Now that they were on the subject of tomorrow ... "H...Have you decided what you're going to do tomorrow night?"

"Not completely. I have a few ideas."

"Ideas?" he said, hoping desperately that she would elaborate.

"Yeah. I thought I'd start by giving you the opportunity to ask any question you like. Anything. And I'll answer. That's me trusting you. Then I'll choose what we do. That's you trusting me."

Clark wanted to gulp, but he feared it would sound thunderous in the quietness of the room. "OK."

"Go to sleep."

"Goodnight, Lois."

"Goodnight, Clark."


Part 23

~~ Saturday ~~

Clark landed them behind the covering of a large tree in a park in Metropolis and slid Lois to her feet. "Are you sure you don't mind me not coming in?" he asked.

Although her feet were on the ground, her hand hadn't moved from his shoulder. She'd touched him a lot today - fleeting contact, feather brushes. His body - arms, chest, shoulders, hands - had registered every one of them, and his mind was spinning with an ever-growing mound of distraction. "I'm sure," she said.

"If you want me to, I will," Clark said, not sure if he regretted his automatic reaction to decline when Lois had asked him if he wanted to meet her dad.

Lois smiled. "I know," she said. "Perhaps next time."

"How much time do you want with your dad?"

"About an hour. What are you going to do?"

"I thought I'd walk around the streets. I'd never been to Metropolis before yesterday. Not ... not as a regular visitor."

"Good idea," Lois said. "It's a lot more crowded than Smallville, but that makes it easy to be anonymous."

He nodded, hoping the full extent of his apprehension wasn't readily noticeable. "I thought I would listen ... you know, just in case Mom is here somewhere."

"Good idea," Lois said again. Her hand was still on his shoulder. She smiled, and her fingers squeezed lightly, shooting darts of fire down his arm. "See you soon."

She turned away, walked out of the park, crossed the street, and disappeared into the front door of a large building.

Clark jiggled his hand, trying to restore normal feeling to his arm.

All day, memories of last night had played incessantly through his mind. He could still feel her hands on his back. His scalp still hummed with the feel of her fingertips.

What did she have planned for tonight?

||_||

Lois walked into the main area of the nursing home, and the first person she saw was Ronny. When the nurse saw Lois, her face lit with welcome, and she hurried over.

"Lois," Ronny greeted with her usual wide smile. "It's so good to see you."

Lois returned Ronny's light hug. "How's Dad?" she asked.

Vivacious enthusiasm fired Ronny's already cheerful expression. "He is doing so well, Lois," she gushed. "The therapists often talk about a breakthrough with stroke patients. Their recovery can be so spasmodic and so individual that there is no predicting what will work and what won't. Bringing your dad the jigsaw puzzle was inspired. You'll notice a huge difference."

Lois smiled. "I can't wait to see him," she said.

"He's in his room," Ronny said. "I know he's going to be so excited to see you."

With a parting smile, Lois left Ronny and walked quickly to her dad's room as the anticipation welled inside her. She went through his door and saw him, dressed and sitting straight in his wheelchair. His paralysed hand lay in the trough connected to the arm of his wheelchair; his good hand rested near a book that was perched on a stand.

He was reading.

Her dad was reading! Such a normal activity. Something he had enjoyed in his pre-stroke life. Something she had thought could have been gone forever.

"Dad," she said.

He looked up, and his face creased into a lop-sided approximation of a smile that shook loose her wad of tears.

Lois rushed forward to the chair and enclosed him in her arms. "Dad," she breathed, swallowing down her tears. "Dad."

His right arm stretched awkwardly around her. She felt his fingers pressing into her back - with markedly improved dexterity and strength. She withdrew, wanting to see his face.

"Dad," she said. She kissed his cheek. "Dad. You are looking so good."

His arm slipped from her back, and he gestured towards a large sheet of paper hanging on the wall above his bed. It listed words and matching hand signals. When Lois looked back to her dad, his arm was moving a circular direction, his flattened palm brushing upwards against his chest.

She looked back to the list, quickly skimming the descriptions of movements.

Then she found it.

Happy.

Her dad was telling her he was happy.

Lois snatched a tissue from her bag, wiped her eyes, and told him, "I'm happy to see you, too, Dad. I'm so happy to see you."

She pulled a chair closer and sat down, her arm resting on the tray of his wheelchair. He reached for her hand, touched her ring finger near the knuckle, and then made a familiar swooping movement.

Lois chuckled. "You want to know how things are going with the guy who makes the paper airplanes?"

Her dad nodded. It was a jolty movement, but Lois marvelled at how something so simple could be such a remarkable advancement on blinking to communicate 'yes' and 'no'. His hand rose slowly, and he pointed to the shelf where the paper airplane was perched on display.

Lois stared at the plane, remembering the cell. Remembering her first tentative attempts to communicate with Clark. Remembering how hesitant he'd been. She turned back to her father. "I love him, Dad," she declared. "I've only known him a short time, but he is kind and loving and strong and gentle."

Her dad lifted his hand, extended his forefinger, and rolled it towards his chest. Lois glanced to the list.

Come.

"You want to know if he'll come here?" she guessed.

He nodded.

"Do you want him to come here?"

He nodded again.

Lois smiled. "Next time I visit with you, I'll ask him to come, too."

Her dad smiled - not perfectly formed, but perfectly eloquent. With some difficulty, he extended his first two fingers and clasped the other two into his palm. He moved his hand to his paralysed arm and tapped the two fingers twice on the drooping fingers of his left hand.

"Name?" Lois said after consulting the list. "His name is 'Clark'."

Her dad's mouth moved a little, and Lois had the impression he was trying to say the name. She waited, but no sound came. He closed his mouth, and Lois thought she detected frustration in his eyes.

"Will you teach me some signs?" she asked cheerily.

He rolled his fist into a ball and thumped it onto his chest, just below his shoulder blade. Lois copied him. Her dad nodded in encouragement. He did it again. Lois copied him again. She looked to the list.

Love.

"Love," she said.

Her dad nodded. His hand lifted, beginning another sign.

The next time Lois checked her watch, she was surprised to discover that over an hour had passed. They had made a game out of practising every one of the twenty or so signs on the list. They had talked about the ultra-large-print book her dad had been reading. Lois had admired his most recent jigsaw puzzle that lay complete in the tray Clark had made.

"I have to go, Dad," she said with real regret. "I'm meeting Clark."

He made the sign for 'come'.

"I'll come again soon," she promised. "And I won't forget to ask Clark if he would like to come, too."

Her dad looked pleased.

Lois hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. She picked up her bag and then put her clenched fist across her heart - the sign for love.

Her dad replied.

Lois waved. "See you soon."

She left the room and was immediately accosted by Ronny. "Isn't he doing great?" she squeaked. "Did he show you his signs?"

"Yes," Lois said. "It's so wonderful that he has begun to communicate."

"The aim is to add one new word every session," Ronny said. "But Sam has been insisting on more than one."

"Does this mean they believe he will never speak again?" Lois asked.

"With stroke victims, we try not to make any predictions," Ronny said. "Progress can start, it can stop, it can accelerate, it can slow down."

"So there are no guarantees that this surge will continue?" Lois asked, her blossoming hopes dashed.

"No," Ronny said. "But it's also unlikely that he will lose any of his gains. His mind is more active, his demeanour is more cheerful, and he's eager to learn new things. They are all incredibly positive steps."

"Could it be possible for him to get back any of his old life?" Lois asked. "Is there a chance he could return to his home?"

Ronny laid her hand on Lois's arm. "It's always best to celebrate the small steps and not look too far ahead," she said.

Lois could feel all of her jubilation draining away. "So there is no chance?"

"There's always a chance," Ronny said. "But if Sam, or his family, decides that the only way he can be happy is by going home, that sets up everyone for disappointment. It's imperative that he learn to find fulfilment and interest in whatever life he has."

"That's a hard thing to do," Lois said, thinking of Clark's time in the cell.

Ronny nodded. "It's a very hard thing to do," she said. "And you should be really proud of your dad and what he has achieved in this past week."

It was only eight days since Lois had last visited the nursing home - on the morning before she had gone to the cell, taken the poison from Clark's shoulder, and run away with him.

Eight days - her life had changed drastically in that time.

It hadn't occurred to her that her dad's life would have been changing, too.

"Thanks for everything you do for him, Ronny," Lois said, feeling genuine affection for the bubbly nurse.

"It was you who got him kick-started," Ronny replied. "It was as if those jigsaw puzzles awoke something inside him."

"I hope to be able to visit a little more regularly now that I'm back from vacation," Lois said.

"I know your dad appreciates you coming," Ronny said. "But he also knows you have your own life." She leant forward and lowered her voice. "And he tells me there might be a whiff of romance in the air."

Lois didn't know whether to grin, gulp, or pretend she didn't understand. "It's still very early," she said vaguely. "I haven't known him for very long."

Ronny smiled. "All Sam wants is for you to be happy," she said.

"I know," Lois said. Remembering Clark was probably waiting, she turned to walk away. "I have to go, Ronny. See you soon."

"Bye, Lois."

Lois walked out of the door and into the mild fall sunshine. She looked around for Clark and saw him coming towards her. "Sorry I'm late," she said as she fell into step beside him. "I was having such a good time with Dad that I forgot the time."

Clark smiled. "He's well?"

"He has made incredible progress in the last week," Lois said. "He's beginning to sign as a way to communicate. He's reading. He seems more aware. He seems happier. He ..." Lois thought for a moment. "He seems more like my dad."

Clark put his arm across her shoulders and squeezed her gently into his side. "I'm so pleased."

"He wants to meet you."

"He does?"

Lois nodded. "I told him about the paper airplanes we flew and how I couldn't fly them as well as you could. When he moves his arm like a diving airplane, he means you. Although he asked your name today."

"Did you tell him?"

"Of course I did."

"What else have you told him about me?"

Lois heard the not-quite-concealed apprehension in Clark's voice. She stopped walking and turned to him, sliding out from under his arm, but noting that his hand stayed on her shoulder. "I've told him lots of things about you," she said in a lilting voice that she intended as an inducement for him to question further.

She saw his little glimmer of surprise at her teasing tone. "Like what?" he demanded, although all his vehemence was lost in the twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Like that I am in love you," she said softly.

His smile burst free. His hand slipped higher on her shoulder, and his fingers meandered through her hair to touch the skin of her neck. "Really?" he whispered as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe.

"Really," she said. "I should have told you before now."

"You told me in the cell," he said in a voice that was slightly husky. "I heard you, even though I couldn't see you. And since then, you've shown me in a hundred different ways."

"Would you like to hear it again?" Lois said as she placed her hand on his cheek.

He nodded.

"I love you, Clark," she said.

His eyes seemed to be branding their love into hers. "I love you, Lois."

She slipped her arms around his neck and slid into the harbour of his embrace. Her head found its perfect resting place on his broad shoulder. Lois sighed with contentment and heard Clark chuckle in response.

She closed her eyes and let his closeness soak into her.

After long moments of blissful contentment, she slowly eased backwards. "Let's go home," she said.

"Home?"

She nodded. "Home."

||_||

They spent the evening quietly - Lois sitting at the computer while Clark familiarised himself with the account book that Wayne had given him.

On the outside, Clark hoped that he appeared just as serene as the atmosphere, but every time he checked the watch that Lois had given him, his heart lurched. The evening had crawled by at a painfully slow pace. But as the time slipped past ten o'clock, he didn't feel ready to go to the bed he shared with Lois.

What would happen once they were alone in the bedroom?

What had Lois planned?

Did she still intend to continue what she had started last night?

She seemed engrossed in what she was doing on the computer. Perhaps she had started writing her novel.

The row of numbers he had been staring at for the past ten minutes blurred to a fuzzy black worm. If he shut the book and went upstairs for a shower, what message would that send to Lois?

The flight home to Smallville had been wonderful. Lois had nestled in close against his body, and her head had rested on his shoulder. Twice, she had lifted her hand to brush her fingers down his cheek.

Such a simple gesture.

But it held such monumental meaning. She loved him.

She'd said it.

With words.

With the soft message of her eyes as she'd gazed into his.

With touch.

Clark loved her so much.

Sometimes, it threatened to well up inside him and overwhelm him.

Lois stood from the chair, and Clark jumped. He saw that she'd turned off the computer. She smiled at him, causing his heart to soar into his throat. "I think I'll have a shower and go to bed," she said.

"OK," he managed to croak through a dry, dry mouth.

If she noticed, she didn't comment. "I'll be about ten minutes," she said.

She walked past him and onto the stairs. Clark stared at the empty doorway. Ten minutes.

Then what?

||_||

Ten and a half minutes later, Clark walked cautiously from the bathroom, having showered, shaved, dressed in clean nightwear, and dabbed on a sprinkling of the new aftershave he had bought today while Lois had been visiting her father.

He heaved in a deep breath and reminded himself for the millionth time that this wasn't supposed to be something that warranted such trepidation. He was overreacting. Lois had promised she wouldn't push him into anything he really didn't want to do. But that left a lot of scope for doing things that were going to be difficult.

Difficult but amazing.

He tapped lightly on the door.

It opened, and Lois was there, wearing pink pyjamas he hadn't seen before. "Come in," she said.

He stepped forward into the room, and her hand shot out, clasping his elbow.

"Wow," she said. "You smell wonderful."

Clark figured that if he had an hour, he wouldn't be able to think up any response beyond 'thank you' so he said that and continued into the room.

Lois shut the door. Firmly. Definitively.

And they were alone - with the world shut out.

Lois went to the bed and shuffled onto it. She patted the covers next to her, and Clark sat down.

"You don't look too comfortable," she said as she picked up a pillow and lobbed it to him.

"Thanks." He put the pillow next to the headboard and leant back, lifting his legs onto the bed.

"Have you thought of your question?" Lois asked.

He had thought about how he *should* be trying to prepare something to ask her, but he hadn't been able to settle on a definite choice. "Not really."

"Come on," she said with an encouraging smile. "There must be something you'd like to ask me."

"There are some things," he admitted.

"Go on."

"It's not that simple. I'm concerned that you might not want to answer."

"This bit is about me trusting you," Lois said. "Ask one of those questions, and whatever it is, I'll try to answer it as honestly as I can."

Clark pulled one leg into an arched position and rested his wrist on the point of his knee. "Lois, I know you're still hurting over Linda ... and what Moyne did. I really don't want to -"

"Ask," she said.

"And if you get upset?"

"Will you hug me?"

"If you want me to."

"Then ask your question," she said with a tiny peep of her smile. "I'll be all right."

"OK," Clark said with another humungous breath that delved deep into his lungs. "Last night, you said that the reason you were able to begin to grieve was because you were with me, and you knew that if you fell, I would be there for you."

Lois nodded. "That's true," she said. "I mulled over it for ages during the following days. I didn't understand how I'd been so capable after Linda's death and so frail after Moyne's threat."

"You weren't frail," Clark said quickly.

"I retreated into myself and began uncovering so many things I had tried to hide - from everyone, but most particularly from myself. I could do that because I knew you were there. I knew I could talk to you anytime I wanted to. I knew you would understand. I knew you wouldn't judge me. I knew you would wait for me, even if it took a long time." She smiled. "Was that your question? Did I answer it?"

"That wasn't really my question," Clark said, although he was sorely tempted not to push this any further.

"Then ask your question," she said.

"If you needed me, why did you say you wanted to go with Scardino?" Clark held his breath as he awaited her response.

Lois took a few moments to respond, but her expression didn't indicate any distress. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I wasn't thinking too straight."

"That's all right," Clark said quickly. "You don't have to answer."

"I wanted to run," she said. "Like I had after I nearly killed the young guard. I *had* to run away then to avoid being captured. But it was more than that. I ran from fear of what I'd done. I wanted to escape from myself." She looked up with solemn brown eyes. "And this time, my instinct was to run away again. Scardino offered me a way out, and I took it. I didn't even think about it. I didn't think about you. I didn't think about what I really wanted."

"Do you think it is possible that, even in your state of shock, you knew I wouldn't let you go?" Clark said quietly.

Lois gave him a shy smile. "I've thought about that," she said. "I'd like to believe that was the case. I was so confused ... I don't know what I was thinking."

"I think you had a concussion," Clark said. "That could have been a part of why you felt so bad."

"Nothing seemed clear," Lois said. "Nothing at all. I would try to grasp something and realise I couldn't grasp it without going deeper, so I would try, only to realise there were layers below that." She looked at him. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," Clark said, thinking about how often he had tried to find a valid explanation for his behaviour at the beach yesterday.

"And the one thing that sat like an immoveable lump in the middle of my brain was what I had done to you when I said I wanted to leave. I couldn't see any way back from that."

Clark risked a small smile. "So you figured leaving was the answer?" he asked gently.

She scrunched up her nose. "Dumb, huh?"

"Not dumb," Clark said. "You needed time. I knew you'd make the right decision in the end."

She gave him a rueful smile.

"How is the injury on your head?" Clark asked.

She reached up and ran her fingers over the area of the wound. "There's still a small bump," she said. Suddenly, a flippant grin broke through her seriousness. "Yesterday, you promised to comb the tangles from my hair," she said. "And you didn't do it."

He'd realised that after they had turned out the light last night. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Would you like to do it now?"

"Yes," he said. "I'll go and get the comb." Clark sprang from the bed. When he returned, he closed the door. He sat behind Lois and began carefully stroking the comb through her sleek, perfectly untangled hair. "I guess you already did it," he commented.

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"That's OK," Lois said lightly. "You promised to take me to the beach again. Next time, I'll make sure we don't forget when we get home." She pulled in a shoulder-lifting breath. "You smell heavenly."

"I ... I bought some aftershave today."

Her head spun around, her grin flashing. "That's great," she said.

He'd felt so cumbersome and out of place when he'd looked at the baffling variety available. All he'd wanted was to choose something that Lois would like. Apparently, he'd succeeded.

She turned her head to the front again, and Clark continued combing through her hair.

He finished way too quickly.

Lois shuffled around so she was facing him and took the comb from his hand. She leant back and placed it on the table beside the bed, and then she returned her attention to him. "Ready?" she said.

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

She grinned at that. "Did you enjoy last night?"

"Aw, Lois," he said. "It was ... I can't stop thinking about it."

"Then don't look so worried."

"Have you decided what we are going to do?"

"Yes," she said. "I'd like you to sit in the centre of the bed and lean back against the headboard."

She hadn't asked him to take off his shirt. Or anything else. Clark reeled with relief.

When he was settled, Lois shuffled forward and knelt next to his thigh. "Do you trust me?"

He nodded.

She picked up his hand and laid it on her thigh, just above her knee. "You have great hands," she said as she reached forward to fold her palm around the point of his shoulder. She slowly swept down, past the sleeve of his tee shirt and onto the bare skin of his upper arm, her thumb tracing the front, her fingers skimming the back. She continued, past his elbow, along his forearm, and onto the top of his hand.

As she reached his hand, his fingers reflexively gripped around her thigh. He jolted them open. Lois pressed his hand flat again and sent him a smile that said he hadn't done anything wrong.

She reached up to his shoulder and repeated the action - lightly travelling the length of his arm, all the way to his hand.

She swept down again. And again. And again, until Clark was sure that his arm was in danger of imploding. Then, she picked up his hand from her thigh and used her thumb to work around his knuckles. She turned his hand over and probed into his palm. Lastly, she turned her attention to his fingers, stroking their length, from knuckle to nail.

His entire arm felt impossibly heavy and wondrously relaxed. As if every muscle and ligament and tendon had bowed to her touch and melted in deference to her.

When she had finished, Lois put her hands on his chest as she crossed over his legs to the other side of his body.

Then, she repeated every intoxicating action on his other arm.

Clark watched her face. She rarely looked away from her task, which gave him the opportunity to study her at close proximity.

She was stunningly beautiful.

He'd known that from the very beginning.

And the more he'd gotten to know her, the more he'd realised that her outer loveliness was a reflection of her inner beauty.

She finished working to the very end of his littlest finger and looked up to him with a smile.

"Thank you," he said. "That felt great."

"Would you mind if I did something for me for a few moments?" she asked.

After what she'd done for him, there was only one possible answer. "No."

Lois took his right hand in her left - palms together, thumbs entwined. Then she leant back, and Clark braced his arm to support her weight. With her right hand, Lois reached forward, burrowing her fingers under his sleeve to fashion her hand to the shape of his bicep. Like warmed syrup, her fingers inched downwards, searing his skin with five distinct trails of fire.

When she reached his elbow, her hand dropped listlessly onto her lap.

"Was that really for you?" Clark asked.

"Oh, yes," she said, a little breathlessly.

He didn't know how to respond to such overt admiration. "Ah ... have you planned something for tomorrow night?"

"Yes," Lois said, peeling her eyes away from his arm.

"Are you willing to tell me?"

She smiled. "Do you want to know?"

Did he? He wasn't sure if knowing would be more or less excruciating than wondering. "Yes," he said.

"Tomorrow night, you get a choice," Lois said.

"OK," he said as his curiosity soared.

"You can either take off your shirt and let me massage your chest and shoulders."

"Or?" he gasped.

"Or I'll take off my pyjama top, lie face down on the bed, and you can massage my back."