He seemed poised to say something else.
"Yes?" she prompted with a smile.
"Would you mind not looking?" Clark said with a dash of self-consciousness. "While I'm getting ready?"
"Of course I won't look," Lois said. "I need to freshen up in the bathroom. I won't go into my office."
"Thanks," he said.
"I'll bring everything in - and then I'll leave you to it."
"Lois?"
She paused.
"Thank you for going to Smallville," Clark said. "And *thank you* for coming back."
She chuckled. "See you soon."
Lois walked through the door and shut it. She leant against it for a few moments as her excitement bubbled over.
This felt like a *real* date.
She was going to dress up. She had ordered a special meal and bought a bottle of wine. She was looking forward to a wonderful evening.
With the man she loved.
Yup, it felt exactly like a real date.
Part 17
Lois took a final look in the mirror in the bathroom. It felt strange to be so concerned with how she looked.
She hadn't dressed up in such a long time.
She smiled. She'd always liked the cherry-red dress.
She was looking forward to Clark's reaction.
A minute later, the heels on her shoes were tapping a clipped rhythm as she passed the warehouse to collect their meals.
What would Clark look like?
Was he apprehensive about her reaction?
Did this feel like a date to him?
Did he have any inkling about her feelings for him?
Did he feel anything for her?
Anything beyond gratitude?
He couldn't ... He wouldn't ... not while he was locked in a prison with little realistic chance of freedom.
The delivery guy pulled up against the kerb, and Lois took the two bags. "Thanks," she said.
Back inside the compound and with the external door firmly locked, Lois hauled in a deep breath.
She was nervous!
She hadn't had a date in six months.
How must Clark feel?
He hadn't had a date in at least seven years.
He must be feeling everything she was feeling, but magnified exponentially.
Did his clothes still fit?
Had he been able to shave? To *cut* his hair?
It would still be shaggy. Surely.
Lois put the dessert container into the fridge and took two dinner plates from the shelf.
She opened the largest container and smiled. She'd asked Uncle Mike for his best cuts of steak - one large, one smaller. She put one on each plate. Next came the golden baked potatoes - two for Clark and one for herself - and butter-sautéed Portobello mushrooms. Lastly, she arranged a few curly lettuce leaves, tomato wedges, and thin slices of cucumber.
There was nothing to use as a sauceboat, so Lois decided to leave the béarnaise sauce in its small round container.
The meals looked great, and she sent a quick thought of gratitude to Uncle Mike. He had questioned her about how her *friend's* appetite seemed unusually large for a woman.
Lois had admitted nothing, and Uncle Mike had chuckled knowingly.
The time had come. The food was on the plates, and the bottle of wine was open.
Lois sighed around a big smile.
Was Clark ready?
She tapped loudly on the cell door.
"Lois?"
He *sounded* the same. "Can I open the door?" she called.
There was a slight hesitation - and her ears filled with the thundering of her heart.
Then his answer cut through her anticipation. "Yes."
Lois unlocked the door and reached behind her for a chair. Once it was secured in place, she looked up.
Her heart swooped.
Her jaw flumped.
Her breath tangled.
Clark smiled tentatively. "You look beautiful, Lois."
Lois cranked her mouth shut and gulped. "C..." She jerked her eyes from the lure of his face and swept down his body, past the maroon jacket and white shirt to the grey trousers and black shoes.
The world tilted, and Lois groped the air for something solid. Clark's hand found hers, and he guided her to a chair and steadied her as she collapsed into it.
He put one hand on the back of the chair and one on the table as he crouched beside her. "Are you all right?" he asked.
He was wearing the glasses she had brought from Smallville. Lois peered through them and locked into those familiar brown eyes. *They* were Clark. The rest of him - except for his voice - the rest of him was a stranger.
But she knew those eyes.
They were - as always - filled with understanding. And gentleness. And concern for her.
"Are you all right, Lois?" he asked again.
She managed to nod, although she wasn't sure if it were a lie. She wasn't sure she would ever be all right again.
Clark was ...
Stunning.
Stunningly handsome.
Tongue-cleaved-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth gorgeous.
She had fallen for prime beefcake thinking it was aged rump.
There was *nothing* 'aged' about Clark.
He was young and he ... Lois gulped. ... he smouldered with an understated virility that beckoned to every single female hormone currently searing through her body.
Clark moved his hand an inch, and two fingertips landed gently on her arm. "It's still me," he said with a smile that - although hesitant - was powerful enough to melt her insides.
His beard had concealed a national treasure.
"Cl..."
She snatched his forearm. She needed something to hold on to, and he was it.
His smile unfurled further, intensifying the havoc inside her.
OK. Deep breath.
It was time to pull herself together.
She *had* to stop gawping at him.
Clark was more than a face ... a *lot* more than a face. She knew that better than anyone.
He was ... well, it didn't matter how mind-numbingly good he looked, he was still Clark, and he still needed her.
And she had to pull herself together. For him.
She would.
But she *had* to ask one question first. "How old are you?" Lois blurted.
"Twenty-eight."
Twenty-eight!
"I'm twenty-seven," Lois said - which was inane, but she was too busy congratulating herself on putting two words together to care that he hadn't asked, and it wasn't usually information that she tossed around like confetti.
Two dark eyebrows rose as if to direct attention to his hair - now short. Neat. Immaculate.
Except for one little lock that had broken away and fallen forward onto his forehead.
Her fingers ached to reach out and touch it. She tightened her grip on Clark's arm.
"You seem surprised," Lois said - aware that Clark's level of surprise was the equivalent to one small piece of space rock compared with her galaxy of shock.
"I ... I thought you looked younger, but when I thought about you being given this job ... I figured you must be a few years older than you look."
At any other time, Lois would have paused long enough to enjoy the compliment, but right now, it washed over her ineffectually.
"I'm sorry if I surprised you," Clark said.
Lois dragged her eyes away from the smooth curve of his jaw. "I ... don't think 'surprised' is quite the right word," she said.
"Well, I *am* sorry," Clark said. "I should have done it one thing at a time ... the hair, and then the beard, and then the clothes, and then the glasses. I should have given you some time to become accustomed to the changes." He looked down shyly. "But I wanted our meal together to be special. You said we were celebrating."
"We *are* celebrating, Clark," Lois said. She was still grasping his arm, but he didn't seem to mind ... and it wasn't as if she could damage him no matter how hard she squeezed. "I was just a bit ... dazed. I'm fine now."
His smile reassured her - although Lois reminded herself that she was supposed to be reassuring him. She breathed in until her lungs could take no more and then let out a long, slow, steadying breath.
He was still the Clark that she knew. He *looked* poised and confident, but he was still a prisoner who carried so many emotional wounds and insecurities. He was still vulnerable. She had to be careful.
She smiled at him as she had smiled at him so many times before - smiled to assure him that everything was OK. "Would you mind if I did something?" she asked.
"No," he said, with just a tinge of indecision.
Before he had time to worry about what she intended to do, Lois let go of his arm and lifted the glasses from his face. She laid them on the table and smiled into his eyes.
That was better. Now she could connect with him properly.
"I'm sorry, Clark," Lois said. "I needed to find you again."
"I understand," he said. "But it's still me."
She smiled, and he smiled. "You look so different," Lois said. "I wasn't prepared at all."
"I was shocked the first time I looked into the mirror."
"Please don't be offended if I stare at you this evening."
"I won't be offended at all."
"Thanks," she said. "And I don't think I ever actually said it - but you look amazing."
She saw his pleasure. "So do you," he said.
Lois felt herself being drawn into his eyes and knew that she would have been content to lose herself in them while time marched on unnoticed.
Clark cleared his throat. "We should eat," he said.
They should. Having something to do would help cover all of the gaps, because Lois was sure that her brain was going to be flailing for quite some time yet.
He rose from where he had been crouching next to her chair and offered her his hand. Lois felt the warm river of familiarity flow through her. *That* was Clark. That was her Clark.
She accepted his hand and then went into the staffroom to get the meals.
She returned with them and noticed Clark's little smile of appreciation when he saw the plates. "Do you like steak?" Lois asked as she handed him the bigger meal.
"Yes. Very much. Thank you."
They put the plates on the table, and Lois returned with the glasses, the bottle of merlot, and the tub of béarnaise sauce.
Clark stood behind Lois's chair and waited for her. As he pushed in her seat, she realised something - he had been only twenty-one when Trask had taken him.
His age had come as a shock.
But it made his poise and his steadfastness so much more incredible.
Clark sat opposite her and smiled.
He *must* be nervous. This was only the fourth day since she had walked into his cell. He was having a first date with a woman - which was enough to freak out more than a few men. And, instead of him having the years of experience that she had assumed, his life had gone into forced hibernation when he was only twenty-one.
He poured the wine into both glasses and handed her one. "A toast?" he suggested.
She nodded.
"To what?"
"The future," Lois said.
He nodded. "The future."
As their glasses clinked together, Lois realised that she wanted only one thing from her future.
To be with Clark.
She wondered what he was thinking. What did *he* want in his future?
"Would you like me to re-heat your steak and potato?" he asked.
"Yes, please," Lois said.
He gazed at her meat, and a few seconds later, a little wisp of steam rose from it.
"Thank you," Lois said.
"You're welcome." Clark stared at his meat until it also began to steam.
"Would you like to put your glasses back on?" Lois asked as she poured some sauce on her steak.
"Do you mind?"
"No."
He picked them up and slid them onto his face.
Lois offered him the sauce. "I'm sorry I thought they belonged to your dad."
"That's OK," Clark said.
"I'm ... surprised you need glasses. I never noticed that you couldn't see too well."
He reached for the sauce. "I can see fine," he said.
"Then ... why?"
He meticulously poured the sauce over his thick steak. "You know I can see through things," he said without looking up.
"Unless they're lead-lined?"
"Yeah," he said. He put the sauce on the table and met her gaze. "How did you know?"
"It was in Trask's notes," Lois said.
"Oh." The mention of Trask's name chilled the atmosphere.
"I stopped reading his notes after a short time," Lois said. "I wanted to know the truth about you - and I realised that there was very little truth to be found in those notes."
Clark's smile dispersed the frostiness.
"Do you mind if I ask why you wore glasses if you can see fine?" she asked.
He picked up his knife and fork. "It's a bit embarrassing," he admitted.
"If you want to, we could swap embarrassing stories," Lois suggested.
"I doubt your story would be as embarrassing as mine," Clark said. He was smiling, though, so Lois felt confident to continue.
"You want to go first?" she asked.
"No," he said with a restrained smile that reverberated through her already tightened muscles. "But I will. The glasses mean I *can't* see through things. My parents got them for me when I was a teenager."
Lois wanted to laugh - not at what she could see would be a discomforting situation for a teenager who was already trying to deal with some major identity issues, but with unfettered joy that he was willing to confide such information to her.
She smiled, choked down the laughter, and said, "Thanks for telling me."
Clark couldn't hide his relief that she didn't ask more questions. "Your turn," he said.
"Do you know why I was so flabbergasted when I saw you earlier?"
"I think so," Clark said. "I was shocked myself when I first looked in the mirror. I didn't dare do it while you were in here. When I looked ... it was even worse than I had imagined. It's not surprising that you were shocked that I could look ... normal."
His reasoning speared deep into her heart. Sometimes, the way he thought, what he expected, affected her so deeply. "No," she said with quiet certainty. "That isn't why."
"Lois," he said. "When Moyne pushed you into this prison, you must have been terrified at being with someone who looked like I did. You must have thought I was capable of doing anything."
"I try not to judge people's likely actions by how they look," Lois said.
His eyes melded with hers. "I know that," he said solemnly.
She smiled to loosen the moment. "Actually, there was another reason ... you looked so different, that was a big part of it ... but not all of it."
"Then what else?"
She smiled, encouraging him to enjoy her story. "Before that moment, I'd thought you were old enough to be my father."
Now, it was his face that froze with shock.
Lois giggled - taking the opportunity to release some of the build up of tension.
"That's why you asked how old I am?"
She nodded. "I was stunned by your hair - you did a great job, by the way - and actually being able to see your face, and seeing you dressed so smartly ... that was all a part of it ... but finding out that you are so young ... that just blew me away. I still can't believe it."
"Why not?"
"Because I've realised how young you must have been when Trask captured you. I've realised how little life experience you've had ... and yet ... from your actions, your behaviour ... you ... you're incredible."
He stared at her. "I always feel so awkward and uncertain," he said. "Surely you must have noticed?"
"Not often," Lois said. "Most of the time - as I've said before - I'm in awe of you."
His eyes just about melted in hers. "And ... I'm in awe of you," he said.
The room had heated and was on the verge of erupting. "We ... we should eat," Lois said. "Before it gets cold again."
"Yeah," he said.
He cut off a piece of steak and put it in his mouth. Lois decided to stay quiet and give Clark the opportunity to choose the subject.
Or to enjoy his meal.
But while she ate, she couldn't keep from continually looking at him.
The jacket accentuated his broad shoulders.
He had a tear-shaped dimple that peeked out of his left cheek when he smiled.
His jaw line and chin looked like the work of a master carver.
And - to Lois's surprise - his glasses didn't detract at all. Now that she'd had the opportunity to study him, she realised that - without the glasses - he looked about twenty. With them, he looked more mature.
But not as *mature* as she had imagined.
She smiled, and Clark caught her. "What?" he enquired gently.
"I'm still thinking about how - the first time I saw you - I figured you were in your fifties."
His mouth pursed, although he still managed to convey his amusement through the sparkle in his brown eyes. "Fifty?" he said with gentle teasing.
"After I'd watched you run, I lowered it a bit ... forty-five, perhaps."
The uncertainty crept back into his eyes. "Does it matter? Does it change anything?"
"Nothing," she vowed. "It changes nothing."
His relief pushed away his doubts. "That's good." He wiped the mouth that could turn a smile into a piece of art. "Have you thought about what we should do next?" he asked.
"About finding your parents?"
"Yeah."
"I figure there were two people who might have known something at the time," Lois said.
"Trask and Moyne."
She nodded. "Trask is dead. It's possible he left a clue in his notes, but I didn't find anything that alluded to anyone being with you. I could ask for the notes back, and we could go through them together."
"Would they give them to you?"
"There's no reason not to," Lois replied. "This is my operation. It's logical that I should have access to all prior information."
Clark put down his knife and fork and picked up the glass of wine. "Do you think it would be worth reading what Trask wrote?"
Lois watched him, perceiving that Trask's words still held the power to hurt Clark. "I think we should look at other options first," she said.
Clark sipped from the wine, and she saw his relief. "Moyne was there when I was captured. There's a chance he knows what they did with my parents."
"Moyne has gone away," she said, as her thoughts wandered to Menzies. Was it possible that Moyne had told him anything? "And I think he'd get sadistic enjoyment out of *not* telling me."
Clark stared into the red liquid as he slowly swirled it. "Lois?"
"Yeah?"
He looked up into her eyes. "This is one of those questions that feels a bit like stepping off a cliff."
Lois leant forward. "Clark," she said. "I know that you would never deliberately hurt me. If you want to know something, ask."
His eyes shone with such pure appreciation that it enveloped her heart like a velvet cocoon. But it still took a moment for him to form his question. "Did Moyne threaten to rape you?"
Lois nodded tightly.
Clark's face hardened. "I don't want him near you," he grated. He met her eyes and retreated. "Not that I can tell you what to do," he added quickly.
Lois chuckled - partly because she wanted to avoid the subject of rape and partly because she wanted to entice Clark's smile to return. "You can try," she said.
He gave her a sombre smile. "But I doubt I would be very successful."
"Probably not," Lois said with a grin. "But, in this instance, I agree with you. Trying to chase down Moyne involves a lot of risks and has very little chance of giving us anything useful."
"Is there anyone else who might know? Or might be able to find out?"
"Scardino is a possibility."
"Are you sure about him?"
"No, I'm not," Lois said. "I will chase him up and try to find out about today's meeting, but I don't want to appear too eager. I'm going to try to gauge whether we can trust him. Whether - if I push him to find out more about your parents - he will run straight to the higher-ups, or whether he'll try to find out information discreetly."
"What's your feeling?
Lois sighed. "I'm not sure. His main objective is to avoid any inconvenience this operation might cause him. However, it's only been in his portfolio for two years. There's a possibility that his predecessor knows something."
"He's not dead? The predecessor?"
"Scardino said he'd retired."
"Do you know his name?"
"O'Brien."
"First name?"
Lois searched through her memory. "I don't think Scardino mentioned it," she said. "But I'm sure I've heard of him before."
"If he's still alive, would it be worth trying to locate him?"
"I don't know," Lois said. "He would be sworn to secrecy, of course. That would be a part of his retirement contract."
"But?"
"But he's not going to want his retirement disrupted with a nasty story in the papers."
Clark's eyes shot her a volley of questions. "You're not thinking of going to the press? If this became public, it could hurt my parents."
"I know," Lois said. "But sometimes you only need to threaten."
Clark ate a wedge of tomato and said nothing.
Lois sipped on her wine and continued trying to remember O'Brien's first name.
"You said that Moyne has friends in high places," Clark said.
Lois stifled her grimace, dipped her final piece of steak into the last of the sauce, and gave him a circumspect smile. "He does," she said.
"Do you know their identities?"
"I know of one."
"And?"
"I was hoping you wouldn't ask."
"Why?"
"Because it will worry you."
"Are *you* worried about it?"
"Yes."
"Then you should tell me, and we'll worry together."
Clark's expression was one that spiralled the strands of concern and gravity together, but with just a smattering of light-heartedness. It seemed as if he, too, was starting to believe that, together, they could find a way through the most treacherous situations. "Moyne has an uncle," Lois said. "By marriage. Eric Menzies."
All traces of the light-heartedness melted away. "Was Scardino's meeting with him?"
Lois had been hoping Clark wouldn't make that connection. She didn't want to admit it to him.
She didn't have to.
On Clark's face, the fledgling seeds of hope withered and perished.
Lois put down her fork and slid her hand across the table towards him. He looked at it but didn't move.
She nudged the table with the back of her hand.
Still, he didn't respond. His newly shaven cheeks had lost all of their colour.
"Clark?"
"Lois," he said desperately. "I've always known there is very little chance of any sort of future outside of this prison. With Moyne's uncle involved, there is no way I can ever get out."
"Give me your hand," Lois said, tapping her knuckles on the table again.
He looked at her, and Lois was sure he would refuse.
Slowly, his hand crept into hers, and her fingers closed around it.
"Clark," she said. "I am not going to accept that you have to stay here. I am not going to do it. I will fight -"
"What's the point of fighting, Lois?" he said. "When there is *no* possible chance of success and every chance that trying will hurt people that I care about?"
"Your parents?"
"Yes," he snapped.
"And me?"
His head lurched away.
"And me?" she repeated.
"Of course 'and you'."
Lois pressed her thumb into the back of his hand. "And I care about you, Clark," she said. "I care way too much to give up."
His eyes slowly fastened on hers. "You are thinking about us breaking out."
She nodded staunchly. "If we have to."
His breath expelled with a swoosh. "For what?" he said. "To spend a few days running and hiding before finally being hunted down?"
"I'm pretty good at running and hiding," she said.
He ignored her attempted levity. "I won't let you give up your life and your freedom on a half-baked -"
"It wouldn't be half-baked. It would be meticulously planned and executed with precision."
"Lo-is."
His tone caused her to smile. "Can you fly, Mr Kent?" she asked casually.
"Yes, I can."
"Can you carry something when you fly?"
"Something?" he demanded suspiciously. "Or someone?"
She grinned, working to break down his negativity. "Someone."
"Yes."
"That's going to be more effective than running."
"I can't fly if they bring the poison."
"They have to find us before they can expose you to the rods."
Clark shook his head and stubbornly refused to smile.
"I'm not saying it will be easy," Lois said. "And I'm not saying that's what we will do. But I do think it's silly to reject any possibility."
"You've rejected one." Now he sounded grumpy.
"If you're talking about you staying here for the rest of your life, then, yes, I'm not willing to accept that. Anything else, I'll consider."
"I don't want you getting hurt, and I don't want to risk anything else happening to my parents."
"Clark." She tenderly brushed her thumb across his knuckles. "I'm not going to force you into anything. I want to work *with* you. I think we can do this if we work together."
His gaze burned into her eyes. "You *really* think so?" he asked with raw intensity.
"I *really* think so."
"You're not going to give up on me?"
She shook her head. "I'm not going to give up on you."
"Why? I don't understand."
"Because ... because there's something about you that touches me ... heals me ... completes me ...."
A labyrinth of questions lined his face.
"You don't have to comprehend it," Lois said gently. "And I can completely understand that trusting anyone is going to be extremely difficult for you, but can you just go with me for now? Can you just work with me?"
"Lois, I can't ..."
"I think you can."
The tiniest hint of his smile imbued her heart with hope. "I *can't* ... refuse you anything," he said.
Lois grinned. "Then, we're agreed?"
He nodded.
She squeezed his hand. "Shall I get dessert?"
"What do we have?"
"Tiramisu."
"What's that?"
"A coffee, cake, cream, and chocolate mix that tastes divine."
"It sounds wonderful."
"I'll get it."
Clark nodded but didn't make any move to disconnect his hand from her grasp. "Lois," he said, and it wasn't a word, but a caress. "Thank you."
Love for him infused her heart. But it was a love that she couldn't speak out ... a love she couldn't act upon.
Not yet.
