(Untitled)

[theboyscout]

Clark hates days like this. Days where the power of nature defeats anything and everything humans throw at it, snuffing out lives like nothing so much as a timid little match against the darkness. The flooding in the Northeast is crazy, day after day of rain with too few breaks inbetween to get a handle on things. Especially since he has to be

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[presspasskey]

Lois pretends very hard to be surprised to see him come in, and actively forces herself not to run up and hug him. She's got CNN on TV, and she reaches for the remote to mute it as she stands to, at the least, drag him into the kitchen for food.

"The occasion," she says with deliberately exaggerated exasperation, "is that someone left their partner with half the notes gone at the Planet today. And so long as I'm going to be working overtime on this, I'm doing it comfortably."

At the last minute she opts against being quite so obvious with dragging him to the kitchen and grabs her plate. "If you want any sesame chicken, you'd better hurry," she adds. "This is the last call before it's mine."

[theboyscout]

"Oh." He'd forgotten about that. Well, not really, but leaving in the middle of a brainstorming session hadn't been at the top of things to keep in mind. "I'm sorry."

Clark sighs quietly, but allows himself to be dragged toward the food, and spends a minute looking through the selections before choosing some fried rice and half the carton of shrimp chow mein. And then realizes he's still dirty.

"I should probably go shower."

[presspasskey]

Lois just raises an eyebrow slightly and smiles. "I'm sure the-- hay really needed some urgent bailing."

Yeah. 'Cause she totally believes that.

Wrinkling her nose a little at him, she nods rather emphatically. "Yeah, I think you should. Don't want you eating extraneous dirt by accident. Shoo. I--" She blinks, then, hearing her phone starting to ring in the other room. "Crap. Just go shower," she calls back as she dashes for her phone.

[theboyscout]

He stares after her for a moment, frowning at the phone like it's a hairy tarantula, and then turns to make his way to, and then up, the staircase. Grabbing a change of clothing, and peeking into the guest room to see if she's brought an overnight bag, doesn't take took long.

No, it's the shower: scalding hot water washing away the grime of the afternoon and evening. Not that he'd notice the scalding part.

It's about fifteen minutes later when he pads barefoot down to the ground floor in clean sweat pants, white tee shirt clinging to still-damp skin, and hair a shade darker than usual curling around his ears and neck, still dripping. Which is all ignored in favor of the food waiting to be re-heated.

"Who was the call?"

[presspasskey]

Lois has not, in fact, brought an overnight bag, as she doesn't exactly expect to spend the night. (Then again, she never actually expects to stay the night and keeps ending up staying over anyway.) She also doesn't immediately look up, being busy making notes on her computer.

"Source," she said distractedly. "All the flooding--there's some people I'm talking to about some of the buildings which were damaged, whether they were up to code--"

She looks up, and stops for a moment. This is mostly due to her immediate internal mantra that he isn't hers, she mustn't touch, and her fingers need to remember that they're not allowed to ruffle his hair. (Dear god, does he have to wear a white shirt and look like that all the time? It's not helping her convincing herself out of being in love with him.)

"...And, um, I'm tracking it down," she finishes lamely.

[theboyscout]

For someone who never intends to spend the night, Clark does sometimes think about bringing up splitting the 'rent', just to see what her reaction is. At the very least, he'd be pretty amused. "Some of the buildings in that part of the country were built in the boom just after World War Two, or earlier, so not all of them have been reviewed. Just the ones included in the urban renewal projects of the last few years."

Clark is full of interesting information sometimes.

"Mind scooting over?" While she's staring, he helped himself to a can of soda, which shielded his plate from her line of sight just long enough to warm up the food with brief heat vision usage. And now, apparently, he's doing to settle down next to her on the couch and ignore the television in favor of eating.

[presspasskey]

Lois nods distractedly, forcing herself to look away from him after a moment. God, this was a bad idea. "Right. The urban renewal projects--good place to start. We can also check to see about relief efforts in lower-income neighborhoods--totally different angle, but there'll probably be something there."

It's a bit of a cynical outlook, maybe, but... history does suggest it.

Even though she kind of tells herself it's a terrible, terrible idea, Lois does scoot over to give him room and prays she'll be able to ignore how close he is. It wouldn't normally be this bad, but... white shirt. Not fully dry yet. Work. Focus. She turns her attention back to CNN, and the coverage of... well... him. "Someone had a hard day," she comments quietly.

[theboyscout]

He's quiet for a few minutes, more focused on putting food into his mouth than watching the rapidly shifting clips on the cable news program, but eventually he glances up and sets the plate aside.

"You know, sometimes things just happen, and it's nobody's fault. Most of the time it is, but once in a while..." He trails off, watching the bus being loaded onto a police flatbed.

Lois' shoulder might get a little damp when he leans his head against it and sighs quietly.

[presspasskey]

Lois smiles sadly, wistfully, hearing that sigh, and after a moment hesitantly snakes her arm around his neck. Somewhere in her own mind she scolds herself for giving in to that temptation, but... he's there, and she knows what kind of day he had.

"Sometimes there's nothing anyone can do, no matter how fast, or strong... I don't want to imagine what it must feel like to be a rescue worker on that." Her eyes are sad, and after a moment she starts gently running her fingers through his hair.

"I think I like it better when there's someone to blame. At least then they can be brought to justice."

[theboyscout]

Clark is not actively listening to her anymore, in favor of concentrating on her heart beat. It's strong, steady, and nothing like the weakened ones he was surrounded by earlier.

"I'd imagine it's probably akin to having your soul ripped out in slow repetition." His tone is dry.

Not quite consciously aware of what he's doing, he snakes an arm around her waist and tugs her gently into his lap, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It's safe there, and she's warm and alive. "You can smack me later," he mumbles, prepared to just sit there and exist for as long as he can get away with it.

[presspasskey]

Her heart breaks a little for him at his words, and buries her nose in his hair when he pulls her close. She keeps running her fingers through it, too.

He'll notice, if he's still listening, to the slight hitch in her breath and the way her heart speeds up a little. Her lips curl into a faint smile. "I'll put it on your deficit," she murmurs, wrapping her other arm around his neck as well to cradle him against her.

His arms are warm as ever, and safe, and she knows that he probably needs this right now--needs to be near someone not actually in danger of dying, not wet and cold and hurting. Well, she amends internally, only the good kind of hurt, anyway. Smiling just a bit more, she curls and snuggles a little into his arms. Sure, it's cheating a little, but hey, rules are made for breaking, right?

[theboyscout]

"Let me know if I hurt you." It's the last thing he says for a while, just pleased beyond vocalization of it that she's willing to do this for him. People don't think Lois knows the meaning of the word patience, but Clark is of the opinion they just don't know her like he does. His arms relax just a little, assuming the hitch means she's being squeezed too tightly, and lets his breathing fall into line with hers until his mind clears.

Well, sort of. Eventually he speaks again, without lifting his head away from where her pulse whispers near his mouth. "You smell good. Printing ink and that perfume the General sent from Paris for your birthday."

[presspasskey]

Well, his arms might relax, but hers tighten very slightly in reassurance. "You won't hurt me," she murmurs with complete confidence. And she knows he won't, not ever.

(Not physically, anyway--and she isn't about to blame him for being lovable. She loves him--he can hurt her. But not the way he means, and not a way she's prepared to tell him about under any circumstance.)

She breathes in sharply and closes her eyes, however, at that quiet comment against her neck. Forcing her breathing to be somewhat more even, Lois prays her heart stops racing soon because he can probably feel her pulse, the way they're sitting--she doesn't realize he can hear her heart--and tries to clear her head. "Had a meeting," she says absently. "Thought I'd go for the big guns. "

[theboyscout]

He hums quietly in response, shifting one hand to drift up one of her arms, and press gently against the unofficial 'guns' she has. "Well, I'm impressed. Can't imagine you didn't walk right in and steal the spotlight."

"Can we just sit like this for the rest of the night?" Clark probably doesn't mean to sound like a whiny teenager whose just been told his curfew is in effect, but the rapid pace of her heart tells him that she's going to want to move away soon.

"You can stay and borrow a shirt." His head lifts, eyes hopeful.

[presspasskey]

She can't help the slight smirk that crosses her face. "I know how to attract attention when I want to," she agrees with a hint of smugness. It's a refreshing reassertion of her control over this whole situation--considering that she's trying hard not to flip out.

Were Clark any other guy on the face of the earth (who wasn't also, you know, flamingly gay), this would entirely constitute hitting on her to likely attempt to get her into bed. But this is Clark, and she has no freaking clue what is going on here anymore.

Either way, those green eyes are irresistible, and she smiles gently down at him before resting her head against his shoulder--entirely so she doesn't have to look at him. He doesn't need to see her eyes right now. "Of course. Long as you need the company, I'll be here, 'kay?"

And she can pretend it's her he needs, and not just a friend.

[theboyscout]

It takes maybe two seconds after she's agreed to stay over for all of the resident tension to finish draining right out of his shoulders, allowing him to slump further into the couch, and take her with him. "Thank you."

There's another long span of silence, his fingers drifting up and down the length of her free arm; again, just tuning his breathing in time with the beat of her heart. Of course, when he finally speaks up again, it's probably not something she ever expected to hear.

"And thanks for pulling the knife out and saving my life." Yup. Totally nonchalant (and quiet) tone. Just ignore that hint of a smile playing around his lips.