Chapter 13
Here's hoping this one isn't too verbose...
"I have a similar story, actually," Clark offered into the darkness. Stake Out Number Two.
Lois looked across the car, her face once again glowing in the twilight at him. She hypnotized him, he tilted his head.
"Oh?"
"Yes, um, there was this really popular girl, you know, school royalty and dating the quarterback..." Clark stuttered a little as she gazed at him, smiling in good humor, "Who would randomly find me down an empty hallway and ask me for advice. On everything. Like um, her parents, and money, and life and love and even on outfits..." he blushed at the memory, shaking his head.
He paused.
"... and she did this forever, up until we graduated, and never acknowledged me in the light of day. I didn't really mind, actually. She was a good person, I didn't resent the fact that I was not good enough for her to be friends with." Clark only realized this as he said it, always having spontaneous epiphanies in front of Lois. He was dazed for a second as he drifted back into memory, realizing that the person he had been then was at once who he really was and just so young...
"You're a pushover, Clark."
That hurt his feelings! Clark looked over at her, surprised for just one second--
"...And I wish you weren't. You've got to get angry sometimes, get pissed off! Break something, say 'no.' Or better yet, 'yes!'"
"Yes."
"Good."
She flung her arm at him, gesturing in sarcastic disregard as she looked out the windshield and towards the city, "You worry me sometimes, Smallville."
He had grown to love that nickname, more than she could ever know. He sat back, trying not to smile in his affection for her. He liked her so much more at night, when they could talk, when she was his alone. He joined her in admiring the skyline out the front window; it had been her idea to park this way on the deck tonight, the warehouse now viewed from the passenger side, on Clark's right. He looked around about every ten minutes and saw nothing each time, so his gaze made its way back towards the city. It was just like old times, a perfect way to forget not remembering five extra years...
"I'll try to stand up for myself more, Lois..."
Clark had been on guard tonight when he went down to the sidewalk to join Lois in her car, after she called up and let him know that she was double-parked outside his building. He lifted the passenger side handle, trying not to hit the side of the car that Lois was next to, and slid awkwardly into the seat through the half-open door. He had expected to come face to face with the harsh Lois of earlier than day, the one teasing Richard from their side of the bullpen and snapping at people with a measured amount of bitter hatred ever since lunch. He knew from experience that Lois really hated the rain, or really any weather that rendered her unable to walk barefoot outside (so, most of the year was out, really...) and guessed that might have something to do with it. He was therefore surprised to find a calm and sad looking Lois, the Lois that resembled a little girl still hidden inside her, and he could help himself but to ask if she was okay about a millisecond after taking in her expression
"I'm alive," was her only answer as she looked out the left-view mirror and put her blinker on, trying to get back into traffic. The ride across town was without words; the air conditioner was battling the humid aftermath of August rain and Lois had to keep flicking on the windshield wipers to combat the condensation there. Clark reached out to adjust the temperature of the airflow so as not to cause this constant distraction and noted that Lois didn't swat his hand away. Clark took a moment to relax, rubbing his own neck for a few minutes and staring at nothing.
Twenty minutes later they were winding up the ramps of the nearly abandoned parking deck, coming to rest across three spots at the top and looking out at a rare view of the skyline. The slow, lyrical and haunting music that Lois usually listened to in her worst moments was playing softly the entire ride, and now was putting a gentle strain on her car battery as they sat in thoughtful silence once again. Clark caught himself looking at the display as pianos harmonized somewhere in a studio, long ago.
In the pause that followed Clark's last statement about growing a spine he found himself back to thinking about the change in her from this afternoon to this evening: the idea of being alone with her, the comfortable intimacy that they often shared as both friends and near lovers. Clark was sometimes very happy to be who he was, to get to know her in two different silences, to see her smile for two different reasons. He thought he might have more of her to call his own than any other man, even if right now it was because he wasn't worth the effort to mask her face.
Sadness now dueled with his warmth, many memories of people showing him things only because he was so inconsequential to them, only because he was so insignificant in the greater world. He pouted a little and glanced at Lois, sorry for heaping these sorrowful thoughts upon her without her knowing. The music was reminding him of many lonely nights, and Clark thought suddenly of Jimmy and promised himself to take lunch with him tomorrow.
"What have I done, Clark." It was a statement, not a question. He looked at her, concerned. She stared at the city.
"What have I done?" Raw, breaking emotion.
"Lois?"
She hung her head, staring at the logo in middle of the steering wheel.
"Tell me I'm a good person."
Clark was shocked, concern and affection pooling in the bottom of his mouth, his tongue tasting the essence of his words. This wasn't like her; Lois never needed to be told anything...
"You're a good person."
She took a shaky breath in response to this knee-jerk response. Clark felt the need to bolster the sentiment rather than letting his shallow reassurance serve alone.
"You change the world every week, Lois."
She turned to look at him, obviously distraught about some unspoken worry.
"But what about my world, my little world, my life, Clark. Do you know what I've... I..." she trailed off, hopelessly staring at him.
He stared at her, wondering what to do. In a different time and place, Clark might have eased his way into an excuse to leave the car and come to her minutes later as Superman, who would gather her in his arms and take her away with the confidence he needed in moments like these. He would gaze down at her sorrowful face, pretend he could see no pain, give her freedom in her misery, distract her until she could sort through it, be an ear.
But things were different, times had changed, 'they' had changed. He felt so powerless suddenly, trapped in two personas and so unable to help her. He knew she was here, in front of him, in pain, and was unable to properly help her.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all." He couldn't deny her anything in this moment, the maelstrom of the day puddling before him; he was worried about her. Maybe Jimmy was right, that she was depressed, a word not often reserved for Lois. But, he knew her, knew her self-destructive tendencies, the madness she was capable of. Clark wasn't sure what all the allusions to "a different Lois" were all about, interns remarking that she had undergone a change recently and the Chief asking him if he had noticed anything peculiar...
Lois snapped a match between the cardboard cover and the abrasive strip of the matchbook like a sailor on the high seas, tilting her head as she lit her cigarette, a cool confidence in her aloof manner. Brown eyes burned bright in the flickering light and then the bittersweet smell of sulfur filled his mind.
... no, she was just as dangerous and full of frenzy as she ever was; fire and brimstone. He did not underestimate her.
But since when did Lois ask if she was a good person? An image rose behind his eyes: the way she pushed her hips against Richard today snapped to Clark's mind, the gentle roll of her body, the way she made it seem like she was just taken into his arms, rather than allowing him (with calculated precision and effect) to take her into his arms. His knowledge of moments like those was truly carnal, whether as a witness or as a participant, and he knew that she used that look in her darkest moments, wondering what she was thinking as she licked her way across her fiancé’s skin at 11:30 in the morning. Clark felt his fists tighten, felt the want in himself, the desire to claim her in front of everyone in casual disregard, just as Richard had today. Perhaps the reason for her soul-searching lay somewhere in those moments, for it did stand as evidence that whenever her unique sexuality made its way into the bullpen, Lois was indeed misbehaving...
But these thoughts came up short. How odd to assume that her thoughts were about that, how did he know that these two long-time lovers did not share moments like that all the time, how much in her must have changed in this new life? This long term-life, this committed life. A shame rose in him, a secret hope that her misery was some hidden guilt that she was indeed thinking about him when she traced her fingers across Richard's body...
Smoke was swirling in the space between them; Lois' face had not changed in its miserable introspection. Clark became aware of his thoughtless pondering and blushed in the darkness, ashamed of himself. He looked away from her profile, even though he was sure she didn't mind his puzzled stare, and glanced down at the warehouse to the right under pretense, unclenching his fist and happy he wasn't holding anything.
"Do you remember playing Truth or Dare with the mayor?"
He heard the bleary smile in her voice and she gave a small laugh, "Yeah."
"That was the best interview I ever shared a byline on."
"He was an ass."
"He was flirting with you."
Lois laughed finally, a rush of smoke coming out her mouth unexpectedly and looking over at him.
"Clark!" Clark Kent, making Lois Lane feel scandalized?
"It's true." He grinned.
"He did ask me if I had any 'interesting sexual preferences.'"
"But you answered."
She was grinning full-time now, and took a casual drag, "Yup, I did."
"Did you ever consider shutting him down on 'inappropriate behavior?'"
"Of course."
"What stopped you?"
"He was a good man, good for this city, despite his vices."
"And so are you."
Lois paused in her movements, taking this opportunity to shift in the seat and find a new position. She looked surprised, fully aware that Clark rarely took such circuitous routes to reinforce a point.
"So I'm a womanizing drunk with a good heart and a skewed moral compass who comes through in the end yet gets convicted of polygamy?"
"Kind of." His words were open, honest.
She laughed at him, smiling all the same, "Shut up, Smallville."
-----
Lost in the daze of music and ambiance, Clark stared at Lois reflection in the glass, again, feeling like this was the hundredth time he had sat here, despite it only being the second. He missed Lois' old car, it had more legroom, and wondered in sorrow what had happened to it.
Five years.
Lois looked miserable again, all attempts to cheer her fruitless and inappropriate. He knew how to leave Lois alone, knew when to just let her lie. A cramped, heavy feeling was making its way through him, inappropriate thoughts making the humidity seeping through the car hard to bear. Humid summer nights reminded Clark of a feeling of eternal dissatisfaction, of not being able to get comfortable no matter how he laid in his bed, above the sheets, a stifling breeze blowing in from the city and making him think of Lois Lane. He wanted to fly again, and could not resist this time.
Lois' stomach gave a rumble.
"How about I go get us some sandwiches?""
It was 12:04 in the morning. Clark heard his mother's voice in his mind say,’ The Witching Hour,' and wondered how she was doing.
Offering to buy sandwiches at this hour would have been ridiculous in Kansas; superstitious sentiments about the power of unholy hours was as equally out of place in this, his second home. He stared at the city, thinking of his favorite all-night bodega and wondering if it was still open.
Lois groaned at the suggestion, "Clark, I am so hungry. Don't fucking tease."
"No, really," he started the long unfolding process that would allow him to sit up properly and put his shoes back on. He had not had the chance to change, having tracked down a hit and run driver outside Memphis and then attending to a boating accident in the Philippines on his evening rounds; he had just arrived home when Lois called. He just couldn't sit in his work shoes all night.
"You're going to walk through the South Side now?"
'Why of course, Lois, I'm invincible!' He was really about this close to saying it.
"I'll be fine, there was a deli on Bay, lend me your mace..."
Lois pulled the small fire extinguisher that was her bear and shark rated pepper spray out of the glove compartment, which Clark knew she had had forever. The sight of it stirred some unknown nostalgia, and a true smile spread across his face as he looked at the dented and battle tested can offered to him across the car. He took it and placed it next to him on the seat as he bent over to pull on his shoes. He didn't mind leaving her without it, he would be back in five minutes and would watch the car for as long as it took for the wait to be believable. He struggled with the short laces in the darkness, folding in half across his own lap.
"I'll be back," he offered a minute later, locking the door as it shut gently in his wake, and turning to walk down the deck and out of sight. Clark shot into the sky moments later, being sure not to slice too many sound waves too thin, and performed a perfect, graceful arc across the sky and towards Downtown. Sometimes he would just glance in a direction, get his bearings, and then speed through the air with his eyes closed, surrendering to instinct and form in the weightlessness of his existence.
He left Earth behind him, stretched every muscle as his body released its hold on gravity, and spun like a bullet through buildings and streets after finishing his calculated vault across the bay. It felt liberating, new, as if he didn't fly as often as he walked... and he decided to weave in and out of the streets, hanging impossible near 90 degree turns every other intersection and favoring a more sportive Homing missile flight-path as opposed to the ballistic.
'Stop hiding...'
Clark moved lower as he jetted past the buildings that lined 74th, thinking ahead to his turn down Kennedy, and decided to playfully buzz a group of late-night bar goers waiting on line outside one of the many nightclubs in this area. He chuckled as a resounding chorus of "AHHH! HOLY SHIT!" echoed through his mind, already speeding towards the intersection where he hoped the Titov's still kept their 24/7 bodega.
Seconds later a wind-blown Clark Kent approached the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, which shone out on the sidewalk from between the hundreds of brand advertisements, lottery charts, and cigarette signs in the windows. The young man behind the counter didn't even look up from his Playboy when the little jingle of the door opening and closing alerted him to the presence of a customer. Fast dilating pupils looked over the frames of his glasses while he peered through the rear wall, cheered to see the illegal poker games were still going strong. He approached the counter.
"Excuse me, is the deli open?"
The young man, who Clark realized with a jolt was a gangly teenager the last time he saw him, slid off the stool without really looking, put down the Playboy, and looped an apron over his shirt. Anton, the name having a hard time associating itself with the body, gave Clark a bothered look and said, "Yup."
Clark shook the unreality of losing five years from his head again and quickly realized that he didn't know what to get Lois, the customary turkey and bologna on rye with mayo probably not on the menu anymore. He gave his standard sandwich order and stood, staring at the deli case and thinking. Anton paused halfway through digging for the special horseradish Clark had pointed out way towards the front of the case and peered through the Plexiglas at him. His head popped up next to the deli scale.
"Mr. Kent?"
Clark gave a small smile, "Hello, Anton."
"'Red horseradish with corned beef on rye dill pickles coleslaw mustard on the side,' I knew it! Where on earth have you been!?"
Clark hated that question.
"I quit my job and did a little soul-searching, for um, five years."
The young man laughed and went back under the counter, rummaging for the corned beef, "We wondered about you, you were one of our most regular customers!"
Clark had saved Anton's baby sister late one night when he first came to Metropolis and before he had really mastered how to hear in the big city. Used to miles of silence in all directions for most of his life and only needing to deal with one year on a college campus up until that point, Clark used to sit up late at night trying to filter thousands of conversations out of his mind and not go insane. It was during one of these early bouts of insomnia that he heard panicked words float up from an apartment building down the street, and got Diana to the hospital in time to break the fever. At some point in their thankful blubbering the worried parents had mentioned their fledgling business here in the city, and Clark had been a patron ever since, always keeping a large place in his heart for the little couple and their little store. And even their little illegal gambling ring.
They also had really, really, really good coleslaw.
"It was a split-second decision; I didn't let many people know. I regret that now, I've lost touch with a lot of people." Oh! Lois! "Do you think you could melt some provolone over some sweet peppers and fried onions on a hard roll for me?"
'That was a good late-night snack for a vegetarian, right?' he wondered to himself.
Anton smiled, "Did she send you all the way over here at this hour?" Clark stood puzzled for a second before looking up and at the sandwich board towards the ceiling. Half-eclipsed by hanging signs from ad campaigns for soda companies gone by the was description of the sandwich Clark had just requested, with the words 'The Lois Lane' hand-written in dry-erase neon blue.
Clark tilted his head, surprised, and stared as his sandwich was wrapped in wax paper and slid into a bag, "But you forgot the mustard."
"Oh, um, right..." He smiled sadly, hanging his head, longing rushing over him without his knowing why. Anton shook his head, smiling while he reached for the cheese, "...and mustard, please."
-----
Owed to having to carry his clothes against his chest and hold the handles of the plastic bag with their second dinner, Clark dropped his belt on a rooftop between 62nd and 53rd. He couldn't be sure which one. He may save countless lives each year, but being Superman was often simply awkward.
And it was really starting to bother him. The suit, the excuses, the inconvenience of everything being so inconvenient. It was--
Clark came up short as he circled wide around the parking deck, his legs coming up under him in practiced ease and hovering with his arms full as he stared down at the up-most deck. In the ten minutes that he had been gone Lois had made her way to the edge of the top level, standing on a concrete wall only about a foot wide and gazing out at the city. Clark looked quickly left and right for a place to stash his clothing and the plastic bag, settled them on top of a roof three buildings away and cautiously glided back up and behind her, looking for some clue to her actions. He expanded his hearing out towards her while concern lingered through him; normally he would just chalk it up to Lois being Lois, or even guess that she was keeping a hungry lookout for a Clark bearing food... But the tenor of tonight, the words they had exchanged mere minutes ago caused him more than polite curiosity.
Thinking of different ways to approach her without startling her or causing her to slip, Clark decided to just circle wide and try to enter her peripheral vision, hoping it would seem more like a coincidence than a plan of attack. Truth be told he had not wanted to see her like this quite so soon again; he had spent so little time with her as Superman over the last three and a half months and there was obviously so much between them that he honestly, and unexpectedly, was now much more at ease with her as her partner. Clark was a disguise for the world, and Superman a disguise for Clark, but he had never really wanted to feel hidden more than he had over these last few, terrible months and found the only way to do that was to stay himself.
Despite this, he could not ignore the obvious import of the sight before him; if there was a message meant only for him, for Superman, then it was Lois Lane standing on the edge of a building, inches from falling to her death, waiting. Had she been standing near the edge, still on the fresh cement and mere feet from her car, Clark would have walked up with the sandwiches and a simple, "What's up, Lois?"
Her heartbeat fast in his ears, the ghostly music from her car within the range of his extended hearing and filtering through his mind, Clark sighed as the angle between them became more acute and Lois' eyes moved to him in his place in the sky. A small tilt of her head invited him forward, and Clark melted at the sight of her so miserable in front of him. He could be a wanted criminal and the world could know his face, but seeing Lois like this would draw him out of any hiding place. He came closer, and from all his years of knowing her suspected that whatever she was about to say or do was going to be unpredictable. Clark had realized recently that this was one thing that Richard failed to know and understand about Lois: you can never learn to anticipate her; you can only hope to anticipate needing to anticipate.
He drifted close to her, directly in front of her, suspended above the alley beneath them and at a respectful distance. He opened his mouth, she waved a hand to silence him.
"May I have five minutes of your time?"
"Certainly, Ms. Lane."
She took a step out, as casual as if walking onto a solid surface, and rested her right foot on his left. She was already barefoot and had known he would come, had known he would face her exactly as he was, and then all thought ceased as an open palm smoothed its way up his chest to come around and hold his neck securely. An obvious, intimate, and unexpected gesture, it stopped the breath in his lungs and her face was suddenly far too close.
"Bring me up," she pointed uselessly at the sky, her fingers brushing gently against the back of his neck and far more than necessary. A nervous, cartoon-like gulp made his Adam's apple bob up and down and he tried to get his bearings in the stifling air.
"Just up?" he practically whispered, the last twenty minutes just too much to process with Lois indulging her tactile needs across his body, her other hand resting on his bicep a sorry excuse for stroking her thumb across the alien material beneath her fingertips. He started moving upward, as gentle as he could, hypnotized once again by her, the misery around her eyes at once an easy reminder of her more destructive tendencies in times of depression and a call to temptation that was hard to resist in the early days of August.
"Just up. High enough to be cool, low enough that I don't suffocate."
"Okay," he cleared his throat quickly, she kept looking at him without offering any explanation, "Alright," he corrected his mindless response, trying to regain a moment of sanity by deepening his voice. Perhaps if he sounded sure of himself he could convince his lungs to breathe properly. He tilted his head up towards the atmosphere and accelerated, the feeling of open air a relief after the close proximity of Lois' unreadable expression, now facing inward away from the wind and near the crook of his neck. Her warmth breath against his skin made him lightheaded, and he tried not to worry about whatever was about to happen.
He directed their bodies straight up for about a minute and a half at a relatively slow pace, until they were very, very high.
"Here?"
"Fine."
Lois sounded calm, like a woman resolved to an impossible task. The following silence began to worry him until she spoke up:
"I hate the rain."
It was very obviously not raining. He was now more worried.
"I like the rain, it feels wonderful to fly in. I dislike humidity?" it wasn't really a question, more a prompt.
She gave him a shy smile and plucked a lock of hair from behind her ear, showing him her frizzy strands in the near pitch darkness, the moon was behind a substantial cloud cover, "Me too."
More silence. He watched her as she gazed down at the grid of Metropolis, stretching so far into the distance that they could see where its lit borders faded into the darkness of the suburbs. The ocean was just inky blackness, a humbling look at humanity's tentative grasp on the habitable surfaces the planet provided.
Lois took a deep breath, "Now drop me."
"I'm sorry?" the fake confidence left him.
"Drop me, and let me fall as long as possible."
Speculation moved in him, had him wondering what she was seeking, whether it be fear, danger, freedom...
"Lois..." he didn't want to do it. He could obviously catch her, even fly along near her, but there was something so wanton in the request that made him nervous. He never wanted to take his powers for granted, never wanted to play with them, so to speak. Why put her in mortal danger if he didn't need to, and how could he just let her fall? It was so counter-instinctual that he--
"Please?"
He applied a little pressure with his hands where they rested gently across her lower back, overtly reluctant. Yet he said no more, didn't try to dissuade her past tentatively saying her name, and they both knew that meant he would do it; he just needed time to get used to the idea. Clark looked at her, could not stop himself from letting his eyes wander all over her face, using every part of him to try and understand the Lois that was manifesting herself today. There were so many of her, they sent him in every direction, and he loved them all.
"What are you looking for, Lois?"
She answered with a question, knowing that an explanation would be useless unless she got this answer first:
"Is there any thrill in your life? Knowing that you can't die or even feel pain, at least not outside of the most extreme and dastardly circumstances? Do you feel the," she searched for another word but apparently settled on the most appropriate again, "thrill of living sometimes?"
"I..." he thought about it, "I believe I do, but evidently it must be different than what you feel..." He had no real answer; he would probably end up thinking about this for the rest of the week, like he usually did whenever Lois asked him fascinating, existential questions. Was she going to fall to Earth and then eat a Lois Lane?
"I can show you something I do when I'm trying to... live."
Slowly Clark released his customary grip on her, took her away from the shelter and power of his body and supported her loosely while she just simply stood on his feet. A crisp, cool feeling rose up in the new space between their bodies and a sense of loss came over him, his warm body missing her complementing heat. Still he kept her guarded while she stood unsteadily on his feet, her weight shifting across her toes while she sought balance away from the support of being held flush against him. Clark held her waist with just his fingers and looked down at the city beneath them, aware of the height for the first time in years.
"Alright, now..." he paused, thinking about how to do this, "I'm going to... drop you," it was difficult to say, even, "but match your speed and, well, you'll see." He cleared his throat and was sorely tempted to just pull her towards him again, "I'll let you free fall for a few seconds, and if at any point this becomes too much..." he trailed off at her look.
Their eyes locked on each other, the anticipation of the moment palpable, Clark finally whispered into the altitude, "One... two," Lois tensed, "...three." His hands came from her waist and she fell backwards, a gentle, swooping movement that soon had her accelerating away from him, speeding towards earth and against every instinct in his body. Clark clenched his fists while he kept his keen eyes on her, and counted to five before giving into his burning need to follow her.
Suspended like a marionette, Lois fell unprotected and untouched, her hair and clothing swirling around her and her features frozen in shock. He glanced her terrified expression as he came up to match her speed, felt wonder at what it must be like to feel the rush of being pulled towards nothing and completely out of control.
And then, it began. Slowly, as if in water, he brought his body nose to toe with hers, not really touching, but as close as lovers in congress. His arms came out and towards her, encircling her and holding her loosely, but matching her speed so exactly as to not disrupt the fall. Slowly he turned her in midair to face the ground, reassuring her startled gasp with a murmur, and aligning their bodies parallel to both the earth and each other. Her back to his chest, his hands came to rest lightly against her warm body, one arm across her breastbone and a hand resting against her shoulder, the other across her hips, both palms flat. A second later they were gazing at the sprawling metropolis, and Clark applied an infinitesimal amount of counter-force, gently easing the pull of gravity; lifted from the grip of the planet, she was now almost completely weightless, the uncontrollable descent now indescribable in human experience.
The closest Clark could come to defining this feeling (as he did this on occasion, trying to match the pull of gravity to the laws of acceleration) was to liken it to that split second feeling of going over a particular kind of bump in a car, that swoop! that lifts you from your seat. He felt Lois relax in his arms, watched her hair reflect the weightlessness of their bodies, now floating gently behind her head and tickling his neck and face. The fast-approaching city filled their whole field of vision, the sense of space and size at the forefront of their minds, the pressure of his hands against her body only one facet in the myriad of sensations. Clark turned his head into her, pressed her tightly to him, her legs coming up between his as he began to slow their fall.
If she wanted to live, if she wanted a thrill, then he would not stop them suddenly, would not manipulate her body into his arms and carry her away. Instead, he would apply more measured pressure with every second, even as the ground still rushed towards them, even as Lois tensed once again in his arms, finally really afraid, wondering when he would stop engaging the planet in a game of chicken. They were ten feet above the waterfront directly off Macintyre Boulevard before Clark stopped, Lois' legs now hanging towards the street, their faces still gazing downwards and her body now crushed to his, a fever coursing across his skin. Her heart pounding in his ears he slowly moved to scoop her legs out from under her as he resumed a normal mid-air stance, adjacent to the ground, and looked down into her flush face as he held her like a man preparing to cross a threshold. The hot, sticky, humid air felt strange against his tingling face and he was never more alive than in that moment, contemplating the kind of thrill it was to have Lois Lane flushed and wide-eyed in his arms.
-----
Clark tapped gently on the window about five minutes later and waved jovially through the door at a startled Lois. Obviously wind-blown and still reeling from the experience of falling from the heavens in the arms of weightlessness, Lois fumbled with the door controls before being able to unlock the car. Clark slid in and smiled at her, licking his lips at her awed expression.
His life was just way too weird.
"Sandwiches!" he held up the bag.
Lois swallowed, speaking for the first time since they stood in the sky, and the sound was a little raspy, "Thank you," she cleared her throat while Clark rummaged around and took out her mace, returning it to the glove compartment.
She held out a hand in the darkness for her namesake sandwich and started to unroll the package across her lap while Clark read the labels on the two iced teas he bought. He handed her the diet green and broke the vacuum seal on his own black tea with lemon before tearing off the corner of a mustard packet and trying to get comfortable.
"This is my favorite, Clark!" she sounded suddenly and with wonder, "How did you know?" Because you obviously didn't go Downtown...
"I, um, guessed," he squeezed a little bit of mustard out onto the bread and took a measured bite. Spice and meat burst across his tongue and he sighed in contentment, flying always a sure way to make him really hungry.
Lois was already inhaling her sandwich, true to her unapologetic form, and obviously starved. She moaned in delight and Clark knew her mood was lifted, the haze gone. Sure enough, a recently licked finger stabbed suddenly across the cabin, hitting a preset on her radio and turning the mood from one of quiet introspection to jazzy relaxation.
Even thought the car was off and the cabin stifling from the lack of temperature controlled air, Lois took a second to glare at the innocent knob that Clark had gently adjusted a mere thirty-five minute lifetime ago. She reached out and snapped the indicator back to solid blue and away from the gentle gradient of blue-red.
He grinned and squeezed more mustard onto his sandwich, waiting for it:
"Don't touch the damn thermostat, Smallville, I'll kill you."
"I have a similar story, actually," Clark offered into the darkness. Stake Out Number Two.
Lois looked across the car, her face once again glowing in the twilight at him. She hypnotized him, he tilted his head.
"Oh?"
"Yes, um, there was this really popular girl, you know, school royalty and dating the quarterback..." Clark stuttered a little as she gazed at him, smiling in good humor, "Who would randomly find me down an empty hallway and ask me for advice. On everything. Like um, her parents, and money, and life and love and even on outfits..." he blushed at the memory, shaking his head.
He paused.
"... and she did this forever, up until we graduated, and never acknowledged me in the light of day. I didn't really mind, actually. She was a good person, I didn't resent the fact that I was not good enough for her to be friends with." Clark only realized this as he said it, always having spontaneous epiphanies in front of Lois. He was dazed for a second as he drifted back into memory, realizing that the person he had been then was at once who he really was and just so young...
"You're a pushover, Clark."
That hurt his feelings! Clark looked over at her, surprised for just one second--
"...And I wish you weren't. You've got to get angry sometimes, get pissed off! Break something, say 'no.' Or better yet, 'yes!'"
"Yes."
"Good."
She flung her arm at him, gesturing in sarcastic disregard as she looked out the windshield and towards the city, "You worry me sometimes, Smallville."
He had grown to love that nickname, more than she could ever know. He sat back, trying not to smile in his affection for her. He liked her so much more at night, when they could talk, when she was his alone. He joined her in admiring the skyline out the front window; it had been her idea to park this way on the deck tonight, the warehouse now viewed from the passenger side, on Clark's right. He looked around about every ten minutes and saw nothing each time, so his gaze made its way back towards the city. It was just like old times, a perfect way to forget not remembering five extra years...
"I'll try to stand up for myself more, Lois..."
Clark had been on guard tonight when he went down to the sidewalk to join Lois in her car, after she called up and let him know that she was double-parked outside his building. He lifted the passenger side handle, trying not to hit the side of the car that Lois was next to, and slid awkwardly into the seat through the half-open door. He had expected to come face to face with the harsh Lois of earlier than day, the one teasing Richard from their side of the bullpen and snapping at people with a measured amount of bitter hatred ever since lunch. He knew from experience that Lois really hated the rain, or really any weather that rendered her unable to walk barefoot outside (so, most of the year was out, really...) and guessed that might have something to do with it. He was therefore surprised to find a calm and sad looking Lois, the Lois that resembled a little girl still hidden inside her, and he could help himself but to ask if she was okay about a millisecond after taking in her expression
"I'm alive," was her only answer as she looked out the left-view mirror and put her blinker on, trying to get back into traffic. The ride across town was without words; the air conditioner was battling the humid aftermath of August rain and Lois had to keep flicking on the windshield wipers to combat the condensation there. Clark reached out to adjust the temperature of the airflow so as not to cause this constant distraction and noted that Lois didn't swat his hand away. Clark took a moment to relax, rubbing his own neck for a few minutes and staring at nothing.
Twenty minutes later they were winding up the ramps of the nearly abandoned parking deck, coming to rest across three spots at the top and looking out at a rare view of the skyline. The slow, lyrical and haunting music that Lois usually listened to in her worst moments was playing softly the entire ride, and now was putting a gentle strain on her car battery as they sat in thoughtful silence once again. Clark caught himself looking at the display as pianos harmonized somewhere in a studio, long ago.
In the pause that followed Clark's last statement about growing a spine he found himself back to thinking about the change in her from this afternoon to this evening: the idea of being alone with her, the comfortable intimacy that they often shared as both friends and near lovers. Clark was sometimes very happy to be who he was, to get to know her in two different silences, to see her smile for two different reasons. He thought he might have more of her to call his own than any other man, even if right now it was because he wasn't worth the effort to mask her face.
Sadness now dueled with his warmth, many memories of people showing him things only because he was so inconsequential to them, only because he was so insignificant in the greater world. He pouted a little and glanced at Lois, sorry for heaping these sorrowful thoughts upon her without her knowing. The music was reminding him of many lonely nights, and Clark thought suddenly of Jimmy and promised himself to take lunch with him tomorrow.
"What have I done, Clark." It was a statement, not a question. He looked at her, concerned. She stared at the city.
"What have I done?" Raw, breaking emotion.
"Lois?"
She hung her head, staring at the logo in middle of the steering wheel.
"Tell me I'm a good person."
Clark was shocked, concern and affection pooling in the bottom of his mouth, his tongue tasting the essence of his words. This wasn't like her; Lois never needed to be told anything...
"You're a good person."
She took a shaky breath in response to this knee-jerk response. Clark felt the need to bolster the sentiment rather than letting his shallow reassurance serve alone.
"You change the world every week, Lois."
She turned to look at him, obviously distraught about some unspoken worry.
"But what about my world, my little world, my life, Clark. Do you know what I've... I..." she trailed off, hopelessly staring at him.
He stared at her, wondering what to do. In a different time and place, Clark might have eased his way into an excuse to leave the car and come to her minutes later as Superman, who would gather her in his arms and take her away with the confidence he needed in moments like these. He would gaze down at her sorrowful face, pretend he could see no pain, give her freedom in her misery, distract her until she could sort through it, be an ear.
But things were different, times had changed, 'they' had changed. He felt so powerless suddenly, trapped in two personas and so unable to help her. He knew she was here, in front of him, in pain, and was unable to properly help her.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all." He couldn't deny her anything in this moment, the maelstrom of the day puddling before him; he was worried about her. Maybe Jimmy was right, that she was depressed, a word not often reserved for Lois. But, he knew her, knew her self-destructive tendencies, the madness she was capable of. Clark wasn't sure what all the allusions to "a different Lois" were all about, interns remarking that she had undergone a change recently and the Chief asking him if he had noticed anything peculiar...
Lois snapped a match between the cardboard cover and the abrasive strip of the matchbook like a sailor on the high seas, tilting her head as she lit her cigarette, a cool confidence in her aloof manner. Brown eyes burned bright in the flickering light and then the bittersweet smell of sulfur filled his mind.
... no, she was just as dangerous and full of frenzy as she ever was; fire and brimstone. He did not underestimate her.
But since when did Lois ask if she was a good person? An image rose behind his eyes: the way she pushed her hips against Richard today snapped to Clark's mind, the gentle roll of her body, the way she made it seem like she was just taken into his arms, rather than allowing him (with calculated precision and effect) to take her into his arms. His knowledge of moments like those was truly carnal, whether as a witness or as a participant, and he knew that she used that look in her darkest moments, wondering what she was thinking as she licked her way across her fiancé’s skin at 11:30 in the morning. Clark felt his fists tighten, felt the want in himself, the desire to claim her in front of everyone in casual disregard, just as Richard had today. Perhaps the reason for her soul-searching lay somewhere in those moments, for it did stand as evidence that whenever her unique sexuality made its way into the bullpen, Lois was indeed misbehaving...
But these thoughts came up short. How odd to assume that her thoughts were about that, how did he know that these two long-time lovers did not share moments like that all the time, how much in her must have changed in this new life? This long term-life, this committed life. A shame rose in him, a secret hope that her misery was some hidden guilt that she was indeed thinking about him when she traced her fingers across Richard's body...
Smoke was swirling in the space between them; Lois' face had not changed in its miserable introspection. Clark became aware of his thoughtless pondering and blushed in the darkness, ashamed of himself. He looked away from her profile, even though he was sure she didn't mind his puzzled stare, and glanced down at the warehouse to the right under pretense, unclenching his fist and happy he wasn't holding anything.
"Do you remember playing Truth or Dare with the mayor?"
He heard the bleary smile in her voice and she gave a small laugh, "Yeah."
"That was the best interview I ever shared a byline on."
"He was an ass."
"He was flirting with you."
Lois laughed finally, a rush of smoke coming out her mouth unexpectedly and looking over at him.
"Clark!" Clark Kent, making Lois Lane feel scandalized?
"It's true." He grinned.
"He did ask me if I had any 'interesting sexual preferences.'"
"But you answered."
She was grinning full-time now, and took a casual drag, "Yup, I did."
"Did you ever consider shutting him down on 'inappropriate behavior?'"
"Of course."
"What stopped you?"
"He was a good man, good for this city, despite his vices."
"And so are you."
Lois paused in her movements, taking this opportunity to shift in the seat and find a new position. She looked surprised, fully aware that Clark rarely took such circuitous routes to reinforce a point.
"So I'm a womanizing drunk with a good heart and a skewed moral compass who comes through in the end yet gets convicted of polygamy?"
"Kind of." His words were open, honest.
She laughed at him, smiling all the same, "Shut up, Smallville."
-----
Lost in the daze of music and ambiance, Clark stared at Lois reflection in the glass, again, feeling like this was the hundredth time he had sat here, despite it only being the second. He missed Lois' old car, it had more legroom, and wondered in sorrow what had happened to it.
Five years.
Lois looked miserable again, all attempts to cheer her fruitless and inappropriate. He knew how to leave Lois alone, knew when to just let her lie. A cramped, heavy feeling was making its way through him, inappropriate thoughts making the humidity seeping through the car hard to bear. Humid summer nights reminded Clark of a feeling of eternal dissatisfaction, of not being able to get comfortable no matter how he laid in his bed, above the sheets, a stifling breeze blowing in from the city and making him think of Lois Lane. He wanted to fly again, and could not resist this time.
Lois' stomach gave a rumble.
"How about I go get us some sandwiches?""
It was 12:04 in the morning. Clark heard his mother's voice in his mind say,’ The Witching Hour,' and wondered how she was doing.
Offering to buy sandwiches at this hour would have been ridiculous in Kansas; superstitious sentiments about the power of unholy hours was as equally out of place in this, his second home. He stared at the city, thinking of his favorite all-night bodega and wondering if it was still open.
Lois groaned at the suggestion, "Clark, I am so hungry. Don't fucking tease."
"No, really," he started the long unfolding process that would allow him to sit up properly and put his shoes back on. He had not had the chance to change, having tracked down a hit and run driver outside Memphis and then attending to a boating accident in the Philippines on his evening rounds; he had just arrived home when Lois called. He just couldn't sit in his work shoes all night.
"You're going to walk through the South Side now?"
'Why of course, Lois, I'm invincible!' He was really about this close to saying it.
"I'll be fine, there was a deli on Bay, lend me your mace..."
Lois pulled the small fire extinguisher that was her bear and shark rated pepper spray out of the glove compartment, which Clark knew she had had forever. The sight of it stirred some unknown nostalgia, and a true smile spread across his face as he looked at the dented and battle tested can offered to him across the car. He took it and placed it next to him on the seat as he bent over to pull on his shoes. He didn't mind leaving her without it, he would be back in five minutes and would watch the car for as long as it took for the wait to be believable. He struggled with the short laces in the darkness, folding in half across his own lap.
"I'll be back," he offered a minute later, locking the door as it shut gently in his wake, and turning to walk down the deck and out of sight. Clark shot into the sky moments later, being sure not to slice too many sound waves too thin, and performed a perfect, graceful arc across the sky and towards Downtown. Sometimes he would just glance in a direction, get his bearings, and then speed through the air with his eyes closed, surrendering to instinct and form in the weightlessness of his existence.
He left Earth behind him, stretched every muscle as his body released its hold on gravity, and spun like a bullet through buildings and streets after finishing his calculated vault across the bay. It felt liberating, new, as if he didn't fly as often as he walked... and he decided to weave in and out of the streets, hanging impossible near 90 degree turns every other intersection and favoring a more sportive Homing missile flight-path as opposed to the ballistic.
'Stop hiding...'
Clark moved lower as he jetted past the buildings that lined 74th, thinking ahead to his turn down Kennedy, and decided to playfully buzz a group of late-night bar goers waiting on line outside one of the many nightclubs in this area. He chuckled as a resounding chorus of "AHHH! HOLY SHIT!" echoed through his mind, already speeding towards the intersection where he hoped the Titov's still kept their 24/7 bodega.
Seconds later a wind-blown Clark Kent approached the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, which shone out on the sidewalk from between the hundreds of brand advertisements, lottery charts, and cigarette signs in the windows. The young man behind the counter didn't even look up from his Playboy when the little jingle of the door opening and closing alerted him to the presence of a customer. Fast dilating pupils looked over the frames of his glasses while he peered through the rear wall, cheered to see the illegal poker games were still going strong. He approached the counter.
"Excuse me, is the deli open?"
The young man, who Clark realized with a jolt was a gangly teenager the last time he saw him, slid off the stool without really looking, put down the Playboy, and looped an apron over his shirt. Anton, the name having a hard time associating itself with the body, gave Clark a bothered look and said, "Yup."
Clark shook the unreality of losing five years from his head again and quickly realized that he didn't know what to get Lois, the customary turkey and bologna on rye with mayo probably not on the menu anymore. He gave his standard sandwich order and stood, staring at the deli case and thinking. Anton paused halfway through digging for the special horseradish Clark had pointed out way towards the front of the case and peered through the Plexiglas at him. His head popped up next to the deli scale.
"Mr. Kent?"
Clark gave a small smile, "Hello, Anton."
"'Red horseradish with corned beef on rye dill pickles coleslaw mustard on the side,' I knew it! Where on earth have you been!?"
Clark hated that question.
"I quit my job and did a little soul-searching, for um, five years."
The young man laughed and went back under the counter, rummaging for the corned beef, "We wondered about you, you were one of our most regular customers!"
Clark had saved Anton's baby sister late one night when he first came to Metropolis and before he had really mastered how to hear in the big city. Used to miles of silence in all directions for most of his life and only needing to deal with one year on a college campus up until that point, Clark used to sit up late at night trying to filter thousands of conversations out of his mind and not go insane. It was during one of these early bouts of insomnia that he heard panicked words float up from an apartment building down the street, and got Diana to the hospital in time to break the fever. At some point in their thankful blubbering the worried parents had mentioned their fledgling business here in the city, and Clark had been a patron ever since, always keeping a large place in his heart for the little couple and their little store. And even their little illegal gambling ring.
They also had really, really, really good coleslaw.
"It was a split-second decision; I didn't let many people know. I regret that now, I've lost touch with a lot of people." Oh! Lois! "Do you think you could melt some provolone over some sweet peppers and fried onions on a hard roll for me?"
'That was a good late-night snack for a vegetarian, right?' he wondered to himself.
Anton smiled, "Did she send you all the way over here at this hour?" Clark stood puzzled for a second before looking up and at the sandwich board towards the ceiling. Half-eclipsed by hanging signs from ad campaigns for soda companies gone by the was description of the sandwich Clark had just requested, with the words 'The Lois Lane' hand-written in dry-erase neon blue.
Clark tilted his head, surprised, and stared as his sandwich was wrapped in wax paper and slid into a bag, "But you forgot the mustard."
"Oh, um, right..." He smiled sadly, hanging his head, longing rushing over him without his knowing why. Anton shook his head, smiling while he reached for the cheese, "...and mustard, please."
-----
Owed to having to carry his clothes against his chest and hold the handles of the plastic bag with their second dinner, Clark dropped his belt on a rooftop between 62nd and 53rd. He couldn't be sure which one. He may save countless lives each year, but being Superman was often simply awkward.
And it was really starting to bother him. The suit, the excuses, the inconvenience of everything being so inconvenient. It was--
Clark came up short as he circled wide around the parking deck, his legs coming up under him in practiced ease and hovering with his arms full as he stared down at the up-most deck. In the ten minutes that he had been gone Lois had made her way to the edge of the top level, standing on a concrete wall only about a foot wide and gazing out at the city. Clark looked quickly left and right for a place to stash his clothing and the plastic bag, settled them on top of a roof three buildings away and cautiously glided back up and behind her, looking for some clue to her actions. He expanded his hearing out towards her while concern lingered through him; normally he would just chalk it up to Lois being Lois, or even guess that she was keeping a hungry lookout for a Clark bearing food... But the tenor of tonight, the words they had exchanged mere minutes ago caused him more than polite curiosity.
Thinking of different ways to approach her without startling her or causing her to slip, Clark decided to just circle wide and try to enter her peripheral vision, hoping it would seem more like a coincidence than a plan of attack. Truth be told he had not wanted to see her like this quite so soon again; he had spent so little time with her as Superman over the last three and a half months and there was obviously so much between them that he honestly, and unexpectedly, was now much more at ease with her as her partner. Clark was a disguise for the world, and Superman a disguise for Clark, but he had never really wanted to feel hidden more than he had over these last few, terrible months and found the only way to do that was to stay himself.
Despite this, he could not ignore the obvious import of the sight before him; if there was a message meant only for him, for Superman, then it was Lois Lane standing on the edge of a building, inches from falling to her death, waiting. Had she been standing near the edge, still on the fresh cement and mere feet from her car, Clark would have walked up with the sandwiches and a simple, "What's up, Lois?"
Her heartbeat fast in his ears, the ghostly music from her car within the range of his extended hearing and filtering through his mind, Clark sighed as the angle between them became more acute and Lois' eyes moved to him in his place in the sky. A small tilt of her head invited him forward, and Clark melted at the sight of her so miserable in front of him. He could be a wanted criminal and the world could know his face, but seeing Lois like this would draw him out of any hiding place. He came closer, and from all his years of knowing her suspected that whatever she was about to say or do was going to be unpredictable. Clark had realized recently that this was one thing that Richard failed to know and understand about Lois: you can never learn to anticipate her; you can only hope to anticipate needing to anticipate.
He drifted close to her, directly in front of her, suspended above the alley beneath them and at a respectful distance. He opened his mouth, she waved a hand to silence him.
"May I have five minutes of your time?"
"Certainly, Ms. Lane."
She took a step out, as casual as if walking onto a solid surface, and rested her right foot on his left. She was already barefoot and had known he would come, had known he would face her exactly as he was, and then all thought ceased as an open palm smoothed its way up his chest to come around and hold his neck securely. An obvious, intimate, and unexpected gesture, it stopped the breath in his lungs and her face was suddenly far too close.
"Bring me up," she pointed uselessly at the sky, her fingers brushing gently against the back of his neck and far more than necessary. A nervous, cartoon-like gulp made his Adam's apple bob up and down and he tried to get his bearings in the stifling air.
"Just up?" he practically whispered, the last twenty minutes just too much to process with Lois indulging her tactile needs across his body, her other hand resting on his bicep a sorry excuse for stroking her thumb across the alien material beneath her fingertips. He started moving upward, as gentle as he could, hypnotized once again by her, the misery around her eyes at once an easy reminder of her more destructive tendencies in times of depression and a call to temptation that was hard to resist in the early days of August.
"Just up. High enough to be cool, low enough that I don't suffocate."
"Okay," he cleared his throat quickly, she kept looking at him without offering any explanation, "Alright," he corrected his mindless response, trying to regain a moment of sanity by deepening his voice. Perhaps if he sounded sure of himself he could convince his lungs to breathe properly. He tilted his head up towards the atmosphere and accelerated, the feeling of open air a relief after the close proximity of Lois' unreadable expression, now facing inward away from the wind and near the crook of his neck. Her warmth breath against his skin made him lightheaded, and he tried not to worry about whatever was about to happen.
He directed their bodies straight up for about a minute and a half at a relatively slow pace, until they were very, very high.
"Here?"
"Fine."
Lois sounded calm, like a woman resolved to an impossible task. The following silence began to worry him until she spoke up:
"I hate the rain."
It was very obviously not raining. He was now more worried.
"I like the rain, it feels wonderful to fly in. I dislike humidity?" it wasn't really a question, more a prompt.
She gave him a shy smile and plucked a lock of hair from behind her ear, showing him her frizzy strands in the near pitch darkness, the moon was behind a substantial cloud cover, "Me too."
More silence. He watched her as she gazed down at the grid of Metropolis, stretching so far into the distance that they could see where its lit borders faded into the darkness of the suburbs. The ocean was just inky blackness, a humbling look at humanity's tentative grasp on the habitable surfaces the planet provided.
Lois took a deep breath, "Now drop me."
"I'm sorry?" the fake confidence left him.
"Drop me, and let me fall as long as possible."
Speculation moved in him, had him wondering what she was seeking, whether it be fear, danger, freedom...
"Lois..." he didn't want to do it. He could obviously catch her, even fly along near her, but there was something so wanton in the request that made him nervous. He never wanted to take his powers for granted, never wanted to play with them, so to speak. Why put her in mortal danger if he didn't need to, and how could he just let her fall? It was so counter-instinctual that he--
"Please?"
He applied a little pressure with his hands where they rested gently across her lower back, overtly reluctant. Yet he said no more, didn't try to dissuade her past tentatively saying her name, and they both knew that meant he would do it; he just needed time to get used to the idea. Clark looked at her, could not stop himself from letting his eyes wander all over her face, using every part of him to try and understand the Lois that was manifesting herself today. There were so many of her, they sent him in every direction, and he loved them all.
"What are you looking for, Lois?"
She answered with a question, knowing that an explanation would be useless unless she got this answer first:
"Is there any thrill in your life? Knowing that you can't die or even feel pain, at least not outside of the most extreme and dastardly circumstances? Do you feel the," she searched for another word but apparently settled on the most appropriate again, "thrill of living sometimes?"
"I..." he thought about it, "I believe I do, but evidently it must be different than what you feel..." He had no real answer; he would probably end up thinking about this for the rest of the week, like he usually did whenever Lois asked him fascinating, existential questions. Was she going to fall to Earth and then eat a Lois Lane?
"I can show you something I do when I'm trying to... live."
Slowly Clark released his customary grip on her, took her away from the shelter and power of his body and supported her loosely while she just simply stood on his feet. A crisp, cool feeling rose up in the new space between their bodies and a sense of loss came over him, his warm body missing her complementing heat. Still he kept her guarded while she stood unsteadily on his feet, her weight shifting across her toes while she sought balance away from the support of being held flush against him. Clark held her waist with just his fingers and looked down at the city beneath them, aware of the height for the first time in years.
"Alright, now..." he paused, thinking about how to do this, "I'm going to... drop you," it was difficult to say, even, "but match your speed and, well, you'll see." He cleared his throat and was sorely tempted to just pull her towards him again, "I'll let you free fall for a few seconds, and if at any point this becomes too much..." he trailed off at her look.
Their eyes locked on each other, the anticipation of the moment palpable, Clark finally whispered into the altitude, "One... two," Lois tensed, "...three." His hands came from her waist and she fell backwards, a gentle, swooping movement that soon had her accelerating away from him, speeding towards earth and against every instinct in his body. Clark clenched his fists while he kept his keen eyes on her, and counted to five before giving into his burning need to follow her.
Suspended like a marionette, Lois fell unprotected and untouched, her hair and clothing swirling around her and her features frozen in shock. He glanced her terrified expression as he came up to match her speed, felt wonder at what it must be like to feel the rush of being pulled towards nothing and completely out of control.
And then, it began. Slowly, as if in water, he brought his body nose to toe with hers, not really touching, but as close as lovers in congress. His arms came out and towards her, encircling her and holding her loosely, but matching her speed so exactly as to not disrupt the fall. Slowly he turned her in midair to face the ground, reassuring her startled gasp with a murmur, and aligning their bodies parallel to both the earth and each other. Her back to his chest, his hands came to rest lightly against her warm body, one arm across her breastbone and a hand resting against her shoulder, the other across her hips, both palms flat. A second later they were gazing at the sprawling metropolis, and Clark applied an infinitesimal amount of counter-force, gently easing the pull of gravity; lifted from the grip of the planet, she was now almost completely weightless, the uncontrollable descent now indescribable in human experience.
The closest Clark could come to defining this feeling (as he did this on occasion, trying to match the pull of gravity to the laws of acceleration) was to liken it to that split second feeling of going over a particular kind of bump in a car, that swoop! that lifts you from your seat. He felt Lois relax in his arms, watched her hair reflect the weightlessness of their bodies, now floating gently behind her head and tickling his neck and face. The fast-approaching city filled their whole field of vision, the sense of space and size at the forefront of their minds, the pressure of his hands against her body only one facet in the myriad of sensations. Clark turned his head into her, pressed her tightly to him, her legs coming up between his as he began to slow their fall.
If she wanted to live, if she wanted a thrill, then he would not stop them suddenly, would not manipulate her body into his arms and carry her away. Instead, he would apply more measured pressure with every second, even as the ground still rushed towards them, even as Lois tensed once again in his arms, finally really afraid, wondering when he would stop engaging the planet in a game of chicken. They were ten feet above the waterfront directly off Macintyre Boulevard before Clark stopped, Lois' legs now hanging towards the street, their faces still gazing downwards and her body now crushed to his, a fever coursing across his skin. Her heart pounding in his ears he slowly moved to scoop her legs out from under her as he resumed a normal mid-air stance, adjacent to the ground, and looked down into her flush face as he held her like a man preparing to cross a threshold. The hot, sticky, humid air felt strange against his tingling face and he was never more alive than in that moment, contemplating the kind of thrill it was to have Lois Lane flushed and wide-eyed in his arms.
-----
Clark tapped gently on the window about five minutes later and waved jovially through the door at a startled Lois. Obviously wind-blown and still reeling from the experience of falling from the heavens in the arms of weightlessness, Lois fumbled with the door controls before being able to unlock the car. Clark slid in and smiled at her, licking his lips at her awed expression.
His life was just way too weird.
"Sandwiches!" he held up the bag.
Lois swallowed, speaking for the first time since they stood in the sky, and the sound was a little raspy, "Thank you," she cleared her throat while Clark rummaged around and took out her mace, returning it to the glove compartment.
She held out a hand in the darkness for her namesake sandwich and started to unroll the package across her lap while Clark read the labels on the two iced teas he bought. He handed her the diet green and broke the vacuum seal on his own black tea with lemon before tearing off the corner of a mustard packet and trying to get comfortable.
"This is my favorite, Clark!" she sounded suddenly and with wonder, "How did you know?" Because you obviously didn't go Downtown...
"I, um, guessed," he squeezed a little bit of mustard out onto the bread and took a measured bite. Spice and meat burst across his tongue and he sighed in contentment, flying always a sure way to make him really hungry.
Lois was already inhaling her sandwich, true to her unapologetic form, and obviously starved. She moaned in delight and Clark knew her mood was lifted, the haze gone. Sure enough, a recently licked finger stabbed suddenly across the cabin, hitting a preset on her radio and turning the mood from one of quiet introspection to jazzy relaxation.
Even thought the car was off and the cabin stifling from the lack of temperature controlled air, Lois took a second to glare at the innocent knob that Clark had gently adjusted a mere thirty-five minute lifetime ago. She reached out and snapped the indicator back to solid blue and away from the gentle gradient of blue-red.
He grinned and squeezed more mustard onto his sandwich, waiting for it:
"Don't touch the damn thermostat, Smallville, I'll kill you."