Part 4
When they reached the apartment, Clark busied himself with the intricate and complex task of making coffee. Lois sat staring uncomfortably at her folded hands.
Why in heavens name had she agreed to come back here? To come back here with *him*?
Lois sighed in irritation – for heaven’s sake, she *knew* why she had. It was because he had had his arms around her at the time. Because his chest - his broad, muscular chest – had been under her cheek. And because he had asked her in that soft, comforting voice of his that he only used when he was concerned for her.
A flurry of movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned her head slightly, watching him move around her kitchen. Months of being invited in for coffee had taught him where everything was (as he usually made it, for reasons obvious even to Lois – her inability at cooking extended even to making coffee, it seemed) and he moved with graceful ease, never once looking up or breaking his concentration from the terribly difficult job of spooning coffee into the mugs.
This was beginning to get scary – she was strangely comforted by this sight, so familiar and yet so new at the same time, and as she watched him, she couldn’t help but think how perfect, how absolutely blissful it would be to sit watching him working in her apartment every day for the rest of her life.
Lois shook her head fiercely, determined to get rid of the disturbing image that had presented itself to her. Of course she didn’t want Clark to hang around for the rest of her life! It would become hopelessly boring, tedious, to share her life with another human being, another man. Even if that man was Clark.
She had been sucked into that rosy romanticism she hated while engaged to Lex. Somehow, common sense had not been too common with her in that period, and she had found herself imagining what it would be like to have a lasting, true marriage. She had inadvertently begun to imagine the two of them as eighty-year-olds, still married, still hopelessly in love (her blindness had stretched to such an extent that she had imagined herself in love with him) and still faithful to each other.
Of course, now that she had taken off her rose-coloured glasses, she could see how hopelessly preposterous this idea was. On no account would the marriage to Luthor have lasted. She had conveniently forgotten during their brief engagement that she *wasn’t* in love with Lex; he had asked her at a very awkward time in her life and she just hadn’t had the strength, or the motivation, to refuse him eloquently. Telling a man you weren’t in love with him wasn’t the sort of thing you could just blurt out – it took delicacy and understanding, both of which had been strongly lacking at the time that he had chosen to spring the proposal on her. It was a lousy excuse, but the only reason she had said yes was because she couldn’t figure out how to say no without ruffling the feathers of the second most powerful man in Metropolis.
And besides – even if she *had* been in love with Lex, she had learned through trial and error that love never lasted.
Never.
No matter how gentle, or kind or self-sacrificing Clark had proved himself to be, she could never stand...never allow...
No! Lois yelled at herself, cursing the cynic in her for becoming so passive, so lifeless. She could not allow herself to get comfortable again. He was in love with her – she must never forget that.
He was in love with her.
Oh, god, *he* was in *love* with *her*!
Lois gave a tiny whimper, cursing herself, and him. When had life become so complicated? Why had her life turned, from a complete void a few years ago, to a fantasy to rival the stories in the bodice-rippers she kept in her bookshelf?
Lois shook her head viciously. It would never work. Scenes that sounded so hopelessly romantic in books were more likely to give her a massive crick in the neck in real life. For the first time, she truly understood the meaning of the word, ‘angst’.
Oh, no. He had noticed that tiny, barely perceptible whimper – Lois had forgotten while hopelessly dense in some areas, he had the hearing of a bat when he wanted to. He was now looking at her with an expression analogous to mounting worry and, just to reassure him, she smiled the tiniest, meanest of watery smiles. She herself could feel how emaciated and wan it was, but nevertheless an expression brighter than a summer’s day came over his beloved face and he smiled back vibrantly.
He seemed to find her state of distress amusing.
Well, good for him. She had other things to worry about.
* * * * * * * * *
Clark bustled around the kitchen, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of being busy, so that the inevitable conversation between them seemed less and less so, with every bubble of boiling water that grew and burst inside Lois’ kettle, which was singing merrily on the top of the stove.
He was pathetic. He was *really* pathetic. The strongest man in the world and he was terrified of having a *conversation*?
He heard a soft whimper from somewhere behind him and whipped around, a few lone beans of coffee spinning out of the two mugs he was holding in protest at his reflexive reaction.
Lois was sitting on the couch behind him, one hand grasping the bridge of her nose as if to hold it onto her forehead and the other clenched in her lap. From the look on her face as she realised that he had heard her, she clearly hadn’t meant to utter that whimper. In fact, she looked like a woman who was silently cursing her reaction and the position it had put her in.
But then she smiled weakly at him, and Clark felt a powerful emotion swelling up from the pit of his stomach – not love, but something to rival it. That smile – that watery, disgustingly diaphanous smile was the bravest thing he had ever seen.
He couldn’t help it – he smiled back.
And then cursed himself as he realised his mistake. Her smile automatically switched off, her posture stiffened and her face became guarded.
Abandoning all pretence at trying to make coffee, he walked over to where she was, sat down next to her and grabbed her hand, at the same time wondering at his reckless mood. He would never have dared to do this before.
“Lois, what’s really wrong? Why won’t you talk to me?”
She stiffened automatically and he winced, almost surprised at how much it hurt that she would be afraid of him. But then her face softened slightly and her hand tightened around his.
“Oh, Clark,” she murmured softly, “You don’t understand. Things are different now.”
Clark frowned, puzzled. What was she getting at?
“How are they different, Lois?” he asked gently, trying with all his might not to push her but insanely curious all the same.
“They’re just...it’s just... different. Everything is different. The Planet - Lex - you and me, Clark. We've all... changed so much. It's scary. I want things back the way they were... I want the Planet back. I want our friendship back... I want *everything* back! Especially..." She fell silent for a minute, and shook her head. Clark’s insides gave an almighty twist – he knew what she was thinking about. He closed his eyes and swallowed as the barrage of memories attacked him.
//Is there any hope for us?//
//Unless it’s lined with lead, I wouldn’t bother...//
//If you had no powers at all, if you were just an ordinary man leading an ordinary life, I would love you just the same.//
The bile rose in his throat swiftly, choking him as he remembered the bittersweet, vindictive pleasure that he had taken in her sorrow as he turned her down.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about one of those, at least," Clark stated hurriedly, trying to conceal the pain he felt at her statement. She looked up at him jerkily, puzzled by his sudden change of attitude.
”You have our friendship, Lois. You don’t have to worry that you destroyed it, or anything of the sort. You could never do that.”
She was staring at him like he had suddenly grown another head. Then she shook herself, sighed and looked away.
“No, I suppose I couldn’t,” she admitted softly and Clark felt a little spasm of anger despite himself. How could she sound so arrogant? “After all,” she added, “no-one has ever loved me like you do...”
* * * * * * * * *
Lois closed her eyes and swallowed, wishing with all her might that her life had a rewind/fast forward button.
And a volume control.
Why had she just said that? That was, without a doubt, the most arrogant statement that she had ever made in her life. No wonder Clark was looking like he had been clunked on the head with a two-by-four.
“Loved you?” he finally managed to croak. He sounded like a cross between a strangled cat and a gorilla.
“Yes!” She searched his face intently, keen to gauge his reaction.
“Oh, god,” he groaned, as he got up and started pacing the kitchen, running his hands through his hair. She gulped. Of all the ideal scenarios she had envisioned in the past couple of seconds, this was not one of them.
He looked strangely tortured.
“Lois...” he started and then veered off course, shaking his head. “Oh, god, what have I done?”
She waited patiently – well, *im*patiently, for him to finish his sentence and, it seemed likely, break her heart.
“Lois, the thing is...” he started, then broke off again, looking at her – “Lois, what I mean to say is...”
“Oh, for goodness sake, Clark, just spit it out!” she snapped, unable to stop herself.
“I was... I... I lied to you, Lois.”
“*What*?” Lois sprang to her feet, staring at him furiously.
“I...when I said I was in love with you...I was lying! I would have done anything...any...” he was faltering now, in the face of her anger, “...thing to stop you from marrying Lex,” he finished miserably, scanning her face. The colour was draining from it steadily and she was breathing quickly but not deeply, as if she had just received a great shock.
//Of course she’s just received a shock, you Neanderthal// a snide little voice muttered to him in response to that last idiotic thought.
“Y-you were lying?”
“Yes,” he admitted miserably, hanging his head. He didn’t want to see the anger, didn’t want to see the pain that last sentence would inflict.
Maybe Lois would be hurt now, but in the long run, she’d be so much better for it.
“I don’t believe you.”
Clark’s head snapped up so quickly that it would have cracked if it had been attached to an ordinary body.
“W-what?”
“I said I don’t believe you,” she stated firmly, moving closer. Clark gulped as her bright eyes skimmed over his face intently.
“Y-you don’t?” Clark stammered, trying desperately to keep the shake out of his voice. He sounded like a 7th grader!
“No. I don’t,” she clarified again, moving closer to him. She was now so near him that he could have touched her easily.
“Why not?” he asked, confused.
* * * * * * * * *
*Why* not?
Lois pondered the question in her head... oh, she had had such a great reason before!
Her mind flashed back to a couple of minutes ago when he had made that idiotic confession. Why hadn’t she believed him?
Oh, she remembered now – it had been something to do with the way he stammered and the way he hung his head, like a lost puppy, once he had said it. Sure, this could be because he was miserable about lying to her in the first place, but... but...
But she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that his amorous declaration in the park had been anything - *anything* - less than sincere. Clark was not a dishonest person, and he was not one to toy with other people’s feelings. This was completely out of character for him.
Besides, not even the greatest actor on earth could fake the look she had seen in his eyes, the look that had scared her so much. They had been intense, liquid, coffee orbs, which had seemed to reach into her soul and beg her to believe him.
Nobody could pretend that.
“Lois?” Clark asked, and she snapped out of her trance, staring at him. He seemed to be distant, wary of what she would say, as if he were gearing himself up to be hurt again.
”Why don’t you believe me?” he continued, and then, as she struggled to explain – “I *am* a writer. I’m good at making things up,” he muttered as if the thought of pretending to love her sickened him to his stomach. Lois half-smiled in spite of herself. If she had been doubtful before, this last thing had convinced her. He was in love with her, all right.
“Yes.” She smiled gently, her mood lifting suddenly for some reason. “You’re a writer - and a darn good one at that!” she teased slightly as his eyes bugged at the compliment. “You’re a *writer*, Clark, not an actor,” she continued, hardly believing the words that were coming out of her mouth. The real Lois must be tied up somewhere – maybe in the closet – with duct tape around her mouth. This was not her; she was not saying these things to him. It was *impossible*.
“And even if you were the best actor on the planet, you wouldn’t have been able to fake the emotion I saw in your eyes in Centennial Park,” she added persistently. "There's no *way* - no way that you could have faked that!! I mean -- it's *impossible*!"
"How do you know?" he protested violently. "How can you be so sure?"
She stared at him, incredulous. Surely he wasn't trying to convince her that his declaration of love had been anything but heartfelt. That notion -- that was just *ridiculous*! How could anybody, anybody who had seen his face or heard his voice, doubt that he had been anything less than sincere?
"What do I have to do to convince you that I know that you were telling the truth?" she exploded violently, hating him and his stubborn brain.
"Prove it, Lois." His expression was challenging. "Prove it."
"Fine!" she replied recklessly, "Fake *this*!" And she joined her mouth to his.
* * * * * * * * *
As soon as Lois’ soft lips touched his, Clark was lost. Hopelessly, desperately, *blissfully* lost. Ideas, voices in his head, the physical world all faded into the background, and all that was left were dreams. The woman of his dreams in his arms. The kiss that had influenced his delirious dreams night after night was actually happening, taking place, in real life.
All of this was the only thing in the distant corner of his mind that was still capable of rational thought.
The gentle strokes of her lips against his brought wave after wave of passion and desire upon him. A tsunami of love was overwhelming him and he felt that he was drunk on the way she tasted, the way she smelled, the way she felt, her delicate frame crushed up against his chest.
His hands came up to frame her face, not roughly but urgently, pulling her closer, until they slid around her neck and tangled in her hair. Likewise, her arms tightened around his waist, bringing them together as her tongue stroked the inside of his mouth frantically, in a frenzy of discovery.
He moaned softly into her mouth, the fiery waves of his passion threatening to sweep him away, to a place beyond self-control, beyond thinking. Just feeling.
His tongue tangled with hers in a way that tantalised his senses and made him hopelessly dizzy. Being with her like this surpassed all of his wildest imaginings. He had envisaged what it would be like to kiss her like this, but oh, reality was *so* much better than his feverish dreams.
Dreams?
He tore his mouth away from hers roughly, staring at her as intently as he could through his misty, love-struck eyes. Her lips were slightly swollen, reminding him of the pleasurable activity they had been engaged in just moments ago, and her breath came in short pants. He was breathless himself as he asked, teasing, “Who are you and what have you done with Lois Lane?”
She stared at him in consternation for a minute, until she realised he was teasing, and said, grinning, “Duct tape in the closet.”
“Works for me.” Clark smiled and joined his mouth with hers for another soul-shattering kiss. Oh, god. This was no dream. Her lips danced with his in an incredibly erotic way that left him breathless and desperate for more, until he felt he would go crazy if they didn’t stop. Or maybe he would go crazy if they *did* stop.
He wondered somewhere in the hazy corners of his mind whether it would bother Lois much if she found out that he was Superman right now, because he wasn’t entirely sure if his feet were touching the ground, so attuned was he to the way they were together.
Superman?
//I hear you’ve been looking for me?//
//All my life.//
//You seem to have, um, all the parts of a man...//
//Are you staying for dinner?//
//Superman is in the shower? Did you see him? I mean, does the outfit come off?//
//Every woman in love thinks their man looks like Superman.//
//That’s no problem. I’m available.//
//Superman, is there any hope for us?//
//I am so completely in love with you...//
//If you had no powers at all, if you were just an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, I would love you just the same.//
Clark clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to banish the unpleasant and unwelcome memories. He didn’t want to think about that! He just wanted to stay here, with Lois, kissing her, loving her.
Loving the woman who loved Superman.
No.
No!
Clark tore his lips from hers for the second time and tore blindly out of the apartment.
* * * * * * * * * *
tbc...
* * * * * * * * * *
