Story TOCChapter 6Lois’ eyes fluttered open, and she squinted into the dark room, groggy and disoriented. Where was she again? She was freezing. And thirsty. So thirsty. A warm, solid body was behind her, an arm was draped over her middle, and her hand was covering...Clark’s?
She remembered. The almost-date. The almost-kisses. The almost-dazzling. The violent barfing. Sweet, gentle Clark, wiping her brow with a cool cloth, his eyes full of soft concern. And now, in spite of his gentlemanly efforts to keep things platonic in this bed, they had gravitated toward one another in their sleep, and currently she was curled into him, her toes brushing against his legs in a manner that was anything but.
Mmm. She was Sahara Desert-level parched, but she found herself unwilling to leave the warmth, the safety, the—oh god—this wonderful and dizzying breathless feeling of being in his arms to get a glass of water from the bathroom.
Did almost first-dates spoon together like this? Did best friends? What was happening between them? A tectonic shift, she felt certain, but it was just a feeling, not something she could rationalize or explain. And it was not something she cared to know the answer to tonight.
She thought back to another late night assignment, another round of Chinese takeout—their first of many late nights together at the Planet. The way he surprised her with his ability to speak Mandarin, how deftly he dished her banter right back to her, this mild-mannered farmboy from Kansas who wove eloquent prose into his stories and ballroom danced with Nigerian princesses. The way his eyes challenged her, and at the same time bore right into her soul—as if he had been waiting his entire life to meet a hardened, domineering journalist who specialized in cutting men down to size. As if he would wait another lifetime for her to give him her heart.
She had felt it then, in the intensity of their locked gaze, the electricity of the quiet that buzzed and hummed in the undercurrent of their banter.
But she had rules. Rules she had to follow, lest she lose control, or worse, her edge. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. From her career, she’d told herself before. But after that late night, that night when he’d flashed her that dazzlingly dangerous farmboy smile, she knew her rules had been protecting her from something far more risky.
She’d shut him down then, but she knew deep down that his interest had never wavered. And he never pushed her. He was patient—ever so patient—and somehow he’d understood that what she needed even more than someone to love her, was someone she could trust. So he let her take the lead, and let her choose the pacing. Stood there while she’d broken his heart and still came back to her. Let her decide when it felt right.
And oh, now, right now in this moment, snug and secure in his arms, this felt right. She didn’t know what it meant, but it didn’t feel like something she needed to think about. He felt solid and warm and it made her slightly breathless, this fresh, foreign belonging that was so exhilarating it almost ached.
She curled her fingers around the hand that lay under hers and pulled him in a bit closer, wrapping his arm more snugly around her frame as she shimmied her back against his chest. She felt him squeeze her hand as he pulled her even closer.
“Hey,” he murmured in a soft, hazy tone. “Are you okay? Can I get you something?”
“Mmm...no...I’m sorry I woke you,” she replied, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb casually. And for a moment, she had a strange, overpowering sense of deja vu, as if this was something they did a lot, waking up in the middle of the night tangled together like this.
“You have to be dying of thirst, Lois. I put a glass of water right there at the bedside.”
Her eyes darted to the nightstand. Of course he had. This was far preferable to leaving the bed completely, but she still had to sit up and drink it. He sensed her dilemma. Reaching across her, his muscular chest basically on top of her now, he switched on the lamp, retrieved the glass for her and gently helped her back up to sitting.
He sat himself up as well, right next to her. “Here. You need to drink something. I bet you’ll keep it down now that it’s been a few hours.”
“Thanks,” she said, smiling weakly as she took a sip and tried to ignore the stark feeling of loss now that he was no longer holding her. “Bet you didn’t dream of my head being in a toilet for our first date. You even had to hold my hair back.” She stole a glance sideways and noticed he was wearing his glasses. Why was he wearing his glasses while he slept? Or had he slipped them on just now?
“It’s our almost-first date, remember? And you are my partner, and my best friend. Best friends hold your hair back.”
“Yeah, but do almost-dating-best-friend partners watch their prospective date barf violently into the toilet?”
He chuckle-smiled, that lopsided one that always made his eyes dance. “Definitely, if the situation demands it. Partners take care of each other. In sickness and in health, and all that, right?”
“That’s for married people, Clark. Married people don’t even go to the bathroom with the door closed,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. Though she appreciated where his head was, she smiled inwardly as she took another sip of her water. Then she said, “We skipped right over first-date jitters and the ‘leave something to the imagination stage’ and fast-tracked right into old, married, witnessing bodily fluids territory.”
He laughed, then looked at her dead-on, his eyebrows raised, an amused grin playing at his mouth. “You. Are ridiculous.”
“I am not. It’s so embarrassing. And repulsive. How can you be attracted to someone you just watched empty the entire contents of their stomach? It does not bode well for our first date prospects.”
He was looking at her like this was the most adorable thing she had said all night. “Lois, there’s pretty much nothing you could ever do that would make you unattractive to me,” he said, his voice light and casual, like they were at their desks bantering, not in bed post-spooning.
She cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Really.”
He shook his head slowly, smiling right into her eyes, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. And he knew she knew it. And all at once she felt absolutely certain this was the last man she would ever share a bed with.
She blushed, and wordlessly put her glass back on the side table, finally satisfied that she wouldn’t perish from dehydration before morning. Her mind was reeling a little bit from his bold admission—that look in his eyes; something was definitely shifting between them, right here in this bed.
His words played again in her head and he was looking at her with such adoration and awe. Silence hung between them, slightly electrified and only a little awkward. A small ache crept into her chest as she remembered just how unwilling she’d been to admit any sort of attraction or affection.
“I was so horrible to you,” she whispered. “I didn’t take the time to really see you. I dismissed you. You poured your heart out to me and I rejected you. I’m sorry, Clark.”
“Lois, that was a long time ago. I made mistakes too. Besides, I thought you had me all figured out,” he teased her, eyes twinkling softly, forgivingly.
She shook her head slowly, a hint of a smile on her lips, grateful and awed that he could be so forgiving. “Nope. And I still don’t,” she said thoughtfully as she started tracing the pattern on the quilt with her fingers. He’d been teasing, but there was still that part of him that she couldn’t quite make sense of. “Clark, there’s...there’s something that’s been bugging me. I’m not even sure it’s my business, as your partner or even your friend. You're entitled to your personal life. But now, we are, well, almost-dating. And so maybe it is...”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his smile slip from his face and he stiffened. “Hmm? What is it?”
She was almost terrified to bring this up, but bold and brave was the order of the day, right? So she pressed on, still staring at the quilt. “I still don’t know where you go when you disappear. Or where you went when you were supposed to be at the cabin with Mayson. Even your parents didn’t know where you were. You stood Mayson up, when ordinarily you are the most considerate man on the planet.” She paused and looked over at him, her heart in her throat. “And I can’t figure out for the life of me what my partner, my best friend, would have to do that is so private he can’t tell me what it is.”
“I told you, Lois. It’s...” The hesitation written as plainly on his face as it was in his voice. She almost didn’t want to hear it if it wasn’t the actual answer. “It’s...very personal. But I promise I had a good reason. And I...someday I’ll...” He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, like he was deciding something, like he wanted desperately to tell her but for some inexplicable reason, couldn’t. Wouldn’t? “And as for Mayson, that was a misunderstanding. I didn’t actually ever agree to go with her to the mountains. I...wouldn’t have agreed to that. We aren’t dating. I don’t move that fast,” he said, though he blushed slightly as he seemed to fully realize the irony of this statement, given where this conversation was currently taking place.
She wanted to believe him, the hesitant and awkward halting of his explanation. If you could call it that. But the fact of the matter was, it gave her pause. “Oh please, Clark.”
“Really...you don’t believe me?” he said incredulously.
“You’re a man. She’s totally your type and she’s throwing herself at you.” She was hurt that he still wouldn’t share the truth. “It’s okay to admit it, Clark. Really. You would be inhuman to not want to go.”
“Then I guess I’m inhuman, Lois. I didn’t want to go.” The look in his eyes was so serious... “And I didn’t realize I
had a type,” he added.
“Oh, you
so have a type. Toni Taylor, Linda King, Mayson? Leggy blondes are your type,” she said matter-of-factly. Most decidedly not brunettes.
“That is ridiculous, Lois.”
It didn’t seem so ridiculous from where she was standing...sitting... “Really?” she said, unsure if it was a challenge or a serious question.
“Yes, really. I asked
you out, remember? I’m not—” he paused and tilted his head a bit in her direction, waiting until she was looking at those brown eyes that were too deep and too dangerous. “I’m not interested in Mayson.” She got quiet at that, hearing the implication beneath his words.
She averted her gaze, the fluttering in her chest rampant once more, wholly unsure of what to do with this masked declaration of his, even though her mind was screaming at her that the fact of his attraction, his interest was anything but secret.
Reaching for the easy deflection, she changed the subject. “Well, you won’t even tell me the name of your secret French bakery with the incredible chocolate croissants, or how you find all the amazing takeout you do. Which is important intelligence at this point. Not only am I a disaster in the kitchen, apparently even my take-out skills put me at risk for food poisoning,” she quipped. Quipping was much safer ground.
“A man has to have some secrets, Lois.” He grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows. “How else will I dazzle you if I give up my French bakery source?” he said.
She smiled at him, feeling her stomach flip. While it hadn’t escaped her notice that he’d still evaded her questions, there was an openness to him now, a feeling she got when she looked into his eyes that made her trust that he
would tell her in time. And now those eyes, those soft brown eyes were holding her gaze in a manner that again felt dangerously close to a kiss. Which they could not. Should not. Not in this bed. Though the reasons why not were becoming increasingly muddled in her mind, as he was looking at her with the same intensity he had that very first late night, the night of the Chinese takeout, the electric banter. She had resisted then, pushed him away and warned this Mandarin-speaking, ballroom dancing farmboy not to fall for her.
But now.
But now! They were Lane and Kent: a flawless and award-winning partnership. Best friends. Something...undefined beyond that. But whatever it was, it was quickly beginning to feel like something that was special, and solid, and sure.
He had cracked her heart open right then, but now he resided comfortably inside of it, still waiting, still letting her take the lead. Oh, it was tempting to just lean in and kiss him, to feel those lips against her own.
Why shouldn’t they, again? And she knew from the heady way he was looking at her that his mind was wrestling with the same.
But she felt, frankly, disgusting, and she was certain the acrid taste in her mouth would ensure that their first real kiss would be their last. They could not begin like this.
“We should...get a little more sleep,” she said, clearing her throat. She slid back down to her pillow, leaving the lamp on in her flustered state. “Thank you for the water, Clark. That was thoughtful.”
She was desperate to at least return to the way they had woken up, but now that they were fully conscious, it would require an admission of something she wasn’t sure they were ready for.
He smiled, and leaned over her, turning out the light. Emboldened by the safety of the black darkness, she impulsively captured his arm and returned them to their previous position. He complied readily, scooting his body closer to hers and settling onto the pillow. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to. So many things in their complicated relationship went unspoken.
“So,” she said, attempting to sound breezy in spite of her hammering heart, “you’re still going to ask me out after this disastrous attempt at an almost-first date?”
“I’m asking you out right now,” he said. The low rumble of his voice against her back sent a tingle through her.
“Well, no, Clark, you can’t ask me out right now. It has to be after the almost-first date, when I’m not...well, when all of this night...me being sick is a distant, erasable memory in our minds.”
“Are you trying to control when I ask you out?” he asked, with that amused lilt in his voice, the one he only used with her.
“Yes.”
He chuckled behind her and she felt another rumble. “Lois?”
“Yeah, Clark?”
“I don’t want to erase this night from my memory...” He paused and she held her breath. “Especially not the part where I get to hold you all night.”
She let out the breath slowly. “Me either,” she whispered into the darkness.
His arm tightened ever so slightly around her, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was that of their breathing and the faint lapping of the water against the hull of the houseboat. Then finally, he said, “Can I ask you out now?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Lois, will you go out with me?”
“Yes,” she replied, the feeling of a thousand butterflies in her chest.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His breath was warm and oh so close to her ear.
Her breathing quickened and she was struggling with the thought of how impossibly close his lips were to the nape of her neck. “Where are you going to take me?” she blurted out breathlessly.
“Hmm, I’m not sure,” he said, and she was comforted by the fact that his breathing was just as affected. “But probably not for Chinese food...”
She smacked his arm and laughed, grateful for his distraction, whether intentional or not. “Actually, I think that would be a great first date, Clark. You can finally take me to your secret Chinese place with the mind-blowing dumplings.”
He stiffened, just for a moment, then pulled her closer, his hand warm and tender on her belly. “Your wish is my command, Lois. I’ll take you there, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I promise.”
She squeezed his hand and yawned. “Deal,” she said, feeling the butterflies still. And the silence stretched between them for a moment as her breath and her heart calmed, at once comforting in its safety but also filled with the nervous anticipation of what was to come. “I’m glad you're here, Clark.”
“Me too, Lois. There isn't anywhere I’d rather be,” he replied quietly, his voice velvety and smooth in the blue darkness. Lois felt her eyes slide shut as she drifted off to sleep, her arm draped over his, her back solid against his chest, her heart secure and hopeful and warm.
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