Falling Slowly

Somehow, Clark has attuned himself to the rhythms of Lois’ days.

She’s usually in before he shows up in the mornings, bright and peppy on sheer willpower and caffeine. She likes to steal the coffee he brings in with him, though these days, he’s given up trying to put a stop on it and has instead resorted to buying two cups of coffee each morning instead. He never mentions that he does it, but at the end of the week, he always finds $17.50 on his desk, exactly enough to buy five cups from the coffee place a couple blocks away from the Daily Planet that he likes.

Lois bites her lower lip as she does research, as she hunts for her next lead, but not when she’s typing up a draft. When she’s doing that, she usually grits her teeth, something that drives Clark insane, because since that one time he picked up on the sound with his hearing, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t un-hear it.

She walks with purpose almost everywhere she goes, head up and back straight, a reminder that she takes no prisoners. He can tell when she’s coming and going by the steady clack-clack-clack of her heels.

She grins when she drags him into helping her with her latest story, sometimes literally. She’ll grab his hand or his arm and pull him along behind her, ignoring his protests. (“You can’t just sit here all day and expect the stories to come to you, Smallville,” she tells him. “It doesn’t work like that.”) He could stop her he knows, could just plant his feet and refuse to budge, but he doesn’t want to, he realizes. He hasn’t thought about being a reporter since high school, when it was still more of Chloe’s thing than his own, but being an intern here is changing his mind. He likes the way the air hums in the newsroom. He likes the sharp rush of uncovering the next detail, the next lead.

Lois understand that, he thinks. She feeds off the newsroom’s energy, lives and breathes her job. She usually stays in later than he does, a lip clenched between her teeth as she browses the archives under the dim light of her desk lamp.

Out in the field, it still surprises Clark that Lois can actually finesse stories out of stonewalling cops, because the Lois he remembers would simply intimidate them into giving her the answers she wanted. It bothers him that she’s changed in ways he hasn’t noticed, that she might not be what he thinks she is anymore, because Clark needs to know how Lois fits into the greater scheme of his life. He thought he already figured that out a long time ago.

Sometimes, he tries to understand what exactly she is to him besides a friend, a good one, a sister he never really had, but it all feels so tangled up he can’t figure it out. His feelings for Lana were never so confusing. He’s always known that he loves Lana, loves her with a clarity that still hurts sometimes.

Lois, on the other hand, is something else. He just wishes he knew what that was.

It all clicks into place one late night, as they’re trying to polish up the final draft of their story about corruption in the lower levels of the Metropolis police department before their deadline. Lois is bent over her desk, the cap of her red pen poking out of the corner of her mouth, Clark’s latest copy laid out in front of her.

She’s being merciless on it, he can tell, covering the white paper in red marks. He could look more closely, but he would rather wait for when the carnage is over. When she finally sits back, Clark resists the urge to wince. There’s more red on the page than black.

“Not bad, Kent,” Lois says, and she sounds pleased.

Clark looks at her, taking in the way her eyes sparkle, the bright grin on her face, and suddenly feels so much so intensely that he can’t breathe, even though he’s not entirely sure he needs to breathe at all.

“You need to stop with the passive voice,” she says sliding the copy over to him, “and your writing isn’t concise enough, but you’ve definitely got potential.” A few years ago, he probably would have found her words annoying, the set of her shoulders insufferable, but somewhere along the way, he’s become charmed by them. It still isn’t what he felt for Lana, that constant ache of wanting and being just out of reach, but something softer and warmer, and he realizes he’s felt this way for a while.

“Thanks, Lois,” he says, smiling at her. He’s never noticed it before, but he can hear the affection in his own voice.

“Anytime, Smallville,” she says, and his heart feels so full it could burst.

Things don’t change after that, not really. Maybe Clark watches her more, and maybe he he lets himself care in ways he didn’t before, and maybe he finally understands how he feels about her, but the rhythm of his days don’t actually change.

Not for a while.

He kisses her for the first time (the first time it means anything) on a regular day at the Planet. No meteor mutants, no psychopathic jewelers, not even a call into Tess’ office. Just a fairly standard Monday morning: the sun peeking through the basement windows, the phones ringing on and off, the chatter of voices.

Clark brings his usual two coffees as well as a couple of leads they should follow up on. He wasn’t sure he ever would, but he’s really beginning to work at this reporting thing now, really beginning to care. And to tell the truth, he’s fallen a little in love with it, too.

Lois is, of course, at her desk reading the morning’s paper. “Morning, Clark,” she says, lifting the coffee out of Clark’s hand with her usual ease.

“Morning, Lois,” he says, and all of a sudden he wants to kiss her. It might be because of way she smilies as she takes a sip from her cup, happy and pleased, or it might be because of the way her hair falls around her face, forcing her to shove it back behind her ears so it doesn’t get in her eyes, but whatever the reason, he does.

Clark’s pretty good at not giving into impulses like that, but Lois is looking so happy and pleased that it just makes sense to lean over and softly press his lips to hers. He feels self-conscious for a moment, like he’s been totally exposed, before she kisses him back. Her mouth tastes like coffee.

When he pulls back, he’s still a little afraid she might slap him in front of the entire newsroom and refuse to speak to him ever again, still afraid that this might end up like the other great love of his life, still afraid of the million ways this could go wrong. But Lois just smiles, eyes bright like the moment he realized he was in love with her, a broad grin on her face, and his heart lifts. Maybe they can do this. Maybe they have a chance.

“So, Smallville,” she says, “are you going to ask me to dinner or are you going to keep gaping at me like a fish?”

Clark can’t help but laugh; it bubbles up from the middle of his chest and pours out of him. “Lois, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” he asks, and he’s smiling so hard his face almost hurts.

Lois seems to think about it. “Let’s make it breakfast, instead,” she says.

That throws Clark for a loop. “What, now?” he says.

Lois rolls her eyes. “Yes, now.” She holds out a hand, palm up.

Clark takes it, gripping it firmly, and lets her pull him along, keeping perfectly in time with the clack-clack-clack of her heels.

FIN.