Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic The Ruse, Ch. 6

Lois emerges from the bathroom in her pajamas, tousling her hair with a towel, feeling relaxed and more clear about the morning. She peeks into the living room and sees Clark, one hand still grasping the open book now collapsed upon on his chest, one hand propped behind his head, his glasses askew, fast asleep.

She steps closer to the sofa and looks at his face, realizing he didn't even get a chance to brush his teeth; he was probably waiting for her to emerge, but instead he fell asleep. He's made up the sofa into a bed, and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a Metropolis Nets t-shirt, but the blankets are still at the bottom.

She turns out the overhead light, leaving only the lamp behind him, and can't resist pulling the blankets up over him. He stirs, and half-smiles when he finds her face through drowsy, hooded eyes. It's almost an instinct, his smile for her.

"I guess I nodded off," he says, pinching his nose under his glasses. She perches herself on the edge of the sofa, allowing her arm to rest against his side. She can't help but notice there's a special kind of intimacy humming here between them in the quiet of the late hour and the dimly lit room.

She gestures to his face. "You're glasses are a little wonky," she teases. He reaches up to adjust them with a smile, but they remain lopsided, causing her to giggle and bring her hands to his face in an assist. "There," she says, delicately perching them back in their proper position. "Now you're Clark again."

He catches one of her hands as it leaves his face, his gaze abruptly locking into hers, and it almost takes her breath away, the sudden intensity of it.

"Thank you," he says, his voice a low rumble, but there's much more than simple gratitude in his eyes; it's something wild and desperately longing, and for a flash of a moment she can feel every suppressed, terrified, tender emotion she's ever had for this man spring free from her heart and spin right into the air, swirling around them, seeking a new place to land. She can't speak from the paralysis of knowing; knowing exactly where they need to go from here, and all the reasons why they shouldn't: their partnership, her track record, her parents' imploded marriage, the very real peril of jeopardizing the most fulfilling relationship she's ever had. Her eyes must be reflecting back some of the fear she's long been harboring, because his thumb is caressing the top of her hand, and then with a squeeze, he lets it go. It lands on his chest, and she leaves it there a moment, allowing her fingers to bring him the same grounding reassurance. Allowing those feelings to settle back into somewhere new, and safe, as the unspoken stretches out between them.

"Did you have a nice bath?" he finally pivots quietly.

She nods. "Just what I needed."

"Work through your thoughts okay?"

She shrugs a little, and decides to press him again. "The only one I can't work through is what's happening with you that is so personal you can't tell me. I'm…I don't know, I'm worried about you, Clark."

"What are you worried about?" is all he seems to be able to think of in reply.

"I don't know - you've got a secret girlfriend. Which is okay, but why wouldn't you feel like you could tell me that?"

He shakes his head at her, smiling. "I would never leave you in the middle of your event for my secret girlfriend, Lois. I wouldn't be here...with you if I had an actual girlfriend. I wouldn't do that to my fictional girlfriend, or to you. I hope you know me better than that."

She smiles a little in reply, because of course she knows it, and dammit, the way he just smiled at her was devastating. "Okay. You're a secret agent. Living a double life," she says. His eyebrows raise at that a moment. Interesting. She digs in. "That one feels actually pretty plausible, I mean you're so trustworthy, and such a do-gooder, such a total boy scout, the more I think about it, the more I can totally see you getting sucked into that. And that's something you can't even tell your best friend."

He casts her a lopsided grin. "I'm not a secret agent, Lois. If I were, I'd be the worst secret agent in the world, thinking I could get away with being partnered to the top investigative reporter in the country while undercover,." He casts her another teasing smile, and she feels heady, like she's just tumbled headlong off a cliff. She raps his chest. "That's exactly what a secret agent would say," she replies with a skeptical eye, then they both crack at the same time, Lois doubled over him in a fit of giggles.

She regains composure by laying a firmer hand to his chest, reveling in touching him this way. "Or the worst thing, the one I am most concerned about, is that maybe there's something serious going on with your health, and that's why you're always running off to the bathroom for long stretches. I mean, you seem perfectly healthy, more than perfectly healthy, I mean, look at you –" she says, sweeping an appreciative gaze over his form. "...But appearances aren't everything. I don't know, Clark. I know it's personal. I understand, you're entitled to your privacy. But you abandoned me tonight. We were having a really nice time, and you left in the middle of it without any explanation. And it hurts that you can't tell me this, because it feels like something big, and you're my – "

Everything. When had he become her everything?

"– partner. And my best friend. So I don't understand why you can't be honest with me."

She realizes as she's talking that the thing she's most afraid of is that whatever it is, it's going to eventually take him away from her, or implode their friendship. And she can't bear the thought of losing him again.

"Lois, it's nothing like what you're thinking. I did not want to leave you tonight; for the record, I never want to leave you. I promise I had a very good reason. And if there's anyone in this world I want to share this with, it's you. Only you. I do. But…" he hesitates, "not here, not tonight. Not when you have this big day looming ahead. It is something...very personal, that I haven't shared with anyone. You're right about that. But everything is okay, I promise. I'm not keeping it from you because I don't trust you. It's beyond time I told you. So I'll tell you everything. Soon."

Soon, she thinks. Purposely ambiguous, and he knows she loathes ambiguity. When?

So she nods, trying to not feel stung. She can be patient. He's been patient with her for so long. She burned their relationship to the ground for a man he repeatedly warned her was dangerous, and when it all came crumbling down – exactly as he had foretold – he forgave her. Not just forgave her, but remained her dearest friend, propping her up with rented movies and chocolate ice cream, acting as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't been so reckless with his proffered heart. He was there for her when he had every reason to shut her out, and continues to be there, anytime, for anything she needs: Ridiculous undercover stunts. Pretend boyfriend ruses. Her morning coffee, served with a slice of admittedly deserved humble pie every now and then. A sofa and a comforting shoulder when she's feeling hunted. The occasional lock pick. Dreamy, heart-stuttering, Christmas Eve magic. Friendship and understanding and protection. Always protection.

He revived her from an attacker's strangling attempt after sleeping outside her apartment, all night. Pulled her from an explosion, thwarted her marriage to a criminal, been her safehaven from Kyle Griffin. But she hadn't realized until he stepped in front of a bullet for her that their futures were already intertwined in her mind, and she couldn't picture hers without him. Somewhere, in a fantasy she had only just begun to allow herself to indulge in imagining, they were a Pulitzer Prize-winning husband and wife team, taking in breakfast together over their morning's bylines in the kitchen before riding into work, snuggling on the couch watching a movie with a glass of wine, stealing kisses in the conference room...maybe even one day starting a family. She'd never wanted that before. Or told herself she didn't - why would she want to traumatize another generation of Lane children? Aside from the Pulitzer, it was the sort of idle fantasy she'd never allowed herself to believe in until Clark began to pry her heart open with his confession of love. And she'd made such a mess of things. When Lex died, they had finally gotten back on solid ground, and were inching somewhere deeper into their friendship. He had laid his heart on the line for her, then he laid down his life. And he died without ever knowing, and she'd never told him, and so for a moment her entire world went completely dark, the fantasy gone.

Until he came back to her again. You need to tell *him* soon, her mind chides her. He isn't the only one who hasn't been totally honest. What is she so afraid of?

She realizes looking into his soft, pleading gaze that she trusts him implicitly, with all of it. Her heart, and her life. And he has waited so patiently for her. So she can be patient for him. He would be quick to rightly point out that it's not exactly her strong suit, patience, but it's a virtue. Or so Clark tells her, anyway.

She can be patient, for him. She can give him the same grace and understanding he's given her.

She pats his stomach. "Well, I'm going to get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

He gives her an easy grin, and she smiles back, allowing herself a moment to appreciate his handsome looks, with that lock of hair swinging into his eyes, his beautiful eyes shining back at her behind his lopsided glasses. "Okay. Goodnight, Lois."

She rises and before she clicks the door shut behind her, she turns and looks at him thoughtfully.

"Goodnight, Clark."

Upon slipping between the cool sheets, she falls into sleep, her mind now at ease.

--------------------------

Sometime in the night, her eyes flutter open and she thinks she's dreaming. Because Superman is there, creeping in through the door to the balcony, tiptoeing so quietly, right into her room. She lies totally still on her side with her eyes shut, not completely certain if she's awake or asleep, only somehow certain that he doesn't want her to know he's there. She peeks again as he strides past her. There's a light from the trail below their room streaming through the window and she can see his cheeks are dirty, his suit blackened. A faint charred, smoky smell tickles her nose. He looks back at her and she closes her eyes again, trying to keep her breathing slow as her mind races.

He strides into the bathroom and shuts the door carefully behind him, as if it's his bathroom, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for him to be here, using the bathroom in her hotel room at…she squints at the clock by her bed. 4:30 AM. She watches, puzzled, as the door closes ever so quietly behind him. The shower turns on. Moments later, it shuts off, and Clark emerges – all glasses and loose, wet, tendrils of hair – back in his sweatpants and Metropolis Nets tshirt, carefully creeping back into the living room and shutting the door.

For a moment, it nearly doesn't register. It seems to make all the sense in the world, that he would be him. She already knew, she realizes then; her soul had already, and maybe always, known it was him. Her logical brain had never been able to work out how she could feel such a strong pull to both men at once. And it was even the same sort of pull, that feeling that she was precious and cherished. Adored and understood. He seemed to have the power to see right to the heart of her, especially as Clark, but often too as Superman. How both men could bring down her guard, but lately she felt more grounded around the hero and tongue-tied and fluttery around the man. Because while they both share an innate goodness, the man is open and funny and vulnerable. He has a chest that's sturdy and warm, and a smitten smile just for her. Superman never smiles at her quite that broadly.

Her mind vacillates between anger and understanding. The deception, the rescues where his touch lingered, the press conferences where he seemed to single her out in the crowd. It all makes sense, from their earliest days as a team. When she first met Superman, their connection was immediate. There were moments when he let his guard down - when she was losing oxygen in the bank vault, when he let her kiss him before leaving for the Nightfall asteroid, the air waltz around her living room...and just a few weeks ago, when she told Superman that saving Clark's life was nothing. "Is it?" he'd inquired under his breath. And she'd replied there isn't anything she wouldn't do for Clark. He was nudging her heart forward, trying to gently release her of the last vestiges of her Superman fantasy. He's been in love with her all along.

And she realizes he was right: she is the person who knows Superman the best in the world, save for the two people who raised him on an unassuming farm in Kansas. Because Superman is her best friend, and her partner is the superhero she named. And maybe she had needed to know him separately, in both guises in order for her to know him wholly. She thinks about the last few months, how she'd begun to fully confront the depth of her feelings when she'd been crushed that Mayson had cut in on their dance. How she no longer held Superman on quite so high a pedestal. How Clark had been the one she'd been longing to see on Christmas Eve, and then he'd appeared on her doorstep with a sky-plucked star, fulfilling her wish to find Christmas magic for herself.

His appearance at her door on Christmas Eve had changed everything and nothing all at once. He'd left shortly after helping her clean up dinner. She'd offered a nightcap, but he mentioned an early flight, and honestly, the tension between them had become unbearable. Neither of them felt ready to fully move forward, but they were both content to revel in the closeness of their undefined friendship, the blurry promise of a future that whispered of something more. Since then, her crush had deepened, and it had been Clark she couldn't get off her mind, not Superman. Clark who she couldn't wait to talk to before bed, even when she'd just seen him an hour ago. Clark who had begun making their breakfasts together part of their morning routine, either bringing her pastries or stopping at Jerry's diner. And when they'd both gone missing at the hands of Metallo, it was Clark she was most desperate to find. She could hardly breathe when she thought about losing him again; they were so close to something more.

When should he have let her in on this secret? she muses, feeling her own shame wash over her. When she was fawning over him like some moony-eyed cheerleader? When she was in the clutches of Lex Luthor, the one man who was Superman's nemesis? After she had broken his heart into a thousand pieces? "If you were just an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, I would love you just the same."

If he had told her early on, how would she have responded? Would she have been able to get to know all the facets of Clark, the wonderfully ordinary, endearingly brilliant, gentle, loving man from Kansas? Even telling her now was a risk. They weren't...exactly...dating. Would he have been able to get to know her, or would he have kept her at arm's length, wondering which part of him she was really interested in? Even now, how would she convince him that it's really Clark she's loved for so long? That she had just been too afraid of losing the one good thing she'd ever managed to keep from turning into a federal disaster? That just tonight in the bathtub, she realized that over the last few months, she truly had slid into a more professional place with Superman; he was a trusted source, a protector, and in a sense, yes, she still had a claim over him more than any other reporter. But he didn't have a claim on her heart anymore. She was an ally to Superman in his fight to make the world a more just place. She admired him and reveled in the way he trusted her and sought her confidence; but it was him she now loved as a friend. And it was Clark who had become the keeper of her closely guarded heart.

Her mind wanders and meanders around the untruths, the half-truths, the things she still knows to be true. The loving parents, the Kansas farmboy. The lame excuses. The way his investigative mind always seemed to be in lockstep with hers. His ease in her kitchen, and around her fiery moods. The quiet brilliance of his mind and the effortless eloquence of his words. The luck he seemed to have guessing passcodes and accessing highly secured areas. The way he sees her, pushes her, and is always there, in whichever guise he deems more worthy. She comes to wonder if the deception protected their relationship, ensuring this was a burden she was ready to take on. Allowing her to see both halves of a whole man in their entirety perhaps enabled her to know him completely. And to love and know both sides of him before they went any further may have been what was needed for her to be able to be with a man who moonlit as the most powerful being on earth. Perhaps he needed to be sure this was a burden she was ready to take on.

She sees their conversation tonight in a different light. If there's anyone in this world I want to share this with, it's you – and only you. She sees now why it he kept it from her for so long. Her knowing changes everything about their relationship. For months now, she had been worried about losing her best friend, if they waded deeper into a relationship and it self-destructed, as every relationship she had ever known had. He had become too precious to risk chancing to another one of her federal disasters. Now, what happens if they try and fail?

Somehow, she can't see it anymore. The muddled confusion in her heart has lifted, and for the first time she sees her future clearly. Only you.

She lies awake the rest of the night, stunned and reeling, watching the blue dawn break on what she feels with near certainty must be the first morning of the rest of her life.