Living Dream [1/1] (Smallville // Clark/Lois)
Title: Living Dream
Author: Krys Yuy
Prompt: #1/“Smile for me.”
Summary: Forced into a prison camp, Lois’s relief knows no bounds when she comes across Clark. But when he doesn’t believe she’s really there, how can she convince him that she’s not a dream?
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Lois Lane (Smallville)
Warning: SPOILERS for Pandora.
Rating: PG/K+
Word Count: 2,789
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters used. This fic is purely for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Notes: For 10_orders (table here). This is just a little ficlet that takes place after the 2nd Pandora preview clip we got where Lois sees the Blur’s tattered shirt. A version of events that will obviously not happen tonight, but please enjoy reading nonetheless. I wrote this rather quickly (same goes for editing), so please also pardon the sucky quality. Written in present tense because I like to mess with my mind like that. I also wanted to post this before Pandora airs. I was in a somewhat angst-y mood, so that will account for Clark’s behavior. :P Will post a banner later tonight. Again, hope you enjoy! And yay for Pandora! It’s almost here!
The Blur is dead.
Everything in Lois screams out in protest, unwilling to believe it, but she cannot brush away the ominous feeling at the sight of the tattered black shirt, waving limply from its perch on a broken traffic light. Some kind of white S is pictured on the front of the fabric, and somehow, she knows the menacing stranger is telling the truth.
The Blur is dead.
There is no way the Blur would have let the world crumble like it has around her. He would have done everything in his power to stop it. Everything until he couldn’t anymore.
Shock numbs her and she barely protests when the stranger grabs her upper arm, sneering in distaste. A few seconds and a whirlwind later, she’s in front of surroundings all too familiar. She blinks up at the barn and it takes her a moment to register that the Kent farm has not gone unscathed by the nightmare she is trapped in.
Guards are posted at the barn entrance and there is barbed wire placed strategically along the walls and chained link fences dividing the Kent property. She looks over her shoulder and the once cheerful yellow house is dull and lifeless, its paint scrapped and in some areas, even burnt. A large red flag with a black symbol in the center of a white circle hangs from the roof, covering the windows of the second floor. Men and women are coming in and out of the house, dressed in some kind of battle fatigues.
Lois feels a surge of anger at these strangers tainting the warm Kent home, her sanctuary. Why the Kents? Why their home? Color drains from her face.
Oh god, Clark… Chloe, Oliver…
Fear for her loved ones threatens to consume her and she can’t help the terrifying thought that crosses her mind. That perhaps they have met the same fate as the Blur. Her hands shake and she tightens them into fists as she switches her gaze from the house to the barn.
This is no time to lose your head, Lois!
Steeling herself and drawing on her strength of will, she jerks away from the alien’s hold. “Hands off,” she barks.
He strikes her across the face, and her head snaps to the side, but she refuses to cry out. “Insolence will not be tolerated, human,” he states scornfully.
Lois cradles her cheek and turns back to glare at him, but bites her tongue. From what she can tell of his strength, she is lucky he didn’t dislocate her jaw. And, from the warning glint in his eye, she knows it was no oversight on his part.
The alien stranger seizes her arm again, and yanks off her jacket, ripping it easily. With her cheek still stinging from his blow, her protest dies on her lips. “Frivolous things are to be discarded,” he says. He pushes her forward, toward the barn entrance. “Hurry up.”
For one brief, insane moment, she considers running again. Then reality sets in and she knows she would never get very far. So, Lois straightens her shoulders and walks into the unknown. Once she passes under the archway, it takes a mere glance for her to realize what has happened to the barn and nausea rolls in her stomach.
It is a prison camp.
Much like the outside, chain link fences and barbed wire also divide the insides of the barn with the prisoners gathered in the center. All of the farm equipment has been moved out, probably thrown away and, as Lois looks upward into the cold eagle-eyed expressions of the guards, she knows that everything from Clark’s personal Fortress of Solitude has been discarded as well. Her gaze falls to their dog tags, each marked with some strange symbol differing from the one on the red flag hanging from the wooden beams. They’re not just guards; they’re soldiers. Not soldiers from around here, but soldiers all the same.
A guard opens the one door in the chain-linked fence, and she is shoved into the crowd. Lois stumbles, but steadies herself before she can fall. People wander about, ignoring her, and perhaps a few are gathered in small clumps, whispering, but otherwise, everyone is lost to their tortured thoughts. Their countenances are drawn and tired, clothing dirty and torn, while their hands are red and callused from what Lois assumes is forced labor. Her eyes dart from each man and woman and back again, her heart clenching at every empty expression. Varying degrees of fear lurk in each of their faces and one message can be read loud and clear.
There is no escape from this hellhole.
She wraps her arms around her middle as despair claws at her insides and it is hard to hold onto any ounce of hope. She can already feel the walls closing in around her, and it feels like this nightmare is just beginning.
But there, out of the corner of her eye, a familiar profile -
Lois whirls around, but no- it’s only another weary prisoner and she swallows her disappointment. She wants to see him; oh god, she needs to see him. She tries not to let it show, but she’s scared out of her mind and she doesn’t know what’s going on. All she did was pick up a ring!
How does one go from ring to the apocalypse?
Only she could get herself into a mess like this. There is still some part of her hoping fervently that maybe Tess just knocked her out and she’s dreaming, while another part rebels at the thought of the wily redhead getting the best of her. Before she can get into an argument with herself - because, really, that’s not going to help at all - her eyes pass over a figure in a somewhat isolated corner and she freezes.
The man is sitting on a crate, bent forward with his head in his hands. He is dressed in a long sleeved gray shirt with a white undershirt, dark jeans and boots. It’s not his usual style of dress, but Lois knows it’s him.
“Smallville?” she whispers.
He does not hear her; in his corner, he is a lonely dark-haired figure. Lois almost runs to him, but she has enough presence of mind to know that she does not want to draw attention. Instead, she slowly walks towards him, bumping and pushing past other people. Her gaze never wavers from his still figure and it feels like forever before she gets to his corner, but finally, she is standing in front of him.
“Smallville…”
No response.
“Clark,” she murmurs. Lois places her hand on his shoulder and he shifts beneath her touch.
His hands fall away from his face and he straightens his posture unhurriedly. He does not look at her; his face is turned to the side, his eyes trained on the hand she has on his shoulder. She takes in his profile - yes, it’s him, it’s him, it’s Clark - and she gives his shoulder a squeeze.
Lois wants to hug him and have him hug her back so that she’ll know everything is going to be okay, but there is something odd about his movements that makes her pause. He is so very still, his actions slow and deliberate. Just when she thinks he is simply going to keep staring, his gaze travels from her hand and up her arm before landing on her face.
Blank blue eyes meet her hazel ones and she breathes in sharply.
His hair is a bit longer, falling haphazardly on his forehead, and stubble grows along his chin. His skin is streaked with sweat and dirt, and somehow, his features seem harder. Colder.
Exhaustion tinges his face, even if it is not reflected in the deep pool of his eyes. Usually so warm and inviting, they are now closed off. Lifeless. He stares right through her and the relief she feels at seeing him is buried beneath more worries and apprehension.
Lois can find no trace of the man she knows.
“Clark, what happened?” she asks tremulously. “Why is the farm- why are you-?” She can’t finish her questions, not when she has so many ready to burst from her lips.
Lois kneels in front of him, placing one hand on his knee. With the other, she reaches out to cup his cheek. “What’s wrong?” she asks, willing him to speak to her.
His eyes slide away from her and down in the direction of the touch on his cheek. Her fingers curl in on his skin, and instead of her fingertips, it is now her knuckles grazing him. Then she draws back her hand, guiding it to her side, and his gaze returns to her.
Clark blinks and some of the blankness dissipates, but there is still more than she would like. The fatigue seeps into his eyes, and his voice is hoarse from misuse as he comments, “I’ve had this dream before.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Lois shakes her head. “Come on, you have to tell me what’s going on -”
“Smile for me.”
He reaches for her face, but Lois pushes his hand away. “Clark, snap out of it!”
“Please.”
There is something broken in his plea, and even though he is obviously not there with her, she does as he asks. Lois forces herself to smile, though she’s sure it is awkward and tense.
“There,” she says, smiling through her teeth. “Happy now?”
A hint of a frown crosses his features. He reaches for her face again and this time she lets him. “You’re not smiling like you usually do,” he observes. His fingers trace her strained smile, but the sadness in his tone makes her frown. He traces that, too.
Lois grabs his hand and looks up at him. “And how do I usually smile?” she asks.
“Happily,” he answers. Some type of emotion flashes across his face, and then it is gone. “Like before.”
Lois sweeps his bangs to one side of his forehead. “Before what?”
His voice is flat. “Before you died.”
Her breath stops. God, what the hell happened? “Clark… I’m not dead. I’m right here,” she says, gripping his knees.
Her words do not deter him, his soul still lost behind a sea of emptiness. “You are dead,” he replies. “I looked for you for so long. But you disappeared. I couldn’t find one trace…” His tone is mostly hollow, but she can hear the shades of grief hiding beneath.
“I see you in my dreams sometimes,” he confesses. His eyes roam over her face and then drop to his hand, the one she still has in her grasp. He stretches his fingers and then he is palm to palm with her. “I only ever see you in my dreams.” He turns their connected palms over and then back again.
Clark looks down at her, and there is more pain than blankness when he asks, “Will you leave me, too?”
Tears gather in her eyes, but she pushes them back, gasps, “Like you could get rid of me!” Lois stands up, intending to bend down and hug him, but he mistakes her movements for something else.
Clark drops his palm from hers and grabs her wrist instead. “Wait.” His gaze never strays from hers and there is a glimmer of disappointment. “Before you go, before I -” He pauses, struggling with himself. “- before I wake up…”
He surprises her by dropping to his knees in front of her and wrapping his arms around her middle. His head is pillowed on her stomach, just beneath her chest, and though startled, she presses her hands lightly on his head, pulling him even closer.
“-ved you.”
His voice is muffled against her blouse, and she can hardly hear him. “What?” she asks.
Clark’s head tilts back and when he answers, his gaze is the clearest it’s been since she found him, and her fingers are already trembling because she knows that emotion in his eyes, has seen it reflected in the mirror when she thinks of him.
“I never told you I loved you.”
Lois chokes back a hysterical laugh. “Smallville…” Her fingers thread through his hair. “You have the worst timing.”
Clark tilts his head to the side and it is so close to his adorable doe-eyed look from before that her heart aches. “Clark. Listen to me very carefully,” she says. “I’m real.” He shakes his head and she places both palms against his cheeks to stop him. “I’m here.”
He still does not believe her, still thinks he is deep in a dream. Let’s see if this works on a sleeping prince.
His hold on her is loose, so when she steps back, she meets almost no resistance. Lois strokes his temple once and bends forward at the waist to meet him at his level. She stops just before her lips reach his. “I’m right here,” she whispers, her breath grazing his mouth.
Something flickers in his eyes, but she can’t tell what it is, not when she’s already closing her eyes and kissing him ever so gently. It is a sweet brush of the lips, nothing more, but she still relishes the delightful shiver that darts down her spine. Slowly, she pulls back. Then she opens her eyes, unsure of what she’ll find.
Clark is staring up at her in fascination and disbelief, more awareness in his gaze than ever before.
And the prince wakes, she thinks somewhere in the back of her mind, completely lost in the way he is looking at her, like she is something precious to him.
“… it’s really you,” he murmurs, but the thread of doubt in his tone reflects the few leftover seeds of uncertainty.
She smiles. “It’s really me,” she replies.
He rises to his feet, his gaze on her face, and not once does he blink, as if even in that tiny microscopic second, she could disappear. Tentatively, he wraps his arms around her. He treats her more delicately than before as he begins to grasp that she is real. Exhaling a sigh of relief, she presses herself as close as she can, hugging him tight.
But Clark is yanked out of her embrace and her captor snorts in disdain. “Why am I not surprised you know this trouble-making human, Kal-el?”
Clark’s eyes dart to hers, full of unmistakable wonder and she sees the stark, undeniable realization that yes, she is real. Hope floods eyes so blue, and any remaining emptiness is washed away and she almost cries - she can see glimpses of her Clark peeking through.
But then Clark shakes his head and his eyes turn into sapphire chips of ice, and there is a determination that was not there before. He shakes off her captor’s grip, and the alien lets him, amused. Clark is unperturbed and the force in his voice shocks her.
“She is none of your business,” Clark growls.
Her captor shakes his head. “Mine, no,” he agrees, but there is a wicked gleam in his eye. “Though I believe Major Zod would love to speak to her.”
Lois jumps as Clark explodes, “NO!” He tries to punch her captor, but the alien blocks him easily, knocking him away and into a pile of crates.
“Clark!” Lois exclaims in alarm. She moves to go to him, but her captor has her arm in the same vice-like grip from earlier. She struggles, but he pays her no mind.
The stranger smirks at Clark’s stunned form on the ground. “Fool,” he hisses and Lois gets the distinct feeling that there is more to this than meets the eye. But then he starts to drag her away, and the only thought she has is Clark.
Lois tries to maneuver away from her captor, but she cannot evade his freakish strength. “Let go of me, you Neo-wannabe!” she demands. He barely bats an eyelash in her direction. “Let me go!”
Lois turns back to look helplessly at Clark, who is struggling to get up. “Clark!” she shouts. “CLARK!” She reaches out a hand to him as the cage door shuts, and her desperation builds as she gets farther away from him.
Clark stumbles to his feet. “LOIS!” He runs to the cage and grips the chain links, shaking them furiously. “LOIS!” he shouts. “Basquat, bring her back! BRING HER BACK!”
Lois watches him until she can’t anymore and she blinks against the brightness of the red sun. Clark’s devastated face haunts her, but even though she is unsure of her fate, she is heartened by the promise she saw in his eyes.
I will find you.
Crossposted to 10_orders, cloisfic, clois and svclois.