Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lois didn’t like him at first.

Well, that’s a lie. 

It was more of a skeptical kind of curiosity. A quiet suspicion she couldn’t shake. Saying she didn’t like Clark Kent would be like someone saying they didn’t like puppies; it was suspicious in its own right.

Because if there was one constant when it came to Clark Kent, it was this: people liked him.

They warmed to him immediately, instinctively and you know what? It confused Lois immensely.

Lois, well, she wasn't the most easy-going person in the workplace. She was a bit rough around the edges, to put it very lightly. Still, it just seemed so incredibly easy for him, so natural - like a gravitational pull. 

Secretaries smiled wider when he walked by. Interns lingered around his desk when many were scared to approach their own bosses (one reporter was known to toss a stapler when he was angry). Even Perry, who trusted no one under forty and barely tolerated a well-intentioned smile, had once mumbled something close to, “He’s got a good head on his shoulders that one.”

What was it about this man? Maybe they just liked that even though he was practically a giant, he was bumbling and innocent and far too kind to everyone. 

Clark was 6'4", broad-shouldered and soft-spoken, and - Lois would admit, but only under extreme duress - very easy on the eyes. It's not like she had time for that. She had articles to write and coffee to down. 

The thing was, Lois was all about facts. And the fact was that, from her high school years, she’d learned to equate “attractive” with “dimwitted” or, worse, “entitled.” Blame the football team. Blame every smug prom king who ever spoke to her like she was the prize at the end of a scavenger hunt.

But Clark somehow skirted the accusation. He was humble and handsome, which somehow irked her more. Like pick a lane, dude!

His writing was solid and clean. She wouldn't go out of her way to say that it was amazing, but also, it wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. It was good enough to land him a desk at the best paper in the city, so that was an achievement in its own right. Still, his pages were never flashy enough to draw attention to themselves. 

It was almost jarring to read his writing sometimes. Hers was biting and provocative and sometimes altogether too honest. Clark wrote like someone who had nothing to prove, someone who was just happy to be able to write.

It was weird! Wasn't it? Was she being too harsh? Sometimes (and only sometimes!) people said she was a bit too skeptical. But aren't journalists supposed to be skeptical of people? It was literally her job to investigate, and to know when to do so. 

Besides his writing, he was just nice? Like too nice? He opened doors for people, not just when they were walking within a few feet, but when they were clearly far enough away that it would be acceptable to just continue on your way.

At this point, Lois hardly ever had to worry about doors when he was around, since she was constantly juggling a laptop, a coffee, and at least one source on the verge of disappearing.

After watching The Materialists, Cat had called him a unicorn. Without the Pedro Pascal penthouse, of course. 

“I want that man to check all my boxes,” she had said, fanning herself with the pages that Lois definitely had to proof. 

Lois had snatched them from her and rolled her eyes with an exasperated huff. 

So, Lois did what Lois does best: she looked for the cracks.

Like, shit! Nobody is that perfect and Lois was quite sure that anyone who seemed that perfect was just hiding something even deeper, below the surface.

She would put her journalist hat on and see for herself. Yes, that's what she would do. 

After typing and then retyping and then deleting the paragraph with her 'observations' altogether, she realized that this would be harder than she thought. 

She came up with a few dings in the armor. Minor ones, but dings nonetheless. 

He was perpetually late (but somehow always got his stories in on time). His fashion sense left room for improvement. His suits never quite fit. Maybe they were hand-me-downs from a stocky uncle or from the sale bin at the closest thrift store. 

His ties always looked like they’d been tied in a moving elevator, which was entirely plausible since she had once seen it herself. He hunched over his laptop like he was trying to disappear into it. Quite a funny look for someone of his relative stature.

She even looked up those posture devices that buzz when you slouch, half-tempted to slip one into his desk drawer anonymously. 

But even with all that very technical, very well-researched research, it was all cosmetic. Easy fixes. She should get him the number of her friend who works at Brooks Brothers. 

It was really nothing that satisfied the deeper question.

Because how was he just… so good?

He bought bagels for the interns - and not the cheap bagels, the good bagels that came straight out of the ovens. The ones with crunch. And not just plain bagels. He picked up a french toast bagel for Jenny (weird, but her favorite), a cinnamon raisin for Andrew, and egg everything for all the rest. Steve once brought bagels from the frozen section of Stop & Shop and yammered about his generosity for weeks. 

And that wasn't all. Clark fixed the copy machine without being asked. He kept a stash of sugar at his desk, specifically for her, because he’d noticed she liked fourteen packets in her coffee and the office supply always ran out before she could even make it to a solid ten. 

He didn’t brag and didn't preen (like many of the attractive guys on the floor). He didn't post passive-aggressive notes in the break room about “cleaning up after yourself.” He just did what needed doing and left it at that.

And that made her nervous because Lois Lane didn’t believe in unexamined goodness. Never had and never will. 

Maybe it was her upbringing. Maybe it was because her father instilled in her that things came with a price. 

She hadn’t grown up in a world that rewarded kindness. Her life had been one of sharp corners and curfews and thinly veiled insults, and not always thinly veiled. People smiled when they wanted something, when they were trying to squeeze it right out of you without you even realizing. She had to protect herself. 

The idea of someone who gave without keeping score made her itch.

He had to be a fraud or deluded, which might be better. Or hiding a pile of bodies in the trunk of a very polite white SUV. Something. Anything. It just didn't add up and everything always adds up. 

So she decided to get to know him better.

Not friendly better. They weren't friends. She didn't even know what that would really mean.

Investigate better.

She started watching him and noticing the little things.

For one, the way he always seemed to sense when she needed air and quietly stepped between her and whatever chaos was brewing. Usually, it was annoying coworkers which seemed to fit many of them to a T. 

The way he remembered the name of every intern, every source, every guy who delivered takeout to the bullpen.

Hell, he even remembered things she never said out loud.

Somewhere along the lines, he realized that she would often forget to eat. It wasn't a one-time thing; it happened pretty regularly. Everyone knew that she mostly lived off instant ramen (but Shin Ramen, the good kind!) and granola bars, and just accepted that as another Lois-ism. Clark actually did something about it. He started splitting his lunch without comment, just casually leaving half a sandwich on her desk like it had always been hers. 

At first, she had protested, not wanting to be treated as a child, but now, she was even annoyed to admit that he had worn her down - and his lunch choices were top-notch. For inferior cold cuts, she would've put up more of a stink.

And then, there was the thing with the umbrella. So, Lois always forgot her umbrella. Sue her! She had other things to think about. Maybe one of the things Clark started to think about was how he could be the one to walk her to the subway with his, shielding her more than him. Again, wore her down. He never mentioned it being a hassle, and never even made a show of it. 

Clark even noticed how her coffee would get cold when she was, again, too focused. He got her an Ember mug for Christmas. Fucking Santa Claus.

Lois couldn't tell you how it happened. It was somewhere between softly interrogating him and just getting used to him being there when she started to lean on him. 

She would never say that she needed him, because Lois Lane didn't need anyone. It was more like, how do you put this, it was more like she started to count on him being there. 

She knew that he would offer her a napkin when her coffee spilled, or fill in the gaps during meetings when her focus had been on 101 other things. 

Lois learned to count on him, until one day, he was just gone. It wasn't for a tragic reason, no. When she asked Jimmy, he told her that it was his mother's birthday. 

The weird thing was that the bullpen felt off-kilter. She wouldn't say it was worse or better. It was just missing a piece. 

Lois would catch herself throughout the day glancing over at his desk, ready to throw a joke his direction and wait for him to quip back. 

It felt like reaching for a light switch in a room that was already dark. She told herself it was just habit, muscle memory, routine, or any combination of the three.

But then she sat at her desk and took a sip of her coffee, and grimaced because it was so very bitter. 

He wasn’t there to hand her a sugar packet - the one she needed. The fourteenth.

And that’s when it hit her - softly, stupidly, like a headline buried in the classifieds.

One: she knew him better than she meant to. After all that digging, all the silent investigation, she'd found what she was looking for, and it wasn’t a scandal or a skeleton in the closet.

It was goodness, like complete and cheesy goodness. 

Yes, he was clumsy and sometimes too straight-laced. Lois would even call him naive at points, and optimistic to a fault, but Clark Kent was kind.

Wholeheartedly, consistently, impossibly good. It was the kind of good that didn’t need to be earned or announced. It just… was.

And two - and this one landed deeper - he knew her better than she'd realized and honestly, better than most. 

Somewhere along the line, without press passes or interviews or exposés, Clark Kent had been learning her in the most gentle, non-serial killer way.

And Lois Lane, who never let anyone get that close, hadn’t even seen it happening.

---

Clark walked into the bullpen at exactly 9:17 a.m., not that Lois was watching the clock. His coat was slightly askew, his tie crooked, glasses slipping a fraction down his nose. 

She didn’t look up immediately, of course. She wasn’t waiting for him. That would be ridiculous. Pfttttt. 

Then, his hand appeared. A paper cup of coffee was placed gently on the corner of her desk, balanced with theatrical precision. Resting on top: a chocolate chip muffin. 

“Morning, Lois,” he spoke, setting them both on her desk, careful not to put them within spilling distance of the mess of papers littering the desk. 

He was already at his own desk, shrugging off his coat and pulling out his chair. 

Lois stared at the coffee and the muffin that was more chocolate than muffin and the space he had just vacated.

He was back. The thing in her chest unclenched, just a little.

The rest of the morning was fine. Normal. If you didn’t count the fact that she kept watching him. She noticed everything now.

The way he set his satchel down gently, like it might bruise. The way he answered questions with thoughtfulness, never rushing, never speaking just to hear himself. How he actually listened to people, really listened, without waiting for his turn to talk. That was rarer than it should’ve been.

She hated how much it stood out and now she couldn’t stop noticing.

He passed the copy machine a few minutes later and casually opened the side panel. Cleared a paper jam. Didn’t tell anyone.

Stopped by a columnist’s desk to ask about her brother’s surgery - first name, exact hospital, remembered everything.

When Perry started yelling about assignments from the comfort of his own office, Clark didn’t shout back. No. He was calm. He was collected. He gave Perry a beat and then two. Then, calmly, pointed out that one of the stories had already been reassigned and everything was already in process. Perry grunted something vaguely approving. 

He threw ridiculous puns her way all the time, ones that would land him a Best at Dad Jokes award. And she smiled more often then not. He was just… familiar.

And that was the part she couldn’t shake.

Because Lois Lane didn’t do familiar.

She didn’t lean. She didn’t rely on others, except for the ice cream guy down the street. Goddamn did she rely on him.

Didn’t miss people, and certainly not a guy who wasn't even actually a friend. 

But she had missed him when he was gone, more than she’d let herself admit even to herself. And seeing him slip back into her periphery - with coffee and sugar packets and muffins, and the ability to read her better than most - was unnerving.

It made her feel unsteady and unmoored. Like she’d stepped into someone else’s life for a moment and forgotten how the ground worked.

He hadn’t done anything dramatic, really. It's not like they poured their hopes and dreams out to one another. Clark hadn't shared a tragic story that explained his immense decency.

He was just being Clark.

That was the terrifying part - the part that she couldn't shake. 

Because the man she’d studied, side-eyed, half-interrogated, and fully doubted… he wasn’t a fraud. He wasn’t hiding behind some too-good-to-be-true act.

He meant it.

All of it. The goodness. The patience. The care.

And now, she wasn’t just investigating him.

She was protecting something she hadn’t even defined yet.

Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name.

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

“This is painful.”

Clark sighed, spinning in his chair, “It’s a first draft.”

Lois didn’t look up. She was busy, fingers curling and uncurling the edge of the paper with mechanical intensity, “Excuses don’t make the copy any better.”

She scribbled a few red marks across the page, circled a sentence, then underlined the word hero so aggressively the ink bled through to the other side of the page. 

Clark got up from his chair and made his way to her. He leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed. Still, he didn’t flinch and didn’t even pull the article back. Didn't say she was wrong. “The public loves him. It’s hard to argue with a guy who pulled fifty people out of a burning train.”

Lois finally looked up.

“That’s exactly why it matters,” she said. “You can’t just hand people what they want to hear and call it journalism. There’s no friction here. No devil’s advocate.”

“Maybe everyone just admires him.”

“Well, congratulations,” Lois deadpanned, “You’ve just written the world’s most eloquent love letter.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer, almost to himself, Clark said, “He’s trying. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

His voice didn’t rise to defend the draft. It just settled there. Maybe she was being too harsh. Superman was good. He was kind. He wanted to make the world a better place, but the papers were filled with praise for him. Everyone was always going on and on about how good he really was. And yes, she could understand it, could even agree with it many times. 

But as a journalist, as a good journalist, it was alarming when everyone was on the same side, when no one took the other side of the road.

Clark, well, she wasn't sure why he was so invested in Superman's reputation. His tone wasn't exactly hopeful as he spoke about his draft, nor was it naive. To be honest, his tone sounded tired, or personal in a way that she couldn't quite place. Was it empathy? Not just for the hero, but for the guy under the cape?  

Lois stared at him for a second too long.

Then she tapped the eraser once against the paper and looked away. “Try harder.”

---

Lois didn’t notice the hours slipping past, or that her coffee had been sitting forgotten in the microwave for exactly 47 minutes. It was a good thing that one of her more annoying coworkers didn't clock her slip-up and come to give her a talking to again (because this happened fairly regularly). There are only so many minutes she could listen to Craig talk about shared spaces before she wanted to whack him with her clipboard. 

And no, she hadn't eaten dinner. She hadn't even thought to pick up her phone, tap a couple of times, and order something from UberEats (even though some sustenance could get there in 13 minutes flat). 

Somewhere in the background, the bullpen thinned, desk lamps switched off, and the lights dimmed.

Lois kept going. Word by word. Cut by cut. It was what she was best at, after all. 

She certainly didn’t notice Clark wheeling his chair all the way over to her desk, gently setting a stack of fresh pages in front of her.

“I’m not your editor,” she said flatly, her eyes still glued to the screen in front of her. Without hesitation, she reached out and, with a practiced motion, spun him around in his chair and nudged him back toward his own desk.

“I know. I just… value your opinion.”

Lois shook her head with a half-smile. “Flattery’s not going to get you anywhere.”

At that moment, Jimmy popped his head into their little corner. “That’s true,” he said. “I once wrote her the most heartfelt letter after my internship, and she still told me my final project sucked.”

“It did.”

Jimmy grimaced, “You could’ve lied.”

"And what good would that have done?" That was the end of that conversation.

He gave a mock salute and backed away, “See you two in the morning. Unlike both of you, I happen to have a life.”

“Your mom wants you to take photos at the senior center again?” Lois called after him.

“Low blow,” Jimmy muttered, already halfway out the door.

“How is it a low blow if it actually happened? I mean, if The Daily Planet doesn’t work out, you always have a Plan B!”

---

Silence returned and Lois chewed absentmindedly on the end of her pen, leaving teeth marks in the plastic. 

Eventually, she glanced at the new pages Clark had left beside her. She told herself she wasn’t going to look. It wasn’t her problem! But her eyes drifted anyway.

Curiosity tugged at her stubborn resolve, as it was known to do.

She scanned the first paragraph, then the next.

The piece, well, it wasn’t glowing anymore. It still painted his actions as good, which they were, but, this version had teeth. Clark questioned the consequences of Superman's actions, the aftershocks of the whole ordeal. 

Lois straightened a little in her chair. She hadn't expected this out of Clark. 

Superman didn’t come out spotless, but he came out real, human, fallible in ways people weren’t used to seeing.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t say anything to Clark. She just kept reading until the end, then flipped the last page over, letting it land quietly on the desk. 

Lois tapped the papers once against the desk to straighten them, then turned in her chair. 

“Better,” she said.

Clark glanced up, “Yeah?”

“Still not perfect. But… closer.”

---

Deadlines didn’t scare her. Solitude didn’t, either. If anything, she welcomed the quiet hum of the newsroom when the chaos died down. It was where she did her best work, where she could breathe.

This time felt sacred to her, but you know what confused her? Clark. Why was he here? 

Clark Kent didn’t strike her as the type who lived for the pen and paper. He was solid, sure, but he didn’t have the desperate need for the story that she did. She lived for it. She craved it like nothing else.

She could picture this 6' 4'' giant anywhere - plopped into any office, answering phones with a polite smile, being the guy people asked to reach the top shelf to reset the Wi-Fi.

And yet here he was. Night after night. Just like her. Side by side. 

Lois tried not to overthink it. Maybe he was trying to impress Perry - that was what she did in the beginning before she knew she had him, hook line and sinker. Maybe he didn’t have much waiting for him outside these walls, either.

Still, it gnawed at her, the question of why. Why he stayed. Why he kept bringing her revised drafts without being asked. Why he didn’t flinch when she was blunt or rude or tired. Why he sat close but never too close.

It was almost annoying, how consistent he was. The lights would dim. The night cleaning crew would roll through and the office would settle into that quiet, soft buzz of after-hours stillness - and there he’d be. 

Lois glanced at the clock. 11:43 p.m.

She pushed back from her desk, stood, stretched up to the sky. Her joints were tight. Her spine cracked audibly and she winced.

Clark looked up from his screen.

“You heading out?” he asked. 

Lois shrugged, grabbing her coat and pulling it on, one arm at a time, “As if! Thought I would head to that 24/7 diner around the corner to grab something fast, salty, and probably medically inadvisable. I’ve hit that point in the night where if I reread the same sentence again, I’m going to throw my laptop into traffic.”

Clark smiled, “It’s a good piece.”

“It better be,” she muttered. “It’s currently eating my will to live.”

She paused. She expected him to say something forgettable, like “See you tomorrow.”

Instead, he said, “You probably shouldn’t go out alone.”

“We’re not in Gotham, Boy Scout.”

“Still,” Clark said, mild but insistent. “There are unsavory people out this late. Superman can’t catch them all.”

That earned a short laugh, “Wow. From writing him fan mail to casually admitting he’s fallible? That’s growth.”

Clark didn’t take the bait, “I’m serious.”

Lois turned toward him fully now, raising an eyebrow, “If you wanted an excuse to steal my fries, you could’ve just asked.”

He met her look, but there was a flicker of something in his expression - surprise, maybe, or amusement? 

“You bringing your keys or should I?” he asked, standing and reaching for his coat.

Lois opened her mouth to argue, but closed it, and then opened it once more. The comeback didn't come. 

They stepped into the elevator together, the doors sliding shut behind them with a click. 

Clark kept his hands in his pockets and and Lois stared straight ahead. She didn’t look at him, but she was aware of him in a way she couldn’t quite switch off.

And when the doors opened and the city spilled out - wet pavement and the buzz of a city - she hesitated for half a second before stepping into the night.

Just enough for him to catch up.

Just enough for her to let him.

Chapter Text

The air outside was crisp - a fact that made Lois almost disappointed that she had been stuck inside all day. A touch cooler than what you would expect for a summer night in Metropolis. With a number of record breaking days of heat and humidity, it was a welcomed surprise. She was a bit sick and tired of having to peel off her clothes at the end of the day. 

Lois was grateful that, for once, she remembered to bring a jacket. A breeze slipped through the concrete canyons and arching trees with a kind of rugged intensity that made her pull it closer to her chest. 

The city itself - was rather still, even for this time of night. The coffee shop that Lois loved was shuttered, ready to be open in the next few hours. Steaming pots and busy workers would soon mark the start of a new day. Plus a few patrons yelling about oat milk, but what could you really do about that? 

Traffic lights cycled continuously, glowing red and green for no one in particular. Maybe for the empty streets and scattered stray leaves which were piling up around the concrete curbs. 

For the first few minutes, Lois took comfort in the summer night. Their shoes against the damp pavement. Clicking in harmony. 

Clark seemed just as content. He swung his keys around his fingers, with a kind of casual nonchalance that this time of day brought. No pressure. No deadlines. Just hours of time before the day came knocking.  

In the busyness of The Planet, it was rare to have life be so utterly still. Still enough that she could hear the way he measured his pace with her own. She was certain if he was to walk with his usual gait, he would've been there already. 

“You know,” Lois said, breaking the silence if ever so slightly, “you don’t always have to stick to that ‘last one at the office’ routine. Perry barely notices as long as the work gets done. You could, I don’t know, catch a movie or join a pickleball club or something.” She gave a playful nudge with her shoulder. It hit him about mid-arm. Why was he so tall?

Though it probably wasn't comfortable for him to hunch as often as he did, at least she didn't have to strain so much to reach his gaze. 

Clark raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think I’m the pickleball type.” His chuckle was quiet and warm, like they were already old friends. “And I’m definitely not trying to win any hearts in upper management - who I know leave at 1pm.” He let the keys fall into his pocket, the jingle dull against his inner pocket. “But I do like this. It’s... peaceful. Weird to say about a city as big as this one.”

“You're not wrong - except for me clacking away at my computer all night,” Lois said with a wry grin.

He shrugged, “I’ve learned to tune it out. Or maybe I just like hearing you work.”

“Okay, that was borderline Hallmark movie territory, Cheeseball. You should probably stick to reporting.”

Clark chuckled. “Hey, I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here.”

“You’re a strange one, you know that?”

He gave a small, easy smile, then let the silence settle, melting into the stillness of the night. 

---

“Lois, how far are we walking?” Clark asked, dragging his feet behind him with a lighthearted mocking. 

She glanced over at him, “Oh, getting tired already? Toughen up, Kent. It’s not too far now.”

With a glare: “Very funny. I hope it’s worth it.”

“Scout’s honor. The best chicken caesar salad wrap in the city.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What happened to ‘medically inadvisable’? That seems far too healthy for a diner at this hour.”

"You forgot to ask about the giant milkshake I’m definitely ordering.” It was her absolute favorite. The kind she got when she was a kid. Giant, ridiculous, chocolate-y. It would be a lie to say that she wasn't thinking of it for at least half the day. 

Clark shook his head, “You really know how to ruin a healthy meal.”

“It’s called balance. And sometimes, you have to just live a little.”

"Lois Lane, the ultimate rebel."

"Shut up, Clark."

They crossed the street together, the neon glow of the diner a rich kind of beautiful in the dim streetlights. They were met with the soft murmur of patrons, who were just as sleep-deprived as they were. Some dishes clinked. Some order bells rung. The coffee machine was on full blast. 

It's what Lois liked about this place. It was always the same. 

Lois pulled into a booth by the window, sliding in with a satisfied sigh. “Good. No one got my spot this time. Last time, I almost had to fight someone. Granted, it was a 15 year old girl, but I wouldn't at least given her the eye.”

Clark settled across from her, moving so he wouldn't bump his head on the overhead light: “You’ve been here before?”

She pushed the condiments to the side, revealing the words, ‘Lois’ Table’ in thick Sharpie. Somewhat faded, but still visible. “Once or twice, you could say,” she laughed.

"Quite the frequent visitor.”

Lois shrugged. “It’s good. And no one here asks questions.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. When I’m not being followed by stalkers.”

He smiled. “You invited me.”

“Debatable.”

Clark opened the menu, scanning the usual suspects, then glanced over at her. She didn’t even bother opening hers. It lay flat against the table. 

“That sure of yourself?” he asked with a teasing smile.

“100%”

Their orders arrived quickly - Lois with her chicken caesar wrap and an enormous chocolate milkshake. It was comical, so tall that  Fries on the side. Clark with a simple black coffee and french toast with a masterpiece of strawberries on top. Not the kind you would find in a jar with no expiration date. 

The waiter’s presence faded into the background as the two settled into a comfortable quiet. 

After a moment, Lois tilted her head, “Breakfast for dinner, huh?”

Clark feigned offense, and with a mock whine, “Don’t tell me you don’t like breakfast foods. I thought we were getting somewhere.”

“I’m not a monster. I love a stack of pancakes as much as the next person. It’s the whole ‘breakfast for dinner’ thing I never really got.”

Clark glanced at his watch, turning it to face her. “Well, it’s well past midnight, so technically, you’re the weird one. Dinner for breakfast? Now that's pretty weird if you ask me.”

Lois laughed, taking a slurp of her milkshake. “Touché.”

---

Usually, she’d choose her own company over just about anyone’s. Solitude wasn’t just a preference - it was armor. The only exception was maybe if the lead singer of her favorite rock band wanted to grab a drink or something. But Clark?

With him, the silence didn’t itch. It didn’t press on her like it usually did when people ran out of things to say.

She hated that.

She hated how easy it was to sit across from him, eating, talking, not talking - like this was normal. Like it was something they’d done a hundred times before, even though it wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Clark was already halfway through sliding her pickle wedge onto his plate.

“You’re obviously not going to eat it,” he said, as if this were the most rational thing in the world. “You’ve eaten everything else.”

Lois narrowed her eyes. “What if I was saving it for last?”

He paused mid-grab. “Were you?”

A beat. Then she shrugged. “I hate pickles.”

Clark took a bite with exaggerated satisfaction. “See? This is why we work.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Kent.”

He just crunched louder. She shook her head and went back to her fries, a little too aware of the grin still lingering on her face.

---

“So,” she said, leaning against the wall, head resting on her palm, “at least we know who’s going to be yawning through tomorrow morning’s staff meeting.”

Clark leaned back, unfazed. “You’re going to be alone in that. I’m planning to down an entire carafe of coffee and crash in the records room right after.”

Lois gave him a skeptical side-eye over her straw. “Please. We both know you can barely tolerate what they try to pass off as coffee.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

She snorted. “Alright, Kelly Clarkson.”

Clark grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Lois shook her head, but she couldn’t stop the smile that crept up. God, he was annoyingly endearing. And worse - he knew it.

---

Outside, a bus rumbled past, headlights dragging a slow sweep of light across the diner window. Lois leaned back in the booth, exhaling. Her stomach was full, but that wasn’t why she lingered.

She wasn’t ready to go.

Not yet.

Not while he was still sitting across from her, looking at her like he saw her - and wasn’t afraid of what he found.

So they stayed. Talking about nothing and everything. Trading stories, newsroom gripes, terrible headlines they’d seen that week. And they laughed. Really laughed - the kind that made your stomach hurt and your face ache and your defenses slip without asking for permission.

---

“You think I’m weird?”

Lois snorted into her straw. “Oh, profoundly.”

He laughed, easy and unbothered, like he wasn’t the least bit fazed by her answer. That made it worse somehow.

Fuck. 

Well and truly fuck. 

She liked spending time with him.

There it was again - sudden and sharp. The truth of it. No use dodging it now. She liked the way he made her laugh without trying too hard. The way he looked at her like she was someone worth listening to. The way the silence never rushed to fill itself.

She didn’t want to like it. But she did.

And sitting across from him now, watching him pretend to be offended as he nursed his coffee, Lois couldn’t quite pretend she didn’t want five more minutes of this. Maybe ten.

---

They finally left close to 2 a.m., when the streets were nearly empty and the sky was still dark, that heavy pre-dawn kind of dark where the city felt like it belonged to them alone.

They walked slower this time. Neither of them mentioned it.

---

The next morning, Lois sat at her desk with a half-empty coffee and a quarter-full brain. She’d reread the same sentence three times and still had no idea what it said. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. Her eyes burned. Her neck ached. Her wrap and milkshake were long gone, but their memory lived on in the dull buzz behind her temples and the heavy weight in her limbs.

Blame the wrap. Blame the milkshake. Blame Clark Kent, maybe most of all.

She glanced across the bullpen where he sat, perfectly upright, perfectly bright-eyed, typing like they hadn’t been out until two in the morning talking about… God, what had they even talked about? Everything? Nothing?

He looked over just then, catching her gaze. Gave her a small smile - warm, familiar, completely casual.

Were they friends now? Was that a thing?

Lois Lane didn’t do friendships. Not really. She had sources. She had colleagues. She had a running tab with three bartenders across the city and a group chat with her landlord and her upstairs neigbor who oddly got along with each other. That was her circle.

Not… Clark.

She tore her eyes off him and took a long sip of her cold coffee. It didn’t help. Her brain still wouldn’t shut up.

Friends. Right. That was what this was.

Probably.

Maybe.

She rubbed her temples and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling like it might drop her a definitive answer.

The truth was, Lois wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever had real friends. Not the lasting kind. Not the kind who stuck around when things got complicated. She was always too much, or not enough, or just easier to admire from a distance. Even as a kid, she’d been the one people came to for help with homework or when they needed someone to say the thing no one else wanted to say - but not the one who got invited to sleepovers. Not the one people called first.

And in adulthood? It hadn’t exactly gotten easier. Long hours. Bigger walls. Fewer people worth letting in.

She'd told herself she liked it that way. And most of the time, she did. Quiet at the end of the day. No one to disappoint, no one to ask questions.

But she liked the way he smiled when he finished the last of her milkshake.

She liked how if she ever ran out of post-its, she could steal a stack from his desk without asking.

She liked that he let her.

She liked that he just laughed when she teased him. He also gave as good as he got.

It felt like a chess match between them - one that sparked something alive in her eyes, where every move kept her alert, curious about what he’d do next. A constant push and pull.

Lately, she found herself pulling him in more than she was pushing him away.

---

The next day, she leaves around 7:30pm, when the sun begins to dip behind the clouds. She ends up near the museum plaza as she waits out the bus. 

Clark is probably long gone too. Home to whatever quiet life he lives in his too-neat apartment with his old books and his windowsill herbs and his strange, precise kindness.

She stands there anyway.

For a minute.

Then she turns.

And finds him across the street.

“Lois?”

She folds her arms. “You’re not stalking me, are you?”

His eyebrows lift. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was walking,” she says.

“So was I.”

“I saw you almost laugh when Perry was struggling with the coffee pot this morning.”

Clark grins, shaking his head. “You’d think after a thousand and one years of working here, he’d finally figure it out.”

She nudges him playfully. “I think it’s time to forgo hope.”

He chuckles softly. “Maybe he’ll surprise us one day.”

Lois glances at him. “Yeah. When pigs fly.”

“Or dogs,” Clark says, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“What?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Clark leans in just a little. “You know… flying dogs. Could exist. Potentially.”

Lois’s eyes crinkle for a split second as she shakes her head with a smile. “I think you’re overtired.”

He laughs quietly. “Yeah, must be that. Guilty as charged.”

They stand in silence for a moment, the city noises soft around them.

Lois glances back at him, expression quieter now. “Maybe we both just need some sleep.”

Clark nods, a small, easy smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. Probably.”

She takes a breath, then starts walking. He falls into step beside her.

They don’t say much as they walk, just the soft rhythm of their footsteps and the city breathing quietly around them. Streetlights hum overhead. A delivery truck rumbles past. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughs.

Lois keeps her eyes forward, but she’s aware of him at her side - how he matches her pace, doesn’t rush, doesn’t fall behind. Just… walks with her. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

When they reach the corner where they’d eventually part ways, she slows, then stops.

Clark does the same.

For a second, neither of them moves. The wind shifts. Her jacket rustles.

“Well,” she says, a little too lightly, “guess this is your stop.”

He nods, eyes on hers. “Guess so.”

She gives him a short wave and turns before she can say something else. But before she’s taken more than two steps, his voice stops her.

“Hey, Lois?”

She glances back.

His hands are in his pockets, shoulders easy, but something about his expression makes her stomach twist - soft, sincere, something close to hope.

“Have a good night,” he says simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

Then . . .

“Haven’t gotten sick of me yet?”

He grins, “Not quite yet.”

They part ways a few seconds later. But the space between them?

It feels smaller than it did yesterday.

And for once, she doesn’t question it.

Chapter Text

Every Friday, 8:57 a.m., Lois Lane drops her bag into the same half-busted rolling chair in the conference room. Even though she probably had dug holes in the arm rests by now after hours of suffering through Perry's yammering, she would never relinquish her coveted spot. 

All others knew to steer clear. 

Every Friday, 9:03 a.m., Clark Kent walks in - hands in his pockets, tie slightly off-center like he got dressed in a hurry, which he probably did. He gives her a smile and makes his way to a chair in her vicinity. 

Not too beside her. Never that close.

One chair over, separating them. Close enough that they could joke before someone took the middle seat and the staff meeting began.

Close enough to pass a snack back and forth, but not close enough to warrant anything other than casual coworkers who didn't always suffer in one another's presence. 

It’s a rhythm. Unofficial. The kind of habit you don’t question because it forms before you even realize it’s a habit. Like muscle memory. 

This Friday, the office hums to life with its usual barely-contained chaos: printers jammed, interns running around like radioactive mice, someone yelling about missing budget approvals. 

Lois arrives early, already halfway through a giant coffee that smells like it came out of a Dylan's Candy Bar. She drops into her chair. Pulls up her inbox. A thousand dings. She missed when she wasn't in this high demand. She has to talk to Perry about getting an assistant. 

But she knows the moment Clark walks in.

There’s a shift in the air - ridiculous and unspoken. He says a few polite hellos to the people in the front, his voice warm and quiet. The correct volume for the hour of day. He’s still on the other side of the room when she hears a scrape of the chair. Clark’s chair. What the fuck? 

It’s Craig from Sports.

Craig, with the nasal voice and Airpods he never takes out.

Craig, who dumps his briefcase in Clark’s usual spot like he owns it.

Craig who brought a beat up golf club to the company white elephant. Cat wasn't exactly happy about it. 

She catches Clark’s eye, just as he was about to find another seat on the far side of the table.

Lois doesn’t even think. Fuck Craig. 

She just gestures to the empty seat beside her and says, casual as anything:

“Sit next to me.”

Clark hesitates for only a second.

He smiles. Not his usual, polite office smile. Something else. Something surprised. A flicker of something in his eyes she can’t name.

Then he crosses the distance and settles into the chair beside her.

Directly beside her.

No buffer.

Her shoulder tingles from the nearness. She tells herself it’s the air conditioning, which has been on the fritz for the whole season. 

“Thanks,” he says, voice friendly and light. 

Lois waves him off with a nonchalant shrug. “You’re the most fun to annoy.”

Clark huffs a laugh. It’s soft and  right there, a few inches from her cheek.

He opens his laptop. She focuses her attention on hers. They don’t say anything else for a while.

But she feels a shift, if you could call it that. 

They’ve had desks next to each other for months, but at this conference table, this lack of distance - is new. 

The day settles. The conference room thins out near lunch when their staff meeting concludes, and Lois doesn’t leave her chair. Neither does Clark.

He offers her half his sandwich.

She says no.

Then says yes.

---

By 3:00 p.m., her focus is fraying. They’re still in the conference room together. Lois had her stack of papers spread out like a collage. Clark’s charger was clinging to the far wall like it was about to give up and die, halfway out the socket. He could’ve relocated. Should’ve.

But no. He stayed.

Apparently, proximity to her was worth risking total charger death.

As time elapsed, the air in the conference room grew stale in that mid-afternoon way, where everything feels slow and too bright. Someone’s birthday cupcakes were melting under a desk lamp right outside, near the coffee.

Lois stands and stretches, her spine popping audibly.

Clark looks up at the sound.

“You okay?” he asks.

She squints. “I need to go to a chiropractor.”

“Take a walk,” he says, “Before we have to call the fire department to cut you from that seat.”

Lois considers denying it, then realizes that her legs are stiff and she’s dangerously close to snapping at Perry the next time he yells.

“Fine,” she says. “But only because these fluorescents are giving me a killer headache.”

Clark nods. “Want company?”

She hesitates.

It’s the kind of question he always asks. Friendly. Casual. No pressure.

But today, there’s that tiny difference again.

Like he’s asking something else underneath.

Lois shrugs. “Sure.”

---

They walk.

Not far. Just around the block. They end up on a low stone bench outside the museum plaza. It's shaded, quiet. Far enough from the newsroom buzz that the silence can stretch.

“You always let people steal your seat?” she asks after a minute.

Clark hums. “Didn’t seem worth a fight.”

Lois arches a brow. “You always picked that seat. Closest to the window to gaze dramatically into the cityscape. And farthest from Judith, who will always corner you with a slideshow of her grandson’s violin recitals.”

He grins. “I do appreciate a strategic seating choice. I mean, all valid. But I also like sitting near you.”

It’s not flirty. Not even hesitant. Just honest.

And it knocks something loose in her chest.

She looks away.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” she says, trying for teasing, but it comes out quieter.

Clark’s voice is soft when he replies. “Why not?”

She couldn’t think of a real reason.

---

The next Friday, a researcher from upstairs decided to choose the seat next to hers. 

Lois sits there for a second, holding her coffee, frozen by something dumb and sudden.

Clark notices. Of course he does.

Without a word, he plops down in his original chair.

Back into his old spot. One person between the two of them.

Why was she annoyed? 

Maybe if she really thought through it, it was because she now notices the gap.

The rest of the day passes in slow drags.

Clark is back to one chair over, and the old rhythm resumes - but something in it has shifted. The space between them feels further now. He couldn’t doodle on her paper, forcing her to play hangman when the finance guys drone on about paper costs. 

He doesn’t lean back in his chair, throwing his arm lazily around the back of her own. 

It’s not his fault. It’s not hers. But she misses him, even though he’s just on the other side of this pencil pusher. 

And when the staff breaks for lunch, he finds her at the coffee machine. It’s not like either of them would say anything about it. You can’t be like: “You were too far away today. 4 feet instead of 1. It’s really throwing my head for a loop.”

So they speak in clipped exchanges. Headlines, leads, edits, facts.

But underneath, the silence pulses.

Not awkward. Just… uncertain.

They’re not friends. Not officially.

They haven’t crossed that line where things are easy. They orbit each other like moons that haven’t decided whether to collide or drift apart.

But it’s safe to say which one Lois would choose if she had the option. 

---

What really annoyed her was the next Friday. She walked into the conference room, the first one there. All chairs open. Clark entered moments later, calm and collected as always, but instead of settling into the seat next to hers, he drifted back to his usual spot by the window. One chair between them.

She watched him ease into the chair, hands folding neatly on the table. Maybe he truly preferred that seat - the one with the view. Maybe he liked the routine, the comfort of what was familiar.

Was it that simple - that sometimes, there was no message behind the small things, just coincidence? And though she told herself it didn’t matter, a quiet ache settled in her chest that she hadn’t expected.

---

But he didn’t act any differently. 

Later that day, she’s reading over a testimony transcript, highlighter uncapped and forgotten in her hand. Her back is tense, eyes skimming too fast, brow furrowed.

She doesn’t see him approach.

She doesn’t realize he’s standing beside her until he gently places something beside her elbow.

A bag.

From the deli down the street.

Lois blinks.

“You didn’t eat,” he says simply.

She opens the bag. Turkey, rye, spicy mustard. Exactly the way she likes it.

Lois stares at the sandwich.

It’s not a big deal.

Except it is.

Because no one remembers things like that about her. No one brings her food without being told. No one pays enough attention to see when she’s frantic about a story and forgets she is actually a person with needs.

---

It’s one of those long nights. They’re working together out in the bullpen, at her desk. The newsroom around them seemed to dissolve - the distant chatter, the clatter of phones, the glow of monitors - all fading until there was only the two of them, caught in whatever story was on the docket.

They hardly notice as desk lamps click off and feet shuffle to the exit. 

They’re on a Clark mandated break, Lois’ feet kicked up, resting on her trashcan. 

It’s a comfortable silence. Clark is humming an old song that neither of them could place. 

Lois says, out of nowhere: “Hey Kent, we’re friends, right?”

“Was I the only one under that impression,” he laughed, “Why do you ask? Are you going to get me to help you move or something?”

“You know how I take my coffee. You offer me food. You notice when I haven’t eaten. But we don’t really... talk. Like about non-work stuff. Not about anything real.”

Clark considers that. “I mean, there’s not much time to talk about your deepest hopes and dreams when you have Perry breathing down your neck.”

She grins. “Friendship by osmosis? Still, I think if we’re to be friends, I need to know more about you. Not just how to pick your copy from a lineup.”

He smiles, faint and rueful. “I think it’s more that I didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to ask deeper questions if you didn’t want to share.”

She huffs a laugh. “I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“What kind of thing?”

She waved vaguely between them. “This. The whole… ambiguous proximity. I like knowing where I stand.”

Clark let out a soft chuckle, almost to himself. “I’ve never heard anyone say ambiguous proximity before.”

She met his gaze, voice steady. “I don’t let people in easily.”

He was silent for a long beat. Then, quietly: “Maybe that’s why I keep one chair between us.”

Lois blinked, caught off guard.

Clark shifted, turning to face her more directly, but still careful not to close the distance too much. “I didn’t want to crowd you,” he said, voice low. “But I wanted to be close. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

He shrugged, a small, honest smile tugging at his lips. “In case you ever wanted me there.”

It guts her.

Quietly. Precisely.

The way only Clark Kent ever seems to manage.

Fuck. 

She really liked him.

----

The next Friday, she loved the way his face lit up when he saw she’d saved the seat right beside her, like it was a quiet promise only they understood.

It was safe to say, he had a new unofficial spot, right by her side.

Chapter Text

It started as a normal day. 

Clark was on the phone with his landlord again for the third time this week. And he was trying. Like really trying, politely but firmly, to get someone to fix the air conditioning unit in his apartment.

“Yes, I’ve checked the filter. Twice. I already sent your guy a photo. Yes, it’s plugged in. We didn't lose power, no. No, I already tried new batteries in the remote,” he said, pacing back and forth. He was seriously contemplating moving. Or going to the movies so at least he could cool down there. Maybe he would try to fit into the freezer itself. That was a novel idea. 

Just as he was finally making headway, getting the guy to admit they might send someone “in the next week or two," Clark caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Down on the street, a CitiBike was barreling too fast around the corner. The amount of CitiBike accidents made his head hurt. How could he protect the city when he was spending a good chunk of his time making sure they didn't hit every single pedestrian in the whole city? 

He wished he had super patience. 

A woman, arms full of groceries, stepped off the curb.

Clark sighed in the phone. “I have to go,” he said, already moving. The phone left on his kitchen counter. 

The worst timing in the world. He was never going to get this fixed!

He was out the door and down the steps before the landlord even muttered another excuse.

The rescue itself wasn’t spectacular, wasn't big or notable. No cape. Just a well-timed reach and a quick tug to pull the woman out of the way as the CitiBike swerved. 

The woman blinked at him, disoriented, holding onto her eggs for dear life, then muttered something about not seeing it coming. Clark gave her a reassuring smile, made sure to pick up the apples that rolled on the ground, and jogged back before anyone thought to ask his name.

He tried the landlord again. It went straight to voicemail. What the hay, man? 

By the time he made it to the office, jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt collar damp from the heat, the buzz of the newsroom was already in full swing.

He didn’t mind it, truly. He liked mornings like this. It made him feel like he was in the center of the action. In the beating heart of the city. 

So yes, in all honestly, it was a normal way. Well - until he checked his email. 

He sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen like it had four heads. The subject line of Perry’s email was burned into his brain: YOUR FIRST FRONT PAGE STORY.

His story. Not a shared byline with a senior reporter. Not tucked under the fold or riding shotgun on page six. Top story - the main event. 

He’d read the email once, then again, then six more times like it might disappear if he blinked too long. His name was still there every time. Clark Kent.

As he looked around, the newsroom was as busy as ever: Judith yammering about grocery prices, the copy intern trying to open the stapler, the printer coughing out pages with a groan everytime. Clark sat perfectly still, letting the tide of activity roll past him.

This was supposed to feel good. Incredible, even. But mostly, it felt like his collar was suddenly too tight.

And all he could think about was the old kitchen in Smallville.

The image came easily: Pa in his work clothes - ready for the day - coffee mug in one hand. An old mug, the kind you don't remember where you first got it, and the Smallville Gazette spread on the table beside some breakfast whatnots. Clark, fourteen and all limbs, used to try to sneak a peak. Pa would raise a brow, turn it his way, and say, “Got time for the crossword, Clark?”

The Smallville Gazette covered things like a new brand of ice cream at the supermarket (all the way from California), or the coach’s retirement party. It was run by a husband and wife duo that definitely needed to buy reading glasses. The amount of misspelled words sometimes outnumbered the ones spelled correctly. It was kinda a running game to count the number of errors. No one ever told that to the owners. 

They had tried to get their daughter to run the paper, but she gave them quite the verbal essay on the decline of print media and the need to venture into short form content. TikTok is where it's at! 

But the Smallville Gazette trudged on. Sometimes it would come on a Sunday, but also, sometimes a Monday if said couple went to mass the day before instead of delivering the paper. 

It was charming and he often missed the hometown fixture. 

Now, here he was, miles away and years later, and his name was going to be at the top of a paper that covered a city of millions. 

Crime. Global news. Topics that impact the masses. Real and true impact. 

He tried to let the weight of the moment sink in, but somehow, it just made him miss home even more. If he was back in Smallville, his mom and dad would’ve thrown their arms around him, and talked him up to the mini market cashier down the road. 

Maybe Ma would’ve baked a cake and Pa would’ve taped the paper to the front of the fridge. 

Clark glanced down at his phone, thumb hovering over the contact labeled Ma. He even typed out a message once. Something short. Made the front page today. Thought you might want to see.

He deleted it. It made his heart hurt to remember that the people he wanted to celebrate with were miles and miles away. 

Clark knew he should visit more often, it wasn’t like it was difficult - he could fly for goodness sake, but it always made leaving even harder. 

He told himself he’d call later. When it wasn’t so loud in the bullpen. When the moment didn’t feel quite so fragile.

He tried to work. Tried to focus. He didn’t expect a parade. He didn’t want balloons or speeches. He just thought maybe... someone might say something. Maybe someone would’ve heard the news from Perry and tapped his shoulder, just to say good job.

But no one did.

Because he hadn’t told anyone.

And how could they notice a milestone you didn’t acknowledge? They would know tomorrow, when the article went to print. 

Mid-morning, Lois brushed past his desk, two cups of coffee in hand. She slid one toward him with a mutter, “Don’t say I never do anything for you,” before moving on.

Clark blinked. Looked down at the cup. Black, exactly how he took it.

He opened his mouth to tell her. To say, Hey, I made the front page, or maybe, You were right about that lead angle, or even just, Thanks.

But she was already halfway across the bullpen, her hair clipped up messily, sleeves rolled, eyes narrowed at whatever fresh disaster was brewing on her screen. One of those days.

He watched her for a second too long.

She’s probably got ten bigger stories to care about, he thought. And it wouldn’t even be a big deal to her. Her name was across the paper so much that it seemed like she owned it. Held residence on page 1. 

There were bigger stories. Louder voices. Veteran reporters who’d done this dance a hundred times over. He was still the new guy, even after all these months. 

He tried again to write. Words came, but slowly. He gave up halfway through a sentence and went to refill his mug.

By the time he got back, the office had settled into that weird, post-lunch lull. Phones still rang, but softer. Feet shuffled, papers rustled, someone sneezed. He checked the email again.

Still there. Still real.

He thought about printing it, just to hold it in his hands.

Instead, he clicked out of it. Sat back. Rubbed his eyes.

You should feel proud, he told himself. This is what you wanted.

But it was hard to celebrate when you didn’t know who you would celebrate with. 

Lois wasn’t even around. He actually hadn’t seen her since her delivery this morning. Probably out trying to catch a lead. 

He checked the time and figured he should grab some sustenance. 

When he pushed open the breakroom door at 3:12 p.m., everything stopped.

It wasn’t dramatic. No balloon arch or streamers. Just a few colleagues clustered around the counter.

Two dozen donuts in a box. From the place he once mentioned he liked. 

A crooked paper sign taped above it that read:

CONGRATS, CLARK!! FRONT PAGE!! 

In blue paint. Two exclamation marks. Someone had underlined his name three times. 

And Lois.

Leaning casually against the table, way in the back, arms crossed like she had nothing to do with any of it. But her eyes were on him. That unreadable look she got sometimes, like she was trying to pretend she wasn’t waiting to see how something would land.

He didn’t miss the streaks of dried blue running across her elbow. 

Clark blinked. Took one step in. “What… is this?”

Jimmy grinned. “Donuts. Celebration. You’ve heard of those, right? They have those in the midwest?”

“Don’t be mean to him,” Lois warned, “At least wait until tomorrow.”

Cat raised her paper cup of sparkling cider. “To Clark. First of many, I’m sure.”

Clark laughed under his breath, but it caught in his throat halfway out. “You guys didn’t have to. . .”

Lois cut him off with a dry look. “Relax, Boy Scout. It was a few boxes of donuts and some printer paper. Don’t let it go to your head.”

But she didn’t look away.

And he couldn’t look at anything else.

---

The room buzzed for a few more minutes - people talking, taking a donut, teasing him about not letting this newfound glory get to his head. 

Jimmy sidled up next to Lois, a half-eaten donut in one hand, powdered sugar dotting the front of his shirt like he’d been in a baking explosion.

“Okay,” he said. “Serious question.”

Lois arched a brow without looking at him. “This ought to be good.”

“Why does he get a party?” Jimmy gestured toward the donuts, then back at Clark. “When my photo made the front page, I didn’t even get a break from doing the office coffee run. I got yelled at for forgetting oat milk.”

Lois finally turned to him, deadpan. “Because his story exposed systemic corruption in the city’s housing commission.”

She took a sip of her cider. “And yours,” she added, “was captioned ‘Citywide Dog Costume Contest Draws Dozens.’ ”

Jimmy blinked. “That chihuahua was dressed as Clifford! That was journalism.”

Lois smirked. “It was fluff.”

Jimmy muttered, brushing crumbs off his sleeve. “It was a slow news week. I don’t like it when you print journalists gang up on us photojournalists.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally eating donuts we allowed you to have.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I’ll remember this on the next coffee run. When you make me steal the simple syrup containers from that coffee shop down the street. It’s so embarrassing.”

Lois laughed, shaking her head. “And yet you live to tell the tale.”

---

When most of the group started to trickle out, Clark found himself still standing there, clutching a paper cup of cider that had gone warm.

And Lois was still there, too.

“Seriously,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

“It was a team effort”

“No it wasn’t.”

Lois didn’t argue. 

She shrugged. “You’ve been busting your ass on that story for weeks. Somebody had to mark the occasion. You weren’t going to.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t think anyone would care.”

That stopped her. Just for a beat.

Then she said, softer than before, “Well, you were wrong.”

And without thinking, without planning, Clark reached out and hugged her.

It wasn’t practiced or polite. It was instinct. Spontaneous. A quiet surge of emotion that left no room for hesitation.

Lois stiffened for half a second - surprised, probably. Then she relaxed. Her chin just barely touched his shoulder, and she didn’t pull away.

She let him hold on.

“You earned it, Clark,” she said quietly.

He smiled, but not the usual one. Not the one he gave Steve as he asked him if he wanted to join his fantasy league, or careful like when he wasn't sure if Perry was going to berate him or tell him he was doing slightly okay. This one was full, crooked, honest. The kind that snuck up on him.

Lois bumped his arm, gently. “Now go eat another donut before Jimmy takes the last one.”

“Too late,” Jimmy yelled, his face full of powdered sugar. 

Clark's name on the front page didn’t feel real yet, but this - this moment, this quiet celebration - did. 

She felt real.

Oh fudge. 

He really liked her.

Chapter Text

Lois Lane prided herself on three things: her instincts, work ethic, and not giving into her daily desire to want to kill her coworkers. 

Today, the third was hanging by a thread.

It was 9:43am.

“He’s late. Again.” She muttered under her breath, not for anyone else’s benefit - just because saying it out loud made her feel slightly less homicidal.

It was the fourth time this week. Fourth time Clark Kent had strolled into the bullpen a solid thirty to ninety minutes late, looking sheepish, windblown, with that ridiculous curl falling in his face - and a coffee for her like it was some kind of peace offering.

It wasn’t.

She didn’t want to care, but she did. Not just because of the missed call with the source this morning. It was everything else: the silence, the dodging, the distance. This was not the Clark she knew and Lois Lane liked things to add up. This was not making any sense. 

Clark was reliable. Clark was thoughtful. Clark showed up early to stakeouts with two copies of the city budget report and three granola bars because “just in case, Lois. ” Clark stayed late and edited until the headlines sang.

This time, she wasn’t letting it go.

Jimmy gave her a wide berth as he passed her desk, expertly sidestepping the mug she slammed down a little too hard.

Smart man.

She was usually a loud typer. Today, it sounded like she was trying to punch a hole through her keyboard. Her pen tapped out a murder rhythm on her notepad. 

“Lois, breathe,” Jimmy whispered as he rolled past her again.

“I am breathing,” she hissed. “I’m just doing it angrily.”

Jimmy wisely fled the scene.

9:52 a.m. The elevator dinged, and out came Clark with all the breezy obliviousness of someone who is radically unaware that their life was in the utmost danger. 

“Morning,” he said, setting down a coffee. 

“You said 8:30.”

“I did,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was aiming for it.”

She turned her head very slowly. The glare she hit him with could have melted tungsten.

“You were aiming for it?”

“I missed.”

“I’m shocked . ”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I brought coffee.”

“Oh wow,” she said flatly. “Coffee. That totally makes up for you blowing past a 9 a.m. call with our source. Maybe next time just throw in a muffin and I’ll pretend we never had a deadline.”

“Sometimes it takes time when they have to open up all the new syrups in the back since someone always likes more pumps than coffee itself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t try to distract me with sugar.”

“It usually works.”

“Well, not today.”

Something flickered behind Clark’s eyes - genuine guilt, maybe.

“I am sorry, Lois,” he said quietly, "Truly I am. I know this isn't the first time."

“You’re always sorry,” she shot back. “But you never explain. And I truly can't, for the life of me, figure out why the hell not.”

“It’s… complicated. I can't really tell you.”

She studied him. This wasn’t the usual “whoops, traffic” brush-off. This wasn’t bumbling. He was being honest and even if secretive, she could deal with honest. Maybe she should just go with it. 

“Are you in trouble?” she asked, voice lowered now. Not sarcastic - serious.

“No.” He paused, thinking, “Well. Kind of? I guess I really am to tell you the truth. But I always make it out - And it’s not the kind I can talk about.”

Her brow furrowed. That wasn’t nothing.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, I swear,” he added. “I just… sometimes I have to be somewhere else and I can’t always say why. It's for a good reason, though, I promise.”

Lois blinked.

This wasn’t about being late anymore. There was something larger at play.

“Are you part of the mafia?” Jimmy whispered, sliding past again.

Clark smiled faintly. “Can’t say I am.” Then to Lois, sincere again: “I’ll try harder.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Boy Scout.”

---

She was still angry - especially since the source they were supposed to talk to this morning wasn’t available for the next three days.

The coffee cup hit her desk like a meteor strike. Her sighs were basically performance art. Her typing was now slow, deliberate, and vengeful.

Clark sat quietly at his desk, watching her from the corner of his eye. He knew she was still mad. Rightfully so. He had been late again. And again. And again.

But what could he say? That he’d flown halfway to Gotham to stop a brushfire before it reached a highway? That he’d caught a boat before it sank near Metropolis Harbor, pulling five people out of the water before the Coast Guard even got the call?

He was literally Superman. And Lois Lane, arguably the most perceptive journalist on Earth, had no idea.

Which only made it worse.

And so, for the second part of the day, she didn’t yell. She didn’t rant. She didn’t toss her notepad at his head.

She ignored him.

That was worse.

It was a whole hour before she even glanced at him - and not a single jab, not even a ‘Boy Scout.’

He felt sick.

Then Perry’s door opened.

“Lane. Kent. Office. Now.”

Clark flinched like he’d just been called to the principal’s office. Which, in some ways, he had. He pushed up from his chair slowly, like he was preparing for impact.

This was it. The official culmination. The moment where Lois would decide she needed a break from him on the next assignment. Maybe she’d even suggest working with Steve. God forbid.

He followed her in like a man walking to his own execution.

Perry White barely looked up as they entered. That wasn't a bad sign, right? He hardly ever looked up when anyone entered. The first thing Clark noticed was his desk. It was a minefield of just stuff - paperwork of course, some of which was probably still from the 80s, a sandwich that had seen better days, and a mug that definitely was rocking a coffee ring. 

“Kent, how’s that story coming about tax breaks for big oil?” Perry asked, motioning him to sit down. Clark listened and tentatively took a seat across from him. Lois was already lounging in the other. 

“Proofing it now, sir. I'll have it ready for you within the hour.”

“Good to hear.” Perry wasn't one for words. 

Perry then turned to Lois and slid a folder her way. One of those folders that you would see in a spy movie. It was filled to the brim, cream-colored, with this giant Confidential stamp on the front. Didn't stamps like those make them more likely to be opened? 

“Here's all the intel we have collected so far. Big get is this account from a whistleblower at LexCorp,” he said. “He claims he’s got dirt on the payroll fraud mess we have been tracking. Wants discretion, like absolute discretion. A little subtlety wouldn't hurt.”

Through the glass behind him, Steve waved enthusiastically.

Perry didn’t wave back. He just gave Steve a slow, withering glare, then refocused.

“Lois, if it isn't clear, I want you on it. It's a big story - one with teeth, one that is right up your alley, but also you shouldn't go out this alone.”

Clark’s pulse picked up. He braced and waited for it, whatever may come. 

Waited for “I’ll take Steve,” or “I work better solo,” or worse: “Clark’s been a little… unreliable lately.”

But instead, without even a pause, Lois said, “Kent and I will handle it.”

Clark blinked.

Once. Twice. He looked at her like she’d just spoken Kryptonian.

Perry glanced up at him. “That work for you?”

Clark nodded, still a little stunned. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good. Out in ten.”

---

They were halfway back to their desks, side by side in the chaos of the newsroom, before Clark found his voice.

“You still want to work with me?”

Lois didn’t look up. “Of course I do.”

“I thought you were mad.”

“I am mad,” she said calmly, pulling a pen from pocket and scribbling something on her notepad. “You’re late all the time, you never explain, and honestly, I don’t know what to say to change it.”

Clark flinched.

“But,” she continued, glancing at him now, “you’re also good. And you listen. And when you are there, you’ve got my back. Every single time.”

Her voice had softened slightly. Not gentle, but not clipped either. Earnest.

Clark swallowed. “I just figured… whatever’s going on with you,” she added, slower now, “you’re not ready to talk about it. Doesn’t mean I don’t trust you.”

He exhaled, the breath catching somewhere behind his ribs. “Even when I’m late?”

She smirked, finally. Just a flicker of it. “Even when you infuriate me, you’re somehow still useful.”

Clark chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can part of me being useful mean that we can stop for dinner on the way out? I didn’t get the chance…”

“Don’t push it,” she said, already grabbing her notepad. But there was no real bite in it.

“Now come on. We’ve got a source to chase down. Unless you’d prefer I go with Steve.”

Clark shuddered, and to himself: “I would rather let Krypto go wild on the Fortress of Solitude.”

She arched a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m coming.”

They made their way to the elevator together, weaving through the hum of copy machines, ringing phones, and the background music of city life drifting in through the windows. And just as they reached the doors, Lois nudged him gently with her elbow.

“For the record,” she said, glancing sideways, “if you are in the mafia, I better get first dibs on the exposé.”

Clark grinned, helplessly. “Deal.”

---

Clark didn’t sleep that night.

He could have, should have, but sleep felt like a betrayal. Like closing his eyes would mean letting himself off the hook.

So instead, he lay on his back in the dark, arms folded behind his head. The AC clanked twice, then went silent - when will that ever get fixed? A siren passed somewhere two streets down. The city moved without him, but he didn’t move with it.

“You’re always sorry. But you never explain.”

Lois’s voice had been quiet when she said it - almost too calm. That was what made it worse. She hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t rolled her eyes or tossed out one of her cutting lines about missed deadlines or city life being too fast for him. She’d just looked at him, disappointment soft in her features, and told the truth.

And she was right.

No excuses, no heat vision emergencies, no just-in-time saves could undo the fact that he was failing her. Not just as a coworker. But as a friend.

---

The next morning, Clark wasn’t late. In fact, he was twenty minutes early.

The city was still shaking off the last of the dawn fog when he stepped out of her favorite coffee shop. 

Lois was already at her desk. She was typing with one hand, the other flipping through a thin manila folder, red pen tucked behind her ear. 

Clark took a breath and stepped into the room, his shoes squeaking faintly on the tile.

“You’re early,” she said, her tone was flat, like she was accusing him of something.

“I am,” Clark replied. “Good morning, Lois.”

He crossed over to her desk slowly, like every step was a balancing act, and set the coffee down in front of her with the same reverence he might use to handle a live grenade. She was as close to one as he had ever seen, anyway. 

Clark was trying and this was some semblance of proof. 

She looked at the cup. Then at him. Then said nothing and that was it, the end of it. It didn't end in sarcasm or some sort of approval.

Despite all of it, maybe if you looked really closely, you would notice that something shifted. It wasn't forgiveness - we weren't there quite yet. The needled moved ever so slightly, one inch at a time, but he would take that. 

---

The Daily Planet bullpen had two temperatures: mildly uncomfortable and arctic tundra and much to everyone's discomfort, today was the latter.

The AC unit, which had a mind of its own and was probably installed 20 years ago, had kicked into overdrive sometime around 7 a.m., blasting sub-zero air. Jimmy had said that even polar bears would be cold. The windows rattled and Lois Lane, Pulitzer-winning investigative reporter, was close to becoming a living, and almost not breathing, icicle.

She refused to admit it, of course, because in what would would Lois ever show a human weakness. 

She was seated at her desk in her typical fall attire, a light sweater, a black skirt, and some trusty loafers, but every few minutes, she paused in her typing to rub her hands together to keep them from falling off from frostbite. 

Clark, who was half-focused on his monitor and half-focused on her (as usual), noticed her shoulders tense each time the vent above her desk hissed to life. She didn’t shiver, but her jaw was clenched.

While he would usually have to work up the courage for something like this, he was also Superman and Superman helped people - and Clark helped Lois. 

He quietly crossed the few feet between their desk, and without saying a word, slipped his jacket off his shoulders and draped it around hers.

Lois startled, her brow furrowing. She looked up like someone had just laid a lead blanket over her.

“What? Clark.”

“It’s freezing,” he said simply.

“I noticed.”

“You were trying to hide it.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” she muttered, pulling the jacket tighter around her out of pure instinct. It was warm. There was no chance she was giving it back, no matter how hard a fight she put up. 

“I didn’t say you were,” Clark said, “But even prickly journalists wear coats.”

Behind them, a small burrito-shaped figure rolled by. You could hardly make out his face in all the puff. 

“Even if she's not, I am a damsel,” Jimmy Olsen declared from within the folds of his own jacket. His voice was muffled and his cheeks were nearly hidden behind a makeshift scarf constructed from two gloves left in the lost and found. Two hand warmers were stuffed into his arm holes, spilling out. 

Lois raised an eyebrow. “Did you steal my hand warmers?”

“I borrowed them.”

“They're one time use. You stole them.”

“I redistributed them to someone in actual distress,” Jimmy said with certainty. 

Lois snatched one back as he rolled by. “Try it again and I’ll redistribute the good snacks that we all know that you steal.”

Jimmy retreated in silence.

Clark chuckled and went back to his desk, sans jacket.

And despite herself, Lois left the jacket on for the rest of the day.

---

A week later, the cold returned.

Another office-wide HVAC disaster. 

Lois noticed Clark across the bullpen, typing like nothing was wrong, but he was wearing a light t-shirt and thin slacks. He must be hiding it well.

She sighed.

Then stood, walked to her own desk, and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair. She was already in quite the warm ensemble after last time. 

“Hey,” she said, approaching,

Clark looked up. “Yeah?”

She held the jacket out to him. “Damsel in distress?” she teased.

He blinked, clearly amused. “I appreciate the gesture, Lois, but I don’t think I could fit even one arm in this thing.”

She scowled, but there was a sparkle in her eye. “I was trying to be nice. Maybe use it as a scarf or something. Wrap it around your ego.”

Clark bit back a laugh, warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the jacket. “It’s the thought that counts.”

She shrugged, folding her arms. “Just don’t make a habit of needing saving.”

---

It was never hard to find their rhythm. The banter was quick and constant, and now, Clark was trying to be better. 

He couldn’t always avoid being late. But he could minimize the damage.

And he did. Not with heroics - but with intention. Small, quiet shifts that no one would ever see unless they knew where to look.

He installed a low-frequency scanner in his apartment, one tuned specifically to fire department alerts, Metropolis emergency channels, and seismic activity across the eastern seaboard. Of course, when he was not on the clock he would attend to minor incidents - cats in trees, traffic fender benders, the occasional small kitchen fire, but he made it a habit to at least try to be better. Try to be on time. 

He had come to realize that he couldn’t be everywhere . Not if he wanted to keep showing up as Clark.

He started flying lower. Closer to home. Shorter patrols before dawn and just before bed. Less time hovering in orbit. More time with his feet on the ground, watching for danger without abandoning the life he was building. The life where people noticed when he was gone.

He even asked Batman, grudgingly, for help optimizing his patrol routes.

Bruce’s response had been immediate - like he had been waiting by the phone for just this exact moment - “Finally.”

And maybe the worst part was that the algorithm Bruce sent back actually worked, really worked - like Clark hit his head three times for not asking sooner. It shaved off more than an hour off Clark's usual sweep. Maybe he should contact Bruce more often. Does he know an AC guy in the area? 

But the real change? The real effort?

He told Lois. Obviously, he didn't tell her everything. He kept silent about the cape and the glasses, the Fortress of Solitude and his wayward cousin. He didn't tell her the full truth, but he was a bit more transparent than he had been. 

When he knew he was going to miss something, he didn’t just disappear without a word. Instead, he texted her, even if the messages were short. 

There’s a family issue in Smallville. I might be out of pocket this morning.

Just a heads-up - something came up. I’ll need you to take the lead on the meeting.

She never replied with much, but it was also notable that she never ignored them and she also never called him out for their undeniable vagueness. She just… adjusted and covered for him without complaint. Lois filled in the blanks without pushing, which was very unlike her. 

Which almost made it worse because every time she responded without demanding more, every time she let him hold the secret a little longer, he felt the pull. This quiet trust was something he longed for in any other sense but this one. It was a leash she wasn’t tugging on and a question she wasn’t asking.

---

Two weeks later, Lois surprised him.

They were both in the elevator, heading back from an interview out in the field. They were both sun-spent and parched. It was almost the kind of late afternoon lull where the city was also taking a second to breathe, rush hour not yet in full swing. 

Clark had held the door open for her like he always did, hand braced casually against the frame. She often forgot her surroundings and would get quite squeezed by the doors if she wasn't careful. He could be careful for her. 

Now they were side by side, the hum of the elevator motor a comfortable background soundtrack. 

Clark reached out to push the button for the Planet floor, but Lois beat him to it, tapping it without even glancing up once from her device. Lois leaned back against the wall, letting her head thump gently against the elevator paneling. 

“You’ve been better,” she said suddenly, almost absently, like it had just occurred to her mid-thought. 

Clark blinked and turned toward her, brows raised. “Better?”

She shrugged with an easy carefreeness. “With the timing and the noticeable check-ins. Even if you don't think I do, I see the effort.” She didn’t look at him as she said it - kept her eyes on the ceiling, watching the floor numbers light up as they ascended. 

“I’m trying,” he said.

It wasn’t praise, exactly, but from one Lois Lane, it might as well have been a standing ovation.

---

The next time he was late, really late, it was for something big.

A tsunami evacuation off the west coast was the cause of the his rather extended delay. An underwater quake had ruptured just past the shelf line, which had rather unfortunately sent a wall of water toward a stretch of towns that didn’t have any time to prepare - though he doubted there was anything they could've really done.

The next few hours had been true and utter chaos in every sense of the word. Helicopters were overwhelmed. Emergency services were cut off. Roads were jammed with cars trying to escape inland. 

Superman had flown until his vision blurred, pulling families from flooded rooftops, carrying entire vehicles to higher ground. He’d used his heat vision to weld levees. His own body to block debris. His voice to calm children who clung to him in soaked pajamas, wide-eyed and shaking.

By the time it was over, he knew he needed to rest, but even so, he didn’t stop.

He flew straight home with not a single detour. No Fortress. No sky loops to clear his head. Just a straight line from coast to city, like gravity had finally caught up to him.

He too a quick emergency shower and a grabbed a change of clothes at his apartment. 

The sun was already well in the sky when he landed in an alley a few blocks from the Planet. 

The bullpen was quieter than usual, most reporters already set on their tasks

Lois was still at her desk.

Clark stepped in, slow and quiet, not sure what reaction he’d get. A glare, a demand, a “where the hell have you been” were fair game.

But Lois looked up.

Her hair was pulled back in a halfhearted ponytail, a pencil tucked behind her ear, and she had the tired look of someone who'd been sitting too long but refused to move until the work was done. Her screen glowed faint blue against her face.

She saw him.

Took in the wrinkled shirt, the exhaustion he couldn’t quite hide.

And after a beat, she said, evenly:

“Whatever it was… you okay?”

No sarcasm. No snark. Just a question.

Clark stood still for a second longer, overwhelmed by the simplicity of it. The kindness.

He nodded.

“I am now.”

She held his gaze for a beat longer - searching, maybe. Measuring.

Then she nodded back.

Didn’t ask more. Didn’t press. Didn’t offer forgiveness, because he hadn’t asked for it. She just turned her attention back to her screen and picked up her pen again.

Trust, quiet and unspoken, settling between them.

Clark sat down at his desk, slowly, barely even aware of the chair beneath him. The lights buzzed softly overhead. Outside, horns honked and wind moved through the buildings in a low howl. Someone down the hall was humming along to the radio.

But in the stillness, it hit him.

That, more than anything, was what gutted him.

Because he knew she wanted to know the truth - that it was taking everything in her not to dig deeper, not to unravel him like a mystery she was born to solve. It was literally her job. And yet, she held back. For him.

And the worst part was, out of everyone in the world…she was the one he most wanted to let in.

Chapter Text

The bullpen was a ghost town by the time the bells sounded 10pm. Somewhere, a printer finished its last page and even tucked away for the night. In the center of the bullpen, only two lights remained. It wasn't hard to guess whose. 

Lois hunched over her computer, and even despite the rather late hour, she was still as razor sharp as ever. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, carving sentences out of nothing. Lois paused to tap her pen against the screen, letting it drag across the glass. “Clark,” she called, “can you double‑check the public filing date on this line about the contract? I could’ve sworn it was a Monday. Maybe I'm going crazy.”

Clark, at his own desk, rolled over the few feet. He took a look over her shoulder and then glanced down at his notes. “It’s the 14th, not the 12th. Not crazy.”

“Thanks,” she replied, then got back to work. She popped a few peanut M&Ms into her mouth. "They're healthy! They're a nut!"

"Sure, Lois."

Somewhere past midnight, the perks of caffeine began to wane. Lois’ shoulders slumped and her eyelids drooped. 

“It’s officially tomorrow. Happy Saturday!”

“Stop smiling so big. It's annoying. Were you waiting to say that?” she muttered, tossing a Red Bull his way. 

“So what if I was?” he teased, "It's a classic."

“You’re such a dork,” she laughed.

Clark caught her pen when she lobbed it across the desk, sliding it back to her with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Careful,” he teased, “or I’ll sue for workplace harassment.”

Please. Perry would take my side in a heartbeat. You and I both know that.”

“Workplace bias.”

She glanced at him, amusement flickering in her eyes. They’d been at this for hours - sifting through quotes, tightening leads, chasing down stray facts - and yet here they were, still side by side, bound by the glow of their monitors. 

By 1 in the morning, they’d transferred their work to paper. Woken up that darn sleeping printer, and carried their drafts to her desk. It was bigger than his.

They sat side by side, their shoulders brushing. Lois read aloud: “Sometimes I think I do my best writing when I’m sleep-deprived.” She looked at Clark. “What a cruel world we live in.”

Their knees pressed together if only for a second. Lois wasn't sure if Clark noticed. He wasn't sure if she did.

They both didn't move away, though it would've been so easy to. 

“You know,” Lois said softly, “this might be my favorite article of yours, Kent.”

 “Lois, are you okay? You almost sound impressed.”

They swapped drafts, reading each other’s words together, side by side. The only sounds were the rustle of paper and their even breathing. 

They worked until the final page lay crisp and complete. They packed up their things and stepped into the hallway, a silent pact passing between them: they were a team, whatever that meant.

---

On Monday morning, Cat Grant swept through the bullpen at a volume reserved for DJs at bat mitzvahs. 

“My beautiful Planet Family!” she announced.

Craig stuck his AirPods in and Jimmy visibly wrinkled his nose.

“It's been a long time coming, but the Planet is going digital! Woo! Woo with me! Why aren't you wooing?”

Lois didn’t even glance up from her desktop, “Cat, we already have a website. Need me to send you the link again?”

“I’m talking TikTok, Lane - short, snappy, shareable. Get with the times, grandma!"

Jimmy sighed, “I’ve dated three TikTok influencers over the last year, and all of them ended in complete disaster. Trust me, the less I’m involved, the better. If I land on one of their FYPs, my life is over. I need them to forget I even exist.”

“What did you do, Jimmy?” Clark asked.

“What didn’t I do? Let’s just say my last influencer ex was not the kindest. One of them turned our breakup into a 50-part series called ‘Signs He Wasn’t The One.’"

Cat snapped her fingers, “Clark Kent - you’re our man on the street. You're on impromptu interviews. Think Billy on the Street.”

“Great,” Clark replied, “Who’s Billy? Also, maybe we should get this approved by legal or something?”

Cat ignored him: “Jimmy, I'm not taking no for an answer. You'll be showing off our newsroom staff, the backbone of this whole operation. And Lois…” She paused, scanning the room. 

Lois glared.

“Fine,” Cat said with a huff, “We’ll only use you if we need you. Go team! We should get letterman jackets!” 

Clark stifled a laugh as Jimmy slumped in his seat, already Googling “how to go viral without anyone knowing,” and Lois rolled her eyes.

---

It turned out Jimmy knew exactly what he was doing. With one deft swivel of his chair, he opened a bottom‑drawer compartment in his desk - and out slid a compact tripod and ring lights. He clicked them into place with a practiced flick, each LED halo snapping to life in a perfect soft‑white glow.

“If we’re doing this,” he declared, “we’re doing this right.”

He tapped his phone’s screen and a graphic overlay menu popped up, complete with Planet‑branded lower thirds and a library of filters. Within seconds, he’d queued up a trending audio clip (“Popular yet professional,” he explained) and set the camera to film in portrait mode.

Clark grinned, “I see you planned for this?”

“Maybe there was one day I thought opening a company TikTok account might just save me from another soul‑draining editorial meeting.”

---

Clark stood on the bustling Metropolis sidewalk. He cleared his throat and smiled politely, spotting a young woman waiting at the crosswalk.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Clark began, voice steady, “can I ask you a quick question for the Daily Planet? What’s your girl math?”

Clark blinked, clearly confused. “Cat, is this English? What does this even mean?”

“Girl math, Clark! Girl math is like when you justify buying ten pairs of shoes because you got a store credit from when you made some returns. So new shoes, practically free.”

Clark furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t even make sense.” He turned back to the woman. “So, do you use… girl math?”

“Uh, sorry. Got places to be.”

Clark sighed quietly as she disappeared into the crowd.

Cat rolled her eyes. “Clark, you’re a natural reporter, but this TikTok stuff? It’s not really your scene.”

“I never said it was!”

---

“But what even is a Jet2 Holiday?” Clark whined.

“Stop asking questions.”

Steve passed by: “I heard you could save 50 pounds per person!”

---

“Clark,” Jimmy called out, “C’mon, you’re up.”

“I’m sorry - what? I promised Lois I’d finish this copy within the hour.”

“She’s out chasing down that lead from yesterday,” Jimmy said, already waving him over, “Another ten minutes won’t kill you. We’re doing the ‘Illegal’ trend.”

Jimmy sighed like this was a daily burden. “I should’ve known you were a lost cause when we were playing SZA last week and you asked us to play ‘Za’ again the next day. I just need thirty seconds of your life and your extremely Midwestern handshake.”

With a sigh of defeat, Clark stood. “Fine. But I’m not dancing.”

“No one’s dancing,” Jimmy promised. “Yet. We’re introducing the world to the Planet team. Starting with you and me.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “I’m not really a ‘put myself out there’ kind of guy.”

“You’re not Batman. No one’s going to dig through this like it’s a Taylor Swift music video.”

“You would be surprised.”

Jimmy ignored him. “It’s harmless. The concept - We’re leaning into opposites. I came out of the womb knowing how to craft the perfect Instagram photo dump. You, meanwhile, asked last week what a hashtag was.”

Clark winced. “Hey! That was one time.”

“Exactly.” Jimmy grinned. “Perfect contrast. Just follow my lead.”

The camera was already rolling.

In the video, Jimmy extended his hand with theatrical flair and lip-synced with precision: “My name is Pink and I’m really glad to meet you,” with the text overlay, “POV: My TikTok algorithm knows me better than my parents do.”

The camera shifted to Clark, still shaking Jimmy’s hand with the lyrics: “You’re recommended to me by some people.” The text overlay said, “POV: I printed out a meme to show someone.”

Back to Jimmy, lipsyncing the final line: “Hey! OoOooOooOooo, is this illegal?”

Jimmy turned to Clark, “We nailed that.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to understand half of it.”

“Oh, they will,” Jimmy said, already uploading the clip. “Even if you don’t.”

“Seriously. How do you know all these trends?”

Jimmy tucked his phone into his pocket, “I told you - Too many of my exes were influencers. It’s like secondhand smoke - I didn't want it in my system, but now I breathe in transitions and lip-syncs like air.”

Clark chuckled. “So what you’re saying is… you’re the victim here.”

“Exactly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to edit another video to royalty-free lo-fi and pray none of my exes see it.”

“Too late. I tagged two of them in the last upload," Lois called. 

---

By late afternoon, their official TikTok had 37K subscribers. 

Jimmy tried not to act smug. He failed spectacularly. Not bad for the first day.

Cat reappeared in the bullpen with her phone already in hand, heels tapping out a rhythm of purpose. “This,” she declared, holding up the screen, “is what the future of journalism looks like.”

Lois didn’t even bother to look up. “You can’t actually be serious. What scoop did you uncover? Besides Jimmy’s weird past.”

Clark, now back at his desk and visibly regretting all his life choices, mumbled, “I still don’t understand the illegal song.”

Jimmy, hovering nearby, grinned. “That’s what makes it good. Your confusion is authentic.”

“I wasn’t acting confused. I was confused.”

“Exactly.” Jimmy clapped him on the shoulder. Cat, scrolling with the swiftness of a professional, waved her hand. “Engagement’s way up. Our account just got followed by three major outlets and - wait, is that a LexCorp intern in the replies? Block. Immediate block.”

---

It was just past three o’clock when the Planet’s bullpen hit that mid-afternoon lull.

Lois Lane, however, was still a force of nature.

She stood beside Jimmy’s desk, phone in one hand, notepad in the other, rattling off instructions. “Get me the metadata on that security footage, and triple-check the source name before it goes anywhere near Perry.”

Jimmy, seated with a slightly glazed look and both hands on the keyboard, nodded like a soldier in a trench.

“Yeah yeah. I got it.”

Lois turned, when Jimmy stopped her with, “Actually, could you hold on for one sec? I gotta check something with IT.”

He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he spun toward the iPhone already mounted on his desk ring light. With a perfectly casual whisper to his phone, he said: “Hey guys, I’ll be right back -can you watch my head reporter for a sec?”

Then he walked out of frame, leaving Lois standing squarely in the shot.

The camera kept rolling.

Lois stared.

“What… is this?” Lois asked to no one, squinting at the lens like it had personally insulted her. She looked behind her. No Jimmy. She turned back to the camera, arms crossed. “Why is this still on? What are we doing? Is it recording? Is this some intern thing again?”

Lois leaned forward. “Who am I even talking to? Hello?”

Still no Jimmy.

She turned to Clark. “Is this live? Tell me this isn’t live.”

Clark stood slowly, still holding his mug. “I think Jimmy just… wanted someone to watch you?”

Lois narrowed her eyes, voice low and dangerous. “Did he just TikTok me?”

Across the bullpen, Jimmy reappeared with the most innocent expression in recorded history - chin lifted, eyebrows raised, smile just a shade too bright. “Thanks for watching her, guys,” he said sweetly, reaching to stop the recording on his phone.

“I swear to God, Olsen -” Lois started, already taking one step forward, murder in her posture.

“Fantastic,” Jimmy cut in, twirling the phone just out of reach with a practiced spin. “This is gold. One more video down.”

“I never signed a release form,” she snapped.

“You’ll go viral for being scary,” Jimmy replied, thumbs already flying as he uploaded the footage. “That’s basically your brand. Scary, but hot. The Internet will eat it up.”

“Clark,” she said, turning to him like he was her last hope.

He held up his hands, half-shrugging. “I can’t help you here. What’s right is right.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” he admitted.

Lois turned back to Jimmy. “Don’t ever call me hot again.”

Jimmy didn’t even blink. “Hey! We have to be honest about what our strengths are - but noted. Will replace with ‘powerfully magnetic and lightly terrifying.’”

“Also don’t call it a strength. You’re skating on thin ice, Olsen.”

“And yet,” he said, already queuing the next draft, “the engagement numbers love me.”

Clark, still seated nearby, tried very hard not to laugh - but his hand went to his mouth suspiciously.

Lois turned to him. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I’m not,” Clark said quickly, blinking behind his glasses. “I’m just - observing. Quietly.”

Across the bullpen, without looking up from his desk, Perry White called out in his gravelly voice:  “Tag me when it’s up.”

Lois' eyes opened wide, “You too?!”

“The Planet’s going digital, Lane. Better late than never.”

Jimmy beamed, “Finally. A management endorsement.”

“I need a new job,” Lois muttered, stalking back to her desk.

“You say that every week,” Jimmy called after her.

“And maybe this time I mean it!” she shot back. She never meant it.

---

“Jimmy,” Lois said, appearing at his desk the next morning with a notepad in hand - actual notes scribbled in the margins. “I did some research into that video you made me do yesterday.”

Jimmy didn’t look up from his phone. “I’m already afraid.”

“You completely missed the point of the trend,” she continued, dead serious. “It’s supposed to be ‘watching my boss ,’ not ‘head reporter.’ You undercut the whole structure. It screws with the viewer expectation.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Aren’t we kind of past all that? Titles, hierarchy, labels...”

“I’m your boss.”

Jimmy held up both hands. “Whoa. Strong words from ‘head reporter.’”

“Try me again and I’ll have ‘head of HR’ looped in too.”

Clark, not looking up from his keyboard: “I’d just say boss, man.”

Jimmy sighed theatrically. “Fine. Boss. Boss Lois. Supreme Commander of the Bullpen.”

Lois leaned back in her chair, satisfied. “Now was that so hard?”

Jimmy muttered, “I’ve had dental surgery that was less threatening.”

Chapter Text

It started with the toaster, one of those gleaming things that someone in Accounting had ordered in a fit of ambition. It had way too many buttons and a 'bagel mode' that Lois swore made bagels worse.

“Too light,” she muttered, peering at her bagel as it popped. “It’s like you could choose the same settings every time and still, you might get a light toast or it might be burnt to a crisp.”

Clark appeared with a container of cream cheese, “That’s because you didn’t time the mid-toast flip.”

“The what?”

“You have to lift the lever halfway through, rotate the bagel, and then reinsert. It’s a precision thing.”

Lois narrowed her eyes. “You rotate your bagel?”

“Strategic toasting,” he said, entirely too pleased with himself. “Some of us take breakfast seriously.”

She snorted, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Okay, Bagel Whisperer. Show me.”

Clark stepped up, demonstrating with infuriating ease. He even set a mental timer, apparently, because exactly forty-five seconds later he popped it mid-cycle and flipped the halves. The result - once done - was annoyingly perfect. Golden-brown. Even.

He looked at her expectantly.

“I don’t like to say the word ‘perfect,’” Lois said, “but… fine. It’s passable.”

The next morning, she beat him to the break room, fiddling with the toaster with a devout concentration. “Hope you’re ready to eat your words, Boy Scout.”

He chuckled. “Or a bagel. Depending on how this goes.”

In the past, The Daily Planet breakroom was hardly a battleground - unless you counted the passive-aggressive war over fridge space or who kept leaving their mug in the sink. But Lois Lane and Clark Kent had made it their arena of choice.

It became a thing. Small, dumb, utterly meaningless contests in the liminal space between deadlines. Toasting bagels. Guessing how many packets of Pop Corners Perry took to his coffee. Stacking pens and paperclips and eventually sugar cubes, which started as a joke and turned into an unofficial league. Other reporters occasionally placed side bets.

“Sixteen,” Clark said, leaning back just slightly, arms crossed, as if he hadn’t been holding his breath for the past twenty seconds.

Lois narrowed her eyes at the tower of sugar cubes he’d just stacked beside the coffee machine. It looked improbably stable. Too stable. Like he built it with wooden dowels. 

“Don’t gloat,” she muttered, already unwrapping her sleeves and cracking her knuckles.

He raised both hands, smiling that annoyingly genuine smile of his. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They never talked about why they kept doing it. They didn’t have to.

And for Lois, it was mostly about the thrill of winning. Of course it was. She wasn’t the type to lose graciously. But there was also something oddly satisfying about the way Clark played - earnest, unbothered, always giving her just enough pushback to keep it interesting.

A stupid distraction during a lull in deadlines. But lately… lately, she noticed herself timing her coffee breaks around when she saw him leave his desk. Not that she was keeping track. But she sort of was.

Clark’s tower wobbled ever so slightly as she started stacking. Her concentration was intense. Eight. Nine. Ten.

She didn’t think about stories or headlines or interviews. Just the gentle clink of sugar cubes and the way he watched her with that barely-there grin, like he was rooting for her even as he pretended to hope she'd fail.

Eleven.

“Don’t breathe,” she warned, barely above a whisper.

“I’m not.”

He really wasn’t. She could tell.

He was too fucking close to her, she could feel his breath on her neck. Focus, Lane. He’s doing it on purpose. 

From the doorway, Jimmy Olsen wandered in holding a half-eaten granola bar and a curious expression. “Wait - are you guys still doing this?”

Lois and Clark both froze, mid-competition.

Clark recovered first. “We occasionally enjoy a friendly challenge.”

“Go away, Jimmy” Lois added quickly, stacking her own cubes with surgical focus. 

Jimmy walked closer, peering at their progress. “Okay, well, I want in. What’s the record?”

Clark looked at Lois.

Lois looked at Clark.

And in perfect unison, they both said, “No.”

Jimmy blinked. “Wait, what?”

Lois gestured vaguely at the table. “It’s kind of a two-player… situation.”

“Yeah,” Clark said, clearly trying not to laugh. “You sort of had to be here for the… escalation. There are unspoken rules. History. Precedents.”

Jimmy stared at them. “You’re telling me you invented an exclusive breakroom sport and I’m not allowed to try?”

Lois shrugged. “Exactly.”

“You can be - like - referee,” Clark offered, with mock diplomacy.

“I hate both of you,” Jimmy muttered, walking away. “This is how cults start.”

Lois watched him go, then smirked at Clark. “You think he’s going to steal the sugar cubes out of spite?”

Clark carefully added a fifteenth cube. “Absolutely.”

At fourteen, the cube slipped. She lunged to catch it but only succeeded in knocking over the whole tower. The cubes scattered across the counter like tiny casualties.

Clark winced theatrically. “Tragic. But valiant effort.”

Lois blew out a breath, palms flat on the counter. “Okay so you won once in a dozen times.”

Clark chuckled. 

---

Clark was squinting at the toaster like it owed him money. Lois stood beside him, arms crossed, analyzing the browning of her bagel like she was grading a forensics photo. On the counter between them sat two plates - each with a single, precisely toasted bagel half. One plain, one everything.

“Okay,” Lois said, tilting her head, “on a scale of one to ten, how honest do you want me to be?”

Clark didn’t look up. “I can take it.”

She picked up his bagel half, gave it an evaluating sniff, then took a deliberate bite. “Seven. Maybe seven-point-five. Texture’s good, but you didn’t rotate at the halfway mark.”

Clark turned to her, mock-offended. “I absolutely rotated.”

“You rotated, but not with intention. ”

Before Clark could argue - which he absolutely planned to do - Perry White walked in, mug in hand, clearly in search of coffee and silence.

He stopped in the doorway.

He looked at Clark, crouched in front of the toaster like a bomb tech.

He looked at Lois, inspecting a bagel with the gravitas of a Supreme Court justice.

He looked at the whiteboard behind them, which read in block letters: CURRENT SCORE: LOIS – 5 | CLARK – 4 | JIMMY – BANNED

There was a long pause.

Perry blinked once. Then, without a word, he turned around, walked back out, and let the door swing shut behind him.

Clark waited a beat. “Do you think he wants us to stop?”

Lois nodded, perfectly calm. “Potentially.”

Another beat.

“…Are we still counting this round?”

Lois was already reaching for the cream cheese. “Obviously.”

---

By the time she made it back to her desk, her cheeks felt a little warm and her coffee tasted better somehow. Not because she’d won but because for those few minutes, the world had shrunk to just the breakroom and Clark Kent.

And maybe, she realized, sitting down and staring at her untouched notes, maybe that’s why she kept showing up for these dumb competitions.

Maybe it wasn’t about winning at all - (Though if he ever beat her in three categories in a row, she would demand a formal inquiry.)

---

The very exclusive breakroom competition didn’t help in the office gossip circles.

Neither did the sandwich.

It all came to a head on a Tuesday morning, with one bacon-egg-and-cheese and one very hungry Jimmy.

Lois strode into the bullpen like a small storm system - coat slung over one arm, phone already to her ear, muttering something about a source ducking her call. She barely paused as she reached Clark’s desk, dropping a foil-wrapped sandwich beside his keyboard without looking up.

Clark’s face lit up. He started unwrapping. 

“No ketchup,” she said. “They always screw it up. I watched them this time.”

Before Clark could say thank you, Jimmy let out a wounded cry from across the bullpen.

“Hey! Where’s mine?”

Lois finally looked up. “Yours?”

Jimmy stood beside his desk, arms spread wide in outrage. “I like bacon, egg, and cheese. He likes bacon, egg, and cheese. But he gets surprise breakfast and I get what? Crumbs? A granola bar from the breakroom?”

Clark, ever the peacemaker, lifted the sandwich. “I don’t have to -”

Lois cut in, sharp. “You’re not giving it to Jimmy.”

“I waited in line behind a guy who asked for a scooped bagel with jam. JAM, Clark. That sandwich is yours. If Jimmy wants breakfast, he can fight his way through The Tribune interns like the rest of us.”

Jimmy crossed his arms. “You never bring me breakfast.”

“That’s because you eat Hot Cheetos at nine in the morning,” Lois shot back.

“One time!” Jimmy protested, wounded. 

Steve Lombard, ever the opportunist, strolled past with his coffee and a smirk. “Just accept it, Olsen. It’s the Clark Exception.”

Lois’s head whipped toward him. “Don’t make this a thing - it’s just a sandwich.”

Clark opened his mouth - possibly to defend her, possibly to agree - but clearly thought better of it.

The bullpen, unfortunately, was not ready to let go.

Cat Grant, perched on the corner of Steve’s desk like a queen observing her court, raised an eyebrow. “The Clark Exception. It was already a thing. Has been for months. You do go easier on him.”

Jimmy, freshly emboldened, gasped. “You totally do! I’ve seen it!”

“I do not , ” Lois said, scandalized. “I treat Clark the same as everyone else.”

“Exactly,” Steve called from his desk. “Which is why you told me to ‘go breathe somewhere else’ yesterday but when Clark printed what felt like The Lord of the Rings, you just put on AirPods and turned up your playlist.”

Clark looked sheepish. “To be fair, the finance team couldn’t get the printer working. I was helping.”

“Exactly,” Lois snapped. “He was helping . Like a decent human being.”

“Helping. Adorable,” Cat said. “So is that why he got the last chocolate croissant last week, too?”

“That was just - ”

“And why you gave him the good stapler?”

“I gave him the - ?”

“And why you didn’t yell when he broke the espresso machine trying to descale it?”

Clark winced. “That was… unfortunate.”

Lois folded her arms, now firmly on the defensive. “I am fair. I am objective. I am an equal-opportunity threat to all of you.”

The bullpen was unconvinced.

So naturally, they started testing her.

---

It started with an email.

Two of them, actually.

Jimmy crafted a short, polite message asking Lois if she had time to glance over a few photo selects for an upcoming feature. 

Then he copied it exactly - tone, punctuation, awkward double-spacing after periods- and sent the second version from Clark’s computer while he was in the breakroom.

Clark’s email got a reply in under five minutes.

“Sure, I can look. Drop them on my desk when you get back from your meeting with the editors. - LL”

Jimmy’s? Six hours later, he got a rolling eyes emoji and a subject line that read: “Currently swamped. Try bothering me later.”

Cat, who had been watching the experiment unfold with unholy glee, took it a step further.

She started a poll.

The question: “Would you say Lois takes your coffee orders with a smile or sarcasm?”

Jimmy: “She said, ‘Get it yourself and get me one too.”

Steve: “She asked if my caffeine intake was a cry for help and told me she doesn’t take coffee orders.”

Clark: “She just gets it for me without me having to ask.”

Cat documented the results on a color-coded spreadsheet titled “Project: Bias?”

By the end of the week, the office was running a full Clark Exception diagnostic.

Which led to Friday’s potluck.

Cat brought in two plates of identical chocolate chip cookies and placed them neatly on the breakroom counter. One had a folded tent card that read: Baked by Clark 

The other: Baked by Steve

Lois walked in, still mid-call, grabbed one from Clark’s plate without even blinking, and took a bite.

Cat appeared behind her, arms folded. “Interesting choice.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “Clark knows my dessert tastes. Steve once called biscotti ‘croutons for coffee.’ I’m making an informed decision.”

“Sure,” Cat said smoothly, folding her arms. “Nothing to do with the Clark Exception.”

Lois’s jaw tightened. “It’s not - ” She glanced toward her phone as someone picked up on the other end of the line, then lowered her voice. “It’s just a cookie, Cat.”

Cat smirked. “Cookies I bought fresh from the corner bakery down the street. All exactly the same.”

Lois shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”

Cat shrugged, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Of course it is.”

The damage was done. The whispers were growing. The tests were multiplying.

And Lois was beginning to feel like everyone in the bullpen had formed a secret science fair project - with her as the subject and Clark Kent as the only constant.

Steve turned, smug. “And there it is. Plus, I don’t know how to bake. I burnt my mug trying to heat up water in the microwave.”

Lois stood, grabbed her notes, and marched toward the conference room with a mumbled, “I am perfectly consistent and impartial and no one can prove otherwise.”

---

Later that day, Lois cornered Clark at the coffee station.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

He blinked. “About what?”

“About all this - this - Clark Exception nonsense! They’re acting like I’m giving you VIP treatment just because you’re polite and don’t annoy me 24/7.”

Clark hesitated. Then he smiled - soft, a little sheepish, a little too knowing.

“Lois,” he said, “you do have a Clark Exception. Well, at least to a point. I’ve been on time every day this week.”

She stared at him like he’d just accused her of high treason.

He didn’t flinch. Just added, with a shrug, “Anyways - about the Clark Exception - I’m not going to do anything to stop it.”

It wasn’t smug. It wasn’t teasing. It was calm. Solid. A fact, like the sky being blue or Lois Lane being a sugar addict.

Which, somehow - somehow - was worse than if he’d laughed or deflected or turned it into a joke.

Because he was right.

And he knew it.

“You’re infuriating.”

Clark stirred his coffee, not looking up, while also making a second cup for her. “For what it’s worth… I’ve got a Lois Exception too.”

She took the cup from him with practiced ease. “What does that mean?”

He just smiled again, this time smaller. “Means I’m not exactly unbiased either.”

And then - then - he had the audacity to go back to his desk like he hadn’t just shifted something fundamental and quietly left her to deal with it.

She stared after him, blinking, cup halfway to her mouth.

Unbiased.

Right.

Sure.

Fine.

Whatever.

She wasn’t going to think about it again.

At least not until lunch.

Maybe.

Chapter Text

Lois didn’t get the hype. Like she really didn't. She was never one to become fascinated with people, or heroes. Or even the one teacher that everyone in her school swooned over. 

Sure, she appreciated what Superman did. She would be lying if she didn't. He saved people. Averted disasters. Rescued squirrels - there was actual photographic evidence, much to Jimmy’s delight.

Unlike some celebrities, he didn't push brand deals or decide to devote half his IG page to weight loss gummies. He didn't start a lifestyle podcast and partner with Audible. Superman didn't hawk protein power or team up with food delivery apps for "Super Deals!" As far as caped crusaders went, he was . . . refreshingly earnest, good even. Maybe sometimes she wanted to punch his stupid beautiful face square in the jaw but that was more a reflection on her than it was on him. 

Some people are just good. And hate to say it, but Lois did think Superman was one of them. 

It wasn’t him she had a problem with.

It was them.

The rabid, merch-wearing, cape-swooshing faithfuls who were currently turning her commute into a full-blown tactical operation. She should've brought her umbrella at least, so then she could fend off the hordes. 

Her train had been delayed. Twice. Fine. Acceptable. To be expected. 

Her Uber driver had to take a 22min detour around a plaza clogged with lawn chairs, handmade signs with florescent paint, and Superman-themed bubble wands. Not ideal, but at least she was still safely located in the car. And she could get to some emails during the backup. 

Then came the final ten blocks on foot - a certified hell march through the beating heart of what the city had the audacity to call Con of Steel.

It was the second one of its time and by the looks of it, they were probably already planning the third. 

A 3 day Superman-centric fan convention that spanned the city like a polyester virus. She hadn't seen Superman's suit in person, but at least from the videos, it didn't look like this Shein-filled nightmare. 

Metropolis was practically wrapped in red and blue bunting. The mayor had cut a ribbon. Local coffee shops renamed their menu items - and although Lois was always one for a sugary drink, she didn't want to go around with a red and blue tongue. There were capes in the windows of high-end boutiques - like Fendi even had a collection. Capes on dogs. Capes on babies. Capes on food trucks. It had gone a step too far.

And now, there were capes in her way.

Lois navigated through a sea of fans. Shoulder to shoulder with diehards whose only mission in life seemed to be blocking her every step. As someone who never really wore heels, since she was always on her feet, it was quite the travesty to state that she’d already tripped five times.

Once thanks to a toddler in a miniature cape darting directly underfoot. Once thanks to a man in a full spandex suit stopping mid-sidewalk to take a selfie in front of a towering inflatable Superman with a toothy grin. 

Fuck, she just wanted to get to work. Is that too much to ask? 

“Watch it,” she snapped, narrowly avoiding a collision with someone’s prop foam S. “Don’t they teach cape etiquette at this thing?”

Someone next to her laughed, but she didn’t stick around to find out who.

She was in survival mode.

It was barely 9 a.m. and she was already on her last nerve. 

And the thing was - she knew Superman was impressive. She wasn’t blind. Superman could stop runaway trains, catch helicopters mid-plummet, disarm explosives in seconds. He pulled off miracles before breakfast. 

But the worship? The obsessive devotion? The endless hot takes and fan art and Reddit threads titled “Should Metropolis share Superman with other cities? A custody situation?”- that was exhausting.

Maybe he also hated it. She couldn't tell. 

There were action figures. Think pieces. Conspiracy podcasts that claimed he was secretly ten robots in a trench coat. An entire series of themed specialty drinks, one of which was called “The Heat Vision” and cost eight dollars, but at least it was lit on fire. 

Lois didn’t get it. To her, the story wasn’t the shine - it was whatever lay beneath it. The substance under the image. The truth behind the myth. Who he really was. What he wanted. Why Metropolis. Why now. Why someone with that much power was allowed to operate with absolutely no oversight.

He must also question things. Question whatever happened to have led to this god worship. 

But she couldn't even think critically when every other second your boots were being stepped on by a guy in red briefs yelling “Truth and Justice!” while drinking a frappuccino with whipped cream dyed blue. Yellow sprinkles of course. 

She didn’t get the hype.

She got the headache.

Fuck. 

---

The bullpen was practically pulsing with Superman aftershocks.

Every screen flickered footage of his latest midair miracle - apparently a section of monorail track had decided to collapse a few hours ago, and our caped hero had swooped in to catch it. A hero. She would admit it. 

Jimmy had already queued the clip on loop, replaying the frames in slow motion like a cinephile at Cannes. “Look at his hand placement,” he whispered in awe, pausing at frame 72. “How does he carry all of that? Does anywhere know which gym he goes to?”

Cat Grant, never one to miss a branding opportunity, was dancing between desks in a rhinestone‑encrusted Superman crop top so glittery it gave everyone temporary sparkle blindness.

“He’d never rock that many sequins,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. 

Steve Lombard was deep in a YouTube rabbit hole - and absolutely no one was paying attention to him, but what else was new? “Wake up, people,” he muttered. “This is all staged. Don't you see? Look here! It's all right here - these are controlled collapses. You think he just happens to be around every time a train goes off the rails? Now, who's the stupid one?” He tapped a conspiracy thumbnail titled “Superman: PR Ploy or True Hero?”

Jimmy looked wounded. “Why am I never in the right place at the right time?” He lamented, “My bus was late because it was held up because an inflatable Superman! Superman prevented me from seeing Superman. ”

“Is Clark around?” Lois asked

Before anyone could answer, Perry White’s voice boomed across the room. “Lane! Office. Now!”

Lois groaned and trudged toward her fate.

---

“Shut the door.”

She did. He kept flipping through a sheaf of papers until one clearly struck a nerve. He jabbed it with his finger, looked up, and grunted, “You’re going to Con of Steel.”

She blinked. “Did I offend you somehow? Did I steal your lunch? Because this feels like punishment.”

“You should be thrilled.” Perry slapped the paper down. “You’re the only one in the building who’s getting anywhere near Superman.”

She leaned against the desk, unimpressed. “I can write it now. ‘Self-important alien in primary colors attends fan convention. Is his head going to explode due to his giant ego?'”

Perry gave her the kind of look that could stop traffic.

“Lois, this is a major opportunity. He hardly does press. You’ll be part of a tiny group with direct access. I want our story to top all the other ones.”

She frowned. “So... not a private interview?”

“He doesn’t do private interviews. He’s attending because the con organizers promised a massive donation to community centers. The con wants promotion and they got him to agree to such a miniscule amount of press.”

“So it is a fluff piece.”

Perry shrugged. “If anyone can pull something deeper out of it, it’s you.”

“And if there isn’t something deeper?”

He waved a hand. “Then the paper still sells. It’s Superman. No harm, no foul.”

Lois sighed, already dreading it. “Can I at least bring Kent? People trust him.”

“He’s got a family thing. Won’t be in until late.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Fine. But I want a new keyboard. Mine doesn’t type the letter ‘P’ and I’m tired of writing ‘Su_erman’.”

Perry didn’t even blink. “Done.”

Lois smirked. “You drive a hard bargain, Chief.”

---

Back at her desk, Jimmy was already bugging her.

“You’re what? Meeting him? Where? Can I come?”

“No, you can’t come,” Lois said, flipping her notebook open. “Only one press pass.”

Jimmy clutched his chest like she’d wounded him. “I’m sure he knows of me. I took that shot of him and the ferry rescue. It went viral.”

“It was backlit and out of focus.”

“It was moody.”

Lois ignored him, scribbling questions in shorthand. She wasn’t going to go in blind. Symbol or not, Superman was making himself available - and Lois didn’t waste opportunities. That meant she had to figure out what no one else had asked him yet.

She tapped the back of her pen against her teeth.

Why now? Why this city? What are you afraid of?

---

Lois was at her computer, already rehearsing the opening line in her head. She was halfway to the coffee pot when Jeff - the political desk’s most unflappable veteran - fell into step beside her.

“I heard the word 'Superman' and the tone of a man sending someone to war,” he said. “You pulled the golden ticket?”

Lois didn’t break stride. “More like drew the short straw. I hate fluff pieces.”

Jeff snorted. “Could’ve sent anyone. You know that, right?”

She gave him a side glance. “Sure. I’m sure any reporter with a weakness for cape-themed beverages would’ve jumped at the chance.”

He took a sip. “He picked you because you don’t care who’s floating six feet off the ground. You’ll still ask where the hell he came from and what he wants. That’s rare these days.”

Lois didn’t answer, but the faintest flicker of something passed behind her eyes.

Jeff slowed, peeled off toward the elevators. “Just don’t go soft when he says something noble and squints into the sunset. That’s how they get you.”

---

When the time came, she went alone. The meeting was set for a rooftop patio atop the convention center - easy access, easy exit. A place he could fly in and out of without too many eyes watching.

The sky was streaked gold and pink as she climbed the final steps to the roof. Wind tugged at her coat. The scent of sun-warmed grass clung to the sod beneath her boots.

He was already there.

Hovering. Maybe two feet off the ground, arms loosely crossed, cape rippling like it had its own pulse. The light hit him just right - of course it did - and for a second, Lois saw it. Not the man. The myth. The image that launched a thousand headlines. Effortless. Untouchable. Larger than life.

Then he landed, quiet as a sigh.

She wasn’t the only reporter invited. She came in knowing that. What she didn't realize was that the three other reporters, who were standing as close to Superman as possible, had grins so wide that they could book national toothpaste commercials.

Lois recognized a few of them. The journalist community in Metropolis was rather small - and it was getting smaller and smaller especially in the print journalism sector. 

Still, even if she knew they guys, it wasn't like she was proud of what came out of their mouths. A guy from The Post, asked if Superman's cape was machine washable and if he spent a large part of his time getting out stains from all his escapades. 

Another journalist, this time, a woman from The Tribune was obviously big into Con of Steel. She was wearing merch like she was a shareholder. "What Superman themed dessert has been your favorite?"

Lois wanted to scream and honestly, she nearly turned and left, but something kept her there. 

So, Lois stayed and through every brutal question of no substance, she watched him with the practiced eye of someone who knew better than to be dazzled.

Try as she might, Lois was a bit dazzled. It was the first time she was seeing him up close. She saw Guy Gardner up close once, but he didn't leave much of an impression. 

But Superman. 

Superman. Well, what could she say? There was something about him in this moment - something impossible to ignore. There was a certain way that the light caught his jawline, the effortless strength in his stance, the quiet confidence that didn’t need to shout, that made her catch her breath. He was attractive, sure, but that was only the base of it. Superman was just more, whatever that meant. 

He wasn’t just a story. He was a presence and for the first time in a long time, Lois felt the thrill of standing in front of something truly extraordinary - something that made the usual cynicism and sharp edges soften, if only for a heartbeat.

Her pulse quickened. Not because she was scared, or nervous, but because beneath that myth, beneath the cape, was a man who demanded her attention - not with words or grand gestures, but simply by being there.

And damn if she wasn’t curious.

Finally, it was her turn.

“Lois Lane,” he said, his voice steady and calm “I’ve read your work.”

Now, she never expected that, but she quickly recovered, folding it into a wry smile. “I take it you liked what you saw?”

“You don’t write to impress. You don’t shy away from the hard questions.”

Lois’s smile deepened. “I’ve done my homework, too. Looks like you’ve been around the block a few times.”

“Not much time for sleep when a city needs saving.”

She studied him for a beat, noticing the subtle weariness beneath the calm facade.

“Sounds exhausting,” she said softly, “And terribly cheesy. Did you practice that line?”

The other reporters gasped, startled by her boldness, but Superman just laughed. 

She liked it. Shake it off, Lane. 

A guy with a stopwatch and lanyard held up a 5 minutes sign. 

She opened her notebook and said, clearly and without flinch:

“I trust my fellow reporters covered everything from favorite cereal brand to the latest show you’ve been binging. I think we ought to go a little deeper, don’t you? Something I’ve been wondering as I’ve seen some of your recent escapades where the law and order seem to falter - what gives you the right to intervene in situations when no one elected you? Not that I blame you for being the first one on the scene. Often, it’s necessary - when lives are on the line, hesitation can cost everything. But still, where do you draw the line?”

The question dropped like a pin into a well.

The other reporters fell silent. Superman’s expression didn’t change much - but something behind his eyes shifted. Not fear. Not offense. A kind of real attention, like she’d spoken in a language he hadn’t heard all evening.

He didn’t answer right away. He blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. For a moment, his steady calm wavered, and his eyes narrowed just slightly.

“That’s... not an easy question,” he said, voice tightening just a bit.

He glanced away briefly, running his hands through his hair. “When lives are on the line, waiting for permission isn’t an option. You act - whether you’re elected or not. I don't think it comes down to a choice. I can't call up the government when people are literally crying for help. It's not political. It's human.”

He looked back at Lois, a hint of defensiveness threading through his tone. 

“I’m not trying to replace anyone,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not marching into the President’s office or forcing my views on the world. I've been around for awhile now. Haven't I proven myself to you? I’m doing what needs to be done - because sometimes, no one else can. And that makes it my responsibility.”

“To who?” she pressed, eyes narrowing. “The people? The government? Or just your own conscience?”

He didn’t flinch. “Sometimes those things align. Sometimes they don’t. It's better when they do, I'll give you that.”

There was no apology in his tone - just calm certainty.

“But I do what I can, when I can, because I can. And that's not to say - well, I know that doesn’t put me above criticism. I don’t expect a free pass just because I'm Superman.” He paused. “But if I see a building on fire, I’m going in. I’m getting people out. Wouldn’t anyone? It's the right thing to do. The good thing to do.”

Her pen was already moving. Lois looked him squarely in the eyes. She wasn't backing down and neither was he.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” Lois said. “Things are rarely black and white. Sure, pulling someone from a burning building is objectively good, but what about the gray areas? It seems like the press tends to forget about those.”

She leaned in slightly, voice cool. “Take the dam last month - you redirected the floodwaters to save the city, but the farmland you buried fed hundreds of families. Crops, homes, livelihoods - gone overnight. You made the call and truth be told, maybe it was the right one. I'm not going to argue with you on that. The real question to me is, who decides that, what the best call is? Who holds you accountable when your choices help some and hurt others? If you ever make a mistake, who investigates you?”

His jaw tensed. “I didn’t want to destroy that farmland.”

The words came out sharper than before, more raw.

"I'm not saying you did."

He took a breath, steadied himself.

“You have to remember, I had minutes. Seconds. There wasn’t time to gather a committee or weigh every possible outcome. If I hadn’t acted, the flood would’ve wiped out entire neighborhoods - hospitals, schools, families. People would’ve died and I did what I could to prevent that. That's what I'm always going to do.” 

He met her gaze, unflinching now. “I make the best decision I can with the time I’m given. Not because I think I’m above anyone - but because someone has to make the call. In that moment, it was me.”

“But isn’t it always going to be you?” Lois said, her voice firm. “You say someone has to make the call - but it’s always you who makes it. Not a council, not the people affected. Just you, in the sky, deciding what the greater good looks like.”

She didn’t say it with malice. It wasn’t an attack - it was a truth she couldn’t ignore.

“That kind of power,” she continued, “even with the best intentions, can tilt into something dangerous. Not because you’re evil. But because no one can stop you. And one day, maybe you get it wrong. Maybe it’s not just farmland.”

Her eyes searched his face. “So what happens then?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than the light breeze against their skin. 

Superman’s expression shifted - just slightly - but enough. The edge in his jaw eased and the tension behind his eyes deepening into something more complex. She could see that she’d struck a nerve no one else had dared press.

Then, before anything else could be said, a voice cut through sharply.

“Thank you, everyone. That concludes our questions. Please gather your belongings and make your way off the rooftop.”

Lois barely registered the organizer’s words.

Because Superman was still looking at her. It was an odd look, definitely not amused but also not irritated. 

Frustrated? Maybe that was it. But it also wasn't that simple. He wasn't frustrated with her, she didn't think. She knew what that looked like from too many days with her family. 

Frustrated with what the questions stood for. What they implied. That could be it. Maybe it was the doubt? Maybe it was because she dared to scrutinize? But it wasn't even to scrutinize him specifically. She would've same the same to Mr. Incredible. It's the fact of the matter. Superheroes should have limits, or parameters, or something. It's not like she had a plan in mind, but at least she wanted to ask the questions. 

Superman looked at her like he wanted to say You think I wanted anyone to lose their home? That I didn’t weigh every option in the seconds I had?

But he didn’t say any of it.

And somehow, that silence fell. 

Lois met his eyes without flinching. She’d pushed and it was clear that he pushed back. The tension between them felt like something still smoldering, not settled.

When he finally turned away, it wasn’t dismissal. It was restraint.

Her grip on the pen tightened. Not out of triumph - this wasn’t a win. But she’d touched something real. Something human.

Chapter Text

Clark named the Fortress of Solitude because it was supposed to be just that. A place for solitude and reflection and quiet. Unfortunately, the Fortress of Solitude was not exactly living up to its name at this very moment. 

Outside the Fortress, the wind howled, low and slow and harsh against the crystalline structure. The snow rose and fell with every passing gust. Not a single soul was outside these jagged walls. 

No, the problem wasn’t outside. It was right here. 

Bass thumped, echoing across ice in thick beats and it certainly didn’t help that Clark had super hearing. On the center console was a half-eaten plate of shrimp tacos and from the wrapper, they looked to be from Santa Monica. Strewn around the entire room were dog toys of every shape and size. 

It’s hard to just trust a good old fashioned Kong to be enough for a superdog. 

Kara lounged upside down on a platform, her hair going every which way. Krypto was on top of her, chewing one of Clark’s good sweaters. 

“I’m not too happy that you brought your dog back, Kara,” Clark wagged his finger, “It would be one thing if he didn’t destroy everything in his path.”

Kara grumbled, “One more word from you and I’ll tell the world that Superman is not a dog person. How do you think the world will handle that?”

“I am a dog person! Maybe just not a Krypto person. Can’t you at least keep him from attacking Four? I can’t save the world if I’m on full-time mechanic duty.”

Four peeked his head out, “Sir, I agree completely.”

Kara ignored them both. She was chewing gum - where she got it, Clark didn’t ask - and kept blowing increasingly aggressive bubbles every few minutes. Mainly to shut him up. 

“You seem more aggravated than usual, Clarkie. Want something to take the edge off?” Kara wiggled a bag of who-knows-what in front of his face as though it was tempting him at all. 

“I don’t feel like having the drug talk with you again. It’s not like you’ll ever listen,” Clark took a seat, grabbing the shrimp tacos with just his pointer and thumb and quickly disposing of them, “How long have those been here?”

“We’re in the cold. Isn’t it practically a walk-in freezer?”

“I don’t think I’m enjoying your company right about now.”

Pop!

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to time that perfectly.”

Clark held out his hand and she reluctantly slapped a stick of gum in his hand. 

He scooted her down and started picking up the wrappers left in her wake. 

“Are you here for a reason?”

“Actually, yes,” Kara explained, “I don’t get Spotify in deep space. I have to manually download every playlist. Can you tell me why I unironically love KPop Demon Hunters?”

Clark stared at her like she was speaking another language, “I know what all those words mean separately, but together? No idea.”

“You’re so old!”

“You’re older than me!”

She pointed a finger in warning without looking away. “Stop distracting me. I have to focus. I’m putting the finishing touches on my ‘Bangers for Beating Up Aliens’ mix. Took me six months to curate. Do you think I share it with my ex, or is that being like too weird? Nevermind, they probably don’t have Spotify there either. Damn weak little satellites.”

“Can’t you just be a sounding board for my problems? It’s not like I could speak to anyone else.”

“Oh, Clarkie. If you needed friends, we could’ve set you up on BumbleBFF or something. It seems like everyone in Metropolis is also really into Strava lately. It’s like kinda cult-y? Here, give me your phone, I’ll take some profile pics.”

Clark pushed her away and resumed his original goal of pacing until he bore a hole in the ice floor. 

“I’ll give you five minutes. That’s it. Just because Krypto ate your dinner and you looked like an abandoned puppy eating that quinoa salad.” 

“I’m actually not sure if I want your advice. You’re going to be mean.”

“I wasn’t the one who said I didn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Clark huffed, “Fine. So as I was saying when you got here, the interview kinda went to heck. A reporter basically accused me of being a rogue agent - like I’m some unchecked force playing judge, jury -”

Kara put her finger up to his face, “Wait, I’m getting this text about a rave happening in - oh, yeah, I can’t show my face on that planet." 

Clark blinked. “I’m telling you, I was just accused of violating public trust, and you’re worried about your weekend plans?”

“You’re never going to make friends that way.”

“Ughhh. How are we even related!”

“I’m not your therapist. I just needed a place to crash where the fewest people who want to kill me would show up. And I don’t know, crazy idea, but maybe don’t do interviews with women who have functioning bullshit radars and a Pulitzer,” Kara smirked from her upside-down sprawl. “Just a thought.”

Clark shot her a look. “So… you were listening before.”

“You never shut up, Clarkie”

“Look who’s talking! Plus, it’s not like you’re in MY Fortress of Solitude. She called me cheesy.”

“Were you being cheesy?”

“I - I might’ve said something about ‘saving the city’ and ‘having a responsibility.’”

“Oh my god,” Kara groaned, rolling her eyes. “You did the speech, didn’t you? Don’t you get tired of being such a little bitch all the time?”

Clark shot her a glare. “You know I don’t like it when you call me that, Kara.”

“Whatever, dipshit.” She grinned, clearly enjoying getting under his skin. “I don’t see why it’s bothering you so much. You said it lasted all of five minutes.”

“You’re my cousin. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“And when has that ever stopped me? You’re mad because she asked questions you actually should think about and now you have to, like, emotionally process them.”

“I do not need to emotionally process anything!” Clark’s jaw flexed. “She asked who I thought I was to make those decisions. To act without being elected. Like I’m just floating above it all, picking sides.”

Kara gasped dramatically. “You mean - exactly what you do?”

“I save people, Kara.”

“Sure, but let’s not pretend you don’t have a touch of the ‘I know best’ god complex. You literally moved a mountain last month without warning anyone.”

“It was going to crush a town.”

“You don’t think you freaked out some mountain lion somewhere who probably thought they were on a drug-induced trip? I’m not saying you shouldn’t have moved the mountain,” she said, “I’m saying you never even think to warn anyone first. You do the thing, then let the humans clean up the dust.”

Clark’s hands clenched, “I didn’t ask for this power. I just use it the best way I can.”

Kara paused. “And Lois Lane’s the first person who made you doubt that?”

“I didn’t say she was wrong. I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t expect her to get to me.”

“Well, you’re obviously letting it affect you. You’ve got interview whiplash! You came in all ‘Truth, Justice, and Reasonable Sound Bites,’ and she rocked your ass into an ethical crisis. As for myself, I’m on your side. Fuck consequences. You’re doing what has to be done. Even though I don’t know why you don’t pick up an easier hobby. Like pottery or professional pigeon handling. But if I’m one of those humans, your track record kinda leans ‘intervene first, explain later.’”

“She spoke like I’m some unchecked vigilante with a god complex.”

Kara tilted her head. “Well…”

Clark groaned, running a hand down his face. “She just kept pressing like she was trying to find the one crack. The one place where I couldn’t justify what I did.”

Kara watched him for a beat, then said, not unkindly, “And did she? I’m guessing she did. Gotta love a woman on a mission.”

He paused mid-step. “She said I always get to make the call. That it’s always me up there, deciding what the greater good looks like. She’s not wrong.”

“I didn’t want to wreck those farms,” he said quietly. “I chose the path that saved the most lives. But yeah… people lost everything and I don’t know their names. I didn’t have time to ask, and that doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Maybe she wasn’t trying to take you down. Maybe she was just reminding you that power doesn’t make you infallible.”

“I don’t need a reminder,” he said, too quickly. “I know I’m not infallible. I know the stakes. I carry them every day. I made the right call. I have to believe that.”

Kara nodded once, slowly, like she wasn’t convinced but also wasn’t going to push further.

“If you say so.” Then she glanced down at her phone, made a show of checking the time, and popped another piece of gum into her mouth.

“Your five minutes are up. Beat it, bitch.”

---

Clark walked into the bullpen a few minutes later than usual. Nothing dramatic - he still carried his usual coffee and hers, still wore the same crisp button-down - but there was something about the way his shoulders sloped just a little more than normal.

Lois noticed immediately, but she didn’t say anything. Give him space. Let him work through it. 

As he passed, she offered a short, “Morning, Kent,” to which he slowly returned. 

It was rather odd. There was no teasing nor any quip about her desk being an actual fire hazard. By the time she looked up at him again, he was already gone, making his way to the archives. 

What the fuck was up with him today? 

She would obviously get to the bottom of it, but for now, she had a Superman article to write, and Perry finally replaced her keyboard. She could now use the ‘p’ to her heart’s content. 

Clark and Lois didn’t talk that morning. For most of it, he was absorbed in the files. Files that could probably give even Superman an allergy attack. 

There was no mid-morning sarcasm break, much to her annoyance. She had gotten used to those. 

The real straw to break the camel’s back was when Jimmy rolled past their desks, wrapped in a Superman cape with a camera timer going off. 

“Field testing capes for motion blur,” he called out.

And Clark, Clark was quip-less. It was weird. 

The day dragged. Lois worked through lunch without noticing, buried in follow-ups and quotes and a phone interview with someone who talked like they were stuck on 0.5 speed. Across the bullpen, Clark sat at his desk like a ghost. 

---

Later that day, the bullpen was thinning. Clark was at the breakroom sink, rinsing out his mug like it was the most involved task in the world. In one motion, Lois stood up, stood next to him as she grabbed a mug from the dishwasher. She didn’t say anything, but neither did he. 

But she saw him - just out of the corner of her eye. He had glanced at her, like maybe he wanted her to say something or worse, like maybe he didn’t. 

She left the room without ceremony. 

---

As it was nearing 6pm, Lois watched as Clark stood near the printer, mindlessly watching it spit out a memo about copy deadlines that he wasn’t actually reading.

That was the last straw. She had let him wallow long enough. 

“Okay,” she said, folding her arms, “are you sick?”

Clark blinked. “What?”

“You’re being weird,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Quiet and really low energy. If you have the flu, I just need to know if I should be standing six feet away.”

He looked at her, startled - and maybe a little caught.

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too quickly.

“You sure? You haven’t made fun of my growing pile of files all day. You turned down free company sponsored lunch. That’s either terminal or concerning.”

“Just… tired, I guess.”

She watched him carefully. “You’re not mad at me?”

Clark looked up, eyebrows raised. “Why would I possibly be mad at you?”

“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “I didn’t think so since you’ve kinda been a zombie with everyone, but I had to be sure.”

Lois tilted her head. “So not mad at me.”

“No,” he said again, softer this time. “Not mad. I just - ”

He cleared his throat. “Just thinking about a few things.”

---

She wasn’t going to force him to talk, despite how much she wanted to. 

So when he finally stood up and wandered toward the breakroom, she didn’t follow.

But Lois did wait because she knew what was in store for him. 

The breakroom was quiet but, at the center of the table, was a tower.

Sugar cubes - neatly stacked, precariously balanced. It was lopsided and over-engineered and utterly ready to fall at any second.

Clark blinked at it. Then - almost involuntarily - his mouth tugged into the barest smile.

He pulled out a chair and started to build. 

Clark had just managed to balance the 14th sugar cube when the door creaked open behind him. Clark didn’t look up, but he also didn’t have to. 

He knew the sound of her footsteps - sharp, measured, purposeful even when she wasn’t in a hurry. He could tell she was watching him, if only for a moment. 

When a second passed, then two, she crossed the room, grabbed a chair, and slid into the seat beside him. She put her head in her hands and watched him build, block by block. 

And to his credit, Clark didn’t move away. He didn’t tense or retreat either. 

For a few seconds, it was just the two of them and the fragile architecture of sweeteners.

And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel like the room was too small for all the questions he couldn’t answer.

Chapter Text

“Don’t eat that,” Clark barreled over towards Jimmy who was already lifting said snack towards his mouth. Luckily, Clark was able to push it out of the way. 

“Dude, if you didn’t want to share, you could’ve just said so,” Jimmy rolled back towards his side of the bullpen, “I didn’t know you had such a thing for Fritos.” 

“Ah, midwestern thing,” Clark explained. It was an easier answer than saying that those were in fact not Fritos, and also not from this earth. Krypto’s favorite snack right now just happened to be an intergalactic deep-fried corn-resembling chip. Probably not for human consumption. “Just love our corn, you know us,” Clark murmured before tossing them deep into his bag. 

Dang dog. 

Cat quickly passed, “Wait, didn’t you say you didn’t like corn when Terry made that corn chowder for the company potluck?”

Without missing a beat, Lois explained, “Cat, we all said that. She used almond milk instead of cream. In some countries, that would be considered cruel and unusual punishment.” 

“Yeah, that was unfortunate,” Jimmy winced. He had been the first guinea pig and even had to agree to a second helping. 

Cat moved on quickly, “I think you will all be happy to know that our TikTok is still going strong, thanks to me - and I guess Jimmy. But I’m the creative director.”

“Woo,” Lois said with all the enthusiasm of a parent on the fifth day of a Disneyland trip. 

“Now, do you think we should do an ad for the Ninja CREAMi or Owala?”

“CREAMi,” Lois answered quickly, getting a couple of looks from Steve and Jimmy. “What! Don’t you all want to make ice cream in the office?”

“Says the girl who was so against this stain to print journalism in the first place,” Steve muttered. 

“Didn’t you all say that I had to get with the times?”

---

The day went by surprisingly quickly. There honestly wasn’t much room for anything but calls and edits, caffeine and scheduling. 

By the time the end of day rolled around, Lois and Clark were, once again, the two stragglers. 

Superman had all the powers in the world. He could fly to the highest point in the city like it was as easy as breathing. His life was adrenaline and applause. 

Clark Kent? Well, that was a different story. His life came with deadlines and rewrites and red marks on his papers, not to mention a major slap on the wrist if he was unable to balance his hero duties with his pressing due dates. 

Today, Clark hadn’t even noticed how late it had gotten. His eyes were glued to the screen like some 12 year old Fortnite player. 

And Lois, he actually wasn’t sure what she was doing here. She had finished her Superman article hours ago, filed and done. 

In all honesty, Clark wished he had time today to read it. She had asked for a quick eye, but after so much ‘family time’ off this week, there was no way in heck he would finish all his assignments if he didn’t just lock in. 

Lois could’ve gone home, poured herself a heavy glass of wine, and argued with the internet, but she hadn’t. She was lingering. It was officially lingering. She tried to act busy: reading his notes, scanning his copy, and trying to make a dent in the mess across her desk. 

Lois also wasn’t sure why she had stayed. At first it was to avoid the capes on the commute. It was the last day of Con of Steel and nothing made her happier. Around 8pm, she noticed something with Clark was off. It wasn’t the same as before. Not this daze of melancholy. This time, it was the same look that glazed over her own eyes: deadlines and lots of them. 

At 9:15, she stood up without a word and left.

At 9:42, she came back.

She didn’t say anything at first. From the intensity of which he stared at the screen, she doubted he even noticed her. But then, she stopped beside his desk and dropped a brown paper bag in front of him. 

“Hey,” she said, too casually.

“Hey. I thought you left.”

“Did,” she said. “Came back.”

He looked down at the bag, confused. Opened it.

It was a breakfast burrito, like one of those giant ones that is probably filled with everything but the kitchen sink. It was from that little corner store down the street. The place that still used foil and grease, and runs through eggs like water. The one he’d mentioned once, months ago, between bites of something mediocre in the breakroom.

Still warm, the steam billowing up from where he opened the foil. 

“I figured,” she said, voice deliberately indifferent, “you could use something before your eyes melt into your computer.”

He hesitated. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” She shrugged, “That’s kind of the whole point.”

And just like that, something in him unclenched where he didn’t even realize was tight. The fact that she’d seen him unraveling and stitched him back together without asking for permission or praise would never cease to surprise him. 

---

Lois’ Superman article went live at 7:02 a.m. the next morning

By 7:07, Lois Lane had broken the internet faster than a Taylor Swift album release. 

The Daily Planet’s servers held but barely. Social media didn’t, much to Cat’s delight as she watched the rocketing number of followers. 

The distribution sector was already getting calls about making another round of deliveries - most of the papers were already sold out. 

Lois’ headline - “Who Watches the Sky?” - trended within the hour, not just in the US, but globally. 

While the Pulitzer might’ve given her professional regard in the field, this article was giving her public recognition. 

Some hailed her as the only journalist in Metropolis asking real questions. Others accused her of attacking a hero. A few labeled her brave. Others used words she wouldn’t repeat in front of her father who might just have a heart attack.

By 7:15, someone on a fan forum had declared her a “traitor to truth and justice.” At 7:16, someone else had created a Reddit thread titled: “Lois Lane is the Only Reporter With Guts. Discuss.”

At 7:19, Perry White kicked open his office door like it owed him money.

“Lane!” He held up a printed copy of her article like it was a court summons. “Tell me you’re at least wearing Kevlar today.”

“I was gonna go with confidence and caffeine.” She motioned to the absurdly large cup of iced coffee in front of her face. It was so tall that even with a straw, she had to get up from her chair a few inches if she wanted to reach it. 

Perry didn’t laugh. “Phones are lit up and the boardroom’s in a meltdown. Legal already checked in five times this morning - five times. Let me just read what you’ve been called today. Some good ones here - ‘biased,’ ‘brilliant,’ ‘reckless,’ and a ‘national treasure.’ All before breakfast.”

Lois blinked. “And what do you think?”

“I think,” he said, stepping closer, “you asked the questions people are afraid to, and I also think that no matter how fast he flies, nobody’s above accountability. Not even Superman.”

---

In the interim, Lois skimmed the coverage from the other reporters who’d been there. She clicked through the tabs on her computer with ease, though it did feel odd going to her competitors' websites. At least they didn’t have the number of TikTok followers that The Planet had. Wait, that shouldn’t be something she’s proud of.

Nevertheless, one journalist had written a listicle - “5 Ways to Get the Superman Body (Without Flying)” . 

Another tried to reverse-engineer Superman’s moral compass using horoscopes and lunar phases. 

A third filed something so saccharine it may as well have been written in glitter pen.

The newsroom was a warzone of opinion.

Steve was ranting to anyone who’d listen: “She cornered him on the flood thing! No one else even brings that up anymore. You know how much of a mess that it caused in rural districts? So you plant a couple more fields of wheat and call it a day. Give the man a break.”

Cat Grant was doomscrolling on her phone and chuckling. ““Superman’s greatest weakness? A woman with a backbone. And a deadline. Truer words have never been spoken, sister!”

Jimmy Olsen, for once, wasn’t talking or complaining or stealing superdog snacks. No, this time, Jimmy was just watching Clark and Clark wasn’t saying a single word. He was still, so still actually. Like freakily still. Lois’ article was pulled up on his screen. He read it once and then scrolled back to the top and did another pass. 

Even though he never really admitted it, Jimmy knew that Clark was a Superman fanboy. The guy got way too excited when he saw Superman legos for the first time. That was a huge tell. 

Maybe Lois’ article was hitting him harder than most? Whatever it was, it was clear that her words had landed, and not lightly. 

---

Around lunchtime, Lois had a real headache from the world. 

News channels wanted her on as quickly as possible to expand on her intentions and observations of the caped hero. She got word from her friend over at NBC that SNL was working on a sketch where the guest host for that week, Evan Rachel Wood, was going to play her on Weekend Update. Even Sean Evans’ team asked if she wanted to be on Hot Ones. 

More than anything, Lois wanted a goddamn nap. 

As Lois climbed the stairs to the second floor distribution offices, two junior reporters lingered nearby, their voices low but sharp enough to catch.

“She really went for the throat on this one, huh?” one whispered.

“I mean, come on - he’s Superman. The guy’s trying his best - and looking so fucking fine doing it. Why did Lane have to make him sound just so - unaware? I'm sure he is always thinking things through.”

Lois slowed just enough to catch their tone and without missing a single beat, she stepped between the junior reporters and said clearly, “I made him sound human. It's too bad if you just want to delude yourselves with hero worship.”

---

Back at her desk, Lois opened her email and stared at the subject line:

"National Syndicate Requesting Reprint Rights: 'Who Watches the Sky?'”

She should’ve been proud, but her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.

Lois really hadn’t wanted to crucify him - not even in the slightest, and re-reading her article, she didn't think she did. All Lois wanted to do was to understand him and honestly, to push him.  

In some sense, her goal was to remind the world that power still deserved scrutiny, even when it wore a cape. And really, that was all because truth be told, she liked Superman. Lois liked what he stood for and, more often than not, she also agreed with his actions. 

Still, as she glanced over at Clark, who sat quietly at his desk, her gut twisted in confusion. Why was it so controversial - so dangerous - to look at both sides of Superman, or maybe, of any hero out there? Why did the truth seem so hard for others to accept?

Did everyone just need to believe in unshakable, unquestionable good to feel safe? And if so, what did that say about the larger public - their fears, their hopes, their need for certainty in an uncertain world?

Lois didn’t have the answers, but she knew one thing for sure: the story wasn’t just about Superman - it was about all of them, the public, and the stories they chose to tell, or ignore.

Chapter Text

“I’m still mad that you won,” Lois slipped her laptop into her bag, wrapping her charger around itself in a couple twists of the wrist. 

“Cream rises to the top.” From his own desk, Clark did the same, throwing his cluster of pencils back into the cup on the side. 

“I’m glad you’re done being weird.”

“I wasn’t being weird.”

“You looked like I kicked a puppy.”

He exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh, but also not quite a denial.

“It is a good article,” he offered, grabbing his coat from off the hook, “But you already knew that.”

“Then, what is it? You’re that big of a fan of Superman?” Lois stopped packing up, taking a second to really look at him. 

“You told the truth, there’s no denying that.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but.’”

“No ‘but’ - just, well, I guess I never saw it the way you saw it. It’s putting things into perspective.” Clark held his legal pad for a second too long before also shoving it into his bag. 

“It was the farmer’s daughter, wasn’t it?”

“That didn’t help. The pictures of her in front of her family’s destroyed farmland - it’s brutal.”

“Isn’t that more of a reason why it had to be shared? To be covered?” Lois pushed her chair in, taking one look at the mess of paperwork on her desk, and then turned the other way. She would get to it on Monday.

“What I’m trying to say is that it’s important that we don’t glaze over their stories. Look, Superman did the right thing. Even I can say that. It was objectively the best option. Divert the water away from the city. It’s the trolley problem, hurt the few to protect the many. Clark, my problem was never with Superman.”

Lois threw out the handful of wrappers on her desk, then kicked the trash can further underneath her desk.

“It’s about the way we operate now that we live in a world with heroes. Because not all heroes are going to make the good choice, the right choice. Many times, there isn’t a good choice or a right choice. How do we measure intentions? How do we make sure the ones with the most power don’t take advantage of that?”

Lois walked over to his desk, placing a hand on the top of his chair. 

“Superman has given us every reason to trust him. I don’t think that’s a hot take. It’s just scary to know that we live in a world where we have to trust him to do the right thing. Not just him, but all metahumans. How do we operate from a place of powerlessness? And even if we did put governmental restrictions on him or another hero, any option would be too slow. When there are only seconds between saving a life or abandoning one, the metahuman has to be the one to make the call. We’re in a losing battle and truth be told, I don’t know what the way forward looks like.”

Clark watched her, as she rambled thoughtfully, carefully, analytically. 

“I wasn’t trying to attack him, despite what his loyal fanbase has been saying online.”

“I know,” Clark said, voice low.

“Even though he might be the headline, what people keep forgetting is that he’s just representative of larger concepts at play.”

She turned back to Clark, her tone steady, clear.

“Superman’s not the whole story. The people are. That’s what no one’s getting.” Lois kept going, voice soft but unwavering. “You know what I mean? It’s like the spotlight’s so bright, no one sees what’s behind it.”

Clark didn’t move, but he immediately felt a punch to the sternum, not because she was wrong, but because she was right and somehow he hadn’t seen it. 

He had let the applause drown out the consequences. Clark had thought that saving lives meant the mission was done. He thought that his good intentions were enough. 

Lois swung her backpack over her shoulder. “Anyway. Rant over. Just… frustrating. Doing anything fun this weekend?”

Clark gave her a good few beats before responding, “Uh, I actually haven't decided yet. You?”

"Vinyl & Vine is this record store by my apartment. They're doing a sale on Sunday. I might hit it up."

"Sounds like a good time," Clark added, "See you Monday, Lois?"

"Bright and early."

He gave her a courteous nod as she left the building, but even with his coat on and bag slung over his shoulders, he remembered her words. Superman’s not the whole story. 

In one swift motion, he pulled out the legal pad he had already packed away and scribbled down a list of towns Lois had named in her article. 

He decided at that moment that this time, he wouldn’t be going as Superman, no, he would just be going as a man who needed to see. 

---

On Saturday morning, Clark threw on one of his old flannels, one that he had stuffed in the back of his closet. As he made his way towards the city outskirts, it was clear to see that the road was still washed out in places. 

The town sign was hanging by a thread, knocked sideways and warped. It was caked in dried mud and browned weeds. Someone had taped a piece of cardboard underneath: Still here, still standing. 

It had been a month, but this place looked like it had been years since any life had congregated around these parts. Old tires were thrown together as a makeshift playground. The wrecked remnants of an actual one were stacked together like a pile of old bones. 

There were no news crews. No drones and certainly no attention. Just the sound of a hammer in the distance and the occasional bark of a dog.

Clark passed three houses on his way to the center of town. Each door had UNINHABITABLE written in block letters on the door in red. A child-sized bike lay destroyed against a rocking chair. He saw a rather lopsided drawing of the Superman logo in chalk by the school yard. 

Clark stopped and for a very long moment, he didn’t move. It was the fact that someone had drawn it at all. A child, in the middle of everything, in this rather neglected place, still believed in him enough to leave this symbol and the hope it inspired. 

He crouched down slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of the chalk - so faint now it almost wasn’t there.

As he passed the next few blocks of houses, he saw an older gentleman dragging a fridge with its door hanging loose. The thing was rusted top to bottom, covered in dirt and debris. 

“Need a hand, sir?”

The man wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “That’d be something.”

Clark, dressed in non-super garb, tried his best to be as gentle as possible. Only support what a typical man of his stature could support. Plus maybe a little extra. They lifted the fridge onto its side and hauled it to the curb. 

He glanced at the fridge and he had a better view of the one thing that was inside - a water-warped clipping of Superman mid-flight, smiling and waving. Clark wanted to throw up. 

Clark spent the day doing what he could, and for once, that actually meant keeping both feet on the ground. 

While the water was gone, its effects were everpresent. He cleared debris from yards, mashing through the still muddy patches. He stacked warped boards and dug out tree roots that were attached and tangled to porches like tentacles. He hauled furniture from house to curb and back again, some so damaged that they fell apart in his hands. 

People offered him water or a meal or a smile and he shied away from all of it. He could hardly look them in the eyes because they didn’t know. They had no clue that this was all his doing. 

How could he be considered a good man when he was fixing what he had broken? 

There was a girl in front of one of the buildings. It looked like a toy store. She was seven, or maybe eight. A little twig of a girl with bright blue eyes and a lilac dress. She sat cross-legged on the stoop, painting mismatched rocks with candy scented nail polish. She hummed along to nothing and lined her collection of rocks on top of one another. Like she was trying to rebuild something too. 

For all the hours of work, for each piece of trash he hauled to the sidewalk, for every last person who gave him grace, nothing could fix the fact of the matter: he had left. 

He had been praised and loved. When the floodwaters took away years of photo albums and favorite shirts and raggedy stuffed animals, he was getting a key to the city. When a family stood in front of the boards that used to be their home, his face was being plastered all over town. He had never seen this, the slow, aching aftermath that stretched long after the skies cleared.

He had saved lives that day, in the city, but it was becoming more apparent that lives were not the only things that made a home.

Chapter Text

Sunday, well, that day was for Superman. He woke early, throwing in a load of laundry before standing in front of quite the large fan. The AC perched above, mocking. It was a hearty meal of cereal this morning, an apple, and a sizable glug of coffee.

With the suit and the cape and the boots, he flew, stopping overhead when he had a better vantage point. 

He started the morning by stopping a bank robbery. Easy and quick, surgical. He took off with a pat on the back by an officer and the offer of a donut. By 10am, he had already felt burning tendrils claw at his skin as he saved person after person from an apartment fire. Code violation it looked like. He sat for a good fifteen minutes, letting a little boy cry into his chest. 

Superman wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling his cape around him close. He flew when he saw the boy’s parents rush over, jumping out of a taxi with tact. 

By 11am, he was untangling a balloon from a tree, easily floating back down to reunite it with its owner. A gracious little girl with a lollipop in one hand and now, her balloon in the other.

By 1pm, he was well in the midst of holding up a damaged bridge, giving people the time they needed to run to one side or the other. A grateful gaze. A clap. A smile. 

And by 3pm, well, he was helping a young new couple move boxes into their first apartment. He said he couldn’t stay for dinner, but the husband made him take a handful of onigiri on the go. Superman was pretty glad he did. 

It was by 6pm when he ended up here, outside a record store with one employee, not including the cat. 

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what compelled him to go, and what compelled him to stay. 

She had said that there was a sale on Sunday and it was quite probable that she had come and gone hours ago, but as he touched down softly, his cape flowing behind him, he saw her through the window, fingering through the stacks of LPs. 

Her hair was loose, and damp, like she just ran down here after a shower. An old faded t-shirt that was two sizes too big. Nothing like the put together reporter that he had come to know. 

Luckily for Superman, the area was quite clear. Blame it on the fact that most people were in search of a home cooked meal and some time catching up on their favorite guilty pleasure before Monday eventually swung around. 

He opened the door, the bell jingling once, twice. 

The older woman at the counter didn’t seem to pay him any mind, as if caped crusaders were regulars at this establishment. 

The only customer, however, did notice. 

Lois briefly looked up from the bin of LPs, her fingers still hovering over the corner of a Ramones album. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, all instinct and armor. “If you’re here to tell me off, you can save your breath. I think the internet is doing a pretty good job of that.”

“You’re right. I did read your article,” Superman said simply, pulling up in front of his own bin of vinyls. 

“Yeah,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Figured you might.”

She took a breath, “Look, I didn’t write it to stick it to you or like affect your reputation or anything. Truth be told, I can’t believe that’s what some people got out of the article.”

He stopped her right there, “I didn’t think you were out to get me.”

Lois studied him for a beat, eyes narrowing. “No?”

“No,” Superman repeated. “You weren’t trying to tear me down. You were trying to hold me accountable.”

“Most people aren’t great with nuance.”

“I would say I guess I’m trying to be better at that,” Superman glanced around, as if registering for the first time the soft instrumentals playing in the background, the cat curled on the windowsill, the clerk reading a paperback behind the counter, dog-earing pages. “You said a lot of things I needed to hear.”

Lois tilted her head, “You’re speaking a bit of a different tune since Con of Steel.”

“I’ve done some thinking, and I followed through on your article and saw for myself the wreckage in those rural towns you mentioned.”

Lois paused, her fingers still against the records. “You actually did?” 

Superman nodded once. “I thought it was best if I saw it all for myself. It wasn’t the same just reading about it, no offense to you journalists out there.”

Lois blinked, visibly caught off guard. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I needed to see what I’d missed. The aftermath and the slow, debilitating damage not just to the land, but to people’s lives. I saw hope in places where it shouldn't still exist. And I realized…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “I think what I realized is that maybe saving lives isn’t always the end of the job.”

Lois took a breath, let the album spin around in her hands, “It was pretty devastating when I went too. There was this woman, who couldn't have been older than 27. She had grown up in the area and had finally restored her family’s generational home to what she always dreamed of, what she always imagined. The next week, gone. Nothing left. And that was just one of the stories I heard. I’m sure if we put them all together, there would be enough there to write a book. We try not to let these stories affect us. We're writing about heartbreak every single day, but sometimes, you just can't help it.”

Superman didn’t respond right away, but before Lois moved to the next carton of records, he spoke: “I know I made the right choice. I know that, but how did I not see this? How did I not think beyond the act itself.”

His voice cracked, harsh and low and hurting, “I flew away thinking the worst was over, that the damage was measured in casualties and inches of floodwater. When I went back, well, the damage was everywhere. It was in the rot under the floorboards, or all the hard-earned food tossed out. It was in the way a kid had drawn the Superman logo in chalk, but Superman never came. Never protected them as he should have.”

“How could you? You had the choice to save millions in the city. Here,” Lois said, pulling her phone out of her pocket, tapping here and there, “I can’t believe I’m Superman’s therapist.” A laugh. 

He echoed. A chuckle.

With a push of a button, he heard the cracklings of eggs, chatty children running past, barefoot stomps on wood floors. 

Lois held up her phone and let him grasp it. “Family of five in one of the old buildings near the outskirts of the city. On the line where you diverted the water. Water nearly reached the second floor of the apartment building before you changed its course.”

  "It was the scariest thing I had ever seen. It was just me - my husband was on the job. Just me and our three boys. The water was too high and it came too fast. The four of us on the third floor. We couldn’t escape, would’ve drowned, all of us. If he hadn’t come when he did, I don’t even want to think about it. We thank God for him every day.”

Lois swiped again and a teenager’s voice came through, clear and crisp. 

“I was studying for my exams and taking care of my Nonna at the same time. We saw it coming. The water and we gathered all we could carry, which wasn’t much - we probably would’ve had to leave it all anyway. We were ready to run, even though we couldn’t outrun it. And out of the window, we saw him. He saved us. I didn’t care for superheroes much before. Superman, he’s the real deal.”

 An elderly man this time.

"This old ticker was never going to outrun the floods outside. That flying fella came right through the roof and lifted me like I was as light as a feather. I’ve had four heart attacks in the last few years, and that was still the wildest thing that’s ever happened to me."

Lois lowered the phone, her voice gentler now. “I know this doesn’t undo what happened to people in those rural villages, but if you’re going to listen to those stories, you should also listen to these as well.”

“Thank you,” Superman said, “Thank you, truly. I just don’t want to lose sight of what comes after anymore, of what’s left behind.” 

“Then don’t,” she said as if it was as easy as saying the alphabet, “Be better, but know that we all make mistakes. It’s what makes us human. And you, well, you can’t fix everything and nor should you be burdened with that. The government should’ve done something. The media should’ve covered it. There should’ve been gofundmes. It’s not your responsibility to hold the weight of the world. You’re already so busy trying to save it.”

There was no bite in her words. Just truth, and he accepted it with a small, grateful smile.

“And for what it’s worth, most people, let alone heroes, don’t bother to look twice. You showed up again, saw what lay in the wake.”

Superman swallowed. “Still doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It won’t and it never will,” she said plainly. “Not when you care.”

He glanced toward her again, this time with a little less weight on his shoulders.

She motioned to the records between them, pulling out a couple that seemed to stick. “So. What do you listen to, Superman? Or did you just come here to emotionally unload?”

He gave a quiet breath of laughter. “Maybe both.”

“Well, if you’re going to wallow, at least wallow to the right soundtrack.” She nudged a sleeve of punk records toward him. “Start there.”

Chapter Text

Lois Lane loved her apartment. She had to fight against half of Metropolis to get this rent stabilized dream of an abode. It sure beat her last situation, with 2 roommates and a cat that never seemed to like her. The last straw was one of her roommates deciding 3am was the correct time to start blasting Fall Out Boy while vacuuming the television. 

No, this apartment was perfect and affordable and tiny, but homey. She had lined it with books and albums, chairs that she got from a thrift store in the area, and some lamps that some distant relative had donated to the cause. 

The living room was large enough to spread out, and the kitchen was tiny, but it wasn’t like she was much of a cook. She lived off granola bars and instant noodles, Trader Joe’s frozen meals and the occasional vegetable. 

It was always quiet in the morning. Her downstairs neighbor had gone to visit family and her upstairs one was an 82 year old grandmother with more sleeping hours than waking ones. 

She said cross-legged on the couch in a pair of wrinkled sleep shorts and a giant old hoodie that was so faded that she couldn’t remember where she got it. Across from her, the television was yapping - some morning news cycle with smiling anchors and lower thirds about weather and traffic. 

Nothing she really cared to watch, but maybe that was what Sunday mornings were for. 

She resumed folding her laundry that had been cleaned and dried four days ago. It happened so often that one chair in her living room was pretty much the laundry chair. 

Lois got up to grab a drink, preferably one with caffeine and sugar, when she noticed her houseplant. Dead. 

Dried and withered. It was one of those plants that was supposed to be low maintenance and impossible to kill. 

Lois was used to doing the impossible. 

“Damn it,” she muttered, poking at the soil, which was bone dry. She hadn’t watered it in, actually, she didn’t remember. Another casualty of her misplaced attention. 

She thought back to the graveyard of hobbies. Meditation that lasted a good 28 minutes. A sourdough starter that was alive one minute and dead the next. A 24 hour fascination with paint by number. 

The longest hobby was Wordle, but even that she had given up. 

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

DAD.

Lois hesitated, thumb hovering. Then she opened it.

Have you heard from Lucy?

Lois frowned. No greeting. No “Hi, Lo.” Just straight to the point, as always.

She stared at the message for a few seconds longer than she meant to. Then typed:

No.

She added the period as a little fuck you, not that he would even recognize it as such. 

She started to add something - Is everything okay? , maybe, or When was the last time you heard from her?  - but stopped. 

Lois and Lucy weren’t close in the slightest, and she couldn’t remember if that had ever not been the case. The two of them hardly spoke, just more than Lucy and their dad did, which wasn’t saying much. 

Lucy wasn’t the type to really check in, and if she was to check in with anyone, it wouldn’t be Lois. Plus, Lois had spent her whole life chasing after the girl. She wasn’t about to find someone who didn’t want to be found. 

She threw the phone back on the couch.

Of course their dad had reached out to her. Lois was always the default. The reliable one. The favorite - not because she tried to be, but because she knew how to shut her mouth in front of commanding officers, and their father had never really stopped being one.

Sam Lane was all bark and bite and it was clear that that wasn’t a good way to raise your two daughters. It was like they were his little soldiers, orders instead of advice and loyalty instead of conversation. 

Doing well only meant raised expectations and failure, well that’s a word that wasn’t allowed in their household. 

Lois had been eight years old the first time he told her to “act like a Lane.”

Lucy had taken it upon herself to entirely redefine that phrase brick by brick, party after party. She turned rebellion into identity. She called it freedom. Lois had never known what to call it - only that it felt like being left behind.

Lois - she was the one that Sam Lane counted on and it was exhausting - being dependable. 

So Lois clicked off her phone, grabbed her keys from the hook and walked into the outside world. 

The sun was a little too bright and the street was a little too loud. 

For a moment, Lois let herself forget about everything - about Lucy’s silence and their father’s disappointment disguised as duty. About how much weight a single text could carry.

Because being a Lane didn’t mean the same thing to all of them. To Sam, it meant control. To Lucy, escape. And to Lois - it had always meant carrying the load no one else would.

But she was tired.

And today, she just wanted to walk.

---

She thought she would peruse a few albums, make a few purchases and that would be that. Easy and fun. Nothing more, nothing less. 

She did not assume she would come out of the record store mid–existential crisis.

Was she friends with Superman? Can you be friends with Superman? It’s not like they were in a run club together or kicked back and got drinks after work. The logistics alone were complicated. 

Is it assumed that Superman would help you Ikea furniture? Would you, like, plan time to hang out or did he just appear? 

Did he have a cell phone? Does he have a great international plan? Or does he have to use WhatsApp or something? 

Would you have to sign an NDA? Would you have to get approval from a publicist? 

For all of Lois’ intellect, this was something she couldn’t piece together. 

And yet, here they were, flipping through vinyl in companionable silence like they did it every Sunday.

He picked out a few records that he liked, and she did the same. 

“Superman has a record player?” Lois raised an eyebrow.

“That he does.”

“See, I can’t picture that, I don’t see you doing just something so normal. I imagine you going back, drinking a giant protein shake, working on a few corny speeches, and then, I don’t know - doing alien things!”

“Alien things!”

“Like talking about the good ol’ days with some four eyed green guy, or flying around Saturn as your daily workout. Alien things!”

“For a reporter, you really have no idea what my life looks like,” Superman chuckled. 

“Then enlighten me.”

“Well, first I float over farmland and make crop circles - just to throw everyone for a loop. Everyone loves a good conspiracy theory. Then, I spend the next 14 hours filing my taxes in 32 different dimensions. They really need TurboTax for that - it’s not like my human accountant would even know where to begin. And if I have enough time in my day, I practice my dramatic landings in front of a mirror. It’s the cape that really sells it.”

Lois nudged him, “Ha ha. Very funny.”

He dusted off a record, before plopping it into his pile. 

“You really want to know? All of Superman’s deep dark secrets? I like a nice bowl of cereal and going grocery shopping for the perfect, crisp red apple. None of those green ones - too sour. Sometimes, I like to stargaze from my apartment. Really, it’s an incredible view - part of the reason I got it. I grew up doing the crossword puzzle, so now, it’s a habit of mine.”

Lois squinted at him. “Wow. You’re… astonishingly boring. And Superman has a landlord?”

“A terrible one at that. Still hasn't fixed my AC. Last week he tried to fine me for 'aerial noise violations.’” Superman rolled his eyes. “Which wasn’t even my doing. God forbid someone hadn’t decided to crash land onto the roof at 2am.”

“Sometimes that’s what you get for having super friends.”

He shook his head. “Nope. That was my cousin. Kara. She’s been into curating her Spotify playlists lately, but she forgot my password to the account. I don’t know how she got it in the first place.”

Lois blinked. “You have a cousin?”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered. “Last week she slammed into the skyline just to borrow my speakers. Didn’t even say hi. No one to teach that girl manners.”

Lois grinned. “I like her already. A rebel with a cause.”

Superman gave her a long-suffering look. “Being a certified chaos demon, more like. What I was trying to say is that sometimes boring is underrated.”

Lois watched him carefully, “And now you’re here. With a calico cat and smooth jazz playing overhead. It’s thrilling.”

“I don’t know,” he said, glancing around the quiet store, the warm hum of the record spinning in the corner, “No complaints here.”

“You’re different from what I expected? But also none of it is surprising.”

“What did you expect?”

Before Lois could answer, Superman interjected as if he already knew the answer, “Alien stuff.”

“Alien stuff,” she agreed. That was certain. 

“Do you think people would believe it?” she asked, “If they saw this?”

“This?”

“You. Like this. Flipping through records. Being elitist about apples. Making jokes about taxes in other dimensions.”

He considered that. “Probably not.”

“Yeah.” Lois leaned an elbow on her stack of records, flipping through them with ease, “That’s the thing. Everyone wants to see Superman stop a fire or rescue a squirrel, but no one wants to picture him scheduling a doctor’s appointment or cleaning a lint trap.”

“I’m pretty ‘super’ at both, I’ll have you know.”

She elbowed him, “You know what I mean. People don’t want him to be real. They want him to be… larger than life. It’s almost easier that way, safer to an extent.”

“And what about you?” he asked, quieter now. “What do you want me to be?”

Lois didn’t answer right away. She picked up a record, flipped it over, eyed the back without really reading it. Then, softly: “I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring it out.”

Lois learned a few things that day: Superman liked pop punk, hated green apples, and did the crossword, all while being a guy who could move mountains. 

None of it fit the image. And maybe that was the point.

Maybe he didn’t need to be larger than life.

Maybe he just needed someone to see the rest of him - and stay anyway.

Chapter Text

Monday dawned heavy and gray, the kind of day that made you want to drink tea and sleep in. Not be stuck in the bullpen with a bunch of grumpy reporters. 

Coffee wasn’t doing it today, especially the slop from the breakroom. Most of the reporters had decided not to take their lunch outside today; the thunderstorms made it less than pleasant. 

Instead, the majority of them had ordered in, leaving big tips for the delivery bicyclists and sending them on their way, raincoats pulled and reflective gear on. 

Lois’ order didn’t include the sriracha she had specifically added to the notes. 

Was it enough to ruin a day? Probably not. 

Was it close? You got that right. 

“Steve, I’m going to need you to back away from the fridge if you don’t pick something within the next ten seconds,” Lois grumbled. 

She didn’t have to ask twice. Most knew to avoid her when she reached this state. 

Lois took a step forward, grabbed the soy sauce from the right door, and stomped away. 

Jimmy, who had a mixup and clicked pickup instead of delivery, waded in from the elevator, his shoes looking like they were on their last days. 

“I’m sloshing,” he whined, “I’m so uncomfortable and I don’t know what to do to make it feel better. The feeling of wet socks and waterlogged shoes - I actually want to just fold into myself and disappear.”

“Maybe take the Atlantic Ocean somewhere that’s not in my space?” Lois threw a roll of paper towels onto the puddles trailing him without even looking back.

“I need a hairdryer or an industrial fan.”

Clark opened up his desk drawer, “You can have this commemorative Planet hand towel they gave all of us for the field day that never happened.”

“Cat had big ambitions,” Lois laughed, “But a bunch of reporters who most likely failed gym, having to play dodgeball together? Recipe for disaster.”

Clark tossed Jimmy the towel that looked like it could soak up at least a thimble of water. 

“Gee, thanks.” With one arm, Jimmy took off his coat, letting it fall with a splat to the ground. The fabric of his desk chair was deeply speckled with falling droplets. 

With the other hand, he collected the fabric of his shirt into his palm, spun it around a few times, and then wrung it out over the wad of paper towels. 

It sounded like a sponge giving up - one long, reluctant squelch followed by the sad splatter of city rain hitting the floor.

Not a great Monday to put it lightly. 

---

By the time Clark and Lois stepped out of The Daily Planet building at the end of the day, the drops were far from tentative, despite the optimistic forecast. 

No longer were there hesitant whispers of the coming storm, but deep bellows that sounded far too grand and far too full to be anything but fear inducing. 

They stood together, side by side, pressed farther back from the curb than usual. Each passing car sent up waves of grimy street water - violent, theatrical splashes that belonged more to The Sorcerer’s Apprentice than real life.

The day had gone by quickly, despite the abject mess that Jimmy made. The area around his desk looked like a sad excuse for even a budget waterpark. 

Lois’ article was still a topic of hushed discussion in the newsroom, but thankfully, the sharp sting of controversy had dulled a little - at least while she was around. It was no longer the constant echo chasing her through the halls, just a low murmur beneath the usual chaos.

They actually left at a normal hour, when it wasn’t close to twilight. Lois claimed she owned an umbrella, but its actual location remained a mystery. 

It was like how Jimmy claimed he had a date when some of the office interns came knocking. 

But the umbrella situation? It had become a quiet, unspoken routine: if it looked like it was going to rain, Clark would walk her to the metro station to make sure she didn’t get soaked. 

Sometimes, she would barely look where she was going, especially if she was on the phone with a source. He would have to guide her right and left, around this bench or through these trees. 

One time, her face came dangerously close to a flagpole before he had pulled her sharply to the side. 

Lois had stopped protesting some time ago, about three “no umbrellas” ago, when it became clear that resistance was futile.

Their coats brushed lightly against each other as they moved, the fabric bumping softly, a small comfort in the chill and damp of the fall air. 

As the rain grew heavier, if that was even possible, to a steady and unwavering sheet, their footsteps splashed in rhythm through the slick city streets. The air smelled of wet concrete and cut grass. 

By the time they reached the metro platform, the rain had become a curtain, blurring the edges of the world like you were looking through sheets and sheets of stained glass. 

Lois’ clothes clung to her like a second skin, soaked through completely, and Clark’s usually somewhat neat hair was plastered to his forehead, strands dripping water like in a humid reptile exhibit at the zoo. 

They soon reached the metro, a little overhang shielding them from the worst of it, but not all of it. 

“Thanks for walking me,” she said, voice heightened against the steady drum of rain.

He held the umbrella more over her than himself, “Come on, Lois. You know I always walk you to the station when it rains. No need to thank me.”

She folded her hands in front of her, already bracing for the last leg of her journey: the fifteen-minute walk from her home station to her apartment, a route littered with puddles and gusty crosswinds that seemed intent on stealing umbrellas, jackets, and sanity. 

But tonight, instead of the usual goodbye at the metro stop, he held firm.

He offered her the umbrella again, this time, to take with her alone.

“No,” Lois said firmly. “You’ve done enough. I’m not letting you catch a cold.”

Clark’s grin was stubborn. “You’ll find I’m pretty healthy. Besides, don’t you have a far walk from your home station?”

“Clark, I’m not taking it.”

“I’ll survive,” he replied, voice light but resolute.

“I really won’t take it.”

Clark’s gaze softened, eyes meeting hers through the rain-smeared cityscape.

“Then I guess I’m walking you all the way home,” he said.

At that moment, the train screeched to a halt, the doors sliding open with a rather obnoxious hiss. There weren’t many people on board, despite the early hour. There was a student way towards the bag, plugged up on YouTube, a backpack swinging by her side. 

An older gentleman was gazing out the window, his cap in his hands and a contemplative look in his eyes. 

Without hesitation, Clark stepped inside, shaking his umbrella off away from her. 

Lois blinked, but then quickly followed before the doors closed in front of her. 

The train was warm, which was a welcomed change from just a moment ago. They both focused on the rhythmic clatter of the wheels as they spun around the tracks, a calming pulse. Steady. 

The two of them, well they were a sight to behold. They dripped like wet dogs back from the groomer. 

Lois stole a glance at him. She knew Clark was kind and she knew that he was far too good for his own good, but sitting here, together, she realized something else. Even without being a superhero, without a cape and a fanbase and lunchboxes with his face on them, there was something quietly heroic about the man sitting next to her, dripping wet. 

To be honest, it was something that was always there, but impossible to notice for the untrained eye. 

The city blurred past in streaks of gray and yellow.

Lois’ heart thumped in an odd rhythm, one that she hadn’t felt in awhile. A beat that was not quite nerves, not quite calm.

She wondered if he was feeling it too, then threw the thought out the window. 

When they finally reached her stop, the rain had lessened to a drizzle, the sky a lighter shade of gray. Billowing and brisk, but gentler.

Clark held the umbrella steady as they stepped off the train. They didn’t need it. They were already soaked and the light misting was doing nothing to add to the mess, but still, he held the umbrella over the two of them. 

It made them move closer together, walk as one. An excuse, really. 

She didn’t call him on it and he didn’t offer a reason.

They walked through the streets, which were glistening under the glow of the overhead lights.

“You look like you lost a fight with a fire hydrant,” Lois laughed. 

“You should see yourself,” Clark replied, shaking out his hair and hitting her with droplets. Lois was convinced she saw her neighbor’s dog do the same exact thing just the other day. 

She laughed, and it was light and warm and genuine. 

As they approached, Lois paused, putting her hand on the railing to her apartment. 

For a moment, they just stood - letting the hush of the rainy night settle around them, easy and unhurried.

“Do you want to come up?” she asked suddenly, the words out before she could second-guess them, “Just to warm up. Dry off. It’s the least I could do.”

Clark blinked once. “Lois - ”

“It’s not a big deal,” she added quickly, already turning toward the door. “I just figured - ”

“I’d like that,” he said softly.

Lois nodded once, turned the key, and let him follow her inside.

“But you better take off your shoes unless I’m going to have to explain the water damage to the landlord.”

Clark smiled - she could hear it in the way he hummed an amused “Yes, ma’am” under his breath as he bent down to unlace his soaked shoes. His coat made a quiet plop on the hook by the door. She slid her own boots off, water still dripping at the heel.

Lois closed the door behind them, the quiet click echoing through the empty apartment. 

They didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, they stood close in the narrow hallway, the scent of rain mingling in the air between them. It was that quiet, suspended kind of stillness, like both of them knew something had shifted but didn’t know if they should acknowledge it yet. 

She moved first, padding into the bathroom and returning with a clean towel. “Here,” she said, tossing it to him gently. “Catch.”

“Thanks,” he caught it with practiced ease.

She raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who chose to walk me home in a monsoon. Kind of feel like I should be offering you soup or a medal. At least one. Potentially both.”

Clark laughed softly, toweling off his hair, which only made it stick up in new, more chaotic directions. Lois tried not to stare, but it was hard. He looked younger like that -  relaxed, damp, and a little mussed.

She grabbed her own towel and squeezed out her hair over the kitchen sink. It was enough water to refill a Brita.

Lois threw him an old t-shirt and sweatpants of an old situationship that luckily fit. He took a quick second in the bathroom as she placed a kettle on the stove. 

As he exited: “This is why I hate when it gets like this,” she muttered. “Feels like getting ambushed by your own city. Wet and humid and miserable.”

Clark, now standing in her tiny kitchen, leaned on the counter like he belonged there. “Could’ve been worse.”

“How?” she challenged.

“You could’ve actually been prepared for once,” he said, matter of fact, “And then I wouldn’t have had a reason to tag along, get drenched, and end up here - dripping on your kitchen floor. It’s my evil plan to get your landlord to give you a citation.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Says who?”

They stood, face to face. She was often at home by herself, and she never seemed to notice just how small her kitchen was. Inches apart. 

It was not unlike how they sat side by side when they were reading each other’s drafts, but somehow, something felt changed. 

Lois cleared her throat, suddenly aware of the lack of distance and the cling of wet fabric to her skin. 

She whispered some excuse about stepping into the bathroom for a moment to peel off her soaked clothes. 

Lois threw on a simple t-shirt and sweats from her old college, worn and lived in. It felt good to be dry, to shed the heaviness of the day. 

When she came back, she asked, “So, what kind of tea would you like?”

She couldn’t help but laugh when she caught Clark directly in the act, dumping a couple of open hot chocolate packets into two mugs. His expression was a mix of sheepish delight and guilt, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“That works too,” she laughed, shaking her head.

They settled into the living room, mugs in hand. She held it close, feeling the heat radiate through the ceramic, warming up the tips of her fingers. 

She sat first, then Clark. He somehow left just enough space to respect whatever boundaries were unspoken while also staying close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. 

They sipped their drinks. The hot chocolate was rich and grounding, a sweet contrast to their journey to get to this very apartment. 

“Your sugar addiction might be rivaling my own.”

Clark grinned, “Great minds think alike?”

“You might be onto something,” she teased, her voice softer now. Then, with a shy honesty: “Sorry about the mess. I don’t have people over often, not in a while. Actually… you’re the first person from work who’s been here. Weird, right? Congrats, you’re the first.”

Clark looked down at his mug, thoughtful, stirring absentmindedly. “I’m trying not to overanalyze it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like it,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want to jinx it.”

She felt something unspoken pass between them - a fragile bridge built from small, ordinary moments like hot chocolate on a cold evening, or a breakroom contest, or late nights turned mornings perfecting their drafts. 

A damp trench coat hanging quietly by her door, this time, not only her own. His leather shoes lined up neatly beside hers on the worn floor, tracks of mud on their soles. The low clang of their mugs as they set them down on the coasters. 

Lois realized something; they didn’t need words at the moment. For once, Lois Lane was silent. 

It wasn’t much, just a pause, a breath, a look, but it was enough to make the world shift just a little. Even by an inch.

Chapter Text

It was close to midnight when Clark returned to his apartment, still a bit damp and still a lot dazed from the quiet intimacy of being in Lois Lane’s living room, sipping cups filled to the top with hot chocolate and sharing laughs that came far too naturally. 

Unlike Lois’ lived-in apartment with its mismatched chairs and coatrack so full that it was close to tipping over, Clark’s apartment was less personable. Clean lines, modern, open spaces not filled with clutter. He didn’t display photo frames or pieces of art that spoke to him from his travels. His mugs were all uniform, white, and ceramic. 

For most of the time he spent in Metropolis, he was either at The Planet or patrolling the city. Clark somehow got it in his head that he didn’t need to settle, didn’t need to let himself get too comfortable. 

He told himself that it was practical, and easy. No fish to feed when he knew he had to leave at a moment’s notice to stop a fire blazing through an apartment complex. No handmade quilt from his mom that would remind him that he was so far from home. 

Most days, it never bothered him. Things were simple, easy. But today, well today was a different story because all he could think about was the contrast, the way in which you could tell everything about Lois by stepping into her apartment. 

The way she was a voracious reader, and a terrible cook. Her addiction to sugar, with quite a large pantry of grab and go meals and sweet treats. Her quite remarkable ability to always get distracted when she was working on a story, evident by the piles of half folded laundry, grocery list that trailed off, and a floor that was half vacuumed. 

Her place was a place someone lived in, his was one someone waited in. Waited to settle. Waited to be given permission to be. 

He toed off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door. He dropped his work bag at the foot of the coatrack and his umbrella in the sink, still dripping. 

Just as he was about to head into the bathroom to shower and go to bed, a force hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards with non-human intensity. He luckily caught himself before he fell. If he hadn’t, well, he would’ve had to explain some human sized indents in the floor to his less than happy landlord. 

“Krypto?” The dog licked his face once, twice, before biting his ankles. 

“Oww. Okay. Stop. Enough. Krypto c’mon dude. Why are you doing this?” Clark stumbled into the living room. 

At that moment, a blonde head peeked out from his sofa, “Would you keep it down, PLEASE. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Maybe if you got control over YOUR dog, there wouldn’t be an issue. Also, why are you here?” 

“What a warm welcome for your only family member.”

“I’m so used to you stumbling in drunk at the Fortress. Forgive me that I’m a little shocked that you’re here. Did you make a copy of my key?”

Kara curled up again on his sofa, “Wouldn’t you like to know? And maybe I got tired of sleeping on giant ice crystals. You could really use an interior decorator. I know a guy from this planet who builds furniture that floats when you play music - oh and he throws in emotional support lava lamps with real lava. And tell me, why do you live in a place that looks like the Apple store? It screams ‘bachelor who gets mad when you mess up his alphabetized cereal boxes.’”

Kara’s face was half painted with sparkles and dots of glow-in-the-dark-paint. Half her head of hair was braided, and half was loose, streaked with holographic dye that he couldn’t tell if it was more blue or purple. It depended on the light. 

She was wearing a mesh top, and a shiny sports bra underneath, all covered by a leather jacket. Leather from earth, or some unknown alien animal, he wasn’t sure. Frayed shorts and combat boots that he just knew she didn’t even think to take off before trudging through his apartment. 

“You look a little worse for wear,” Clark hung his jacket up by the front, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and grabbing two large glasses of ice water. 

“Do you have baja blast?”

Clark sighed. 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

He set a glass of water in front of her. “Did something happen? Do you need my help?”

Kara gave him one of her signature eye rolls, “Why do you happen to forget that I’m also Kryptonian? I can handle myself.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Ughh,” she whined, “Okay, so maybe I almost married a prince a few light years away? No one told me that they don’t give all party attendees a basket of glowing orbs and a scented candle? It looked expensive, like Le Labo or Diptyque. Fancy shit.” 

Clark opened his mouth to speak, but even he needed a couple more seconds to process. 

“You know, I go to a single space rave this week - my only one since, well, Tuesday, and dance with a guy who has good bone structure and decent hoverboarding skills, and suddenly I’m on someone’s wedding registry. Who throws a rave and forgets to mention that it doubles as a wedding?”

Clark blinked. “I don’t know what to say to all of that.”

Kara flopped dramatically against the back of the couch, “Don’t worry, I blew up the paperwork before it was processed. Thank god that municipal dealings on any planet are far too inefficient, like what you guys call the DMW.”

“Kara.”

“What?” she said, “And then I ghosted him. Don’t you always say I should act more human? Well, that’s basically a custom for you guys.”

Clark sighed, setting his mug down and running a hand through his still-damp hair. “So you don’t need my help getting an intergalactic annulment”

“No,” she said, “I can handle myself. I just needed somewhere to lay low. What better way than this corporate housing themed apartment you’ve got going on? I went grocery shopping!”

Clark looked towards the kitchen. Cotton candy grapes, astronaut ice cream, a bag of just the marshmallows from Lucky Charms, lunchables, and cosmic brownies. 

“I got stuff for you too.”

Right next to the haul of chemically processed junk, was a single green apple. 

“I told you I don’t like green apples!”

“Stop whining. You should be grateful!” Kara grumbled. Her boots, still dusted with whatever alien soil residue stuck to her from the planet of glowing orbs, were kicked up on his coffee table, next to the remains of three wrappers and what looked suspiciously like an empty jar of marshmallow fluff.

“You broke into my house!”

“Why do you always get into the semantics?” She turned over, pulling his blanket around herself, much like Jimmy’s puffer-coat burrito ensemble. 

Clark ran a hand through his hair, “I need to go to bed.”

Before he could get up, Kara put her hand out, preventing him from standing. “I’m awake now. It’s your turn. Where were you? I didn’t see any headlines screaming 'Superman saves city, kisses babies, flies into sunset.' Not even a squirrel rescue. Suspicious.”

“I was,” Clark took a sip of his water, “You know, doing boring human things, hanging out with a friend. Talking about work and records and stuff.”

“What’s a record?”

“Spotify but more inconvenient. Big, round, and heavy and impossible to fit in your pocket.” 

“I’ll never understand the people on this planet. Did you know that you have to have a credit card to buy things? I tried to show them my intergalactic credit chip and they all laughed.” Krypto had found his way to the couch, laying on his back without a care in the world. Kara pet him with the one hand that wasn’t under the blanket. “Good thing I remembered I stole one of your cards,” Kara added offhandedly, shooting Clark a sugary smile.

“Of course you did,” Clark sighed. 

“Call it familial distribution of resources.”

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops.”

Kara laughed wholeheartedly, tossing her head back, “You’re funny, Clarkie. I would eat those cops for breakfast. Take them down with a flick of the wrist.” She pulled herself up, taking the remote in her hands, “So, do you want to watch something?”

“I feel like we probably don’t have the same taste,” Clark inched over, forcing her to share the blanket. 

“You’re right. Why are your only favorited movies ‘It's a Wonderful Life’, ‘Good Will Hunting’, and ‘Old Yeller?’ Maybe I should start looking into retirement homes for you,” Kara clicked through his Netflix. 

“Actually, I turn off Old Yeller before it gets to the end,” Clark admitted, collecting her wrappers one by one. 

Kara rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“Don’t be like that, Kara. What’s wrong with movies with heart?”

Kara sighed, “You like movies where people cry and hug their dads. Wanna watch Drag Race? Or Love Island? I've already rewatched KPop Demon Hunters twice, but I'm willing to go for a third.”

“Another day.”

For a beat, she didn’t say anything.

Then, quieter: “Yeah. Sure. Another day.”

Clark moved to get up, tossing his end of the blanket over her. “Hey,” he said gently, nudging her. “Seriously. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Her tone was flat, practiced. Like she’d already boxed it up and shoved it onto a shelf somewhere far out of reach. 

Clark didn’t press. Instead, he just nodded once and let her get back to whatever bright and loud show she was going to pick.

“All right,” he said, voice low. “But I mean it, whenever.”

Before Clark turned into his bedroom, he glanced back. Her knees were drawn up under the blanket now, arms wrapped around them. Some of the holographic dye in her hair had started to fade, smudged with water or sweat or time. The sparkle makeup clung to her cheek in cracked constellations. For all her firecracker attitude, she suddenly looked very, very young.

Chapter Text

In the darkest corners of the internet, where people hid behind anonymous usernames and radicalism ravaged everything in its path, the line between fandom and fanaticism blurred.

How did it begin, you might ask? 

Well, this time, it was a link and a quote. One post that lit the spark. 

It was first on fan forums and conspiracy threads - a couple of carefully chosen lines from her article. 

On the surface, and for the majority of what lived online, it was just the usual chatter, nothing especially exciting at all. 

You might see a TikTok-er breaking down the floodwater incident, or a YouTube video essay about power and what it means to be a hero. Some people used this as an opportunity to discuss their experience with those with powers. 

One guy in particular was very angry that Hawkgirl showed up to her autograph signing 2 hours late, clearly under some influence. 

Another was angry that after he asked for Mister Terrific’s advice, he told him that his haircut wasn’t flattering, when he was only asking for advice on where to go in the area for dinner. 

The response was truly what you expect from a more divisive article and, as expected, as the world turned, most of the fuel ran out. 

Conversations petered out and the next topic was brought to the stand. It’s the endless cycle of news and debate. 

The problem was, her article also hit the echo chambers, most notably, the places where Superman wasn’t just admired. No. In these places, Superman was worshipped. 

Superman, like most exceptionally powered individuals, had his standard following: fans, critics, and those who fell somewhere in the middle but couldn’t look away. 

The thing was, there was another tier entirely: the rabid zealots. These are the people who didn’t want nuance, and certainly didn’t believe in nuance. 

To them, the mere act of asking “Who holds him accountable?” was sacrilege. If you asked them, they might even have called it treason. 

And Lois’ article? It was gasoline on dry kindling and it wasn’t surprising that her name spread like wildfire. It was all too fast and angry, lighting up every corner of the internet’s back alleys. 

It spread, not among thoughtful readers or colleagues or curious citizens, but among the digital die-hards who lived in forums built for rage and anonymity. Places where civility went to die and offense was currency.

She hadn’t just questioned a man in a cape.

She had insulted a god.

The worst part was that she wasn’t even aware of the scope of the online hatred. She didn’t even know to dig, to listen to what could be around every corner. 

People like this, they stay in their little feedback loops. They didn’t get their power from the outside world; they got their strength from closed worlds, where every thought is mirrored back, amplified, and reinforced until as fortified as steel itself. 

And when their beliefs became ironclad, they started to bleed into the outside world. 

The first time she saw it was over someone’s shoulder in the bullpen.

One of the interns was scrolling Reddit on a break, and a picture of Lois’ Con of Steel article popped up. The headline beneath read: “The Woman Who Thinks She’s Better Than Superman.”

At first, she laughed it off. It was just clickbait, and utter journalist garbage. 

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Lane. It just came up,” the bumbling newbie faltered. She looked like she was ready to throw her phone across the room. 

Lois waved it off, “Ignore it. People online will say anything to get clicks. They just want a reaction.”

The intern nodded. 

“But if it gets louder, you tell me. Got it? This kind of noise... it can get ugly.”

---

It did get louder, but she didn’t need the intern to be the one to let her know. Somehow, her work email was released, and her email quickly filled with messages. 

Some were tame enough: “Who do you think you are?” or “Not everyone wants your opinion” or “Stay in your lane, Lane.”

She had gotten worse from her own father and she even stifled a laugh at the last one. 

But nothing is ever that simple, and soon enough, the uglier ones landed in her inbox:

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so bitter if anyone actually wanted to be with you.”

“Funny how bold you are when you’re hiding behind a press badge. I wonder how fast you’d run if you didn’t have The Daily Planet backing you.”

“What’d you do, sleep your way to the top so they would approve your godawful article?”

“Try that tone again, and we’ll see how invincible you are.”

“If Superman had slept with you, you’d be singing a different tune.”

“Lois. You okay?”

Cat had paused during her usual morning lap around the bullpen, after she had successfully uncovered at least one piece of office gossip and stolen back her glitter pen from Jimmy’s desk. 

Cat placed one perfectly manicured hand on Lois’ shoulder. Instead of her normal tone that was often too enthusiastic for 9am, Cat spoke low and soft, just enough care to register but not enough to make a scene. 

“I’m fine,” Lois said, way too quickly. As she spoke, she could feel the tension in her shoulders move all the way down her spine. Tick tick tick, tightening click by click. 

Cat didn’t move, didn’t run off to take ownership of the vanilla creamer or complain that there wasn’t a matcha option. She kept her hand on Lois’ shoulder, warm and steady. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve gotten hate mail, Cat.”

“This might be different,” Cat said quietly.

Lois didn’t argue since it was clear she didn’t need to ask what ‘different’ meant.

It wasn’t just angry readers venting at a byline anymore. It was the kind of hate that followed you home.

---

Later that week, Lois tried to breathe, to focus, to get one goddamn word on this page, but the shadows were getting too hard to ignore. She had a 2 hour meeting with Planet legal, and another 2 hour meeting with the Metropolis police. 

While they could fortify her inbox and send any emails she received to Metropolis’ Cyber Crimes division, it didn’t keep the eyes from watching her when she wasn’t looking. 

On Thursday, Lois stood in line at the bagel shop down the street from the Planet. Luckily, she wasn’t behind a guy who wanted a scooped bagel. That was traumatic. 

“Hey, Vinny”

“The usual, Lois?”

“You know me too well.”

A moment later, she walked, order in hand, to the cashier, quickly swiping her card at the terminal. As she went to grab some napkins at the self-serve station, she nearly collided with a man tossing out his trash. 

Mid-thirties with a forgettable face. 

As he passed, low enough that his words would only meet her ears, he said: “Better writers than you have disappeared for less.”

Then he was gone, out the door and into the street, swallowed by traffic like he’d never been there. A ghost. 

A shiver began at the base of Lois’s neck, like a strand of cold air had slipped beneath her sweater collar. It traveled down slowly, further and further, tracing a line down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. 

---

By late afternoon, the next day, Lois just needed to shake off the chatter in her brain. She ventured to a restaurant, opting for pickup instead of delivery. Plus, it was only five blocks away. 

She didn’t make it three. 

Two blocks south, she walked along the sidewalk, no map needed on her phone. She knew this route. She always walked this route. 

It took her by sheer surprise when a hand, sudden and uninvited, wrapped around her wrist. 

“Hey,” a voice called, resolute and gruff. 

She was spun around, her loafers scraping sharply against the pavement. The movement was so sudden, so forceful, that there was no time for a calculated response. 

Lois looked him in the eyes. She didn’t see the fact that he was older and weathered first. She didn’t notice his windbreaker or the way his sleeves were rolled up. 

The first thing she saw was fury. Like he had been staring at the gates of hell for centuries.

His grip wasn’t crushing, but it was firm, like he wanted her to know he could tighten it if he wanted to.

“You’re the reporter, right?” he said, “The one trying to take Superman down.”

Lois didn’t know what would help her in this moment, to deny or agree. 

As she searched his features, the way a sneer was carved deep into his cheeks, she knew that this man had no doubt who she was. 

Lois jerked her arm back. “I wrote a story.”

“Oh yeah?” He stepped closer, “And you think that makes you what? Clever or maybe brave? You and your questions and your fucking big mouth.”

The man continued, punctuating every word like it was scripture: “You’re the reason people lose faith in good men.”

“What the fuck, man. Get away from me,” Lois fumed. 

He leaned in, “You really think you’re smarter than Superman? You think the world needs your opinion on someone who’s saved it a dozen times over?”

She didn’t have to think about what to say next, or how to manage the firestorm in front of her because before she knew it, his fingers twitched, reaching again, something dangerous flickering in his eyes.

“Touch me again,” she said, voice flat, “and I’ll break your jaw.”

And then, just a second before she was about to deck him . . . she heard a voice behind her. One that was calm and low and firm and. . . familiar? 

“Is there a problem here?”

Clark.

Lois didn’t even hear him approach, but suddenly he was there, stepping between them with zero hesitation. 

His frame cut the tension like a blade, solid and steady, like a dam built in seconds. Clark towered over him, unrelenting and anchored. 

The man opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but all that came out was: “Careful who you defend, man. She’ll twist your words next.”

Before Clark could react, the man slipped away, disappearing into the crowd like smoke, swallowed by the afternoon rush.

Clark’s jaw tightened, his body already tensing to follow, but before he could move, she looked at him, Lois’ eyes catching his - and he knew he had to stay. 

She didn’t speak for a moment, and then two. After three, it was like she finally realized she hadn’t exhaled. As she did, her breath caught halfway through, like it snagged on something raw festering in her very chest. 

“Fuck,” she muttered, “Why was I so scared? I grew up in a military family. I know how to fight.”

Her voice was edged with frustration - at the man and the world and the internet, and in a truthful way, herself.

“How could you even think to blame yourself right now?” Clark snapped and it was the first time Lois had heard Clark angry, and definitely the first time she had heard it directed at her. The edge in his tone was certainly sharp enough to cut glass like paper. 

And Lois didn’t flinch. Not once. She knew his outrage was born out of the fact that she was trying to shoulder the blame and Clark wasn’t going to stand for that, even for a second. 

In some ways, his anger made her shake those worries out of her mind, grounding her in the reality of the situation. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he continued, “He crossed a line and you’re allowed to be scared. Truth be told, I would be worried for you if you weren’t. That fear you felt doesn’t make you weak. Lois, that makes him wrong.” Clark’s tone was soft and comforting, like one that you would use when helping a kid who scraped his knee. 

Lois glanced at him and quickly noticed that Clark’s shoulders were pulled tighter than usual, like he was restraining something barely tethered. Clark wasn’t just angry; he was rattled and dare she say furious? Not at her, not even a little bit. 

“Fuck,” she said again, but quieter this time.

And then Lois moved, fast and instinctive. She buried herself in him like it was muscle memory, as easy as writing your name or saying the alphabet. As simple as knowing the sky is blue. 

Her arms tucked against his chest, her forehead landing near the slope of his shoulder. It wasn’t graceful or planned. It was just… necessary, and both she and he knew that. 

Clark didn’t hesitate and within a second, one arm came around her instantly. The other hovered for a second before settling around her shoulder blades. 

“You’re okay,” he said softly, “You’re okay.”

Lois didn’t think he was saying it just for her.

Chapter Text

That night, Lois probably spent at least ten minutes cleaning the same bowl. Her cup of tea had gone cold on the counter, forgotten about two plates ago. 

She’d done her due diligence, checked in with the people who would otherwise show up at her door: “Yes, Cat. I’m really okay. I promise. No! I’m not lying. Why do you think I’m lying? Stop, hold up. You’re talking too fast. I’m not going to remember the name of your therapist. Not a therapist? An astronomy healer? Can we please talk about this tomorrow? Goodnight. No, I’m not considering it.” 

“Jimmy, I think you’re checking in on me so you don’t have to actually talk to your date. Tell her she deserves better. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you for today, Clark. Yes, I’m home. And I know you’re worried, but for tonight, I’m truly okay. Thanks for always checking in.”

Now, alone with her own thoughts, she remembered the fear, the way she tensed. The way she could feel her heartbeat echoing through her body, down to her very fingertips. 

Lois remembered her younger years, hanging out at the army base with her father. It was their version of daycare: target drills, hand to hand combat, and war stories she couldn’t fully understand. Back then, when she was barely old enough to ride without training wheels, fear had its place. An address. Somewhere she could point and say, fear lives there.

It belonged in those war stories. In those battles far from home, across continents and cities and almost far enough that you could imagine it wasn’t actually happening. 

Fear lived in the places labeled with a big red pushpin on the map in her father’s office. 

Lois? Lois knew where to find fear. 

Now, years later, she wasn’t as sure as her younger counterpart. Fear, well, it showed up announced, like whispered threats in a bagel shop or wrist grabs in the middle of the street. 

For someone so very logical, Lois hated not knowing how to track it, surround it, and choke it out. 

Things were not as cut and dry as they once were. She missed the days when she was told to punch here, duck now, and swing right - and she would get a smile and a pat on the back. That was all it took to disarm the enemy. 

But no one told her as a kid that a set sequence of actions didn’t always have the same outcome. 

No one warned her that even if she did everything right, the correct timing, the correct jab, the correct posture, that didn’t automatically mean success. It didn’t mean that you won. 

No matter how strong she was, and no matter how independent or brave, or trained, the fear could still creep in. 

That’s what Lois hated the most - the vulnerability and the inability to protect herself from it. 

Her father always told her to be strong, to control her emotions. Years and years of boxing up every feeling and throwing it to the back of her closet like an old Bakerline yearbook still wasn’t enough. 

She couldn’t will herself to be invulnerable, no matter how hard she tried. She wasn’t super. 

Lois reverted back to the kid again, who couldn’t be what her father wanted, what he needed. 

She could ace all the fitness tests and be the top in the class in all the combat drills, but it didn’t keep her from crying when she thought about her mom. It didn’t stop the pain when she didn’t have anyone to take her shopping for a graduation dress. 

And it didn’t stop her now, from judging herself for being weak. 

There was a disconnect between logic and heart. In her head, she could compartmentalize as much as she wanted. She knew that no blame should fall on her for feeling afraid. It was quite irrational to think otherwise. 

Nevertheless, knowing and feeling were different and Lois couldn’t stop the quiet sense that she failed somehow. 

She hated that it still lived in her, this reflex to equate emotion with weakness. That some part of her still believed the tears made her small, that vulnerability was something to muscle through rather than acknowledge.

Because if she let herself feel it fully, it might make all the armor fall apart and who would she be without that? 

So she kept washing the same bowl, over and over, until the porcelain lost its shine and her hands were chafed and slippery with soap.

She could get through this. She could power through the way her heart felt like it was pounding so hard that it was going to break.

But, God, she was utterly exhausted from just barely making it through.

---

She knew that had to do something, something other than check her locks 3 times and make sure the baseball bat was next to the door. 

She could almost feel the buzz in the depths of her chest urging her, needing her, pleading with her to do something to protect herself, while fully realizing that no amount of fortification could stop the fear from festering, breathing, and sinking into her every step.  

At least for now, planning any of the specifics was shelved when a soft knock came. 

Not from the door. 

From the window. 

“Hey, Trouble.”

The window stuck a little when she tried to open it. With a grunt and a squeal of old hinges, it finally gave. A gust of cool night air rushed in with a whoosh, making Lois wish she’d remembered to reheat her tea.

“My sister used to call me that. She thought it was funny because she was always the one getting into trouble.”

“And you were innocent in all of it?”

“Naturally.”

Superman laughed. 

“This is the second time now. I’m convinced you’re stalking me,” Lois jested, pulling her sweatshirt past her hands as an ineffective measure to protect her from the cold. 

“Do stalkers usually knock?”

“Some have been known to,” she replied with a shrug, “Keep victims guessing.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Maybe bring some magazines for ransom note arts-and-crafts. Do you prefer Tiger Beat or Better Homes and Gardens ?” 

For one of the first times that day, a smile inched across Lois’ face. 

“ Tiger Beat for sure. I could do those silly little quizzes like what’s your undercover popstar name or how to tell if a boy likes you.”

“What’s the verdict?” He asked, something teasing in his voice. 

She paused, just long enough to let the question hang. She knew which one he meant.

“Tori Missouri,” she said instead, grinning, “Or maybe Fiona Arizona. You can come to me for all your secret identity needs.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Superman accepted, a laugh playing on his lips. He took a breath, lifting a centimeter up in the air, and then back down as he exhaled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You didn’t have to check on me.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

She leaned forward, arms folded and resting on the windowsill, “How did you even know?”

He gave a faint, almost sheepish smile. “I’m Superman.”

The line should’ve felt arrogant. It didn’t. It felt... honest. Of course he knew.

Lois tilted her head. “You’re not supposed to play favorites.”

“I don’t,” he said, paused, and then added, “Usually.”

“You can come in, you know? But maybe through a door or something, I don’t think you’ll fit through this window.”

“You’re probably right. Who does Superman call when he gets stuck in a window? I doubt my cousin would heed the call,” Superman laughed, a smile growing from ear to ear. There was something stupidly charming about that grin. 

“Referring to yourself in the third person?”

“I figured I would give it a shot. Not feeling it?” He gave an exaggerated shrug, still smiling.

Lois shook her head then tossed him a ring of keys, “It’s Apartment 7.”

---

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You’re not even trying to hide it.”

“Fine. But it’s just because,” she gestured to Superman, hand against the door, pulling off his signature boots one by one, “It’s weird to see them come off. Like I was pretty sure you lived in that suit. Like they were glued to you or something.”

He straightened, one brow raised, “And to think, when I met you, I thought you were the normal one.” 

Lois scoffed, in mock horror, “Superman is kinda sassy. What happened to America’s golden boy?”

She led him through the apartment until they were both seated on her couch. She tossed her half-folded laundry to one of the chairs in the vicinity. 

“He had quite a day,” Superman said, running a hand through his hair. She felt the weight in the air shift. “How do I make it up to you. I don’t even know where to begin. How do I make sure it never happens again?” Superman leaned forward, looking more human than he ever had before. 

That stilled her.

Lois crossed her arms, not defensive, just unsure. She didn’t know what to say to someone who, like her, was so ready to shoulder the blame for something they couldn’t fully control.

“You’re not responsible for what people say online,” she said directly, “You didn’t ask for any of this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to process her words but couldn’t quite get there. “There are people out there,” he said slowly, deliberately, “who think they can act on my behalf and speak for me. Sometimes, even threaten others for me. That’s not something I ever wanted and it’s something I will actively discourage. But if they’re using my name, if they believe they’re doing it because of me, then I don’t get to look away.”

He added, almost like an admission, “It doesn’t matter if I never meant it. If someone gets hurt in my name… I’m part of it.”

Lois turned towards him, really looking at the man in front of her. “I understand why they put your faces on cereal and lunchboxes. You’re just, well, there’s no other way to say it, good.”

“Good’s a heavy word. I just do my best to deserve the chance to try.”

In any other context, it would’ve sounded ridiculous, like something pulled straight from a cheesy Hallmark script - but coming from him, with that quiet seriousness in his voice and the unmistakable weight behind the words, it didn’t feel corny at all. It felt… raw and honest in a way that almost made it hard to meet his eyes.

“I write a story and people twist it and make me a target. Your entire thing is saving people, yet you still carry the guilt for the enemies you can’t reach. So where do we go from here? Superman’s next big nemesis is online radicalism?” Lois tried to joke, but the situation was just too ripe and real to accept it as anything but truth. 

She continued musing, more-so to understand the thoughts running through her mind that to come up with an answer: “How do you fight something you can’t even see? That hides in the shadows until it doesn’t?”

He leaned forward just slightly, earnest now. “You know what scares people like that? You. Someone who tells the truth and refuses to be quiet when they’re told to shut up."

The words hit her like a weight she didn’t realize she was carrying until he helped lift it.

Superman continued, "They think their anger and violence can silence any dissenters. By turning into yourself, you're telling them that they're right. You have to do the opposite.”

“So I don’t shut up.”

“No, you stay loud. But not because you’re scared, but because you’re brave.” 

Her back straightened. She nodded, slowly at first, then with more certainty.

“And you won’t be alone. I’ll make a statement. If you need me, call and I’ll be there, every time.”

Lois was grateful for Superman at this moment. Not for his super speed, or ability to fly, or the way he could casually lift a building like it was a feather. Lois was grateful to him for seeing her. For not trying to fix her fear but naming it, respecting it, standing next to it without flinching.

“Okay,” she said like a vow.

They sat for a moment, her curled up under the blanket and him, taking a look at the titles lining her shelves. 

“You look funny,” she murmured.

He turned, brow raised, about to pick a book from the pile.

“Look at you,” she motioned up and down, “You’re in your full suit, cape and all, but no boots - just socks.”

Superman laughed, “Is it breaking the aura?”

“You broke it awhile ago when you told me that The Mighty Crabjoys were punk.”

“They are!”

“Keep thinking that, buddy,” Lois jested, “Just like Taylor Swift is country.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Explain ‘Our Song,’ then.”

She didn’t voice it, but a small part of her was comforted by his company. Otherwise, she’d still be wrestling with her thoughts, scrubbing the same bowl as if it could wash them away.

---

As he pulled back on his boots, ready to head out for the night, Lois just had one final question. 

“What did you even mean by that? When you said I should call if I was ever in trouble? Call like... yell into the sky? Scream ‘Superman’ and hope you’re not busy rescuing a cat or stopping an earthquake in Chile?”

“You’re ruining a nice moment. I don’t know the specifics. I’ll hear you.”

Lois squinted at him. “That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird - it’s actually exactly what I do. How do you think I know when there is danger afoot? I listen.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you just say afoot unironically? You're always tuned in? That’s - I mean, imagine how embarrassing that would be. Me yelling your name in public and no one shows up. I’d look completely unhinged. Everyone around me would think I lost it.”

“What if you’re asleep,” she continued, “or in the middle of something. What if you’re, I don’t know, really invested in your Sunday crossword?”

He smiled again, the kind of smile that made him look like a boy, not one of the most powerful people on the planet. “Fine.”

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Put your contact in.”

She blinked. “You have a phone ?”

“Why are you so surprised that I grocery shop or take off my boots or have a piece of technology that every person in this city has?”

Lois shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she typed in her number. “Alright, but if I ever call you and you don’t show, I’m telling everyone that Superman ghosts people.”

He laughed softly. “Fair enough. Guess I’ll have to keep my word then.”

Chapter Text

The press conference happened the next day. The good thing about being a superhero - if he wanted to talk, people would listen. 

A bouquet of microphones were aimed at him, ready to capture every word. Journalists circled, notepads in hand and recorders at the ready. 

Superman wasn’t one to call press conferences typically. He much preferred to let the work speak for itself. This, though, this was an exception. 

Cameras focused in slowly, tighter on the figure at the podium. 

---

Everyone at The Daily Planet had gravitated towards the televisions propped up on a couple of walls around the bullpen. 

Cat was perched on the edge of someone else’s desk, matcha in hand, sipping gingerly. 

Steve was by the coffee machine, pretending not to listen. 

Even Perry, who was known to lock himself away in his office, was sitting at Clark’s desk. Clark had said he had to run to a doctor’s appointment and at this point, Perry was really starting to worry about the boy’s health. 

He was going to as many doctor’s appointments as men three times his age. 

---

Superman started slowly, placing both hands firm on the podium. 

“There’s something I need to say and I’m going to try to say it right.”

He ignored the thousands of clicks as they detonated like bullets. 

“Everyday, I show up to help people and do what I can. I would like to think that I do good, help this city and its people to the best of my ability.”

Superman watched as some of the reporters nodded along. 

“You know me. I value compassion and bravery and doing what is right and good. Lately, I’ve seen people using my name to justify cruelty and intimidation. To threaten those that bring my actions into question.”

He took a breath, “Rightfully so.”

“These people say they are protecting me and my values, but when have my values even been to endanger others and bully anyone who dares to look deeper at the effects of my choices? I would even say that these people are doing the exact opposite of what I stand for.”

His jaw set, voice tightening just slightly.

---

At a corner café in Metropolis, conversation stilled.

The hiss of the coffee machine kept going, but no one noticed; they were too busy watching the screen in front of them. A kid in a faded Superman hoodie paused mid-sip of his juice box. A teenager behind the counter quietly turned up the volume.

An older man in the back lifted his coffee - black, no sugar - but didn’t drink. He just stared at the television, unmoving. 

---

“You don’t defend someone by threatening others. You don’t protect people by silencing the truth. Speaking out should not put a target on your head. Asking hard questions does not make you the enemy. If you think I stand for fear, or silence, or unquestioned power - then you don’t know me at all.”

---

Lois stood off to the side, surrounded by a crowd of journalists, camera crews, and boom mics craning forward. Superman was mere feet away, his cape unmoving in the still, heavy air.

This Superman felt different than the one sitting on her couch last night. This Superman was the one she was used to seeing on television, the one people cheered for. 

She couldn’t help but think about the man in her living room who steadied himself on her front door, pulling off his boots. The man who laughed about popstar alter egos and defended The Mighty Crabjoys. 

This version of Superman though? He stood tall and firm, commanding yet still a gentle kind of presence behind it all. Always an undercurrent of kindness, but now wrapped in something steadier - measured resolve. Purpose.

It was disorientating to piece both sides of him together, the one the public knew and the one only she was beginning to. 

In some way, because she remembered that subtle tremor in his voice when he admitted he didn’t know how to make things right, along with how openly he had revealed his own vulnerabilities, his words today hit harder than they might have otherwise. If she didn’t know the man behind the symbol. 

He didn’t just speak because it was the right thing to do. He felt every word. He cared with every ounce in him. 

It was strange, realizing she might be one of the only people in the crowd who knew how heavy that cape actually was. 

In public, he wore it with such utter conviction and confidence. Little did they know that behind the scenes, he was just as nervous and uncertain as anyone else.

Every day, it was a conscious choice for him to be a good man. It looked effortless, as if goodness was simply who he was meant to be, but Lois knew better, at least she was beginning to. 

After seeing him in the moments without the cameras, Lois finally recognized the courage it took to keep choosing goodness, again and again.

---

“I don’t want to be on a pedestal,” Superman continued, his voice steady but earnest. “I never did. Hold me accountable. Hold all Supes accountable. Hold everyone in power accountable - governments, politicians, titans of industry. If you think strength means never being challenged, you’re wrong. Strength is facing those questions head-on, even when the answers aren’t easy or comfortable,” Superman looked at each person in the crowd, eyes moving at rhythm from one to the next. 

“I stand with the people who ask questions. I stand with the people who speak truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially then.” 

Superman put both hands on the side of the podium, grounded. 

“Let it be known that I will not tolerate people who use my name to justify violence and to silence anyone with a differing opinion. If you do that, you aren’t my supporter. You are one of the people I have to stop,” Superman declared.

And with that, a heavy silence settled over the crowd. Lois turned to see the peppering of nods in the crowd. The way some stood wide-eyed like they finally realized this was bigger than some customary press conference. 

This represented something greater, a real change. 

Lois felt the weight of his words settle deep in her chest. This was more than a statement; it was a promise. A promise to protect, not just from physical harm. Not just from an earthquake or a monster roaming the streets of Metropolis. 

This was different. 

Superman was vowing to protect the freedom of the press. 

For Lois, the moment crystallized something she’d only just begun to understand after her conversation with the man of the hour; courage wasn’t just about strength. It was about standing firm when the world wanted you to stay silent.

And in that moment, there was no one she was more proud to stand beside.

Chapter Text

Superman moved fast. The internet moved faster. 

By the time Superman had finished speaking, clips of his speech were already online. Within seconds, people were already giving their own takes on Twitter, flooding the platform like a breached dam. 

Lois loved print journalism. She always had, from the time when she could barely understand the jumble of words painted across the page. Back when her father would get The Daily Planet shipped to whatever military base they were stationed at, special order, always two days late but still sacred. Ink under her fingernails felt like home. 

There was one thing that print journalism couldn’t compete with: social media and the speed at which it spread.

For all the fact checking and approvals and editor meetings and layout sessions that made the newspaper what it was, unless it was a big undercover expose, they would never be breaking the news. Not anymore.

TikTok commentators were already duetting his speech with long winded responses that just spoke in circles until you realized that a whole mess of words didn’t mean anything unless there was some thesis behind them. 

Twitter essayists were quote-tweeting their favorite lines like he was the Pope, or Taylor Swift.

Thankfully, the response was - by and large - positive.

Lois scrolled through social media, watching as post after post flooded her feed. 

She saw as the conversation shifted back and forth in real-time, reshaped not by some policy or press secretary, but by a man in a cape who meant what he said.

There were still angry corners, of course, filled with rage-fueled threads. Anonymous accounts claiming he was a traitor to his supporters. One post had an edited image of Superman with devil horns and a “FAKE HERO” headline scrawled over his chest in Comic Sans. Gross. At least pick a better font. 

But for every one of those, there were dozens more quoting his words, tagging them #PressFreedom, #SupermanStatement, and in one case, bafflingly, #ZaddyOfJustice.

Gen Z girls had already dubbed him their “white boy of the month.” That was the highest of praise. He beat out Andrew Garfield and Logan Lerman on the Buzzfeed poll, but was still neck and neck with Sebastian Stan. 

His words stretched across every platform, reminding the public that even heroes need accountability, and those who sought to silence truth only weakened the ideals he fought to uphold.

The Daily Planet was more frantic than usual, which was saying a lot. Now, instead of just being tasked with writing the story (Lois was already deep in thought by the way a pen was hanging out of the side of her mouth), they were also the topic of discussion. The very journalists Superman had now deemed to protect. 

In the span of an hour, Perry had already been asked to speak on the evening news, give a handful of quotes to their fellow newspapers, and accept something called an Instagram collab from Superman’s most popular fansites. 

It was clear that not only their readership would be listening; the world was watching. 

---

Comments and reactions sprinkled the city. In some nothing-special cafe, an older woman clicked off the television. 

“He said what needed to be said. I can respect that,” she said to no one in particular.

The tea kettle screeched and the crowd who was gathered around the television dissipated. Life goes on, but Superman’s message was heard. 

A 20-something year old mumbled, “Superman has gone woke. Fuck that.”

---

Outside a corner store, a man sat on the stoop, watching a cracked phone propped against a crate. He tapped to play it again.

Superman filled the screen, "I stand with the people who ask questions."

He nodded once. “Damn right you do.”

---

“There's no gratitude from the guy,” a 4chan thread read, “We stand for him. We fight for him and look what we get?”

A response: “He’s pandering to left wing media. They’re bullying him. Where’s the Superman who stands up to bullies?”

Some zealots turn conspiratorial: “That wasn’t even really Superman. Watch how he moved - it’s 100 percent a deepfake, I’m telling you.”

---

At a tiny apartment near Lois’ building, a middle-aged woman clicked off her phone. Her sister had been a reporter once. Hadn’t ended well. As she packed up her things to head to work, she paused by the counter, hand resting on her sister’s old press badge. Something she could never bring herself to throw away. 

The woman exhaled slowly, then slid it into her bag without thinking. She wasn’t a fan of superheroes. She had nothing against them, but also felt no loyalty. 

But that day, she was grateful. 

---

In every corner of the internet, conversations like this spread. 

He’s lost it. Superman’s gone soft. We were defending him and now, we’re the enemy? 

But then others pushed back:

He literally said he stands with people asking questions. What part of that is betrayal? He doesn’t want yes-men. He wants us to be better. Isn’t that what he’s always stood for?

And still: 

If your values can’t survive questions, they were never values - just ego. We stand with him. 

And another:

I didn’t want anyone criticizing Superman because... because he’s all I’ve got. He’s hope. He’s the only good thing I believe in. What’s my life without hope? A dead-end job, no family alive or in speaking terms. 

If he says not to go after dissenters, then... we don’t go after dissenters. No harassing journalists. Period. Our loyalty is with him. Whatever he says. 

No one replied, but it was upvoted a hundred times over.

---

In a day, a new mural appears downtown: Superman without his cape, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with reporters, activists, firefighters. Among them. With them. 

---

Back at the Daily Planet, Jimmy asked, “Did you talk to him?” Jimmy leaned on the side of Lois’ desk with two coffees in hand, and a giant container of sugar balanced between them. “Like… before he said all that? It felt like your fingerprints were all over it.”

Lois arched an eyebrow. “Oh sure, I just sent him a calendar invite: ‘Hey, please dismantle your toxic fandom at 10am sharp.’”

Jimmy grinned. “I’m saying if anyone could, it’d be you. You make people think and he seemed like someone who’d been thinking real hard.”

Lois didn’t answer right away. She looked down at her notes, her pen tapping the edge of the pad absently.

---

In the breakroom, even Cat Grant had her own theory.

Cat, never one to keep her thoughts internalized, approached Lois with a sly grin, “So... when exactly did you become Metropolis’ moral compass?”

Lois didn’t even glance up from her lunch. “Not now, Cat.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I loved the speech and good for you if you did push him in that direction. All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t put it past you for clearly having more access to Superman than you’re putting in print,” Cat raised a brow.

That got Lois’ eyes off her sandwich. With one motion, she turned and left the breakroom, “Bye, Cat.”

“Get it, girl!”

Lois hadn’t written the speech, of course she hadn’t. She hadn’t told him to say any of it. It was completely and totally his decision. 

But she had seen him at his most unsure, his most honest - and she’d stayed. And she stayed not because he was Superman, but because he was trying to be something more.

If she’d pushed him at all, it wasn’t toward a podium. It was toward truth. 

He’d found his own way to say it.

---

As she plopped back on her seat, Clark was already at her desk with some copy to look over and a bag of chips to share. 

Clark, well, he was trying to be as easy-going as he was normally. He was still joking around with Jimmy and making eye contact with Cat when Steve made one of his outlandish comments. And yet, in the days following the street confrontation, he couldn’t help but be a little more vigilant. 

Clark was shaken, probably as much or even more than Lois was. 

He didn’t hover or smother, but there was a new edge to his attentiveness. It was, of course, common to see him and Lois staying late together, but now, he never dipped out before her and when she left the building, he walked just a little farther with her, no matter the hour. 

Nothing else had happened, luckily, and legal had changed her email address and monitored every message that got sent her way. Still, he couldn’t help but worry. 

Turns out, he didn’t have to. 

---

When Lois said she was going to do something, she was going to do something and the last step in her plan of action was a gym with mood lighting and branded water bottles. 

She had started off easy, made sure her pepper spray was up to date, got new locks on her apartment and motion sensor lights. She started looking up more when she was on the streets, and changing up her routes to keep from being predictable. 

Also, Lois didn’t even have to ask, but she knew that Jimmy, Clark, and even sometimes Perry were all watching her six. 

It was a culmination of little things that gave way to more of a sense of ease. 

And now, Lois tied her sneakers, popping up to the balls of her feet. She wasn’t new to classes like this, but it had been a while. It wasn’t exactly the army training she had on the base while she was growing up, but at least the people around her weren’t guys covered in Axe. 

Next to her, Cat Grant scanned the room. Her hair was perfectly pinned back in a tight twist, not a strand out of place, even in workout gear. “When you said you wanted a girl’s night, I didn’t think this was what you had in mind.”

“We can gossip while learning to fight, Cat. Two birds with one stone,” Lois replied, stretching out one leg behind her.

“I was thinking margaritas and a chick flick."

“Next time.”

Cat glanced over, skeptical. Before Cat could come up with a comeback, the instructor clapped twice to signal the class start.

She was a compact woman in her late forties with forearms that could crush an apple with one hand and a warm, quiet authority. “Everyone partnered up? Good. This isn’t about brute strength. If you’re relying on that, you’re doing it wrong. We’re going to talk about leverage. Center of gravity. Calm under pressure. And most importantly, presence.”

Cat leaned toward Lois and whispered, “Just be careful of the face. I can rock a lot of looks, but maybe not a black eye.”

Lois laughed, “We’re not actually hitting each other.” She tossed Cat some padded targets. 

Cat caught them - clumsily.

“Yet,” Lois added, adjusting her stance.

Cat narrowed her eyes. “Are you enjoying this?”

“How can you tell?”

And just like that, they got to work—awkward at first, then slowly starting to move in sync with the rhythm of the room. Between drills and slips and poorly timed pivots, something settled between them. Not just sweat or strain, but the quiet, dawning feeling that confidence could be trained just like any muscle.

By the time the class ended, Cat’s cheeks were flushed, her ponytail a little looser, but her posture straighter than when she walked in. She'd nearly flipped a guy double her weight and had surprised herself doing it.

Afterward, the two of them sat outside on the gym steps, sipping water in silence.

“I get it,” Cat finally said, her voice quieter than usual. “It’s not about punching someone in the face.”

“Nope, but that part’s kind of fun.”

“It’s about learning how to be confident and understanding how to handle yourself. Knowing your own power.”

Lois nodded. “Exactly.”

Cat looked at her for a long moment. “Next week?”

Lois, who was raising her bottle to her lips, paused, “You’re really up for this again?”

“This is the first time I’ve gotten you to hang out without the boys. While it’s not manis and pedis, I guess I’ll take what I can get.”

The clinked water bottles like champagne.

Chapter Text

Besides the self-defence classes and behavioral changes and purple pepper spray attached to her work bag, Lois Lane did what she does best: write. 

As a kid, she loved a puzzle. There wasn’t always much to do on the army base, a place without playgrounds and water parks and summer camp. Puzzles - those kept her busy for hours. 

As Lois grew up, the puzzles only really got bigger. Still the same idea, still the same format. Parts and shapes that somehow fit together, giving way to a larger image. A true thesis. 

This article, or puzzle, almost felt like her biggest one yet. 

It’s important to remember that Lois grew up before everyone had a cell phone. She remembered memorizing her friends’ numbers because they had a landline at home. If she wanted to watch something, she had to watch it live, or beg her father to get the DVD shipped to the base from the States. 

She grew up before there was social media, when no one would even know what ‘viral’ meant. 

That’s why, this article, this piece with so many teeth, felt out of her element, and yet probably her most important to date. 

The slow rot of online radicalization was different, not because it was harder to uncover, but because it was harder to untangle. It was messy, quiet, often invisible until it was too late, and - it was spreading.

---

On Monday morning, she got a call from a mother down in Southside. Her son was caught distributing hate-filled flyers around school, much to the dismay of his fellow classmates. 

Unlike many school incidents, this boy worked alone - no other students to reprimand. It was soon discovered that everything he believed in, he had learned online. 

Lois’ next stop was meeting with his mother in person. 

That afternoon, Lois met with Teresa in a modest kitchen with a broken burner and faded wallpaper. Lois drank from a chipped mug as she pawed through printouts of the boy’s search history, chat logs, and old school essays that read normal until they didn’t. 

Teresa was bumbling and nervous and kept apologizing for the messiness or the napkins with stains, the window that couldn’t close all the way. Lois kept telling her to not worry, to just speak her truth. 

“He’s getting better,” Teresa said quietly, wringing her hands like a dish towel, “But it took two years, more therapy than I could afford, and a god-given mentor from the local community center.”

Lois held Teresa’s hands as she spoke, letting the other woman take the time she needed. And by the time she left, it was dark and the box of tissues on the dining room table was lighter than it had been before. 

---

The next day, Lois spoke with the mentor, a youth counselor named Justin who ran a grassroots de-radicalization initiative in the basement of an old church, right after the bridge club and before the AA meeting. 

Justin let Lois sit in on one of their community nights - a cramped basement full of folding chairs and kids who looked more guarded than dangerous. Pizza on paper plates, grease soaking the bottoms, and absolutely no phones allowed.

What Lois witnessed surprised her: they weren’t talking about ideology. They were talking about loneliness, and about anger. They spoke about fathers who left and friends who moved away and schools that let them fall through the cracks. 

The kids mused about programs that didn’t help and counselors who couldn’t have cared less. 

"I didn’t have friends to turn to in school. I didn’t have family at home who cared enough to check what I was doing," one boy said. He reached towards the center of the table and Lois passed him a napkin. “The people online, they said they cared about me. They valued my opinion. When I said what they wanted to hear, they cheered me on and all the engagement - it was like a drug.”

These kids, Lois realized, didn’t feel seen until someone on the internet told them they mattered, but only if they believed a very specific version of the world. 

It was this contingency, this need for sameness and togetherness and the end of all dissent that became the kindling. 

---

Lois interviewed a reformed extremist next who ran a popular YouTube channel for a number of years and had quite the large following in the community. 

"It wasn’t about hate at first," Erica admitted. "It was about belonging, but then the algorithm kept feeding me stuff. I got hooked on the outrage and with the channel, the more I leaned into it, the more praise I got. I didn’t realize I’d lost myself until I watched a friend get arrested for something we joked about online, actually encouraging him to do. It wasn’t funny anymore. We were so disconnected from reality."

---

Lois kept going, but the stories, they felt similar. She interviewed some people from a rural district in northern Illinois where internet access was generally unreliable and public resources were even worse. 

There, she found people who had been preyed upon not out of hate, but out of isolation. A farmer who’d lost his wife. A factory worker whose plant closed down. They weren’t dangerous - these people, they were grieving and someone online had promised them an explanation for their pain. 

All they wanted was someone to blame.

Lois talked to a young man who'd been laid off twice before the age of twenty-three. “All I had was time and resentment,” he said. “I wasn’t looking for hate, you have to believe me. I was looking for an explanation. Something, anything that made me feel less helpless.”

Lois noted how economic hardship wasn’t just a backdrop; it was a pressure cooker, a match to the flame. 

She added statistics on how online hate groups surged in the wake of major economic downturns and how communities with higher percentages of people of color are often hit hardest by misinformation to suppress votes and erode trust in democratic processes. 

Online radicalization wasn’t just about fringe ideas or isolated extremists. It was tied to longstanding societal fractures like economic inequality, racial injustice, and political distrust that made some people more vulnerable to the lies and hate spreading across their screens.

---

She dug into economic disenfranchisement, tech policy loopholes, and algorithm funnels. 

She pressed tech companies like Facebook and YouTube and Twitter and Instagram with the data she found. The problem was, rage was profitable and division drove profit. Anything to keep people’s eyes glued to the screen. 

These companies, these faceless corporations, waxed on about the need for free speech, without taking into account that their algorithms were pushing extremist content to those most vulnerable. They were taking an active part in sewing the seeds of radicalism. 

---

With Jimmy’s help, she turned the findings into something teachers and parents could use. A series of infographics, which would be shared by The Planet’s social channels upon the article’s release, explained the signs of online radicalization: language shifts, hate-filled meme culture, obsessive new role models, sudden changes in online activity. 

They even built a guide for intervention—what to say, what not to say, who to call.

Meanwhile, Cat Grant, head of all things digital, let Jimmy and the social team develop a TikTok series: "Debunked!" 

It was snarky, sharp, and funny. Most of all, it focused on tearing down common conspiracy theories and extremist rhetoric with wit and facts. 

One episode involved Jimmy dramatically yelling at a chalkboard: "No, Craig, the government isn’t microchipping your avocado toast!"

---

Lois’ second to last interview was not what she expected. Nothing prepared her for Thomas.

He met her in a glass-walled cafe uptown, the kind that served pour-over coffee and had cold pressed juice on the menu. 

Thomas wore a suit that was crisp and black, one that could’ve come straight from the dry cleaner. He was a former policy advisor with two published books to his name and a charm about him like any trained politician. 

He thanked her for meeting and said he respected her work. He didn't pull any punches. 

“I was part of a private Discord group at first. We spoke using different names than our own and we were honest, so honest. It felt like therapy. I was telling these people things that I never told my closest friends. There was a certain kind of kinship that formed.”

He paused, taking a quick sip of his coffee, “And then, we spoke too honestly. Got too brave. It became a place where you didn’t have to worry about being politically correct if you understand what I mean. We all felt so free. Then, we turned to taking action, because we all just knew we were right. Had no doubt at all. I ran ops - coordinated harassment campaigns, doxxing, and psychological manipulation from burner accounts.” 

“You know that mayoral candidate last year in Gotham?” he continued. “We tanked her campaign like it was nothing. Like it was as easy as pie. Leaked emails that weren’t hers, edited footage. We paid micro-influencers to push fake outrage. Got the algorithm churning and low and behold, she dropped out two weeks before the vote.”

Lois’ pen stalled mid-sentence.

“I never used slurs, even though the group did all the time,” he added quickly. “Never sent threats myself, but I built the systems. I taught the others how to weaponize plausible deniability.”

“What changed?” Lois asked, throat dry.

“The feds came. They couldn’t pin most of it on me, but it was enough to prosecute.”

“Why do you think you did it?”

“I wanted power and control, two things I didn’t feel like I had in my life. My parents chose my major, my career, and introduced me to the woman I would marry. I know I’m not the typical face of this movement, but it’s important for your readers to know that it’s not just those with financial struggles, or without family and friends. Sometimes, extremism looks like me.”

She left the café shaken because his brand of radicalization came wrapped in suits and strategy and an ivy league education. The problem was, everything thought they knew what the devil looked like. Little did they know that it could be sitting right across from them in a midtown board room. 

Lois wrote: “This isn’t a story about people who know they are monsters. It’s a story about people who don’t think they are. People who believe they’re the heroes.”

---

The last person Lois interviewed was a clinical psychologist, Dr. Vega, who specialized in radicalization.

Dr. Vega was sharp and no-nonsense. “Radicalization isn’t always about ideology at first,” she told Lois. “It’s about unmet needs. Isolation. Grievance. Identity. People aren’t pulled in by hate; they’re pulled in by the illusion of certainty.”

Lois scribbled notes, nodding slowly.

“They start by consuming content that feels affirming. 'You're not crazy. You're right to be angry. You're not alone.' It’s a kind of grooming, really. Once that trust is established, the ideology comes later.”

“But what about someone like Thomas?” Lois asked. “He was powerful and in all respects, privileged.”

Dr. Vega was quiet for a beat, then said, “Radicalization doesn’t always come from deprivation. Sometimes it comes from entitlement and the need to preserve status. It’s scary if you think you can’t stay on top of a changing world.”

“But, when it comes to kids and teens, the most common factor you see is isolation?”

Dr. Vega nodded slowly,  “Absolutely. It starts with emptiness and a sense that no one sees you. That no one is listening. So when someone, anyone, says, ‘I see you, and I understand why you’re angry,’ it feels like salvation. That’s where it begins.”

Lois felt a strange, unwelcome prickle rise up the back of her neck.

“Isolation can look like having everything, too,” the doctor added, “Especially when the expectations are high. A lonely kid doesn’t always look lonely. Sometimes they’re overachieving and high-performing. And they don’t have to be isolated in every aspect of their life. A kid who falls into extremism might be part of every club, but still doesn’t have parents who care.”

Lois blinked hard, and for a moment, the office around her fell away.

She was back on the military base - dusty air, chain-link fences, the rattle of chatter in the distance. Her father was busy, so much so that she never thought to really ask anymore. Her sister was probably doing something reckless and dangerous to try to get his attention. Her mother, well, she could hardly remember what her mother looked like after all those years. 

Lois would sit on her bunk with a Nancy Drew book that she knew front to back. She had friends, but they came and went. They were moved from base to base. Sometimes it was easier to not even try to connect. 

She remembered trying to be the best, trying to be the perfect little daughter so that someone would notice. So that someone would care. 

Lois soon realized that the kids that she was researching for this article could’ve been her. She could’ve been the one that fell through the cracks. She was the perfect candidate. 

“Ms. Lane?”

Lois looked up. 

Dr. Vega was watching her kindly, without pity. “You okay?”

Lois nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“It’s not uncommon,” Dr. Vega said gently, “You can investigate a wound without realizing it’s yours too.”

---

Lois wrote, and wrote, and wrote. 

She broke down how easily pain became pattern and how alienation became anger. She didn’t offer a perfect solution, because there wasn’t one, but she offered what she could: a light shined into the corners and the hope that it reached someone who needed it.

Lois wrote not to write about monsters, but to write about people - before the world told them who they had to hate. Before they got lost. Before they hurt someone else. Before it was too late.

She hit submit. It was printed the next morning.

Chapter Text

The morning after the article went live, Lois Lane arrived at the Daily Planet to a full inbox, a flood of Twitter mentions, and more morning greetings than she was used to. Typically, when she arrived, people would just part like the Red Sea and let her through. An intern would start a pot of coffee as soon as she entered.

Today, Lois could feel the strong ring of pride with every smile tossed her way. 

One email she received was from a dad in Gotham. He said he’d read every word twice, cried, and then left the newspaper on the table for his son to read the next morning. He didn’t know if it would change anything between the two of them, he said, but maybe the article gave him the words to finally try. 

Lois saved the email, made her coffee too strong - with fourteen sugars, some stolen from Clark’s stash, leaned back in her chair, and let the newsroom noise fill her ears. 

Her piece was out in the world and it was no longer hers to carry alone. There was something cathartic about that, something so steadying, like telling someone a secret and sharing in the weight. 

Jimmy burst into the bullpen holding the fresh print above his head. He looked like a newsie, Jeremy Jordan beware. 

“Lois - I don’t know your middle name - Lane! How dare you write something that made me cry in a Starbucks line at 8 in the morning. If this article doesn’t win, like, six awards and a parade in your honor, I’m revolting.”

Lois laughed. Jimmy’s eyes were still wide in shock and he floated towards her.

“I guess it truly makes sense why you’re the head reporter.” 

Cat had equally glowing things to say: “I don’t know how you do it again and again. I’m convinced you never sleep. How do you have the time? The energy? I mean, the pitcher worth of coffee probably helps - but girl, what the heck? Leave this place and go start your own newspaper.”

Perry strolled out of his office, crossing the bullpen. 

Cat raised her voice to an absurd volume, “. . . which is definitely a joke. I didn’t mean that at all. Don’t mind me.”

Perry ignored her, much like usual. He stopped in front of Lois.

“Lane, you really need to clean up your desk. I think I can see drafts from 2020.”

Lois scoffed, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed. “It’s organized chaos. Don’t mess with my system.”

“What I was going to say,” he began, capping a highlighter on her desk, “Was that you should clear some space for the Pulitzer you’re going to win this year. You did good, Kid.”

He put a firm hand on her shoulder, which, coming from Perry, was pretty much as close to misty-eyed as he would ever get. 

Clark came in five minutes later, two coffees in hand. He made a beeline straight to her, the newspaper tucked under his arm. 

“This was the best thing I’ve ever read,” he said, tapping the front page. No jest. No sarcasm. Admiration, really. 

Lois took a sip of the coffee, which was thankfully much better than her half-finished cup from the office machine. “You’re just saying that.” She brushed him off, but a smile lingered on her face. 

He put his hand on the edge of her chair, spinning it a couple of degrees so her focus was on him. 

“I’m not, Lois,” their eyes met, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t think I’ll ever stop being in awe of you.” 

She didn’t spin the chair back. Didn’t return to her emails or the half-formed copy on her screen. She just looked at him, really looked, and was surprised by how much his words landed.

How easily they slipped into the cracks he’d opened time and time again in her heart.

---

The weeks passed and the newsroom settled back into its familiar pulse. Lois’ article was shared far and wide, reprinted in nationwide papers, in classrooms, and in individual homes. 

The buzz eased, but with that, a tentative sense of normalcy began to peek through the cracks. 

“Hey,” Jimmy called from across the bullpen, holding up his phone in the air. “Perry lost his mind and said we can do a group order. He probably feels sorry that we have to wait for editor approval, which is taking FOR. EVER. You want your usual?”

“I need you to confirm that you know what my usual is,” Lois replied, not looking up from her laptop.

“Why do you never trust me? You want something messy and fast and filling with a side of fries with enough salt to kill a horse.”

“Good enough, but make it yucca fries,” She took another sip of her coffee and kept typing.

“Text Clark and ask him what he wants.”

With a pen hanging out of the side of her mouth, Lois replied, muffled, “I don’t have his number, I don’t think.”

Jimmy blinked. “Wait - you don’t have Clark’s number? You, Lois Lane?”

Lois pulled the pen out of her mouth. “Why are you being so weird?”

“I guess I just assumed that you guys have, like, shared calendars by now. Like you are well past phone numbers.”

She scoffed. 

“Lois, last week he reminded you that you forgot your dry cleaning. FROM MEMORY. Who does that?” Jimmy was now by her side, gesturing wildly. 

“Because I told him about it, ” Lois shrugged, going back to her screen. Jimmy’s yapping was not going to allow her to finish a damn sentence. 

“You muttered it into your phone two days before. In passing. As a voice memo. You guys are on some kind of… cosmic frequency,” Jimmy continued. “Like a shared brain cell situation. Why don’t you have his phone number?”

Lois rolled her eyes, “I guess I never needed it. I see him practically 24/7, five days a week. If I need him, I just yell.”

As if on cue, Clark appeared around the corner. “Sorry, another Superman interview.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jimmy called. 

“And sometimes I don’t even have to yell, he just shows up,” Lois explained. She turned to Clark, “Dinner order?”

“As close to breakfast food as you could get,” he dropped down to his chair, tossing his coat on the hook, “And hashbrowns for sure.”

Jimmy scribbled it down on a pad. 

Lois continued, “. . . And your phone number.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, “Weird. A little out of the blue. But okay, yeah, sure. Here you go.”

---

At that moment, Clark was very grateful that Bruce was his personal Geek Squad, having spent an entire afternoon teaching him about dual-SIM cards and how to switch between numbers on the same phone. 

He was less grateful that Bruce made him change his email password from Superman1. How was he supposed to remember such a jumble of letters and numbers that made no sense? 

Maybe it would be easier to reveal his dual identity to the world than figure out this darn password manager. 

---

Dinner arrived in a chaotic flurry of bags and boxes, landing in the middle of the bullpen’s shared table towards the back. There was quite a large pile of plastic forks and one-ply napkins. The Planet gang couldn’t have cared less. 

They scarfed down the food, little concern for spills or stains.

Lois munched on a fry, then casually, without looking, plucked one and nudged it toward Clark’s plate, to which he easily accepted. 

“And so, Perry was like,” Cat put on a grisly voice and an overly stern look, “‘Back in my day, the only thing we had to worry about was white-out for the typewriter. Now I need a degree just to send an email.’”

Jimmy added, “I asked him to share a picture, and he printed it out and left it on my desk.”

Clark chimed in, smiling, “He once forwarded me a link by writing the entire URL in the subject line.”

“Legend,” Cat snorted into her soda. She added another empty ketchup packet to her pile. 

Lois’ pile was less ketchup packets, and just a concerning number of empty hot sauce packets. Everyone was sure she was eating more hot sauce than tacos.  

Jimmy reached over, his hand dangerously close to Lois’ fries. She swatted his paws away, moving her box out of reach. “Eat your own food. It’s your own fault you got a salad.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “But he gets a golden fry pass?” He gestured to Clark. 

“Unlike you, he didn’t steal. Thieves don’t get fries.”

Jimmy and Cat looked at each other. They both knew the real answer: the Clark Exception. 

Clark, meanwhile, quietly accepted another fry Lois nudged toward him, trying, and failing, not to smile.

---

The Daily Planet bullpen was a strange kind of quiet after hours, the usual hum of typing and ringing phones replaced by low chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. The group had long finished dinner, boxes either discarded or stuffed in the mess of the breakroom fridge with chicken scratch names on the recycled cardboard boxes.

Jimmy whined, spinning in circles with his chair like a 5 year old at bring your kid to work day, “It’s after 7:30pm, why are we still here? We should be doing something fun. It’s Friday.”

Lois smirked. “Fun? At the Planet? You’re dreaming. Plus, Perry said we can’t leave until the editors approve. It’s not like we could go grab a drink or something.”

“What are they even doing? Watching grass grow?” Jimmy spun in his chair towards Clark, who pushed him back towards his desk. “Fine. Then I have a better idea. A game. We don’t even have to leave our seats.”

Steve, lounging nearby, raised an eyebrow and pointed at Lois. “Against the most competitive person in the city? No thank you. I value my sanity. Last time we played mafia, I think she was actually going to murder me.”

Lois rolled her eyes, "Wimp. And are you forgetting how bad you lost?"

“A game without points then. For laughs,” Jimmy pleaded, anchoring himself near Lois, trying to tug her laptop from her grip.

Lois crossed her arms, but didn’t veto the idea. She had finished her article hours ago and was getting a little bored of pretending she would clean her desk any second. Everyone knew she was lying. “Alright, I’m in since it seems like Steve is too chicken to really go head to head. What’s the game?”

“Truth or Dare,” Jimmy announced, a smile on his face. 

Clark, sipping his soda, glanced around and shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it’ll help pass the time.”

Jimmy clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit! Lois, truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

“You’re bold. Okay, let me think,” Jimmy tapped a pencil to his head, “I got it! Okay, Lois. You have to prank call Perry and tell him you got a job at the Gazette.”

Lois’ eyebrows shot up. “What? No way. That’s cruel - and impossible. He’ll never believe me.”

Jimmy goaded, “Then why would you be scared?”

Lois looked around to her friends for support, but received not even an inkling of help. 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t back down. She picked up her phone, dialing Perry’s number with exaggerated reluctance. Everyone crowded closer. 

Lois took a deep breath, then put Perry on speaker. “Perry? I really have to speak to you. I know it’s late and yeah, we’re all still at the office. Jimmy is losing his mind. Anyways, this guy came up to me from the Gazette when I was taking a phone call outside. Said they would triple my salary and give me a corner office. We’re talking picture windows and a minifridge. I don’t think I could say no.”

Perry’s muffled voice crackled over the line, “Lois, if this is a joke . . .”

Lois cut him off with a sly grin, “Not a joke. You know I love you, but you also know how the Gazette has that amazing gelato place right around the corner. How could I possibly turn that down? Handmade waffle cones, Perry!”

Cat held her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the giggle. Jimmy walked all the way over to the other side of the bullpen to save himself from laughing. 

“Lane, if you walk out that door for some artisanal gelato and a fucking waffle cone, I swear to god!”

They could all hear him take a breath, “Lane. Okay. I’ll quadruple your salary and let you go wild on the snack order form each week. We can’t lose our Pulitzer winner, potentially 2x winner.”

Lois bit her lip, her face flushed from holding in laughter, “They also promised a top of the line coffee machine. Only for me.”

“Those parasites?!” Perry sputtered, back to his far from calm and collected attitude. “You know what? You can have that but you have to make room for it at your desk. Just don’t sign anything!”

“Will do. Love you, Perry.”

“I’m going to have to have a long chat with finance. They’re not going to be happy about this. Not after they saw that we spent way too much on the pens you like to chew. Why can’t you chew on cheap pens! You know what they said at the last meeting? They told me that you make us bleed money. The sugar charges alone should be criminal!”

“Thank you, Perry!” And with that, she hung up the phone. “I like this game.”

The room lost it. Cat was wheezing into her sleeve and Steve had to lean on his desk to stay upright.

Jimmy, though, threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, “How did that even work?”

“I guess I should’ve asked for more stuff earlier on. Quadruple salary? I’m moving to the Ritz,” Lois fanned herself with a bouquet of napkins. 

Jimmy rolled towards them, “That… was a masterclass. Do you think I should do that too?”

No one responded. 

“Okay, Kent,” Cat said, still laughing. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Let’s go with truth.”

Cat exchanged a glance with Jimmy, who was practically vibrating in his seat. “Alright,” she said, “Truth it is.”

Jimmy opened his mouth, clearly about to ask something outrageous. Or dangerous. “Lois and you . . .”

Cat cut him off with a pointed finger. “Not that one. Not yet. Don’t kill something before it even starts.”

Jimmy crossed his arms, scrunching his nose, clearly not happy that his plan was thwarted. 

Cat leaned forward, chin in hand. “Okay, Kent. We’ll start easy. Which one of us at the Planet do you think would secretly be the best at espionage?”

Clark looked visibly relieved. “Espionage? Easy. Lois.”

Lois raised a brow. “Really?”

“You break into places for stories like it’s a sport,” he said. “I’m pretty sure if someone told you the nuclear codes were under a floorboard in a foreign embassy, you’d have them by lunch.”

She preened. “Not untrue.”

“Also,” Clark added, “you terrify people in interviews. I think that’s spy-worthy.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “I saw her get a guy to confess to tax fraud once and she didn’t even ask about taxes.”

Lois just smirked, “That was a fun afternoon to say the least.”

Cat clapped her hands together. “Jimmy, you're up. Dare. Read your last five Google searches. Right now.”

Jimmy groaned and pulled out his phone. “You can’t pick for me, what if I wanted truth? Okay, whatever, but remember - you asked for this.”

He cleared his throat dramatically.

“One: ‘What’s the best lens to use when taking pictures of superheroes?’”

“Specific,” Lois noted. 

“Two,” Jimmy went on. “'Can cats eat pesto?’”

Cat perked up. “Did yours?”

“Too late to ask. Three: ‘Is it rude to only enter the conference room while a meeting is happening to take a donut?’”

Everyone laughed.

“Four: Lois Lane fan edits”

“Those exist?” Clark asked, quickly typing that into his phone. 

“What he said,” Lois continued.

Jimmy waved them off. “And five: What to do if you keep trying to break it off with your ex but she keeps coming back and she happens to be very involved with a really weird bald guy.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s so specific,” Lois whispered.

“Did Google at least help?” Clark said, eyes wide.

“Not really.”

---

“Okay, okay,” Jimmy said, clapping once. “Kent, truth or dare."

"Truth."

"You've only done truths."

"Fine, dare."

"Kent, arm wrestle Lois.”

Lois cracked her knuckles, already rolling up her sleeves.

Clark blinked. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“I think,” Lois said, taking her position at the edge of the desk, “you’re afraid of losing.”

He slid into the chair across from her, rolled up his own sleeve, and offered his hand. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They clasped hands. Jimmy counted them down.

“Three... two... one... GO!”

Clark let her win. Obviously.

Lois slammed his hand down with a triumphant grin, and the whole office erupted in cheers. But her eyes narrowed slightly.

“You didn’t even try,” she whispered.

He just smiled and said, “You needed the win.”

She kicked him lightly under the desk.

---

By hours three of playing, they didn’t even seem to mind that the editors were slow and probably gave up long ago. Someone opened a bottle of wine about an hour ago, and only drops were left. 

Clark had taken his tie and jacket off ages ago, stretching and yawning in just his white button down with the sleeves pushed up. 

No one was rushing or seemed to care to. 

Cat sat perched on a desk, carefully blowing on her freshly painted nails - “Superman Scarlet,” she’d declared with a wink, “Limited edition. Don’t ask where I got it. I know a guy.” The smell of polish mingled with the sharp tang of cheap merlot in the air.

Jimmy, exhausted and dramatic, had fashioned himself a makeshift bed on the floor. His backpack served as a pillow, and he’d draped a few printed proofs over himself like a child building a fort. Every few minutes, he’d mumble some working title headlines in his sleep, earning quiet giggles from Steve and a photo or two from Cat.

Clark and Lois were still in their chairs near the center of the room, but Lois had long since given up the pretense of working. Her head was resting against Clark’s shoulder, her eyes half-lidded but not quite closed.

He hadn’t moved and he didn’t seem to notice. 

Or maybe he did, but didn’t mind.

His body stayed relaxed, his shoulder barely shifting beneath her. One of his hands rested on the table, the other loosely around the stem of a forgotten glass.

Outside, the city murmured on, but inside, time slowed. 

And in that soft, unguarded moment, surrounded by scattered headlines, empty sauce packets, and the lull of a lofi playlist Cat insisted on, Lois Lane and Clark Kent looked less like colleagues and more like something unfolding. Quietly and frankly, inevitably.

Like whatever came next was already here.

Chapter Text

“Another interview with Superman, Kent? Does he know you have a shrine to him at your desk?” Jimmy teased from across the bullpen, a mischievous grin lighting up his face.

Clark glanced up from his notes, a slow smile spreading. “It’s one lego character, Jimmy. Far from a shrine. Plus, legos are cool.”

Cat laughed, “He’s right. I’ve got those Lego flower kits - very cute, very unkillable. Lois, you should get one. You don’t even have to water them. Perfect for you.”

“Mmm hmm,” Lois didn’t even look up. She just reached for her coffee, eyes flicking to Clark for the briefest second. 

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard a moment too long before typing again. Another Superman interview, the second one for Kent this week. 

Lois didn’t dwell on it; she had things to do, articles to write. She didn't scowl or sigh, but something about it scratched at the edge of her focus. It wasn’t jealousy, not in its entirety, more like a faint curiosity. 

She took another sip of coffee. Whatever it was - just a passing thought. Probably nothing.

---

Later that day, Lois was on the bus, halfway to a meeting across town, a particularly hard interview to schedule, sipping lukewarm coffee and skimming through emails on her phone. She was a bit miffed that it seemed like she lost one of her earrings on the way. But she fit right in; it was the bus - no one was happy. 

Her coat was slung over her arm, and the city buzzed outside the windows: traffic, construction, and a man on the corner playing a saxophone slightly out of tune, but definitely full of enthusiasm. She tried to drown out the noise with her music, but they could only cover so much. 

Then, out of truly nowhere, the driver slumped forward, his head hitting the steering wheel, a honk echoing, high and piercing.

It felt like a movie, like the world slowed to a stop. 

No one said a word, screams stuck in the bottom of their throats. Like they were shrieking but nothing would come out. 

The bus started to veer, the kind that made your body lean without thinking. The kind that often made Lois’ head unconsciously knock into a support pole one too many times. 

Lois, who had luckily gone to another one of those self defense classes with Cat the night before, sprang into action. 

In an instant, she peered out the window as the bus drifted across the median line. She shot to her feet, stuffing her phone in her pocket and rushing to the front, moving people out of the way with each step. 

From the back, a child wailed. 

The driver’s foot was lodged hard against the pedal, notched under something or other. The wheel jerked right, and the bus swerved again, clipping the edge of a parked car. It made the whole bus bounce. Lois held onto the payment terminal for support. 

Still, she got bumped to the side, the bony part of her forearm colliding with some knobs and ends on the console, digging into her skin. 

Her arm scraped against the metal protrusion, leaving a deep abrasion. 

“Get him out of here,” she commanded to no one in particular. 

A man behind her reached, and with a couple of tugs and yanks, was able to pull the driver from his seat. 

Lois, on the other hand, grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, trying to keep it from swinging them into oncoming traffic. The bus lurched, skidded, and came to a halting stop half on the curb. 

One problem was dealt with, but there was no time to exhale. Lois ran to the driver, who was now in the care of a couple of passengers at the front, two fingers to his neck. 

Some had already called 911. There was a pulse, faint, but there. 

What next? 

Lois turned to the others. “Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?” Murmured responses, but no one seemed seriously injured, just shaken - and the car that the bus ran into had probably seen better days. 

Lois turned back to the front, heart pounding hard against her ribs.

And then, through the glass door, a blur of red and blue landed on the sidewalk.

His cape settled behind him in a breeze that hadn’t existed a second earlier. Like he came with an America’s Next Top model fan at his beck and call. 

“Is everyone all right?”

Lois crossed her arms,  “I already asked that. Now you waltz in?”

“Looks like you had it handled, Miss Lane,” Superman said, offering a quiet smile. He was looking at her, sure, but Lois could see his eyes flicking past, sweeping the cabin with that subtle, always-on awareness. 

“I usually do,” Lois responded, giving him a solid pat on the shoulder. 

Superman glanced at the driver, then to the others. He looked up, listening. “Paramedics are close. They’ll be here in a few minutes. Even if you think you’re fine, everyone should get checked out.”

The passengers didn’t seem to argue. 

“How did this happen,” Superman turned to Lois, very aware of the googly eyes the other passengers were making towards him. 

“Superman,” one salaryman whispered under his breath like a teenager at a One Direction concert. 

Lois ignored them all: “I was way in the back. It all happened so fast - the driver passed out at the wheel. We got lucky.” 

“You weren’t lucky,” Superman said quietly. “You were fast. You kept this from turning into something worse.”

They stepped off the bus together as sirens approached, tires screeching to a halt. EMTs rushed out, taking over.

Lois stepped aside, letting them do their work. She started to hear the rest of the city come into focus. The clang of traffic returned slowly, the honk of impatient drivers rerouted around the bus, the voice of a child chattering on the sidewalk, the zip of a bicycle speeding past. 

It all felt like a lot.

Lois didn’t respond to his comment.

Her hands were trembling now, just a little, as the adrenaline drained from her system. She hadn’t noticed it until he did.

Superman reached out without hesitation, his hands closing gently around hers. She even surprised herself when she didn’t pull back. It felt grounded, anchored. 

“You’re okay,” he said, “You’re okay.”

Lois didn’t register right away that someone else had said those same words to her not too long ago, but the echo was there, somewhere under the surface.

They stood there longer than necessary, but in the minutes that passed, Superman never left her side. 

Her breathing calmed and her racing heart slowed. 

Lois glanced sideways at the mess of medical support surveying the other passengers. “You can go. I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” Superman said, bluntly. 

She turned to him, brow furrowed. She held her arm, finally remembering the sharp shooting pain every time she moved it. 

“Let me see,” he said, already reaching. 

“It’ll heal up just fine,” Lois asserted, but she wasn’t quick enough to wave him off. 

His fingers barely brushed the surrounding area, quick and almost instinctive. Almost as if checking that she was still solid, not going to break. 

She was suddenly aware of how close he stood next to her, his figure drawing a quiet line between her and the noise, the commotion, the world. Lois was sure if she peered a few inches to the right, she would get inundated with all the happenings of the accident aftermath. 

But right now, all she saw was him. 

“You were worried about me?” she asked, not teasing, just surprised, “You didn’t need to be.”

“I didn’t say I needed to be, but I can’t help that I was.”

The look in his eyes wasn’t the polished steel of press conferences or the practiced smile he wore for schoolkids. It was raw. Human. Almost tender. It made Lois want to pull back from the intensity.

“I care about you.”

Her throat tightened.

“Well,” she said after a beat, “looks like I’m all in one piece.” She gestured up and down. Still missing that one earring, dammit. 

The ambulance doors shut with a soft thud. The engine hummed to life. 

Superman tapped the curb, and they both settled next to one another.

“You been listening to any of the records I recommended?” she asked, trying to shove away the weight of everything left unsaid, “I mean, in between saving the world and all that.”

Superman laughed, “Yeah, I actually have. A bit more intense than the Mighty Crabjoys, I’ll give you that.”

“What can I say? I’m a real connoisseur of chaos.” 

The silence settled, and Lois took him all in. The guy sitting beside her on the curb, the perfect curl a bit lopsided and his boots a little scuffed. You wouldn’t notice if you weren’t a foot away. 

“You have a question for me,” he said, folding his arms, “Quit staring.”

Lois cocked an eyebrow, studying him carefully. “I’m not staring.”

“You are. You do that a lot.”

“I don’t.”

“Tell me the question.”

“Fine,” Lois huffed, “You text me about grocery shopping and when you need help with a crossword line. You told me you almost fell because a dog wouldn’t let go of your cape.”

“I told you that in confidence!”

“Not the point! Why have you been doing all your interviews with Clark lately? I thought… we had a thing.”

He smirked slightly, a trace of humor flickering in his eyes. “A thing? You have a Pulitzer, and you call this a ‘thing’? Maybe you’re just a little jealous. Clark and I have gotten pretty close.”

She hit his arm, to which he feigned pain. 

His expression softened, losing the teasing edge. “You make me want to be better. And Clark… he makes me believe I already am. You, you're the one asking the questions that stay with me.”

Lois’ smile faded as she leaned in. “Questions that stay with you?”

He looked away briefly, voice low and vulnerable. “Not just for hours… for days. Maybe that’s what real journalism is - getting under your skin. But sometimes, I’m not ready to be cracked open like that. After saving people for hours and seeing horrors and making choices that I know can lead to dire circumstances, maybe I want the guy who will pat me on the back.”

He took a moment, then stole another, “You’re the best journalist there is. Period. Most days I wonder if I’m doing enough - if any of it really changes anything and then you go and write an article like you did, and I’m reminded that we keep trying. That it’s not always about holding up trains, or putting out fires - you do as much as your words as I can do with my powers. Perry's right, you're going to win another Pulitzer.”

"You know Perry?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

Superman paused, eyes opening a bit too wide, before responding, "Everyone knows Perry. Plus, you can hear him yell four blocks away."

Lois laughed, and Superman exhaled. 

After a moment, he shook his head slightly, not defensively, but with a weight behind it. “It’s just… when you look at me, it feels like you’re seeing everything I am and everything I’m afraid of being. Clark writes with mercy. You write with truth. I need both. But mercy… mercy’s easier to face.”

Lois blinked, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. She had always known Superman was strong, unshakeable even, but here, now, he felt undeniably human. Fragile, almost.

Lois pushed a little further, “I’m not always trying to write some big exposé. Don't tell anyone I said this, but I like you.”

“I like you too.”

It sounded so dumb. So utterly simple. So easy in a way that Lois never trusted. 

“But that’s not all of it,” he continued, “It’s not that I don’t want you to ask the hard questions, but I don’t always want to filter my words with you. I don’t want to worry about measuring what I say, worrying how my words will read in print.”

He watched her as he could already tell she was trying to process the words.

“I swear, it’s not a strategy, Lois, to get you off Superman articles. It’s not calculated. You’re just different.”

She crossed her arms, skeptical: “Because I’m tougher on you?”

“I’m still getting used to that, yes, and probably more journalists should be, but it doesn’t have to do with that. You’re just the only person I don’t want to keep at arm’s length.”

And Lois didn’t rush to fill the silence. 

Chapter Text

Her hands had felt so unsteady in his own. Not the Lois he was used to, the one who would fight the entire bullpen for a lead or the last hot sauce packet. The one who moved through life like she couldn’t be knocked down, only redirected.

In that moment, she felt so unmistakably human. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that part of her, but it still hit him like it was. All he wanted, ridiculously, instinctively, was to wrap her up like a burrito and keep her from the sharp edges of the world.

Like his hypnoglasses, it was becoming more and more clear that Lois, too, wore a mask. Her fearlessness was her armor, the same way his cape and suit were his. 

Hers just looked like sarcasm and certainty, but it was protection all the same.

Though she was fine, and just needed one very large bandaid on her forearm, he couldn’t shake the fear that had shot through him. 

Clark swallowed hard. What if she was a second too late to the front of the bus, and didn’t have time to steer the wheel away from oncoming traffic? 

Could he have been faster? He had rushed there as soon as he heard the wheels scrape against the asphalt, as soon as he heard the driver slump, as soon as he heard her voice. 

He was already in the office by the time it happened, and truly forgot what excuse he gave Jimmy before running straight out of the door. How many seconds did he lose changing from his work clothes to the suit? 

The screech of the tires embedded itself in his memory, playing over and over all morning. 

He glanced at his still-wrapped sandwich, perfectly folded in opaque paper. He had left the bullpen about a half an hour ago under the guise of eating lunch on the roof, which he had intended on doing. 

He didn’t have to tell people that the roof also gave him a place to just think without all the noise. 

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, frustration knotting in his chest. What’s the point of being super if you couldn’t protect those you care about? He clenched his fists, trying to push the doubts away, but they clawed back with every heartbeat.

A faint sound drew his attention, footsteps approaching the rooftop stairs. Before he could brace himself, Lois appeared. 

She handed him her sandwich. By instinct, he took off the top bun and removed the three pickles. 

She didn’t say anything else, just pulled out her laptop and settled next to him. She started typing, slow and unbothered and just there.

He popped a slice in his mouth. And later, the other two. 

For a while, they both sat in quiet companionship, shoulders brushing lightly, the city sprawling beneath them. 

---

He was on patrol early that night, flying around corners, above parks, and through high rises. He zipped and darted and spun, redirecting a loose scaffold, catching a bird before it knocked into a window, and stopping a robbery even before ADT answered the phone. 

Not a hitch in sight, all going according to plan. 

He almost didn’t notice as his patrol area centered around one woman’s apartment. He wasn’t lingering, he told himself. There was a lot to do in the area. A flicking streetlamp that could confuse a late-night driver. A fallen branch from the wind that morning. 

He was doing important stuff. 

And if it calmed him to hear THE FRONT PAGE playing on the TV from a seventh-floor window with a half-dead plant on the windowsill, that was purely coincidence. 

He was just doing his due diligence in making sure that every civilian was safe, even from dead lightbulbs. 

And as he flew and saved and protected, a few thoughts ran through his head.

She hadn’t needed him today. She’d saved herself and everyone else.

He was proud. God, was he proud.

But maybe it was sometimes nice to be needed. 

---

He called his mom while he was on a break, legs dangling off the top of a building. One of his favorite places to think. 

The Kent farmhouse line crackled faintly as it always did. He could hear the radio humming in the background and the clink of dishes being dried.

“I’m sorry it’s been awhile. Things have been busy around Metropolis.”

“Oh Clark, no need to apologize. It’s nice to hear your voice,” she replied, turning off the tap, “Your dad and I ended up going down to the old diner in town. They were hosting a fundraiser for the high school football team. Thought we should go out to support.”

“Remember when we had to do a talent show fundraiser and the coach told me to warm up the crowd? I’m pretty sure I ended up being the reason half the audience left early,” Clark laughed.

“You tried your best,” Ma continued, “Even if you did knock over a couple mic stands.”

Clark smiled, thinking back to how simple things used to be. If his biggest worry was not embarrassing himself in front of a crowd of 40, he was doing pretty good. 

“And today, Clark? Tell me about your day”

He glanced at the city lights twinkling below. “It was fine.”

Clark knew she would pry and she did. “Clark . . .”

“I swear. It’s fine. Something happened, but nothing major, and everyone is okay.”

His mother’s voice softened, “Why do I think that’s not all?”

“A . . . friend was there and she stopped the bus before everyone died in the crash. She saved the day.”

Martha didn’t say anything right away. Just the soft sound of fabric moving, probably her sitting down at the kitchen table. “It sounds like it all worked out.”

Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair, “What if it didn’t? I didn’t get there until there was nothing left to save. She did it all herself.” 

“And you’re mad at that?”

“No! Never. Why would I be mad at that? She did something incredible.” 

“So you’re mad at yourself?

Clark took a second, lying down against the concrete, “I should’ve been there sooner.”

“You can’t be everywhere at once, my dear. You can be faster than a bullet, but sometimes, someone else is just where they need to be first. That’s not failure. That’s learning to let someone else take on the weight of the world for once, when you carry it yourself every day.”

He let her words sink into him, settling deeper than he expected. 

She continued, “You don’t have to be the strong one, the fast one, the heroic one for people to want to stay.”

His hands, which had been fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, stilled completely. There it was. As always, she’d found the bruise he hadn’t said aloud.

With a quick buzz, he pulled his phone away from his ear. 

A text from Lois to him, Clark, “So, after today, when do you think I will get my honorary Justice Gang jacket? Still a stupid name. I was pretty fucking badass.”

Clark quickly typed back: “You definitely earned that ridiculous name today. But if you start practicing hero speeches or brainstorming catch phrases, I might have to reconsider giving you my number.”

“So you don’t think ‘Saving the world, one story at a time’ works?”

“Lois . . . 

“‘Breaking news and breaking villains?’”

“Night, Lois.”

“Hey, Clark?”

“Yes?”

“From newsroom hustle to nighttime muscle.” 

Clark laughed out loud before typing back, “And you say you’re a writer”

“Shut up, Clark.”

Chapter Text

The thing about watching Lois and Clark was that half the time, they didn’t even seem aware they were doing it. The orbiting, Jimmy labeled it. 

It was like a constant pull - something gravitational and magnetic, and impossible to ignore, especially today. He used to think romance movies were unrealistic and terribly cheesy, but the more he watched Lois and Clark, he thought that maybe there was something true about them. 

Because when Jimmy saw the way Clark would always bring her breakfast, or how they would always take lunch on the roof together recently, her leading the way and him following, it felt like a romcom. Except it wasn’t a romcom. It was a Tuesday. 

“Metropolis Southside. A couple of missing shipments, some were supposed to be checked by authorities, but they slipped through the cracks. On purpose? Maybe. An off-the-record tip from a dockworker noted that these missing shipments might be connected to one of the gangs in the area. Weapons deals potentially.,” Perry said, sliding the file across the table. “Kent, you’re up.”

Clark adjusted his glasses. “You sure, Chief?”

“Figured you could handle a little ground-level sleuthing. Unless you’d prefer to proofread the gala coverage?” Perry was already moving onto the next story, grabbing another manila folder from the stack. 

Clark gave a quick nod, but Jimmy felt something tighten in his gut. Southside wasn’t the place for people to go alone, let alone Clark Kent. It was the kind of place where you could feel a chill creep down your back if it was too quiet, and if it was too loud, you would have to think about every possible way you could escape. 

Southside was a place you ought not to go if you didn’t have to. 

He doubted Perry had even been there in person. It had only gotten worse over the years. Budget cuts and less aid. Less oversight too. 

Perry turned to Lois who had pulled the folder over to her side, flipping through the pages, “If you’re sending him, I want safeguards. Contacts, burner phone, mapped check-ins. And he doesn’t go alone.”

Lois was just being Lois - authoritative and measured, genuinely more practiced at high-risk investigative journalism.

But Jimmy knew Lois well enough to see the flicker of worry behind her eyes. It wasn’t fear. She didn’t look scared, but it was almost like a quiet alertness? The type that came with worry, that came with wanting to protect. 

Clark blinked. “Lois, I’m fine.”

“I know,” she said, now just to him, “But I’d like you to stay fine.” She turned her chair to face Perry. 

Perry grunted. “Jesus, okay. We’ll pair him with Johnson and his team from Metropolis PD. He has connections to Southside security.”

Jimmy pretended to scribble something in his notebook, mostly so he wouldn’t smirk. Lois Lane, Pulitzer-winner, all grit and no sentiment, and here she was, essentially installing bubble wrap around Clark in real time.

It was adorable. The bullpen had bets on who would make a move first. 

Steve had his money on Clark, said the guy practically short-circuited every time Lois came within a foot of him. “Can’t you see the cartoon hearts above his head when he looks at her?”

Cat didn’t even hesitate. “Lois,” she said, “that girl practically runs from hugs. She almost punched me when I tapped her shoulder last week. And yet, she lets Clark stand so close it’s like personal space doesn’t exist. Though if she doesn’t jump him soon, then I call dibs.”

And lately? The plot was heating up.

Lois, who Jimmy specifically remembered once told Clark he smiled too much, now, looked like she might too whenever he did. 

Clark, who used to trip over apologies anytime he so much as breathed near her, had started teasing back whenever she quipped. Nothing big, just small jabs. 

And Lois? Lois ate that shit up. 

Was he jealous at first? Maybe. He would never say that out loud. 

They were a team, the three of them, but lately Jimmy felt like the comic relief in someone else’s love story. Still, if anyone deserved it, it was the two of them. 

---

Later, he caught Clark and Lois near the elevators. Lois was doing that thing she did when she cared about someone but didn’t want to say it out loud - leaning close, adjusting the messenger bag strap on his shoulder for too long.

“Check in every hour,” she said.

“Is that an order?” he teased.

“Yes. Make that every half an hour.” Then, after a beat, “And also... just be smart, okay? If I didn’t have this interview with the mayor, I would be there.”

“I know,” Clark replied. 

As Lois finished adjusting his strap, and then his suit jacket, she gave him a solid pat on the chest, “You got this.”

“So do you.”

---

Everything went according to plan with the help of Lois’ safeguards and two and a half weeks later, Clark’s story was done and written. 

Unfortunately, during a Wednesday meeting - a long, fluorescent-lit purgatory of red pens and clashing egos - Clark’s Southside piece got flagged.

Perry read from the editor’s notes: “Southside docks. There was a pattern of missing shipments, all traced to containers owned by the same shell corporation. Paper evidence - good. There’s a holding company registered, but no oversight board, no contact info. Just signatures that loop back to themselves.” Perry leaned forward. “And what’s your sourcing?”

“Two dockworkers, one of whom says he’s been getting cash under the table to overlook certain shipments. Anonymous, for now. I’ve got a partial license plate on a van that’s shown up on surveillance three times. Cross-referencing with city traffic cams. And also a retired officer who had his own suspicions.”

“It’s thin,” added someone, flipping pages with apparent disinterest, “Feels like a risk.”

Clark didn’t flinch. “Listen, it’s enough. I think it’s a smuggling route. Quiet and effective and someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to keep it that way.”

“Unverified sourcing,” one of the legal reps said, tapping her pen against the edge of the folder, “We have off-the-record dockworkers and a jumpy retired cop with no badge.”

Clark hesitated for a beat, “But they’ve given corroborating details - dock numbers, delivery times, descriptions. I’ve walked the site myself. Something’s happening down there.”

There was a pause as everyone was processing.

And then Lois spoke.

“If Clark says there’s something there, there is,” she said, voice even. “This isn’t a hunch. I’ve seen his notes. The container trail checks out. The surveillance footage matches timestamps on the dock logs. And the shell company?” She tapped the folder. “It’s been linked before—three years ago. Quiet money laundering case buried in a regional circuit court. We’ve published with less when the reporting was solid and this is solid. The dockworkers are risking their jobs just by talking. They want immunity. Johnson at Metropolis PD promised to give it to them.”

Perry let the silence hang for a second, then gave a gruff nod. “Print it. But tighten the language, Clark. Make it airtight.”

“Understood,” Clark said.

Legal withdrew with minimal protest. 

The meeting moved on, discussion skimming over council hearings and weekend features, but Jimmy knew what he saw. Clark wasn’t flailing. He could support his arguments on his own, but Lois backed him instinctively, like it wasn’t even a decision. 

It didn’t read as a favor, something she would do for any of her friends. No, this time, this read as belief, as complete trust in him and his words. 

Lois Lane believed in a lot of things - hot coffee, loud music, and a good story, but belief in people, now that was rare. 

---

Jimmy didn’t mean to notice, but they were his buddies - which is why he didn’t technically eavesdrop when he saw the thing with the tie.

Clark had just walked in, a little rumpled from the wind, juggling his laptop bag, a pastry, and breakfast for Lois too - something way too sugary for anyone above 5. 

“God,” she muttered. “You look like you lost a fight with the dry cleaner.”

And before Clark could respond, she was on her feet.

Jimmy watched from the corner of the bullpen as Lois stepped right into Clark’s space, closer than strictly necessary, and reached up to adjust his tie. No big deal. Quick and practiced. 

Lois tugged the knot once, then smoothed the line of the fabric down against his chest. Her fingers lingered for the briefest second. Then she stepped back, already annoyed.

“There. You’re welcome.”

---

The next day, everyone was ready to riot. The staff meeting had officially crossed into its fifth hour, and focus had waned hours ago. 

Jimmy sat slumped against the back wall of the conference room, every muscle aching from staying still so long. Perry’s voice droned endlessly, rattling off coverage schedules and editorial mandates. 

Jimmy tried to focus on the sound of his voice, but his focus kept breaking. He stared at the clock on the wall for the last 10 minutes, willing it to speed up. 

Clark and Lois sat side by side, as they always did now, their posture slowly sagging. 

Jimmy could practically see the hunger etched on their faces as they continued to stare out the glass doors, toward the overflowing snack tower just outside the conference room. 

Lois had taken Perry’s comment about having free rein of the snack order form very seriously. The mountain of chips, chocolate, and cookies beckoned them - so close, yet utterly unreachable. 

Clark’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, and Lois' eyes flickered to his. Between them on the table sat the only available snack: a single, solitary bag of chips, and not just any chips. These were the loudest, crunchiest, most impossible-to-eat-quietly chips known to man.

Lois reached for the bag first, quick and nimble. A one two punch while Perry had his back turned. It opened easily, not more than a squeak. 

She pinched a tiny chip out, but CRUNCH ! The sound exploded in the quiet room like a firecracker. Heads turned and eyes darted, probably less in anger and more in jealousy. Clark bit back a laugh.

He was next. Clark whispered under his breath, “Watch and learn.” He reached into the bag, his hand moving with exaggerated stealth. So far so good. Clark placed a chip on his tongue, chewing with painstaking care. Still, the crunch echoed like thunder.  Like stepping on a twig in the middle of a funeral.

Lois broke first, a stifled laugh slipping free. Clark followed, shoulders shaking. Perry just rolled his eyes. 

“Five minute snack break,” he called, “Jimmy, get me the Oreos.”

---

Jimmy found that he liked staff meetings best when he was seated against the wall, behind Clark and Lois. 

Perry stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, flipping through his notes.

“Listen up,” Perry barked. “We’re not running that zoning story unless someone finds me an angle that doesn’t make me want to fall asleep mid-sentence.”

Classic.

Jimmy scanned the room and what caught his eye wasn’t Perry’s rant or Cat’s attempt to hide the fact that she had one airpod in her right ear. It was Lois and Clark.

Specifically: the quiet, coordinated mischief happening between them.

Lois had a notepad on her lap, which was not unusual. What was unusual was the little grid she kept glancing at - and the way Clark’s shoulder inched closer every time she added a mark.

Bingo.

Literal bingo. 

Lois made another subtle tick. 

Clark leaned toward her just slightly and whispered something. He took her pen and marked another square. 

Jimmy pretended to be adjusting the settings on his camera. He raised it to his eyes, and zoomed in. He could only make out a few squares:

Perry says “Damn freelancers.”

Steve sighs too loudly but no one cares.

Cat mentions her “celebrity source.”

Someone says ‘circle back.’

Perry forgets someone's name and just says “you.”

He grinned to himself. 

The meeting dragged on. Perry moved into budget updates. Steve was already zoning out. Cat interrupted twice to ask why they weren’t covering a “celebrity dog funeral that had major human interest potential.”

Lois marked another square.

---

“Lois,” Jimmy said, narrowing his eyes as he rifled through the cup on his desk. “Seriously?”

She didn’t even look up. Just kept typing, legs kicked up on the edge of her desk, one hand on her keyboard and the other holding what had once been, undeniably, a pristine black gel pen.

Which now had the slightest little bite marks. Not noticeable if you didn’t look closely. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said casually, eyes on her screen as she clicked through a draft like she hadn’t just mutilated yet another innocent writing instrument.

“I just bought a new pack.” Jimmy held up an empty box, “My favorite pens. Can’t we get you, like, a stress ball? A chew toy? I swear, I’m going to have to start locking these up.”

Lois spun the chewed-up pen once more between her fingers, slow, deliberate, then tucked it behind her ear without a care in the world. 

Clark laughed. 

And the pen? The pen never stood a chance.

---

​​It was barely past noon, and already Clark and Lois had been zipping around the city all day, coming back with fresh quotes and melted iced coffees. 

Jimmy watched them now from his desk, camera memory card downloading, sandwich untouched.

Lois sat in her chair, scribbling something furiously across a legal pad. Clark was by her side, chair pulled up alongside hers, with one arm braced beside her monitor and the other resting across a folder she’d flung open.

They were talking low, fast. Something about timelines. A councilmember who “dodged like a pro.” Clark said the guy blinked exactly seven times when asked about construction permits.

Clark shifted his weight, his elbow catching the edge of the desk. His sleeves had been rolled up earlier, and now the right cuff was twisted awkwardly, half inside-out.

Without even pausing in her notes or clipping her monologue, Lois reached over with one hand and tugged his cuff straight where it had bunched up near his elbow. Quick. Precise. 

But Jimmy saw it.

He also saw Clark’s mouth pull into a tiny, involuntary smile.

Lois went right back to scribbling.

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, watching as Lois elbowed Clark’s arm out of the way to highlight something. 

---

He believed in them.

Everyone did, eventually, but Jimmy was there early. He saw it in the glances, the casual touches, the easy banter. The way Clark always seemed to know when she needed coffee, a quote, a moment to breathe.

The way Lois rolled her eyes at his jokes, but still leaned in for the punchline. 

So Jimmy waited. Believed. Knew it was only a matter of time.

Which is why it was so strange when it all went down.

When Superman took an interest in one Lois Lane.

Chapter Text

Poor Clark.

Jimmy loved the guy, truly. He was bumbling and kind and was probably one of the only people in the city who could put up with everyone’s antics at The Planet. 

When all the other reporters are busy, Clark is the one who stays, really looks at his photographs and doesn’t look at the clock. 

Clark even had a framed photo of Superman on his desk, one that Jimmy was especially proud of. Jimmy never told him that he smiled every time he saw it. He would certainly still tease Clark about having a Superman shrine that now consisted of one lego figurine and one photograph, but only because it was easier than admitting how much it clearly meant to him.

Jimmy’s whole job was to take in the scene, to understand the subtleties of what was going on. Out of their entire friend group, he would like to say he was the one who noticed it first. 

It was just that Superman started lingering. He was just there. And not just around journalists, not just wanting more of a relationship with the press. 

Honestly, he was probably talking to journalists less because Superman, the all-powerful almost God, was spending much of his time on the scene talking to Lois. 

And Jimmy got it. Lois wrote an article about him. Superman defended the institute of journalism in her honor. It was cute, really. 

But Jimmy didn’t think much of it. He was literally a Superhero and Lois was never one for relationships. It was just too impossible, a myth. Superman falls in love? Silly.

He never gave weight to it, that is, until he started seeing Superman gaze at Lois the way Clark did, like she was the only person in the room. 

And you know what really changed his tune? When Lois started looking back. 

It wasn’t like they were doing anything. Lois and Jimmy and Clark and Cat and sometimes even reluctantly, Steve, still joked around the office. Cat still tried to engage her in office gossip and Lois would quip back but never too harshly. 

Lois and Clark would take lunch on the roof, Clark always carrying a bottle of sunscreen for her since you could probably white balance a camera off her complexion. 

Nothing had really changed in their day to day, but now, there were looks. 

He was still firmly on team Clois because Clark was his guy, but it was hard to compete with Superman. 

Could anyone compete with Superman? He was faster than light and stronger than storms. He saved entire cities before breakfast. Who could possibly outshine someone like that? 

Of course any girl, or any person, would fall for him. It was dating 101. 

But yet, Jimmy couldn’t help but think about Clark. Clark, the guy who brought in solid leads and never chased the spotlight. Clark, who listened and truly cared. Clark, who looked at Lois like she was complicated and sharp and beautiful and sometimes maddening - and still never backed down.

They guy was head over heels for her and he thought she was too, in her own Lois way. 

So yeah, maybe he took it a little personally when Superman started paying attention to Lois, and maybe he got a little pissed when Lois started smiling back.

---

The thing was, Clark was always the one interviewing Superman. Not Lois, and honestly, even though she used to gripe about it, lately, she didn’t seem to mind. She wasn’t shooting daggers at him for every exclusive he got. 

She was weirdly okay with it all. 

Red flag 1. 

But yeah, so there was honestly no reason for Lois and Superman to be talking. He wasn’t giving her the scoop on the aftermath of some building collapsing or monster he tried to send to an alien rehabilitation center. 

She was still assigned to the scene, speaking to pedestrians, businesses, and first responders. Jimmy would be there too, snapping photos at a distance, framing the shot just right. 

Clark, well, Clark must have Superman on speed dial because even though he was never on the front lines, he would always come back with Superman quotes. 

Superman would spot Lois in the crowd, and it wasn’t just about scoping out the scene. Jimmy could tell that he was looking for her, finding her in the crowd, smiling like she was the person he’d flown through fire to see. 

At first, it was nothing. Jimmy chose to try to brush it off. It was really only a shared look or a brief word. Probably gratitude. 

But then the quick greetings turned into side conversations, into low voices and muted laughs. She was getting the kind of time that no one else got. 

---

The rooftop really sealed the deal. 

It happened after a rescue downtown - a warehouse blaze with smoke coiling like snakes in the sky. The building stood half-charred behind them, but the people were safe. Only a couple of minor burns that were being looked at by medical personnel. 

Lois was wrapping up an interview with the fire captain, hair clipped back, notebook nearly full. Superman was passing out water bottles to stunned workers and EMTs. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but then Superman doubled back, passed her one, to which she accepted. 

Then, Lois said something, Jimmy couldn’t decipher what, and Superman laughed. It wasn’t the public-friendly chuckle he gave reporters. It was something real and warm and intimate. 

And Lois looked up at him like she had been waiting for it. 

Jimmy felt something twist in his gut.

He scanned the area, looking for that tall mop of hair who was nowhere to be seen all morning. 

If Clark had been here, Jimmy would’ve marched him right up to Lois and Superman and interrupted somehow, breaking the moment so he could give Clark a chance. He couldn’t help the guy if he wasn’t even here. 

Jimmy pulled one of the interns to the side. 

“Jenny,” he whispered, “I need a second opinion.”

The girl went to reach for his camera. She already knew the drill, “Jimmy, I liked the shots you showed me before. I think you got it. We can head back if you want.”

Her eyebrows scrunched when he didn’t hand over the camera. 

“No,” he continued, “Look.”

He gestured to Superman and Lois. 

They were now handing out water bottles together, but would whisper this or that to each other between bottles. 

“I’m not going crazy, right? You see it too?”

Jenny followed his gaze, squinting slightly through the crowd.

Lois handed off a bottle to a kid. Superman leaned in to say something, and whatever it was, it made her roll her eyes. 

Jenny blinked, “Oh.”

“Right?”

Where the hell was Clark? 

---

The next few weeks were worse. Lois was a locked fortress about her personal life. When Jimmy started, it took all of 3 months before she revealed that she grew up in Bakerline. 

There were signs, little ones that something had shifted. Maybe not towards a relationship, but closer. She would check her messages with a faint smile, or look out the window like she was hoping someone would land there. 

Maybe they were just friends and Jimmy was blowing it out of proportion. 

It wasn’t like he had anything against Superman. Hell, he admired the guy. He even had a signed photo of him. 

But Clark? Clark was his friend so yeah, he was a bit biased. 

It was just so utterly unfair - like Clark had been building something, quiet and careful and real, and someone else had just swooped in, literally, and stolen the spotlight.

---

It came to a head one afternoon in the bullpen. Lois was at her desk, typing away. Clacking and clacking for hours. Pens beware. Clark rolled over, deposited a draft in front of her and surprisingly, she stopped what she was doing to read it. 

“I still don’t get how you get Superman quotes all the time when I never see you two together,” Lois mused, flipping through the pages. 

“We’re friends,” Clark said plainly, not making eye contact. 

“Like you play video games together and he just divulges what happened when he stopped an international war?” Lois probed. 

“Something like that.”

Jimmy could tell that she was unsatisfied with the answer, “You jealous, Lane?”

Lois shot him a look. “Please. I’m just saying it’s weird. Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, besties with Superman?”

Clark finally looked up. “We talk. He asks about you sometimes.”

Jimmy nearly threw his stapler. 

Clark, what the heck? Don’t hand her over. Don’t make it easier for her to fall for the guy who already has everything.

But Lois beamed. 

Jimmy clenched his pen so hard it snapped in half. No Lois needed to ruin this one.

---

Later, when Lois left to grab a snack, Jimmy sidled up to Clark, rolling the few feet from his desk to Clark’s. 

“You okay?” Jimmy asked, shuffling some of the papers on Clark’s desk into a neat pile. 

Clark blinked, “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jimmy gave him a slow, steady look, “Clark. Come on, man. Be real with me.”

“No, really. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jimmy didn’t back down. “Lois,” he said, emphasizing the name like it was the key to the whole conversation. “And Superman. Aren’t you even a little worried? They’re getting… close.”

Clark’s expression softened, but there wasn’t a flicker of jealousy in his eyes. “She’s allowed to be friends with him.”

Jimmy leaned in a little, voice dropping even lower. “What about friends who want to be something more?”

Clark looked at him then and Jimmy thought he might finally see something beneath the calm surface. But no, not a hint of anger or fear. His mind was playing tricks on him because Jimmy could’ve sworn he saw hope. 

Clark’s voice was steady, almost gentle. “Do you really think there’s something more?”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy admitted quietly. “But I think there really could be.” Jimmy swallowed hard. He stared at his friend. At the guy who always held the door open, who always backed Lois up in meetings, who reserved half his drawer space for things Lois would need, like sugar or pens or a stress ball that she never used. 

Did Clark resign himself because he knew he couldn’t compete with Superman? Why didn’t he even try? 

If Clark just said something, or made a move, Lois might pick him. 

Instead, Jimmy, when he went home that night, he took the signed Superman picture he had on his desk and slid it into a drawer. 

It was bro code and all. 

Because Jimmy still believed in them. Even if it hurt a little now.

Even if, for the first time, he wasn’t sure they’d make it.

Superman. More like Super Douche.

Chapter Text

Lois Lane was giggling at her phone. No, that was probably an exaggeration. She was smiling at her phone, which was pretty much the same thing. 

And almost everyone in the office noticed. They knew her look of concentration. Her look of annoyance and her look of agitation. This, this was unexpected, and sort of weirding the whole office out. 

“Ooo, Lane’s got a boyfriend,” Jenny called, loud enough that half the bullpen turned.

Lois, eyes still glued to her screen, didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I do. His name’s hard-hitting journalism. We’re exclusive.”

The room chuckled. Even Perry let out a low grunt that might have been a laugh, though no one was sure. 

Perry definitely looked the other way as Lois got up, passed by him, and walked straight to the kitchen to grab a fresh mug. 

Jenny didn’t seem fazed, as she deposited some wiped SD cards onto Jimmy’s desk. Clark tried to focus on his screen, but couldn’t help but look towards Jimmy and Jenny. His stomach turned in place. 

As she finished up, grabbed the old SDs and turned on her heel, she passed by him, and whispered, “Sorry, Clark.”

He blinked. “Sorry?” 

Jenny tilted her head toward Lois, who was now trying to pry the sugar container away from a visiting guest. “I mean… I thought maybe there was something going on.”

Clark hesitated, “With who?”

She gave him a look like he was being deliberately dense, “You and Lois. My god. You guys always have lunch together, she actually lets you finish your sentences, and you get the easy end of her sarcasm unlike most of us. All in all, it puts you in rare company. Actually, sole company. And even I was rooting for you too.” 

He stared at her, jaw tight. “Yeah, she’s not my . . . we’re not . . .”

Jenny made a small, pitying noise, “I figured. I mean, I hoped I was wrong. But then I saw her the other day with this guy. And then the smiling at her phone just now? It’s textbook. It must be pretty serious for Lois Lane to smile.”

“What guy?” 

She stopped herself, like she wasn’t sure she should continue, which, of course, made Clark’s heart start pounding. After a second, she decided to elaborate, “It’s not my business, obviously. But she had this look on her face when she was with him.”

His mouth went dry. Who else was she with lately? He hadn’t noticed anything different. She didn’t mention anyone. 

He tried to be nonchalant, “What look?” He definitely didn’t sound nonchalant. 

Jenny answered, “You know. That look. Like totally head over heels for the guy. Doodling his name in notebooks. Mushing your first name with his last name. Actually, it’s Lois we’re talking about. Would she really take a guy’s last name?”

Clark swallowed hard. He wanted her to stop talking but continue talking all in one. It was making his head spin, “And you’re sure it wasn’t just . . . ”

“Nope,” she said, cutting him off,  “It was soft. Like so not Lois Lane.”

He felt like something inside him tilted, like the room had shifted by a few degrees and no one else had noticed. Clark tried to keep his voice steady. “And you saw them together?”

“I was with Jimmy. We both saw them,” she said, waving a hand towards Jimmy to which he purposefully ignored, instead busying himself with his camera. 

“I’ve got . . . stuff . . . camera . . . journalism things,” Jimmy hurried away. 

Clark looked rather perplexed. 

Jenny sighed, “The warehouse fire. Where were you anyway? Lois was looking for you.”

Clark stiffened, because he had been there, but just as Superman. 

Who else was there? She spent a long time talking to the fire chief. Some fit 33-year-old with swoopy hair. He was probably into dry scooping protein powder and logging his runs on Strava. It’s not like Clark could log his flying time on Strava. He would leave everyone in the dust. 

“And after,” Jenny continued, “they talked for a long time. Real hush-hush, kind of… intense.”

Clark’s throat tightened. How the heck did he not notice? He was Superman. He was supposed to notice everything. 

Jenny nudged his arm. “Hey. Sorry. I really thought you two were going to be a thing. But you know how it is. Some guys just have that spark, the mystery, the drama.”

Clark didn’t answer. What mystery was there to be found in a guy who probably thought “reading” meant nutritional labels and “communication” meant grunting affirmatively through a protein bar.

Ah, no. The guy was a first responder. Seemed nice enough. He was probably fine. Acceptable. He shouldn’t be mean.

Jenny sighed, “Anyway, it’s not like anyone could compete with a superhero. It’s not your fault. No one stood a chance.”

Clark blinked. Paused. He must’ve looked utterly confused. 

Jenny smiled like it was obvious, “Superman. He totally looked in love with her.”

“I mean, don’t beat yourself up,” she added breezily, “The guy is literally a god. But hey, if he breaks her heart, you’ve got that whole ‘sensitive journalist with a heart of gold’ thing going for you. Might still be a shot.”

And with that, she gave his arm a quick pat and walked away.

Clark sat there, utterly still.

It was Superman. She had been talking about Superman.

He’d just spent the last five minutes catastrophizing, thinking Lois had fallen for someone else, when it was him. 

Clark couldn’t help but laugh. 

He looked down at his phone, another text from Lois to Superman: “You have 24 hours to make good on your ‘coffee soon’ promise or I’m leaking your flight path.”

---

Lois had a problem. Not like a ‘this source won’t talk problem.’ She could deal with that. 

No, this problem involved - she hated to say it - feelings. 

Ugh. Get that word out of her mouth. 

It even hurts to admit. 

Lois sat at her desk, the soft hum of the newsroom around her, but the noise felt distant, like it belonged to another world. She had bigger things to worry about than schoolgirl crushes and the fact that she literally could not stop her heart from racing recently. 

Her eyes flicked up from the article draft on her screen and landed on Clark, who was leaning back in his chair at his desk, a few feet away. His easy smile was familiar, a steady presence in her chaotic days. It was something she had started to count on more than she cared to admit.

There was a subtle shift in their dynamic, a new rhythm, unspoken and quiet, but impossible to ignore. The small touches they exchanged, the way their conversations lingered just a little longer, the way Lois found herself looking for excuses to pull Clark closer, to claim just a little more of the space between them. 

It wasn’t just friendship anymore. It was something on the verge, something you couldn’t really put into words. 

She felt like a goddamn teenager. 

Maybe there was something wrong with her brain. Maybe she should finally take a day off and go to the doctor. 

But then there was Superman.

Just yesterday, she had found herself standing in the soft glow of a streetlamp, the city quiet around them.

“Hey, Trouble,” he said, his voice calm but warm, like a hug on a cold night. 

She looked up at him, heart already betraying her with a sudden quickening beat. He was a hero to millions, and yet, in this quiet moment, he just felt like a man. 

“Superman,” she welcomed, they stood a few feet apart and she couldn’t tell who would break the invisible barrier. 

He stepped closer, and for a moment, the world shrank until it was just the two of them. 

“I was just in the area. Wanted to check on you,” he said. His suit glowed in the soft light of the streetlamps. Still, he looked majestic. Like someone anyone would follow. 

“Do you often do wellness checks for all citizens?” Lois smiled. 

“Only the ones who tend to put themselves in danger more often than not.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “So, I’m on the list, then?”

He nodded, eyes steady on hers, “At the very very top.”

The moment stretched between them, charged and fragile. For a second, she thought she might say something but then a distant siren pulled her back, breaking the spell.

“Duty calls.” He gave her a brief, reassuring smile before leaping into the sky. 

---

She wasn’t sure how to reconcile the two; the man she knew as Clark, warm and patient, and the hero who carried the weight of a world on his shoulders, yet to her, was so much more. 

How did she even get in this situation? This wasn’t fucking Twilight. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she even tolerated a man, let alone wanted to be close to one. It was ridiculous. She was losing it. It was probably lack of sleep or the need for more vitamin D or something. Bloodwork. She should have bloodwork done. 

She was brought out of her thoughts by a text from her dad, “No response from Lucy, still.” 

Lois stared at her phone, quickly scrolling to her texts with Lucy. All texts to her, none from. 

“Hey, can you just respond so I know you’re alive?” “Even just like this message. A thumbs up. A middle finger emoji. Anything.” “It’s Lois if you didn’t save my number.”

It was probably fine. Lois locked her screen, then immediately unlocked it again, just to check. Still nothing. 

Lucy was probably doing as Lucy does - go off grid and reemerge years later with a couple too many near death experiences and maybe a tattoo or two. She tossed the phone onto her desk. 

Jimmy practically skidded to a stop beside her and thrust a stack of freshly printed photos into her hands.

"Lois! I got shots from the bridge collapse downtown. Corner of 9th and Lex," he said, breathless, “Some of them are blurry, but like, artistically blurry. Gritty. Don’t make comments.”

Before she could respond, she heard a frustrated sigh to her left. Clark stood next to her desk, squinting at the new state-of-the-art coffee machine Perry had ordered after that truth or dare situation.

“This thing has… sixteen buttons,” Clark muttered, reading the tiny manual with a concentrated stare, “Why would someone need a touch screen to make coffee?”

Lois arched her brow.

“I’m just saying,” he added, poking at the screen cautiously, like he was deactivating a bomb, “It shouldn’t require a degree in engineering to get caffeine. And don’t look at me like that. I know machines. I grew up fixing them. This, this isn’t a machine. It’s like a robot or something.”

The machine beeped aggressively and something hissed loudly, like something was definitely wrong. They both backed away.

Clark frowned. “It said ‘preparing foam.’ What does that mean? Why has it been preparing foam for the last 10 minutes?”

Lois stepped towards the machine, rolling up her sleeves, “Okay, well, I don’t know about you, but I’d like to not be electrocuted before noon.”

Lois tossed Jimmy’s photos onto her desk with one hand and snatched the manual out of Clark’s with the other. “Step aside, Boy Scout. Watch and learn.”

Clark backed up a step, “By all means, Miss Lane.”

Something about the way he said it gave her pause. The cadence - it pinged somewhere in her memory, but she pushed the thought aside for now. There was a machine to conquer.

She jabbed two buttons, twisted the dial, then gave the side of the machine a firm but practiced smack. The whirring sputtered, changed pitch, and suddenly, with an almost humble hiss, a perfectly layered latte began to pour into the cup beneath the spout.

Clark blinked. “How…?”

She shrugged and took the first sip. “Better than the other machine. Gets the job done.”

She handed the cup to Clark. 

He coughed softly, “I think it burned off part of my tongue.”

“You’ll survive.”

Clark held up the cup with his pointer and thumb like it was radioactive, “I’m not actually sure . . .”

Jimmy sighed, “I was the one who suggested the game! How did you make out so well?”

Lois rolled her eyes, as she started on a cup for herself,  “Oh get over it. If you’re nice, I’ll let you have a frappuccino, extra whipped cream.”

Jimmy snorted. “Whatever.”

Lois gave a short laugh and turned back to the photos Jimmy had dropped off, but something warm buzzed beneath her skin. Not from the coffee. From this - these stupid little moments that kept piling up like evidence she didn’t want to examine too closely.

She’d been in war zones. She’d debated heads of state. But somehow, little moments with Clark Kent and a cursed coffee machine and human conversations on empty streets with Superman felt like both the most comfortable and most dangerous territory of all.

She hated it, the way her heart jumped for both of them. 

The way Clark made her laugh without trying, made her feel steady and seen, like the chaos around her couldn’t touch her as long as he was nearby. 

He was her constant. A constant to a person who never had that before. 

To a girl who was so used to surviving on her own that she never looked for another to rely upon. 

And then there was Superman, who cracked something open in her, made her feel raw and a little breathless, like she was standing on the edge of something bigger than herself. He was more than an image, more than his powers. He was a little dorky and sweet and she liked when smiled at only her. 

It wasn’t fair. To either of them. To herself. 

Because deep down, she suspected the feelings weren’t just parallel. They overlapped. And every time she caught herself wishing she could combine the two, Clark’s soft care and Superman’s vulnerable openness, something inside her twisted, tight and uncomfortable. 

This wasn’t who she was. Pining wasn’t in her vocabulary. 

And the worst part, the truly awful part, was that she knew. Okay, maybe she didn't always know. She was sometimes oblivious to others' affections, too caught up in the story to pay attention to anything but. 

Still, she would have had to have been blind not to see how Clark looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. How he always lingered even after all his articles were done, how he seemed to know exactly what she needed like she was the first one on his mind. 

And, Lois also knew that whatever she had with Superman, this 'thing' as she so eloquently put it during one of their conversations, wasn't typical for him. He was vulnerable with her, cared for her more than her job title. And she did as well. 

Lois knew that she wasn't imagining it. 

Maybe it would've been easier if it had been unreturned on either end, because she could do what she did best - walk away.

But that's not how things landed, and now she was stuck in the middle of something dangerous and delicate, and every day she didn’t make a choice was another day she risked breaking hearts she never wanted to hurt.

She was falling for two men who looked at her like she was something worth saving. Something worth keeping. 

One made her feel safe, like he would be there for her come hell or high-water, and the other made her feel seen, like she didn’t have to pretend to be anything, that they could exist in their little bubble together without a care in the world - and she had a sneaking, terrifying suspicion that she wanted both.

Lois Lane had been called a lot of things in her life - reckless, stubborn, impossible. She could live with all of that and wore some of it like battle armor. 

But selfish? No, she wasn’t okay with that. That was the one thing she refused to be. 

Not with the guilt of dragging two people she cared about more than anything into her storm.

They deserved certainty, and stalling was starting to look a lot like cruelty.

So, yeah. It was time. She had to choose. 

Chapter Text

Perry wasn’t often wrong and his assumption that Lois Lane would be nominated for Pulitzer this year had finally come to fruition. It didn’t come as much of a surprise, but until it was real, and in her inbox, Lois had on edge - not that she would ever admit it. 

She had one Pulitzer to her name. Two was just confetti. 

She didn’t need it. She was okay without it. She still had a job that she loved, and her friends, and a really insane love triangle that she didn’t even want to think about. 

And this was just nomination day. Nothing to gawk about. 

Lois really didn’t need this. No second Pulitzer required. 

But goddamn it - a second Pulitzer definitely wanted. 

The announcement came on a Tuesday, a day like any other. The newsroom buzzed with its usual hum, mostly tired grunts until the morning caffeine worked it magic. 

But the email hit and no, it was no longer just an ordinary day. 

Lois froze in her seat, coffee an inch from her lips. Its steam swirling around her face. 

“Lois?” Clark asked, hanging his jacket up on the hook, eyes fixed on her.

“I got it,” she put the coffee down, on top of papers that really shouldn’t be anywhere near a sloshing mug, “The nomination.” 

Clark took a few steps towards her, standing behind her chair. His eyes glazed over the email and there it was:

The Pulitzer Prize Board is proud to announce… Her name in the investigative category, bold and official.

Clark’s smile was instant and wide. 

Before he could say anything, Perry burst out of his office. 

“Hell yes, Lane!” he bellowed, already halfway across the floor. “I told you! I told you months ago. You’re up for your second Pulitzer! At this age! The finance department can kiss my ass. You can have as many pens as you want! Gel? Rollerball? Fountain? Fuck it - we’re going to Staples. Pull the car around.”

Perry grabbed her by the shoulders like a proud, slightly feral uncle, “And you know what? Get all the ice cream and sugary crap you want - anytime. Charge it to my card. What a day. What a goddamn day! ”

Jenny whooped. Jimmy slapped her on the back, to which she playfully glared. 

Clark stepped closer, gently nudging her arm. “You deserve this. Every bit of it.”

Something in his voice made her turn, eyes searching, and for one breathless moment, it was just them. Everyone else faded.

“Thanks,” she said, quiet. “Really.”

If someone hadn’t called her name just then, she might’ve said more. Or he might’ve. But Cat called her over to take a photo for the Planet’s socials.

“Is there a good TikTok audio to go with a Pulitzer?” Jimmy asked. No one answered. 

---

“Perry, we really didn’t have to go to Staples,” Lois said, pulling a cart behind her, “The office managers don’t even go. Two-day shipping and all that.”

Perry White, self-proclaimed paper purist, waved her off with a grunt.

“Some things you don’t leave to the damn internet, Lane. You want the right pens, you pick them out. You want a decent chair, you sit in it. And if you’re gonna frame a goddamn Pulitzer nomination . . .” he turned dramatically toward a wall of frames, “. . . you sure as hell don’t trust a tiny icon on Amazon when picking out your matting.”

Lois opened her mouth to argue, thought better of it, and let the cart coast a little ahead. 

“Can’t you just pick out the frame? I liked the last one you got.” She leaned on the cart, pulling out her phone to check her emails. No new leads. She was safe. 

Perry ignored her, pacing slowly in front of the display like he was about to deliver a eulogy for decent craftsmanship.

When she started to walk past him, Perry reached out gently to stop her in her tracks. 

He was staring at her, eyes crinkled, voice low and hoarse in a way she hadn’t expected.

“I’m so goddamn proud of you, Lane,” His voice cracked, “I know I said that last time too, but it’s true. You’re the best of us.”

Perry cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his pockets like the moment hadn’t just happened.

“Now . . . ” he said briskly, turning back toward the frames, “I’ll get this. You pick out those exorbitantly expensive pens you like and let’s hit the road before I cry in an office supplies chain.”

Lois smiled, then glanced up at him, “Hey, Perry? Come with me again. Like you did last time. We had fun.”

“Are you sure? Bring your family. I’m sure they’re proud.”

She shook her head gently, “I want the person who believed in me from the start to be there.”

“I’ll always be there for you, kiddo.”

---

Lois stood near the window of her apartment, phone pressed to her ear. She stuffed her leftovers into the fridge and poured herself some water. That’s right. Water this time. Not coffee. 

“Yeah, Perry White will be my guest,” she said. “You should have his contact information from last time.”

There was a short pause on the other end before the woman replied, “Yes. Got that right here. And your second?”

Lois hesitated, the question hanging heavier than she expected. She set the glass down and eased onto the couch, the weight of the decision settling in her chest.

“Let me get back to you on that,” she said softly. 

She ended the call and lowered the phone from her ear, eyes drifting to the window where the city lights flickered quietly in the night.

---

The first mistake was letting Clark drive. They were supposed to meet an informant across town and they had gotten approval to take a company car. Beats the 2 buses and a train that they would’ve had to take. 

Lois soon realized that Clark was the type of person who saw driving as a journey. A long, meandering journey where speed limits mattered, and you let everyone cut in front without a complaint. That just wouldn’t do.

“Oh, look at that! They should at least put on their blinker. So many people in such a hurry,” Clark sighed as another car raced past him. This was at least the fifth.

He was driving 45 in a 50mph highway. Even grandmas were passing him.

Earlier, when they driving through a town, they saw a kid on a bike blaze past them.

it was the speed you go if you know a cop is tailing you, or if it’s your first time behind the wheel.

“That’s it!” Lois slammed her palm on the horn. “Fuck you!” she yelled out the window towards the driver, startling a nearby pedestrian, “Fuck you too!”

Clark shot her a sideways glance. “Lois...”

“Clark,” she interrupted, eyes blazing, “Let me drive.”

“The way you’re acting, I’m not sure you even have your license,” he said calmly, hands steady on the wheel.

Lois narrowed her eyes. “The way you’re driving, the DMV should take your license away for old age. Step on it, or I’m calling them to do a wellness check on you.”

Clark sighed, pulling over, “Alright, but if we get a ticket, it’s on you.”

“And what makes you so sure they could catch me?”

---

Even with Clark’s snail pace, they made it on time - mostly thanks to Lois breaking a few driving rules with zero remorse. 

The only problem was their informant was nowhere to be found. Just a brief text saying: “Sorry. Got held up. Should be there in an hour.”

An hour turned into two, and soon they were playing I Spy out the car window.

Lois squinted at the buildings. “I spy with my little eye… something beginning with ‘S.’”

“Skyscraper?”

“Nope.”

“Stop Sign.”

“Nope.”

“Superman”

“Where?” Lois peered out the window.

Clark chuckled. “Alright, I give up.”

“It was speedo,” Lois pointed to the guy running past. They were miles from any beach. Maybe he was European. 

---

“Wait, so that’s how Steve got his job at The Planet?” Clark asked, absentmindedly rearranging his credit cards alphabetically. 

Lois stretched out on the seat, using the lever to angle it back, “Yup. He used to work at the coffee shop down the street. Used to bring everyone their orders. Then he started hanging around. Then he just didn’t leave and eventually, someone gave him a chair. Then a desk. Somehow he got a salary and a parking space.”

Clark grinned, “Hey, if you can’t find a job, find a place to camp out until someone gives you one.”

---

“Twenty questions?”

“We already did that,” Lois sighed.

“At this rate, we’ll both be retirees before he shows up.”

Lois grinned, “I call dibs on the bed by the window at the nursing home.”

Clark shook his head, “No way. I need the sun like you need your morning coffee. Not giving up that spot.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Alright, deal - you get the sunny bed but I get to control the playlists.”

Clark groaned, “Lois, we can’t be blasting punk rock when we’re ninety.”

She smirked, “You’re so lame. I’ll take care of the punk, and leave you to your prune juice.” 

---

“You called him again?” Lois traced the lining on the seat with her pointer finger.

“Yup.”

“Facebook messaged?"

“Check, no answer,” he nodded.

“Sent a pigeon?”

“Still working on that one.”

“Ugh!” She groaned as she angled her seat once more so it was straight back. Practically a bed.

---

“So for your last meal in the world, you’d actually choose apple pie?” Lois was propped up on her elbows, her eyes flickering with amusement, “That’s such an all-American thing to say, Kent.”

Clark shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You asked what I’d pick for dessert, not the whole meal. But yeah, apple pie, but the kind my mom makes.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, “That special, huh?”

“Probably pretty standard to most people, but to me? It’s the family recipe and nothing beats a family recipe. She used to let me roll out the dough, and sneak some of the filling. It’s home.”

Lois chewed on her lip, considering, “I don’t think we ever really had family recipes. Not like that.”

Clark nudged her playfully, “C’mon. There must be something. No Thanksgiving recipes? Christmas?”

She hesitated, shook her head, then laughed softly. “My sister used to make sriracha and honey grilled cheese. We used to hide from the commanding officers and scarf them down. I probably still have a burn scar from the faulty stove.”

Clark wrinkled his nose, eyebrows raised. “Honey, spice, and cheese... not typical.”

“We didn’t have a ton of options at the base, and none of us could read German, so we weren’t exactly adventurous with our supplies. It kinda hit the spot after the bland food we were fed. Made us feel alive.”

“Was it any good, like gastronomically?” Clark pressed. He passed her his bag of pretzels. She emptied a few into her hands before giving it back. 

“Studying the dictionary, Kent?” Lois shrugged, her smile fading into something more wistful. “I think so. Or maybe it just tasted good because it was ours.”

Clark leaned back slightly in his chair, pulling the lever back as well. His tone was gentle, “Tell me about her.”

Lois traced the stitching on the seat, not looking at him, “She’s loud and unafraid. Kinda annoying. Hates being told what to do.”

“And you’re sure you’re related?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile.

Lois rolled her eyes and gave him a light smack on the shoulder. “Rude. Lucy walked to the beat of her own drum. She was more of a rebel than I ever managed to be.”

“You two close?”

She paused, then shook her head. “Not really. Maybe we’re too similar. Like magnets flipped the wrong way - same core, but always pushing each other off course.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. She’s... somewhere. She stopped answering. I can’t get in touch with her. Neither can my dad.”

A quiet beat passed.

Clark didn’t press. But he saw it, beneath her casual tone, the crease between her brows hadn’t softened, and her fingers kept rubbing the same spot at the seam of the cushion.

“You’re worried,” he said softly.

Lois glanced at him, surprised by how easily he caught it.

She looked away again, her voice lower this time. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“I don’t think I realized how much family mattered until months had passed and I couldn’t even tell you what continent she’s on.”

She tried to smile, lifting her chin in that familiar, stubborn way. “But knowing Lucy? She’s probably herding cattle in Mongolia. Or sipping something overpriced on a yacht in Greece.”

Clark gave her a small smile, but didn’t forget the thread beneath her joke. “You joke when it hurts,” he said gently. “You always have, but you don’t have to. I don’t need you to be strong.”

Lois’ smile faltered. She looked at him, really looked. 

She knew that if she fell apart into a million pieces, he wouldn’t judge. He would probably just hold her until she could breathe again. 

And if she wanted to stuff it all down with a smile and a bit of sarcasm, he would accept that as well. 

So she did something in between, softened her edges, while not quite letting go, but not holding on so tight either.

Lois shifted a little closer, just enough that the tips of their fingers brushed. Not quite an invitation, but not accidental, either.

Even without a word, she felt safer than before.

In that simple, shared moment, Lois found a quiet calm she hadn’t known she needed, finally allowing herself to be at ease, if only until they parted.

---

“I think we call it,” Lois said eventually, when her stomach growled so loudly it echoed off the windows. She tossed him the keys, “Your turn.”

He raised an eyebrow, but quickly switched with her. She kept the seat all the way back, falling asleep under the hazy streetlights. 

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until the low rumblings of gravel awoke her. 

Clark had driven them to the diner, that diner. Her favorite one, the one from months ago. He opened her door, leading her to the table he now knew as Lois’ Table, scrawled in fading Sharpie. 

He didn’t offer her a menu, knowing that she was quite alright without one. She ordered the Caesar salad wrap and, against her better judgment, a coffee. He got breakfast - eggs, pancakes, and home fries. The whole shebang. 

When the coffee came, she took a sip and winced. “Bitter. And I asked for a shit-ton of sugar.”

“I don’t think shit-ton is a proper measurement,” Clark laughed, but he didn’t argue. He just reached into the inner pocket of his coat, pulled out a sugar packet, and placed it quietly beside her cup.

She stared at it.

She blinked. “Wait. How did you . . .”

“It’s never enough sugar with you,” he said simply. “It’s not hard to guess.”

Lois looked down at the packet. It was a small, ridiculous thing. Ordinary.

Except it wasn’t, not really. Not when she poured it into her cup, and you know what it tasted like? That fourteenth packet of sugar. The one that made it just right. 

Her gaze lifted slowly to meet his.

But, he was busy with his meal, pouring some syrup on his stack. He didn’t even seem to think it was strange, this little habit of his, carrying around exactly what she needed before she even asked for it.

Something clicked. Not loudly. Not all at once, but like a door slowly unlatching.

Of course it’s him.

When her fries arrived, Lois stood to grab the ketchup from the counter. Instead of returning to her side of the booth, she slid over to his, settling in beside him with an ease that just felt right.

Like they were side by side at her desk, just as they did every day for months. Nothing new.

Like the way they ate lunch on the roof together, Lois never asking for 'no pickles' anymore because she knew Clark liked them. 

Like the way they sat on her couch, when, even then, they were too close for coworkers but far enough that they didn't have to name it anything else. 

Clark looked up, surprised, meeting her steady gaze.

Lois said nothing. She simply grabbed a fry, held it out, and nudged it toward him - a small, wordless invitation like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

Because, honestly, it was.

Chapter Text

That night, Clark didn’t get much sleep. 

It wasn’t because there was a bridge he had to help lift. It wasn’t because there were turtles that needed to cross the road. For once, he wasn’t thinking about all things Superman. 

No, Clark was just buzzing. It was the kind that blossoms near your heart and then sends a low hum through your chest, through every inch of your body, straight to your fingertips. 

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, hearing the broken AC whirl and whirl, hearing the echo of Lois’ laugh at the diner, watching her lips wrap around the rim of that coffee cup, watching her scoot into the booth beside him like it meant nothing and everything combined.

Clark exhaled through his nose and turned onto his side, one arm curled under the pillow. He could still picture how peaceful and quiet she looked when she fell asleep beside him in the car. He loved when she spoke, when she yammered, when she mocked, and when she cared. But in the car, there was something else. Like just being in her presence was enough. 

As he watched her slow, gentle breaths, he thought he could get used to this. 

Clark hadn’t meant to take her to that diner, not consciously. It was a long day and she was obviously tired. But she was hungry and he selfishly wanted to spend a bit more time with her. Sue him.

Somehow, his body just knew the way. Just like he subconsciously knew to always stuff extra sugar packets into his pockets, or guide her when she was too engaged on a call that she forgot that poles and potholes existed. 

She was often in his head - her wit, her intelligence, her gosh darn smile that was bright enough that it could be an entire planet’s sun. And now, it was even worse. Her shoulder brushing his. 

The way she looked at him, like he could be a sun too. 

He tried to close his eyes, but the hum didn’t go away. 

He mulled over every word of their conversation like he wanted to etch it into his memory. He thought about his mom’s apple pie and how much a slice would’ve been perfect just about now. He thought about how excited she was to see Superman when they were playing I Spy, and how secretly, it made him smile. 

He thought about how Lois didn’t realize how much she missed her sister until she was gone. Until she didn’t know what continent Lucy was on. 

Until Clark didn’t know what planet Kara was on. 

Clark leaned toward the side of his bed, fumbling in the dark until his fingers closed around his phone. The screen lit up far too bright in the dim room.

His thumb hovered for a second. Then he opened the encrypted app they had for emergencies, or when Kara forgot his login to Netflix, Spotify, or Chewy. Maybe those were considered emergencies as well.

Now he hesitated. 

Hey, where are you? 

No, too vague.

Find My Friends doesn’t work in space. Can you check in? 

Too parental.

I miss you.

Too raw.

He sighed, then typed:

Hey, Kara. I assume you’re somewhere doing something illegal or dramatic that will make for a great story. Just checking in. You alive? I’m not trying to guilt you into coming back or anything. But tonight was one of those nights where everything felt just a little bit… good. And I wanted to tell you about it. 

He stared at it. Then hit send.

And I left a key to my apartment at The Fortress for you. So you don’t have to go around making illegal keys. 

Clark put the phone down and flopped back onto his pillow. The AC still whirled. His chest still hummed.

And somewhere, across space or time or whatever distance families drift through, Kara smiled. Too enthralled in whatever nonsense she was up to, but not too busy to stop mid-chaos, let the message soak in, and wish, just for a moment, that she’d stayed on Earth a little longer. 

---

Lois was digging through her email when a message with the subject line Pulitzer Ceremony: Special Announcement caught her eye. 

She had been trying to get through the half folded laundry piles around her apartment, and the books that she would start and just leave whenever she had to hop on a call. It was really hopeless. There was no world in which Lois Lane would have every aspect of her life in tip top condition, and so, her apartment would unfortunately have to bear the brunt of her delayed organization. 

At least she owned more than 2 forks. That was a serious upgrade. 

Inside the email was a list of details about the event, which would be held at Columbia University, like always. She remembered her last ceremony, the way her heart started racing the moment she left her apartment. She was almost certain she should’ve gone straight to a doctor instead of to the UWS. It calmed a bit the moment she saw Perry, who was happily introducing her to his longtime friends in the business. 

As she scrolled through the email, a sentence jumped out at her:

“We are honored to have General Samuel Lane, distinguished friend of the university and decorated military leader, introduce nominee, Ms. Lois Lane.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. 

Last time, her favorite professor was tasked with introducing her. It was sweet. It was comforting. It showed her how far she had truly gone in a few short years. Perry was off-limits as a speaker, same paper and all. But this? Her dad? This was a whole new kind of complication.

When was the last time she saw Sam Lane? Lois couldn’t remember. He was always off somewhere, doing military this, defense that. 

At a certain point, he stopped checking in and she stopped asking, and that was years ago. 

It wasn’t much different from her childhood. Some kids have a terribly hard time moving away from home. Lois did it all with a couple suitcases and a budget moving company. 

No tears, or goodbyes. 

As Lois closed the email, she swallowed hard, a knot tightening in her chest.

He never mentioned anything, or gave her at least a little warning. It was only this cold, formal announcement in her inbox. 

She wasn’t sure what she was more nervous about: the chance of winning her second award, or the fact that she had to share the moment with a man who barely knew how to be a father, let alone a proud one.

---

Later that week, the sun was warm on the rooftop. Lois leaned back against the wall, her dumplings forgotten as she stared out over the city. The chatter of the bustling streets below seemed far away up here. She played with her chopsticks, pulling a wooden burr off the side of one. 

“I’m rethinking this,” she said, waving her chopstick lightly. “I don’t think we can count your toast today in the overall score. Not that the mid-toast flip wasn’t perfect, but it was a different brand of bread, and we have to be consistent here.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Admit you’re just a sore loser.”

“I’m not! I just don’t want to introduce a new variable.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Likely story,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his own, but didn’t pull away.

Lois caught the gesture and leaned in just a little more, the warmth of him steadying her. 

“I guess we’ll just have to have a rematch”

Clark’s eyes softened, a slow smile spreading. “Anytime you want.”

Lois fiddled with her chopsticks wrapper, folding it over itself, then finally blurted, “Hey, Clark.”

He looked up, eyebrows raised.

“So, the Pulitzer Awards are coming up.” She shrugged, trying for nonchalant. “And, uh, I thought maybe you might want to… come with me. You know, as my friend, guest, mortal enemy . . ..” She couldn’t even meet his eyes. She was not nonchalant.

Clark blinked, surprised, but his smile was gentle.

Lois quickly added, “And Perry’s going too. So there’s that. Not that you have to. I mean, it’s just an invite. No pressure.”

“Lois, I’d be honored.”

She let out a small breath, voice lowering. “Good. Because my dad’s going to be there, and what better way to disappear from him than hide behind a man who’s a foot taller than me?”

Clark’s smile deepened, teasing now. “So I’m just your personal bodyguard?”

Lois finally met his eyes, her grin teasing back. “Something like that.”

---

Cat’s heels clicked sharply against the marble floor of the Daily Planet lobby as she spotted Clark making his way toward the elevator.

“Stop,” she yelled, bulldozing towards Clark, letting the elevator doors close in front of him.

“Cat, I was going to take that,” he huffed. 

“When the hell were you going to tell me that Lois invited you to the Pulitzers?” Cat crossed her arms. 

“Perry’s going too.”

“So is every editor-in-chief in Metropolis. No, this is different. And you know what this calls for? A new suit.” She touched his suit jacket like she was picking up a rat. “This is dire.”

---

“Lois said it’s not like the Oscars or something. These are journalists. Nothing that fancy.”

Cat whined, “Being a journalist and having a great sense in style are not mutually exclusive. Even Lois knows how to dress herself - somehow always effortlessly polished even though I can’t picture that girl even spending an hour shopping.”

The moment the elevator doors slid open onto the sleek boutique floor, Cat’s eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

“Okay, first rule: no talking. This is my domain,” she said, grabbing a charcoal-gray blazer off a nearby rack. “Second rule: no arguing with me.”

She pulled a dark navy jacket from the rack. “Try this one.”

Clark stepped into the fitting room, the curtain closing behind him. A few minutes later, he stepped out, adjusting the jacket slightly.

Cat circled him like a hawk, hands on hips. “Okay, not bad. But not perfect.”

“I think it looks okay.”

“OKAY IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH!”

A few shoppers looked her way. 

---

Later, while he wrestled with a tie, Cat smirked, “You’re going to be the best-dressed plus-one there. Lois will thank me later.”

Clark caught her eye in the mirror and grinned. “You’re pretty intense about shopping.”

Cat shrugged with a smirk. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t show up looking like you raided a thrift store. Lois deserves the best. I’m not just saying this because I’m her friend - Lois is special. She doesn’t celebrate herself enough. Like, I practically made the whole office celebrate my birth month.”

“At least you decided after day 4 that you couldn’t get the whole office to sing happy birth month every day. Jimmy still thinks he can harmonize,” Clark folded the tie carefully, “I know Lois is incredible. You would have to be blind not to see.”

Cat smiled, “Good. Because whatever this thing is between you two, don’t mess it up. And don’t let her run.”

“I don’t intend to.”

As the afternoon stretched on, Clark tried on several suits, each more polished than the last. Like slowly turning up the heat until you don’t even notice you are sweating.  

By the end, Clark wasn’t sure how he was in a full 3 piece suit that was made by some designer he couldn’t pronounce. 

“I don’t hate it,” he admitted.

Cat clapped her hands. “I knew this was the one! Okay, should we pick out a cologne? I think Lois would like . . . ”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Clark laughed.

With the bags in hand, he took a deep breath and caught his reflection in the boutique’s glass door. A strange mix of nerves and excitement churned in his chest - somehow, running through burning buildings and stopping world wars never felt this intimidating.

Chapter Text

Both Lois and Cat were eating celebratory ice cream. Celebration for what? Not humiliating themselves in self-defense class. Now that they’d moved up to the advanced group, every lesson felt like sparring with a drill sergeant who’d had a bad morning.

Sometimes, Lois would have the most random bruises bloom on her skin the next day. Jimmy was convinced that she just kept walking into furniture when too distracted on work calls. She couldn’t argue with him there. There was quite a bit of supporting evidence. 

“It’s melting! It’s melting,” Cat raced to clean up the drippings before they got all over her perfectly matched workout set. 

They had swiped Perry’s card as they always did. Perks of being the favorite. 

“Do you know what you’re wearing yet?” Cat asked as she got her icy dessert under control, “I want to match his tie to your dress.”

“Cat, we’re not your little Barbies,” Lois checked her phone for any work emails she had neglected for the last hour and a half. 

“I just think if you’re taking him to this Pulitzer ceremony, you should at least look coordinated. I mean, there are going to be photographers. A lot. And one day you might want to frame the photos. You never know,” Cat wiggled her eyebrows. 

“It’s not like that. Are you going to have us coordinate with Perry too?” Lois goaded. 

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Cat huffed, “This is like a big moment. Clark looks really good. Like girl, I’m glad you’re my friend because I would’ve snatched that man right up. You have dibs.”

“Dibs?” Lois muttered, “What are we, 12?”

“I mean he has quite a schoolboy crush on you if you haven’t noticed.”

Lois rolled her eyes, “Don’t start.”

Cat smirked, “Clark’s a good guy, like a really good guy. I know you know that.” Cat jabbed a finger towards Lois.

She continued, “Just… don’t shove him back into the friend-zone bunker before he’s even had a chance to storm the beach. Even if you are still keeping your hopes up about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Alien.”

Lois shot her a look, but Cat was already halfway across the park. 

“Think about it,” Cat called over her shoulder. “And while you’re at it, think about him in that suit I picked out. Because my god!”

---

The second Lois stepped through her apartment door, she let her gym bag slide to the floor in a heavy thud. Shoes kicked off somewhere in the vicinity of the entryway, she collapsed onto the couch. The television remote was within reach, so she clicked it on - news, of course. Always news. Anchors’ voices filled the silence like white noise, giving her something to listen to that could fill her brain. 

She raked a brush through her hair, wincing at the knots from the day. Halfway through the second pass, her phone buzzed against the coffee table. 

Sam Lane.

Will be nice to see you there. I can introduce you to some colleagues.

Lois stared at the message. It was the kind of text you sent to a polite acquaintance you’d met once at a work event, or maybe a colleague you wanted to network with. Crisp. Efficient. Completely devoid of anything resembling warmth.

Not a text a father should send to his daughter. And definitely not a text to your daughter after a Pulitzer nomination.

Where was the Proud of you ? The Congratulations ? A single emoji, even. But no, this was pure General Lane: all clipped edges. 

She set the phone back down, resisting the urge to toss it onto the far cushion. His message could sit there unread and unanswered for a while. It didn’t deserve the dignity of an immediate reply.

Introduce you to some colleagues. He had said. 

Lois could already picture them, men and women in professional outfits that they wore as armor, titles to show their place in the hierarchy. People who had two phones and not enough sleep. Lived for 6am wakeups. She had met enough of his colleagues in the past to know exactly what these people were like. 

And they didn’t care about her, not really. She was a prop for him - to show the world that his daughter was continuing the Lane name. If she did well, he looked good. 

It was the same thing as on the base. How much did Lois really care about military drills? Not much. But how much did she care when her father offered her an approving nod - that meant the world. 

A sinking feeling landed in her chest. For most, a Pulitzer Prize nomination was enough for celebration, let alone Lois was already a Pulitzer Prize winner! 

But on that day, in that auditorium, surrounded by her father’s colleagues, what if her name wasn’t called? What if she didn’t win?

Her stomach tightened.

The image bloomed in her head - Sam shaking hands with someone across the floor, his voice calm as he introduced his daughter, Lois Lane, nominee. Nominee. 

They were never allowed to be second best. Never allowed to fail. 

She hated that the thought lodged itself so firmly in her brain. She knew it was an honor just to be nominated, but with her father, there was always this invisible bar set just high enough to keep her wondering if she’d ever actually reached it. And what would happen if she didn’t. 

And now he’d be there. She dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside her and stared at the newscast on the television. It wasn’t the ceremony she was dreading - it was the possibility of seeing that tiny flicker in his eyes. The one that said close, but not enough.

---

Lois walked into the bullpen the next morning, already talking to a source on the phone, a newspaper under her arm. Her bag hit the side of her desk with a thud. She didn’t bother taking off her coat before logging into her computer.

Jimmy swiveled around in his chair, “When you win, you better thank me in your speech. I’m picturing it now - ‘And to my best friend, Jimmy Olsen, who inspires me every day.’”

“I’m picturing you getting my coffee,” Lois responded, “And since when are we best friends?”

“Since you should feel bad about not inviting me to the first of these, or the second! Can I reserve an invite for the third time? Some of my favorite photographers went to the last one.” 

“Riding on my coattails, as always, Olsen,” Lois added, “Do you have eyes on Clark?”

She pulled out her phone. The last unsent text to her father still sat there: Thanks. See you there. Her thumb hovered, then she locked the screen and shoved it back in her pocket.

---

Lois found Clark in the break room, shuffling through the communal fridge, tossing out items that were probably starting to grow mold. 

“Long morning?” he asked. 

“Something like that.” She made a face as she saw a container of tacos that was ordered 3 months ago, “You ever wish you were adopted?”

Clark chuckled as he pulled another box from the fridge. “I am.”

Lois blinked, her eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

He shrugged, tossing out another box, “Hard to believe?”

“No, it’s just... I don’t think we ever really talked about it,” her voice softened. 

“I was adopted as a baby,” he said simply, shrugging, “So the Kents are the only family I’ve ever really known.”

“That must have been... complicated, figuring out who you are without knowing where you came from.”

Clark nodded, “Sometimes, but the Kents made it feel like home. I assume this is about your dad introducing you at the ceremony?”

Lois exhaled slowly, “You’re getting better at investigative journalism. My family isn’t warm and fuzzy. I’m sure not like your folks in Kansas. No apple pies on my dinner table.” 

Lois continued, “All I know is that I have to win.”

Clark didn’t rush to question her, “Lois, you were nominated. That’s enough cause for celebration.”

She shook her head, eyes hardening. “You don’t know my dad.”

Clark met her gaze calmly. “But I know you. And the Lois Lane I know would never measure her worth by someone else’s approval. I have it on good authority that she’s pretty great.”

The hint of a smile softened Lois’s features before she could stop it.

---

The twisted metal of the derailed train lay on empty sidewalks. Firefighters moved around the wreckage to clear debris. 

Lois, armed with a clipboard, was making her rounds, taking eyewitness accounts from all who were upright. Jimmy snapped some photos. 

Superman, who had been kneeling beside a group of wide-eyed kids wrapped in blankets, had stood up, with a wave, and made his way over to her. 

Lois closed her notebook and approached the superhero. 

“I believe congratulations are in order? Pulitzer nominee. Can’t say I’m surprised,” Superman said, “You deserve it.”

Lois smiled, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

Jimmy’s fingers tightened around his camera.

Superman continued, dusting some soot off his arm, “They’d be fools not to pick you. I know some of the judges on the board - perks of all the press wanting interviews with me. They all know what a force you are.”

“Buttering me up, Superman,” Lois jested, tucking her clipboard under her arm. 

He grinned, eyes warm, “Just stating facts.”

Super Douche. 

---

Lois was really trying not to hyperventilate as she parked her car at a lot and walked the street over to Columbia University. The soft murmur of arriving guests did nothing to quell her nerves. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she took a deep breath. She turned off her phone and stuck it at the bottom of her clutch. What’s the point of a clutch? It holds like one lip gloss and a car key. Very impractical. 

“Hey.”

Lois turned and his slow, easy smile somehow made the weight of the night feel lighter. Clark was leaning casually against the marble steps, his tailored suit crisp and perfect, like Cat had promised. 

“You look beautiful,” he held out his arm which she gladly took. Open and honest and so real that Lois felt her breath hitch right then and there. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Kent. Not too bad yourself,” Lois responded, “Maybe you should hire Cat as your personal stylist.”

“I’m pretty sure she would pay me for the chance,” Clark laughed, leading them up the stairs one by one. She tried to just focus on him, their easy conversation, their effortless banter. 

She was fine. He would make sure she was fine. Clark moved beside her, slipping his arm around her waist with a quiet assurance that steadied her nerves in a way words never could.

The foyer buzzed with activity: familiar faces from other newsrooms, past winners exchanging congratulatory smiles, and media professionals networking beneath grand chandeliers. Glasses clinked softly, laughter floated in snippets, and somewhere nearby, a jazz trio began to play a smooth, low melody that blended into the background hum.

She scanned the room for her father. Luckily, she saw Perry first. 

Perry was already at their table, chatting with a few friends from other newspapers. His face brightened when he caught sight of Lois and Clark. 

“The woman of the hour,” he beamed, “Our star reporter.”

“Lois Lane,” she introduced herself to the suits surrounding them. 

“Oh we know,” one responded, “The amount of times we’ve wanted to poach you, but decided against it because none of us could handle Perry’s wrath. It’s a pleasure. Good luck, tonight.”

---

“Where is he?” Lois muttered. She glanced around the room for the third time.

Lois’s eyes flicked anxiously toward the entrance every few minutes, but General Lane was nowhere to be seen. The empty chair seemed to grow colder with each passing moment, a silent reminder that the man who was supposed to introduce her was missing in action.

The ceremony had already begun. Perry was already complaining about the food portions: “Why did I just get three tortellini? Who eats just three tortellini?” 

Lois would have to agree. 

Her category was approaching and she found it hard to even concentrate on the winners, speeches, and journalistic heroes. All she could think about was the fact that once again, her father had let her down. 

Just then, a young staff member in a sharp black suit approached their table, his expression apologetic. 

“Ms. Lane? I’m sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know that General Lane is unable to attend tonight,” he said quietly, glancing briefly toward the empty seat, “There’s been a last-minute emergency of national security, and the board is scrambling to find someone to fill his spot as introducer.”

Lois nodded slowly. “Thank you for letting me know,” she replied. Don’t show emotions. Hold it together. 

She turned on her phone. A message from her father an hour ago. 

Emergency in Washington. Sorry, can’t make it tonight.

Her breath hitched. 

She hated him. 

She wanted to scream. 

The room’s chatter and clinking glasses faded into a dull hum as her mind replayed every missed phone call, every holiday ignored, every silent disappointment. She thought about the man she barely knew, and her childhood dreams of a father that he never was. 

She slid her phone back into her bag, forcing herself to focus on the ceremony, but the knot in her stomach tightened. 

Lois felt Clark’s hand find her own, weaving his fingers with hers. 

Lois took a slow breath, meeting his gaze and letting a small flicker of gratitude soften the tightness in her chest.

“I’m going to be the only one up there without an introduction. Without someone up there who is proud of me,” she admitted, “I’ll be standing there, all alone, under the spotlight, scared to death that I won’t win, and no one’s even going to bother to tell the room why I’m supposed to matter.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and brittle. “I can’t do this. It’s so embarrassing. My own father couldn’t show up for me on one of the most important nights of my life.”

“You matter, Lois. More than anything,” Clark promised.

Lois wanted his words to wash over her like a balm, but she could hear her heart beat a million times a minute. 

Clark definitely sensed it since he thumb brushed over the top of her hand in gentle circles. 

Her eyes darted toward the entrance again, hope flaring briefly only to be snuffed out by absence. The tight knot in her stomach twisted harder with each passing minute, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the sharp sting of disappointment. 

Her hands trembled ever so slightly, the tremor betraying the cool, controlled exterior she fought to maintain. 

Clark’s phone buzzed sharply against his side. He glanced down, brow furrowing as he read the message. His eyes flicked up to meet Lois’, regret softening his usual calm. He stood. 

“Lois, I’m so sorry. I have to go. I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes trying to meet hers. 

Lois blinked, caught off guard. She could hardly process it before he was gone. “Clark, wait . . .”

She sat frozen, confusion tightening in her chest. 

Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, nails digging in as she tried to steady the storm of disappointment and disbelief rising inside her.

Perry’s voice cut through the fog. “Lois, you okay?” he asked gently, leaning closer. 

She forced a small, tight smile, willing her voice steady. “Yeah. I’m fine.” But inside, she felt anything but.

A few moments later, the chatter in the room dimmed as the lights shifted toward the podium. Her category was up.

Then, a figure stepped into the spotlight.

Superman.

Chapter Text

It started with a standing ovation. The whole room in grand applause for the hero who stood up for them, for freedom of the press. 

Lois, her palms still warm from Clark’s gentle hands, even rose to her feet with the others. 

How did they manage to get him so quickly? Superspeed probably helped. 

“Thank you, thank you,” Superman calmed down the crowd, “For the last award of the night, it is my great pleasure to introduce Lois Lane, a reporter whose relentless pursuit of truth is exceptionally admirable.”

He looked into the crowd until his gaze landed straight on her, “Lois’ commitment to justice and integrity inspires not just those who follow her work, but also those of us fortunate enough to know her. Lois fights the good fight, every day. Without compromise.”

In any other situation, she would’ve looked away. It was too intense, too real, too true. “She encourages others to reflect on their actions and hold themselves to higher standards. She is one of the finest journalists out there - fearless, compassionate, and unwavering in her principles. It is a true honor for me to introduce such a force. Your exceptional nominee, Miss Lois Lane.”

Lois stood, willing her feet to move one by one towards the front of the room. She kept her gaze on him, breathe in breathe out. Just like that. In and out. 

Superman met her at the steps, his hand extended. She took it, the familiar strength in his grip grounding her. His palm shifted lightly to the small of her back as he guided her up, steadying her, anchoring her in the moment.

He didn’t leave her side as the other nominees filed in, each called by name and introduced, the crowd clapping in rhythmic bursts. The heat of his presence was a quiet reminder: You’re okay. You’re okay. Just focus on this. Don’t think about anything else. 

When her name rang out, Lois Lane. Two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, only then did he let her go.

The applause swelled as Lois stepped forward, her heels clicking against the stage. Cameras flashed. 

She was used to cameras, but hardly ever on her. She gripped the award - focusing on the cool metal in her palm. In and out. 

She moved the mic lower, to meet her height, “Thank you. Truly. It’s an honor to be standing here tonight.”

Lois looked behind her, gesturing to the others on the stage, “To my fellow nominees, know that I am in awe of your work. You remind me every day why this job matters, and why we keep chasing the truth even when it’s inconvenient, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s dangerous.” 

Perry dabbed his eyes before looking around to check if anyone noticed him. 

“Journalism isn't just about headlines or bylines. It’s about people. It’s about shining a light in the dark corners and holding the powerful accountable. It’s about giving a voice to those who’ve been silenced, and telling stories that matter. And to those who’ve supported me along the way, my colleagues, my friends, thank you for pushing me, challenging me, and, on occasion, forcing me to sleep and not get that extra cup of coffee. You’ve made me better. This award isn’t the finish line. It’s a reminder that there’s still work to be done, and I intend to keep doing it. Thank you.”

Just like Superman, she received thunderous applause. 

In that moment, she felt super. 

Her heart swelled, despite her father not being there, despite her - who knows what to call it - leaving right when she needed him most. 

Lois held her head up high, took in the applause and let it feel any emptiness left inside. Nothing was going to stop her from enjoying this moment. 

This was hers.

From the crowd, a “Woo! Go Lois!” screamed out. Jimmy, dressed in an old Daily Planet t-shirt, was up in his seat (where did he come from?) and cheering like he was at a football game. If they had foam fingers, he definitely would’ve had one. 

As the ceremony ended, Lois glanced to her left. Superman was already engulfed, mobbed like he was Harry Styles stepping off a tour bus. Only this time, the journalists weren’t grilling him about his last rescue or pressing for intel on some classified disaster. 

No, tonight they wanted autographs, selfies, handshakes; the kind of giddy, wide-eyed attention reserved for movie stars and myths.

Lois couldn’t help but watch, a knot of conflicting feelings tightening in her chest. Gratitude, because he’d saved her. Frustration, because she still didn’t understand why Clark had vanished. And maybe, just a bit of pride in herself. 

She had done it. 

As Lois weaved her way back to the table, Jimmy popped up from his seat and immediately wrapped her in a bear hug.

“I forgive you for not giving me a shout-out in your speech!” he grinned, squeezing her tight.

She blinked, still catching up. “Jimmy? What are you doing here?”

“Clark said he had an emergency come up, one that he is super super sorry about,” Jimmy explained, plopping back into his chair, “and that if I was in the area, which I was, because I was definitely trying to get this photographer’s autograph, then I should come support you.”

Lois tilted her head. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”

Jimmy’s expression softened, “Just that… a friend really needed his help. Desperately. He seemed really worked up about it. Really sorry.”

She had needed him. Desperately. 

But no, this is Lois Lane we’re talking about. The girl who didn’t need anyone, who learned to take care of herself. She shouldn’t let anything taint this moment. 

Even if she wanted him there, even if that’s all she could think about. 

She’d chosen Clark, trusted him to safeguard her heart. He was the one who knew her better than anyone, which is why she was confused as to why she was feeling like she didn’t know him at all. 

The seat beside her was just as empty as the one meant for her father.

The thing was, it was a familiar emptiness. She knew how it cut, deeper and deeper until it reached bone. Until it tore her apart. It was something she was accustomed to, since before she could even name what she was feeling. 

Lois was certain about one thing - she couldn’t invite someone else into her world only to have them leave when it mattered most. 

Caring hurt too much. 

She had won and although she wanted her father to see, she also wanted Clark there, right beside her. 

Superman had made the whole room look at her, given her the sweeping praise and beautiful words - and she was terribly thankful for that. 

But something gnawed at her insides. Clark would’ve stood in the back, just so she could find his face in the crowd when she needed him most. 

Superman did all the right things, but Clark would’ve said the wrong things just to make her laugh. 

Lois wasn’t exactly sure what Superman saw when he looked at her. A celebrated journalist, a reassuring face on the scene, someone who would listen, and a friend. One of his only. 

Clark saw her with ink on her face from chewing on pens, wrinkled clothes from taking naps in cars, and droopy eyes from the caffeine high finally crashing. He saw everything she was, almost every single day, and still called her brilliant. Still called her beautiful. 

She stole another look at Superman, line still as long, and decided to take her leave. He was mobbed by fans, surrounded by people vying for his attention. 

Clark would’ve ridden back with her, asked her if she wanted him to make pancakes because the portion sizes were really small. 

That’s what she needed. Not the peak. The guy who would be there in the after. 

This was silly. This was her night. Focus on that. 

Focus on the fact that her talent had just been reconfirmed, that she’d stood on that stage and won.

So she straightened her shoulders and measured her breathing and told herself it didn’t matter. Lois didn’t need him. Lois Lane didn’t need anyone.

But in the back of her mind, the little girl with no one in the crowd at her school recital stirred. Every missed graduation. Every insincere birthday card, gift probably picked out by staff. 

Lois remembered waiting, feeling embarrassed as it was only her and the teacher left. How other kids ran to smiling parents with hugs and laughter and flowers. 

The hope hurt worse than the empty chair. 

Tonight, she’d told herself she was beyond that. Stronger. Untouchable. But the truth was, the ache felt exactly the same, more so because it wasn’t just her dad, it was a person she had truly believed in. 

Chapter Text

She wasn’t answering him. It was apparent after the 5th voicemail and 10th text. It had been 48 hours and nothing, not a word. 

And Lois was known to text. To call. To just ramble. It was odd not hearing her voice, reading her texts that spanned every topic from the two party system to why Oreo Thins should’ve never been a thing. It felt silent. It felt empty. 

He did swing by her apartment, just close enough that he could see the lights on. Hear the microwave beeping. She wasn’t in danger. 

You know who was texting him nonstop? Jimmy.

“What the actual hell were you thinking, Clark? What was so important that you had to leave? I’m Team Clois all the way, but you’re making it really hard, man”

He clicked off his phone. 

“Your moping is really killing my vibe,” Kara whined, tossing a wrapper at him, “Also, how does garbage work here? Do you have to fly all your trash back to Metropolis? You definitely don’t get garbage pickup near the North Pole.”

Clark managed a faint smile. Kara’s offbeat humor was a welcome distraction. 

“You know, you’re kinda an idiot,” Kara rummaged through his bag, opened a pack of gum, saw that it was full, then decided to take the whole pack, “If she’s mad at Clark, just go to her as Superman. Be your own wingman.”

“That feels ethically ambiguous,” Clark reached out, and took a piece of his gum from her. 

“I don’t know how you’ve gotten this far in life without breaking a few rules. Like have you actually ever broken the speed limit?”

Clark snorted, “I’m not a goody two shoes.”

“In the dictionary, there’s literally a picture of your face next to goody two shoes. You’re a square! Squeaky clean rule follower.”

“I’m not!” Clark paced the Fortress, jaw tight, frustration mounting. 

Kara leaned against the console, arms crossed. “Why don’t you live a little? Take a few risks. Maybe Lois likes someone who actually takes initiative, who isn’t afraid to shake things up.”

Clark shot her a skeptical look. “I can take initiative.”

Kara pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Sure you can. It’s obvious that you’re stuck. You and her have been dancing around each other for so long and look where it’s gotten you. I’m not saying like kidnap her and force her into a room with you, though that is definitely possible and wouldn’t even take that long.”

Clark rolled his eyes.

“Okay okay. But if you change your mind . . . Fine! Whatever - I think all in all you can agree that it’s time for a new method. Maybe stop being so buttoned up and righteous. Free your inhibitions a bit.”

She pulled out a tiny vial, holding it up. “Here. It’s the most miniscule amount of red kryptonite. Don’t ask where I got it. I have some connections. You can’t get drunk here, but you can be drugged here.”

Clark’s eyes went wide as he immediately started pulling his hand back. “No, Kara . . .”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted smoothly. “I used to down a vial on the regular. It’s hardly any of the potent stuff. The worst that ever happened to me was I woke up with one sock missing, my phone stuck in the toaster, and three suspiciously empty sriracha bottles in my backpack. Plus, you’re bigger than me. You’ll probably only feel a light buzz. It just loosens the chains in your head. Gives you a new perspective.”

She stepped closer, “Maybe this is what you need. To stop being Superman or Clark for a second and just be whatever’s left inside your heart.”

She walked closer and closer, gently placing the vial into his palm, “I’ll be here to watch you. Plus, what damage can you do when every person is a million miles away? I’ll protect the polar bears from your cheesy sense of humor.”

“Kara,” he rolled the vial around in his hands, “You watching over me isn’t as comforting as you think it is.”

“You big wuss. One two three down the hatch.”

---

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Where did he go? 

It’s not like he was tiny. 

Where the fuck was he?

It’s not like the Fortress even had that many walls. 

“Clark. Clark. CLARK!”

Her cousin emerged from behind an icicle, staring Four in the face. 

“You were adopted too,” he whispered, “Did I adopt you?”

Kara pulled him away by the collar, sitting him down, “So, I don’t think this has worked the way I hoped it would work. No emotional breakthrough yet.”

Clark blinked, trying to focus, but his eyes jittered like a ping-pong ball on crack.

“Wait, wait. Where are my shoes? Did I… lose my shoes? And why the hell is the ceiling spinning? Why am I always wearing boots? I wish I chose something more practical, like sneakers. Really cool red sneakers.”

Clark flopped around, grabbing her bag of space snacks, “Am I flying right now? Why do I feel like I’m flying? Do you think the polar bears are angry that I moved into their space?”

“Yes, they’ll file a complaint with the HOA,” Kara sighed.

“HOA. Home. Sounds nice. Somewhere with less hard furniture than here. Take me home please. I want to go home.”

“I’m not flying you.”

“I’ll fly myself,” Clark stood up on the chair and jumped. He stumbled, looking perplexed, “How do I fly?”

---

“YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WAY, IDIOT!” Kara yelled, weaving to the left, “FUCKING HELL! WHY DO YOU HAVE SUCH A LOW TOLERANCE!”

He careened this way and that, almost smacking into a billboard. 

“I’M ENROLLING YOU IN FLYING ED”

---

Before she knew it, he was knocking on a window, like it was normal. Like people just did that. Kara really hoped it was something who could sleep through anything. 

The window unlatched. Fuck. 

“Superman,” a woman’s voice echoed, “Is everything okay? Why do you have those crazy eyes?”

Kara slowly flew forward, “Hi.” She introduced herself sheepishly, “I’m Kara. His cousin.”

Superman swayed as they hovered outside Lois’s apartment window. He squinted at it with exacting concentration. 

“I got this,” he slurred, already reaching out to slip through the slightly open window. The window that he would definitely not fit through. 

Kara shot him a look. “Dude, no . Just take the stairs like a normal person.”

He froze mid-reach, blinking. “But… so many stairs.”

“I’m sorry for him,” Kara gestured at her cousin before pulling him to street level. 

“I thought you said you wanted to go home!” She whispered to Superman at such a high volume that it would hardly be considered a whisper.

Superman shrugged, “Her furniture is more comfy than mine.”

“Okay,” Kara said, steering him toward the stairs, “One step at a time. You’re going to kill me for this when you’re sober. I can’t believe this is how my night turned out. I was supposed to binge watch Love Island!”

Superman immediately missed a step and nearly faceplanted. Luckily, in just the knick of time, he caught himself on the railing with a sheepish grin.

“Smooth,” Kara muttered.

Lois’ door was already open when they arrived. 

Before they could say a word, Lois sprang into action. She reached out and gently guided the confused giant toward the couch, steadying him with a firm hand on his elbow.

She placed a cool palm on his forehead, “No fever. But honestly, I’m not sure if my basic medical skills class from the base is going to help much with this. What happened? I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“First time for everything,” Kara took a seat across from them, “It was all him. If he asks, 100 percent his idea.”

“Lois, I feel like I’m going to dieeeee. I feel so loopy.”

Lois propped up a pillow behind him, “You seem less in pain and more just . . . wasted.”

Superman turned to Kara, “How could I do this? Kara, I was in the D.A.R.E. program!”

Superman blinked slowly, eyes half-lidded. He leaned back, “Lois, I have to tell you a secret. It’s really important.”

Lois nodded, reaching for the glass of water that was already sitting on the coffee table. The faint clink of ice echoed softly as she handed it over. “Drink first.”

“Okay. It’s really important. I think you should know . . . I’m part airplane. Or helicopter. I can fly. Did you know that?”

Lois laughed, the sound light and warm, shaking her head. “Yes, Superman, I know you can fly.”

Superman wobbled a little, water dribbling from his mouth. Lois used a dish towel to wipe the corners of his lips. 

“Who told you? It was supposed to be a secret.”

“You were flying two minutes ago outside my window,” Lois replied, raising an amused eyebrow.

Superman sighed dramatically, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Darn. Guess I need to get better at hiding that.”

Lois laughed, the sound bright and genuine, shaking her head at his earnest innocence.

His eyes softened, and with an almost shy smile, he added, “I like seeing you laugh.”

Kara, perched nearby with a mock grimace, waved a hand toward the kitchen. “Eww, eww, gross. I’m just gonna hang out over here. You two keep being… whatever this is.”

---

Kara stood quietly in the kitchen, looking at the clutter of pots and pans, instant ramen and granola bars. 

If she was honest with herself, she kept glancing towards the living room, at her cousin and Lois. She didn’t know Lois, not really. She knew that she was supposedly this brilliant journalist and the way Clark spoke about her, it was like she hung the moon and stars herself. 

This woman was clearly all over the place, with random piles of laundry - is that a laundry chair? And a drawer of plastic utensils, but something landed with Kara. 

She was real. She wasn’t this perfect modern woman with the career and the one bedroom apartment (in such an expensive city) and a couple of awards to her name. 

It almost made it hurt more to see the way Lois moved around Clark, how gentle her touch was when she reached for his hand, how soft her eyes were whenever they met his. 

There was more gravity to this woman than to the image she had concocted. Whatever this was wasn’t flawless, wasn’t from some sort of fairytale. 

It was lived in and cultivated and true. 

It was almost unbearable to watch, this sincere kindness that reminded Kara of everything she lost. 

She swallowed hard and looked away, blinking against the sting in her throat. Missing Krypton wasn’t just nostalgia. It was a raw ache, like a wound that never fully healed. 

When overwhelmed, Kara found herself slipping into the old Kryptonian tongue - a habit she couldn’t quite break. The soft, ancient words rolled from her lips like a balm, even if no one around her understood. It was a secret comfort, a tether to a past that felt more real than her present.

She missed her parents, the sharp scent of their home, the songs they used to sing. Most of all, she missed having someplace to call home. 

Where was her home? For Lois, it was this cluttered place with books stacked to the ceiling. For Clark, he would probably say it was his apartment, with the large windows and cartons of hot chocolate, but she had a sinking feeling that it was here, with Lois, wherever she was. 

Clark seemed so sure of his place in this world, so grounded, so whole. She envied him in a way that made her stomach twist. He was Superman. There were lunchboxes with his face on them. 

He just made it all work, all the time, save for a complicated love triangle with HIMSELF!

He didn’t remember Krypton. He never had to forget.

Kara, well, she often felt like she was floating in space, without any real plan, without any real tether. 

To dull the ache, she had a drink. Sometimes 2. Sometimes 8. The alcohol blurred the sharp edges of her loneliness and muted the memories of Krypton. 

“You ever miss the planet that you came from?” she jabbed once to Clark, “No? Must be nice.” She felt bad once he started walking on eggshells around her. 

Clark always tried to keep the peace, patiently absorbing her barbs without anger, because he knew she was fighting a battle no one else could see.

Kara remembered his little face all those years ago. The tiny baby she was supposed to care for. 

She was supposed to protect him, to be his anchor. But now, watching him with Lois, she felt like a failure. The one thing she was tasked to do, she couldn’t even do right. 

---

“He’s sleeping,” Lois moved into the kitchen, depositing the cup into the sink. The quiet felt strange after the night they’d had.

“Kara,” Lois said, after trying to recall the name, “Weird way to learn he has a cousin.”

“Kryptonians were never the most conventional,” Kara shrugged. She gestured toward an open box of cereal, and Lois nodded. 

“Do I have to worry about him taking more of that ‘weird red liquid that looked like blood’ again?”

Kara shook her head, pouring the cereal into her open palm, “Yeah, I’m never suggesting this again in the future.”

“So it wasn’t 100 percent his idea,” Lois laughed, following Kara’s idea and taking some cereal for herself. No spoon required. 

“99 percent his idea,” Kara offered, “Superman said . . . well he wouldn’t shut up about this all night. His good friend, Clark Kent, seems to be really sorry. Whatever he did, he never meant to hurt you.”

Lois snorted lightly. “Sending in Superman to do his dirty work?”

Kara shook her head quickly, closing up the box. “No, no! Not like that. Superman just… seems really worried about his friend.”

Something softened in Lois’s face, “I’ll forgive him. Eventually. I just don’t want to feel so much right now. I just need time.” She met Kara’s eyes again, the question falling out quieter than she’d intended. “Does that ever happen to you?”

Kara didn’t answer, but her jaw tightened. She knew the look on her face gave her away.

Lois broke the moment with a crooked half-smile. “Does Superman have any other relatives I should know about? A weird uncle? An aunt with a Comic Sans Etsy shop?”

“Just the two of us,” Kara said, and the words came out lighter than the weight she felt behind them.

Chapter Text

“Coffee,” Lois mumbled as she stumbled out of her bedroom, wincing as the sunlight blinded her from the kitchen window. 

She started on a pot, pulling a couple of mismatched mugs from the cupboard. 

Lois turned to the living room. Kara was lounging on the couch, sprawled in every direction. Superman had transitioned to her leather chair, feet propped up on another one. Now that was a sight. 

Who would believe that 2 Kryptonians (when yesterday she thought there was only one) would be using her apartment as a crash pad after a long night of an alien-bender? 

Yeah, that was not exactly how she thought her evening would go. 

The coffee machine hissed, and Lois poured the first steaming cup, dumping in enough sugar to make the spoon stand straight up before sighing into the warmth.. 

Movement from the couch caught her eye. Kara pushed herself upright with a slow yawn, arms stretching toward the ceiling.

“He’s right,” Kara murmured, voice still raspy, “You have a really comfortable couch. Where did you get it? Is it alien tech?”

Lois smirked over the rim of her coffee. “Yup. I must have an intergalactic IKEA catalog laying around. Though the shipping charges alone are killer.”

”Ha ha,” Kara responded, “Pour me a cup?”

Lois obeyed, though she didn’t add the sugar. She had been told that she used an abnormal amount and any other person would get diabetes straight away by drinking her concoctions. Maybe Kryptonians didn’t mind? 

Kara took the cup gingerly, not even flinching from the hot ceramic. 

“When he wakes up, do you think it’ll all be out of his system?” 

Kara shrugged, “If you had asked me yesterday, I would’ve said yes, but it affected him more than I thought it would and there’s really not a manual for these types of things.”

“So what’s space like? Can’t say I’ve been to many other planets.”

Kara knocked back half her drink. “Weird. Exciting one day, exhausting the next. Most planets don’t have coffee, but plenty have something stronger.”

“I’d ask you to bring me some,” Lois said, “but after that little red vial stunt, I’m gonna pass.”

Kara grinned over the rim of her cup. “Fair.”

“So, Superman was in the D.A.R.E. program? That means he went to public school,” Lois asked as if she was tossing out a fact she barely cared about, eyes fixed on the rim of her mug. Inside, alarms were going off. 

“You’ve got a lot of questions for 8am,” Kara muttered, curling deeper into the couch. “You’re not getting shit out of me.”

“At least narrow it down. Wasn’t D.A.R.E in like 75 percent of schools in the country? Maybe a state would help?”

Kara gestured to Superman, “Well, you can see how well the program worked.”

Superman stumbled awake. He stretched an arm out, almost knocking a lamp off the side table.

Lois greeted, “Welcome back to the land of the living. How much do you remember?”

He squinted at her, rubbing his temples. “Did I… knock down a billboard?”

“Not quite,” Kara said, smirking. “But you gave it a heartfelt try.”

He looked down at his phone, “Oh, god. I have to get to work.”

Kara’s eyes opened wide, “Yes, work. Your job. Patrolling the city. Doing good.”

She turned to Lois, “He likes to stick to a very 9-5pm schedule with his heroics. Outside of that, he’s off the clock. You could commit murder at 6 p.m. and he wouldn’t lift a finger.”

All the while, Superman looked up and down. He was still in his suit. 

Lois laughed,  “Good to know. I’ll keep my crime sprees outside of working hours.”

“Kara is right. Things to do, gotta save the city,” he sprung up, “Let’s go, Kara.”

Kara grumbled as she got up, “Wouldn’t want you to be late for… hero stuff.”

“Thanks, Lois. I’ll see you . . . around? Have a good day. Thank you!”

And in the next breath, both he and Kara were gone. Weird night? Weirder morning. 

---

Despite the antics of the start of the day, Lois still got to work early. 

As she entered the bullpen, Perry turned her right back around.

“Get in an Uber. You’re going to Rise. It’s officially your 9am party. But don’t say a word of this to HR, those tattletales. None of them are invited. We let Cat go wild with the alcohol.”

“The bar downtown?”

Perry nodded. “They serve breakfast too. If anyone asks, we’re all just eating one giant breakfast together. A family meal. Waffles, bagels, syrup... with maybe just a few dozen bottles of alcohol.”

---

Cat Grant was perched on a barstool with a mimosa in hand, “Welcome to the not-rager of one Lois Lane,” she said, raising her glass.

Perry, arriving just a moment after Lois, gave the welcome toast, “Alright, team - let’s celebrate Lois and her very well deserved award. Just remember, what happens at Rise stays at Rise. Don’t get too fucked up! Moderation!”

This day just kept getting stranger. 

“It was all you, wasn’t it?” Lois took Cat by the hand

“When it comes to you, Perry agrees pretty easily,” Cat shrugged, “Plus, the venue promised to label all the charges as baked goods, coffee, and waffles. What?! It wasn’t like we would be able to convince you to go to after work drinks. Remember the time you convinced the office for months that you had a dog so you could get out of anything social?”

“Oh, I miss little Charlie!” Lois thought back to her fake dog. The perfect pet. 

From the other side of the room, surrounded by doting girls, Jimmy yelled, “Let’s get this party started!”

The volume increased tenfold and Perry just downed another drink. 

---

“Do you ever think, do I actually really like sports, or is it because I just don’t have a solid identity? I think I cheer for teams just so I can belong somewhere… like, it’s less scary than figuring out who I am, you know?” Steve slurred slightly. 

Jimmy swayed. “You know,” he began, “Superman’s not all that. “Seriously, who wears a cape in 2025? What’s the point of it? And I know he’s all about saving the world but like dude, get a hobby. You can’t be saving the world 24/7. Maybe he is just a glutton for applause.”

---

Lois, mostly sober, found Perry sitting outside, flipping through the Spotify playlist.

“I don’t know a single one of these songs,” he grumbled, “It’s like you kids make stuff up.”

“Thank you for this, whatever it is. It’s helping me get out of my head,” Lois sat alongside him. 

Perry gave her a look, half-gruff, half-proud. “After winning your second Pulitzer, you definitely shouldn’t be stuck in your head. But something’s really up. You actually let me finish a sentence.”

Lois shrugged, “Maybe I’m a quiet drunk.”

Perry laughed, “You seriously cannot say that after one of our Christmas parties where you decided to sing karaoke for half the block. Where’s Kent? He always shakes you out of your moods.”

“No idea, but guess that isn’t a new thing now is it? He just ups and leaves?”

“Lois, don’t hold one incident against the kid. Did you know we were planning to give him one of the bigger desks near the windows? Since one was opening up.”

Lois raised an eyebrow.

“He actually came to me and asked if he could take the smaller desk right next to you.”

Lois huffed. Of course he did. 

“You’re the most stubborn person I know, but underneath it all, you’re the most caring. Don’t close off. I remember how you were when you first started. A massive force of nature, but incredibly private. A loner. Now, look at you, you’re still the best one out there, but you have all these people who care about you. Being vulnerable doesn’t mean you’re weak.” 

Lois’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “What if I’m just afraid of how much it hurts?”

Perry nodded, softening. “If you close yourself off from the pain, you close yourself off from the joy, too. Talk to Kent. I’m sure he had a good reason.”

Footsteps approached. 

“Speak of the devil,” Perry said, already taking his leave, “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Hi, Trouble,” Clark’s voice was soft, tentative, almost fragile. 

"What?"

“Um, hi," Clark swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted, stepping closer, eyes searching hers. “Don’t pretend it is.”

“I just thought. I just trusted you and I don’t know what happened but you were there and it was good and then you were gone and I don’t even know why I’m so upset.”

Clark’s expression flickered with regret, “Can I explain?”

She raised an eyebrow, “A friend really needed you.”

He took a breath, “A really great friend who I care so much about. One of my favorite people. Who teaches me to be better. Who makes me laugh. Someone that I couldn’t imagine my life without.”

“Jimmy?”

Clark laughed, “Well, you see, this person has a sister. And that sister is out there in the world. And my friend cares about her so much though doesn’t always want to admit it. So I had some of my friends do some digging and they found her. Called me at probably the most inopportune moment in the world, but I knew that whatever choice I made, I would be there for her because I’ll always be there for her.” It wasn’t the whole truth. He got the lead about Lucy after the ceremony, but it was a half truth. Easier than telling her that it was him up on that stage by her side.

Lois blinked, stunned. “What? You really did?”

Clark nodded, voice steady. “My contact only had a few minutes to talk. If I wanted the information before his next check in, I had to excuse myself. I have a file on my computer. She’s in Asia, moving from place to place. Probably headed to Germany next.”

“Germany?” Lois whispered. “That’s where we grew up. My dad has military contacts. I’ll ask him to reach out.”

She took a moment, met his gaze, waited, breathed, then said, “I wanted it to be you, watching me from the crowd. I was afraid you just left.”

“Lois, why can you never understand how important you are to me?”

She was quiet. Still. So close to something she wasn’t sure she was ready for, but was willing to take a leap.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had anyone put me first.”

“Well, better get used to it.”

She smiled, a fragile thing, “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Clark and Lois stood side by side, watching the city sprawling beneath them. The morning haze softened the sharp edges of skyscrapers. 

For a moment, neither spoke, just watching the world pulse with life below, like they did daily back at the Daily Planet rooftop, taking their lunch together. 

And Clark, maybe a side effect of his recent red K trip, finally took initiative. Clark’s hand found hers, fingers curling gently around hers with a steady certainty. 

And Lois? Lois didn’t let go.

Chapter Text

That evening, Clark ended his city rounds early, and found himself sitting on his bed, taking off his boots one at a time. His phone was next to him, on speakerphone, his mother on the other end of the line. 

“Hey, Ma. Just figured I’d check in, see how everybody’s doing out there.”

He had tried to fall asleep that night to no avail. It was silly, but he couldn’t get the thoughts of Lois’ hand in his out of his mind. 

It was like every cell in his body lit up, like every piece of him was ignited at the same time. 

If he was a less patient man, he would’ve flown over to her apartment right this instant to just be close to her, to hear her laugh. To make her coffee that was too sweet or to protect her from pickles. 

“Hang on a tick, Clark. I know your Pa will wanna hear your voice.”

Muffled in the distance: “Jonathan! Clark’s on the phone. Jonathan!”

It was probably too late to call his parents, but they often stayed up to chat about nothing and everything, to revel in each others’ company as they had done for decades. 

“I swear,” she muttered, “that man’s got his head buried in that old tractor again. I told him it’s beyond savin’, but you know your father.”

Clark chuckled, lining up his boots neatly at the foot of the bed.

“Alright, here he is. Jonathan, it’s Clark.”

“Hi, Son. How’s the city treating ya?”

“Busy,” Clark said, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as he crossed to open his bedroom window. Cool air drifted in, carrying the hum of Metropolis far below. “But good. Keeps me on my toes.”

In the distance, he saw giant green hands pop up, punching left and right at this odd creature from the sky. Guy had it handled. 

“It’s sure nice hearin’ your voice. Ain’t the same just seein’ you up there on the television.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry it’s been so long. Days just… get away from me here.”

“Well, you’re a busy fella. Still, we like to know you’re alright.”

“I know. So… how was your weekend?”

“You know, the usual. Your father’s knee is acting up again, but we’re going down to the doctor’s on Wednesday.”

“Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix!”

“Oh, shush you,” Ma scolded fondly, a clatter of dishes audible in the background, “I caught the neighbor’s dog trying to steal the sheets off the line. Looked like a ghost, that one.”

“Must’ve been a sight,” Clark smiled. 

He remembered the neighbor’s dog. A golden named Riot who lived up to his name. He once was found loose in the mini mart, surrounded by dozens of unraveled rolls of toilet paper and five different types of chips. 

“Clark, honey, you didn’t just call us for a late-night chat, did you? It must be right ‘bout the middle of the night over in Metropolis. Are you sleeping okay?”

“Yeah, Ma. It’s late. I guess I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

Martha’s sigh was gentle, “Well, you know we’re always here for you, no matter the hour.”

Jonathan chimed in from the background, “You don’t have to be alone with your thoughts, Son. Sometimes talkin’ helps.”

“You’re probably right.”

He hesitated, but continued, “I guess I’m just wondering, are there times when people are better off not knowing everything about you? Like, if you tell them, it could hurt them, and then they’d have to carry the secret too.”

Ma exchanged a knowing glance with Pa. “Is this about someone in particular?”

Clark quickly shook his head, “No, Ma. Just… thinking out loud.”

He knew his parents were way too smart to know that was a lie. Of course there was someone, but Clark almost didn’t want to name it. At this point, it felt too fragile to give it over to anybody else. 

It was his and hers and hopefully, soon it would be theirs. 

Ma’s tone softened, “Are you worried they might accidentally tell someone your secret? If you’re asking whether honesty is worth the risk, well, it depends on who you’re trusting. And why.”

He knew who he would be trusting. “I’m not worried.”

Lois was a journalist, the absolute best, but first and foremost, she was kind and principled and good and his, well, Lois. She wouldn’t tell. He didn’t doubt her for a second. 

Pa cleared his throat thoughtfully, then said, “Well, Son, you might have your reasons for wanting to keep some things to yourself, but think about if you were the other person. They might feel alone or confused. Folks can handle more than we give ‘em credit for.”

Ma nodded softly, “If it’s someone who cares, they’ll want to understand, even if it’s hard.”

Clark let out a slow breath, “And if I tell and it changes everything? Makes things complicated?”

“Change can be scary, Clark. But, you were scared to go to Metropolis. You were scared to put on the suit. Look at you now. This could be a good thing.”

“Yeah, it could be a good thing.”

He thought about his parents and their good thing. 

He allowed himself the comfort of hope in this very moment, to hope that down the line, he (and hopefully her) could have just that. 

---

He aimed to tell her. He thought about all the ways to do it, and when. And where. Like in public probably wasn’t the best, if she ended up screaming or crying or some combination of the two. He wasn’t going to invite himself over her apartment, though she did have a comfier couch. And if she did end up freaking out, it would be nice if she was already home. Maybe his apartment? 

The first thing he had to do was reach out. 

Hey Lois. What’s the best way to tell you that I’m Superman? Also I really would like it if you don’t go haywire because I don’t know what I would do if you no longer wanted me in your life.

Yeah, that wouldn’t work. 

Lois, I don’t know if it’s more scary to tell you that I’m Superman or ask you out, but I have to do both and I just really need to be chill about it all, okay? Pinky promise? 

Nope. Delete.

Hey Lois, are you free sometime this week?

Send. 

Clark really shouldn’t have been stressing about any of it because Lois didn’t show up to work that day, or the next, or even the next. 

She did respond to his text a few hours later.

Vacation. Figured I would use up some of my days. I’ve been banking them for years. Just need to think through some stuff.

She had never mentioned a vacation. She had even left her lunch leftovers in the fridge with a label that said: LOIS’ DO NOT TOUCH OR ELSE. 

Was she kidnapped? No. 

By Tuesday, Jimmy was whining that, even though Lois was gone, she was still tormenting him with edits.

---

Was this about the stupid text he sent a few hours after the day of her not-rager?

He should’ve paid more attention. He was supposed to send the text as Superman, but it’s hard to text when you’re flying. 

Instead, he accidentally sent it as Clark: How’s your night going? I’m just finishing up patrolling the city. 

Wait. Erase. Delete. How do you undo? 

His phone buzzed, cutting off any chance to correct himself.

Why are you patrolling? I thought you said you were making dinner at home. 

He typed out a reply: Patrolling the supermarkets for ingredients. It’s a weird midwestern phrase. Goodnight!

Gosh darn it.

---

He was way too in his head to even give Mia the time of day, the visiting reporter who was only here for a couple days over this week and the next. She was technically assigned to Steve to cover sports, which she mentioned was not her choice whatsoever, but chose to spend her days more with Cat, Jimmy, and Clark. 

Cat had immediately taken to her, a girl who definitely took collagen supplements and had 100 percent spent 20 dollars on an Erewhon smoothie. Mia, unfortunately for Cat, didn’t care about pop culture and even had to be told who the Jonas Brothers were and why it was such a big deal they had Demi Lovato as their special guest at MetLife. 

Cat groaned so loud that it could be heard on the second floor.

Jimmy was more cautious, after so much history with Planet employees taking an unusual liking to him, but Mia didn't seem very interested. 

Clark had been kind, polite, but it was clear he had a million other things on his mind. 

Clark found Perry in the bullpen, leaning against the copy machine. 

“Perry, hey - weird without Lois here, right? I mean, especially since she never mentioned anything about a trip.”

Perry looked up, not very pleased with this early morning chatter, “She didn’t say much. Just told me she was taking a vacation. I have been begging her for years. She could’ve told me she was taking a year sabbatical in Taiwan and I would’ve said yes.”

Clark hesitated, then nodded, “Yeah. Just - she disappeared without a word. Thought maybe someone here might know.”

Perry sighed, “Lois’ a tough one. Give her space. If she took a vacation, she needed a vacation. I’m sure she’s fine. Now you won’t be fine if you don’t get me your draft by 4pm today.”

---

It was probably fine! He had emailed her the files on Lucy right after the non-rager. She was probably digging into that. She would reach out if she needed help. 

---

He was impatient. He opened up his phone: You’re okay, right? Like didn’t get ink poisoning from chewing on too many writing utensils? When will you be back?” 

She was usually a quick texter, but Clark, again, didn’t get a reply until almost the end of the day. 

No ink poisoning. Just needed some time to think. 

He replied within seconds: If you need someone to bounce those thoughts off of. I know a couple people in Germany if you need more contacts. I know you have some already.

What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re not the one with ink poisoning? 

Okay. She seemed fine. 

The question about her return remained unanswered.

---

On Thursday, Clark sent her lunch - a carefully wrapped Caesar salad wrap from the diner she liked, crisp and fresh. Alongside it, a giant slice of cake, because if there was one thing her food pyramid didn’t skip, it was sugar. He tucked in her favorite pens too, knowing full well she was probably scribbling notes somewhere and if she hadn’t gotten ink poisoning already, she must be immune. 

He didn’t stop there. From the same bakery where he picked up bagels for the interns, he added 3 of the best, with that perfect satisfying crunch. Scallion cream cheese of course. And, just for good measure, a sizable container of gelato from that little place across from The Gazette - the one with the handmade waffle cones, fresh and golden.

That had to be enough food, right? Maybe for one meal… or maybe for ten.

That night, his phone buzzed.

Monday.

---

Okay, Monday. He can live with Monday. 

---

And to his relief, and maybe a little surprise, there she was Monday morning, stepping into the bullpen like nothing had changed, the same concentrated look, the same spark in her eyes. Exactly like always.

Lois moved through the bullpen with her usual confident stride, clipboard in hand, and a coffee the size of her. Jimmy caught her eye and gave an easy wave. 

Clark was on the other side of the room, trying to get out of a conversation with Judith, who was trying to show him the full recorded production of her grandson in Willy Wonka. 

He debated walking over to Lois but held back. 

Don’t rush it. 

They skirted around each other all morning. She was out in the afternoon, some interview with a politician or another. He was still editing his latest piece. 

It wasn’t like he was dilly-dallying. He just needed to sharpen each one of his pencils. It wasn’t procrastination. Just preparation. Maybe the fact that she walked in at 7pm was an unexpected bonus.

He rolled over to her desk, quite like usual. 

“Good vacation?”

“Yeah. I needed it.”

“I’m glad - and did you think through all the things you needed to think through?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I actually did.” She stood, gathering her stuff. 

“Let me walk you out.”

“Okay.”

Lois bent down to grab her backpack from the floor, her hand reaching toward the strap. But just as she moved, Clark’s gaze flickered to the sharp corner of the table looming in her path.

Without a word, his hand reached out, settling softly over the edge, a quiet barrier between her and the danger.

She froze for a heartbeat, then looked up at him, eyes meeting his. There was a softness in that glance - a silent “thank you,” a quiet reassurance.

---

The evening air was crisp as they stepped out of the building. Clark walked beside Lois like they had done a thousand times over. 

They didn’t say much. He spent the majority of the time contemplating if now was the right time to return to her earlier question, to check if maybe, just maybe, she would want to meet up sometime this week. 

As they approached the metro entrance, Lois turned toward the street, about to cross.

In a heartbeat, Clark’s arm slid gently in front of her, holding her back.

A car rounded the corner, its headlights sweeping across the street where Lois had almost stepped.

Clark’s voice was low and calm, “Got you.”

Lois glanced at him, really glanced. It was someone a bit softened, a quiet acknowledgement that she felt the weight of his care. 

She smiled, and all his worries melted away. 

---

They started to fall back into their familiar rhythm. 

The late afternoon light filtered through the windows of the bullpen. Lois reached to grab her jacket from the hook. 

She got one arm in. 

As she struggled to thread the other arm through the sleeve, Clark instinctively moved closer and lifted the other side of the coat, holding it open with gentle patience so she could slide her arm in without any fumbling. 

Their eyes met as she turned around, and in that fleeting gaze, Clark felt himself melt. How did he survive a week without this woman, even a day?

He was a goner. Now or never.

“Are you free Friday night?”

“Yes.”

---

It was Wednesday. 

It started the way it always did, with Clark saying something entirely reasonable, and Lois deciding to argue about it on principle.

“I’m just saying,” Clark said, placing a folder down on her desk, “not every city council member is corrupt. Some of them are just… inefficient.”

“Inefficient?” Lois echoed, “I think with the evidence we have, we see them as guilty until proven innocent.”

“Maybe I just like to believe people aren’t always terrible.”

Lois leaned back in her chair, “That’s because you haven’t been screamed at by six-term bureaucrats who should’ve retired when dial-up was still a thing. More than one has a Life Alert button and doesn’t know how to work a smart phone.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I wish I was.”

They were grinning at each other now. That back-and-forth current between them, always lit just under the surface. 

He had missed this. He wasn’t completely sure what happened during that week that made her so quiet and so un-Lois like, but he wasn’t going to jinx whatever this was. 

Lois' hair was pinned up in a messy twist, pieces falling into her face. Clark, without thinking, reached out and tucked one of the strands behind her ear.

Just a quick brush. Two fingers. Barely a moment.

But Lois noticed. 

---

“Sorry to interrupt, Clark. Do you mind just looking over this copy? Steve has been yelling about his fantasy league for the last 40 minutes and I really need this to be done,” Mia walked towards Clark, who was seated next to Lois at his desk. Her chair pulled up alongside his.

Clark nodded, “Yeah, okay.” He gestured towards Lois, “Have you two met?”

Mia gasped, “No, but you’re my idol. Completely. And you’re so pretty too!”

Lois laughed, briefly looking up from the jumble of papers in front of her, “Nice to meet you . . .”

“Mia. I’m only here for a couple of days before I head back to the Midwest. Just shadowing Steve last week and this.”

“Good luck with that,” Lois jested, “I don’t envy you.”

“It’s actually been okay. Everyone has been really welcoming,” Mia gestured towards Cat, Jimmy, and her gaze stopped on Clark, “This guy is kind of a legend downstairs. Everyone says he’s the nicest guy in the building.”

“Well, that’s very kind,” he responded. 

Lois didn’t scowl, speak, or move, but Jimmy saw it. 

She leaned in - barely. A shift in posture. Elbow against the desk just close enough to prove she had a claim to his space, to his desk, to him mostly. 

Mia kept going. “Actually, sometime before I leave, do you mind if I ask about your process? I loved your Southside article. We had a similar situation happen back home and we took notes from how you went about your reporting. You must be good if Superman keeps talking to you.”

Clark scratched the back of his neck. 

Lois didn’t look up, but her voice cut through the moment like a scalpel, disguised with a sugary sweet tone. “Kent’s schedule’s pretty packed. If you want, I can introduce you to some of the top researchers in your department.”

Mia blinked. “Right. Of course. Thanks.”

She walked off a little too fast.

Lois sipped her coffee and hit return on her keyboard like nothing had happened. Clark smiled. 

---

Jimmy had seen Lois bristle before - at half-baked tips, casual misogyny, and Steve once using “girl boss” unironically. That version of Lois was fire and thunder, loud and untamable.

This? It was sharp and controlled. 

“She’s ambitious,” Lois said after a pause, voice steady but edged.

“She’s eager.”

Lois nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing just a touch, as if weighing each word. “Mm. And a nepo baby. I heard her uncle’s top brass.”

Clark’s look was teasing, “Are we done making observations?”

Lois' jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, then she let the corner of her mouth twitch in a small smile. “I don’t think she’s your type.”

“What’s my type?”

Lois leaned forward slightly, the casualness of her posture undercut by the sharpness in her voice. “Someone who doesn’t spend all her time on TikTok and actually forms her own opinions about Labubus instead of purchasing everything that is remotely popular.”

Clark’s grin deepened, “Careful, you might be describing someone you already know.”

Jimmy almost spun around in his chair. Take that Super Douche!

---

It was Thursday.

It was clear to Clark that Lois was acting differently. He saw the way Lois’ eyes flickered toward Mia every time she walked past. The thing was, and he wasn’t proud of it - Superman had a code - never intentionally do something he knew was wrong. But Clark, right now, wasn’t wearing that suit. And a small part of him - the man, not the symbol - was curious.

So on this bright and sunny weekday, he indulged Mia longer than he usually would’ve. He let her yammer on about her summer in Capri. 

He was right to test it. From the corner of his eye, he caught Lois' quick glance. She said nothing, but the tension in her shoulders told a different story.

It made it easy for him to invade her space the rest of the day. Whenever he drifted away, Lois found an excuse to pull him back. A silent claim staked.

And Clark began taking advantage. 

He sat closer and stood nearer. He lowered his voice in crowded rooms, so only she could hear. He found reasons to walk with her down to Archives or up to Legal.

He didn’t shy away when she leaned close - he leaned into her.

They were playing with electricity, and both knew it. The moment she came back from vacation, and somehow let herself fall back into their rhythm, they were only picking up from where they left off. 

She proofed his draft by dragging her chair right next to his, shoulder to shoulder. Made notes on the printed page with one hand while swatting him away playfully when he made a bad joke, only to pull him back moments later.

Clark didn’t complain. He just smiled, like he’d been waiting for her to claim that space all along.

---

Clark was focused on the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, when he felt it - a soft brush of warmth along his forearm.

Lois was passing by, her hand gliding lightly against his skin as she moved with purpose but left no room for misunderstanding. The contact was brief, barely more than a whisper of a touch, but precise, deliberate.

Clark’s eyes flicked up. She didn’t meet his gaze, but the corner of her mouth twitched with something close to a smile.

Later, when mostly everyone was gone, save for a couple of janitors and stragglers, Lois was on the phone with a lead who had a knack for drawing out stories. 

She spent the first 30min doodling on Clark’s palm, and the next 30min, under the desk, threading her fingers through his own. 

She got even bolder as she got increasingly bored. 

When he shifted in his chair to reach for a pen, Lois leaned over his desk, her fingers running through a loose curl of his that had escaped. He almost couldn’t breathe. 

He felt intoxicated on her, more than any red K. 

---

It was Friday morning.

Clark found himself watching for these moments, relishing the understated intimacy and sue him, but he took advantage too. 

He realized quickly that these little touches weren’t just Lois' way of marking her territory - they were an invitation. And if Lois was setting the pace with her quiet claims, he could match her stride.

He began finding reasons to stay close: standing just a little too near in the bullpen, letting his hand rest briefly on her lower back when they walked side by side to the breakroom when they turned a corner where no one could see. Every touch was light, intimate, an echo of hers.

One thing was for sure. They were on the same page.

“So, you’re still good for tonight. I was thinking maybe I can make you dinner at mine?”

“Yeah, that sounds really nice. I don’t think I’ve tried your cooking before.”

“My mom taught me after I started eating so much she couldn’t keep up. I’m pretty decent,” he laughed. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Lois teased, a spark in her eyes that made his heart skip, “Because I’m a horrible cook and you’re going to be on your own.”

Clark smiled, “Not a problem. Prepare to be impressed.”

---

The rest of the day slipped by with a quiet anticipation, each glance and brush of skin a promise of the evening to come. Unfortunately, deadlines took priority and by 7:30pm, they were still side by side in the bullpen, the last ones left. 

Lois, restless, was hunched over the snack order form for the next week, her handwriting sprawling with arrows, additions, and lists so long and elaborate they might as well have been a grocery manifesto. It was less a task and more a way to keep her mind occupied.

Half an hour later, after she’d nearly added half of Trader Joe’s inventory to the list, she shifted closer to Clark, peering over his shoulder at his screen.

“I’m sorry, I swear I’m almost done,” he looked over at her, entwining his fingers with hers. 

“For someone with super speed, you type really slow.”

Okay, so, they were really really on the same page.

Chapter Text

Monday, last week

Lois Lane was a goddamn investigative journalist. 

Like fuck. She really fucking was, and she had the bylines to prove it. 

Who cracked the case of the missing med pack on the base? Lois Lane, age 7. 

Who unmasked the new recruit who had a habit of smuggling chicken tenders out of the cafeteria? Lois Lane, age 9. 

Did anyone ever ask her to do some sleuthing? No, but that wasn’t the point. 

She was good at this and always had been. She was born with a nose for the truth and the inability to let a single thing go, to leave a single stone unturned. And did that get her into copious amounts of trouble? Most definitely, but right now, it was exactly the resume that this job called for. 

Only now, she was chasing bigger fish. The biggest one, possibly.

Her coworker. Her best friend. Her superhero on speed dial. Her sometimes pain-in-the-ass. 

The guy who held her hand just hours ago and wordlessly promised that if she wanted something more, he would be all in. 

And of course she wanted more. He was sweet and funny and felt too much about everything. He was bumbling and sometimes nerdy but in the most endearing way. 

He looked fucking fantastic in a suit. 

And when he cared for her, she almost felt like her whole world froze. 

Fuck, why is it always something with guys? Like it’s never just fine. 

---

Her last relationship, well, it really wasn’t a relationship, according to him. You would think that when you’ve been seeing someone for 8 months it would count as a relationship, right? Yeah, he didn’t think so. She couldn’t even break up with him because he was under the impression that they were just ‘hanging out.’

Or sometimes it wasn’t even a commitment thing. Sometimes you find out the guy you’ve been seeing actually doesn’t care about getting to know you, and just wants to have you as arm candy. Be careful when they don’t ask you any questions and only want to meet in the vicinity of their apartment. 

One time, when she found out that she was the other woman, she messaged the girlfriend and they enacted their revenge together. At least that one was fun. 

But, yes, Lois was certain that it was never just easy. 

With Clark, she thought it was going to be. He fell into her life without her really giving it a second thought, until she learned to miss him when he was gone and longed to be close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin radiate against hers. 

No. Even with Clark, there was something. 

Because her almost-situationship was very likely a goddamn superhero. One that she also had a pretty significant crush on recently. 

Lois wished she was strong enough to swear off boys. It would make life so much simpler, but their swoopy hair and stupid blue eyes and little dimples whenever they smiled . . .

Shut up. 

Focus. 

Investigative journalist, remember?

Okay. It’s go time.

---

So, what does every investigation start with? 

An observation. 

Her observation: Clark Kent called her “Trouble.” Superman called her “Trouble,” too.

Which leads her to the next step, the question. Is Clark Kent Superman? It sounds so fucking stupid like ridiculous. Preposterous. She saw that man spend a good 15min trying to make a coffee. 

Maybe Lois was going crazy? That would be a simple solution. How many hours of sleep did she get? Probably not enough. 

The next step was trying to prove it. 

The nickname was cute, but nicknames are a dime a dozen. Calling someone “Trouble” didn’t mean you were the same person. It wasn’t enough to concretely prove that her big crush was the same person as her slightly smaller crush. 

Lucy had called her “Trouble.” Her first-grade teacher had scrawled TROUBLE across a report card in angry red ink. The universe had apparently stamped her with a brand, and who can blame it? She really did give off that vibe. 

Whatever the case was, facts only mattered if they could survive being torn apart and put back together again.

One shared pet name was circumstantial at best.

No, she needed more. 

Okay, think. Think think think. Use that big brain of yours. Put all that Scooby Doo and Nancy Drew knowledge to use.

Superman likes cereal. At the breakfast non-rager, Clark Kent ate cereal. 

That was not proof. It was, however, a breadcrumb and breadcrumbs made paths if you followed them.

---

They had drifted back into the crowd not holding hands, but close enough that it would’ve been easy to rectify. 

There was quite a ridiculous spread - waffles, a tower of the good bagels, an edible arrangement, and of course, an array of cereal boxes that would excite any small child, or Clark. 

He took a bowl, and made a concoction of at least 4 different types. 

“Who in their right mind mixes cereal?” Lois asked. 

“Cheerios for a solid base, Pops for crunch, Frosted Flakes for sweetness, and Lucky Charms for marshmallows. It’s a tried and true method,” he said as casually as someone making a sandwich. The milk was the last step, before he spooned a large helping, “Delicious.”

He offered her the spoon, to which she refused, “This one is all you, buddy.” 

“Let me try!” Jimmy sloshed through, holding a couple of empty crystal glasses. 

Soon enough, Cat, Steve, and even Perry were trying whatever Clark called his sugary creation. 

They ate standing there, talking nonsense about useless things: cartoons they’d grown up on, the best movie snack (popcorn with buncha crunch), whether it should be sock sock shoe shoe or sock shoe sock shoe. 

When the crowd started to thin, Lois grabbed one of the last breakfast burritos, wrote LOIS’ DO NOT TOUCH OR ELSE and handed it off to Jenny to stuff in the break room fridge. 

And with that, she headed home, since her apartment would have much fewer drunk people than would be at the Planet that afternoon. 

---

So Superman liked cereal. Clark Kent liked cereal. 

So did half the population. 

No, that wasn’t enough. Why was she actually giving this any thought? This was so silly. 

How could Clark Kent be Superman? The Superman?

No, maybe she was overtired. 

Her phone buzzed with a text from said possible superhero: How’s your night going? I’m just finishing up patrolling the city.

What? Patrolling was not “chopping onions” or “waiting for pasta water to boil.” Patrolling was… well, patrolling. Like a cop. Or, more alarmingly, like a certain caped someone who seemed to be on her mind lately.

Maybe it was a typo. Yeah. Autocorrect could turn “plating the curry” into “patrolling the city,” right?

She replied: Why are you patrolling? I thought you said you were making dinner at home.

Clark: Patrolling the supermarkets for ingredients. It’s a weird midwestern phrase. Goodnight!

Okay, so she wasn’t crazy. Maybe he was. That would solve it. Clark Kent was fucking crazy.

Easy.

Done.

Not done because that didn’t make sense. She would figure it out.

But this investigation wasn’t going to happen without the necessities. 

Good thing she had vacation days.

---

Tuesday, last week

Lois Lane grew up watching Pretty Little Liars. She definitely knew how to solve a mystery while looking like a stunning bad bitch. Okay, stunning was probably not the best word. She probably looked like she was on a thousand different drugs and didn’t own a hairbrush, but she had the confidence of one of the Liars. 

Her neighbor, Leah, probably thought Lois had lost her mind when she saw her storming through the apartment lobby, arms overloaded with a poster board, a tangled mess of string, an industrial-sized box of pushpins, and an iced coffee balanced precariously on top.

“You okay there, Lois?” Leah called out.

“Never better!” Lois said, hauling her gear inch by inch across the squeaky floor. 

Lois took a look at her buzzing phone, careful not to let her Jenga tower of stuff topple. 

Speak of the devil: Hey Lois, are you free sometime this week?

Who the fuck knows, Clark? Maybe if she survives this nervous breakdown, then yeah, let’s go out for milkshakes. Should we meet there, or WOULD YOU LIKE TO FLY ME????

She set everything up in her living room, pushing aside the empty cartons of takeout. 

Time to really get to work. 

What did she know about Superman, besides a taste for cereal and a certain nickname?

One. Superman has a record player. Did Clark? No idea. Next question. 

Two. Food. Superman liked red apples, not green. Clark likes pickles. No overlap, but open to investigation. 

Three. Superman’s apartment is probably tall because he mentioned it has a great view (and he had a bad landlord and broken AC). She had never been to Clark’s apartment. Put a pin in this for later. 

Four. Superman likes crosswords. Clark worked for the Planet which had crosswords. Slight overlap. Minimal evidence.

Five. Superman did D.A.R.E. Clark probably didn’t go to private school and he also probably did D.A.R.E. Checkmark there, but such a minuscule amount of evidence it hardly deserved a precious pushpin. 

Six. Clark is adopted, which would track with Superman because SUPERMAN IS AN ALIEN. 

Seven. That idiot always did interviews with Superman, and no one ever saw them together. Now, she were getting somewhere. She had even questioned him once. Truth be told, no one had even seen Clark and Superman in the same room. Superman’s cousin, Kara, did know Clark, and also suspiciously knew that Clark wasn’t her favorite person after the Pulitzer ceremony.

Was it common that Clark whined about his problems to Metropolis’ favorite superhero? That doesn’t add up. And then Superman would care so much that he would tell his cousin, and his cousin would care so much that she would tell Lois? Red alarms started blaring. 

Eight. Superman said that he knows Perry, but Perry never mentioned meeting Superman. Put it on the to investigate list.  

Nine. Superman had work hours, or at least that’s what Kara said. Superman had said that he had to get to work. He was his own boss. It wasn’t like Superman was going to fire Superman. No, Superman might have a job. Clark Kent had a job. Yay jobs!

Ten. Clark Kent always had a soft spot for Superman. He had said once, about Superman, “He’s trying. Shouldn’t that count for something?” It was the way he said it, like it was more than concern; this was personal. Clark had also been visibly upset after she interviewed Superman for the first time after Con of Steel. He had turned down company sponsored lunch! Maybe he was being weird because she asked him harder questions than he had been expecting, gave him something to actually think about. 

Eleven. Clark Kent said, “You’re okay, you’re okay” after the guy who manhandled her on the street and Superman said those exact words after the bus incident. Again, could be a coincidence, but if you add up a hell of a lot of coincidences, then they might come together to form a solid pattern. 

Twelve. Clark Kent is always late, which threw her for a loop because it never really tracked with who he is. He cares so much about everything, so there must be a good reason as to why he is late. She thought back to what he said. He mentioned he couldn’t tell her the reason for his tardiness, and he also said that he was kind of in trouble, but he always made it out and it was for a good reason. If Clark was Superman, it would make sense that he would be in some kind of trouble but not get too worked up about it. He was the Man of Steel after all.

She was getting somewhere. Actually, she was probably pretty close to a conclusion, but didn’t want to say it out loud. 

What if this was like Bella and Edward in the woods, and Bella works up all her energy to tell Edward that she knows he’s a vampire - and then Edward is like no, I’m just really pale because genetics and I run cold? 

It’s not like she could go up to Clark and be like, hey, you’re Superman, right? No, I’m actually not kidding. Don’t you dare move until you tell me the truth. 

She had to be 100 percent. She needed to do some more sleuthing. 

Lois almost jumped when her phone buzzed on the table. SAM LANE, DNA DONOR. 

She picked up, “Absentee patriarch? You should be glad that I still kept your phone number and didn’t block it from every device I own.”

Sam responded, “Very funny, Lois. I’m sorry I wasn’t at the ceremony. It was a matter of national importance. I sent flowers.”

“Your assistant sent flowers. Tell Parker they were very pretty and I hope she finds a new job very soon. What do you want?”

“Lois, I didn’t call to fight.”

“Well, I picked up to fight.”

Lois could hear Sam sigh, “I don’t know why you’re so worked up about it. You had Superman introduce you; it’s not like you were up there alone. You never know when to let things go. I don’t get you. I just wanted to tell you that I have my contacts looking into Lucy’s whereabouts.”

“And you couldn’t talk about this yesterday when I called? Let me guess, another national emergency?”

Sam ignored her, “I think your friend was correct. She seems to be moving west to Germany. We don’t know what she’s doing over there, and I can’t spend all my favors on this, but let me know if you find out anything more.”

“Okay.”

“See, you can be cordial.”

“I’m hanging up,” Lois said, moving to fix some red string that was drooping. 

“Lois, I promised some of my colleagues that maybe you would visit my work sometime. A lot of them were very impressed by your article.”

“Did you read it?”

“I’ve been around the globe more times than you could count.”

“So, no.”

“I will.”

“I don’t care.”

“God, Lois, you can be so exhausting sometimes.”

Lois definitely hung up then. 

See, there was always something with men. 

As she went to close her phone, she saw Clark’s text. Still with the unread blue dot next to it. 

She quickly typed out: Vacation. Figured I would use up some of my days. I’ve been banking them for years. Just need to think through some stuff.

Back to what really mattered. 

---

Wednesday, last week

“Thank you so much for welcoming me back again. It’s so good to see so much progress since the floods,” Lois put down her cup of tea on the modest kitchen table. The room was sparse, with only necessities and a jumble of furniture probably found on Facebook Marketplace and garage sales. Still, it looked better than before, when this family home was just puddles of sludge and debris. 

The once two-story home with a wrap-around porch and a swing was now reduced to a kitchen/living room, bedroom, and bathroom. Running water, but no heat and sometimes, no electricity. On bad days, the family resorted to staying at the motel three towns over. 

“You’re welcome anytime, Lois,” Emily smiled, “Your article really was able to shine a light on us and what happened here. I have no doubt the donations for the town restoration and volunteer support were in no small part your doing.” Emily was the young woman Lois had spoken to for her article. She had grown up in the area, restored her family’s generation home, and watched it get washed away with the floods. 

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Lois pulled out her phone, “I’m looking to speak to one of the people who came out to help. I heard that Superman stopped here . . .”

Emily shook her head and took another sip of her tea, “No Superman. Word travels fast in these parts. I would know.”

“And this guy? Could’ve been a volunteer?” Lois showed Emily a picture of Clark. 

Emily scrunched her nose, “Maybe. I’m not so good with faces. Let me ask around. Do you want to walk to town with me? We can ask along the way?”

Lois nodded. 

---

“It must be a different life, working at The Daily Planet. My dad reads it religiously, tells everyone he knows you,” Emily added, her boots hitting the pack soil step by step. 

Lois followed suit, “That’s so sweet. What’s he up to?”

She checked her phone, Clark had texted her: You’re okay, right? Like didn’t get ink poisoning from chewing on too many writing utensils? When will you be back? 

She would get back to him later.

“Oh, just working at the supermarket. He got a job bagging. I told him not to, but I’ll admit that we need the money.”

“Insurance didn’t help?”

“You pay every month for decades, with the understanding that if something bad happens, they will be the ones to pick you up by the bootstraps, but then the bad comes and they don’t even want to give you a dime,” Emily’s gaze fell to her feet. One in front of the other. 

“I’m sorry about that.”

Emily waved Lois off, “Oh, it’s not your fault. I’m just mad that my dad saw right through me. I told him we were fine, that we were going to be okay, but he never believed me. Was even mad that I was trying to hide how dire the situation was.”

“The thing is, Lois,” Emily continued, “Everyone loves to act like telling the truth is always the noble thing, but… sometimes the truth is just another wave that knocks you under. I didn’t want to do that to him. I wanted to protect him from the worst of things. You know… secrets aren’t always lies. Sometimes they’re shields. Sometimes, they’re grace.”

---

“The Bayers didn’t know your guy, but they only recently came back to town. Let me grab what I need from the hardware store and then we can keep looking.”

Lois walked around the main strip. There were recently watered flower pots next to the remnants of a tree, its branches twisted in painful directions. Next to a remaining pile of rubble, stood a little free library, where passerbys could pick up a book or leave one. 

“Lovely day, today,” an older woman called, offering Lois a polite nod. 

“Yeah, it really is,” Lois replied. 

She took a seat on a newly built porch under an awning for a toy store. The store didn’t seem to be operational, but the window was full of this and that doll and tractor and plush. 

Lois scrolled through her phone, answering a couple of work emails, before pulling up the picture of Clark again. Did Clark actually come here? All alarms in Lois' head said yes.

But, maybe it wasn't Clark. Maybe Superman came at night, when no one was around. There were too many variables. 

A young girl and boy were playing marbles with brightly colored rocks. 

“You missed,” the boy laughed, folding the stones in his palm. 

“Not this time! What if I just throw all of them?” She tossed 3 or 4 rocks, and one hit Lois’ shoe with a soft thud. 

The girl gasped, “Sorry about that.” She ran to pick up the rock, but stopped when she saw the face on Lois’ screen. 

“Why is he on your phone?” she asked. 

Lois raised an eyebrow, before handing her phone to the girl, “He’s my friend.”

“He must be a nice man,” the girl stuffed the rocks in her pocket, “He helped out around this street all day months ago. Didn’t stop until it was dark.”

“He is a nice man,” Lois answered, handing the girl the last stone, "Nice dress."

---

She stared at his face on his screen, letting the pieces sink together, and finally, she returned his message: No ink poisoning. Just needed some time to think. 

He was waiting by the phone. Of course, he was waiting by the phone. If you need someone to bounce those thoughts off of. I know a couple people in Germany if you need more contacts. I know you have some already.

Lois quickly replied: What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re not the one with ink poisoning? 

No, Clark Kent didn’t have ink poisoning, but there was a very solid chance that Clark Kent was Superman.

Time to put her hypothesis to the test, some very unassuming tests that would go right over Clark's head. She had to call the interns. 

Chapter Text

Thursday, last week

Lois Lane had exacting control over the interns. Were they technically her interns? Not on paper. But did they drop everything the moment she barked an order? Absolutely.

Did she occasionally steal them from Steve just to spite him? Allegedly.

It was quite a useful power in the scheme of things. 

She mostly used her powers for good, like sending them to track down obscure city records, using them to play lookout when she needed to sneak into a restricted area, or asking them to stalk the vending machine for Kettlecorn Popcorners. She only trusted the latter with the most dedicated reportees. 

Today, she had to take the reins once more. 

Call in the troops, she texted Jenny. 

Within a minute, she received: Reporting for duty. 

Okay, so maybe when Perry said to train the interns, he didn’t mean to train them like soldiers, but Lois grew up on a military base - that was her only frame of reference. At least she didn’t have them eating MREs and doing laps. 

She did realize that maybe she went too far when they started self-assigning ranks based on how many looks of annoyance she shot their way. 

But that was a minor problem for another day. 

Lois: It’s going to sound weird, but go with it and know that, more than anything, discretion is key. 

Jenny: Understood. We’ll be airtight. 

First mission: Clark’s apartment. 

By 9:47 in the morning, the first intern on deck, Jason, has successfully called up a trainee friend in HR and gotten Clark’s address under the guise of needing to mail him his paycheck. 

As soon as Lois received the address, she did a quick Google search and realized that one, it was way too nice for a reporter’s salary and two, yes, there were large full length windows. Floor to ceiling. Lois had no doubt that the views from the apartment would be absolutely spectacular, much like Superman had said. 

She pinned her research to her wall of evidence. The arrow moved another inch towards the Clark is Superman side.

Lois quickly assigned the next task and got to work herself. 

---

“How are the Bahamas? Getting a nice tan?”

“Perry, I said I needed some days off. I didn’t say I was going to jet off to a place where I would turn as red as a lobster within .4 seconds.”

Perry grumbled, “I had hoped . . .”

“Answer one question, and I’ll pretend I’m poolside with a 25-dollar fruity drink,” Lois bargained, frowning when she realized she was already running out of push pins.

“You better sell it so hard they give you an Oscar.”

Lois swirled her glass of water, sloshing around. “Oh, the sea is lovely. The breeze…” She flicked on her standing fan. “…so relaxing. The birds!” She opened a window. A man downstairs immediately started yelling about a parking ticket. “…have somehow learned English.”

“You wouldn’t make it past community theater auditions,” Perry sighed. 

“Just answer my question.” 

“If I give you my airline miles, will you actually go somewhere?”

“No.”

“You’re brutal, do you know that?” Perry muttered, shaking his head, “What’s your question?”

“Have you met Superman?”

“This is what you’re thinking about on your vacation?”

“Yes,” Lois nodded.

“I swear, one day I’m going to find you with a magnifying glass under the couch, interrogating the carpet. Does your brain ever shut off?”

“It’s important.”

“If you weren’t such a good reporter, I would just think you were very exceptionally weird.”

“Thank you, and your answer?”

“No, Lois, I have never met Superman, now I’m going to send a masseuse to your house . . . do you prefer hot stone or deep muscle tissue”

“Goodbye, Perry!”

Lois could almost hear his scowl as she hung up. 

Superman said he knew Perry.

Did he mean know as in, seen-his-face-around, maybe from a press conference, an interview, that one TikTok Cat roped him into?

Or did he mean know -know - handshakes, first-name basis, maybe inside jokes?

It didn’t add up. Perry swore he’d never met Superman, yet Superman didn’t say “knew of Perry.” He said “knew Perry.”

And Clark? Clark definitely knew Perry.

---

Inside her apartment, there were three coffee cups on her living room coffee table, all at varying temperatures, and a fourth in her hand that she kept forgetting to drink.

Her masterpiece, her investigation board, was a battlefield of newspaper clippings, scribbled notes, and red string zigzagging so erratically it looked like a second grade art project.

Every few seconds, she’d step forward, stab a thumbtack into place, then lean back and squint at it, hoping it would be the one to crack it.

It was the look of a woman who knew she was one connection away from blowing the whole thing open, or from discovering it was all a coincidence and she hadn’t slept for many hours for nothing.

“And so, we did what you asked. Ashley made this whole loud production about her busted AC and how she finally found a miracle technician who got it running again . . .” Jenny explained.

“And?” Lois tapped her pen against the back of her hand, impatient.

“Clark practically sprinted over to ask for the guy’s number.”

Superman mentioned that he had AC problems and a landlord who didn’t seem to care. Check.

“Lois, is this whole thing because you like Clark? Because this whole investigation is seeming a little too personal and fine, I get it if you don’t want to talk about emotions. I know they make you all wiggly and nervous, but you don’t have to go full Veronica Mars on the guy.”

“Completely irrelevant. Next task - see what kind of apples he likes.”

Jenny sighed.

---

It was her turn. Jenny sliced up a perfect green apple in the break room. She sprinkled a touch of cinnamon and added a swipe of peanut butter as well. 

She crossed the bullpen, gave Ashley a glance, who was facetiming Lois in, and practically put herself between Jimmy and his screen. 

“Jenny,” he said, eyes squinting, “I was looking at that.”

Jenny pushed the plate toward him. “Try a piece. My grandma’s recipe. Very special, been in the family for generations.”

“It’s an apple with peanut butter and cinnamon, Jenny. She wasn’t doing rocket science here.”

“Shut up, Olsen,” she muttered, shoving a slice into his hand before striding over to Clark.

“Try a piece,” she insisted, holding it out.

Clark glanced up, scrunching his nose. “I’m okay.”

“Nope,” Jenny said, undeterred, pressing the slice into his palm, “If you don’t eat it, I can already hear my grandma rolling in her grave.”

Clark let out a small sigh, glancing between her and the apple slice. “And she didn’t have another recipe like fruitcake or jellied chicken salad? I would try anything else.”

“No, sir. Take a bite.”

Lois watched on. From the neck down, Clark looked casual - chewing, nodding - but his eyes had the haunted glaze of someone silently calculating how many more bites were socially required.

“Mmm delicious,” he choked out, a shadow of a wince daring across his face. 

Confirmed. Hook, line, and singer. 

Clark and Superman both hated green apples. 

“You okay, Jenny,” Jimmy asked, “You’re giving a little too much crazy Lois energy right now.”

“Just learning from the best!” she exclaimed as she ran off.  

---

Lois was crouched in the middle of her apartment, armed with multiple rolls of tape on her arm. 

The floor was a chaotic mosaic of photos, notes, clippings of Superman, and now emptied coffee cups. Arrows pointed from Clark to Superman. Every little quirk, every weird coincidence, it was all building toward the same conclusion.

Then, a knock.

Lois froze mid-scribble. She scrambled up, nearly tripping over a pile of paper, and opened the door, holding it tightly behind her to not let them see the tornado of investigative madness behind her. 

But no one was there, just a large basket and a note with Clark’s handwriting. "Not sure what today looks like for you, but figured this might make it better. -C"

She looked inside: the perfect Caesar salad wrap, the slice of cake, the pens, the bagels, and yes, the gelato in its container, as perfectly curated as if she had ordered it all herself. 

Damn him. 

Lois stared, stunned. Part of her mind screamed investigation mode, Lois, back to work! but another, far louder part thought he noticed. He noticed everything. Every detail about her, every like and dislike, every stray fact about herself she’d thought hidden behind closed doors - Clark had noticed.

Just like how he would often leave half his sandwich on his desk like it was already hers to begin with, here he goes again knowing exactly what she needed when she needed it. 

She pulled out the gelato first because when you’re an adult, you can make adult decisions. She stuck a spoon straight in the container. She stared at what was in front of her. Her mess of an investigation board was full, complete, and a little (lot) unhinged. 

The thing was, it felt complete. The alarms were blaring because everything, every piece of evidence she collected was pointing her towards exactly one direction: Clark was Superman. 

Maybe it wasn’t just because he liked cereal or hated green apples. It was something more. It was a certain nickname and the fact that Clark Kent was the one to visit the farmland. It was the weird connection Superman and Clark had that didn’t make any sense. 

It was the fact that Clark didn’t seem like the kind of person to be late, unless he was hiding an alternate ego. It was how Superman seemed to almost have a special connection to her, much like one Clark Kent did. 

This and everything else added up, layer by layer, piece by piece to just make one thing so strikingly clear.

Clark Kent, the mild-mannered reporter she spent her days elbow-deep in deadlines with, was Superman.

Superman. 

Super Fucking Man. 

Her hands shook slightly as she sank back into the chair, staring at the board, the red string tangling around her notes like veins connecting the impossible truth. She couldn’t unsee it now. It all fit so perfectly. Every absurd, meticulous, ridiculous piece.

And somehow, somewhere deep down, somewhere far below her own consciousness, a little part of her was thrilled.

She finally answered his text. Monday . 

She would be back to work on Monday and she would either want to kiss him or kill him and even Lois couldn’t figure out which one.

---

Friday, last week

HANNAH FUCKING MONTANA. CLARK KENT WAS HANNAH MONTANA.

Did he get the whole “secret identity thing” from that show? Was he also one of those kids whose parents shoved a TV in front of them and called it babysitting? Did he spend Saturday mornings learning the art of double lives between cereal bowls and crosswords? Did he use the show as a documentary and start taking notes? 

Clark Kent wanted to be a teenage pop star. 

That must be it, except he traded sequined jackets and chunky highlights for glasses and a superhero suit. 

But other than that? Secret identity? Check. Adoring fans? Check. Really specific outfit choices? Double check. 

Dramatic entrances? Hannah Montana had stage lights and bedazzling. Clark had, well, flying.

Clark has the best of both worlds - daily Planet by day, cape by night. Hannah would be proud if she didn’t decide to sue for copyright infringement. 

---

Lois had been staring at two pictures for probably hours at this point. It was very Princess Diaries makeover coded as she held a picture of Clark with her left hand and one of Superman with her right. 

Clark and Superman were the same person. 

This was fucking crazy. 

Her little sweetheart of a coworker who had bagel toasting competitions with her and reminded her to get her dry cleaning also stopped trains and saved people from burning buildings. 

What in the actual heck? 

Oh my god. What did she say to Superman about Clark? What did she say to Clark about Superman? Fuck. 

Was she too harsh on Superman? 

You know what? No!

People should be more harsh with Superman. The guy is literally strutting around Metropolis in tights, probably listening to “Nobody’s Perfect,” while saving squirrels. 

He’s an idiot. 

Clark Kent AKA SUPERMAN is just a fucking idiot. 

A one-phone nincompoop who conducted dozens of interviews with HIMSELF! Who does that? Oh, she was going to kill him. Superman always came out as perfectly poised because there was not a single surprise question. 

WAS HE EVEN LISTENING DURING THEIR JOURNALISM ETHICS SEMINAR? All signs point to a blaring NO!

Fuck him.  

He was crazy, he must be, Lois thought as she was literally surrounded by a storm of evidence that made her look like the epitome of normal. 

She grabbed a spoonful of gelato. A fucking idiot with some fucking good taste in food. 

Ugh.

---

Saturday, last week

But he lied to her. He made her think Superman and Clark were two different people. 

Did he think it was funny? Watching her spin herself into knots? Laughing at her?

Oh, Lois Lane. Not quite the genius you like to tell everyone you are, huh?

How did he do it every day? Every smile, every tiny gesture? Was anything real? 

She was spinning, spiraling, thinking faster than her brain could handle. 

Did he not trust her? Did he think that just because she was a reporter, she’d run to the presses the second she found out the truth? That she’d shove a headline out into the world before the ink was even dry?

Lois was holding the cup so tightly in her hand that she was certain it was going to break. 

He lied to her. What else could he be lying about? How much he cared about her? 

Why was he at the Planet? Was it for him to laugh at the silly little humans? To get an inside scoop on what the press was saying about him? To keep tabs? Influence the narrative? So much for protecting the freedom of press. He was just tricking everyone. Was Clark even his real name? 

Her brain was ping-ponging, dragging her from suspicion to suspicion like a pinball machine in overdrive. What did he want? Why had he gotten so close to her? 

Was it because she was one of the top reporters at the Planet and he needed her in his corner? A little charm, a few smiles, some "aw shucks" farm-boy routine, and she’d be too busy tripping over herself to question him?

The thought made her stomach twist.

Did she even know him at all? 

---

Sunday, last week

Maybe she was being a bit harsh. She knew the guy, but the secrets he was keeping! She thought she was secretive. He was next level. 

The questions clawed at her, jagged and relentless, until one broke through the noise.

No one else knew. Not Jimmy, not Perry, definitely not Steve. Unless Super-Clark had a whole other friend group that she didn’t know about, it would seem no one knew. 

The UN probably didn’t know. 

There was no velvet rope that she had been excluded from. No one knew. 

But shit, they were closer than everyone else. 

They were Lois and Clark god damn it! 

He should’ve told her because they were . . . they are . . . he just should’ve told her!

She wanted him to have told her.

Her mind flickered back to what Emily had said earlier that week. “You know… secrets aren’t always lies. Sometimes they’re shields.”

Maybe that was what this was - a shield. 

Not because he thought she was reckless. Not because she wasn’t trustworthy. But because letting people in, really in, meant forcing them to keep the secret, to be put in a position maybe they didn’t want. 

And maybe, just maybe, he had been protecting her all along. Just like he did when the AC in the office was on the fritz, or when he covered desk corners for her, which he knew she would bump into. 

This could just be a different kind of care. Protecting her from something maybe she didn’t want. 

Maybe, just like Lois herself, he was scared of being vulnerable.

She exhaled, slow. The anger still buzzed, but it was softer now. Because the more she thought about it, the more she realized, maybe she was never really mad about the lie.

Maybe she was mad about the wall it represented.

Mad that there were more barriers between them than she thought. She was supposed to know everything about this man, but it was looking like she hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface. 

Maybe that was the real question - who is this man? So, Lois did what Lois does best: she looked for the cracks.

She liked Superman and she obviously liked Clark. Is there a world in which she could see them taking a job at the Planet for nefarious purposes? To influence the news? 

That was a hard no. He even let her edit his Superman piece until it read less like a love letter and more than a real thoughtful examination. 

Was it likely that he was pretending to care about her? 

Lois almost laughed out loud. No, he didn’t have to check on her constantly, play games with her in the break room, walk her home through a monsoon (when he could’ve flown them!)

He cared about her. That was one thing she was 100 percent certain about in this web of uncertainties. 

Why had he gotten close to her? Well, why had she? There was something so bright between the two of them, something magnetic that she couldn’t fight and Clark really couldn’t fight. 

She could tell him about her favorite foods. She could welcome him into her apartment, with it feeling oddly comfortable. She could tell him about her sister, and admit that she was worried. And he would be there, always there. 

He knew her. Better than she’d realized. Better than most. 

So, is he the same man that she thought he was? 

Again, all signs pointed to yes. Clark was kind of good that didn’t need to be earned or announced. It just… was. Superman too. He never set out to be a celebrity, and often he shied away from media attention. Unlike some superheroes, he didn’t care for the adoring fans or sheer amount of awards they tried to bestow on him. He was good. 

Did she want him out of her life? That was a solid no. Despite this behemoth of a secret, she didn’t want to exile him. Just like she had missed him when he took that one vacation day at the beginning of their friendship, for his mom’s birthday or something-or-other, she knew that the missing was only exponentially greater now. 

The hurt she felt when she thought he had abandoned her at the Pulitzer ceremony? It was a kind of pain that even she didn’t want to confront. Because they weren’t even together. They were friends and yet, the need for him to be there sank harder in her heart than any of her past relationships. 

And the truth was, as she was coming to realize, he would never abandon her. He was there still, just as Superman. He let her ice him out for a bit, when she should’ve been thanking him. 

The thing was, after this week of insanity, Lois learned something. 

The man she’d studied for the second time, he wasn’t a fraud. He wasn’t hiding behind some too-good-to-be-true act. He meant it. All of it. The goodness. The patience. The care, especially for her.

And now, she wasn’t just investigating him anymore. She was protecting something she hadn’t even defined yet, but wanted to. 

Something she was now sure she wanted to name.

Chapter Text

“What did you say?” The question tumbled out before he could stop it, his eyes wide and scanning hers desperately, searching for something solid - anything to anchor him back to the world that had felt so certain just seconds ago.

If the moment wasn’t so heavy, Lois might have laughed. He looked utterly dumbfounded, like a kid staring at a toy that stopped working for no reason.

He tilted his head slightly, as if the world itself had just careened beneath him, and he was trying to stay level. 

“I thought you were making dinner for us?” Lois replied, her fingers still tangled with his own. She didn’t let go, and he had privately decided that if she wanted to hold his hand for the rest of her life, he would more than happily oblige.

“You know?” he asked, as though those two words held every secret, every fear, every hope he’d ever carried.

Lois nodded, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “I do.”

“And you’re not freaking out?” He almost looked at her like she had three heads, like she should be running around the office like a madwoman with this recent revelation. 

She laughed quietly, a mix of honesty and fondness in her voice, “No, I think I got that all out of my system last week, though I can’t promise that I won’t have bursts of ‘What the Fuck!’”

And Clark just laughed, a low easy chuckle that made a grin spread across her own face. He turned his body fully towards her, hands still locked under the table. “I had this whole speech planned. I was going to tell you tonight. You have no idea how nervous I’ve been.”

Lois shrugged, bumping his shoulder with her own, “I can pretend that I don’t know . . . though Perry told me my acting was subpar last week so I’m not sure how convincing I’ll be.”

Clark smiled, ear to ear, and he said under his breath, almost just for him alone, “You know.” 

It was like a sigh. A relief. A breath. She didn’t run. She was here with him. In this one fleeting moment, where Clark was unsure if any of it was real, she steadied him with the smallest smile. 

She wasn’t letting go.  

Clark had prepared himself mentally for every situation. Maybe she would be unsure of what she wanted, if she wanted anything at all with him in the aftermath. He would have to give her space, curb every urge to sit close, stay near, and be there for her in every way he could. And that would’ve been harder than lifting buses or fighting monsters. He would’ve done it, of course. For her. Always for her. 

Maybe she would be angry, and he would have to sit there, listening to every valid remark she would throw his way. Lois Lane didn’t just fight - she dissected, cornered, and left you with no way out but the truth. 

He did lie, albeit for a valid reason and all in his fondness for her, but still, he lied. He omitted the truth. He befriended her even as Superman because no matter Clark, Superman, or the man between the two, he couldn’t resist her. It was almost like he was attuned to a Lois frequency. 

But if she was angry, he would bear the brunt of her words because he probably deserved it. Lois fought like a scalpel, not a sword: sharp, exact, and devastating in its accuracy.

Maybe the anger would fester into resentment, and she would want him gone. He had forced himself not to dwell on that possibility, unlike the others, which kept him up at night. He would honor her decision, of course, but he couldn’t reconcile the thought of a life where Lois Lane wasn’t woven into his own.

But here she was, not showing any signs of the hurt, distance, or anger that he thought were coming. 

She wasn’t letting go. 

He didn’t have to suffer through days of not knowing where he stood with her, weeks trying to figure out how to convince her that he was still the same person - that she was still his favorite person.

If it came to that, care baskets probably weren’t enough. Holding doors and umbrellas and sugar packets wouldn’t have cut it. He would be desperate to have her forgive him, to even just decide to keep him in her life, even if it was just a friend, even if just a colleague. 

But he didn’t have to worry about that. She wasn’t letting go. 

It did cross Clark’s mind that he was dreaming of all of this, that Kara had gotten him more red K and this was all a very cruel dream. Because how did she figure it out? That question wasn’t too difficult, because although he didn’t know the specifics of her investigation, this was Lois Lane we’re talking about. In another life, she could’ve been a detective. 

Because why was she still here? That was the ultimate question, the one that clogged his mind. 

What could he have possibly done to deserve her grace? To deserve her kindness? 

Maybe it was more of a reflection of her goodness than of his doing. 

Did he deserve her support? The way every fiber of his being sparkled whenever she so much as looked at him? 

It all felt too easy, too undeserved. Nothing in Clark’s life had been easy. Kids on the playground telling him that his birth parents never wanted him. Having to constantly hide who he is even though all he ever wanted was connection, friendship, and love. Even the financial troubles his parents spoke under quiet breath when they thought he was sleeping.

He never expected ease. He never expected this. 

He should’ve expected her. 

She surprised him again and again, whether it was her strength, her dedication to the craft, or her ability to see a situation from every angle, even if others were still clouded and partial. And recently, it was her reciprocation. The way his easy flirtations no longer fell on deaf ears. How any chance he took to initiate contact wasn’t brushed off, but often, acted upon. 

She wasn’t letting go. 

He was almost positive that there was something between them, this intangible mess of emotions that could quickly fall into something more, something theirs. Lois Lane most definitely didn’t hold hands with anyone else at the Planet. 

He briefly imagined Steve trying to hold her hand and Lois punching him square in the jaw. 

For however long she knew, it didn’t make her pull away, as he had expected. Instead, it made the distance between them shrink, until they were practically tumbling into the future and what it might hold. 

They were okay, whatever they were. And that was more than Clark could’ve asked for, could’ve hoped for. Because she was still here, holding his hand, teetering on the edge of whatever came next, and telling him that she knew him, both sides of him and still the man in the middle of it all.

You don’t realize how starved you are for air until that first lifesaving breath fills your lungs. That’s what this felt like. To be seen, really seen. Not just the stumbling, too-polite reporter. Not just the impossible figure in the cape. But both. The whole truth of him, held in someone else’s hands without flinching. For someone to look at that impossible contradiction and still choose to stay? To trust him enough to let him explain, to hear his story?

It flooded him with such raw, dizzying elation that it bordered on intoxication. He felt unmoored, as if the sheer joy of it all made it impossible to keep his feet on the ground. He had to fight to stay rooted, to keep from floating away on the sheer height of it.

And it wasn’t just anyone who gave him that gift. It was her. Lois Lane. She didn’t have a great track record of staying, and yet she did. 

He had never hoped to be this lucky, never dared dream this big. He hadn’t even known dreams could stretch this far. That something so impossible, so staggering, could happen to him.

Clark was a lonely kid, a solitary teen. He had friends, sure. He was on clubs and teams, and his photo was plastered around the yearbook, but his secret was his and it kept people at a distance.

Clark was someone who wanted so desperately to be loved, but feared being seen. How could anyone love an alien? No matter how much he longed for connection, there was always distance. There were always secrets. 

And now, here he was, with the girl who made his heart soar, and the distance was gone. The blockade was removed. It was scary, terrifying really. Because he couldn’t fight himself out of this one. He had to care for their little something gently and softly, making sure it didn’t rip at the seams before it even materialized. 

There were many points where he wished he knew more about Kryptonian biology. Did they feel in the same way as humans? Love in the same way? Because it often felt so intense, so captivating, so sweeping that he wondered if humans felt this way? Maybe they did and Clark was just a certified lover boy. 

How could he be so lucky? Lois Lane. The girl he was probably in love with since the first moment he saw her.

And now she wanted this, wanted something, whatever it turned out to be, with him.

There were many moments throughout their acquaintance, and later friendship, when he wanted to kiss her, wanted to weave his hands through her hair, and pull her flush against him. 

Wanted to place his hand on the small of her back and pull her close to him, feeling her skin cold to the touch. 

Needed to let her know how he felt about her, how much he felt, how big his emotions had become. 

It was almost like he never knew how deeply you could feel until he met her. And every day, it was a surprise that the feelings could get even bigger than they had been, even brighter, even more all-consuming. 

If he was a different man, he might’ve felt foolish for how intense his feelings were for her, but he had come to realize that that is what made him human, what made him just a bit less lonely. 

An alien who loves, loves greatly, loves passionately, loves with everything in him. 

Honestly, kissing her was a desire that flooded his every thought more than once a day. 

And he felt it pounding in his chest right now. It would’ve been so easy to cup her cheek, closing the minuscule distance between the two of them. He was already laid bare in front of her, wasn’t this just the sprinkles on top of the sundae? 

Kiss her, every cell of his being screamed, but he knew himself too well. Clark loved with his whole heart, all at once, with no half-measures. A week into knowing her, if Lois Lane had asked him to marry her, he would have said yes without hesitation. That was the way he loved - recklessly, absolutely. And that was precisely why he held back now.

He couldn’t risk frightening her off now, when all seemed to be settling into place. Lois Lane loved cautiously, like dipping a toe into the pool to see if a chill would echo throughout your body. Don’t open up until you are ten steps past certain that the other person won’t abandon you. 

Clark knew her, and knew that she needed time more than anything. 

Let her be the one to set the pace. 

“I think I owe you dinner,” he offered, standing up, palm outstretched for her to take. Without a second of hesitation, she again grabbed his hand with her own. 

“Dinner,” she repeated, brushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “I can’t say I won’t be psychoanalyzing everything in your apartment." 

Clark huffed out a laugh, “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

She tipped her head, eyes glinting. “So what’s the plan? Metro, or are you flying us there?”

His startled look only made her laugh harder. Oh, this was going to be fun. “Relax, Kent. I’ve got my car.”

Clark’s chest tightened. How lucky was he, to have her smile, her humor, her laughter all still in his life, filling up the corners of his days he hadn’t even realized were empty until she filled them.

And he thought, not for the first time: if this was what it felt like to be seen, to be chosen, he would spend the rest of his life trying to be worthy of it.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lois noticed when she stepped into his apartment was how bare it was. Her apartment was messy and cluttered and disorganized, but his? His was empty. 

It was like a realtor came in and staged it. It displayed nothing of his personality, so much so that if he told her it was a short-term rental, it would’ve made more sense. 

She hadn’t known exactly what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Maybe something a little more Midwestern: a “Home is where the heart is” dish towel, a hand-carved trinket, framed photos of golden cornfields and open skies. Something. Anything. 

He didn’t even have any Daily Planet merch that they pushed on employees at the last holiday party. Not even a mug. Just uniform ceramic. 

This place felt like it could belong to anyone. Was it rude to say that it was plain and lifeless? It was normal to the point of being unsettling. 

She glanced at Clark, instinctively searching his face for an answer, some unspoken explanation for why everything here felt so off.

It was fine. It was livable, but there was no heart. 

Clark had always struck her as vibrant, alive in a way most people weren’t. He radiated warmth, kindness, joy. But this space? It felt hollow and even sad. 

If she let herself be completely honest, it felt like the home of someone who didn’t know who they were, or didn’t feel safe enough to show it.

It made her question how much she really knew him. 

And after a week of chasing the truth, another week of longing to be more with him, and an hour of being closer than they had ever been before, Lois had never felt this particular kind of heartache for Clark before. 

Because this place? It was lonely. And she had never realized that maybe he too felt that way sometimes. 

She was broken from her spell by Clark slipping the coat off from around her shoulders. 

“Beautiful view,” she said, pacing toward the windows, letting her fingertips brush the cold glass. “You weren’t kidding.”

Clark hung her coat on the rack, next to his own. “A big part of why I picked it.” He made his way to her, careful to only come as close as he felt was appropriate. “Makes flying in and out easier.”

Lois smiled, “Of course you would have to think of flying logistics when picking an apartment. I was mainly concerned about in unit laundry.” As she moved past him toward the kitchen, her hand grazed his shoulder, a casual touch, easy, familiar, and Clark nearly forgot how to breathe.

The smell hit her before she reached the kitchen, something rich and savory. 

She peered into the slow cooker. “Is that... pot roast?”

Clark followed a few steps behind, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah. My mom’s recipe. It’s kind of a go-to.”

The slow cooker simmered quietly on the counter, steam curling around the lid. 

He continued, “I thought that if I was going to tell you everything, you should at least have a dinner that was comforting and homey.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. Homey to her was dining hall slop from the base or a half-stale chocolate chip cookie one of the recruits would sneak her when she hadn’t eaten all day. This?

This was like every old sitcom she watched on TV. This was like what she expected other children would find when they got off the school bus. 

For all of the emptiness of his apartment, this felt real and maybe it loosened her screws just a little bit. 

Clark pulled out a cast-iron skillet and a few mixing bowls and ingredients. Flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, milk, etc. 

“You’re okay with cornbread? I made honey butter the other day.”

Lois laughed, “So you have a full-time job at the Planet. You save the day plenty of times as Superman, and then you come home and make cornbread and honey butter?”

He shrugged, a little bashful, “I guess so.”

Lois blinked, “You really are from Kansas.”

“Everything that I told you about my childhood - it’s all true. I just failed to mention how I lit some haybales on fire when I learned I had heat vision, accidentally flew into the barn when I was still figuring out how to turn, and used super speed when I wanted to get my chores done early.”

Lois laughed, genuinely, and leaned against the counter. Her arms folded loosely in front of her as she watched him stir the batter.

He opened up the slow cooker, setting the hot lid aside, and spooned a carrot and some broth and held it up to her. She gladly accepted. 

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Clark grinned.

She continued, “See, there was a valid reason why I picked the cookies you made over the cookies Steve made when Cat was trying to trick me in the break room!”

“The Clark Exception,” he remembered, “Still convinced it’s not a thing?”

Lois gave him a sideways glance, smirking. “I’m having my doubts.”

---

Clark was aware that this was nice, more than nice. Kinda everything he had ever wanted. 

Here she was, leaning against his counters, teasing him in that uniquely Lois way, filling the space with a warmth and liveliness he hadn’t realized it was missing.

The empty blue walls no longer felt cold or lonely. Instead, they seemed softer, more inviting, like a place where you could finally just breathe.

He cleared his throat, “I know you have a thousand questions…”

Lois smirked, “More like a million.”

He held her gaze, “And you’re biting your tongue. But I want you to ask. I’ll answer whatever you need.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for all of them?”

“Positive.”

She walked over towards the windows, “Why does Superman have 10-pound weights? Don’t you like lift cars and things?”

Clark grinned, “Hey, even the Man of Steel has to start somewhere! That’s the question you start with?” He poured the batter into the skillet, clearing the sides with the spatula. “They were actually a gift. Maybe my bumbling journalist persona is a little too good. Steve thought I should lift some weights and bulk up if I wanted to - quote, ‘have any chance with the ladies.’ I thought it was pretty funny so I kept them.”

“And your chances with the ladies?” She asked. 

“You tell me.”

---

They sat in his living room, Lois on one end of the couch, Clark closer to the middle, their shoulders just barely brushing.

“If journalism doesn’t work out, you could make it as a chef,” she forked another bite into her mouth.

“Maybe,” he pondered, “But I think I belong at the Daily Planet.”

She didn’t have to say she agreed; it was written all over her face. Instead, she reached out and nudged his arm lightly.

“Good. Because who else am I going to tease?”

Clark chuckled softly, “Everyone?”

“But you’re my favorite.”

---

“I think I would marry this cornbread,” Lois took another bite, with a swish of honey butter, “Tell me not to go to Vegas right now.”

“I’ll bring some to work for you on Monday,” he chuckled. And there was going to be a Monday, and an after Monday and a next week. How did he get this lucky? 

---

“Tell me this,” she propped one arm up on the couch, eyes curious, “Where do you keep the suit? Do you wear it under your outfit? Because it was really humid this summer, and I know you might not feel heat like the rest of us do, but you would probably be sweltering under all of that.”

“In a briefcase,” he answered, “It folds up pretty well. It’s all about your folding technique.”

“Let me get this straight, you change into your suit every time you need to superhero-out? Like in the middle of the street, you’re stripping down to your boxers?”

Clark shrugged, “The superspeed helps.”

“You’re ruining the superhero mystique.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No. So tell me about how you clean it . . . ”

---

Her feet were now folded under her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders - a cold cup of tea on the coffee table. 

“Okay, I’m ready for it,” she opened her hand, “Give me the glasses.”

“They’re hypno-glasses.”

She laughed, “Of course they are.”

He studied her face, searching for any sign of hesitation beneath her calm. “I know you’ve been surprisingly okay until now, but are you sure? They distort my face a little so when people look at me, they don’t connect me to Superman.”

Lois didn’t flinch. Her fingers curled slightly, steady and sure, “Give them here.”

“You’re really sure?”

“Clark, yes.”

She moved closer, the warmth of her presence brushing against him, close enough that he could feel the faint scent of her hair, a soft mix of jasmine, vanilla, and something uniquely Lois.

Lois noticed the shift too, because her playfulness dulled as a softness encroached. She pushed his singular curl away from his face. Her touch lingered, fingertips tracing the curve of his cheek. 

She gently reached for the hypno-glasses. Clark held his breath as she lifted them off. 

Without the subtle distortion of the lenses, his face was unmistakably his own: open, vulnerable, and real.

Lois studied him carefully, her eyes searching, but never flinching.

“You okay?”

Lois nodded, “You forget that I was also friends with Superman. The hypno-glasses aren’t really what’s getting to me. It’s seeing Superman in casual clothes.” 

He gave a small, relieved smile. 

“It’s like Superman is doing a Clark Kent cosplay.”

Clark grinned, “Do I pull it off?”

Lois shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s unsettling how good the Man of Steel looks in mild-mannered reporter casual.”

---

Throughout the rest of the night, she cornered him with questions. How did Mr. and Mrs. Kent find him? How did he discover his powers? Did he know anything about his birth parents? How did Kara fit into all of this? 

“Be honest, have you ever used your x-ray vision to find the TV remote?”

And Clark answered all of them. 

She spent a week chasing the truth, and he gave it to her, gently. 

The thing was, Clark had always carried his secret well. He tried to dull the loneliness by throwing himself into harm’s way to protect those who needed help. The thank yous and applause only carried him so far. 

Still, he had almost convinced himself that he had filled the cracks, until this night, until he finally realized how nice it was to share himself with somebody. She asked, really listened, really wanted to know about him. 

She was still here, legs folded under her, teasing him about cornbread and his superhero suit. Still watching him like he was both ridiculous and remarkable all at once.

For the first time, maybe ever, Clark felt like he had been falling off a cliff and she reached out and pulled him to safety. She knew. 

He felt it when he caught her smiling at him over the rim of her mug.

He felt it when she handed him back his glasses without fanfare, like it was just another pair of frames, not the thing that had separated him from the truth for years.

And he felt it most when she looked at him, really looked, and didn’t flinch. She stayed. And didn’t turn him into a myth, into something larger than life. 

She sat here, asking about his mom’s cooking and if his AC ever got fixed.

Lois Lane saw him, and somehow, he finally realized that it meant more to him than all the times the world cheered for him. 

His home was a place someone waited in. Hers was a place someone lived in. 

He watched Lois, here with him, laughing with him, invading his space - and Clark realized that, yes, he had been waiting for something. 

He finally realized that he had been waiting for her.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning came with blue skies and a crisp breeze. He woke up lighter than he had in years, like someone lifted a boulder from his shoulders that had been placed on his back for so long that he didn’t even remember that it was there. 

She knew. Gosh. 

And she stayed. 

He hadn’t realized how much of his life was spent curling around the secret until suddenly, he didn’t have to. It was that easy. She had gone home that evening, probably way too late. He drove. She slept. He flew back. 

The drive reminded him of the one when he took her to the diner. The streets were quiet with streetlights reflecting off first floor windows. Lois was snuggled up in the passenger seat, head resting against the seatbelt, and seat pushed all the way back. Her breath was steady, completely at ease. 

She didn’t seem to mind that he was driving at a grandma’s pace. Instead of running stop signs, like she might’ve done, he probably took too much time at each one. Can you get a ticket for driving too slowly? 

It felt nice that she trusted him, despite everything. When they finally reached her apartment, it killed him to have to wake her, but it was probably too early in whatever this was to pick her up without consent. 

He unclicked the seatbelt carefully and whispered her name. Her eyes fluttered open as she murmured, “Thanks.”

“Let’s get you inside,” he went around to her side of the car, opening up the passenger door. 

---

Now, in the calm light of Saturday morning, that memory lingered. It was kind and sweet and quiet. And he wanted so much for it to last. 

A small, probing part of him thought that maybe she’d wake up this morning and see it for what it was - impossible, insane - and regret every step that led her here. He was quite literally a superhero. 

He tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, but it kept coming up like a pool floaty that bobbled through the crashing waves. He had to know. 

Clark picked up his phone, tossed it between his hands, once and twice, and hovered his thumb over the screen. 

He typed: Big day. How’d you sleep? You want to stop by before the celebration tonight? Or I can meet you at yours?

Backspace backspace backspace. Too eager. 

Maybe: Heading to the Planet thing later. Want to meet up before?

No. That was still wrong. It sounded like she was the afterthought when she was the real reason he was excited to go. 

One more try: Good morning! I was wondering if you’re free before the event tonight? I can pick you up? Car of course. 

That could work. Send it before second-guessing. 

Across town, Lois’ phone buzzed where it lay on her nightstand. She blinked awake and reached for it. When she saw his name, something eased in her chest. It wasn’t pushy or loaded. It just felt normal, easy. Like what he would’ve sent her before all of this secret business. 

She thumbed out a reply: Only because parking there is atrocious. 7pm. You and Superman should both have the address. 

Clark laughed.

---

He spent the better part of the day sending pictures of his outfit to Cat, who had pretty much bullied him into being his personal stylist. At least he had come to trust her fashion taste especially after the success of his Pulitzer ceremony look. 

Of course, if she so much as suggested something for Lois, Cat would have to sleep with one eye open. He couldn’t imagine Lois wearing a single article of clothing Cat had. 

Clark stood in front of the mirror one last time, straightening his tie, adjusting the cuff of his shirt, and sending a quick thank you to Cat.

The Planet’s 250th anniversary celebration was only a few hours away and the venue was going to be packed. If it was said that Lois ran the intern cohort like the army, the planning committee was running them like a SWAT team armed with floral centerpieces and dietary restriction cards. 

It was the place to be, with invites going out to politicians, esteemed journalists, corporate leaders, and even Steve. 

He braced himself for the amount of schmoozing tonight and settled on: alarmingly, stomach-turningly high.

---

He left his apartment too early and had been circling her block for the better part of an hour, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. On the seat next to him, some leftover cornbread that he hoped she would appreciate. 

He would gladly make a career change to a baker if that meant she would smile that wide when trying his food. 

Focus, Clark. 

When it was just ten minutes before he was supposed to arrive, he parked, grabbed the bread, and threw his keys in his pockets. He jogged up the stairs, softly knocking on her door. 

Soon enough, the door swung open. From the light smile on her face, it was rather clear that no, she didn’t regret the whole thing. She was in it, whatever it was. 

“You’re early,” she said, grabbing the bread from him, “But I accept your peace offering."

Clark followed her, kicking off his shoes, “Only 8 minutes early.”

With a teasing grin, Lois recalled, “So that wasn’t your car circling the block for the last hour?”

“I was patrolling the neighborhood,” he called as she disappeared into the bathroom, running a brush through her hair. 

She didn’t miss a beat. “Like you patrol the supermarket?” 

Clark laughed, leaning against her kitchen counter, putting a couple of mugs left in the sink into the dishwasher. “So that was definitely a mistake.”

“. . . and you had the audacity to call it just a midwestern thing!” She squirted some product into her palm, running it through her hair. Jasmine and vanilla. 

“Most people don’t question it when I give that excuse! Cat still thinks that everyone born in Kansas gets sent a flannel by the government.”

She gave him a sideways look, one eyebrow arched

“Okay, yeah, I probably should’ve known that you would figure it out. Your whole thing is questioning people. But I think I’ve got a pretty solid track record for keeping the secret!”

The door to the bathroom had been left ajar, and he caught sight of her rifling through a makeup bag, pulling out tubes, compacts, and wands like an alchemist.

It was Lois’ turn to reply, “Even if I’m the only one who figured it out, that’s still debatable. If you want to keep your secret, you’ve got to do better. Maybe get another phone.”

Clark shrugged, sheepish, “Maybe I wasn’t trying as hard to keep it from you.”

“Clark,” she said, rolling her eyes, “you literally used your cousin to encourage me to forgive you. You weren’t even trying. I’m actually disappointed in myself that it took this long to crack.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Okay, well… I never asked Kara to do anything. I was just so miserable… actually, yeah, that’s not helping my cool factor.”

“You don’t have a cool factor,” she shot back immediately.

“I fly!”

“So can a bird!”

He laughed, the sound warm and light. 

Yeah, he was grateful he didn’t have to grovel or plead, didn’t have to convince her that he was still the same person she’d known all along. Being here with her, sharing a laugh, feeling the effortless rhythm of her teasing - this was all he had ever wanted. 

As she got ready, he busied himself around the apartment, making sure her windows were locked, arranging her shoes in rows by the door, and refilling the Brita. 

“A little help here?” she called. Clark wiped the water droplets from his palms on the dish towel and stepped toward the bathroom. The door squeaked as he opened it.

Her back was to him, framed in deep wine silk that kissed the floor. She was going to be the death of him; Kryptonite couldn’t hold a gosh darn candle.

He stepped closer, reaching for the zipper like it was made of glass. The fabric was smooth beneath his fingers, and the warmth radiating from her skin made him acutely aware of just how close they were. 

She turned then, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder, the curve of her neck catching the light. Clark knew every language on this planet and the next, yet none of them could capture how breathtaking she looked. The world seemed to blur around her, as if she alone held all color and gravity.

“I would ask how I look, but I think your face is betraying you,” she laughed, moving past him and grabbing her purse from the couch. 

He gave a half-laugh, “I have no words.”

“Good thing I have enough for the both of us.”

As they stepped out the door together, Clark felt a quiet certainty that he would never get tired of helping her, laughing with her, or just being near her. And maybe, just maybe, he’d never stop feeling like the luckiest man alive.

Chapter Text

As they reached the staircase, Clark offered his arm more out of instinct than ceremony. She didn’t take it at first, just raised an eyebrow, but then hooked her elbow lightly into his. 

He let her set the pace, and by the way her nose scrunched, he was pretty sure she wasn’t exactly happy about wearing heels, but she suffered through it for the name of fashion. Cat would be proud. 

From the outside, Lois looked utterly calm; the same Lois who would storm through a press conference and rattle a senator with a single question. Clark, knowing her better than most, saw the extra sparkle in her eye, the added lift in her step. She was excited, and of course she was. Tonight was about being in the same room as people she had grown up admiring, the journalists whose bylines she read before she knew what a byline was. 

It was like how most people would feel if they got a ticket to the Oscars and Meryl Streep was 2 inches away, sharing a laugh with Jennifer Lawrence. These were her idols, the people she thought of at 2 in the morning when her article was this close to being done. 

Clark was sure that she had already instructed Jimmy to get photos of her with a wide slew of celebrated journalists, discreetly of course. 

What he hoped she realized was that she belonged here. 2 Pulitzers to her name and a newspaper quite frankly beholden to her and her sharp reporting. Lois Lane was one of them, if not one of the best of them. 

It didn’t surprise him that upon entering, a cluster of colleagues, fans, and contemporaries flocked to her. Lois chattered - about the planning committee’s budget that could’ve gone to filling the staff fridges with more La Croix, about the fact that Perry was actually smiling and laughing over there by the stage, and annoyance at Clark’s driving - especially when he stopped, actually got out of the car, and helped a family cross the street with an overflowing grocery cart. 

She had yelled at him that they were stopping all traffic, but he just waved her off and let the cars honk. 

“Clark,” she called out the window. She tried to be stern, but it ended up coming out as a laugh. His stupid stupid goofy grin. Lois pressed her knuckles lightly against her lips, a poor shield for the smile breaking free underneath.

This stupid stupid guy who circled the block for an hour before he was supposed to pick her up. Every ten minutes or so, she would look out the window in the kitchen and see the same clean SUV make another loop. The neighbors probably thought he was scoping out which houses to rob. 

But no, he was just a silly boy with a dashing suit and a smile that made her laugh like a lovestruck teen. 

A stupid stupid boy who looked unfairly good in a suit. 

Here he was, right by her side, during this swirl of celebration, holding her glass and letting her be the focus. It was ridiculous, almost surreal, like he’d been plucked straight off the glossy pages of a J-14 magazine.

The party itself was immaculate, held on one of the top floors of the swankiest hotel, with wrap-around windows and high ceilings. Champagne bubbled and flowed without reservation, a string quartet was tucked off to the side, coaxing out a soft rhythm. The place settings had far too many forks for it to be considered casual, every table dressed like it had been styled for a magazine spread. 

Lois was sure that Cat must’ve secured some brand partnerships to pay for it all. Gowns were long, expensive, and shimmering. Frankly, she felt like she was in Gossip Girl and soon enough, Blair would descend and complain about the quality of caviar being served by attendants. 

She loved her job, the thrill of the investigation, the agony of perfecting the draft, and even the exhaustion of falling asleep one too many times at the Planet. What she hardly ever expected was the praise, the younger journalists who would fawn over her, the politicians who knew her by name, the corporate leaders who would try to schmooze with her (though they all knew it would never work). 

Lois had probably wrongly thought she would just fade into the background at an event such as this, but here she was, the center of it all. And she felt comfortable, not nervous or jittery. She had put in enough work and time to be confident in her achievements and her reputation. Every whispered, “That’s Lois Lane,” only sharpened her smile. 

She belonged. She weaved between senators and CEOs, trading quips with news anchors who had once dismissed her. She soon realized that if she lingered at a table too long, people gravitated closer. If she laughed, others tuned in to hear the next punchline. 

This is where she fought tooth and nail to be, right in the thick of things, seen and respected on her own terms. 

And there was Clark, right by her side. She was glad he was there, as a shadow at her shoulder, a faint squeeze when the spotlight started feeling a bit too hot. He was her anchor and this time, he wasn’t about to disappear on her and come back as Superman, leading her to quite a spiral about who she was crushing on - Clark or let’s see, Clark. 

“And you’re both reporters?” an older woman asked, clearly from deep pockets of wealth from the looks of her dripping diamonds, “Who’s the more experienced?”

Clark jumped in first, “Let’s just say I’ll let my Pulitzers speak for themselves.”

Lois laughed, hitting him lightly on the chest. He only grinned, catching her hand with his own and letting it rest there for a beat and another. 

He soon excused himself, of course offering to fetch drinks. A moment later, he was weaving back through the crowd, balancing an impossible number of glasses, because naturally he’d taken everyone’s order.

One of the women in the circle leaned closer, “Do you ever think about moving where the spotlight’s brighter? Most of the heavy-hitters are migrating to D.C. these days.”

Lois swirled her nearly-empty glass, keeping her tone light. “No,” she said easily, “there are still plenty of stories worth telling in Metropolis.”

But her eyes betrayed her. Because while her voice stayed casual, her gaze followed Clark, making his way back to her.

She saw a couple of eyes flicker between her and Clark. She felt exposed, like everyone knew how he was smoothing the edges of the evening for her, a buffer in dull conversations, a steady shoulder to hold when the heels were getting a bit too much. 

Somehow, something lodged somewhere deeper than she wanted to admit when she realized just how symbiotic they were. Even the other reporter duos were equally working the room, playing into the ruse of it all. But Clark wasn’t. He was making her laugh and adding some highlights to her stories. He wasn’t trying to one-up anyone or bolster his own status. While others were there with ambitious intentions, he was there for her. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

She started noticing everything differently: the way his hand hovered near hers without quite touching, the way his body angled toward her even when she wasn’t speaking, the way his presence steadied her in a room where she usually stood alone. He smiled at her like she was the only reason he was here, and not in the corner with Steve, watching the baseball game on an iPhone. 

For her, it was almost normal, almost expected. Now, each gesture was starting to come into focus. Clark’s hand at the small of her back, steering her effortlessly through the press of bodies.

The absentminded way his fingers toyed with the hem of his suit jacket, which he had draped over her shoulders, whenever they stood close enough. He didn’t even seem aware of it, as though some part of him just liked that tether.

His laugh, a shade warmer whenever it was her joke.

By the time they sat at the round table with Cat, Steve, and Jimmy, Lois eating dishes that definitely resembled just three tortellini, she couldn’t hear the speeches anymore. The mayor’s voice blurred, the video of the Planet’s history faded into the background. She was instead hyperaware of Clark’s knee brushing against hers under the table. 

And especially, especially the way that his gaze lingered on her lips more than once. 

It wasn’t a surprise, but she hadn’t seen it as clearly as she did now. She couldn’t think about politics, or power, or way too many handshakes. 

She could only think about Clark Kent, sitting next to her, wanting to kiss her.

And God help her, wanting the same thing right back.

---

Lois was brought out of her thoughts by Cat, who was leaning far too close to Lois for it not to look suspicious. 

“Where’s my thank you? He cleaned up pretty damn well, right?” Cat nodded to Clark who was in a deep conversation with Jimmy about how drunk Perry was. 

Lois felt heat creep up her neck, “Better than his usual suits that are 2 times too large.”

Cat shook her head, “I know you have dibs and all, and even with your fling with Superman, it’s still girl code to let you have Clark as well, but girl, there has to be some statute of limitations or something because someone should be hitting that.”

Lois put her hands to her ears, scrunching her nose.

Cat sighed, “Well, if it’s any consolation, the two of you look like a walking perfume ad, like the really expensive ones where the commercials never make sense. Trust me, Lane - he’s yours if you want him. Just be in a situationship with two hot men. Girl power, amirite?”

---

Soon enough, the speeches had wound down, and the crowd’s energy had softened into polite laughter and low conversations. A few drunken cackles and abandoned heels. 

Without much hesitation, Lois said a couple of goodbyes before slipping up the staircase to the roof. By the gentle footsteps that followed, she knew that Clark was close behind. 

The rooftop is quiet, the city lights spread beneath. Lois leaned against a brick wall, hand on the railing, listening to the hum of the city below. Without the clinking of glasses and chatter, it was just the soft whistle of wind, the flow of some late-night cars, and him. 

Clark walked forward, stopping when he was just a foot behind her. 

“Big night,” he said, voice low, almost conversational. 

“Yeah,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the city below, “Not many 250-year anniversaries you get to attend.”

Clark shook his head with a half-smile, “At the 300th, how are they going to top this?”

“A dance floor. A chocolate fountain. A party bus.”

“That sounds like a bad Sweet 16,” Clark laughed, “I’m not sure the mayor would approve.”

Lois smirked, turning towards him now, “That old guy? He’s not making it to the 300th.”

He was so close. Just inches from her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, every sense sharpened: the curl of his hair brushing against his forehead, the faint scent of cedar and clean laundry, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Clark shifted slightly, deliberate, as if measuring whether this was the right moment, or if it even could be.

His eyes were intense, open, steady, filled with something that both thrilled and terrified her. They searched her own, to see if she was looking to flee. 

Slowly, he leaned just enough that his right hand rested high against the brick wall beside her, a careful boundary and a subtle invitation. 

He could’ve boxed her in, with his other hand just as close, but he gave her an out should she want one. 

The proximity was dizzying. Her pulse thudded in her ears, loud and insistent.

"No one here?" She asked.

He nodded.

She suddenly pulled off his glasses so there was no boundary between them. She could look him straight in the eyes and know exactly who he was without some other-worldly filter.

He leaned just a fraction closer, the space between them shrinking with every heartbeat. Her breath hitched, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the crisp night air.

“I don’t date,” she whispered, a tremor betraying her attempt at control.

“We don’t have to call it anything,” he said softly, his voice low, just for her. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his own.

Fuck.

“We’ll ruin our friendship,” she murmured, searching his face for any hint of doubt.

“So be it,” he replied, unwavering, daring her to move, daring her to stay.

Fuck.

“Are you sure about this?” Her words barely rose above the city’s hum, her heart threatening to explode.

“About you? Always,” he said, and just like that, the quiet certainty in his voice sealed the moment.

The space around them felt electrified. 

The world narrowed. The city lights, the sounds, even time itself, blurred into irrelevance. Inches. Millimeters. She froze, breath shallow, defenses crumbling.

Fuck it. 

Lois closed the distance, crashing into him with a blatant intensity, her hand instinctively going to his cheek, tracing his jaw. She pulled him into her, closing whatever space between them that was left. 

And she was kissing him, not soft like a first kiss tended to be. No, this was all heat and longing held too long and disbelief that the moment was finally here. Possibly a bit of annoyance that she waited this long. 

Craving. Thirsting. Yearning.

It’s frantic and charged and heated. Every nerve in her body was alert to him. His hands ran down her body, leaving trails of warmth in their wake until they found the curves of her waist. He pulled her impossibly close, like he was desperate for them to become one, wrapping both arms around her like even smushed together, she wasn’t close enough. 

Her fingers weaved in and out of his hair. Greedy. Needy. 

Wanting.

Every heartbeat, every breath, every brush of skin against skin was a declaration: finally. 

And just like that, they lifted off the ground. They were so wrapped up in one another, so focused on this fire and hunger and light that was finally crashing to the surface that they barely registered what was happening. Every nerve felt suspended, every thought dissolved into the rush of intimacy and desire. 

As they came up for air, a sudden awareness hit her, a feeling of weightlessness. Her heels weren’t on the ground. 

Eyes wide, “Clark! We’re! You’re!”

Startled, he immediately guided them gently back to the solid rooftop, cheeks flushed, hair a little tousled. 

Lois let out a laugh. She steadied herself against him, breathless, a playful smirk on her lips.

“You really do knock a girl off her feet, Kent,” she teased, voice soft and teasing, but her fingers lingered on his chest, sure that she would never let go. 

He cupped her face with his hands, their lips connecting once more. This time softer, certain in the fact that this could be their new normal.

Chapter Text

The first time he met her, Clark had one thought: She was gosh darn super.

Not just smart. Not just brave.

Something else. Something bright. Something more. 

And he’s never stopped seeing it.

---

Lois Lane was unlike anyone he had ever met. She was exacting and blunt, not always traditionally “nice.” She was rough around the edges and guarded and a workaholic. Lois Lane had the kind of presence that filled a room before she ever opened her mouth. You could practically see the gears working overtime in her head, cranking this way and that.  

She was sometimes hard and loud and pushy, and hardly ever in one place. He thought he had super speed? He would look up and Lois was on a call with a foreign minister and then ten seconds later, she was marching to Perry’s office about some editor’s comments that she had a problem with. Several problems with. 

She knew herself and her talent, never feeling afraid to interject in staff meetings or tell a coworker they were being ridiculous when they hit a dead end that just needed a clever work around. 

Lois wasn’t exactly always polished, though her style was curated, personal, and practical. She had pieces that she loved, and would stand the test of time. 

She always looked great, effortlessly so, and even Cat would stop to ask where she’d picked up this sweater or that skirt. Lois would just wave her off with a shrug, insisting she’d had it for years, like it was nothing.

Her closet wasn’t overflowing, and she certainly didn’t try to chase trends. Every article of clothing had a purpose, and every outfit was worn into memory. She liked clean lines and pockets whenever she could get them. Nothing that would distract from her title. 

Still, there was always something striking about her. The kind of style that wasn’t trying to impress anyone but left people impressed anyway.

But she wasn’t all put together. She would often forget to eat or have ink smudged across her forearm. Her desk was a wreck and she would probably never clean it, and she had enough sugar for a month in a single day. 

She had sharp humor, sharper instincts, and a stubborn streak that could outlast just about anything.

And Clark was totally and completely smitten. 

Because she wasn’t just blunt; she was honest. She wasn’t just a workaholic; she was passionate. She wasn’t just loud; she cared, cared more than almost anyone. 

She might seem rough around the edges, but he knew her. He knew that every terrible news story broke her heart, even if she never showed it. 

He knew that she kept every thank-you note from the interns at the bottom of her drawer. 

He knew that on Bring Your Kid to Work Day, she would cross her arms and grumble about grubby fingers around the office, but come lunchtime, he would catch her coloring with the kiddos on the back table, telling them about corporate social responsibility while picking out the perfect blue for the sky. 

Like a cat, she never went to them, but she attracted them like magnets, each pawing at her to get her to come play. 

She was like that with animals too. When Jenny had to bring in her puppy one day because of a mix-up with the dog walker, Miss I’m Not An Animal Person Lane somehow ended up with Oliver sitting comfortably under her desk for the whole day, head resting on her loafers. 

She even reluctantly handed him some pieces of her apple after he started whining. 

And Lois wasn’t just sarcastic; she was funny in a cutting way, in a smart way. In a way that caught people off guard.

The thing with Lois was that she was always herself. She wasn’t hiding, not like him. 

And she was sweet, the way she celebrated his first front page. The way she gave him her jacket even though it was more of a gesture than anything he could practically use. Even if she would never admit it. Even if no one but him would notice.

She saw the whole picture, all the best parts of the story and the worst. And in the same vein, she saw him. Not just as Clark, not just as Superman, but the man in the center of the two. 

It probably didn’t help his crush that she was positively beautiful, so much so that it was like she was the yellow sun herself. It was definitely pretty safe to say that he wanted her the second he saw her, bulldozing through the floor like a tornado. She was light and fire and energy. She was stunning, and that was as irrefutable as 1 + 1 = 2. It was a fact, a constant, the simplest of terms to describe all that she is. 

When they sat shoulder to shoulder, he was sure that only his superhuman strength allowed him to restrain himself from pushing her hair out of her face, tracing her jaw with his fingers. 

He learned to pick her out from a crowd by her heartbeat, the way she walked a bit faster than most despite her shorter stride. The sound of her pulling out a notebook from her back pocket or the sound of sugar being dumped at an alarmingly quick rate. 

It calmed him, the simple acknowledgement that she was okay. 

Because he wanted this, wanted her - as much as he wanted to do good, to protect the helpless, and to go to sleep at night knowing that he made the world a better place. It felt like a chemical reaction every second he was near her, like there was something in his genetic makeup that was like - that’s her. That’s the one. There’s no one else. 

If she doesn’t like you, then what’s the point of love?

And maybe he was listening to too much Taylor Swift and maybe had a bookmarked list of dates he would like to try one day, but that was irrelevant. 

She would like a cake decorating class, wouldn’t she? She always picked the cupcake with the most frosting. 

ANYWAYS . . . 

And Clark wasn’t a complete and total optimist (thought many would disagree). He knew, despite the intensity of his feelings, it wasn’t like she was forced to feel the same way, but maybe it was fate or luck or something between the two, but somehow, she did. 

Maybe a culmination of all the good karma he had accumulated over the years. If that was the case, he would save every cat from a tree, tighten every wobbly screw, and find every lost earring. Plus a little monster fights and villain brawls here and there. 

Because kissing her in this moment, knowing that she was comfortable with his touch, eager to some piece of him too, that was more of a reward than anything. 

The thing was, the second that she broke the boundary, he was immediately surprised by how long he had lasted with it up. How did he endure? How did he survive? 

Because his hands around her waist, just a thin sheet of silk bunched between his thumb and her skin, just made sense. It was like kids who grew up on watered-down apple juice finally had the real stuff for the first time. Life-changing. Overwhelming. Irresistible. 

He was pretty sure he wanted to continue kissing her for the rest of his life. How gosh darn lucky was he that she had given him permission to a part of her, given him free rein to hold her as close as he could, flush against his body?

Clark could hardly believe that she was letting him this close, letting him explore and hold and learn. 

He almost laughed into the kiss because of how absurd it all was, that she was just as hungry as he was. Unmoored. 

Nothing else could compare. Not the jolt of energy from the yellow sun. Not a beautiful sunrise on the farm. Not a crowd of cheers and admirations. 

No. 

This was his lifeblood. Water in the desert. A hand warmer after you have been shoveling the driveway all day. An umbrella during a rainstorm. 

He would kiss her until her lips were swollen, until she laughed about needing a giant cup of coffee if they were going to keep this up, until the venue closed and the doors were locked. 

As Superman, all he did was speed around, live life as if it was on 2x speed, barely stopping to take a breath, but here, with Lois, all he wanted was to slow down. To savor every second with her, as if it would somehow disappear if he blinked. 

He wondered if it was too good, too fast, if it would burn out just as bright, but then she grabbed his tie with her right palm, dragging him down to meet her once more, and all doubt evaporated. That girl was going to be the death of him. He felt like he would be saying it for the rest of his life, but kryptonite didn’t hold a candle to Lois Lane. 

And no, she wasn’t kissing him because he was a superhero, because people wanted to take pictures with him, or have him sign their arms. There wasn’t something to be gained, no viral story she would tell about how she kissed Superman. 

She wanted him, and lucky for him, all he wanted was her. 

---

For all that was said about the Clark Exception, he was glad that they didn’t tend to mention the Lois Exception, because that went deeper and was rooted stronger than anything. 

Maybe the newsroom just accepted it, the way the sun rises or the coffee brews, knowing it wouldn’t ruffle him because he knew it too. Everyone knew it.

Even the receptionist would mention to him if Lois had swiped in or not that day. 

The Lois Exception was as ingrained in him as good table manners and sending thank-you cards. There was no separating the two. 

Clark Kent didn’t keep a calendar. His life operated on a certain level of chaos that didn’t fit into nicely organized blocks. World crises didn’t respect business hours. Burning buildings didn’t wait for a lunch break. 

But Clark had a system, well, he had a Lois. 

Ever since she welcomed him to the chair next to him at staff meetings, he decided he didn’t dread them anymore. 

But when he missed several meetings for his Southside research, she grumbled all day and had a 45-minute one-sided conversation about the sorry state of digital journalism with the new janitor. 

So, he made sure to always be at staff meetings, even if he had to email sources during one of Perry’s droning speeches. 

---

On every rainy day, he knew she’d let him walk her home, so he made sure to take care of all his superhero duties before work.

All the early-morning lost ducklings would be safely returned to their mothers, but come evening, they’d better stick close, because Clark Kent was busy holding up an umbrella for Lois and him.

---

He once cleared a train derailment in Japan in thirty-seven seconds flat because Lois was supposed to do an interview in Southside and he wasn’t about to trust even the most trained guards with her safety. 

He was gone before anyone could even ask him if he wanted onigiri. 

---

At the Daily Planet, people stopped questioning why Clark was rarely more than a hallway away when Lois needed something. Or how he always knew when she was in a mood and dropped off a cookie from the good place three blocks out of the way. Or how he wordlessly picked up her favorite pen when it slipped from her pocket in the bullpen.

---

He knew that his coworkers, mainly Jimmy and Cat and Jenny, mostly pitied him because Lois supposedly had a thing with Superman (little did they know), but he let it roll off his shoulders. 

It was a kind of sideways sympathy that hung in the air whenever they caught him being a bit too gentle with her, a bit too kind. It was honestly kind of funny how hard Jimmy tried to reassure him. He would clap Clark on the back, too quickly and too cheerfully, like overcompensation would distract from the fact that Jimmy thought Clark’s heart was being crushed. 

It made sense why they would pity him. They thought Lois was in love with Superman and that Clark was the guy on the sidelines who would never be chosen for the field. 

What they didn’t know was that every time she was joking with Superman on the scene, it was Clark who was doing the laughing. 

Cat was sure that with a few style modifications, Lois would choose him over the guy wearing trunks over his suit and she was convinced that another trip to the tailor would finally force Lois to open her eyes. 

Clark was okay with them pitying him. Let them misinterpret. Let them think Lois belonged to someone else. 

Because it didn’t matter, not really. Because if she was picking out records with Superman or resting her head on Clark’s shoulder in the bullpen, it was him that she chose. In any dimension. In any situation. In every scenario of a two-person love triangle. 

So when he brings her breakfast, a muffin or a chocolate croissant or an egg bagel (not scooped!) with scallion cream cheese, she knows that it’s for her and her alone. 

When she rummages through his desk for her favorite pens, Pilot V5s, or extra sugar packets, she unconsciously knows that she is always on his mind. 

And when Clark teases her - him, who so rarely teased anyone at all - she knew, without a shadow of doubt, that every soft edge of him was for her.

And when he stays late for her, promising that he has to finish up his work when she knows that his draft was handed in hours ago, she knew he had placed her past a boundary that only she was allowed to cross. 

The Lois Exception was alive and well all hours of the day. 

During meetings, when the only remaining chair was half-broken and too far from the projector, he let her have his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He poured her water whenever he fetched his own.

He made sure her favorite Planet mug, the one with the tiny chip at the rim where she dropped it after a particular fantastic interview, was spotless, even if it meant clearing out the dishwasher or washing it by hand.

And when her deadline loomed and she needed a quote or the right contact number, he would quietly track it down, leaving it on her desk without fanfare. 

When Perry suddenly appeared, looking for her while she was knee-deep in a deadline, Clark was already there. He casually intercepted, joking about a minor story lead or some historical fact, giving her the precious minutes she needed to finish without interruption.

In the bullpen, when pushy colleagues started walking towards her, he’d lean in, deep in “conversation” with her so they would be forced to turn on their heel, leaving Lois free to think, write, or just breathe.

Each of these gestures, small in isolation, wove together into something undeniable: that no matter the chaos, no matter the distractions, she was his exception. 

---

The truth was, Clark didn’t plan to have a Lois Exception, and in fact, he never once decided that his world would bend around a single person. Somehow it had. Doesn’t it always? And over time it had become the constant in a life otherwise defined by chaos, a quiet, unshakable anchor in the shape of her. She was the person he slowed down for.

It wasn’t about favors, and it wasn’t even about love, though God, that was wrapped up in every fiber of it. It was about priority, about instinctively placing her first. 

Lois Lane didn’t make demands. But she didn’t need to. Clark Kent rearranged his world, his time, his routes, his energy, his entire schedule of saving people, around her.

He never once thought of it as a sacrifice, nor would he, because the act of placing her at the center of his world was as instinctive as it was inevitable.

Because the truth was simple, if unspoken: She mattered most.

And that was the rule, not the exception.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lois did was laugh, a sharp, giddy sound that echoed into the night. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, his hands still around her waist. 

If only old Lois could see her now. The same woman who nearly decked Jimmy Olsen once for sneaking up on her was now letting Clark Kent hold her like this. 

Clark dipped his chin against her hair, his thumb drawing slow circles against the curve of her waist. The kind of touch that said he wasn’t in a hurry, that he could stay like this forever.

“Clark,” she said, “Now, how are we ever going to go back to normal?”

“Do you want to go back to normal?”

He got his answer when she met his eyes, brushed her thumb across his cheek, and shook her head. “No, I think I can get used to this.” 

Lois put her hand on the back of his neck, on top of tippy toes, pulling him down once more to brush her lips against his. 

Yeah, there was no going back. 

---

Okay, so the kiss was good. Okay, it was great. Lois wasn’t mushy, but if she was, she would’ve said that it felt like something inside her had been jump-started, like her whole body was being rewired from the inside out. 

But Lois wasn’t mushy, so she would settle for fine. It was a kiss. How much weight could you really give a kiss? 

How much weight could you give the way he looked at her like she was something fragile, something that could slip through his fingers at any moment and he would do anything to keep her just there, in his arms. 

One second more. Another breath. 

No one had ever thought of Lois Lane as fragile, as someone worth handling with care. 

It was jarring for someone to see past the armor that sometimes she even forgot she wore. 

Because for all she pretended to be, Lois Lane was a little girl who looked out into the audience of her recitals and didn’t see anyone cheering for her. She would slip out after the performance, when all the little kids were talking about going out for ice cream or thanking their parents for bringing flowers, and hide in the bathroom until someone was there to pick her up. Usually not her father. Sometimes a babysitter. Sometimes a recruit. 

And they would give her that same sorry smile. She hated it with everything in her. 

But years later, she still remembered waiting in those bathrooms, hoping no one would see her, hoping that none of the other kids would feel sorry for her. She remembered how she would pull her legs up so no one could recognize her shoes in the stall. 

So, yes, maybe Lois Lane was fragile, but she had worked so hard to make it seem not so. 

And here he was, looking at her like that, wanting to be the one to pull her out of the bathroom and say that he was here. He would be the one to come for her. 

And Lois didn’t exactly know what to do with that information. 

It had been so long since she let anyone care for her, she was afraid she wasn’t sure how to do it. 

With Clark, she felt exposed, vulnerable, and she didn’t know if she loved it or hated it, but she did decide that she wanted to kiss him again, to quiet the part of her brain that always demanded an exit strategy. To let herself stay, just this once, without thinking about the fallout. 

To not look out into the audience to see if anyone was there. To just focus on singing the next verse, hoping someone was sitting in the reserved seat out in the crowd. 

Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe it would work out if they took it one minute at a time. One day. 

Because maybe if they didn’t name it, then it couldn’t fall apart. 

Maybe if she didn’t think about how much this meant to her, it would all be okay if it disappeared the next day. 

So, she put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, swung his left arm around her shoulders, holding his hand tight as they took the few steps back to the rooftop door. 

Maybe if she just said it was fine, then she wouldn’t break if this didn’t work out. 

It was fine. Fine. 

---

Her mind quieted on the drive back to her apartment, her hand resting in his. It was quiet and small and shy, unlike the burst of everything that happened on the rooftop. 

She imagined it would’ve felt like this for a high school boy to drive her home, kiss her under the lights on a front porch surrounded by hydrangeas a mother would plant, and promise to call her the next morning. But Lois never had that. She had flights to foreign countries, a hundred school records, missed school dances, and a father who wasn’t even home to berate her dates. 

She didn’t miss what she’d never had (or at least she pushed away any inkling of hurt at first light), until tonight. Until Clark made her wonder what it would’ve been like to live a softer life, one where people stayed and love didn’t come with an expiration date.

She didn’t like to hope, because with hope, there was loss. 

So instead, Lois focused on him. 

For once, she didn’t mind how slowly he drove, or the way he put on music that she probably would’ve made fun of in any other context, or how he kept stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, like making sure she was still there. 

It was so high school. She almost laughed at herself. Lois Lane, reduced to butterflies over a boy holding her hand.  Ridiculous. But she didn’t pull away either.

Because try as she would to pretend she didn’t want this, need someone, she wanted him. 

And by the time he pulled up outside her building, she was surprised that the spell of the night still hadn’t broken. He opened her door, held her heels, and placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked to her apartment door. The city lights shimmered on their skin, royal blues and golds and something so serene and comfortable. 

If they were in a movie, the boy would ask the girl to dance, spinning her around on the damp pavement. 

Lois never admitted it, but she watched those silly little romcoms, in the comfort of her own bed, in some country or another, pretending that everything was alright. When there was no one home to make her dinner, Casablanca was there. When another Mother’s Day passed, Harry Met Sally kept her company. The Notebook filled the silences of her temporary homes. 

She hated to dream, hated to hope, hated to wish that her life be filled with a love so grand, with someone to open a bottle of wine with her when the clock struck midnight. 

But here, with him, and his stupid goofy smile that made her heart soar, she couldn’t help it. 

And no, Clark didn’t ask her to dance, but he did linger at her door, finding her waist again, memorizing her with his gaze. All she could focus on was the gentle curve of that impossible smile and the hope that she wouldn’t ruin this and it would all go away tomorrow. 

She didn’t expect people to stay, but God did she want it. 

So she’ll say the kiss was fine. It was fine. Fine. 

And she would try not to put any weight on it when he asked her officially, to go on a real date because according to Clark, the night of the big reveal didn’t count. 

She tried not to seem too eager when she said yes. 

Because it was all non-consequential. It was fine. 

It didn’t make her heart beat faster thinking of it all. Didn’t make her cheeks get all red when remembering his hand reaching out for hers, like it was waiting for her all along. 

Wait, fuck. He could probably hear her heart pounding from all the way across town. 

It was fine. Fine. That’s it.

Just a kiss. 

---

They weren’t dating. It was a kiss. Several. The sweetest one at her door that made her acknowledge that she fit perfectly in his arms. 

No. It was nothing. She had first kisses with lots of people. A guy in a band when she was 16. A guy she never learned the name of when she was at a bar way too late. Quite a few guys in college who were mostly just abs and jawlines.

They weren’t together. She didn’t have to see him today. It was Sunday. She had seen him every other day this week. She would see him tomorrow, but she missed his hands tangled up in her hair. Missed the way his laugh seemed to follow her around the room, like everything she said was important. 

Don’t be desperate. She didn’t have to text him first. Do something. Maybe throw out her dead houseplant or finally donate some books she already had in a box in the living room. 

But then she saw her shoes, perfectly lined up by the door and just like that, her careful plan to stay busy and detached crumbled. He had left traces of himself everywhere, little acts of thoughtfulness that woven themselves into her life so subtly that she didn’t even notice as they started to take shape. 

She told herself it was reckless, unnecessary, even a little foolish to care so much. And yet, she couldn’t stop imagining his laugh echoing through her apartment, his voice teasing her from the other side of the room.

With one swipe of her phone, she texted him: So do I start accumulating Air Kent miles? 

She almost got a text back immediately: That means there’s going to be a next time?

Lois curled her feet under her on the couch, pulling a blanket over her knees: Not sure yet. I get Biscoff cookies when I fly Delta. 

Will cornbread suffice?

Bring me some and I’ll decide. Was that too forward? Maybe she was sounding a bit too needy.

I'll be right over.

Before she could even grab her tea from the coffee table, there was a knock at her door. 

She was still in an old college t-shirt and shorts that she had probably had for at least 5 years. Lois should really remember that he had super speed in these situations. 

“Hi,” she said, opening the door.

“Hi,” he replied, balancing a few slices of cornbread in a Tupperware and a small butter crock.

“How was traffic?” she asked, tilting her head, a smirk playing on her lips. 

Clark laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, his head tilting back slightly. And just like that, any trace of next-day post-kiss awkwardness vanished.

She opened the door wider, turning her back and knowing that he would follow. 

The kitchen was too small for a proper table, so they settled onto the couch instead, close enough that their knees brushed together.

Clark swiped a bit of butter onto the cornbread, holding it out for her to take the first bite. Lois leaned forward, her fingers brushing his as she guided the piece into her mouth.

“Delicious,” she said, eyes fluttering.

“Better than the food last night?” he asked, playful.

A smile on her lips, “God yes. Did you see that Jimmy brought trail mix?” 

Clark laughed. “Good on him. I just don’t get fancy dinners sometimes. Everything looked beautiful, but I’m mostly certain that one of the dishes was just raw vegetables and a few dollops of ranch.”

“An elevated ranch reduction with farm-to-table ingredients.”

They laughed and talked and it was all the same as before, but at some point, Lois shifted, propping her legs up on the couch and draping them over his lap. His hands found her shin, tracing idle, lazy patterns that made her heart beat a little faster.

“So, how can you fly?” she leaned into the couch, her head resting on the cushion. 

“How do you breathe? How do you speak? It just happens,” he shrugged, resting one hand firmly on her calf. 

“I mean, the science of it all. At least tell me, do you push off? It doesn’t look like you need a running start? Do you get winded more easily than running? Or super speed?”

Clark laughed, “Always with the questions.”

“Did you ever expect any less?” she shot back, smirking.

“It’s like my body is covered in a force field that neither you nor I can see, but I can feel it. It radiates around me, protecting me. That’s what stops the bullets.” 

He reached across and took her hand.

It felt like him, just his hand, slightly calloused, warm. It didn’t feel different, like there was a force field or barrier. 

“It’s always there, strong and solid.”

His gaze drifted to the window, where a single stream of sunlight bounced off her table, glinting on the ceramic mug, her necklace. “I’m powered by the yellow sun. It strengthens the field.”

He took her hand and guided it up and down his arm. 

“It covers me, my entire body, and I’ve learned to manipulate it… to change gravity’s effect, to… fly.”

Lois felt a shiver, not from the air, but from the closeness, the gentle way he guided her hand, the soft, domestic ease of sitting together like this.

She drew in a breath.

This is fine. Totally fine. Normal.

Nothing to see here, Lane. Don’t make it bigger than it is.

Except it was bigger and if she leaned in now, it could turn into something, either something extraordinary or something that might wreck them both.

And that was the problem.

So she did what she always did when her chest went tight and her heart threatened to give too much away: she deflected.

“So you’re telling me you’ve been walking around inside an invisible hamster ball this whole time?”

“Lois, it’s a force field!” 

“Same thing!”

But his hand was still on her calf. His arm still propped on the top of the couch, reaching out to her. 

He was still laughing and talking and cutting her pieces of cornbread. 

Maybe it would all be okay. Take it slow enough that she wouldn’t feel like she needed to run, and he didn’t see the girl hiding in the bathroom, hoping someone would stay.

Chapter Text

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Lois leaned against the wall. He was pulling on his shoes one by one, his hand against the front door, more of an instinct than a need for balance. 

“Monday,” Clark repeated, standing up straight. He held a clean plate and butter crock in one hand. 

“Monday,” she repeated, softer this time.

The hinges groaned as he opened the door, a strip of light cutting across the carpet. From somewhere down the hall came the muffled yap of a neighbor’s dog. 

Clark shifted, about to step across the threshold, Lois holding the door open with her right hand. 

Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out and caught his arm. He turned, startled, and she pulled him down the last few inches, pressing her mouth to his.

Don’t think, she told herself.

It wasn’t neat or planned, the kind of kiss that admitted she was terrified of wanting this but couldn’t stop herself anyway. It was deep and earnest, punctuating the fact that no, yesterday wasn’t a fluke. They could laugh over shared breakfast anytime, like they used to, but something had shifted between them yesterday and she wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t happen.

Then she felt it, the curve of his smile against her lips.

“Monday is too far away,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the edge of her cheek.

“It's tomorrow. You’ll survive, and then I’ll be back to driving you insane with half-baked leads and sources who never call me back.”

“Is that a promise?”

Lois laughed, “You’re cheesy, you know that?” 

“I blame it all on you,” his smile didn’t falter. 

Lois rolled her eyes, her hand hitting his chest. With a light nudge, she pushed him into the hall, “Go, before I have you arrested for being too corny.” 

Clark chuckled, stepping through the doorway. “See you tomorrow, Lois.”

She watched him leave, giving him a little wave before shutting the door and pressing her back to it as the latch clicked. Lois tried to fight a smile. 

It was fine. It was all just fine. 

---

There weren’t words to describe how amazing it felt kissing her. 

Spectacular. Life-changing. Breathtaking. 

Clark, focus. 

The wind whipped around his body as the clouds blurred across his vision. He cut through the sky like a blade, sharp and direct. His cape snapped violently behind him, a red streak across the horizon. 

Should he text her? It was Sunday. Maybe something casual. Nonchalant. 

Wait, no. What was he thinking? 

Just leave it. He just has to wait a couple of hours until tomorrow. 

He reached his target, a plane that was quickly descending, one engine clearly blown. With one hand, he braced himself against the nose, his palm meeting metal. He could hear the frantic thud of footsteps, the gasp of passengers pressing against the windows, desperate to make sense of the impossible.

Would she let him kiss her again? Not at the Planet. She was very direct in asking to keep whatever this was private. Theirs.

From inside, one voice cut through the noise:

“Okay, I know I just poured my heart out to you and said some... less-than-flattering things about your dad because I thought I was going to die,” a man said into his phone, “but I’m pretty sure Superman’s saving us right now, so maybe ignore that last bit. Will you still be able to pick me up from JFK?”

Clark guided the plane the rest of the way, holding it steady with one hand. 

She made total sense. Lois had been clear. Office politics and gossip at the coffee machine - she wanted to avoid all of it. Plus, though she would deny it in public, she didn’t like the idea of HR moving their desks farther apart. 

He steadied the aircraft as wheels met pavement. Clark released a burst of arctic breath to cool any sparks from the engine. The plane groaned to a stop. 

The door soon opened with a hiss, and a bright-orange inflatable slide burst forth, unfurling toward the tarmac. 

Lois was being perfectly logical. Completely rational. Nothing to take personally.

If they announced to their coworkers that they might possibly be on the right path to agreeing that maybe they wouldn’t be opposed to dating down the line (Lois’ words), Jimmy might actually freak out on Lois because he still thought she had a thing for Superman. He wasn’t wrong, but that also wasn’t the point.

But yeah, better not let those dots between Superman and Clark get pieced together. 

He watched as people slid down the slide, occasionally reaching out and manually flying certain older guests from the inside of the plane to the ground below, their feet softly touching pavement. 

Cat probably wouldn’t leave them alone if she found out. By 9:01am, the whole office would know. Lois was right. Just keep it between them, though Clark would admit that he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He kissed Lois Lane.

Maybe if he flew to a high enough overhang, that’s exactly what he could do. That seemed pretty cathartic. The birds would get quite the show.

Whatever the case, he is fine to go with whatever she wanted to do as long as she continues to let him kiss her senseless. 

It was a pretty great tradeoff. 

---

Okay but even if they didn’t say anything at the Planet, after work was fair game, right? Before work? At lunch? In the breakroom alone? 

Clark, focus. 

He mixed up some eggs, dropping them into the pan with a pinch of salt and pepper. 

And next Saturday. That was definitely fair game, the day she agreed could be their first official date. 

---

His late afternoon was spent at the beach. It was a surprisingly windy day, and he was sure he could spend the rest of the evening at Metropolis State Beach, catching airborne umbrellas before they decided to poke someone’s eye out. 

He already caught three, and a fourth umbrella was hanging by a thread, spinning around like a top every time the wind blew this way or that. 

Focus on superhero-ing. Don’t be needy. Let her set the pace. She hasn’t texted again after this morning. She’s probably busy.

Clark flipped over an overturned horseshoe crab, and it scurried towards the edge of the water. 

He blew a cooling breath on a child’s ice cream before it melted right off the cone. 

“Thank you, Superman.”

“Anytime, kid.”

By 6pm, he had already dislodged two speed boats that found themselves beached on the sandbars. He didn’t argue when the boaters offered him a couple of slices of watermelon. 

Okay, but shouldn’t she be texting him by now? Even if just to follow up on a story lead. 

She was the one who first texted him this morning. Maybe she was waiting for him to be the first one to text tonight. Is that possible?

Where were all those psychology books he had lying around somewhere? Can he reverse engineer the right answer? 

It probably meant nothing that she hadn’t texted after this morning. Maybe she was grocery shopping. When he looked in her fridge, he saw a sad bunch of soggy spinach, sriracha, too many Red Bulls, half a container of leftover bibimbap, and dinosaur chicken nuggets. The situation was dire. 

Should he get her groceries? No, that would be too much. 

He handed a bucket of water to a little girl who was building a sandcastle. It was more of a sand blob, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her. 

Just last until tomorrow. 

He could at least start planning the date. 

---

She spent probably too long picking out her outfit for the day, but most of the time was spent chastising herself for even caring. 

He had seen her in old pajamas. He had seen her in wrinkled shirts after a day of hard investigation, culminating in a very unplanned nap at her desk. It shouldn't matter. It didn’t matter. 

And if she picked out one of her favorite purple sweaters, that was purely because it was one of the only things not in her hamper, begging for a wash day. 

And when she met his gaze as she walked into the bullpen, that shouldn’t matter either, but her heart still jumped. A coffee was already steaming hot at her desk, a chocolate croissant resting on a plate big enough so the flakes wouldn’t fall on her files. 

“Morning,” she said. 

“Morning,” he replied. 

Lois, focus. 

---

They were in one of the larger conference rooms for their annual sexual harassment training that not a single person was thrilled about. Plus, the lecturer was probably older than the videos which was saying a lot because they were on mislabeled DVDs, VHSs, and even a floppy disk. At least they got to skip that one because believe it or not, none of the computers had a slot for a floppy disk. 

The seats were lined up in large semi-circles around the screen at the front of the room. 

Cat and Lois were on the leftmost side of the row of chairs. Jimmy and Clark on the right. They came in later. Jimmy was wiping his memory cards and Clark was coming back from a doctor’s appointment (removing a stalled vehicle from the center of a highway). 

Lois dimmed the screen brightness. She pulled up her messages, careful to make sure that Cat wasn’t looking. 

Clark, I’m convinced the presenter is actually going to make himself fall asleep. He keeps blinking for way too long. 

She hit send and out of the corner of her eye, she caught Clark glance down at his phone. A tiny twitch of his mouth gave him away before he typed something back.

Lois, you have to pay attention. 

Lois quietly huffed under her breath. 

Perry is playing Wordle.

Sure enough, the boss was not very discreetly playing on his laptop. Who plays on their laptop? 

Lois continued: We should force Cat and Jimmy to make new instructional videos, ones that don’t require a VHS player and a TV that’s as deep as it is wide. 

He held his phone mostly out of sight as he texted a reply: I think those videos would be more entertainment than educational. 

Then at least Steve would be awake. She nodded towards the back. Sure enough, Steve was using an unopened family-size bag of Doritos as a pillow. 

Right on cue, he snorted himself awake, jerking upright in alarm.

Clark couldn’t stifle his laugh.

Without looking up from his game, Perry barked, “Kent. Eyes up front.”

Lois only smirked, biting back her own laughter.

---

She could feel him waiting. It was a quarter past 7 and almost everyone had made their way home, probably half the staff deciding against cooking dinner and instead ordering from the closest restaurant. There were only three of them left.

“And so that’s why I ended up going with a butter yellow Kitchenaid,” Cat was leaning up against Lois’ desk, playing absentmindedly with her paperclips, “What do you think? I know it’s the color of the season, but do you think it’s going to go out of style too quickly?”

“Yellow?”

“Butter yellow,” Cat corrected, “Here, wait, I’ll just show you.” She pulled out her phone. 

Lois heard Clark hit the spacebar about a dozen times. He was horrible at pretending to work. 

“Cat,” Lois said, pulling the phone out of her hands and setting it on the desk, “You know I love you right?”

“Actually, Lois, I really didn’t. I thought so, mostly because you didn’t murder me when I spilled your entire drink in class, but then you grumbled the rest of the night so I wasn’t actually sure. You know, you don’t always express yourself very well. I have this amazing healer who can help, well she’s a hypnotist. Lives in Croatia, but I can get you a cheap data plan . . .”

“Cat . . .” Lois said again, this time, stuffing Cat’s phone into her purse, and handing her her jacket that was folded on top of Lois’ desk, “It’s time for you to go home. Plan a new Tiktok for Perry to decline to do.”

Cat didn’t fight back as Lois pretty much turned her towards the elevator bank. “But you can really benefit from a chakra reset. Maybe a sound bath?” 

“Tell me tomorrow,” Lois paused, “Actually just send it all in an email and I’ll be sure to read it. Yes, email is better. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Cat shrugged, “There was a spider in my apartment yesterday and I really think I need to give him time to do his spider things so hopefully he doesn’t bother me when I get home. Boundaries are important.”

Lois turned her empty glass cup upside down and stuffed that, along with a piece of printer paper, into Cat’s arms. “Take back your space.” She echoed Cat’s usual rallying cry, “Girl power, amirite?”

Cat didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t drop the cup or paper either. “Don’t ignore me if I call. Spider bites can be deadly.”

Lois walked her halfway to the elevators, shooing her the rest of the way. “Or you’ll turn into Spider-Man. Don’t you always say you look good in red?”

Just as the doors closed, she felt a hand on her arm. 

She turned, and Clark’s eyes met hers, lingering, soft and searching, his pupils flicking as if reading her, waiting, holding back just enough.

A small laugh escaped her as her fingertips brushed against his. That tiny, electric contact was enough.

He leaned slightly closer, deliberate, and then he kissed her, careful and patient but certain at the same time.

"You made it to Monday," she softened against him.

"By the skin of my teeth," he replied, his fingers entwining with hers. 

And she had made it another day too, like she promised herself. One day at a time. One minute. 

And underneath everything, their first day back at the office officially as two coworkers, turned friends, who were now potentially seeing one another (still Lois' words), was surprisingly normal.

She teased him and he still smiled that silly smile. He still brought her coffee and waited for her at the end of the day. Now, the only thing that changed was that she got to kiss him, laugh when she knew how much he wanted to kiss her. 

It was an addendum to their friendship, really. Because they were still the same. Still Clark and Lois, scratch that, Lois and Clark. 

And subconsciously, maybe she was starting to let herself admit what her heart had been whispering all along. 

Maybe it wasn’t just fine.

Maybe, if she allowed herself to feel it fully, it was more than fine.

Maybe, dare she say it, it was good.

Chapter Text

Lois had developed a habit of calling Clark over to her desk more often than usual this week. Sometimes she had a real reason. A lead she wanted his take on. A quote she needed help placing.

Other times . . . well.

He was trying to finish editing a zoning story when he heard her call his name.

“Clark. Come here for a second.”

He pushed back from his desk, already frowning, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

When he rolled up beside her, she held out a stick of string cheese between her thumb and pointer, dangling it in front of his face. “Try it and tell me if this is expired.”

He blinked at her, “I think I’ll pass.”

She didn’t seem to mind his denial as she shrugged her shoulders and tossed out the snack. But as he went to roll back to his side across the aisle, she lodged her hand under the frame of the chair, effectively trapping him beside her. Was it too obvious that he didn’t mind?

The next day, she called him over and asked him to decide which headline was better. She had only written one. 

---

“And so, the head of the Department of Health and Safety was going to get me over the reports, but I tried his secretary again an hour ago, and she had no idea what I was talking about.” Lois held her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she threw some towels into the washing machine. She punched a few buttons before she heard water start to fill the drum. 

“I think I have a contact over there from an article we did a couple of months ago about funding. Let me see if I can pull it up . . .” Lois heard keys clacking in the background. 

She scraped the crumbs off her plate into the trash, dropped it into the sink, and muttered, “Thanks. Perry’s breathing down my neck. He wants this article out ASAP. If we can finish it in the next . . .” she glanced at her watch, “. . . hour, it’ll make the morning paper.”

“Okay, I just emailed him. He’s usually pretty responsive. And we just need those final reports to . . .”

“Cross-check the numbers in the copy,” Lois cut in, dropping onto her couch. She tossed her phone onto the cushion beside her long enough to tie her hair into a messy ponytail, then scooped it back up. “Other than that, the piece is ready to go.”

“Great. Now we just wait.”

She fiddled with the zipper on her throw pillow, “How was superhero-ing today? Save any wayward squirrels?”

“I brought a pigeon with a broken wing to the Wild Bird Sanctuary.”

Lois laughed, “Of course you did! Why am I not surprised? Is it going to make a full recovery?”

“They used vet tape to wrap it all up. Said it would take a few weeks, but they didn’t seem too worried.” 

“The news never covers your animal saves. No articles about your bird/squirrel/crab triage unit. I think they’re biased. Just interested in things with explosions, fire, aliens, or screaming.”

“Don’t forget space.”

“How could I ever forget space?”

“Animals are people too. Well, not people, but you get what I mean. They matter.”

Lois leaned her head back against the couch, smiling despite herself. “Only you would put a pigeon on the same level as an alien invasion.”

“Someone has to,” he said, not missing a beat. “Besides, it would be too stressful to only care about saving the world. It helps to remember that the small things matter too.”

Her hand stilled on the zipper, the faint smile lingering as she listened. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “I get that.”

“So, you’re telling me that The Daily Planet will be the first newspaper to print a front page on Superman’s animal rescues?”

Lois smiled, “Don’t push your luck, Boy Scout. But I wouldn’t be against talking to my friends over at Animal Planet to see if they can make you the next ‘Bindi the Jungle Girl.’”

“I would say yes, but I don’t think you would ever let me live it down.”

“Yeah, something tells me that I would never run out of jokes.”

“Guess I’ll have to stick to the cape and forgo the khakis,” he said lightly.

Lois huffed a laugh, “Tragic. The world will never know what it missed.”

“Stop. We all know you would watch every episode.”

“Please. I’d watch once, just to point and laugh. You’re ridiculous,” She smirked into the phone. She would probably watch every episode.

“And yet you're still on the phone with me.”

“For work.”

“Work. Right.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Lois absently twisted the zipper pull between her fingers, feeling the weight of the day start to slip from her shoulders. He was still there on the other end of the line, solid, steady, like he always was.

---

They stood shoulder to shoulder at the bulky old printer, waiting for it to spit out the last of their pages, because printing was a two-person job, as was common knowledge.

The thing rattled like it was trying to shake itself apart. 

Lois tapped her nails against the edge of the tray. 

“Wear something casual tomorrow,” he said, eyes fixed on the sluggish printer like he was talking about nothing more consequential than a jammed staple.

“Why don’t you tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I never liked surprises,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “We used to have surprise wake-ups at the base to do early morning runs. Still have nightmares.”

Clark chuckled under his breath, “There will be no running involved, I promise.”

“You gotta give me more than that,” she pressed.

He glanced down at her, blue eyes sparking with a kind of quiet mischief. “Just trust me.”

The printer clunked out the last page with a dramatic sigh. Lois snatched it up, pretending to be more interested in the copy than in the fact that his hand had brushed hers in the exchange.

---

“No one has ever picked me up for a date. They’re always like - ‘Let’s meet 10min from my apartment.’ And we all know what that means and . . .” she felt his hand cover hers as they walked down the street, “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I like it when you ramble.”

She shook her head, smiling, “And the flowers, Kent? Who even does that anymore?”

“They were purple,” he said simply, as though that explained everything, “They reminded me of you.”

The remark pulled her up short, something about the ease with which he said it. Before she could think of a reply, he nodded toward the corner at the end of the street. “Almost there.”

“We better not be square dancing or going to a country music concert.”

Clark laughed, “Is that all you think we do in Kansas?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Where would I even find square dancing in Metropolis?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

They circled the block, and a strikingly sleek building came into view. It was massive. 7 stories. A glass and steel facade covered in enormous windows. In front of it stood a 75 foot high stone tablet, engraved with the First Amendment, covering a significant section of the exterior. 

“You took me to the Newseum?” Lois’ eyes opened wide as she let go of his hand, briskly walking to the front, “I’ve never been!”

Clark chucked, “I know. The Daily Planet gives everyone a voucher, and yours has sat unused on your desk ever since I started there.”

She craned her neck to read the tablet, taking in the towering stone letters. She ran a hand over the edge of the stone, then looked back at Clark with a grin that didn’t quite hide her awe.

“Beats square dancing?”

Lois shot him a look. He chucked. 

“You know they have a Pulitzer Prize photographs gallery? Jimmy went on for a good 45 minutes after the first time he went,” she grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the entrance. 

Stepping inside, Lois felt cool air wash over her. The lobby stretched wide, sunlight streaming through the massive windows. 

It was busy, families and tourists, and the occasional school group with matching t-shirts and exhausted chaperones. 

High above, the ceiling was adorned with hanging banners and digital screens flashing news headlines from around the world.

Clark let her lead as soon as their tickets were scanned and Lois had pocketed a map. 

“Wow… It’s huge,” she murmured, letting go of Clark’s hand for a moment to spin slowly in place, eyes on the ceiling. 

Everywhere, exhibits were arranged thoughtfully, blending interactive screens, photographs, and artifacts.

Lois moved from one display to the next, fingers grazing over the info plaques as though she could absorb the history by touch alone. She nudged him gently, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Did you take me here to gloat?”

In front of her was a spread of articles about a Metropolis earthquake, which quite literally shook the city. Newspaper articles, livestreams, 911 transcripts, first-hand testimonials. And him, photos of Superman leading rescue teams, pulling people out of rubble. Every heroic act immortalized in print.

He was silent, the screams echoing in his ears. The people he couldn’t save. The bodies they had to ID. 

Lois noticed the furrow of his brow, the slight slump of his shoulders. She slipped a hand to his back, pressing small, soothing circles along his spine. “Hey… It’s alright. It was a hard day. You did so much good.”

“But sometimes it’s not enough,” he sighed, letting an easy arm rest on her shoulder. 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it is. It’s enough. You should be applauded for the lives you save, not the ones you couldn’t.”

“Lois . . .”

“Stop. I mean it,” she turned to face him so he couldn’t look away. “You’re not responsible for the world.”

He went to speak, but she cut him off.

“No, really. Listen to me. Everyone. The people. The government. The country. The world. They don't get to demand perfection, but they should recognize courage.”

He glanced down at her, and for a heartbeat, the world of flashing screens, flashing headlines, and screams faded, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment. His hand brushed the seam of her shoulder; she grabbed hold. 

---

She continued through the museum like a kid in a candy store. 

Rows of television screens played historic broadcasts. Lois noticed life-size re-creations of newsrooms from different eras: typewriters, rotary phones, desks that once belonged to reporters who changed history. 

She pointed out how Perry still sometimes used one of those typewriters and never remembered how to change the ink.

Interactive exhibits invited visitors to try their hand at crafting a headline, editing video, or deciphering the rush of tips like a real reporter.

“You’re so bad at this,” Clark laughed. They were seated next to one another, a giant screen in front of them. It was some sort of game aimed at teaching (mostly children) how various aspects of a newsroom worked. 

Lois squinted at the screen, furrowing her brow. “Wait, what? How did I get that wrong? I’ve been doing this for years! This is literally my job!”

Clark glanced over, trying to hide his smirk. “Maybe you’re losing your edge, Lane. Should I send your score to Perry?”

She shot him a glare. “It’s rigged.”

“It says for kids 7 and up.”

“Who even made this game? Probably some idiot who has never even been in a bullpen,” she lowered her head to try to find a manufacturer code or something to prove her point. 

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “I’m starting to think your ‘years of experience’ just make you overconfident.”

“Overconfident?” she echoed, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll have you know . . . ” She froze, noticing his teasing grin. “Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Definitely not enjoying it. Nope. Not even a little.”

“Rematch.”

---

Everywhere Lois looked, history was made tactile and immediate. It was a cathedral to storytelling. 

She was in heaven. 

---

The exhibit looked simple: two microphones, a green screen, a camera, and a teleprompter. 

“Hope you’re ready to lose.”

Clark chuckled, following her to the front. “It’s not even a game. How can I lose at a news report?”

“You’re not sounding like a winner . . . ”

Before he could respond, the screen started counting them down. 

Lois read her first line flawlessly: “Good evening, Metropolis. Tonight, city officials are reviewing proposals for the new community center, aimed at bringing together families, children, and seniors.”

Clark stumbled on his first line, reading too quickly for the teleprompter. 

Lois continued, pointing her hand at the green screen, “Weather tonight is looking good for most of the city.” She ran her hand from the top of the map to the bottom, “Clear skies from Bakerline to Queensland Park.” She pointed east, “Some rain near the Old City this evening.”

Nailed it. 

Clark, on the other hand, pointed west when he was supposed to be pointing east and waved his hand around Midtown when he was supposed to be highlighting Park Ridge. 

He whispered to Lois, “How did you even do this? I don’t even know which direction I’m supposed to move.”

“Shh, we’re on air,” she laughed. 

“You’re crushing me.”

Lois gave him a pat on the back, “You know, being a reporter helps.”

The last few lines scrolled over the teleprompter, and this time Clark read slower, deliberately overemphasizing every word, while Lois continued to dominate the lines, confident and unshakable. 

Each time he glanced at her, she was smiling, triumphant, and undeniably irresistible.

---

They wrapped up their visit with a ridiculously funny recording of their teleprompter misadventures, a t-shirt she insisted she buy him that read “Breaking News, Not Hearts,” and five fewer dollars in her wallet thanks to two competing tip jars at the register, one for the Daily Planet, the other for the Metropolis Inquisitor. 

Lois might be competitive with Clark, but her loyalty to the Planet far outstripped any friendly rivalry when it came to outshining the Inquisitor.

---

Clark led Lois out of the museum. “There’s a park just a five-minute walk from here,” he said. “Thought we could check out the food trucks if you’re hungry.”

“I’m so glad we’re not going to a fancy restaurant. There are only so many times I can say thank you after they refill your water every time you take a sip.”

They hugged the sidewalk as the streetlights started to blink on. 

Soon, the park opened up before them, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting everything gold and orange. A small lake reflected the colors, ripples spreading across the water. She had to pause, taking it in.

If he could get her to smile like that for the rest of his life, he would be satisfied. 

They strolled past rows of food trucks, the scent of sizzling meat, spices, and sweet dough filling the air. She walked towards the one with the shortest line, before she felt him lead her in a different direction. 

“Actually,” he admitted sheepishly, “There’s one truck at the end I think you might like. I know you spent a long time at a base in Germany. Thought you might miss some of the food. Their currywurst is supposed to be excellent.”

Lois blinked, letting him lead the way. “You remembered?”

“Of course I remember,” he replied earnestly. 

She gave him a look, a half tilt of her head. 

They ordered easily, most of the lines were at other trucks for ramen burgers and boba in light bulb shaped containers and kool-aid pickles. Her eyes went wide when she realized Clark ordered in fluent German. 

When their food arrived, they clutched their paper dishes to their chests before settling on the grass in front of the lake. 

She mixed mayo and ketchup and laughed when he looked puzzled, “Seems weird, but trust me, it’s good. Don’t argue.” She dipped a fry into the mixture before holding it close to his lips. “Open.”

He obeyed, chewing cautiously. “Not horrible,” he admitted.

Lois laughed, “What a glowing review.”

She took her own bite, melting with each nibble.

They sank into a comfortable silence as the sun dipped over the water. Their discarded plates lay to the side. 

Clark leaned back on his elbows, watching her launch into a story that promised to last the next fifteen minutes. 

He gazed at her, the way her hair caught the light, the small tilt of her head as she laughed. 

“What?” she asked finally.

He shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m just glad you said yes.”

“I am too,” she replied, then added with a teasing smirk, “Would’ve made the newsroom really awkward if I hadn’t.”

“Because that’s the only reason?” he teased.

“The only reason,” she confirmed, but leaned into him. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her a little closer as the last light shimmered across the lake.

Chapter Text

“You know German,” she said as she poured hot water into two mismatched mugs. They were so old that she had forgotten where she acquired them. Like furniture that used to be your old roommate’s grandmother’s, that has now somehow become a staple in your home. 

She couldn’t track down the origin of most of the stuff in her home. Too many moves. Too many shitty apartments. Too little cash to buy anything that would last. 

It was eclectic and pieced together from years of trying to make ends meet, relying on her skills and determination and a good dose of hoping, praying that someday she would find a corner of the world to call her own.

She wasn’t one to invite people back into her apartment. Sure, she would occasionally go out with her friends at the Planet, especially once they found out that she had been faking a dog, but her home was sacred. 

It was weird seeing him here, knowing where she kept the utensils, or not having to ask where her garbage can was. He moved through the space like he was comfortable, like just a couple of late night chats equated to something larger than she had originally anticipated. He had a mug that he always used and a hook that he typically chose behind the front door. 

If she thought about it too hard, she would spiral, so she stuck it as far in the back of her mind as she could.

“Ja. Ich spreche Deutsch,” he replied to her comment easily, reaching one of her higher cabinets to pull down the box of sugar and refill the nearly empty bowl. At this point, she should just forgo the bowl and use the box instead. 

“Which one?” Clark asked, holding a cabinet open to a number of boxes of tea. She was fairly certain that some of the boxes were completely empty, another reminder that she should probably do a deep clean one of these days. 

Lois pointed. 

“It’s caffeinated,” Clark warned.

“I’ll be fine. It doesn’t affect me.”

What she didn’t mention was that the first time she’d had tea, she didn’t know it had caffeine. Not that her father ever cared enough to monitor what she drank. And it’s not like the random recruits assigned to babysit her were offering nutrition tips.

She’d downed five chai lattes on his dime during a conference trip and then spent the entire fifteen-hour flight home wide awake, vibrating in her seat.

She was pretty sure Sam Lane Googled how to get sedatives delivered mid-air before finally knocking her out with a couple of Benadryl (only after she launched into a 45-minute rant on gerrymandering). 

Clark finally gave in and poured her a cup. For himself, he chose herbal.

He was an alien - it’s not like caffeine affected him either!

“You must’ve picked up some German on the base.”

She dumped almost a comical amount of sugar into her mug, while he spooned in just a bit for himself. “Yeah, it’s in there somewhere, but it’s not like I’m really using it. Mainly, I learned German curse words so my minders wouldn’t know what I was saying.”

”Why am I not surprised?” Clark laughed, dropping their spoons into the sink with a muted clang. 

She reached for her mug, but Clark easily lifted it out of her reach. Given the height difference, he barely had to try.

“Careful. It’s hot,” he said.

Lois rolled her eyes. “Where’s the fun if you don’t burn off a few taste buds? Keeps things interesting.”

He didn’t budge, instead nodding toward the living room. Lois huffed but obeyed, Clark close behind with both mugs in hand.

“I’m sure it’s not just German,” she said over her shoulder. “What other languages do you know?”

“A few.”

Clark looked around the room, finding two coasters on the side table. Mugs safely set down.

She shot him a look. “Define a few. There’s a big difference between vaguely understanding subway conversations and being good enough to become a translator if the whole superhero thing falls through.”

Clark chuckled. “Are you saying you think the superhero thing might not work out?”

“I think the cape really serves no purpose. It gets in the way, and you almost tripped on it recently.”

“I didn’t trip! I was avoiding a pothole.”

“Sure you were.”

He crossed his arms. “The cape is cool.”

She smirked. “Whatever you say, Kent.” Lois dumped a bunch of folded laundry onto one of the chairs. “So . . . German. And?”

He hesitated, “I’m okay at languages. They come pretty easily. I guess you could say that I know most.”

“Most languages? Fluently? What did you do? Plug Rosetta Stone into your head? Which ones don’t you know? I should learn their curse words . . . ”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Okay, I know all.”

Lois froze.

He held up his hands quickly. “Well, not every dialect perfectly , but… yeah. Pretty much all.”

She blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I know. It’s a lot.”

She turned to Clark, her pointer finger on his chest. “It’s not that! I forced you to compete against me on Duolingo for five months!”

Clark winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “To be fair, you were doing really well.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Clark. You let me celebrate beating you at level 2 Spanish . ”

He smiled sheepishly. “You earned it. And now you know how to order more hot sauce!”

“God,” she laughed. She picked up her mug before he could stop her, not even pausing to blow on the top. 

What was supposed to be a simple goodnight at the door had shifted almost without her noticing. He had walked her home after dinner by the lake, the plan ending with a gentle goodbye on the doorstep. 

But then one joke turned into another, one pause lingered too long, and somehow he was inside, now sitting on her couch, their tea steaming in their palms.

Lois curled one leg beneath her, watching him settle as well.

“What else can you do?”

“You already know.”

“No, I mean like lesser-known things that aren't public knowledge.”

He hesitated, then offered, “I can hold my breath for a really long time.”

Lois squinted at him. “So you’re saying that, right now, if you wanted to, you could just . . . swim to the Titanic?”

Clark shrugged, adjusting the throw pillow behind him. “Technically, yeah. Though isn’t it already falling apart?”

“That’s not the point!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Have you ever been to the bottom of the ocean? Tried to find megalodon?”

He laughed, low, warm, sincere. “I think you have a very different idea of what I do with my free time.” He shook his head, “Lois, I spend most of my time trying to prevent disasters. Why would I go out of my way to create one?”

“All I’m hearing,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “is that you couldn’t take megalodon.”

Clark huffed, gripping his mug a little tighter than necessary, “I never said that. You’ve seen me fight monsters before.”

“But not a big-ass shark,” she murmured into her mug, her eyes twinkling over the rim. 

---

Lois sat on the kitchen counter, her feet swinging lazily as Clark ran the tap, waiting for the water to get hot. He scrubbed the dishes with a pre-sudsy sponge, meticulous as ever.

“And if you wanted to,” she asked, “you could climb the tallest mountain without getting altitude sickness?”

Clark laughed, drying his hands on a dish towel. “Lois, you’ve got a lot of questions tonight.”

“You said you’d answer anything,” she whined, resting her forearm on his shoulder. His hand found her waist automatically.

“I guess I did,” he admitted, amused. “Yes, I wouldn’t get altitude sickness. But if I can fly, why climb? Tallest mountain, bottom of the ocean - are you brainstorming events for some kind of superhero Olympics?”

Lois leaned her head back against the cool glass of the cabinet. “I guess what I’m getting at is . . . you can do the most incredible things. And instead, you sit through staff meetings and drink terrible coffee?”

“Ever since Perry got you that expensive coffee machine, that really hasn’t been a problem,” Clark pointed out, like that made all the difference.

Lois laughed, shaking her head. “Still. You’d rather sit around stacking sugar cubes with me and listen to Steve ramble about baseball than have some wild adventure?”

As she hopped down from the counter, his hand stayed steady at her waist until her feet touched the ground. She took a few slow steps toward the living room.

“Sure,” Clark said with a shrug, voice softer now, “I could do all those things. But it’s not the same doing it alone.”

Lois quieted, turning back to look at him. Without a word, she reached for his hand and swung it over her shoulder. He let her guide him, settling first on the right end of the couch. She followed, curling into his side, just the right spot for his arms to wrap around her. He pulled the blanket over them both.

A beat passed, quiet and comfortable.

“I should really go check out the Titanic,” he said.

Lois didn’t even try to stifle her laugh.

---

“So let me get this straight,” Clark said, tucking the blanket back over her leg where it had slipped, “you got this apartment because you threatened a slumlord?”

“You make it sound worse than it was,” Lois protested. “I simply pointed out that these apartments are rent-stabilized by the city despite what he had been saying, and if he didn’t comply with rent regulations, my friends at City Housing would fine him into the next millennium.”

Clark blinked. “So . . . you threatened a slumlord.”

She grinned. “I guess I did.”

---

“It’s your turn. Tell me something about you I don’t already know,” Clark said, his eyes locked on hers with a quiet challenge.

“I feel like I talk so much that by now, you probably have my social security number memorized.”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head. “There has to be something.”

She crossed her arms, “If you ask, I’ll answer. Probably. Unless my own discretion says otherwise.”

“Hey! I never set any rules when I said you could ask me anything,” he said, feigning offense with a grin.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly hiding that I’m a superhero.”

“Touché,” Clark admitted, laughing softly.

His gaze drifted to her fingers, which absently twisted the small charms hanging from her necklace. 

“Tell me about that,” he said gently, nodding toward the necklace.

She teased, “It’s a necklace, Clark. Don’t you have those on Krypton?”

He rolled his eyes, but continued, “You wear it every day. It must mean something.” Clark’s curiosity didn’t waver; his eyes searched hers, silently urging her to share more.

“You really want to know, huh?” Lois said as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “It’s no big deal really. Most of the time I just forget to take it off.”

He waited, patient but steady. 

She sighed, fingers curling around the delicate chain. “The purple charm? That was my mom’s favorite color. She used to wear it every day too. Said purple was for wisdom and independence.”

Her thumb brushed the metal, “The rose? That’s one I got myself the day I got into Met U. It’s beautiful, but it’s got thorns. My upbringing wasn’t the best, to say the least. Thorny, complicated. But it got me where I wanted to be, where I found who I wanted to be.”

Her gaze shifted to the tiny silver wolf, “And the wolf . . . I’ve always liked my independence. I like being my own person.”

Clark gave her a look - half amused, half thoughtful, as if he wasn’t quite buying it.

Lois raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t agree?”

He smiled softly. “Wolves can be independent, sure. But they don’t live alone. They stick with their pack, loyal to the people they care about. It’s that loyalty that gives them their strength.”

She tilted her head, “So, you’re saying I’m not as lone-wolf as I think I am?”

Clark’s smile deepened, his hands rubbing circles on her back, “Maybe you’ve got a pack, whether you realize it or not.”

Lois tried not to let his words settle too deeply, afraid of what they might stir up, what they might unravel beneath the surface.

“Your turn,” she said quietly, resting her head against his chest. She felt it rise and fall with slow, deliberate (maybe unnecessary) breaths.

“I can’t get drunk on this planet,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You looked very not sober when you tried to crawl through my kitchen window.”

“It was red kryptonite,” he muttered, sheepishly. “Kara said it’d only give me a light buzz.”

“You told me once you were part airplane.”

His ears went pink. “Let’s just agree to forget that night.”

“Not a chance,” she said, smirking, “What else?”

“I have a base.”

“Like Codename: Kids Next Door?”

“Not a treehouse.”

“But it would fit into your whole Farm Boy aesthetic,” she teased, “Where is it?”

“Not close.”

Lois leaned forward, “Not close like D.C.? Or not close like. . . Mars?”

He raised a brow at her. “Why would I have a base on Mars?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You just told me you know every language. I’m not putting anything past you.”

“North Pole.”

Her jaw dropped, then snapped shut as her grin spread. “You’re neighbors with Santa Claus.”

“Lois . . .”

She ran her fingers over his palm innocently. “Is that why you love hot chocolate so much? Because if I had an in with the big guy, I wouldn’t be buying Swiss Miss.”

“Hey, Swiss Miss is good! I grew up on Swiss Miss,” he said, mock-defensive.

“You grew up on Swiss Miss? I grew up on army rations, and trust me . . . I still wouldn’t call them good.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, fair.”

“Tell me about your base.”

“Are you going to make fun of me?”

“Not when I know you’re Santa Claus’s neighbor. Gotta stay on his good side.”

Clark chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It’s far. Remote. Quiet. Somewhere I can actually think without the world pressing in. I have some robots there who help me heal.”

“Robots?”

“Robots,” he confirmed, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “Not like . . . evil, world-dominating robots. Just . . . helpful ones. They monitor things, repair things, keep me on track.”

“So basically, your very own high-tech, super-secret butler service?”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “Something like that. But I don’t boss them around or anything.”

She nodded towards the door, “Show me?”

“I would,” he said, flushing slightly, “but it’s not like floating with you. Or flying at low speeds. You’d get hurt from the stress of high-speed travel.”

Lois sighed dramatically. “Perfect. You’ve got a robot friend group, and I’ve got . . . Siri.”

“She tries her best.”

“She pronounces my name as Louis.”

“Oui oui!”

“Shut up!”

Chapter Text

“I’m glad you didn’t have to hero tonight,” Lois murmured, stifling a yawn as she tugged the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands. 

Clark chuckled, “Since when did hero become a verb?”

She lazily pointed toward the wall, where two Pulitzer Prizes gleamed under the soft light of the lamps. 

“Ah, right,” he said, a teasing smile curling at his lips. “I guess you’ve earned the right to bend the rules of grammar.”

“Damn right,” she muttered, letting her head settle against his chest.

In the stillness, she let her mind wander to the day they had together. It was easier to focus on the last couple of hours rather than on what this was or could be. His fingers traced every line in her palm, gentle and feather soft, like he knew that if he startled her, the moment could break. 

This day, well, to say the least, it was far from what she was used to, what she had come to expect. 

The thing was, this wasn’t first date territory - that much Lois knew for sure. 

First dates were 45-minute coffee shop encounters, usually with some guy who arrived late and used words like ethically non-monogamous without flinching. 

First dates were awkward dinners at mediocre restaurants, where she would try and fail to fight the urge to walk out when he tried to order for her. If she did stay, she would spend half the dinner hoping the candle didn’t get knocked over and burn the whole restaurant down. 

First dates were slow, meandering park walks that ended in discovering he’d left his political views off his profile for a reason.

This? This wasn’t that.

This was, well, for lack of a better word, perfect. 

It was just that this day felt so entirely, absurdly right. It felt easy, like she wasn’t pretending to be a better version of herself. A version that wasn’t as argumentative, wasn’t as fiery, wasn’t as Lois. She could hit him with a lighthearted insult without wondering how he would react. 

When she rambled, he didn’t respond with a blank look, or check the time on his phone. He asked her follow-up questions. 

It felt strange to be seen, to be wholly listened to.

When she was younger, she often thought that there was a part of her that just rambled to fill up space, to make her most recent "home" feel less quiet. She spoke to get attention, to pull any kind of focus to her.

And it wasn't like she was oblivious; she knew that many people didn’t really care. They placated her because she was a kid, or because she was a high-ranking general’s daughter. They let her ramble because it was easier than trying to stop her. 

But with Clark, he cared about every word that came out of her mouth. 

He cared about picking a first date that was entirely Lois. Sometimes she felt like he had broken her open at some point and learned more about her than she realized, like he had a direct line to her brain. 

WAIT!

Superman can’t read minds, right? 

No, that’s not possible. 

If he could, he wouldn’t have looked at her with those big blue eyes when she revealed that she knew he was Superman. 

In preparation for tonight, she’d expected dinner at a low-key place where he knew the staff, where she’d prattle on about newsroom politics or the latest city council disaster, and he’d sit there smiling with those dumb dimples that made it hard to think straight. She figured it’d be sweet and comfortable - just like Clark. Then he’d walk her home, kiss her at the door, and she’d chalk it up to a very nice night.

Even if it amounted to nothing, it would’ve been good enough.

Lois didn’t come to expect perfection. She was a realist at heart with a too lonely childhood and trust issues that could keep a therapist in business for the next 1000 years. There are not too many things that stun her, but tonight, he did. 

She hadn’t expected this, this whatchamacallit. He took her to the Newseum for God's sake? Who does that? They played silly games and read about life-changing moments in history next to kids and school groups. 

And somehow, he knew that she would much prefer a food truck over a fancy dinner. 

It was just strange. 

First dates didn’t end like this, with him on her couch and her comfortably in his space. They didn’t end with tea and inside jokes and a feeling that she couldn’t quite push down that yes, maybe she would like to do this again very soon. Yes, she wanted this more than she would care to admit. 

It was just too easy. 

But then again, she had never dated a superhero before. But that even wasn’t it. She had never dated Clark before (not that this was dating. It was one date. They were merely potentially seeing one another, casually).

Clark shook his head, smiling. “No hero-ing tonight. I can hear the Justice Gang handling something downtown. While I don’t always love their methods, they get the job done. I told them I’m off the clock.”

Lois snorted. “First of all, stupid name. Justice Gang? Second of all, how good is your hearing?”

“Pretty good. If I concentrate, I can hear pretty far..”

“How far?”

“Like generally, really really far.”

“In miles?”

He gave her a look. “Lois, I never exactly sat down and ran a controlled experiment.”

“That’s the first thing I would’ve done if I were you. Also - I still can’t believe you and your cousin tried to convince me that Superman had business hours.”

“We’re not exactly masters of improv…”

“Yeah, I just can’t picture Superman with a timecard and a 401K.”

Clark sighed dramatically. “He’s a real tyrant of a boss. Doesn’t even throw a holiday party.”

Lois laughed, “What an absolute menace.”

His hand moved gently through her hair, soft as breath. The quiet realization that, despite everything, despite him being an alien, despite her history with commitment, this moment felt steady. 

---

On Monday, Lois, Jimmy, and Jenny were onsite for what was, admittedly, not breaking news. The citywide pet adoption event had drawn a decent crowd - and Superman. Which, of course, meant a bigger crowd.

Lois wouldn’t have normally taken the assignment, but she had a soft spot for the guy. Or whatever. She wasn’t thinking about that right now.

“So, did you DTR yet?” Jenny asked, collapsing Jimmy’s tripod, snapping each leg into place. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lois was pacing, phone pressed to her ear, trying, and failing, to reach a source on another story. No answer again. She hung up with a frustrated sigh. “Come on…”

“Define the relationship,” Jenny stuffed the equipment into its bag. 

Lois blinked at her. “Why would you think . . . ?”

Jenny tilted her head toward the lawn, a sizable distance away, where Superman was currently surrounded by at least three puppies and a handful of giggling kids. He was sitting cross-legged, beaming as a corgi climbed into his lap and licked his hand. In that moment, he looked less like Earth’s most powerful being and more like . . . well, Clark.

“We’re not,” Lois said quickly. “It’s not . . . that.”

“For being a fantastic reporter, you’re a terrible liar, Lane,” Jenny giggled. 

Lois looked over again just in time to catch Clark brushing off his pants as he stood up. A child reached for him, and he swung them up with ease, tossing the girl lightly into the air. She shrieked with laughter, demanding another go. Clark chuckled, steady and patient, and when he glanced Lois’ way, she saw those stupid dimples in full force. He smiled and she had to physically stop herself from doing the same. 

“You’re blushing,” Jenny sing-songed.

“I’m sunburnt,” Lois shot back.

Jenny squinted. “Actually . . . fair. You’re so pale Jimmy could white-balance a camera off you.”

Lois gave her a look. A full, withering Lois Lane look.

“I said could, not would!” Jenny held up her hands defensively, laughing. “But seriously. Lock it down before someone else does. Steve has Superman figurines all over his bulletin board. Bought matching mugs and everything. You might have some competition, though probably not with the way he looks at you.”

Jenny was right. If they were going to keep this whole secret identity thing a secret, he was going to have to tone down the puppy dog eyes. 

Every few seconds, she saw him glance over at her, far too obvious that he wanted her to join him. 

She shook her head, muttering, “Jenny, you’re seeing things.” 

Jenny smirked, clearly not buying the denial. “Fine, fine. Keep it all to yourself. I'll just be on Hinge trying to find a man who looks half as good in a suit.”

“Find one without a cape. They look impressive until it gets stuck in the elevator door.” 

From the corner of her eye, she caught Clark’s gaze slicing across the park. He grumbled. 

Okay. So super-hearing definitely extended further than the edges of the park. Phase 1 superhearing test complete. 

Also, why was Jimmy shooting her daggers the whole ride to the Planet?  

---

By the time they got back to the office, Lois knew that Clark was still way across town, claiming a doctor’s appointment (code for rescuing someone from a fire - or stepping in as the city’s emergency crossing guard when the school’s regular was out). Whatever the case, he was far.

Lois tapped her pen against the corkboard as she examined some newspaper clippings.

“Lois, I really don’t have all day. We spent all morning with that guy,” Jimmy spun around in his chair, a hint of impatience in his voice. “And don’t we need Clark for this? I just texted him to get his ETA. Where was he again?”

She leaned closer to Jimmy, whispering conspiratorially, “Don’t tell Clark I said this, but he’s got this weird rash he won’t stop fussing over. Super self-conscious. Doctors don’t even know what it is. Don’t get too close, it’s probably contagious. I’m thinking extreme poison ivy.”

Her phone buzzed immediately.

“Seriously? Poison Ivy?”

Damn. Okay. Phase 2. His hearing was definitely better than she’d thought.

---

The Planet Gang (a much cooler name than the Justice Gang, thank you very much) had agreed to meet at a bar that evening - one just a little too small for all of them, but with great prices and a manager who owed someone a favor.

“It’s fine,” Lois said, locking her car with one hand while juggling her phone, bag, and jacket with the other. “I’ll just tell everyone you had a family emergency. No need to mention you flew halfway across the country to move a broken tractor. Stay for dinner with your parents, spend the night. I’ll try not to murder Craig when he starts monologuing about microbrewing again.”

She pushed open the door and was hit with the full blast of early-2000s bangers and a crowd already two rounds deep. TVs overhead showed football, but most of the patrons were more focused on the communal singing than the score, well, except for Steve and his crew. 

“You made it,” Cat said, linking arms with her and steering her toward the bar. “We were starting to think you’d fused with your desk. A couple of the interns have a bet going that you secretly live on the decommissioned floor since you’re the first one in, last one out.”

“Oh ha ha.” Lois swung herself onto a bar stool, “So professionalism is now a cry for help?”

Cat perched next to her, swirling a bright, fruity drink that definitely looked out of place among the hard-edged, no-frills dive bar ambiance.

“It’s just a silly bet,” Cat said, waving over the bartender.

“That’s slander,” Lois protested, hooking her bag under the bar. “Plus, they got it all wrong. I live on the third floor of the Planet. I just haunt the decommissioned one. Get it right!”

“I’ll be sure to clear up that rumor,” Cat laughed. “Where’s Kent?”

“Whiskey on the rocks, please,” Lois told the bartender before turning back. “How would I know? I don’t keep tabs on him.”

Cat rolled her eyes, plucking the mint leaf from her drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “You two are joined at the hip. You’re like those symbiotic fish that clean parasites off each other.”

“Gross.” Lois took her drink as the bartender slid it across. The amber caught the dim light. “You made this ‘fun night out with coworkers’ sound a lot more appealing earlier today.”

Cat raised a brow. “I surrender. No more Clark talk.” She sipped her drink. “But you didn’t say boys were off limits. I went out with this guy this week. Totally not my vibe and it was annoying because it was so out of my way, but he works late, and it would’ve pushed the date even later if we met in the middle. So I traversed Metropolis public transit on two buses and the subway in heels . . . ”

Lois cut her off, “Cat, as much as I love to hear about your traffic woes . . . ”

Cat just waved her off as she continued, “His barber knows my college roommate’s aunt’s professional pigeon handling instructor,” Cat explained, like she was rattling off something as normal as her grocery list. 

“Naturally. Would expect nothing less.” 

“Thomas. He was fine, smart. Really smart and quick-witted, actually reminded me a bit of you. Ambitious. Human rights lawyer. Didn’t dress half bad though wasn’t about to be street cast for the cover of GQ.”

“But not the guy for you?”

“Too calm. Too grounded. Too . . . predictable. I need chaos, spontaneity, someone who can keep up with my energy. He’d bore me to tears in a week,” Cat shrugged, swirling the last of her drink around in the glass. A couple of pieces of pineapple sloshed around. “Maybe I should call Evan back.”

“Cat, no! You know how that ends.”

“I won’t make a big deal about it. Just a casual fling.”

“That’s what you said last year. The guy is a walking red flag. He asked to charge his crystals on my desk. He’s in a band that tried to convince the audience that they wrote Blood Sweat & Tears. By BTS. In Korean. He pronounced kimchi wrong when he tried to take my leftovers from the office fridge.”

“We’re all a work in progress,” Cat replied breezily.

Lois raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s exactly working on himself.”

“Evan is one-of-a-kind I guess? But he knows how to surf, and you know how I get with guys with salty hair? It just does it for me . . .” Cat rattled on. 

Tractor successfully moved , Lois’ phone buzzed. You would think that my dad would give up on the old thing after all these years. How’s the get-together? 

Lois quickly texted Clark back while Cat was explaining how Evan was banned from at least three different states, but promised that it wasn’t his fault: How long until it’s acceptable to leave?  

That bad? 

Lois typed out one final text before slipping the phone into her pocket: The only saving I need is from this conversation .

Lois put her hand on Cat’s, “As a friend, Thomas seems like an upgrade.”

Cat shook her head, “Not for me. He has his life too together. He has in-unit laundry and an upstairs gym. There’s a mailroom in his building!”

“What a dealbreaker,” Lois laughed.

“No, I like them a bit more crazy. But actually, maybe he’s perfect for you. Seems low maintenance and is actually pretty funny. I mean, if you’re taking a break from the whole ‘will-they-won’t-they’ with Superman thing . . .”

Lois laughed, the sound warm and slightly incredulous, emphasizing, “Superman is my friend.” 

“Not according to Jenny. Said that enough sparks were flying that it looked like a construction site. She sent me pictures. Somehow, that guy can make you have both baby fever and puppy fever at the same time.” Cat grinned, leaning back in her stool.

Lois rolled her eyes.

“But honestly,” Cat continued, “Thomas was really nice. Try it. Just one date. Fun. Flirty. Low commitment. See where it goes. Plus, you have a car, so you don’t have to brave public transit. I’ll just text you his number . . . ”

At that exact moment, the trees outside shifted in perfect sync, the breeze unnaturally strong for such a still evening. A chip bag lifted, hovered, and settled back to the pavement.

Clark walked through the door.

His hair was blown in every which way. It looked like he did his hair under a Dyson hand dryer in the bathroom. He scanned the room for a moment before landing on Lois. He paced forward, before Steve intercepted him with a grin and a beer. 

“Cat, no. Really, I’m good. I don’t need you trying to set me up. I have all these deadlines I have to focus on . . . ,” Lois said firmly. 

“So? What else is new? You are always going to have deadlines. Don’t use it as an excuse.”

“I’m just busy…” Lois trailed off.

“Which is exactly why it’s perfect that I pre-vetted him for you,” Cat said, waving her hand dramatically. “You haven’t even seen a picture! He looks like a Hemsworth.” Cat leaned in conspiratorially. Lois glanced toward Clark just in time to see the flicker of tension in his jaw - the smallest shift, quickly smoothed over.

“No, Cat.” Lois shook her head. 

“Just try it!”

“Cat. I really do appreciate it, but . . .”

“Let me just text him. We can set up a casual coffee thing near the Planet. You love coffee.”

“Cat, I’m seeing someone,” Lois blurted. 

Clark stopped mid-sip. His head turned, not fast - but faster than it should’ve. His gaze sharpened, his mouth twitching ever so slightly, half pride, half shock. 

Cat blinked, eyes widening. “Really?”

“Yes,” Lois said, meeting her gaze, tone even.

“You’re not lying?”

“Cross my heart,” Lois affirmed, “We’re not dating. It’s like new. Really new. But it’s enough seeing one guy. I can’t even think about juggling two.”

Cat was fully locked in now. “Where’d you meet? What does he do? What’s his name?”

“It was one date. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“You never let me live vicariously through you! I always tell you the juicy details. Tell me a name at least.”

Lois shook her head, “Sorry. Mum’s the word.”

Cat glared, turning slightly away from Lois.

“Fine. I don’t know what it’ll be, but . . . yeah. It was good,” Lois admitted, “I’m still not telling you a name.”

Across the room, Clark exhaled slowly. His shoulders lowered just enough to notice. The tension in his spine unspooled, subtle and quiet and utterly transparent.

“Okay, okay,” Cat said, grinning. “But I’m keeping Thomas' number just in case.”

“You really don’t have to,” Lois laughed.

“Oh, I know. I mean, how’s anyone supposed to compete with Superman?” Cat added, winking.

Lois almost choked on her drink. 

Clark slipped away from the crowd and made his way toward them. Jimmy, clearly trying to escape a group of overly flirtatious young reporters, saw Clark approaching and bolted towards him. 

“Hey, guys,” Clark said casually, resting a hand on the back of Lois’ stool. He slipped off his jacket and folded it neatly over one arm. “Sorry I’m late.”

He reached to clap Jimmy on the back, but Jimmy dodged like he was in an overly intense game of tag. 

Clark’s gaze flicked to Lois. His eyes narrowed slightly.

She grinned, completely unbothered. “How’s the rash doing?” she murmured, leaning in just enough for only him to hear.

His lips twitched, somewhere between irritation and reluctant amusement. “Impossible,” he muttered.

Still, he accepted the glass she offered him. He raised it slightly in silent thanks, then took a slow sip - eyes never leaving hers.

There was a quiet, magnetic tension in the way he settled near her, close enough to feel, distant enough to maintain the illusion of composure. The minutes slipped by as the group fell into easy chatter, laughter bouncing off the low ceiling and the walls of the too-small bar.

As the clock struck way too late for a weekday, she locked eyes with him, nodding towards the door. 

He moved without hesitation, slipping away to the register to settle the tab with a smooth flick of his card, then weaving back through the crowd. A quick half-hug to Cat. A near miss with Jimmy, who dodged him abruptly, saying something about being allergic to poison oak and not sure if it’s the same thing. 

Lois barely had to shift before he was crouching to grab her bag from under the bar. His hand reached out, palm open. She took it, letting him steady her as she hopped down from the stool, her boots clicking softly against the worn floor.

Clark murmured a few goodbyes to Steve and the others, but most of his attention was already back on her.

“You really gotta stop stringing the poor guy along,” Cat said, hugging Lois.

“Oh, I don’t think he’s complaining,” Lois watched him pace a few steps ahead. 

“Wrapped around your finger,” Cat added with a shake of her head.

Lois ignored her, moving the couple of steps until she was at Clark’s side, her shoulder brushing his.

---

As they exited the bar, Lois dug into her bag for her car keys. When she found a mushy (luckily still in its wrapper) peanut butter cup, she mentally made a note to clean out her bag. 

She almost didn’t notice as Clark made his way to the driver’s side, but he stopped short when Lois pointed firmly toward the passenger door. 

“If we are going to get back at a reasonable hour, I’ll be the one driving,” she laughed. 

He sighed with a quiet grumble.

Sliding into the seat, she started the car and immediately shoved the seat forward until her feet could touch the petals. 

Clark chuckled, “It amazes me how far you have to move the seat forward. If I tried to get in, I would be smushed against the steering wheel.” 

“Funny funny,” she added. “But you’re abnormally tall, like I would be mad to sit behind you at a Broadway show tall. How were your parents? They didn’t question why you were there for, what,” she looked at her watch, “an hour?”

“I think my mom was just happy to cook for someone besides Pa,” he said with a shrug. “He tends to like the same things.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Lois pulled onto the highway where it could be argued that she was going faster than super-speed. 

“Hey! I change things up!”

“Yeah, I noticed. Blueberry pancakes instead of chocolate chip. Real wild, Kent. What happened to hanging out with them all night? I can’t remember the last time you went back.”

“You said you needed saving.”

Her mouth opened, then shut. “I didn’t mean actual saving,” she muttered. “And you knew that, don’t play dumb with me. You heard what Cat was saying . . . ”

“She’s loud,” he said, rubbing his ear with mock pain. “Very loud.”

“Not states away loud!”

Clark didn’t answer right away.

“You’re not always listening, right?”

Clark quickly shook his head, “No. Of course not. Some things just . . . slip through.”

Her brow arched. “Like conversations you’re not invited to?”

“I can’t always control it. It’s like being stuck on the subway next to a loud phone call. You try to tune it out, but next thing you know, you’re ready to tell them to find a new therapist and steal their dog from their ex.”

Lois narrowed her eyes at him. “And sometimes, what slips through is really convenient. Like when someone gets jealous and decides to casually show up just to check things out.”

“I just hear things more clearly when it comes to you."

"Because I never stop talking?"

"Because I am usually thinking about you."

Fuck. Why was he so sincere? It melted whatever layer lived around her heart.

"And jealous of a guy you’ve never even met before?" Clark continued, "Please. I was . . . curious.”

“Curious enough to break the sound barrier,” she muttered, but dropped one hand from the steering wheel and found his own. “You don’t have to be. Even if we’re only potentially seeing each other, I don’t want to be potentially seeing anyone else.”

“How romantic,” he laughed, “A real Jane Austen right here, folks.”

Lois laughed, “I’m glad you came, even though you don’t have to worry.”

“Lois . . .” he said, voice softer now. “I’m happy to be your ‘potentially-seeing-each-other’ better half for as long as you want, and I'm not going to push, but just so you know, when you want the ‘girlfriend’ title, it’s yours for the taking.”

Chapter Text

The sky burned violet, streaked with two yellow suns that lit the horizon ablaze. Kara sat cross-legged on an old crate, slowly feeling the effects of the red K as it maneuvered through her system. 

Her feet dangled, covered by a layer of red dust that seemed to blanket the entire planet. Her hair, which never seemed to cooperate, was even worse for wear. She forgot the last time she ran a brush through it. 

How long has she been here? Was it a week? Longer? There was that whole debacle at the shipping bay. She was hiding out for two days at least. 

In truth, the days just blurred together. The nights were long and rough, during which her ‘bed’ was usually just cargo netting strung up in an alley. 

It was never dark enough here, never quiet enough. Every time you thought you were marginally comfortable, a ship would roar to life or a siren would wail. 

Traders shouted over the buzz of hovercraft and children darted through stalls, earning a few profanities or two. 

Most annoying was a guy welding his ship together who banged and hammered without a care in the world. She was two seconds away from telling him that no matter how much he worked on his ship, it would always be just junkyard scrap. She could bend it in two with a flick of her wrist. 

It had been fun for a time, the rush of it all, but the laughter always faded and the drinks always ran dry. She smiled when people talked to her and shared brews with strangers, but this wasn’t a place where you were meant to stay. 

They were staring, a couple coming down the street. Kara tugged her jacket over her shoulders, averting their gaze. It wasn’t surprising; when others realized who she was, too fast, too strong, it meant it was time to find somewhere new. 

And it didn’t matter to most that she had lost her planet, her family, her people. 

Once they learned that she was Kryptonian, no matter how much she tried to hide it, it was as if she became nothing more than a symbol of conquest.

A colonizer in their eyes.

Violent by nature.

Power-hungry by blood.

It never mattered that she had nowhere to conquer, no throne to inherit, and truly no empire to rule. The moment the word Kryptonian slipped into the air, she stopped being a person. She became history’s villain made flesh, something to fear, something to drive away before she ever had the chance to prove otherwise.

It made her heart fortify and her anger bubble. They didn’t know how her mother used to sing her to sleep or how her father brought her her favorite treats from the market when he knew that he wouldn't make it to dinner. 

They didn’t know about the beautiful music that would ring through the streets on celebration days, or how she never saw anything as beautiful as a Kryptonian sunset. 

Why did she care about the opinions of some strangers? You know what? Fuck them. They were weak. They weren’t strong or fast. They were just jealous. 

She just hated how conversations always went still, and jokes grew brittle. It happened like clockwork, and so she told herself that maybe it was time to find somewhere else to stay. 

So she did, again and again, until every world felt temporary.

Until she was nothing more than a ghost. 

---

Was she spinning, or was the planet itself spinning? Could be the latter. Once, she’d landed on a planet that was basically a giant hamster wheel, but when she told the high priestess that, the woman had not exactly appreciated the comparison.

She tried to focus on one spot on the ground; one small step forward, then another. One more. You got this. You’re a strong, independent . . . fuck. 

Her forehead collided with something hard and stagnant. When she pulled away, there was dust on her shirt and a chunk of the wall missing. 

“I hope you have insurance,” she called out to no one in particular. 

She turned in a slow circle. Where was she?

The Fortress had been empty. She thought she’d flown back to Metropolis to find Clark, but after that spectacular crash landing in a back alley, she staggered out to discover that the streets didn’t look especially Metropolis-ish.

A strange song was playing, blasting in the ears of everyone in the vicinity, high-pitched synths over a pulsing bass. Usually, she was pretty chill with club music, but this beat was just weird. It sounded like someone couldn’t decide what note they wanted to start with, so they played every one. And was that a kazoo? 

Kara winced and tried to steady herself before quickly realizing that she was leaning against a blow-up UFO. 

She must be on Earth, because what other idiots would build a saucer out of vinyl and slap a “New Design - Now with Cupholders” sign on it? 

Plus, she tried to read the neon banners above that glowed in unfamiliar symbols. English letters bent and twisted. No, she couldn’t make out a single word. It was nonsense, just like whatever this was. 

Humans sure did have a lot of time on their hands to do this fucking shit. 

They were just so goddamn ignorant! It was like none of them had ever left the comfort of their own planet! Well, that might be the case, but still, there was no world in which she was going to let donut holes called ‘Alien Eggs’ slide. Aliens weren’t fucking birds. 

So rude. 

Around her, people shuffled about in antennae headbands and a surprising amount of silver and green. Their concept of aliens really had much to be desired. Species-ist. The whole lot of them!

One guy in full-body silver spandex strutted past with a sash that read GALACTIC EMPEROR 2025, stopping every few steps to pose for selfies.

She hated it here. 

A vendor waved a bottle of Coke around. “Jet fuel! Only five credits!” Kara glared. False advertising. That would ruin your engine. Customers could sue. 

As she tried to find an exit, someone shoved a pamphlet into her hand. Something about How to Date an Earthling. She shoved it into the bottom of her bag. She wasn’t sure of the recycling rules on this planet. A few months ago, she almost got detained on a planet after mixing up paper and something that wasn’t plastic, but was close enough. 

The crowd pressed in around her. 

Every time she thought she had a pathway out, the pulsing lights and high-pitched music yanked her attention elsewhere.

Across the plaza, her gaze snagged on a familiar “S.” For a split second, her breath caught; she found him. She started forward, only to realize soon enough that that wasn’t her giant of a cousin. It was some guy who bought a polyester suit on Amazon, who was now slurping a soda through a glow-in-the-dark straw. 

“Welcome Earthlings! This way to the information booth! Welcome to 2025’s Galactic Expo!” A woman called. She had a shirt that said, Ask Me About My Abduction.

Were humans ever just normal? 

“Twenty minutes until the panel on how to reintegrate after abduction!”

Yeah, she had her answer. 

Kara turned into the nearest alleyway and took off. Now, if only she could fly straight.

Wall. 

Wall. 

WALL. 

Ouch. 

---

Focus. Focus on him. Watch out for that bird. Fly higher - wait, now that’s too high! Plane! Watch out for the plane!

Where’s Clark? 

Okay, there. 

A woman’s voice came through first: “Stop! What are you doing? Don’t touch it - I swear to God!” 

Before the woman could finish, Clark’s voice cut in, strained and sharp: “Of course I do! Let it go!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” She could swear she knew that voice, but somehow, drugs dulled her sleuthing senses. It was clear that whoever the woman was, she wasn’t happy with Clark. 

Honestly, valid.

A scuffle, a grunt, the faint groan of furniture scraping across the floor. Something clattered to the side. Kara’s chest tightened. Okay. Yeah, that doesn’t sound great. He’s probably in trouble. If she saves him, she could lord it over him for the rest of his Kryptonian days.

She rocketed forward, careful not to bump into the streetlight, and skidded to a stop. In one swift motion, she sped up the apartment stairs (why was the front door unlocked?) and kicked in apartment 7’s door. Wait, hasn’t she been here before? 

Her head was killing her. That pounding. Bang bang bang. She was going to have a serious talk with her dealer. 

But she had other things to worry about. Namely, Clark. Only she got to mess with her cousin. What kind of bitch ass thought otherwise? 

Oh, it’ll feel so good to land a punch. 

She froze. Clark and Lois were both on the floor, arms tangled, each desperately reaching toward the television remote that had, in the course of their disagreement, fallen far out of reach. Pillows were strewn around, and popcorn was scattered around the floor. 

Kara blinked, swaying a little, the room tilting with her. They take the fun out of everything, she thought hazily, before gravity finally won. She dropped onto the floor, cushioned by a tumble of coats that had fallen from their hooks when the front door gave way.

Lois took one look at her, then another at her front door. “I kinda needed that. Knocking would’ve also worked.” Lois guessed that no matter how many locks on her door, it couldn’t withstand a Kryptonian. 

Clark tried to swallow a laugh but failed, quickly moving to Kara’s side. He crouched, his hand warm against her forehead.

“Stop! What are you doing? Don’t touch me!” Kara turned away from him, her body wrapped up in one of Lois’ coats. 

“She seems normal,” Clark called out to Lois, who was also making her way to the front, “No fever. Red K maybe. Or who knows what else.”

“Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?” Kara whined, peeking out from behind Lois’ hood, “I thought I was coming to protect you. But obviously you’re good. I’m good. Now let’s just forget all this happened.”

“You thought I was . . .?” Clark began, looking between Kara and Lois, “No! She just didn’t want to watch Star Wars even though it’s a masterpiece, not to mention a classic.” Lois had since pushed him away with a laugh, helping Kara to her feet and guiding her to the couch. 

Before Kara even plopped down, Clark was super speeding around the apartment, gathering what supplies he needed to repair the door. 

“Wait, wait,” Kara got to her feet, although a bit wobbly, “Food. I need food.”

“Then you definitely came to the wrong apartment,” Clark called as he bent the hinge back into shape, “Lois isn’t much for a balanced diet.”

“Oh, shut up!” Lois called, already following Kara to the kitchen. 

Clark was right. Kara wasn’t sure how Lois lived like an 18-year-old frat guy. It looked like what you would find at a gas station rather than what one would expect to find in the kitchen of the star journalist at the most regarded paper in the country. 

 “This will do,” Kara pulled a jar of candy off the shelf and hugged it close before slipping back to the living room and flopping onto the couch. 

As she lifted her face, a piece of popcorn stuck to her chin. She shrugged and ate it. 

With a satisfied grunt, Clark finished his work on the door and hung each coat back on the hooks. Lois folded her legs under her as she sat on the opposite side of the couch from Kara. 

“As much as I love a visit, Kara,” Clark took a seat across from them, “Was there a reason you decided to barge into my girlfr . . . casual monogamous seeing-where-it-goes friend’s apartment?” 

Lois nodded like that made it a whole less obvious what they were doing. Kara was almost certain that, knowing her cousin, he was already dreaming about a ring. 

Kara ripped open a wrapper with her teeth and stuck an entire peanut butter cup into her awaiting mouth. “Shit. I forgot how good these things are.” She paused mid-chew, the peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth. Kara turned to Lois, “Wait. You’re not freaked out that I could kick in a door.”

Kara cut the distance between her and the other woman, “Why are you not freaked out? What’s wrong with you?”

Lois, to her credit, gave her absolutely nothing. She just shrugged, “It was a cheap door.” Only an idiot would believe her because that was not, in fact, a cheap door. It was thick and reinforced and it had a column of locks that probably wouldn’t be great in a fire. 

Kara didn’t know much about Lois, but she did know that she was an absolutely terrible liar. She stared her down, waiting for her to break, but before she even had a little fun, Clark groaned, throwing his hands up. “She knows. She knows everything.”

“Clark!” Kara got up from the couch, taking the few steps towards her idiotic cousin. “You’re not supposed to tell people!”

“Says the person who’s supposed to be keeping a low profile, not showing off super-human strength.”

“Cheap door,” Kara muttered defensively, tearing into another peanut butter cup.

“In my defense, I didn’t tell Lois,” Clark said, holding up his hands. “She figured it out.”

Kara rolled her eyes and slouched back into the cushions, kicking her feet up on the coffee table like she owned the place. “Yeah, shocker. Somehow, I don’t think you were being too discreet.”

“I was!”

Even Lois gave Kara a knowing smile. 

Kara pointed between them with the last bite of her candy. “See? Even she doesn’t buy it.”

Lois snorted into her drink, trying and failing to cover it with a cough.

Clark shot Lois a look. “You’re encouraging her.”

Lois shook her head, eyes wide. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

Kara grinned, but as soon as it rose, it fell. 

“I was bored.” She shrugged. She wasn't going to give them anything else. 

She shoved another peanut butter cup into her mouth, and with an exaggerated groan: “God, these are amazing. Earth candy is seriously wasted on you people.”

Clark softened, arms uncrossing. 

Kara didn’t notice, or pretended not to. She reached for another piece of candy. 

“So, what movie are we watching?”

---

Kara awoke later into the night to the quiet shuffling of feet in the kitchen, the soft clink of cabinets opening and closing.

“You don’t have to take her back to your apartment. Stay the night, the two of you. It’s not like it would be the first time,” Lois laughed quietly.

“I . . . I don’t want to impose,” Clark said, voice low, a little unsure.

“She’s already asleep. Don’t you dare wake her up,” Lois replied firmly.

“Lois . . .” 

“Don’t Lois me.”

Steady footsteps made their way towards the living room. Clark grabbed a blanket and was about to lower himself onto a chair when Lois appeared, hand extended. She tugged him to his feet. 

“I can’t force you to take my drunk cousin in and then steal half of your bed,” he rationalized, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t you already know that you can’t force me to do anything?” Lois countered as she guided him down the hall. 

“Though . . . this isn’t exactly what I imagined your first time sleeping in my bed would look like,” she teased, eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Lois!” Clark exclaimed, scandalized. 

“Shhh! She’s sleeping!”

Chapter Text

Why was he nervous? Be normal. Act cool. How does one act like a person?

“What are you doing?” Lois asked, laughing, she patted the side of her bed, “Just sit. Stop pacing. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Clark didn’t have to be told twice. He circled the other side of the bed and sat down, depressing the comforter.

It’s not like they had never been in such close proximity. She often used him as a pillow on her couch. He would mindlessly run his fingers through her hair, drawing steady circles with his thumb on her shoulder.

This just felt, well, like a step. And he was fine with steps. He wanted steps, but this was Lois we were talking about.

If anyone else were about to sleep next to the most fearless, most stunning woman in the universe, they’d be nervous too.

“Don’t be so weird about it, Kent.” She reached out, hooked a finger under his chin, and tilted his head until he had no choice but to meet her eyes. “Come over here.”

He obeyed, stretching out beside her, his head sinking into the nest of pillows. The scent hit him instantly, vanilla and jasmine, sweet and rich.

She grabbed his hand, pulling it towards her heart, tracing the curves of his fingers with hers.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to the ceiling. “It’s more than you signed up for.”

Lois propped herself up on one elbow, inching closer until her hair brushed his shoulder. She shook her head. “Clark, it’s nothing. Your cousin blew through my door. You fixed it. No harm done. And, bonus, she saved me from a Star Wars marathon.” Lois waited for him to smile before echoing his grin, “Kara is nothing compared to my family.”

Clark gave her a skeptical look. “Kara can take down entire civilizations.”

“So what? My dad has access to nuclear codes. I’d say they’re pretty evenly matched.”

Clark chuckled, “Can your dad fly? Heat vision?”

“With all his connections to the air force, he could be up in the air in about 10,” Lois said, settling back into the pillows, her hand still laced with his. “And he just about burned a hole through my first boyfriend. You see, Kara might have all the power of a superhero, but General Lane has the power of the bureaucracy.”

Clark tilted his head, watching her. Her hair spilled over the pillow like a river, and in the dim glow from her bedside lamp, her eyes were impossibly warm. Clark swallowed hard.

How did he get so lucky?

“You think she’s okay?” Lois asked, her voice quiet, as if hushed tones would detract from the fact that Kara had super hearing. They both just hoped that she was passed out.

“She’s always okay. Just likes to cause a scene.”

“No one’s always okay,” Lois countered.

She threw the blanket over him, her eyes fluttering shut, her breathing soft.

Clark lay awake longer, listening. At some point in the night, Lois shifted, throwing an arm across his chest and later, a hand squarely into his face. He only chuckled quietly, easing it back to her side before pressing a soft kiss upon her hair.

Her erratic, violent habits did even out eventually, as she snuggled herself into his chest.

Clark let his arms envelope her, moving so slowly as not to wake her, and he smiled. Because no matter how prickly she was, or how much she protested against calling this anything more than a situationship, when all her walls were down, she fit herself right against him without a care in the world.

---

The city was still half-asleep by the time he woke up. His arm was draped over her, her head nestled close against his chest.

When she started to stir, he kissed her knuckles. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he whispered. She groaned, rolling onto her side, throwing her pillow over her head.

“Are you a morning person? Don’t say you’re a morning person,” her voice was muffled under the material.

“Sue me for enjoying this,” he responded, pulling the pillow out of her grasp.

Her eyes were half closed, her hair in every which direction. A scowl on her lips. She looked adorable.

One eye opened, “Stop smiling. It’s too early for smiling.”

“I can’t help it.”

She covered his mouth with her palm, but it didn’t stop the way his eyes crinkled, the corners lifting in a way that made his entire face glow with quiet joy, giving him away.

“Be quiet.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your thoughts are loud,” she grumbled.

---

“So we have nothing to eat,” Lois declared, peering into the fridge. With one hand, she closed the door, and with the other, she tried a cabinet, though she wasn’t too hopeful. She was proven correct. “I think that garlic is sprouting. Maybe I do have a green thumb after all.”

“It’s a wonder that your doctor gave you a clean bill of health,” Clark chuckled, which earned him a glare.

“Café by the corner?” he asked.

“Café by the corner,” Lois echoed, tugging both jackets from the coat rack, his and hers, hung side by side. “Kara, help yourself to anything in my room. You’ll probably fit into most of my stuff. I’m just going to quickly call and see if they could hold a table for the three of us. It gets packed around this time.”

Kara nodded as she propped herself up on the couch. She wrinkled her nose when she realized that one orange wrapper was stuck in her hair.

She made her way to Lois’ room, mentally trying to prepare herself if she saw any evidence of her cousin’s maybe not PG-13 activities. Thankfully, the coast was clear.

Kara looked around the room. It was cozy with blankets of different colors and patterns that just sort of worked together. There were post-its on Lois’ mirror that said things like “Call Perry,” “Take down media conglomerate,” and “Find out why the interns keep calling it deployment when I ask them to cover a story.”

The top of her dresser was a scrapbook of things. On one side was a stack of newspapers, each with Lois’ name etched boldly on the front page. The middle was home to a photo of Lois, Clark, and a bunch of other people she had never met. Lois was in the middle of the photo, all smiles and poise, rolling her eyes at something someone said, but a grin was plastered on her face.

There was another photo, this one of just Lois and Clark, arms draped around each other, smiling too perfectly. They were so undeniably smitten that Kara almost had to look away.

It felt like too much, too personal for Kara to see. Or maybe it wasn’t too personal, and all it was was evidence that Lois was his future.

Kara almost wanted to just walk out of the room entirely, but her current clothes had seen better days. She quickly pawed through a bunch of sweaters, some basics, a lot of purple, and found a band t-shirt that would do.

Kara didn’t know the band, but it beat Lois’ business casual options.

She pulled open another drawer, only to find a crisp dress shirt that was way too big for Lois and a handful of ties that she recognized.

Just confirmation that her cousin was carving himself in Lois’ life. Kara’s stomach did a little, unwelcome flip at that exact thought. She wasn’t even sure where it came from, where it bubbled from. She quickly pushed everything aside to pull out a pair of jeans.

When she was all set and done, she emerged from the bathroom.

“Ready? Lois went ahead to grab a table. We should head out. If she fights one more time with the hostess, I think we’re going to be banned.” He pulled on a pair of glasses.

Kara grabbed her jacket and bag from the front. “So . . . I guess you live here now?”

Clark shook his head. “No, I just keep some clothes here. I prefer not to lounge around in the suit, and since I come here straight from patrol sometimes, it’s easier than going all the way back to my apartment first.”

Kara nodded as he held open the now fixed front door. They took the stairs down, her first and then him.

To its credit, the day was nice. The sun was shining and Kara took a long breath of cool air as they emerged onto the street.

“It’s not too far,” Clark said, motioning ahead. Kara fell into step beside him.

“Last time I saw you, you still hadn’t told her,” she said, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “When did she figure it out?”

Clark pulled out his phone, thumb brushing over the screen. His lock screen background was the same picture Kara had noticed on Lois’s dresser, him and his friends, grinning like idiots. “Just about two months ago. Feels like forever, but also like yesterday.”

“Clark!” A young woman called from down the street. Kara’s head snapped up. A young woman was coming down the sidewalk, tugged along by a dog that looked like it had given up on life and wanted to be carried. “Thanks for watering my plants last week!”

Clark waved, “Of course! Not a problem at all. Beautiful day isn’t it? Have a nice one!”

The woman waved back and shuffled off with the reluctant dog.

Kara’s eyes narrowed. “Who was that?”

“Lois’s neighbor, Leah,” Clark explained easily. “Very sweet, but she cannot train that dog for the life of her.”

Kara turned back to the street, lips pressed in a thin line. The whole thing was just . . . so white picket fence. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly wanted to punch something.

“Don’t you think it’s too fast to dump all this on her? And now you’re already keeping clothes at her apartment?”

“I’ve known her for years, Kara. She’s not just some random girl.”

Kara crossed her arms in front of her, “I just think you’re U-Hauling.”

“You and I both know that I don’t need to rent a U-Haul.”

“Not. What. I. Meant. God, and you tell me I have to learn more about Earthly slang.”

“Wait . . . ” Clark pulled out his phone, already typing. “Lois told me to check something called Urban Dictionary . . . ”

“First of all, Lois and I are not lesbian lovers. Though, ally,” he added louder, as if anyone nearby cared. “And second, we’re not moving too fast. Honestly, sometimes I feel like we’re not moving fast enough.”

“You’re going to scare her off by just being you.”

“Haven’t so far.”

“Well, it’s coming, my friend.”

Clark only shook his head, “She’s been okay with all of it, actually surprisingly okay. I’m not sure why I was so worried - and to not have to pretend with her? Gosh, Kara, she’s just . . .”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Kara understood. The softness in his voice hinted at exactly where his mind was at.

And Kara? Well, she felt a familiar ache of staring at a life but never being able to find a way in. It was as if Lois perfectly wove into his life, like it was nothing, like it was clockwork, and Kara, well, it wasn’t so simple for her.

Kara forced a nod. “Yeah . . . I get it.”

---

Clark didn’t let her superspeed; he said they were trying to “blend in.” Not that it mattered; she didn’t even know where the café was.

Lois had already claimed a corner table. Her stuff was thrown on each seat, warding off potential poachers, and looking like she had practically moved in.

She glared at anyone who came too close, but the instant she spotted Clark, her expression flipped. She waved them over with a smile.

“Vultures, all of them,” Lois muttered as they sat. “Especially that woman over there. I think she was actually hoping I’d deck her.”

Clark slid in beside her and lazily laced his fingers through hers.

Lois passed Kara a menu and was already pouring all of them glasses of water, “You need a plan,” Lois added as she saw Kara paging through a menu that rivaled The Cheesecake Factory.

Kara mumbled something about “too many options” but her eyes strayed, just for a moment, to where Clark and Lois’s hands rested together.

Lois didn’t even bother to pass Clark a menu.

“Thank you,” Lois sighed as the waiter deposited three coffees, a tea, and a juice onto the table.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Lois laughed at Kara’s expression at the three cups in front of her, plus the water.

“Coffee tastes burnt. Tea is just soggy leaf juice and . . .” she took a sip of the orange juice, “why is it stringy.” She pushed all the cups aside, taking a sip of water.

“Thank you for trying,” Clark mouthed to Lois as Kara was busy muttering about “hairy juice.”

Before sliding Lois her coffee, Clark dumped a generous amount of sugar into it, so much so that it was practically a miracle that it dissolved in the cup.

Lois, unfazed, wordlessly handed him the maple syrup, before they had even so much as ordered.

The tiny exchange, the effortless give-and-take, made Kara wish she had just stuck it out on whatever planet she was previously on.

“Wow. She’s got you trained,” Kara muttered, no teasing tone in her voice.

Clark stiffened in his seat. “Kara. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Um . . . do you know what you’re going to get?” Lois cut through, trying to redirect, but Kara only huffed.

“I . . . don’t know. I’m fine.”

“Kara . . .” Clark glared.

“I’m not even hungry.”

“I thought we were going to have a nice breakfast all together. What are you doing?”

“I forget you’ve got your little Earth life all tied up in a bow. Sorry to ruin it for you,” Kara snapped. Her voice was harsher than she had tried to sound, but she didn’t take it back. She dug into her bag, pulled out her neural-link earbuds, and slid them into place.

Every noise around her, the chatter, the clinking, the words that she knew her cousin wanted to say, faded out. All she heard was the pounding bass of her music. Too loud, but doing its job. She increased the volume as if the music could drown out the sight of Clark and Lois sitting too close, hands brushing without even noticing.

That stupid smile on his face.

The rest of breakfast didn’t go as smoothly as any of them would’ve hoped. Even though both Clark and Lois pushed heaping plates towards her, she just nudged each away, even though her stomach growled in protest. Pride was easier to cling to than admitting that peanut butter cups for dinner was simply not enough.

---

“I’m going to take her to mine,” Clark said softly, voice laced with apology. “I know we were supposed to spend the rest of the day together . . . ”

Lois shook her head. “It’s fine. We’ll raincheck.” Through the corner of her eye, Kara saw Lois step closer, resting a hand on Clark’s cheek. He softened instantly, smiling as if her touch rewired him. Then the kiss: small, sweet, effortless. As if to say, we’re fine. Don’t worry.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised.

---

She knew he was mad at her. She could tell because his jaw was set just slightly tighter than usual, and the easy warmth in his voice had been replaced by a clipped, careful tone that seemed uncharacteristic of her golden retriever of a cousin.

The thing was, she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. Not because she didn’t think that one wasn’t warranted, but because she had an ego to protect.

He let out a long, controlled breath, and she knew he was biting back words.

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“I haven’t thought that far . . . I can go to the Fortress.”

“No, it’s fine. Stay here.”

Despite the sense of hospitality so ingrained in him, she knew that he wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity of a few nights with his cousin.

Before she could say anything in return, he was already in his kitchen, opening up cabinets and getting out mixing bowls. Eggs and bacon and some potatoes.

“You just ate, you can’t be hungry already,” she countered, throwing a sheet over the couch.

“I’m not but I know you are,” he sighed.

---

“Thank you,” she said, folding her napkin neatly onto her lap.

“Don’t mention it,” Clark replied, reaching across the table to collect her empty plate, a dish towel slung over his shoulder

But Kara was faster, she scooped up her utensils and slid past him toward the sink, nearly bumping him with her elbow. “I got it. You cooked. I’ll clean.”

Clark blinked, halfway to the counter with the dish in his hands. “Thanks,” he said, depositing it next to her.

Kara echoed his previous comment, “Don’t mention it.”

---

The rest of the day was a bit better. He left for a couple of hours to patrol the city, and he brought back greasy food that he knew she would like.

He asked about her travels. She told him a story or two, while glazing over the dangerous parts of course.

Clark told her about work, his friends at the Planet, the Kents, and without realizing it, just a ton about Lois.

---

The next day was harder. She slept in and he was gone before she even stirred.

For the first hour, she blasted music on his speakers, probably disrupting every neighbor in a mile radius. But she got bored fast when she realized she couldn’t stream her intergalactic playlists on his primitive Earth setup. She tried flipping through his music collection instead, but she didn’t know the first thing about playing a record. To be honest, the first time she saw those, she used it as a plate before he quickly corrected her and ran to wipe the crumbs off the vinyl.

By late morning, she was sprawled upside down on his couch, staring at the ceiling fan spin in lazy circles. She flicked popcorn at it until the bowl was empty. That took twelve minutes.

She tried to nap, but the silence in the apartment pressed in too close. She missed chatter that would fill her brain and keep the less savory thoughts from finding their way into her consciousness.

Kara thought that she could kill some time by trying on all of his clothes, but she took one look at his closet, noted the flannel, and decided against the idea entirely.

The hours crawled. She checked the time every few minutes, but somehow the clock barely moved. She thought about going to The Planet. No, he would probably kill her if she did that.

By the afternoon, the silence in the apartment was unbearable. She couldn’t sit still any longer. So she threw on a jacket and went outside.

Metropolis was loud, alive, and buzzing in a way the apartment wasn’t. Kara let herself wander. She drifted into a crowded park where kids were playing tag.

She wandered further and stumbled into a street market. Colors everywhere: rows of fresh fruit and tables stacked with handmade jewelry. She bought a funnel cake dusted in powdered sugar just because she could, and because she still had his credit card. It tasted incredible, but she ate it alone, watching strangers share theirs with friends and significant others.

Somehow her sugary treat didn’t taste as sweet.

Later, she found herself on the riverfront. The skyline glittered against the water, a sight that stole her breath for a second. It was beautiful, but when she turned to tell someone, she realized that it was just her. Always just her.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week, he faded in and out of his apartment. He was on patrol, or he was going out for drinks with his work colleagues, or he and Lois had to cover a story late into the night.

For a city of 11 million citizens and countless bars, parties, events, and activities, Kara was almost certain that she had exhausted all of the good bits (namely thrifting for vintage leather jackets, going to a 4DX movie theater, and yelling “Oh My God, he’s insufferable,” whenever she saw anyone wearing Superman merch). 

---

“You’re not even listening,” Kara protested as she waved her hands in front of his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” Clark responded, though his eyes stayed trained on his phone, typing out a quick message, “We just have to get this article in ASAP unless it’s not going to be printed tomorrow.”

“But that’s not important. What is important is how many times I went on this rollercoaster without throwing up. Even the ride attendants were impressed.” Kara tried to grab his phone from his hands, but he was faster as he swerved her and excused himself to the bedroom. 

“Jimmy,” he called into his phone, “Yeah that picture works. Did Perry approve it? I’ll get Lois on the phone in a sec . . . ”

---

“So what should we do this Saturday? I know you’re Metropolis’ biggest fan, but maybe something out of the city limits? Let’s go to a bull run or something!” Kara’s eyes sparkled.

From his bedroom, Clark called back, voice muffled by the door, “Another day? I got Lois tickets to this concert she’s been talking about for ages. It’s her favorite band. She denies it, but I know she used to have a poster of them in her childhood bedroom. She even got us matching t-shirts. I might have to wear earplugs, but as long as she’s happy.”

Kara’s shoulders slumped, glad that he wasn’t in the room to see it. “Okay,” she said softly, “Next time.”

---

“You’re going to work again?” Kara whined, watching as Clark sped through the apartment, tugging on a suit jacket that was several sizes too large and a sloppily knotted tie. 

“If I want to keep my job,” Clark answered, glancing at his watch and stuffing some papers into his bag. 

Kara leaned against the counter, arms folded. “And you do?”

Clark laughed, his briefcase in one hand, “Yes, Kara. I do.”

“I forget how much you care about this little human cosplay. You realize you don’t have to work, right? I’m sure you can get some pretty great sponsorship deals by . . . I don’t know, putting your face on a cereal box or something. Oh, have you seen that Katseye Gap ad? You can model jeans. Very Kansas chic.”

Clark paused in the doorway, “It’s going to be a pass from me.”

“What about a makeup line? One day when you were at work, I went to this place called Sephora. Have you heard about it? All kinds of stuff there. And you can try everything! Did you know that? EVERYTHING. I put on every eyeshadow they had. They might’ve banned me from the one on Amsterdam Ave., but I can always just get a wig . . .”

Clark shook his head, “Thanks for the marketing advice. I think I’ll stick with my 9 to 5.”

“Just keep it in mind and if you do really care this much about pretending to be human, I can just get you a copy of The Sims. It’s the same thing and did you know that you can even play as a vampire? Totally cooler than a superhero in my opinion. I would’ve said that you could play as an alien, but you do not want to see what they think aliens look like. Do you want to watch as I delete all the ladders from the pools?”

“Kara, believe it or not, I do actually like what I do. I have friends at the Planet and I get to help people, even if I’m not stopping runaway trains or flying people to safety. It’s work that matters.”

“Yeah, yeah. Truth, justice, blah blah blah. When will you be home?”

“I think Lois was going to swing by after work. We were going to whip up something for dinner before the groceries go bad. Maybe I’ll make the mac and cheese you like and I think we should still have sriracha.”

At Lois’ name, Kara wrinkled her nose involuntarily. It made sense that Lois was going to be at his apartment; it’s not like it should come as a surprise. Still, it somehow felt like the other woman was invading her temporary home, already gently nudging her out of the picture. 

Her mouth moved before her brain could catch up. 

“Clark, you can play pretend all you want, but you’re not human - you never will be.” Kara regretted the words almost as soon as they escaped her lips. Clark froze and his expression shifted. Kara almost wished he would’ve looked angry. Anger was something that she could deal with. Instead, there was a subtle tightening around his eyes and a flick of hurt that even Clark couldn’t mask. 

What the fuck was wrong with her? Why did she say that? 

This is what always happened. She just pushes and pushes until she loses everyone. She couldn’t do that with him, with Clark, because without him, what tether did she have left? 

She would truly be floating through life completely unmoored. 

And with the guilt came some realization. She was afraid, afraid of what would happen if he got frustrated enough to walk away from her. 

Clark forced a small smile. “Yeah,” he said quietly, an answer to his question. “I know.”

The door closed behind him, and Kara was left in the quiet hum of the apartment, already too empty for her liking. 

---

Around 7pm, Kara waited for Clark (or Lois) to enter. She had checked to make sure that there was enough sriracha. An hour passed and her stomach was not happy to say the least. He probably was just running late. Kara really hoped the Planet paid overtime because it was almost criminal the number of hours they spent in that office. 

By 9pm, her stomach was ready to up and leave and find a new host that would actually take care of it. 

Where the fuck was Clark? If he decided to get dinner with her, she had some choice words for him.

Kara tried to listen for him, but she couldn’t hear his voice. 

Instead, she listened for “Superman.”

“Superman’s been on the scene for hours,” one officer barked over a scanner. “We did what we could, but it really has all been him. It’s been incredible.”

A woman on the phone wept into her receiver, her voice breaking: “Superman saved them all. He saved my family.”

A news reporter smoothed her jacket before her colleague counted her down. “I’m in New Troy, on Clinton Street. If you haven’t been following along, this evening, one of the largest fires in recent years broke out in the building you see behind me. Superman has been working diligently to get the fire under control while flying people to safety. Experts have said that even with the substantial damage, they don’t anticipate that the structure will collapse. Please keep an eye out for any evacuation orders just in case. It’s just about out.”

Kara heard one man start up his car, “I’m leaving right now. Yeah, I’m okay but the wind is out of control. Helicopters can’t even get close, let alone get clear shots. We’re all safe here, thanks to Superman.”

Without skipping a beat, Kara ran to Clark’s windows. Sure enough, a billow of smoke rose to the sky. The culprit? One highrise in the middle of the Metropolis skyline. It burned like a furnace, flames hungry and clawing. Black smoke twisted upward, blanketing the stars. 

What was wrong with him? Throwing himself into danger like his life didn’t matter. Like their people didn’t have a history of tragedy. 

Logically, Kara knew that the fire couldn’t hurt him, but he wasn’t completely invincible. He could get hurt by missiles, artillery, or, more relevant, maybe an entire skyscraper falling on him. She didn’t want to test it. 

Before she knew it, Kara rocketed to the sky, following the voices. She landed a block away in an alley where no one thought to look, running onto the scene with one sole objective in mind. 

Where was her cousin? 

Kara’s eyes scoured the sky, desperate for any sign that Clark was in one piece.

She felt a shiver travel from her neck to her lower back as memories surged to the surface, memories that she spent many nights drowning herself in whatever could possibly let her forget. 

Unlike Clark, Kara wasn’t a baby when her planet was ripped apart at the seams. She remembered how the screams were so loud, so everpresent, that they fused together into a single, ear-splitting wail that became a frequent visitor in her nightmares. 

Kara was walking back from school when the ground cracked open, splitting the planet like jagged teeth. The quakes were so violent that she had a hard time walking straight. 

She remembered running past an older woman who used to babysit her and slip her treats when her parents weren’t looking. Her frail hands reached out to Kara, but it was too late. Before Kara could will herself to move, the woman vanished into the engulfing cracks. 

Kara often thought back to the man she saw. He cradled his own torn innards, pleading with her to help him, even though he knew and she knew that no medicine, no cure, no surgery could save him. 

She ran and ran, her familiar streets looking so foreign to her as they crumbled and broke. She stepped over an empty stroller, no baby in sight. She couldn’t bring herself to guess what happened. 

And even when she did get into the spaceship, pleading with her parents to let her stay with them, let her die with them, she remembered the blood on her skin that she knew wasn’t hers. When she had eventually emerged from the spaceship, knowing full well that her life would never be the same, she had tried to rub all the blood off, so much so that the red dried drops were replaced by skin rubbed raw. 

A siren drew her out of her thoughts. Suddenly, she forgot how to breathe. She gasped, she choked, and then she saw her: Lois. 

The star reporter was running back and forth, barking instructions to all those in the vicinity. She helped a frightened family into an emergency vehicle that quickly sped away as soon as the doors shut. 

Kara’s chest tightened, anger flaring hot. What the fuck was she doing? She was supposed to care about Clark, to keep him out of situations like this. To actually care about if he lived or died, but instead, she let him throw himself into danger. Every fiber of Kara wanted to fly forward and scream at her, to demand how she could let this happen.

But as Kara’s eyes traced Lois’ movements, the efficiency, the way she guided each terrified person to safety, how she was the one civilian helping among the crowd of trained professionals, something shifted. 

The anger, for a moment, shifted into something more sour. Here she was, in the chaos, making a difference. And Kara . . . Kara was just watching.

She was just a human, and yet she was always helping, always writing, and always being the other person in Clark’s orbit. 

Kara gritted her teeth as she watched Lois kneel to comfort a child, smoothing a hand over a parent’s trembling shoulder. 

More heroic than Kara.

Truly, the perfect match.

His other half despite not even being Kryptonian.

An equal, even without powers. 

A jagged edge crept into her voice before she realized it. “Of course you’re here. Do you just follow him around, trying to use him to get a front page story?”

“Excuse me?” Lois’ head snapped up, her gaze piercing in a way Kara had never been on the receiving end of.

“What’s your problem with me?” Lois said, stepping closer, “You know what? I don’t have time for this. People need help.”

And the thing was, Lois was right. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just learn to back off? This wasn’t about her. 

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to vacate the area,” a cop blocked the only route closer to the high rise. 

“My wife,” he choked out, “She’s . . .” 

“Sir, no one but essential personnel are allowed closer.”

Despite the warning, the man stayed planted. His hand shook as he gripped the railing, eyes fixed on the upper floors.

A girl about 4 tugged on his sleeve, “Don’t worry, Dad. Superman will save Mommy.”

Kara’s chest tightened as she finally saw him descend. “Fire is out. Building is all clear,” Clark called, landing with a middle-aged woman cradled carefully in his arms. 

“Suzette!” the man from earlier cried, running forward and wrapping his arms around her. Suzette, clutching her daughter between them, exhaled shakily, tears mingling with soot and ash.

“See? Superman saved her. I knew he would,” the little girl beamed, clinging to her mother as she looked at Clark with wide, trusting eyes.

A firefighter approached, slapping Clark gently on the back. “Nice job, Superman. It’s an honor.”

“Seriously, man. We owe you a beer one of these days,” another added.

“You’re a legend, man,” a third said, shaking his head in disbelief.

---

Lois walked closer, watching Clark. His face was focused, calm, but Lois could see the exhaustion in the set of his shoulders.

And what surprised her the most was Kara.

She approached her cousin slowly and measuredly, but she didn’t look like the surly girl that Lois had come to expect. Instead, her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her jacket and her eyes flickered over Clark as if reminding herself that he was in one piece. 

“You good?” Kara asked her cousin, her voice lined with a hint of fragility that Lois wasn’t used to. 

Clark glanced at her, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. All fine.”

Kara’s lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded, but it wasn’t a full relaxation. Lois caught the way her gaze lingered on him, the subtle shift in her posture every time he moved. 

Lois recognized that look. She had seen it before, in her father’s eyes as he left for the hospital day after day. Fear. Pure, unfiltered fear. Fear that something could happen to someone you loved. And there it was, mirrored in Kara’s gaze, tense and relentless, locked on Clark.

Lois was pulled from her thoughts by Clark. He stood a few feet away, every muscle coiled like he wanted to close the distance between them, to erase any professional boundaries in that instant. He wasn’t exactly subtle.

But he was Superman and despite how much he wanted it, she wasn’t going to let him announce their situationship to the world. 

Jimmy might actually combust. 

“Miss Lane,” he said, brushing ash from his forearms, his voice calm but edged with something softer, “I trust you’re okay.”

Lois nodded. 

“And… can you make sure she gets back safe?” Clark added, nodding toward Kara, “And I’ll see you . . .”

Lois cut him off, “Don’t worry. Finish up here.”

He exhaled, a quiet acknowledgment, and she watched him go. Lois didn’t step towards Kara. She had encountered enough stray cats to know that it was better to stay put. 

She gestured in the general direction of her car, “Do you want?”

Kara followed her lead wordlessly. They walked in silence further and further from the flashing lights, stretchers, and uniformed personnel. 

Lois was the first one to speak, “I worry about him too, you know? How could I not?” She took a breath, trying to let the adrenaline of the day roll off of her with the growing distance, “But I have to trust that he’ll make it out the other end. If I didn’t believe that . . .” Lois paused. 

Kara swallowed, but her jaw remained tight. 

The city’s normal evening rhythm, cars, chatter, distant horns, clashed with the images of the fire. 

They soon arrived at Lois’ car. 

The engine hummed to life, but neither spoke immediately. Kara stared out the window, hands clenched in her lap, jaw tight.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Lois said, her eyes still on the road. Apologies weren’t something taught in the Lane household. She was still getting used to them. “I care about him, you know?”

“Yeah. I know,” Kara replied, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. 

“If I’ve done anything to offend . . .”

“You haven’t,” Kara interrupted, voice quiet but firm.

“Can I just put something out there? Last thing I promise. I hated when my dad would get me in the car and I couldn’t escape. I’m not about to do that to you. I think what I’m trying to say is - Isn’t it better that he has two people here looking out for him? I hope you know that I’m not trying to take your place.”

From the way the younger girl looked at Lois, Lois was certain that that might’ve just been what Kara needed. 

“For what it’s worth,” Lois added with a faint smile, “I think you’re way cooler than he is.”

“That’s not saying much,” Kara replied and for the first time, Kara laughed. 

---

By the time they took the elevator up to his apartment, exhaustion had washed over both of them. 

Alone in his bedroom, Lois swapped out her soot-streaked shirt for one of Clark’s soft t-shirts, pulling it down over her head. Kara sank into the couch, letting herself slump completely, eyes half-closed.

Clark appeared at the window a moment later, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How was everyone’s day?”

Kara let out a long, low sigh. “Boring.”

“Uneventful,” Lois echoed. 

Clark chuckled, the tone warm and welcome.

“Now, what are we thinking for dinner?” Clark asked, opening the fridge. 

---

They ate dinner in the living room. Kara had already claimed the couch, stretching out in exhaustion, and though there was room enough for all three of them, Lois made her way to the chair, leaving Clark and Kara the couch. 

When Clark opened his mouth to protest, Lois held up a hand. “No, don’t worry about it. I’m good,” she said, calm but firm.

Kara also noticed as Lois took only a small helping of the mac and cheese, pushing the dish towards her. “Clark said it’s your favorite.”

Kara blinked. “Uh… yeah. Thanks.” She found herself relaxing slightly, letting the tension of the night seep out through her shoulders.

It was kinda nice. 

She didn’t hate it.

---

“You’ll be okay for the night?” Clark asked the next morning. “I’m not sure what time I’ll get back, but probably pretty late.”

“Have fun,” Kara responded, “Try not to lose your hearing at the concert.”

“No promises,” Clark laughed, “I have a feeling that my ears are going to be ringing for the next month.”

“Thank Lois for me. Now you won’t hear when I sneak out in the middle of the night,” Kara added, stuffing another spoonful of cereal in her mouth. Well, not cereal. Just the freeze-dried marshmallows. 

“What are you talking about? What sneaking out? You’re like a koala. It’s a miracle that I ever catch you awake.”

“You would be like that too after even just a couple of nights sleeping in itchy cargo netting while sleeping with one eye open.” Kara took one long sip of the non-pulp orange juice straight from the container.

“Use a glass!”

“Live a little!”

---

Kara spent some part of the night perched on a billboard, looking out over the city. It was really beautiful. The cars looked like little ants shuffling along the highways. 

At first, it was mesmerizing, but after an hour, the view only made Kara feel the same sense of emptiness that she had come to expect. Always separate. Always looking in. 

She flew to a gelato place that was on a business card in one of Clark’s drawers, taking a right when she passed a large sign for The Gazette. She tried every flavor before realizing that she was full. It was safe to say the employees weren’t thrilled. She did rank her top five so hopefully it would help them to improve the next time she dropped by (as long as they didn’t have a deny entry sign with her face on it). 

Eventually, she was back on the couch, alone in the apartment. The quiet pressed against her ears, making her think too much. Kara tried to push the feelings down, but even superhuman strength wasn’t able to do that. 

She almost messaged Clark, but the thought of interrupting his night, made her pause. He didn’t deserve that. She shoved her phone aside.

She tried to take a nap, to will the hours to pass quicker, but she woke up 30 minutes later. 

She flipped through every magazine she could find, trying to find something, anything, to distract her mind, but The Smallville Gazette wasn’t enough to keep her company.

Her hand hovered over her bag, tempted by the red K. Just a little, to shut her thoughts off. It would be fine. She would be careful . . . 

Then, the front door clicked.

“What are you doing on the couch? I thought you wanted to go somewhere fun?” Clark’s voice, warm and familiar, startled her. He hung his jacket on the hook. 

“Clark? You’re supposed to be . . .”

“Lois said she didn’t care that much about the band anyways. She thought it might be better if you and I had a night to ourselves. Cousin bonding time. So… ever wanted to check out the Titanic?”

Kara grinned before she could even think to stop it. It spread wide across her face, crinkling her eyes. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, but if we’re doing this, we at least have to spend a little time looking for megladon. I promised Lois.”