Trying to get the hang of posting this formatted to the boards - forgive me, I can't seem to figure it out! So, apologies for the unformatted posts - they are formatted properly on AO3
The Ruse, Ch. 7What seems like minutes later, but well into the morning, Clark gently pushes open the door to her bedroom, peeking around the door. "Oh, you're already awake." He strides over to the bed and sets down a cup of coffee by her bedside.
She nods and tousles her hair, suddenly feeling a bit shy. "Good morning. I hope you slept all right out there."
"Like a baby," He says, and casts her an easy smile. "Good morning," And then, affecting a bad French accent: "Your croissant and paper, madamoiselle." A copy of this morning's Planet and a white paper bag drop into her lap.
She chuckles a little, then studies his face a moment, melding the two men together in her mind. "Oh, merci, monsieur," she replies, and she can't help it, she's blushing, her eyelids fluttering in tandem with her heart. "That was sweet."
"Oui, but of course," he says. He's all Clark, his countenance soft and thoughtful and utterly unassuming. He's always been all Clark, she realizes immediately. Superman is the part he's playing. Superman is the ruse.
She tears off a bite of croissant – it's airy, buttery and completely delicious – and picks up the paper. "It's a strange, freeing feeling being blissfully ignorant to what's going on in the world," she jokes. He responds with a heavy, half-hearted smile.
She scans the headlines, and her heart drops, feeling an instant tug of regret in her words. The front page is dominated by Superman stories. Superman lands hijacked plane in Paris. Superman saves hundreds in wildfires in Argentina. The hijacking gets top billing because the plane was an American flight, coming from Chicago. Beneath the fold, a sixteen car pileup on the Interstate on the tollway between Metropolis and Manhattan. Superman rushed an expectant mother to the hospital in critical condition.
"Wow. Busy night for Superman. He's all over the front page," she murmurs, feeling a sense of surreal shock, understanding for the first time that she is in this very moment, talking to Superman.
"Yeah, I noticed. Perry's likely in a pretty sour mood about us both being gone for all this," Clark says. "Ralph even made the front page with that car pileup story. Looks like he scored a quick interview with Superman at the hospital. He's going to be insufferable for days," he says.
"Mmm," she agrees through a mouth full of croissant, reading the articles, feeling hot with shame and empathy as she pieces together the timeline. He dashed out during the cocktail hour to manage a pileup and rush a pregnant woman to the hospital. He came right back to her, sliding into his seat and slinging his arm over her chair with an apologetic smile, joining the conversation as if he'd been there all along. He left her on the dancefloor to save two hundred and thirty seven people from plummeting to their deaths in the ocean. She thinks about his frozen, pained expression when they were dancing, torn with anguish in that moment. He knew hundreds of lives were at stake, and yet he very clearly wanted to stay with her. He returned ashamed, his eyes full of sorrow, knowing there was no good excuse, knowing she would be angry. Anticipating her wrath. He crept in at 4:30 covered in soot and smoke from the wildfire rescue; of course he needed a shower.
And then he woke up a few hours later and brought her a croissant and coffee. A marvelous croissant and coffee, the pastry in a nondescript white bag, the same one he sometimes brings her at the office, especially when a peace offering is in order. She never knew where it came from, she only knew it didn't come from the coffee shop downstairs. Today she doesn't pry, she doesn't ask about it. She realizes in this moment that it could have come from anywhere.
Or maybe it came from...Paris? And the exquisite Chinese takeout, with the Mandarin fortunes. The magical Pho he brought her that time she was sick, swearing it would have her feeling better by the next day (and it did). They all probably came directly from the source.
I have been...in love...with you, for a very long time.
Blind. She had been so blind not to see it.
She read over the stories, noting that other than the Superman quotes, they lacked the same deeper context ("we need to find the why", Clark was fond of saying) and emotional punch that they did when she and Clark wrote them. Lois Lane prided herself on being at the top of her field in investigative journalism – a master of reading between the lines. But for two years, she had failed to see that between the lines of every one of her exclusive Superman stories, Superman himself was ghostwriting them.
Not close, close…but…close.
"So how are you feeling about the symposium?" He sits on the edge of her bed, pulling his own croissant apart and taking a bite. A tingly rush of affection bursts forth in her heart for this man who takes the heat from her for leaving her side to save hundreds of lives, then flies to France the next morning for her breakfast.
You had to have known.
"Hmmm? Oh, better, I think," she says, still reading the paper, "It's been interesting, pondering the ethical nuances of the decisions I've made regarding Superman over the last two years." I mean, Clark, there are some things I haven't even told y–" she stops short, and stares at him a moment. The kryptonite bullet. That was Clark gripping her hand as she dug the bullet out of his shoulder. Clark she was protecting when she withheld the information about kryptonite.
She had always felt protective of Superman. But she would do anything for Clark. Oh, she would definitely, without question withhold that information to protect Clark.
I guess there isn't anything I wouldn't do for him.
It was the truth. And that was Clark who she confessed that to. Clark, who was standing in her apartment, wincing as he delicately rebuffed her advances. Clark who gently pushed her toward...himself.
"It's okay Lois, you don't have to tell me everything," he says quietly. That's true, she thinks. Because he already knows it. All of it.
I think you two are…very lucky to have each other.
Clark tries to push away this niggling feeling that something is different this morning. She was very quiet during breakfast for one, her end of the conversation nary a trickle let alone a babbling brook. Nervous Lois is always in full-throttle babble mode. Instead, more than once while they drank their coffee and perused the paper she appeared to be lost in deep thought, or studying his face with contemplative regard.
Still, she also didn't seem to be boiling mad anymore either, and he'd take Contemplative Lois over Rampage Lois every day of the week and twice on Sunday. Even now, in the otherwise empty elevator, she is leaning up against him, so he places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seems to be craving his closeness today, and he is happy to oblige.
She fidgets with her outfit, brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. He whispers, unnecessarily as they are the only ones in the elevator, "You look beautiful. You're going to be great."
She scrunches up her face. "I'm never this nervous."
He leans in again, curling his fingers a bit more boldly around her shoulder and pulling her closer to him as the doors open. "You are the authority on Superman, Lois. You don't have anything to be nervous about." He feels her steady against him for a moment, and he relishes how she's letting him in.
"Lois!" A man standing next to Jeanne approaches Lois enthusiastically for a hug.
"James! Oh it's been ages. So glad you could make it," She hugs the man Clark assumes must be Jeanne's husband and realizes he recognizes him from somewhere. "Clark, this is Dr. James Baldwin, Jeanne's husband. James, this is my partner, Clark Kent."
"Mr. Kent, I'm a huge fan of your work. Any man who can keep up with Lois has my highest admiration," he says with a twinkle.
Lois rolls her eyes at Dr. Baldwin's teasing but Clark pulls her close. "I'm just lucky she puts up with me. And thank you, Dr. Baldwin. And I understand you're a very accomplished surgeon," Clark replies. "How did your emergency surgery go?"
His demeanor changes considerably in an instant. "Not well, I'm afraid. It was a pregnant woman in that pileup from yesterday. You may have seen it in today's paper. We saved the baby but the mother didn't survive. It was a tough night."
Clark's heart stops. The car accident. The woman was still somewhat alert and talking to him on the way there.
You're going to be okay. Your baby's heartbeat is strong. We're almost there.
"Oh…James…how devastating. I'm so sorry," he hears Lois say quietly.
He looks him in the eyes, feeling for a moment an all too rare connection of understanding. "It…must be hard when you can't save them. I'm sure you did all you could," he manages.
"We did, yeah. Superman getting her there so quickly saved the baby's life, and gave her a fighting chance. She just had too many internal injuries to overcome," he said, shaking his head.
"How heartbreaking for the family. I hope the baby will be all right," Lois replies quietly, and he's a little surprised to hear her voice suddenly trembling with emotion. They deal with these kinds of stories every day, but this one must have touched a nerve.
"The baby is perfect. She was unharmed. Superman made all the difference for her."
"I know the family is grateful to both you and Superman, for saving their baby and doing all you could for her mother," Lois says, nodding at Jeanne's husband admiringly, but giving Clark's hand a squeeze. Something is different.
"Well, thank you, Lois. Jeanne is always telling me, however much I can do, it's enough. It's hard to remember that though when you're breaking the news to the family."
Clark nods, feeling his chest tighten as he pushes down the familiar feeling of failure. "I'm not sure there's anything that could make that easier." He feels a hand snake down his arm, and Lois' fingers thread through his with a squeeze. When his eyes find hers, he's surprised to see they are glistening back at him.
An older gentleman strides up to them just then, his arms outstretched to Lois. "Lois, my dear," he says with an easy smile.
"Dr. Watterson!" Lois embraces the man and then turns to Clark. "Clark, this is Dr. James Watterson. He was my advisor in the Journalism school - but now he's the Chair at the MU Center for Ethics. Dr. Watterson, this is my partner Clark Kent," she says.
"Ah, Mr. Kent! Your reputation precedes you, I read your work all the time," he says. "You have that rare ability to tell a story with succinct emotional eloquence."
Clark shakes his hand, "Thank you, Dr. Watterson, I'm flattered. And I'm curious, what prompted the Ethics discussion on Superman?"
"Well, it's a multi-disciplinary topic for one. Our annual seminars always seek to span several departments. Superman spans politics, philosophy, journalism, sociology, psychology…there is plenty to cover. He's the first of his kind, so he poses all sorts of new questions for society as a whole. He's on a mission to do good, but when is doing good harmful? Could he be doing more? Should he? What obligation does an alien being have to humanity, and should humanity ever really trust the motives of an alien from another planet?" The man's whole face is suddenly alive with wonder, excited about all the possibilities the seminar offers. Clark shifts uncomfortably, adjusts his glasses and casts him a polite smile.
He feels Lois lean into him a little, like she was doing in the elevator, as her right hand dangles to find his fingertips again.
"He literally saved the world from a meteor. Some believe it…it nearly…" she stutters a minute, as if another thought was intruding, "some believe it nearly cost him his life," she finishes, and her voice is suddenly wobbly, emotional. "I think Superman has given us enough reason to trust him implicitly, Dr. Watterson," she says, her tone turning authoritative, as if she is personally offended by such an implication. "I'm not sure that last point is really up for debate."
"Fair enough," he smiles, acquiescing. "And I tend to agree with you Lois, for what it's worth. Although I'm not sure all of our panelists will. It makes for lively ethical discussion in any case. We are very grateful to you for lending your expertise to our discussion today, Lois."
"Oh, well, Dr. Watterson, it's my honor, thank you for asking me to be a part of this."
"Is Superman going to make an appearance?" Dr. Baldwin asks.
"Ah, well, we did put a message in through his publicist. Barry somethingrather. But I didn't hear back so I'm assuming not."
"I've been meaning to talk to Superman about changing his representation," Lois replies wryly.
"Superman seems to be keeping quite busy these days. He was on the front page three times this morning." Jeanne replied.
"Yes, quite. It would be wonderful to have his insight, as I hope we will be fostering a friendly discussion as to the ethical quandaries surrounding his work. But, ah, Mr. Kent, one of our panelists had to back out at the last minute. Would you consider joining your partner on stage?"
"Uh, sure Dr. Watterson, I'd be happy to," he replies, and he can only hear his thirteen year-old self replying to his father asking him to mow the "backyard" - a giant, neverending field between the house and the woods, where his treehouse is. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than to sit up there and dodge ethical quandries and curious questions about his alter-ego.
Lois places a gentle hand on his arm. "Clark, you can't. We're expecting that call from Henderson, remember? You have to be manning the pager in case he calls." She turns to Dr. Watterson apologetically, explaining, "We have a big story we're expecting to break this morning."
His brain stutters at her easy lie - and for what purpose? he wonders - but he manages to reply, "Oh…right…I forgot about Henderson. Sorry Dr. Watterson, I guess I'll have to pass." He's grateful for the out, but isn't sure why Lois so readily gave it to him, when he knows she would have appreciated his backup on stage.
"I guess I'm not the only one who has to dash out on a moment's notice," Dr. Baldwin chuckles.
Clark winces with a nervous chuckle; he has no idea how right he is. Lois likely didn't find that very funny, he thinks. But then he feels a hand snake around his waist, under his suit jacket, and Lois gives his side a squeeze. He feels a rush of security and belonging, and it's a warmth he's never known, even with Lois. It's a ruse, he reminds himself. A ruse. But he didn't make any promises about not enjoying it.
