Work Text:
Lois sighs and stretches in her seat before she continues to type away at her computer.
Although the stress of a deadline is taxing, she also loves the thrill of it all. There’s something to be said about doing what you love, and there’s something to be said about finding what you love when you didn’t think you would.
Lois smiles to herself. It’s still hard to believe sometimes that she’s working her dream job, but here she is.
Clark walks in at that moment. “What are you smiling about?”
She doesn’t turn to him as she answers, “Just plotting your murder.”
“Is that so?” Amusement is heavy in his voice as he drops something off at the table near them. “Guess you don’t want any of the doughnuts I brought then.”
She perks up and turns rapidly. His grin grows and she scowls at him. He knows her so well.
“No,” she answers, even as she stares longingly at the box. “I don’t.”
He hums. “If you say so.”
Under her breath, she begins to mumble, “I do say so, you little–”
“What’s that? I can’t quite hear you.”
She curses internally, wondering for the umpteenth time how he has such good hearing. She gives him her fakest smile, knowing he’ll recognize it for what it is. “I was just saying it’s so nice of you to decide to stop by and do work for once.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
His smile drops, and he sits at his seat, both of their computers blocking him from her view. “Just dropping off the last of Lana’s things at Chloe’s place.”
Her heart drops. She suddenly wishes she hadn’t asked. But a small part of her wants to know, all of it. He left her standing not that long ago, walked away from their almost-kiss, and the wound is not even close to healing. So why does she feel the need to keep rubbing salt into it?
Lois slides her rolling chair to the side so she can study him. He’s staring at his computer screen as he logs into it. For a moment, that’s all she does, stare. The sight of him simultaneously soothes her (the familiarity of the swoop in his hair, the comfort his eyes bring her, the gentleness in his every movement) and sets something ablaze in her (the shape of his mouth, the way his fingers move, the knowledge of him combined with the mystery of all the things she still doesn’t know).
She ponders for a moment, wondering if it’s really such a good idea to ask the question that’s burning a hole in her. In the end, she can’t resist.
“So,” she drawls, trying to act as casual as she can. As if she isn’t dying to know the answer to what she’s about to ask. As if he can’t read her, isn’t fine-tuned to every single emotion she feels. “Why did you guys break up?”
He gives a small shrug. She can tell he’s lying when he says, “Just didn’t work out.”
Lois doesn’t push, though. It’s in her nature to demand, to question, to find out the truth. But she finds herself warring against her base instincts when it comes to Clark. She doesn’t want to force his truths out of him; she wants him to decide to tell her, to trust her with all of him.
And though she won’t admit it out loud, she longs desperately for the day he decides to do that.
But right now, still reeling from the events at Chloe’s wedding, she’s wondering if it’ll ever happen.
She nods, knowing he can see the disappointment on her face but hoping anyways that he doesn't notice. “Right.” She turns back to her computer screen and stares blankly at the blinking cursor. A few seconds pass and she can practically hear him thinking, warring against his own base instincts.
Sometimes Lois will think about how funny this all is. She thinks she’s always known him this well, and he’s always known her this way. If she believed in past lives or that type of ridiculous thing, she’d wonder. Sometimes she wonders anyway.
It’s not normal, she knows, to meet someone and immediately feel a sense of comfort and safety with them. And it’s definitely not normal for her to be okay with that. Usually she feels the urge to bolt when these sorts of emotions arise. But she doesn’t want to run away, not from Clark. He could break her heart so easily, and she still creeps closer to him, still finds herself constantly opening up to him.
When he’d left her standing on the dance floor to go to Lana…well, she’d thought that would be it. She would learn her lesson and move on. But she didn’t. She hasn’t. She knows she won’t.
She stands and walks over to the box of doughnuts in the corner of the room, turning her back to him. The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them all, “I guess I find that hard to believe when you look at her like–”
Lois could hit herself. It’s like she’s chasing heartbreak. Maybe she is, another reckless impulse of hers.
“Look at her like what?” There’s something in his voice, hesitant and unsure, and she wants to shove the words back in her mouth just so he won’t sound like that, won’t feel whatever it is he’s feeling right now.
“Nothing. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything at all.” She pushes open the box and pretends she’s deciding between the options.
There’s a soft squeak behind her, the sound of Clark rising from his seat, and then she can hear him walking to her, nearing her.
“Lois. It’s not like you to not finish a thought.”
And she wishes she could say she hates how well he knows her.
She can feel Clark looking at her.
He’s never been the type to look away, no matter how hard a conversation is. She wishes, in this moment, that she could be as brave as he is.
But talking about Lana in the way they are—Lois can’t be that brave. Not when she still feels his hands on her every time she closes her eyes, can hear the music softly playing, can taste the crushing despair of almost, almost, almost.
“I don’t know. Like you think she hung the moon.” She hates how brittle her own voice sounds when she says it.
He’s quiet for so long that she turns, nearly startling back when she realizes how close he’s standing, just a few inches away. And he’s looking at her…well, it’s not the look of a man still in love with someone else.
“I don’t think that,” he says quietly. “I don’t think she hung the moon.”
“Oh,” Lois breathes out. She gives a fake smile and shrugs. “Well, it’s none of my business either way.”
She turns to walk past him, but he stops her, his fingers slowly curling around her wrist, thumb gently brushing along her thundering pulse.
“Lois.” She wants him to say it again, nearly asks him to, but not even she is that impulsive. When he tugs her closer, just slightly, her knees nearly buckle.
If she could step out of her skin, she’d shake herself. This isn’t like her. She doesn’t crumble so easily, not even when her best friend says her name like it’s poetry.
She stares at where he’s holding her, unable to meet his gaze.
“You know I trust you, right? You can ask me anything,” he says it softly, so, so softly.
She does meet his gaze then, and nearly goes red at how he must feel the way her pulse quickens. Because he’s looking at her…he’s never looked at Lana this way. He’s never looked at anyone this way. But he’s looking at her, like he can see into her, and like what he’s seeing is more beautiful than anything else he could imagine.
And there’s something in his words. He’s telling her to ask, just ask , but she can’t, not yet. The moment stretches, spans a million lifetimes. The world will go on, everything will change, but they won’t. This is it. This is them: unable to look away from one another, drawn together by an orbit that pulls them back no matter how far they go.
Lois almost asks then, but something in her is fraying at the edges, and she knows she’s not ready. She pulls her wrist from him and punches his arm with a shy smile on her face. “Yeah, I know.” She glances to the side, avoiding his gaze for a moment as she says, “And you know I trust you too.”
He smiles at her. She smiles back.
Then she turns back to her desk and thinks about how his hand twitched when she pulled away and punched him, like he was about to grab her and stop her. But he didn’t. Not yet.
Something bubbles inside her, and she bites her lip to keep a grin from breaking out onto her face. Not yet, not yet, not yet.
But soon.