You make the Darkness disappear, I feel found when you are near

[isitablurred]

Who: Clark Kent [isitablurred] and Lois Lane [presspasskey]
When: Night of the 7th, morning of the 8th
Where: Their apartment
Summary: Several threads collected herein; Clark and Lois fight Darkness incursion and make up, and also post-funeral, morning of the 8th. Last one I swear.
Warnings: Violence, mention of character death, bad language, kissing-and-making-up

Comments

Morning, 8th

[presspasskey]

Lois had finally fallen asleep, after talking to Clark and tossing and turning and pacing, wishing there were something more that she could do. She couldn't be totally certain when he'd come home, though; as soon as dawn broke she awoke, having slept too lightly and too badly not to notice when the light started to show.

Rubbing her eyes blearily, she made sure there wasn't any sign of the Darkness outside, then checked the main room cautiously. Sighing with relief, she opened the door completely and headed for the kitchen. The cats were fed, cold water was obtained--

Fuck it. It is too early for life.

Barely two minutes later she had retrieved the plushy--it's ridiculous, of course, and makes her feel about twelve years old--but she doesn't have her favorite fuzzy pajamas here, and she needs some comfort. Besides, shirt or not, it's another thing to remind her of him. It's been a long month since they stopped being entirely civil to each other. At least now she could be comfortable while waiting for him to come home.

Within another two after that, she was fast asleep on the couch.

[isitablurred]

It had been one of the longest nights of his life, but Clark slipped back into the apartment he shared with Lois early in the morning; an apartment which was paid for by Bruce Wayne, he recalled, with a sickening sensation rising in his throat once more. The thing was that it was that no matter that they were independent people who just happened to both fight for justice, their lives had deeply intertwined, like two spiders webs sticking together. The pain was as much in the loss itself as it was in the constant jarring reminders that caught him off guard as he went about his day. Bruce's children - as much a part of Clark's life as their father's - Bruce's apartment, Bruce's cave, Bruce's lamp. Even the uniform had been in part Bruce's influence. He was the reason why Clark wore it still. And the glasses...

Clark closed the door behind him feather lightly, aware that after the night she'd just had, with the Darkness just on the other side of the door, she may not have slept until the first sun crept through her window. In fact there she was, curled up on the couch, Cat draped over the top of it and Maskie curled up on her feet. She held the cuddly shark he'd bought from the aquarium, holding it tight to her chest like a security blanket.

He'd never loved her more than in that moment--and how could he have ever doubted that she had the fortitude, the strength to be able to conquer anything a life with him could throw at her? She was Lois Lane. She was probably the only one who could.

Stepping away, Clark made two cups of hot cocoa, then placed the tray down on the floor, raising his hand to her shoulder to shake her gently.

"Hey sleepyhead. I'm home."

[presspasskey]

Lois' first response to being shaken was to curl up muttering indistinctly (probably a boon, considering it was likely to be obscene threats of retribution). However, the scent of cocoa did finally reach her, if not quite as quickly as the smell of coffee would have. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed again, reaching behind her blindly.

In her undirected search for the source of that yummy, sugar-and-chocolate-rich scent, her hand finally found his arm. It took her a long moment, but eventually her brain managed the logical process of Thing--arm!--guy--big--really warm-- "Sm'llville?" she mumbled sleepily, twisting a little to peer at him.

(If the terror otherwise known as Maskie got kicked in the process, well, that was hardly Lois' fault, now was it?)

And then, after another moment, his presence registered more fully in her brain and she pushed herself onto an elbow, hazel eyes rather bleary and confused. Her tone of voice and her ever-informative face had a hundred different shades (I'm glad you're here, are you okay, how can I help you, I'd hug you if I had the wakefulness to move, I missed you, I love you) despite barely being awake enough to talk.

"You're home."

[isitablurred]

It was obvious that he could read it in her eyes; the warmth, the relief. He dropped his hand to hers and guided it up, brushing her fingertips against his cheek, briefly closing his eyes before sitting up, forward, brushing a kiss to her lips. He didn't linger, instead he moved up, sliding himself into the space on the couch in front of her, slipping one arm around her shoulder so that she could lay her head onto his chest if she wanted to.

Forget the cocoa, he'd be happy to doze right here.

Maskie, who'd been knocked from Lois' feet, considered the open lap as invitation himself, however, and got between the two of them, stretching instantly out over Clark's lap jealously.

"Maskie--" Admonishing, but he didn't knock the cat away, just looked at Lois apologetically.

[presspasskey]

Lois was more than happy to resettle herself against his chest with a sleepy mumble. It had been a long night, most of which she had spent worrying about him and how he'd be feeling in the morning. Keeping him firmly in one place and where she could fall asleep listening to him breathe? She couldn't see any downsides to that in any direction.

However, then there was the terror. The terror that totally wasn't theirs and which Clark had damn well better have plans to give back to whoever decided to let it vacation with them, because the thing pissed her the hell off. Or something. (Never mind that she fed it along with the cat.)

Not even looking up enough to see Clark's apologetic look, or even opening her eyes enough to notice the cat, Lois simply decided to drape herself over him and snuggle close. Hell what the cat thought, she had first claim to him. After all, Clark was much better for snuggling than a plushy.

(Despite the plushy being softer. And fuzzy. And not higher than human body temperature.)

"stupid frickin' terror go 'way."

[isitablurred]

After a moment longer of letting the cat have its way, Clark brushed it aside and shifted on the couch enough to lift Lois effortlessly against him, closing his eyes, dropping his head back. He could almost fall asleep like this, her warmth against him, the sound of her heartbeat the very centre of his world, and the only thing that ever mattered to him right now.

He could sneak an hour like this before the two of them had to split for work. An hour; that was all. But it was an hour that he could make good use of, turning his face into her hair and breathing her in, his arms closed.

Considering the night he'd had, it would be easy to fall asleep. He dozed, relief sinking all the way through him; comfort and contentment in the relaxation of his shoulders, the softness of his face.

[presspasskey]

Unlike Clark, so carefully budgeting in how much time he could spare, Lois simply settled in for a long, comfortable nap. As far as she was concerned, today was not a day for work. She'd written up an article in the wee hours and sent it in; Clark had had a full night of tragedy, clean-up, and injury. Work could go to hell.

Still, despite being incredibly comfortable and slipping easily into warm and peaceful dozing, the smell of cocoa and remembering how long she'd been waiting for him to come home, she woke up very slightly. Raising her head, she looked down at him a moment. He was so beautiful--more so at peace, and Lois smiled softly and ran her fingers over his face.

She leaned down shortly after to kiss him softly, remembering his taste (god, it had been so long since they'd been like this). Lingering briefly, she pulled back only to bury her face in his neck and close her eyes again.

After everything that had happened last night, they deserved this much. And maybe they could manage to talk out what was going wrong without yelling for once.

(Never mind that was mostly her.)

[isitablurred]

Together they slept; and it was well earned rest, wrapped around each other, eyes closed in contentment--in sleep. He didn't wake up even when his internal alarm went off an hour later, just wrapped his arms the rest of the way around Lois and sank a little sidewards. Maskie and Cat gorged themselves on cold cocoa, then found a place between Lois' ankles and the back of the sofa to squeeze in with them, and three or four hours later Clark slowly let his eyes flicker open.

He raised his own hand to Lois' cheek, brushing her hair away from her closed eyes, and kissed her temple feather gently.

So much for hot cocoa; it would be time for hot coffee and jam filled doughnuts soon - he caught sight of the clock - or maybe a couple of hours ago. Well, that was just too bad. Honestly, if missing a day from work was the sacrifice he had to pay for a few hours longer like this, then he would gladly pay it. He had lost his friend last night to a gruesome murderer; the least the world could do was let him find comfort for a little longer.

[presspasskey]

Had Lois been awake enough to talk to him, and if he'd mentioned out loud that a day off from work was more than justified, she would have retorted that of course it was and did he really think she was going to let him keep working himself into the ground?

As it was, neither of these were the case, so she merely made a soft, wordless murmur that might have approximated to 'good morning' in just-waking-up speak. She had gotten a few more hours rest than he had, even with taking the time out to write (but even that had gotten done while waiting for him to call), and interrupted or not, it was almost adding up to a proper night of sleep. She was half awake, then, as she twisted slightly to place an answering kiss to whatever she could reach without moving too much--in this case, it turned out to be the corner of his jaw.

A few more minutes later, or maybe fifteen, she stretched a little more. This time she was more careful about the evil furballs apparently located somewhere near her feet. Trying to peer around the room with only limited success, she mumbled, "What time is it?"

[isitablurred]

“A quarter past twelve.” The mantle clock was at an awkward angle, and all the way across the room, but he could read it perfectly from here. “Lunchtime, believe it or not.”

He didn’t want to move; didn’t want to acknowledge the day. He kept thinking about Bruce, his kids, about the funeral boat floating out into the water, and the fire burning into the morning sun. Clark had had to say goodbye to many of his friends over the years. He’d been to too many funerals, and worse. He’d even buried Lex, and regretted it despite everything the man had done to him, but burning Bruce had been like… Well, how it would be if he lost Oliver, or Chloe-or Lois. The pain of the loss was like a heavy object in his chest, and every time he tried not to think about it deliberately, there it was, louder still. He still remembered Dick pushing the Robin patch into Bruce’s hand, remembered Tim’s attempt at making a speech before his voice broke.

Quietly he sat up the rest of the way, brushing his hand through her hair and helping her lie down again with her head on the arm of the chair.

“I’ll fetch coffee,” he said helpfully. “Enjoy the pampering while it lasts, okay?”