Work Text:
“Lombard. Drink your coffee somewhere else.”
Lois Lane was cranky. There had been no time for her to take any breakfast after that stupid textile marathon. If only it were related to her piece about the alien material found in LordTech’s merch. The thing was trackable using a patented software, what could those stats possibly serve them for? There's no way it’s related to him being interested in expanding into consumer goods. A crucial puzzle… Unlike doubting these jeans looked better with that blouse or that other blouse or just a shirt because we should be comfortable with ourselves before anything, but at the same time not too comfortable because we want to–
We want to what!
Seriously.
And then, Lombard. He likes to stand there, hoping someone will address him. But Lois Lane was cranky.
“Well, gooooood–”
“No. I just want my coffee.”
Lombard: an asshole, a jerk, but not stupid. He shut his mouth, went to his desk, and calmly took his breakfast close to the alley, his hand waiting to connect with Clark Kent’s right buttcheek as soon as he passes by. There had to be someone in the world easing lanky fellas into growing a thicker skin. He was a man of the people in that way. A superhero, for he would do it with kindness. That new recruit had to learn to stand up for himself; it was pitiful to see.
Lane massaged her neck while pouring industrious amounts of sugar into her mug. Lordtech textile could wait, what if the biggest scoop was inside the Daily Planet? No, Kent is… He looks like him but he’s not. He lacks oomph. The titanic, majestic grandeur only a morally uncorrupted metahuman can exude. Kent is hot with a side of approachable. The cute guy you once saw at the library. Also, why hasn’t Cat jumped at the chance of sticking her mouth on those lips? Slouched shoulders ignored, Kent is an Adonis.
A smack.
“Ahhh~”
“Gooooooood morning Kent!”
“I– Um, good morning Steve…”
“Mr. Lombard for you, boy.”
“Sorry. Mr. Lombard.”
She turned to look at the scene. Lombard shook his head after hearing that answer. How is it easy for him to slap Superman’s doppelganger’s ass? Lois closed her eyes before they could deviate further low. Now we objectify! Great. One step closer to buying a Chippendale’s ticket. So many years of working on yourself, trying to be the best human possible, making your independence an asset… And now this fucking blouse feels too performative when paired with these jeans.
“Ms. Lane. Morning…”
A deep voice. God, even that. No one’s voice had ever– What the hell. She opened her eyes.
“Morning, Kent. Once again: you can call me Lois.”
And then that bashful smile. What a trailblazer, Lois. What a curious taste, Lois. Such atypical behavior, changing your fucking blouse because the cute guy smiles cute. Fuck.
“Meditating, Lois?”
“Ha. Maybe, to be honest.”
Now she realizes she has been doing the thing Lombard does. Sticking close to the coffee maker in hopes of social interaction. Pitiful, humiliating attention-seeking. If the mug she was holding were sentient, its complaints would fill the office. Lane forces herself to go to her desk, move one leg, and then the other. But Clark Kent is preparing himself tea. He takes out a bag of lavender, a bag of lemon balm and places both into the same glass.
“Going hard, I see.”
He chuckles. Superman would never do that. Of course, he’s not Superman.
“Ahh, just… Lavender smells nice. The mix is surprisingly good. Want one for yourself?”
His indiscriminate use of drinkware astounds: he is pouring the hot tea into a glass with no handle. For the second time in the week!
“You don’t learn, Kent. Lavender and lemon balm were HR’s way to minimize chances of mental breakdowns. You take it, you weak. Also: you will burn yourself.” Lois points to the glass that should only contain room temperature water.
Before he could say anything, she finally found the strength to walk away. It had more to do with “avoiding puppy blue eyes decorated by luscious eyelashes glaring meaningfully at her attempt to dampen his innocence” than it had to do with “strength”. Her steps were fast enough for her to remain oblivious to the faint voice trailing behind. You can call me Clark.
It had been a tiny voice. Meant not to be heard.
He would use any resource available in this office to avoid the shakiness in both his hands and heart. Shakiness that happened only when she addressed him. Yes, she had allowed him to call her Lois, but it was still weird. She’s so… Commanding and fast-thinking. Anything he said could certainly be used against him. Being the most tenacious person in a room full of reporters is no small feat, and he was aware of his status as a rival. But this wasn’t fear. He knew himself. Commanding was chosen to mask admirable. Fast-thinking meant incandescent.
Her intensity is impossible to ignore. The super-hypnotism concealing his identity worked subconsciously from his wish to keep a hidden, non-threatening persona —and yet, he could feel it slipping every time she glanced over.
This was the overwhelming humanity behind wanting to be seen —and hopefully admired— by someone commanding and fast-thinking. He stared for longer than he should have.
“You are not in her league.”
And that’s Cat Grant gossip columnist for ya.
“Ms. Grant!” He pretended to jump out of his socks like only a loony toon would. “I’m not– I– I was just–”
“Poor poor boy…” She took a mug. “You’re not ugly but you’re also… Not a powerhouse.”
And yeah. That sounds about right.
***
“Alright and… Ah yes, Lane. I will humor you: next Superman fight, you cover it.”
Perry White didn’t understand his star reporter suddenly wishing to write about crime events. Or intergalactic menaces, whichever came next (daily bread, etc.). But she tends to notice connections —nothing to lose sleep over.
“Noted.”
A less calm presence, Clark Kent raised his eyebrows briefly.
“Um, sir?” his hand going up hesitantly, “I already have an agreement with Superman for exclusive interviews post… Conflicts…”
“And will you be able to cover it during the fact, Kent? Actually being there?”
Everyone turned their heads. Yeah. He was never there.
“Well, I’m sure Ms. Lane will make a more-than-formidable job, but it seems a bit… Wasteful. Superman’s account–”
“And what if Superman is not available?”
“He’s… A man of his word.”
Lois Lane smiled. That’s definitely Superman.
“Is his word on a contract or… Is it literally his word?” She hated to put poor Kent on the spot, but she would push until the truth came from his very mouth.
“It’s–” He could come up with a contract, “I could–”
“I’m pulling your hair,” she turned to White, “sir, I agree with Kent. It’s more than likely Superman will follow through. My request is linked to suspicions I have regarding another report I’m working on.”
“Figured so. With that, we’re done, everyone. Please fill out the HR survey on your way out.”
Shuffling of chairs, mutterings of disgrace over having to fill yet another survey… A hand patted Clark’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry Superstar, not here to take your job.”
He was not unfazed. Lois almost felt pity. How could Superman be so jumpy?
“I know. You don’t need to :)”
And yet, his on-site punctuation mark was a smiling face.
The latest 7 rookies had a designated plant-watering day each. Rooney had been working on the Daily Planet for 3 years now and was TIRED of taking care of plants on a Wednesday. He neglected it. But Clark Kent had noticed, and without saying a thing, covered for him. He wiped the leaves clean too. And then he smiles like this after she publicly embarrassed him. He has to be Superman.
“Right,” she said, “well, sorry for the snark. Sometimes I don’t measure my… Tone.”
“Oh no, no. Not at all. You’re right. I’ll make sure he signs something.”
It was her turn to smile.
“We don’t usually do that. Interviewees prefer bare trust. I was kidding.”
“Well, that’s embarrassing then.”
Now she was discreetly laughing. It was nice enough. Clark thought he should make a fool out of himself more often.
“I liked last week’s interview.” She tried keeping her smile at bay. “Since you seem to have a direct line to him, why don’t you try to make a personal profile? Ask him why he hides his real identity and… Stuff like that…”
“Oh I– I usually try not to take a lot of his time…”
“Well, may I give you a bit of advice, Clark?”
He not only said yes, but also leaned his weight against a nearby desk and muttered please.
“Superman right now has the opposite of a reputational crisis. He’s available, reliable, heart-of-gold… Paragon of virtue. Of the likes of Maitreya, Jesus, Mahdi, etc. But Superman didn’t come out of nowhere. I expect he had a childhood. I expect someone taught him what’s good, what’s bad. I expect his moral compass and thought process to be different but not perfect. What will happen then? When this messiah performs the most natural of all acts: being wrong. Prepare everyone before that happens, Clark. Since we are all profiting from these interviews, might as well serve him a bit, don’t you think?”
Yesterday, Lois had silent burger time by herself. She re-evaluated her day, did some introspection, thought hard about how to find the evidence she needed without jumping from a cliff, and then remembered how Clark had stumbled that day before entering the elevator. She also remembered her own ideas regarding Superman before seeing his ass being slapped by a brash sports reporter. How, despite quite literally having a degree in journalism, she hadn’t seen what was behind the story. Superman had a “don’t worry, I can take it” attitude, and so she started worrying about Clark Kent.
No, not worrying. She did some thought process with less emotional involvement. Not worrying.
Or what if, instead, Clark Kent was an act? Maybe Superman’s brain and moral compass were truly perfect and not at all human-like. What if she were so far gone in her dumb infatuation that she had tried to bring Superman a bit closer to her league by making him some other thing? And here she was: making it abundantly clear, in front of the man himself, that she is believing this lie.
There were a few seconds of silence.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged her shoulders, “do whatever you want.”
“You called me Clark :)”
Lois stared in disbelief, took a deep breath, and muttered a “dumbass” right before leaving.
***
The next day, a fight happened. A ridiculous person with a medieval-infested brain entered a commercial center with a gun and full King Arthur knight attire. He was not a metahuman but carried a considerable, most-likely-sponsored arsenal of widgets and weapons. The poor mall security on his shift was wounded by an unknown liquid while the police were oddly late. Something straight out of Gotham. Lois drove there as soon as she saw a post about it. Tracking the police radio didn’t work these days. It was likely that her lie to Perry about covering this to investigate a link was turning into a truth.
When she arrived, the cosplayer had already been subdued by Superman, who, in turn, was also puzzled by the equipment surrounding the guy. She got out of her car.
“I was monitoring police scanners. Heard nothing about this.”
Superman raised his head, locking eyes with her.
“Ms. Lane. I’m scheduled to talk with another Daily Planet reporter later.” He stood up, taking the cuffed-up guy with him. “Everyone, please clear the area. There’s nothing to see here. There’s no bomb, but I recommend keeping your distance. We still don’t know what these substances are or what they do.”
No one was obliging: Superman was a celebrity after all, and seeing him accounted for a very special day. Lane had a hard time obeying too, not when the widgets on the floor had a similar aesthetic to others she had seen in the archival pictures of a lab in actual Gotham. She approached, attempting to sneak a picture of one of the devices.
“Ms. Lane.”
His voice was kind, yet commanding. Almost made her stop. Then she remembered this was Clark Kent.
“It’s okay. If something happens, you save me, right? Just want a picture.”
“I will make sure to provide one to Clark Kent.”
The criminal was still there, just kind of off, as if under the influence of something. Police sirens finally made their appearance.
“I–” She got closer. “Clark Kent had a personal situation and sent me in his place.”
Superman was now looking speechless and stiff.
“The Lords of Eternity and Darkness are more powerful than you and I.” The guy started babbling. “You martian, me human, and we– We will–”
Lois stared at him. Did look like a regular joe.
“Sir, are these lords in any way related to Gotham? Gotham police by any chance?”
At the mention, the orbs of his eyes grew in size, perusing her. He shook, attempting to escape Superman’s hold.
“You are not interviewing this man, Ms. Lane.”
“He seems to know what I’m talking about.”
The three started moving towards the patrols.
“He is clearly in an altered state. Maybe when he is in the headspace to consent.”
Two police officers made their way through the crowd. Unbeknownst to her, Superman had packed all the trinkets inside one of the big cloths the guy was wearing and had been carrying it all in one hand. It was all quite easy for him; you never noticed he had done something industrious. After handing the guy and the widgets to the police, he started doing crowd work. Saying hi to the occasional kid, taking a picture or two.
“Thanks for your cooperation, everyone,” he smiled brightly, “I now have to leave for the Daily Planet. Stay safe and remember to shop only for what you need! Really think about those ant expenses!”
Oh lord. This truly was Clark Kent. The metahuman no longer seemed half as regal as she remembered. He walked away from her.
“Wait–” but he shot up to the sky before she could say more.
There is a chance she was the first person ever to be intentionally ignored by Superman. Golden boy had shown an edge for the first time in his public life.
***
“Kent, get up. We are going for coffee at Straumo’s.”
Lois Lane was already packing a few of her folders in her bag. Clark closed his computer and started packing too.
Steve opened his mouth. He was by useless comment number ten, she was sure eleven was getting closer.
“Coffee! And at Straumo’s! Haven’t three men disappeared there lately?... After a date with Lois Lane!”
“Your wife will leave you.”
“I’m not married!”
“I’m telling you your future. For free. You should thank me.”
She was tired of beating around it. Clark gave Lombard a look and saw a genuinely pained expression. He couldn’t help patting the guy’s back before leaving. It was clear he was just looking for a way in the world, a community, a place in the madness of serious reporting. The Daily Planet had done a great job in hiring offsetting personalities: an outspoken punk for the confused bully, a charismatic dismisser (Cat) for the outspoken punk, and a whatever-Clark-was for the charismatic dismisser. Why there were so many complaints for HR, he wasn’t sure; it had to be the other departments.
He got on the elevator right after Lois and tapped the gold-rimmed button with the 1. She was standing, fists on hips, and her neck mildly curved to the front. A thinking pose.
“Don’t you think the police have been… Weird?”
“I think–”
“I mean, it’s hard for us to get interviews with them,” she turned to look at him, “while there’s Deputy Gordon in crime city being notoriously clean, cahooting with Batman… Why is there no Deputy Gordon in Metropolis? Did you know the government has never recalled or postponed the release of any LordTech or LexCorp product? And, at that, the review timelines are awfully fast too!”
The doors to the elevator opened.
“These rich dudes… There’s the illusion of regulation around them…”
“Oh, I don’t think–”
She opened the Daily Planet door and absent-mindedly held it for him. It made the hunky man blush.
“You don’t think, Clark? You must have also noticed how late they come to certain Superman fights… As if coming out of obligation!”
“Well, it’s not like they can help him…”
“Why, I say they could! Controlling the crowds, for example! The general public has become a nuisance for Super–”
“No, no. I don’t think so,” he was trailing behind, suddenly feeling self-conscious, “sorry for cutting you.”
“No, no, that’s good, Kent. You should do it more often. Just, next time, say something with substance.”
She had really gone into coaching mode this week. But he didn’t like what he was hearing: the Lois Lane instinct tended to be the step 1 of truth. He wished for her to be wrong more frequently, for she always unearthed uncomfortable realities. They both sat at the diner’s bar. He tried to go for substance.
“Superman might have inside people. He would know if something like that was happening.”
“Would he?” She gave him a pointed look.
“I will ask.”
“By the way,” the waitress approached for their order, but Lois only pointed to a milkshake, “I think Superman might be a bit of an asshole.”
“What? Why?”
It truly made his heart stop. Had he been rude?
Something made Lois speechless. Her mouth was slightly agape. This was the moment she confirmed it, for all the immenseness of character finally revealed itself: Superman was sad. He carried on his face the genuine fear of being thought an asshole by someone he esteemed while looking exactly like the alien-punching… Metahuman. It made her want to backtrack immediately.
“I mean–” But no, she wanted him to say it. “It was odd, that’s all. Seemed like he didn’t want me to interview him. Maybe he doesn’t like how I write or–”
“That’s– Of course that’s not true, Lois!”
She smiled. Lying like this seemed rude.
“I was really looking forward to it, you know… We’ve coincided a couple of times but I’ve never dared…”
There was a bit of truth in that. Never in her life had she been as shy as she was when first faced with him. The memory came to her, nervousness included. This was Superman in front of her, and she dared tricking him. Yes, it was clichéd to have a thing for the hot stone-principled hero but it was also a bit heartbreaking, because those lovely qualities made him unreachable too. In this part of his life, she was the experienced colleague he had to try one-upping. She had to be strong and capable every day.
“I’ll– You interview him next time, tell him I’m sick.”
“But what I want to ask has nothing to do with his fights. Do you think he’s happy, Clark?”
“I think…” She was constantly asking him what he thought, and he had no other way to start his sentences, apparently. “I’ve seen him smile at the beings he saves. There’s not much I can account for after that.”
“If you were Superman, how would you answer?”
“I would say that fighting for community and fairness on Earth is one of my greatest joys. You could say the same thing, right? I don’t have to ask you how you would answer if you were him… You kind of do the same…”
“I don’t! I just enjoy the exercise of screwing bad people!”
“Well, maybe you’re imagining him greater than he is, and he also just enjoys the exercise of screwing bad people!”
“He doesn’t.”
She really looked at him, trying to communicate. If you can read minds, Clark, this is your moment. Don’t make me say it out loud.
“Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean to be an asshole. He has asked me about you, you know?”
“Has he now?”
“Yes. He might seem… Imposing… Unapproachable… But maybe it was… Shyness?”
It was a truly tender moment. One of the few things Lois would allow herself to live.
“I made Superman shy?”
“Yeah! Why wouldn’t you? :)”
“Because I make you shy. Are you telling me Superman and you have something in common?”
And it worked wonders with conjuring his nervous smile and avoiding gaze. He didn’t say a thing.
“Sad you’re not him. Nowadays it feels easier to flirt with Superman than with a coworker.”
“I mean, as long as HR doesn’t hear about it…”
Second agape moment for Lois Lane. He was now looking straight into her eyes.
“Would thinking of me as Superman make it… Easier?”
The milkshake came abruptly. She took a second. Maybe thirty.
“Lane, say something, I’m starting to fear HR will hear about me–”
“Well, that offends me! Wouldn’t HR hear about me too?”
“I would NEVER tell HR on you.”
“Don’t say that… What if one day I do a terrible thing?”
“You won’t :)”
“You have me on a pedestal.”
“No, you have– Superman on a pedestal.”
Lane thought she had started smiling here, but the smile had been there all along.
“For God’s sake, Clark, just say it! I already know.”
He squared his shoulders and pumped up his chest, acting as if the cape were right now floating behind him.
“Alright. I will say it.” A few more seconds to prepare. “Ms. Lane, from the first time I saw you, there was a ping in my chest. I–”
“Not that! I mean– Yeah, I know that too, but I meant the other thing. Your other you.”
In resignation, his hands dropped.
“Alright, yeah, I’m Superman. Congrats.”