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Cooking Up A Storm - Epilogue to Cooking Class

Lois Lane was humming as she tidied her desk and shut down her computer.

Tonight was the night.

She was sure of it.

Clark was going to propose.

Even more earth-shattering … she was going to accept.

OK, she was guessing the first, but hey, Clark been open about what he wanted right from the first evening - that incredible, never to be forgotten cooking class when the chocolate kisses had been the second best thing on the dessert menu.

As Lois hurried home to her apartment, she felt as if her feet were floating. Her excitement built as she rigidly followed her pre-date routine - perfume behind her knee, rollers in her hair, new dress that she'd bought just for this occasion, extra care with her lipstick.

Had he already bought the ring? Or had he decided to wait so they could choose it together?

Would a proposal and subsequent acceptance lead to them taking the evening into his bedroom and consummating their promises?

That was an exciting prospect. Their rather steamy kisses had been a heady foretaste of intimacy with Clark. She was ready - impatient, even - to take the next step.

But, as much as he'd seemed to relish kissing her, he had always been careful to stop before they crossed the point of no return. With any other man, she might have questioned if he were really interested, but as she'd come to know Clark Kent, she'd realised that his caution was not a statement about her desirability, but the logical extension of his belief that making love was too special to be entered into lightly.

Clark hadn't actually admitted it, but Lois had wondered if he were a virgin.

Not through lack of opportunity. Obviously.

If - when - Clark took her to his bed, they would both know it meant something.

Something real. Something lasting. Something strong. Something dependable.

Something you could build your whole life on.

And that's exactly what Lois Lane intended to do.

Accept Clark's proposal … make him hers if he gave even the slightest hint he was ready for that … marry him …

And live happily ever after.

~~^~~^~~

Clark opened the door, and Lois's breath caught in her throat.

The first sight of him never failed to dry her mouth and accelerate her pulse.

He smiled - which accentuated everything to levels that made her sure the oxygen was being syphoned from her lungs.

"Hi, honey," he said, giving her a smile.

She stepped into his arms, and he kissed her.

Thoroughly. Lovingly.

But restrained, as he always was.

When he drew away, Lois stifled her sigh and promised herself that by the end of the evening, she would either be in Clark's bed or they would have decided on a - very near - wedding date.

"Come on in," Clark said, closing the door behind her. He stood on the little landing and indulged in a long, slow, sensual sweep, his face so etched with appreciation that Lois could feel the touch of his eyes as clearly as if it had been his hands wandering across her body. "You're so beautiful, Lois," he murmured.

"Thank you." Needing a reprieve from the intense onslaught of attraction, she inhaled deeply and said, "Wow! Something smells incredible."

Clark seemed pleased that she'd noticed. "Care to guess what I'm cooking for you?" he asked as they moved down the stairs and towards his kitchen.

Lois stretched onto her toes, but Clark's broad shoulders blocked her view.

"No cheating," he said with another pearler of a smile.

Lois inhaled again. She recognised it … yes … it was … "Bacon!"

His eyebrow arched, and his smile flashed. "You can smell bacon?"

She sniffed. "Yes. It's bacon. I'm sure of it."

His smile was slightly satisfied and wholly mysterious. Was bacon a part of the surprise? How could a man use bacon to facilitate a marriage proposal? With Clark, it was possible … he thought butter chicken was romantic.

Lois smiled. "I love bacon," she said enthusiastically. "What do we have? Maple bacon? Filet mignon? I know!" She gave an excited little jump. "You made that asparagus and bacon frittata that I loved so much."

"No," Clark said. "Sorry."

Lois gripped his arm lightly. "You know I love anything you cook, don't you?"

Clark's nod was unconvincing, and nervousness had clouded his brown eyes. "Take a seat," he said, indicating the little table set for two in the corner. "It's ready."

As Lois sat, she searched the table for clues. The table gave her nothing. In fact, it was disappointingly bare. There were two places set, but no decorations, no posy of flowers, nothing to indicate that it was to be the setting for the most momentous evening of their lives.

In the kitchen, Clark wasn't moving. "Is everything all right?" Lois asked.

"Yes," he said, but it didn't sound all right.

"Have you burned the bacon?" Lois said. "It's OK; I like it crispy."

"No. It's not burned."

"Is there anything I can do?" Lois asked, adding a jittery giggle at the absurdity of her offering him assistance.

"No. Stay there. I'll bring it over."

Lois watched Clark's back as he moved a pan from the stove. Frustratingly, he managed to keep his body between her and his task, so she was able to glean any hints. Perhaps he was going to serve her bacon topped with an engagement ring.

"OK," he said, still turned away. "Close your eyes, and I'll bring it over."

Lois closed her eyes, hauling in a big breath to steady herself. The aroma of bacon was strong.

She heard Clark place a plate before her, and then the chair scraped on the floor as he sat down.

For a moment, he said nothing. Tension crackled through the silence.

"It's going to be OK, Clark," Lois said.

"I hope so," he said, his voice tight.

"Can I open my eyes?"

"Yes."

She opened her eyes and gasped.

Her plate contained only a small pile of dark grains - not a strip of bacon in sight. "What's this?" she asked.

"It's black rice."

Lois looked up from the plate. "Where's the bacon?"

"There is no bacon."

"But I smelled -"

"There's no bacon anywhere in the apartment. What you could smell was black rice."

Lois leaned forward and sniffed at the mound of dark grains. There was a definite whiff of bacon. "That's weird," she said.

"Have a taste," Clark said.

She picked up the fork, swept a few grains onto it, and put them gingerly to her mouth.

It tasted all right. A little bland, but she assumed it was supposed to be eaten with meat and vegetables and a tasty sauce.

She glanced across to the kitchen. There were no other pans on the stove. No evidence of any other food. No bottles of drink. No champagne.

"Do you like it?" Clark asked, sounding as if he were hanging on her reply.

Lois scooped another forkful - more this time - and put it in her mouth.

"Yes," she said after she'd swallowed. "It's nice." That was overstating it by a fair amount, but Clark seemed keen for her to like it, so like it she would. She quickly shovelled in some more, trying to hide her disappointment that the hoped-for ring seemed to have devolved into a small mound of black rice.

"You don't have to eat it," Clark said.

She placed the fork on the plate and looked at him squarely. "I don't understand what's happening here."

"No. I guess you don't." Clark's hand was on the table, his fingers curled a few degrees, lifting his palm. His little finger was twitching.

"Clark," Lois said. "Whatever this is … it's OK."

He looked around, as he'd suddenly lost his bearings. "I …"

"Why black rice?" she said. The answer came in a flash of inspiration. "Oh, Clark, why didn't you say something? All this cooking for me. Such a lot of food. You've fed me almost every night for weeks. I'm sure you don't earn much from a couple of cooking classes. When you start your probation at the Planet -"

"It's not -" He swallowed. "It's not the money, Lois."

"Then what is it?"

His fingers tapped the table. "There is something I have to tell you."

This wasn't good. She'd been hoping he had been planning to ask her something. But tell her something? "OK."

He chuckled, tight and grim. "The rice was supposed to make it easier."

"Really?" Her question leapt with surprise.

"Really," he said glumly. "But now I realise it was a lame idea."

"What are you trying to tell me, Clark?"

"When you walked in, you thought I was cooking bacon, right?"

"Yes."

"And you like bacon?"

"Yes."

"So when you opened your eyes and saw it was rice, you probably felt some initial disappointment. Shock even."

"The rice was good," Lois said hesitantly.

"It wasn't quite what you thought it was, but it was still good?" Clark said. "And you enjoyed it, even though it's not bacon?"

Feeling flustered by Clark's edginess, Lois lurched from the table. Clark jumped up, too, and stood facing her, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

"I'm sorry, Lois," he breathed. "I've made a complete mess of this."

"You're trying to tell me that something isn't what I thought it was," Lois said, her words coming slowly as she tried to draw some smatterings of comprehension from the muddle of half-thoughts and questions gnawing through her mind. "Is that it?"

"Yes," he said, looking relieved for a moment. "I was hoping to demonstrate that even though the rice wasn't exactly what you thought it was, perhaps it can still be good. Different. But still good."

The penny dropped with a loud crash, shattering her hopes and dreams. "You're trying to tell me you're not the man I thought you were?"

"Yes! No!" His hands rose in emphasis. "I am. I am that person. Just … there's something else."

"What?" she demanded harshly. Then, "You've met someone else?"

"No! No. I want to be with you. That hasn't changed. That will never change."

"You made a mistake? Is that what this is about? You slept with the cute blonde in your cooking class?"

Clark's face scrunched a little. "What cute blonde? There isn't a cute blonde. And I certainly didn't -"

Lois's patience snapped. "Just tell me what you did, Clark."

"It's not what I did." His hands retreated into his pockets. "Not exactly. It's what I am."

"Oh, great," Lois said, throwing her hands into the air. "You're a murderer. A criminal. A wanted man. A cheat. A fraud. A charlatan. An imposter. A -"

"No!"

Lois closed her mouth over the gush of accusation, pinning him with a cold look that demanded nothing less than a complete explanation.

"I'm an alien."

Clark's announcement squeezed the air from her lungs. But only for a moment. The air spurted from her mouth with grim laughter. "Oh, right," she said, heavy with sarcasm. "You're from Mars."

"No. Krypton."

"Krypton! Don't be ridiculous, Clark. That isn't even a planet."

"Not in our solar system," he said quietly. "But it is … or was … a planet, and I was born there."

If the charade with the rice had been meant to enlighten her, it had achieved that. She now understood that Clark Kent was delusional.

"I've never told anyone before," he said miserably. "My parents know. It's a secret we've kept for nearly thirty years."

Lois thought of Jonathan and Martha Kent - the lovely couple she had met when Clark had taken her to Kansas. "Your parents are aliens?" she said, brittle with disbelief.

He flinched. "No. They're human. My real parents knew our planet was going to explode. They put me in spaceship and sent me to Earth. My parents - the Kents - found me and raised me as their son."

"You said you came to Metropolis, hoping to be a reporter?" Lois asked coldly.

Clark nodded.

"Wrong area," she fired at him. "You should be a fiction writer. With this sort of ability for backstory … wow, you could write a bestseller."

"It's true."

"Clark." She took a step closer to him, but stopped short of making contact. "An active imagination is a wonderful thing. But it needs to stay within the pages of a book. You write about characters. You don't pretend to become them."

"I'm not pretending," he said.

"Prove it. Show me your birth certificate. Although it wouldn't be too hard to forge an alien birth certificate. They probably sell them at carnival sideshows."

"I don't have a birth certificate from Krypton," he said. "But I can prove that what I'm saying is the truth."

"Really?"

"What would you like me to do?"

Lois folded her arms over her chest. "What can you do?" she said. "Other than cook black rice that smells like bacon."

"All black rice smells like bacon."

Lois glared at him.

Clark shuffled uncomfortably. "I can fly," he mumbled to his feet.

"Fly?"

"Yes." He looked up at her. "I can fly."

"Like a bird?"

"Faster. More like -"

Lois stomped her foot on the floor. "Stop it, Clark!" she said, close to tears now. "Stop this stupidity. I've had enough of aliens and planets and flying." She dragged in a wobbly breath. "I thought you were going to propose to me tonight. I thought this was the night when we were going to promise to be together forever. Instead, you give me black rice and an absurd story about …"

Clark withdrew his hand from his pocket and held it towards her, palm up.

He held a ring box.

"You can't be serious," she breathed.

"I am," he said. "I want to ask you to marry me. But I couldn't do it until I'd told you the truth."

"Clark," she said bleakly. "It isn't the truth. Somehow … something went wrong and you ended up believing something that isn't possible."

"I can fly," he stated.

His body lifted.

Her eyes dropped.

His feet were dangling half a yard above the floor.

"Cl…"

He dropped lightly back to the floor and stepped closer to her. "I love you, Lois," he said. "I want to marry you. I am the man you've come to know these past weeks. But there's a part of me I've kept hidden from everyone except my parents. I wanted you to know. I wanted you to know before you decide whether you want to spend your life with me."

The reporter part of her wriggled out from under the mound of shock and shook off some dust. "Is it just the flying?"

"No."

"No?" Her voice had shrilled again. She gathered her composure and said, "What else?"

"I can see through solid objects. Not all the time. I can turn it on and off."

"You can see through clothes?"

"Yes. But I don't look. I'm very careful."

"What else?"

"I can hear small sounds from a long distance. I can zoom in on things a long way away."

Lois marched into his bedroom. Once shielded by the wall, she said, "What am I doing?"

Clark gave a grunt that could have suggested humour.

"Well?" she demanded.

"You're poking out your tongue."

Lois retracted her tongue and moved back into his sight. She marched up to him and put her hands on his chest, pushing him back against the window. Picking up today's copy of the Daily Planet, she stormed up the stairs, opened up the Death Notices, and held it up. "Read the fourth one from the top," she instructed.

Clark pushed his glasses down his nose. "Bailey, nee Campbell, Ava Elizabeth, born 22nd of December, 1901, died -"

Lois turned the paper around, found the fourth notice from the top, and read.

She hastily closed the paper and tossed it onto the couch as the moved in on Clark. "Anything else?" she demanded, her hands braced on her hips.

"I can heat things with my eyes and freeze them with my breath."

Lois pointed to the forlorn remnants of black rice. "It'll be cold by now."

Clark slid his glasses down again and stared at the plate. A few seconds later, wisps of steam rose with placid indifference to the acknowledged fact that merely looking at something could not induce heat.

Although … Clark's looks had had that affect on her more than once.

"I'm invulnerable," he said. "In body."

"Invulnerable?"

"I can't be hurt. Bullets bounce off me."

Lois scowled at him. "That's not fair," she said. "You know I won't test that."

"You could," he said mildly. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"It'd be just my luck that the bullet would bounce off you and get me," she groused.

"No, it wouldn't."

She shot him a question.

"I'd catch it before it hurt you," he explained.

"You can catch bullets?" she said, stirring up more of her dwindling supply of disbelief.

"Yes. I can move really fast. And I'm very strong."

"How many pounds can you lift? Two hundred? Three hundred?"

"I can lift a train." He stared at his feet for a moment. "I've never found anything so heavy that I can't lift it."

If even a skerrick of this were true, it was the biggest story of all time. "Is everyone from your planet the same?" Lois asked. "How many of these super-humans are here?"

"I'm the only one," Clark said. "Everyone else died."

The sadness of his statement dissolved the disbelief from her heart.

Lois thrust everything else aside and stared at Clark ... captured his eyes … the eyes of the man she had come to know.

Come to love.

The man she would always love.

Even if he wasn't exactly as she had thought.

"Do you still want to marry me?" she asked in a brisk, business-like manner.

He sucked in an avalanche of surprise. "More than anything in the world."

"Are you going to propose tonight?"

"I … I'm not sure. Maybe you should take some time to think about what I've told you."

"You said only you and your parents know this?"

"That's right."

"You do realise this would be the biggest story ever?"

"Yes."

"And I'm a reporter?"

"Yes."

"Are you worried I will take what you told me and write a story?"

"I hope you don't," he said. "I'm hoping that, even if you hate me, you wouldn't do that to my parents."

"Why would I hate you?"

"Because I didn't tell you the truth. And then I did."

His words from a minute ago reverberated across her heart. I'm invulnerable. In body.

In his heart, he was just like everyone else. No, that wasn't quite true. He was more vulnerable than everyone else was. Because he was different. Because he could never be completely confident he really belonged on this planet. Because he wasn't human.

Because he feared being alone.

Lois stepped up to him and put a light finger on his sleeve. "Here's the deal," she said.

He nodded, his expression carefully leached of all emotion.

"You take me flying," Lois said. "If you get me back here safely, you are allowed to propose."

Clark's smile flickered, unfolding with tantalising slowness. "You want to go flying with me?"

"Can you do that?"

"Easily." He made a jumpy gesture towards her. "I'll have to carry you in my arms."

"Is that a problem? You said you could lift a train."

"No. No, it's not a problem. Just …" He dropped the ring box into his pocket and swept her into his arms. "Ready?"

Figuring this was almost certainly a dream and - thankfully - you couldn't die in the dream, no matter how recklessly you behaved, Lois nodded. "I'm ready."

Clark carried her onto the balcony. His arms tightened a few degrees, nestling her against his chest.

Then, the air shot past them, the buildings dropped away, and the inky darkness reached out in welcome.

"Clark, this is amazing."

"Yes."

"You're flying," she gasped.

"That's not the most amazing thing happening here." His mouth came close to her ear. "Thank you," he whispered.

She looked into his face, and he smiled, filling her with warm familiarity. She was high above the streets of Metropolis, held in the arms of a man, and she had never felt more safe and secure. She laid her head against his shoulder.

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"Yes." His love would keep her warm always.

"Not scared?"

"No." Nothing could hurt her while she was with Clark.

His mouth brushed against her ear again. "I love you, Lois," he murmured. "From the moment, I first saw you, I loved you. I want to be with you … always."

Of course, he loved her. He'd proved his love with the gift of total trust.

Lois reached up and kissed him. "Let's go back," she whispered.

She thought she saw the flicker of Clark's disappointment. "You've have enough of flying?" he said.

"No," she said. "I want to do it again tomorrow. And the next day. And every day after that. But we had a deal."

He smiled. He lowered them gently to the balcony of his apartment. He guided her down his body until she was standing on her feet.

He took the ring box from his pocket and held it between them. "I will always love you, Lois," he said. "My heart … my love … the fact that I want to be with you forever … I've never tried to hide how I feel about you. Will you marry me?"

Lois put her hand on his wrist, trying to exercise enough patience to take a moment before making her commitment. She used the time to look deep into his eyes, trying to read his soul.

She saw emotions she had never glimpsed before - isolation, yearning, uncertainty … and an overriding layer of hope.

And love. Such pure love. Such devoted commitment.

"I'm different," he said. "I know that changes things. I should have given you time to -"

"I've had enough time," she said. "I've known from the start that you are different."

"You couldn't have known how different. I mean … flying … that's -"

"Perfect. And exactly what I would expect from a man who thinks chicken is romantic."

His smile was a little piece of heaven as it melted some of the lonesomeness from his eyes. "So, Lois Lane, would you do me the incredible honour of being my wife?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes. Yes!"

He slid the ring on her finger, and she tumbled into his arms. His mouth met hers, and he kissed her with lavish abandon and bubbly joy.

When they eased apart, both a little breathless, Lois examined the diamond ring on her finger. "It's perfect, Clark," she said.

The tip of his finger brushed down her cheek. "My secret … It doesn’t have to change anything," he said.

"Oh, yes, it does," she corrected.

"It does?"

"It changes everything. It means you are going to be saved from the lifelong ignominy of having fed your wife nothing but a few mouthfuls of black rice on the night you proposed."

He nuzzled against her neck. "Want to go flying again? You can choose anywhere in the world."

Anywhere in the world …

That was going to take some getting used to.

Lois snuggled further into Clark's chest, clinging to him physically as her mind began cataloguing her new knowledge.

Clark Kent was an alien.

He was the most human person she'd ever met.

He had been born on a faraway planet.

His home was with her.

His capacity to love was as big as the galaxy of stars.

For all that, he was still Clark Kent, the man who held her heart in his hands, and she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. "I feel like …"

"Yes?"

"Black rice and bacon."

His eyebrow lifted. "Really? We can go anywhere; have anything you choose. That's why I didn't cook. I figured we could fly somewhere nice … if you hadn't left already."

"I want what I didn't know I had … but without losing what I thought was mine."

"Everything I have … everything I am … everything I could be … it's all for you, Lois."

She believed him. "And for everything you have … everything you are … everything you will be … you have my love and support … always."

He kissed her, lifting her chin. "Shall we go?" he asked. "See if we can find the best bacon and black rice dish in the world?"

Lois nodded, and with an exuberant grin, her fiancé swept her into his strong and loving arms.

As they flew from the balcony, Lois admired her ring again. Clark had proposed. She had accepted. They were going to be married.

"Happy?" he asked.

"Gloriously. I've finally found The One."

"You sound wonderfully sure."

"I am," she declared. "He's perfect. He can cook. He has a great body with muscles in all the right places. He has the best smile. He thinks butter chicken is romantic. And he chose black rice as the dish to accompany his proposal. What more could a woman want?"

"A normal man?"

"Nah," Lois said. "Normal is overrated. Tonight I realised I could never marry a man who couldn't fly."

His arms tightened around her. "Thank you for accepting me, Lois. All of me."

"You'll never be alone again," she whispered. "From now on, you're with me, Clark Kent. And I wouldn't change a thing."