that I should write a kiss for every dang 110 prompts on this list. So…we’ll see if that works out. Here’s number 3. “I care about you.”
Holy moly, this one got more emotional than I expected! (And I’d also say it got longer than I expected too, but I honestly…I knew it would get out of hand at some point and made no guesses about how long it would be.) There’s just something SO heavy in this moment at the end of “Metallo” when Superman is effectively ending this flirtatious but not going anywhere relationship with Lois and not so subtly implying she should be with Clark. He’s got some BIG emotions about this, about taking the gamble that Lois really
does care for Clark and cutting off his indulgence of seeing her fawn over Superman. And…gosh…if Lois knew, she would be SO PISSED, wouldn’t she? I mean, the manipulation is…kinda…not cool. In any case…I wanted to see what would happen if Lois called Superman out here at the end of the episode and made him explain himself. It…did not go quite the way I expected.
Thank you to SuperBek for the encouragement and BRing!
Summary: Superman pays Lois a visit the day after he was finally able to stop Johnny Corbin, the kryptonite-powered cyborg, and it seems like he’s trying to tell her Superman won’t be coming for any more social visits, that she should go out with Clark. Feeling confused and conflicted and just a bit indignant, Lois confronts him about his inconsistent behavior when it comes to her. Things get more emotional than either of them expects. An end of “Metallo” fix-it or tag (or both) and also a self-imposed challenge to write 110 ficlets with kisses based on a list of 110 prompts on tumblr.
110 Kisses: I Care About You
by KSaraSara
The water in the bath is tepid now, and while taking a hot bubble bath has helped relax my tired muscles, it’s done nothing to stop my mind from working overtime. Which I suppose is nothing new, but it’s been a long week. Lucy’s new boyfriend—even I couldn’t have guessed how much of a disaster this one would be. But more than that, this story about kryptonite-powered cyborgs…and seeing Superman be bested in a fight, having him run off and stay away because he’s licking his wounds…it’s really got me thinking a lot about my relationship with him. If you can even call it that.
It was a blow to my heart and my confidence that he never reached out to me for help or…comfort. Where did he go? He talked to Clark briefly after the first fight, and yesterday…he…well, for lack of a better term, he won, but he didn’t stay and talk afterwards. Not that he has to, but…I don’t know. I thought we were closer than that, so it hurts that he didn’t confide in me or ask for my help.
I sigh and get out of the bath, and I’ve just pulled on my robe and tied it shut when I hear the familiar whoosh, the one that sets my heart racing because that means he’s here. I turn, and there he is, standing just inside my window, inviting himself right in because he knows he’s welcome. Always.
He’s got his arms crossed in front of him, relaxed but adding that small hint of distance between us. Always. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“It’s not late…I was just taking an early bath,” I assure him as I move closer, into my living room and toward him. I wait for him to say something…because he never comes to my window without a reason. Never to hangout or watch a movie together. The thought makes my heart ache more than I want to admit.
“I wanted to apologize for having left so abruptly the other day,” he says, his arms still crossed.
I still drift closer to him, as though his presence is like a magnet. If he’s here saying sorry, I guess that means he’s done feeling embarrassed—if what Clark guessed was true. “You don’t have to apologize,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, I guess I was a little worried…” I step closer, wondering if this now is him letting me in, being vulnerable. “Actually, I was very worried about you.”
I’m close now, really close, and his arms are still crossed, but I can feel the energy between us—it’s there and thrumming like it always is. And I start to hope more that he
is actually here to let me in. If I could just… If I just had a chance to show him and tell him how I care about him as more than just a superhero…
“Lois…” he says, his voice starting out serious just like his eyes, but when I put my hands on his arms, gliding them up slowly over the smooth spandex, his tone turns husky and his gaze falters.
I let my hands move up over his shoulders, and they come to rest on either side of his neck, his skin so warm beneath mine. I’m staring deeply, so lost in his eyes when I tell him, “You know, I thought for a while there that I might never see you again.”
I think I see his breath catch, but before I marvel at how that’s possible, his hands are reaching up, and for a moment I almost think he might kiss me.
“I’m—” He cuts himself off, and I see it in his eyes, the moment he chooses to turn me down instead of let me in, and instead of moving to hug me, his fingers gently wrap around my wrists, and he removes my hands from his neck, though he still keeps hold of them. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
My heart sinks at the rejection, and my mind tells me I should know better by now, but it’s hard when his emotions seem so…contradictory sometimes.
“Lois, I want you to know that I think what you did for Clark showed incredible bravery.”
I let out a heavy breath at the thought of Superman calling me brave, and I have to look down for a moment, his gaze too intense. “It was nothing…” I shrug, uncomfortable with his praise, this recognition for something I just needed to do. I wasn’t being brave. He’s my partner and best friend—of course I’d save him. Really, it was nothing.
“Was it?” he asks, his voice low and his eyes so…so…like there’s so much behind that question, so much weight for two little words to carry. And the look steals my breath, but I don’t know what he means other than to challenge what he’s reading as my modesty.
“No, I guess not,” I admit. “I guess there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him,” I tell him.
His expression intensifies, and it’s like I can see and almost feel the emotions coming off of him. Some weird sort of hopeful hurt, and I search his gaze, wondering why…
“I think you two are very lucky to have each other,” he tells me. God, the look on his face and the threadiness of his voice…
It hurts every time he rejects me, but…what hurts me even more is how clearly painful it is for him to do it. Every time. And I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense why he won’t let himself be open.
“Good night, Lois,” he says, but it almost feels like something more final than that.
My mind is still fighting to puzzle it out as I watch him fly out the window, leaving behind the familiar whoosh and a brief gust that blows my hair. But then I realize what he said doesn’t really make sense.
“Superman, wait! Come back!” I blurt out before I can think better of it. “Please?” I add more quietly. I wonder if I even have a right to ask him to come back—I only ever get to see him when he decides to visit.
I hear a softer whoosh, and slowly, he drifts back in through my window, his boots barely making a sound as he lands on the floor. “Is something wrong, Lois? Did you need something?” There’s a hint of worry in his voice, his gaze…and now I’m wondering more about the extent of our relationship…if I can even call it that.
His arms are by his side, uncrossed, and he’s walking toward me to stand closer. I know he can probably hear my heart racing. Does it sound different than when it’s racing for completely different reasons?
He looks at me, his eyes full of concern, which almost makes me feel guilty for what I’m about to do, confront him.
“What did you mean Clark and I are lucky to have each other?” I ask, trying to sound more curious than accusatory, because I’m not sure I need the latter just yet. Hopefully I won’t at all.
Superman blinks, clearly having expected anything else. “I…uh…”
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Superman at a loss for words, not since those first weeks after his appearance when he seemed so uncomfortable and uncertain about all the attention he garnered.
“It sounded…final…more like a…goodbye…” I say, and the way his gaze drops to the floor and his shoulders slump ever so slightly tells me I’m right.
“Not…goodbye—”
“I know not ‘goodbye,’” I cut in, irritated because we clearly both know what I mean. “But why? What’s different? Obviously something changed between…last summer…and the time you started dropping by again in the evenings.” Heaviness sits in my chest when I have to even mention last summer, but I try to shove it aside and focus on my rising anger.
“I…care…about you, Lois. I—”
“I know!” I almost shout. “You made it perfectly clear last summer that you care about me but you can’t—or won’t—be with me under the circumstances. But those circumstances keep changing, Superman. I don’t even know what they are because you won’t tell me!”
I watch as Superman flinches at my words—I’m
yelling at Superman in my living room, and it’s all a little too unreal for me.
“I…can’t tell you…” he says, haltingly, like he wants to, like it’s killing him not to say it, and I just can’t understand why.
“You can’t? Or you won’t?” I level a look at him so he’s clear on what my assumption is.
He looks down again, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips, and now he’s got his arms crossed again.
I huff and cross my arms too. “Something’s gotta give, Superman, because I can’t play this game anymore.”
That one bothers him. “I’m not playing any game!”
“No? You’re not?” I challenge, stepping closer, my arms still crossed and my breathing slightly uneven. “Dancing. On. Air. For heaven’s sake, Superman, you
closed the window that night and
kissed me goodnight. And now you want me to date Clark? What’s different?”
For a moment, he looks shocked and horrified, almost as if he hadn’t realized exactly what he’d done that night or any of the nights he’d visited me. Looking down at the floor again, he pulls a face that’s half grimace and half wince, and when his eyes reach mine, my breath catches seeing that hopeful hurt again. Except this time, there seems to be far less hope.
“It’s complicated,” he says, his words trying to sound firm, resolute, but I can hear the undercurrent just fine.
“Yeah? Welcome to life. It’s complicated.” Even I flinch at my words this time, and I offer him an apologetic look and soften my next words. “You can’t choose who I date or don’t date. Unless it’s you taking yourself out of the running, you can’t choose for me.”
“I-I know…” His arms fall down to his sides again.
“Do you?” I ask softly, the anger in me deflating. “Is this really ‘goodbye,’ then? No more late night visits or dancing on air?”
There’s no more anger or edge to my words, but I watch as they cut him all the same. “This is hurting you, Superman. I don’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself…”
To me, I want to add but don’t.
“It’s… There’s…there IS no dating Superman, Lois. Don’t you see?”
No, no I don’t see. I shake my head.
“I-I’m sorry…for…leading you on, making you think otherwise…the dancing and…” He hangs his head, and my heart breaks inside, though I’m not sure if it’s because of him or
for him. “It’s… Sometimes it’s hard to stay away from you.”
I feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes. I know…he doesn’t quite mean it how it sounds. I bite my lip as I take a deep breath in through my nose to try and steady myself. “What’s changed? Why now?”
When he answers, his voice is thick, thready with emotion, and his arms are crossed again, though this time it seems a lot more like it’s for self-preservation than distance. “Clark’s… He, um…”
I’m not sure what he’s trying to say. “Clark’s not a consolation prize,” I tell him.
His head pops up at that, and whatever’s going on in his head… I just…I feel like he needs comfort, and so I close the distance between us. And, for the second time tonight, I reach out to touch him, putting my hands on his crossed arms. Softly, gently, I ask, “What’s going on, Superman? What’s different? And why is this hurting so much?”
He searches my face or maybe he’s trying to memorize it, but it feels like there’s something big behind that expression. It’s like I can feel that his heart is so heavy with apprehension and fear…or maybe that’s mine.
His voice is raspy when he finally finds the words. “You saved my life yesterday. I just…want you to know I’ll never forget that.”
My head and heart are spinning, fighting through the heavy emotion of the moment so I can try and remember when I might have saved his life, but I can’t…and the words are so familiar…
Superman dips his head again, taking a deep breath as though he’s trying to steel himself for what he’s about to say. He uncrosses his arms, making my hands fall back to my sides, and he reaches up. My breath catches as his hand comes to cup my cheek, warmth and tingling almost overwhelm me even as I lean into his touch. I guess circumstances are changing again?
His gaze is so intense, his brown eyes holding so much emotion that I have no chance of guessing what he’s feeling right this moment. I’m not even sure what I’m feeling. It’s like the moment is suspended in time because the other side of it is too big and too terrifying to face, especially the uncertainty of it, not knowing if it’s the wonderful or the terrible kind of terrifying.
“Lois…” he starts, brushing his thumb against my skin, and I’m surprised to feel wetness there. I hadn’t even realized tears were slipping out. “I
care about you. And there are things about me you don’t know—”
I shake my head to cut him off. I don’t want to hear these words again. I don’t think my heart can handle it again. But he holds my gaze and shakes his head slightly, his eyes brimming with emotion, and I feel like he’s pleading with me to let him finish, to trust him. I take a shuddering breath and nod, pressing just a little more firmly into his hand on my cheek.
He takes a deep breath before continuing. “There are things about me you don’t know, and this week…this week, Lois, you showed me that all the reasons I haven’t told you these things—
this thing—they’re not good reasons, not anymore…”
My heart is beating so rapidly in my chest, and I can feel the warm tears slipping down my cheeks—Superman swiping them gently away on one side. His voice is so soft and so thick with emotion that he hardly sounds like himself anymore, and though the moment is still stretched tightly, everything feeling uncertain, my heart soars at the fact that he’s finally letting me in, being himself with me.
“…and I hope you’ll forgive me…for being stupid and thoughtless and…scared…”
I’m trembling now, even more uncertain of what’s to come and why he’s so upset. His face, his voice, his posture, everything has softened—relaxed though still taut with emotion—and I realize I’ve never seen Superman like this, even when we’d been dancing on air, kissing, he’d always had an air of formality, rigidity. Right now, he’s never looked more human to me, and there’s almost this familiar comfort to it.
He steps back from me, his hand falling from my cheek, and my heart clenches, afraid he’s going to leave…but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a trembling breath…and he spins, so fast that he’s a blur of red and yellow and blue and blue and black, and then he’s still again and he’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
I’ve never seen him so casual like this before but, oh God, I have…I have because it’s Clark standing in front of me—and Superman—the images of them both in my head spinning and swirling like he’d just done, and when the world stops spinning around me, it’s just Clark standing there. Clark with Superman’s hair and Clark’s glasses in his hand.
I’m standing, at least I think I’m still standing, and my breaths are deep and shaky as my mind tries to process everything at once. My mind has trouble landing, still reeling, but my heart clenches, hung on some kind of uncertain hope as I stare at my partner and my best friend and my superhero right in front of me.
“Clark?” I try to say, but it’s barely a whisper. But that’s okay—isn’t it?—because he can hear that.
He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he looks so vulnerable, so apprehensive that my heart clenches again, and I have no choice but to go to him.
I reach up, wiping his tears away, and my voice is trembling when I tell him, “I care about you too, Clark.”
“I know,” he rasps, and then lets out a shuddering breath. “Can you forgive me?”
I nod and nod again, because my heart is in charge here. My brain might be mad later, but oh God, right now he needs me like I need him. So I reach my hands up to frame his face, drawing him closer, and I close my eyes as our lips touch.
There’s warmth and tingling and the slight saltiness of tears, but he melts into me as our mouths move together. His lips caressing mine feels familiar and new and exciting and comforting all at once, and I don’t think I ever want to stop. But soon I need air, and I pull back reluctantly, a slight whimper escaping me when our lips finally part. My hands slide down to either side of his neck.
His forehead comes to rest against mine and his arms loop low around my waist, and nothing has ever felt more comfortable or safe or right before. Despite that, or maybe because of, laughter bubbles up inside of me and I giggle.
Clark smiles and lets out a huff of his own laughter. “Kissing me is amusing?” It’s Clark teasing me, aiming for banter like nothing hugely monumental just happened, but I can hear the trace of hesitancy in his voice.
I nod slightly against his forehead. “I should be really, really mad at you right now.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Oh, I’ll be plenty mad later,” I assure him, but there’s no edge to my tone.
“But not now?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because I care about you,” I say, looking into his eyes. “And…I really want you to kiss me again.”
He laughs even as his arms tighten around me. “I think that can be arranged.”
The End
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