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Lois clutches the green crystal in her hand as she sprawls across her couch, contemplative.
It’s an uncomfortable action. The crystal itself is not quite painful to the touch, nor is it numbing. The only way she can really describe the sensation is something akin to the feeling one gets after burning one’s tongue, but all across the points of contact.
Abstractly, that fact is somewhat concerning. For a moment, the thought crosses her mind that perhaps she should be wearing some kind of protective gear, but she doesn’t give herself much time to dwell on the matter; she’s not particularly concerned about her safety right then.
What really concerns her is the effect that the crystal has on Clark.
She might be a ‘participation-trophy Lois’, but that doesn’t mean she’s stupid. It’s not exactly a huge leap of logic to think that the green laser weaponry she’d seen hurt her boyfriend just might have something to do with the suspicious crystal, especially not when it’s surreptitiously shoved alongside such damning footage.
The implication is quite clear.
She holds in her hand one of the few things that could hurt him.
Maybe even kill him, from the brief glimpses she’d seen of it. It’s not like the red sun dome that had stripped away some of his powers, nor the strange tech that had seemed to be the only thing capable of scratching him outside of the dome’s influence.
This is something else. Something deeper. From what little she’d seen from the energy weapons, mere contact is enough to harm him -- and do so in a manner that is likely far more profound than anything she or Jimmy might experience.
Other equipment might hurt him incidentally, if its user is very skilled or very lucky.
This crystal might very well be designed to be used against him.
It… scares her.
Not many things do. She’s used to staring death in the face and daring it to blink, has been getting into situations she had no right to be walking out of long before she’d met Clark. Really, all his powers did was add a veneer of safety that might help justify her impulsive endeavours to other people.
It’s somewhat incongruous, then, how a crystal so seemingly innocuous can chill her to her core.
Lois hasn’t exactly known about Clark’s invulnerability for long. Really, she’s spent most of her interactions with him fretting over his safety in one way or another. The idea that he can take care of himself is relatively new – but it’s a comforting idea, one that she’d rapidly latched onto.
The idea that she can’t, that she shouldn’t, that there are broader forces at work seriously trying to kill him with a genuine shot at succeeding is immensely disturbing to her.
And then there’s the rest of the file.
Lois has always prided herself on the truth, holding it as the standard by which all actions should be measured against. And sure, maybe she bends it regularly in the service of uncovering greater truths, and she’s apparently more than capable of using discretion to determine when a truth is too dangerous to reveal, but at the end of the day, she’s always held to the belief that an uncomfortable truth is infinitely preferable to an easy lie.
Until now, apparently.
For the first time in her life, she wishes she’d just left well enough alone.
She can’t unsee the threat that Superman poses, can’t turn a blind eye to the destruction she’d been shown.
It’s not her Clark. Her Clark would never.
But he’s not the only Clark out there, is he?
Which means that this most-hated green crystal she holds in her hands, this poison that could steal away the most precious person in her entire world… is useful.
She swallows quietly, uncomfortable with where her logic takes her. She doesn’t want to think like that.
But, in that moment, she can’t avoid it.
She has to make a choice.
Keep the crystal; arm herself against the other Clarks of the multiverse and all others like him. Retain in her possession something that, if misused, could rip him away from her for good.
Or destroy it. In spite of the apparent comparative ease of universe-hopping, in spite of the clear potential threat the broader multiverse presents, in spite of the fact that another such crystal might not even exist in her home universe, she could take a leap of faith and believe that if the worst comes to pass, their Clark will be enough.
She bites her lip at the thought.
She knows where her heart lies. Her impulse is to trust Clark, to believe that he’s more than capable of taking care of himself and others, the way he’s always done before. With every fibre of her being, she wants to believe that the crystal isn’t worth it.
But she can’t unsee the footage.
It might not even be real, for all she knows. Mr. Mxyzptlk has played enough tricks on them already that it’s not a particularly difficult thing to imagine he'd left his biggest one for last. He’d lead so many alternate versions of herself – accomplished versions, each one smart as a whip and with far more experience under their belts than her – to believe in the danger her Clark poses, as though he could so much as hurt a fly when it wasn’t threatening other people. Who’s to say the rest of the file wasn’t also planned, with Mxyzptlk similarly setting this alternate Clark up, or just forging the data entirely?
It's a reassuring thought, and an incredibly tempting one. It would be oh so easy to believe.
It rouses her suspicions immediately, all her instincts instantly sniffing it out as a deeply comforting lie.
She tosses the crystal onto the couch as she stands up, the physical sensations not quite vanishing with it. Her hand still seems somewhat stiff, and she finds herself having to shake it a few times before the prickly sensation starts to dissipate.
In the back of her mind, the errant thought that she should definitely be wearing protection rears its head again, but she pushes it away to focus on the more pressing matter.
She starts to pace up and down her living room, her nerves settling in as thinks.
Her heart is begging her to destroy it.
Her brain is begging her to think.
She really shouldn’t be the one making this decision.
But then, who else could? She can’t exactly take this to Perry and plaster it all over the front page; it would destroy Clark. She had no faith in the public’s ability to separate the Clark-that-is from the Clark-that-could-be. In one swift motion, she’d strip away everything Clark had been working towards, Superman’s image finding itself permanently tarnished in the public eye. Every decision he’d make would be put under a microscope by a society that would jump at the chance to condemn him.
It's a clear non-starter, even before bringing in the sheer betrayal of his trust that it would involve.
For obvious reasons, secretly taking it to her military-minded father would be a similarly spectacular disaster. He probably wouldn’t even give her the chance to explain the situation in full before snatching it from her fingers, putting it to work in the worst way possible for ‘good’ of country.
Jimmy would be put in the same dilemma – or, worse, would think the choice is obvious.
That just leaves Clark.
And really… he should have some say in this. If she truly trusts him – and she does, despite all his lies – then she should give him the chance to speak his mind on the matter.
Even if it means throwing a wrench in their already precarious budding relationship.
She stops pacing.
Reasons not to talk to him about it frantically spring to the forefront of her brain, each one more alarmed than the last. But they, too, reek of comforting lies.
He needs to know. Whatever else happens, she just needs to hope that they’ll be able to work through it. She has to trust in them as much as she trusts him.
And so she picks up the phone and, after only a few brief moments of hesitation, begins to dial.
Bringing Clark over is a mistake.
She barely manages to swing the door open before he collapses, going from perfectly hale to a marionette with cut strings in less than the time it takes her to blink.
“Clark!” Lois cries out in alarm, rushing to his side in an instant – he doesn’t even manage to hit the floor before she catches him, cradling him close to her as his skin pales and his face contorts in pain. Sickly green licks at his features and poisons his veins, and as he barely manages to glance at her, his eyes flickering and unfocused, she feels her insides twist as she realizes that it’s even worse than she’d first thought.
In that moment, a clarity befalls her, and she immediately makes her decision.
It's not a difficult one to make.
The crystal is nothing but trouble. Whatever the universe has to throw at them, nothing can be worth the sheer pain she’d already accidentally inflicted on him.
She doesn’t even have a moment to think; he visibly deteriorates more before her eyes, the frailness that envelops him growing more severe by the second. It’s on sheer instinct that she manages to set him down and rush back to the couch, quickly jamming the cursed crystal back into its wretched container, her body moving almost of its own accord.
It’s not quite like flicking a switch; the miasma still hangs over Clark long after the poison is sealed away – but the difference is stark. With that one motion, he suddenly finds the strength to push himself to his feet – weakly, unsteadily, but upright all the same.
“You really weren’t kidding about that, huh?” Clark wheezes out, his attempt at making light of the situation immediately falling apart before her as he braces against her doorframe for balance.
“I am so sorry, Clark,” she voices out immediately, shame and concern warring within her as she helps him make it to the couch. “If I’d known it’d be that bad-“
“You couldn’t have known,” he insists, though the strength in his words is somewhat undercut by the way he collapses onto the couch, his hands splayed out feebly as he sprawls onto it.
It does very little to alleviate her guilt.
“It looks worse than it feels,” he tries, and really, Lois could deduce the lie in his words even without her keen reporter instincts. “And it’s getting better,” he quickly continues.
The latter statement, at least, rings true.
She tries to console herself with his assertion that the sickness seems to be fading. Not even close to fast enough, but she counts them both lucky that it doesn’t seem to be permanent.
It’s poor comfort, but it’s a comfort all the same.
Still, she doesn’t voice that to him – it’s clear that he’s distressed by the situation, and not just because of the pain. Instead, she acquiesces, asking him to instead, “Tell me if it starts getting worse.”
He nods, then flinches at the unexpected pain the motion seems to cause, and Lois can feel her remorse redouble.
“I wish I hadn’t called,” she vents, raking a hand through her hair. “I should’ve just destroyed it without bringing you into this. I knew it’d be dangerous – I just… didn’t how bad it could get.”
“You did the right thing,” Clark insists, and Lois starts to wonder if he’d hit his head after all.
Her face must be giving her thoughts away, because Clark quickly clarifies, “Calling me, I mean. It’s good that you did before you made the decision. I needed to know.”
“Not much of a decision,” Lois voices darkly as she glances at the metallic sphere once more, her eyes ablaze as her guilt starts to morph into something closer to contempt towards the damnable crystal. “I can’t believe I’d ever considered keeping that thing. I promise, Clark, that thing will never see the light of day again,” she swears.
“…Actually, I think you should keep it,” Clark hesitantly offers, and Lois’s brain stutters to a stop.
“Clark!” she immediately objects, ready to argue the point, her voice fiery – though her energy fades somewhat as he roughly coughs around her words, wincing with every motion. When she continues, her tone is far more subdued, meeting his level of energy, though her words holding no less conviction. “This thing is dangerous. Look what it did to you after being in the same room for a few seconds. It could kill you, Clark.”
“I know,” he tells her wearily. “That’s why I want you to have it. I can’t keep it at home, and you’re the only person I can trust with it.”
Lois blinks, and despite the situation, something in her chest flutters. His words would almost be heartening if the situation wasn’t as dire.
“I’m not keeping this,” she still tells him, her voice wavering. “I can’t.”
“Lois, please,” he asks, weakly clutching her hand inside his own. “If the worst happens, we might need it.”
“Don’t say that. You’re not like that,” she insists, knowing it to be true as she grasps his hand more firmly.
No matter what the footage showed them, Clark would never do such things.
Not her Clark.
“No, I’m not,” he agrees. “But we’re not the only us out there. I’d sleep easier knowing you can defend yourself if it comes down to it. Please, Lois.”
It’s the way he says it, more than his words, that breaks her resolve. The way he pleads, almost desperately, and the way his voice carries the magnitude of his faith in her, as unshakeable as her own faith in him.
This is what he needs from her now, as sickening as the thought may be.
“Okay,” she concedes, hating the word as it escapes her mouth. In that moment, she’d like nothing more than to burn the crystal, then destroy the ashes that remain, just to be sure that nothing in this universe could hurt her Clark again.
But she won’t.
Instead, she’ll keep it hidden, tucked away from any who might abuse it, desperately trying to forget about its very existence, knowing she’ll never be able to.
She holds onto Clark tightly as she makes her decision, wrapping her arm around his waist. With what little strength he has, he pulls her closer to him, too.
She leans into the motion, drawing strength and comfort from him, just as he does from her. For a moment, she loses herself as she breathes in his scent, the tension in her muscles dissipating somewhat as she feels him at her side, solid and present and real.
“It’ll be okay, Lois,” Clark softly insists, some of his strength slowly returning to him. “That crystal is never going to bother us again. You’ve got the only piece, and no one else knows you have it.”
In the back of her head, she feels her reporter’s instincts flare.
Clark clearly believes his reassurances. She tries to believe them, too, telling herself that her reaction is some kind of trauma-induced uncharacteristic overabundance of caution.
It still feels like a comforting lie.
There is no way this won’t end poorly.