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During the interview at her apartment she’s struck by how dissimilar Clark and Superman really are. His demeanor changes, he stands taller, his shoulders straightened out of that self conscious hunch he usually sports, a notable presence that takes up the room. All traces of Clark, her Clark, are gone.
The most obvious change is his voice. He has a thick accent. One that blankets his words, his cadence like a warm summer night. His words blend together and he says phrases no one else uses. He loses it completely when he’s Superman but it comes back occasionally. Especially when he’s upset, like now.
It’s subtle but she can hear it. He drops the g off the ends of his words and adds unnecessary a’s to the ends of others. It’s disconcerting to hear it come from Superman. That’s how she knows more than the yelling he’s upset. He’s teetering dangerously close to unconsolable, near an edge that she’s not sure their relationship can come back from.
Lois’s more sensible, nicer parts of herself are telling her to back off. To let this lie and be buried. What does it matter why he did what he did? She assumes it’s for the best as is everything he does. But then his rant goes on and his voice rises and she can’t find it within her to let it go. She can’t let her questions go unanswered, it’s part of what makes her so good at what she does.
Instead, she settles for a middle ground. A change in subject: a way to weasel without digging too much beneath his impenetrable skin.
“You’re slipping Clark. Your accent,” she says and that makes him pause enough to stop the rant she knows she can’t use. What’s a little more? “While we’re here, let's ask a different question, why don’t you change your accent outside of the suit? I know you’re capable of it, you do it every time you’re in the suit.”
The fact makes him cringe back. He reflexively looks down at his clothes forgetting that he’s not even wearing it. She plows on ahead.
“Honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me why you won’t talk like Superman any other time. I know it has something to do with the entire secret identity situation but do you realize how much it’d benefit you to drop it? Steve and interviewees would stop doubting your capabilities as a journalist as soon as you opened your mouth if you just talked nor-“ she cuts herself off, her passionate rant dying on a whimper.
“Normally? Were you about to say normally?” His words are clipped, contained from yelling by a hair's width.
She sighs. “That’s not what I meant I-“
“It is,” he cuts her off. He works his jaw, the muscles flexing beneath the skin. When he speaks again it’s not as Superman. The cape seems to fall off his shoulders along with the weight it carries. Leaving a boy who’s far from home. “I know what you meant. Tha I should just fit in like everyone else in this city and you’re right. It would help me, I am capable of it but I won’t. It’s a part of who I am. A piece of home and I’m not ashamed of it,” he gathers up his stuff and turns to leave.
“If ya saw it maybe yewd understand,” he says and he leaves.
She watches him go, finally heeding her own advice to let it be.
————————-
It’s only after Lex Luther is in jail and their relationship on the mend that the subject even begins to be broached again. The scars on Metropalis, the cracks in the pavement, are beginning to heal. The people are. They’ve counted their dead and Superman has done all he can in the clean up.
Mr. Terrific and his T spheres pick out anything structurally unsound. Flag it to get repaired once the city has the funds again. The rest of the team does what they can, clearing rubble and searching for the missing and the buried. Superman is there for all of it. Every death weighs on him, every splintered bit of asphalt a thorn in his heart.
It hurts to see, to watch him collapse into her apartment day after day. His own place was destroyed in the fight. He was so concerned about being a burden to her that he’d overstay his welcome. She didn’t know how to tell him it was fine in a way he understands. No matter how many times she stresses that he’s done enough he’ll insist on doing the dishes or cleaning up whenever he can.
It’s nice, honest but it’s only adding to everything else. Lois decides enough is enough. She puts her foot down and she wheedles once more. But she’s not looking for cracks anymore, she’s trying to be plaster. She’s never been very good at being anything soft.
They’re laying in her bed late at night. Neither one of them is asleep even though the room is dark and they said their goodnights hours ago. He’s resting on her chest a warm steady presence and she can feel the weight of the world bearing down on him. It’s crushing her.
“Clark,” she whispers because this is about him. The man behind the mask, the one she’s not so sure can handle all that’s been and is being thrown at him. She knows she wouldn’t be able to.“Maybe it’s time you take a break.”
He stiffens and he doesn’t even pretend to be asleep anymore. Kind blue eyes find hers and she is struck by the sheer concern in them. The worry that wears him down, polishes him until she sees her own naked humanity reflected right back. “What do you mean?” He mutters.
She sighs, a hand reaching up and cradling his face. She feels the wrinkles of his skin, the slight stubble he’s let build during his endless routine of helping and then crashing into bed for her to pick up the pieces. If she presses just slightly she can map out where his dimples are. “You know what I mean,” she feels more than sees his responding frown. “Clark. You can’t go on like this.”
“Lois I have to,” he says, his voice full of conviction. But Lois has learned how to get him to listen, what words best appeal to him.
“You won’t be much help if you keep going on like this. Luther is in jail the city will be okay without you for a week,” he doesn’t speak but he shakes his head no. Wetness coats her palm and she pulls him closer. The invincible, near indestructible Superman shaking and sniffling in her arms. She wilts her heart breaking with every sob he tries to muffle.
“I juss- I- tha need me,” he blubbers, his accent and the tears making him almost unintelligable.
“I need you, Clark not Superman, to be okay. I’m tired of seeing you almost fall apart day after day. A lot has happened but the city is on the mend and we need to be too.”
“No no no,” and he looks at her. “I can do this.”
“I know you can but your mom and dad miss you. They’re worried about you, at least consider it. If not for me then for them.”
He didn't give her an answer that night. She rocks him, comforts him until his sobs stop and she drifts off to sleep. She knows he wasn’t asleep yet, his breathing was too even but her eyes were heavy and she is only human.
——————————————
He returns to her the next night. Him after a day of flying around and sifting through and lifting rubble. Her after trying to cobble together a bit of good news in the midst of crumbled walls and dust filled lungs. He’s quiet when he walks in but there’s a conviction, a sign of hope that she hasn’t seen in him in days.
Superman, Clark, takes a much needed break. The Justice Gang promised to look after the city in his stead. They return to Smallville, Kansas and a part of Lois knows it’s to show her like he said.
His parents greet them warmly, happy to see them again under far better circumstances. “Nice ta meet ya propalay Louanne,” his dad says as he politely shakes her hand.
“Oh mush she’s seen anuff of yew,” and she gently shoos her husband away only to pull her into a hug. “Thanks for takin care of our boy,” she whispers like it’s only meant for her to hear. She pulls back and she swears she sees the glimmer of tears in the woman’s eyes.
She’s met his parents before, has been in this house before but it was brief and tinged with a hurried worry. There was no time to linger or take anything in. Now she can and she’s realizing just how small everything really is here. Think of a small town and cut it in half. That was Smallville.
The house is old, its frame dilapidated but still holding strong. Inside it’s filled with love. Clark is everywhere and their love for him is clear to see. He’s in pictures on the wall, a bright eyed boy smiling ear to ear as he’s covered in mud. He’s in the notches on the kitchen archway, marked by dates and ages as they track his growth.
The house is worn but sturdy, a fitting description for his parents too. They’re aged and heading long past any notion of the word prime but they’re kinder than anything. She sees where Clark gets it from.
They’ve been here less than an hour, done little more than set down their things and unpack and already he’s changed. The responsibility that weighs his shoulders down into his signature slump, that makes him the smallest person in the room when he’s anything but has been stripped away. Hour by hour layer by layer it’s peeling away as the night drags on. As dinner is made and eaten, as dishes are cleared and dried it follows them all the way to his room. He’s able to sleep soundly that night, he falls into unconsciousness long before she does.
——————————————
When she awakes that next day Clark is gone. His spot in the bed has gone cold but it's falsely warmed from the beam of sunlight that shines through the sparse curtains. It takes a moment for her to remember where she is, for her jackrabbit heart to settle as Clark isn’t at death's door and Luther isn’t waiting for them. She takes a breath, counts to three and listens to the signs of joyous life outside the bedroom door.
She can hear them all quietly chatting accompanied by the clinking of silverware. Depending on the time it’s either breakfast or lunch. She’s not focusing enough to make out what they’re saying but she can pick their voices apart. Ma’s voice is sharp and cutting with elongated a’s but she can still hear the warmth in it. Pa’s voice is as soothing as honey, scraggly and gruff like a worn teddy bear that the man himself takes after.
Then there’s Clark. A mix of the two but after so long in the city even here it sounds out of place. But he’s quickly losing that city sheen, old habits taking root. Now she’s the one wholly out of place. A city girl amongst crops of corn and cows, not a drop of fieldwork in her veins.
She drags herself out of bed, its covers beckoning her for more of her time. It whispers that this is technically a vacation and therefore she can sleep in as much as she wants. She doesn’t listen to it, although it’s a strong case, and dresses before making an appearance.
“I saved ya sum breakfast in da fridge if ya want it Lois,” Ma informs her but a plate is piled high with what looks like lunch, waiting where she sat last night.
“Oh you didn’t have to but thank you,” and Ma looks puzzled. Clark steps in.
“She can have it tomorrow Ma,” Clark says while he pulls her seat out for her and pushes her in.
Ma nods and conversation resumes around her. Not that she minds, she’s not much for conversation yet. Her coffee habits draw some looks but no further comments. A blessing she’ll gladly take. The coffee, which is still better than what they serve at the office, hits her brain and words make more sense.
“-why don cha come help me with the cows Clark? They sure do miss ya!”
Clark glances out the window before responding. “A little late for milking ain’t it Pa?”
“Nonsense!“ he says with a wave of his hand. “They’ve gotten used to it since yew left anyhow.”
“You’re milking cows?” She asks and she feels like she’s intruding with how the flow of conversation stops. “Could I…come? I can’t promise I’ll be much help but I’d like to see.”
That makes it start up again, the awkward bump smoothed over as if it was never there. “Well shure! Any help is welcome,” answers Pa.
Clark nods along, “I can introduce you,” and his voice is light, happy absent of any strain.
Their plans for the day set, lunch is quickly finished. She’s helping Ma clean up when Clark takes her aside. “Ya might wanna wear somethin different.”
With his words she finally registers what he’s wearing. He’s traded in the smart white button down and navy slacks for blue jeans and a flannel shirt. His shoes were replaced by a worn pair of boots, lovingly cleaned and cared for by Ma. None of the clothes are new; they're as worn and weathered as the house but they’ve held up.
Lois looks down at herself at what she typically wears when relaxed. A t-shirt, yoga pants and sneakers are not going to cut it out here. At least not out in the field. “I have a pair of jeans but not much else.”
That seems to surprise him, or maybe not more like he remembered that small fact. “Wait here,” he disappears into his bedroom and comes out with another flannel shirt. It’s red in the same sort of style as what he’s currently wearing. It looks big, too big in fact but he holds it up anyways.
“Thanks,” she says and she immediately goes to change.
She selects a shirt she doesn’t particularly care about, her jeans too. Her sneakers stay as it’s really the only footwear she has that could even pass as athletic. She slips on the flannel Clark provided her and just as she thought it’s a little big but not overtly so. It must be from when he was smaller, a teenager perhaps, when he wasn’t quite so tall. Even then he was taller than her, evident by the way the sleeves brush against her palms but not in a way that would hinder her ability to work.
As a last thought she ties her hair up before heading back into the living room. With her as ready as she’s going to get, they head out. The sun hits her face as soon as she steps outside, momentarily blinded by it as her eyes fail to adjust to the sheer amount of light compared to inside. But Clark’s by her side, a gentle hand taking her by the arm and guiding her down the front steps. By the time they reach the bottom she can see again but she doesn’t let go of his arm.
Arm and arm they begin their journey out into the field. They stick to the grassy areas where the cows roam, steering clear of the vast fields of corn sprouting up nearby.
“I’ll jus get things set up, why don chu go ahead an introduce her Clark?”
Introduce her to who? But Clark nods like this is normal as Pa wanders off somewhere. Clark turns to her with a giddy smile on his face, “They’re gonna love ya.”
The they in question turns out to be the cows. Clark named every single one, and had been naming them since he was small, he had explained. He brings her close to one and the cow turns to him, sniffing at his arm until he gives it a pat along its head. “Go on now,” he encourages her.
She approaches it like she would a dog, holding her hand out flat palm up so it can smell her first. It doesn’t react much to that just as it doesn’t bat an eyelash when she places a hand along the long ridge of its face. He juts its head against her jeans, taking a liking to her and trying to gain more affection just as it did to Clark.
“That one’s Daisy,” Clark says. “She’s a sweet thang.”
At Clark’s voice or maybe more accurately the attention he’s giving to Daisy, the other cows start making their way over to them. She can’t distinguish one from the other as they all look the same. Monochrome brown with big lashes and seemingly bigger hearts. Clark tries to introduce her to the crowd anyways, even as he’s getting licked and chidingly mooed at for only having two arms.
“There’s Maisey, Petunia, Sweetie, Tenderfoot, cause she always steps so quietly,” he points to each one as he goes and she makes sure to give each one a pat. “Bertha, Betsy and Ross. Now those last two are a packaged deal always together.”
As they go down the line she pats each one. The near frenzy begins to die as each cow gets their allotted Clark time. But there’s one left, she thinks, Clark’s the only one out of the two of them that can differentiate between them all. Clark stops in front of a particular cow, murmuring to it as he strokes behind its ears.
“This one’s Chocolate Milk.”
“…Pfft-“ she laughs and she tries to hold it in. The cow looks less amused and she placates her with a pat like all the rest. “Sorry girl it’s not you it’s the name Clark picked. It’s his fault.”
“Hey!” He shouts indignant but the cow warms up to her anyways. Clark looks as if he’ll say more but Pa comes back up carrying two buckets and a stool, chuckling at the sight of them.
“I see you’ve met Chocolate Milk,” he says a few more chuckles escaping him as he greets the cow too. “She ain’t the original but it was such a hoot when lil eight year old Clark named the first one, there’s gotta be one in the herd.”
The cows all met, they got to work. Well, more accurately Clark and Pa do. Pa tries to get Clark to take the stool but he refuses, opting to kneel in the dirt so his fathers old knees can get a break. It’s amazing how quickly they fall into routine. They talk to the cows little comments as they milk them, the cows seem calmed by it. By the gentle one-sided chatter.
Lois watches, occasionally petting the cows heads or neck as the task drags on. She talks to them too, imagining their responses as she showers them in affection. Eventually Clark convinces her to try and she does. She kneels in the cool dirt and does it. She’s not as good at it as Clark and Pa are but she does alright. The milk lands in the bucket and she hasn’t harmed the cow.
Still, she sticks to switching out their buckets and comforting the cows. The buckets get taken back to Ma where she stores and processes them with a system that only she knows. “Tha boys jus don get it no matter how many times I explain,” she says but she tries to teach Lois anyways and she has far more success with that. The methodical near scientific nature is an easy familiarity.
Lois doesn’t know how long she stays out there, the work keeps her busy. She’s got dirt patches on her knees, grass stains here and there. She’s sweaty and her nose is sunburnt but she’s happy. The work has a warmth settling in her bones, her muscles that feels like it could keep her warm through the coldest winters night. She understands Clark much better now, how much this all means to him.
It makes such a difference in him too. In the city he makes himself the smallest person in the room. But out here amongst vast rolling fields and the blinding sunshine he’s the biggest and the brightest thing there is.
And everybody knows it.
All afternoon people drop by the house. Casseroles and baked goods in hand as they welcome Clark back to town. How long ya stayin this time? My you’ve gottin big! Who’s this pretty little thang? Are some of the more common ones. Not a single one questions Clark’s absence. They simply ask how he’s doing, how city life’s going and wish him and her well.
It’s heartwarming to witness. She’s not a part of this, not really. She feels like she’s chasing after one of her stories, an observer in the room. Peeking into a world previously unknown to her. And Clark, Clark fits right in. Returning to the place he left without issue.
——————————————
Eventually the sky grows dark and any small tasks she’s been relegated to have long since been finished. She’d taken to sitting on the metal bench outside the house, sipping on sweet tea courtesy of Ma. She watches Pa and Clark in the field. Father and son and it looks natural. The work is good for him, tousled hair, sweat slick skin and dirt stains on his clothes. But his smile is the brightest she’s seen in weeks.
The pair finally comes in, their tasks completed but they both look happier for it. Ma pipes up, “Paul an Hector invited us to Beerkies Burritos again, since we got a guest I reckon we take em up on it.”
Nobody objects and they all pile into an old rickety pickup truck. It’s got some rust stains on its sides but it starts up just fine, the engine rumbling to life. There's not many seats inside the truck, enough room for three if you squeeze but then someone’s left out.
“Why don yew sit up front with Ma?” Pa suggests.
“No I’ll be fine in the back with Clark,” she insists. Guest or not, she's not going to steal a seat from her boyfriend's elderly parents.
“Ya sure?” Ma pipes up from the front. “It gets rough back there.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she assures.
She said that but when it came time to get in the truck she failed. After the third time Clark finally grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up into it. He smoothly jumps in after her. They set off.
Ma was right, the journey is rough. The roads are unpaved, dirt is kicked up by the tires like a fine orange mist. Making the air hazy with it against the glare of the setting sun. The truck jostles and jolts nearly throwing her this way and that while Clark is just fine. He has enough of seeing her ping pong around and without a word hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her close beside him.
He keeps her steady and still as green fields and cows whizz past them. The wind whips her hair into her face but even obscured she can see how happy he is. Settled.
They reach the restaurant after an hour and it is lively. Smoke curls in the air, a place like this having no qualms about smoking indoors this far removed from everything. Beside it sits what she assumes is a general store, and across the way a gas station. The road they border is the only paved one she’s seen. Clark says it’s because this road connects to a highway, eventually.
They walk in and are greeted as kindly as old friends. She is too as some of the faces are familiar, people who had stopped by in the afternoon. Drinks flow and laughter abounds as they get to talking. Chatting away as they regale her with stories from Clark’s childhood. She feels like she’s stumbled into a family reunion with the way they talk to and about him. To her as well.
Open arms and even more open hearts.
She eats until she’s full. The food is good. Clark's description of it did not do it justice, he downplayed it just like he does himself. But the conversation around Clark trickles down as neighbors talk to neighbors. Inquiring about their crops and their livestock as life moves on.
They take the opportunity to steal a moment for themselves. Wandering outside to some random stump a little ways away from the building. The smoke from the bar area curls towards them on a gust of hot wind. The smell is strong but its earthy scent reminds her of the fields. Of the dirt she’s spent most of her afternoon surrounded by.
She’s had a drink, he’s had one too even though it doesn’t affect him. He had something stronger than her, a local brew that she couldn’t stomach. It was like swallowing the sun but maybe that’s why he liked it so much.
She’s looking around them, at the quiet darkness they're surrounded by but he’s looking at her. “Ya look radiant.”
“Is country girl a good look on me?” She giggles.
Clark doesn’t giggle back, his smile turns big and dopey like he’s the one that’s had an effective drink. His eyes go half lidded too as his next words slip from his mouth smoother than any drink or fine cigar. “It suits ya better than anythin doll,” he leans down and kisses her.
She tastes the alcohol on his tongue, and can feel the sunlight in his skin. It’s dizzying, the feeling, the smell of him, of outside, of dirt and grass with the musk of the cows. It clogs all her senses, but not enough to hide the buzz that little nickname sent through her.
It’s gentle and slow, there’s no need to hurry here. No rush, no possibility of being found out. They are free to sit tangled in each other’s arms and breathe in the night air.
Their bodies act on their own the longer the kiss goes on. Lois’s hands try to unbutton his shirt and Clark firmly grips her hips. She doesn’t know how they would have stopped if the loud laughter hadn’t come filtering out from the restaurant.
Sense and reason returns and they break apart but they stay holding on to one another. Wrapped in their respective scents and the warmth of their arms. She looks up at the stars, ones she hardly gets a chance to see in the city.
The vastness of everything gets to her, the fields, the sky but it’s a quiet beauty. Not loud and ever demanding and all consuming like things in the city are. It’s a lot like Clark in a way.
“I get it now,” she blurts but she knows he knows what she’s getting at.
He hums in acknowledgment and she feels it reverberate through his chest.
“It’s…inexplainable what’s out here. I’m sorry for what I said all those weeks ago.”
She doesn’t expect him to laugh. A loud sudden thing and she leans back to look at him. “What?” She demands.
He shakes his head. “I forgave ya da moment ya put on the proper clothes and stomped out into tha fields. Not a lick of sense on what you were doin but ya did it anyway,” he hugs her closer. “That means more to me than ya know.”
She can’t help herself with that damn smile of his. “Come here,” and they’re kissing once more. Nothing but the sound of laughter at their backs and fireflies as their witnesses.