Fic: Meet Me in Smallville: II
Parts: Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII
II
This is the last time I saw you.
Clark got up when he heard Lois's key turn in the lock, heard the slight intake of breath as she gently pushed the door open. He realised that she was being quiet, so as not to wake him, but he had lain awake all night listening to her heart beat, wondering where she was.
He stood in the dark of the living room, waiting for her to come in.
She didn't see him at first, walking straight into the kitchen and turning on the light. She turned on the tap and her breath hitched a little as she rolled up her sleeve and peered at her elbow. Clark walked over to lean against the kitchen island, watching as Lois picked up a tea towel and, wetting it under the tap, dabbed at a bad scrape along her arm.
"Lois," he said, and she jumped, banging her knee against the cupboard.
"Ow," she said, and turned to face him, "Clark?"
Clark stared. There was a cut above her right eye, and her jaw was swollen and purple. He felt the breath leave his lungs, and rushed over to her. "Lois," he said again, and gently touched his fingers to the side of her face, over the swelling.
She batted him away with her hands and bent over to pick the towel off the floor where she had dropped it. "I'm alright," she said, although her voice sounded a little choked, "I'm fine, Clark."
"You're not," he said, feeling anger start to rise in his gut: dark, black anger at whoever did this to her, at her for acting like it was 'fine'. "Lois," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her around to face him, "what happened?"
She flinched at his touch and pulled away from him. Clark rubbed his forehead in disbelief.
"I just had a little run-in with Luthor security," she said, waving her hand as if it were nothing.
"Again?" he said, staring at her. This was the third time in a month.
"Yes," she said, irritably, throwing the towel into the sink, "again."
"Lois," he said, taking an ice pack from the fridge and making to press it to her forehead, "you have got to stop this."
She jerked her head away and grabbed the ice pack from him, "I can't," she said, her voice rising. "They wouldn't do this to me if they weren't hiding something."
"Lois," he said, his voice rising with the pain in his gut, "look at you. You're going to end up in the hospital again, or, I don't know, dead -" Lois pushed past him into the living room and he followed her in there, "Lois, it's the middle of the night. I've been sitting up, waiting for you: you missed our date -"
At that Lois spun to face him, her eyes dark with malice. "I -" her voice shook, and she raised her eyebrows, "I missed our date?" Clark swallowed. Lois just shook her head, "Clark we haven't had a date in six weeks because you -" here she raised a finger and jabbed it at him, "- never turn up for them."
From the tone in her voice, Clark knew she was trying to keep a lid on her anger. She was trying not to shout. She was trying to be reasonable. He shifted on his feet.
"You are unbelievable," she said, shaking her head. "Why don't we talk about where you are when I'm waiting up for you in the middle of the night? Where you go when you just run out on me? Why don't we talk about that?" She breathed out, and raised her hands palm outwards as if to push him away. Then she looked up at him, and said with mocking disbelief, "Were they all - what? Farming emergencies?"
"This isn't about me," Clark said, raising his voice to match hers. "This is about keeping you safe."
Lois just quirked an eyebrow. Clark set his jaw. He breathed out very slowly. Then he said, in a tone that was supposed to be reasonable, "Lois, you can't handle Lex."
Lois's jaw dropped. She just stared at Clark for a moment: time seemed to slow around them.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said, quietly, but Lois shook her head and raised her hand. Then she turned and walked out of the room.
"Lois," he said, following after her. He found her in the kitchen, putting the ice pack in the sink. Then she dug around in her purse for a moment, and pulled out a set of keys. She held them up in front of him, and took off the farmhouse key as he pressed his lips together and shook his head.
"Lois," he said, "please. I didn't mean -"
She held up a finger in front of his face. "You don't know me at all," she said, very quietly, and then she left him alone in the house.
- - -
"Lois," Clark drove at a crawl beside Lois. "Lois, don't get the bus back to Metropolis now." She ignored him. "Lois, please let me drive you back at least."
She looked at him, and in her eyes was deep disdain. Then she just kept walking. Behind them, Clark heard his house start to crumble and fall to the ground.
"Look at this," he said, pulling the car up to the curb and getting out. "If you had waited, I would have told you everything."
He jogged to keep up with her. "We could have worked it out," he said, a little desperately, "I wouldn't have left." He shook his head, "Or maybe - maybe I would have, but you would have known why."
She kept walking.
"Do you hear me?" he said, angry now, "- if you had waited, you would know why Lex was so dangerous. And then maybe I wouldn't be doing this."
She was gone. Clark looked around him. "Lois?"
There she was: across the road, walking in the opposite direction, everything in her wake turning to ashes. "It's all because of you," he said, "because you couldn't leave it alone." In the pit of his stomach, he had a nagging feeling that he was being unfair, but he just pushed it right back down.
By tomorrow, it won't matter who was right.
"You just remember," he said, as the world fell to pieces, "you erased me first."
- - -
Clark flicked the dial on the stove and left the sauce to simmer as he checked his phone. It was a message from Oliver Queen: "All clear, big guy."
He breathed out slowly, threw a tea towel over his shoulder and sat down at the table. He had felt bad about asking Oliver to keep an eye out for him, but right now his priority was Lois. Clark couldn't afford to let the meteor-powered population of Smallville cut into any more of his time with her.
Not tonight, of all nights.
She was an hour late.
- - -
When Clark looked over at Lois, she was smiling at a little girl. He watched as Lois picked up a ball from the edge of the rug they were sat on and handed it to the girl, who took it and flashed a toothy grin at Lois before running back to her friends.
Lois cast a smile over her shoulder at Clark. "You see," she said, her voice almost too light, "I can be perfectly charming when I want to be."
He smiled, but looked down at his hands. He had been fiddling with some blades of grass, but he dusted them off onto the rug now.
What was he going to do if, one day, Lois turned to him like that and said she wanted to have children of her own to play ball with? It might be years before she did. It might be never. What if she did want children, and he couldn't give them to her? It wouldn't matter how OK she was with who he was when he told her: that would still hurt.
When he looked up, Lois had a strange look on her face. She looked away. Clark felt the atmosphere between them cool, and wondered why.
"How's work?" he said, trying to break the silence.
It was a moment before she responded. "It's OK," she said. "I'm still trying to break a lead on this story about Lex."
Clark forced a laugh, tried to lighten the atmosphere, and then said, "I don't think you'll crack that one, Lois."
She just stared at him. "What?" she said, and he realised what he had said.
He was about to say something, when he heard something in the distance: a soul-breaking cry for help. He swallowed, and looked at Lois - she caught his eye and, reading his face, set her jaw.
"Go on," she said, her voice low and irritated.
"Lois -" he started, apologetic, but she cut across him.
"No," she said. "I don't want any pathetic excuses, Clark. You're about to run off, and I'm not going to be able to stop you whatever I do -"
In the blink of an eye, Clark flicked through a thousand memories of the same situation with Lois: each time she had argued less and less, each time she had been colder and more distant. He put his head in his hands as time snapped back to the 'present'.
"- so just leave," Lois said, her voice echoing back to him. "I want to be alone now."
"I'm sorry," he said, under his breath, to the vision of Lois he saw as though from the other end of a tunnel.
"I'm sorry."
- - -
Clark felt Lois's arms slide around his waist, and she leant up to kiss the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her - her lips pressed against the skin of his nape.
"I wish you would tell me what you're thinking," she whispered into his ear. He bowed his head. The sun was setting outside, dipping below the horizon and filling the whole barn with cold evening.
"I tell you everything," she said, kissing his shoulder through the blue fabric of his t-shirt. "All the stuff which - I'd rather keep to myself." He knew what she was talking about. Lois Lane didn't trust. It almost made it worse that she had trusted him.
"I can't," he murmured. At that she dropped her arms, and he felt bereft, and cold, without her.
"You keep saying that," she said, and her voice almost broke. When he looked at her, she pressed her lips together. "I can't but think that -" she swallowed, and then shook her head, "whatever."
"Lois -" he went to draw her in, but she threw up her hands and stepped back. Then she turned and walked back down the stairs.
Clark tried to follow her. He was back in the loft. He got as far as the last step, and was back again. Each time his surroundings were darker, and he started to feel desperate. Again he tried to take the steps back down and pull Lois back, again he was back in the loft.
I do tell you, he wanted to say.
I write it in the journal you gave me.
The last light faded.
II
This is the last time I saw you.
Clark got up when he heard Lois's key turn in the lock, heard the slight intake of breath as she gently pushed the door open. He realised that she was being quiet, so as not to wake him, but he had lain awake all night listening to her heart beat, wondering where she was.
He stood in the dark of the living room, waiting for her to come in.
She didn't see him at first, walking straight into the kitchen and turning on the light. She turned on the tap and her breath hitched a little as she rolled up her sleeve and peered at her elbow. Clark walked over to lean against the kitchen island, watching as Lois picked up a tea towel and, wetting it under the tap, dabbed at a bad scrape along her arm.
"Lois," he said, and she jumped, banging her knee against the cupboard.
"Ow," she said, and turned to face him, "Clark?"
Clark stared. There was a cut above her right eye, and her jaw was swollen and purple. He felt the breath leave his lungs, and rushed over to her. "Lois," he said again, and gently touched his fingers to the side of her face, over the swelling.
She batted him away with her hands and bent over to pick the towel off the floor where she had dropped it. "I'm alright," she said, although her voice sounded a little choked, "I'm fine, Clark."
"You're not," he said, feeling anger start to rise in his gut: dark, black anger at whoever did this to her, at her for acting like it was 'fine'. "Lois," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her around to face him, "what happened?"
She flinched at his touch and pulled away from him. Clark rubbed his forehead in disbelief.
"I just had a little run-in with Luthor security," she said, waving her hand as if it were nothing.
"Again?" he said, staring at her. This was the third time in a month.
"Yes," she said, irritably, throwing the towel into the sink, "again."
"Lois," he said, taking an ice pack from the fridge and making to press it to her forehead, "you have got to stop this."
She jerked her head away and grabbed the ice pack from him, "I can't," she said, her voice rising. "They wouldn't do this to me if they weren't hiding something."
"Lois," he said, his voice rising with the pain in his gut, "look at you. You're going to end up in the hospital again, or, I don't know, dead -" Lois pushed past him into the living room and he followed her in there, "Lois, it's the middle of the night. I've been sitting up, waiting for you: you missed our date -"
At that Lois spun to face him, her eyes dark with malice. "I -" her voice shook, and she raised her eyebrows, "I missed our date?" Clark swallowed. Lois just shook her head, "Clark we haven't had a date in six weeks because you -" here she raised a finger and jabbed it at him, "- never turn up for them."
From the tone in her voice, Clark knew she was trying to keep a lid on her anger. She was trying not to shout. She was trying to be reasonable. He shifted on his feet.
"You are unbelievable," she said, shaking her head. "Why don't we talk about where you are when I'm waiting up for you in the middle of the night? Where you go when you just run out on me? Why don't we talk about that?" She breathed out, and raised her hands palm outwards as if to push him away. Then she looked up at him, and said with mocking disbelief, "Were they all - what? Farming emergencies?"
"This isn't about me," Clark said, raising his voice to match hers. "This is about keeping you safe."
Lois just quirked an eyebrow. Clark set his jaw. He breathed out very slowly. Then he said, in a tone that was supposed to be reasonable, "Lois, you can't handle Lex."
Lois's jaw dropped. She just stared at Clark for a moment: time seemed to slow around them.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said, quietly, but Lois shook her head and raised her hand. Then she turned and walked out of the room.
"Lois," he said, following after her. He found her in the kitchen, putting the ice pack in the sink. Then she dug around in her purse for a moment, and pulled out a set of keys. She held them up in front of him, and took off the farmhouse key as he pressed his lips together and shook his head.
"Lois," he said, "please. I didn't mean -"
She held up a finger in front of his face. "You don't know me at all," she said, very quietly, and then she left him alone in the house.
- - -
"Lois," Clark drove at a crawl beside Lois. "Lois, don't get the bus back to Metropolis now." She ignored him. "Lois, please let me drive you back at least."
She looked at him, and in her eyes was deep disdain. Then she just kept walking. Behind them, Clark heard his house start to crumble and fall to the ground.
"Look at this," he said, pulling the car up to the curb and getting out. "If you had waited, I would have told you everything."
He jogged to keep up with her. "We could have worked it out," he said, a little desperately, "I wouldn't have left." He shook his head, "Or maybe - maybe I would have, but you would have known why."
She kept walking.
"Do you hear me?" he said, angry now, "- if you had waited, you would know why Lex was so dangerous. And then maybe I wouldn't be doing this."
She was gone. Clark looked around him. "Lois?"
There she was: across the road, walking in the opposite direction, everything in her wake turning to ashes. "It's all because of you," he said, "because you couldn't leave it alone." In the pit of his stomach, he had a nagging feeling that he was being unfair, but he just pushed it right back down.
By tomorrow, it won't matter who was right.
"You just remember," he said, as the world fell to pieces, "you erased me first."
- - -
Clark flicked the dial on the stove and left the sauce to simmer as he checked his phone. It was a message from Oliver Queen: "All clear, big guy."
He breathed out slowly, threw a tea towel over his shoulder and sat down at the table. He had felt bad about asking Oliver to keep an eye out for him, but right now his priority was Lois. Clark couldn't afford to let the meteor-powered population of Smallville cut into any more of his time with her.
Not tonight, of all nights.
She was an hour late.
- - -
When Clark looked over at Lois, she was smiling at a little girl. He watched as Lois picked up a ball from the edge of the rug they were sat on and handed it to the girl, who took it and flashed a toothy grin at Lois before running back to her friends.
Lois cast a smile over her shoulder at Clark. "You see," she said, her voice almost too light, "I can be perfectly charming when I want to be."
He smiled, but looked down at his hands. He had been fiddling with some blades of grass, but he dusted them off onto the rug now.
What was he going to do if, one day, Lois turned to him like that and said she wanted to have children of her own to play ball with? It might be years before she did. It might be never. What if she did want children, and he couldn't give them to her? It wouldn't matter how OK she was with who he was when he told her: that would still hurt.
When he looked up, Lois had a strange look on her face. She looked away. Clark felt the atmosphere between them cool, and wondered why.
"How's work?" he said, trying to break the silence.
It was a moment before she responded. "It's OK," she said. "I'm still trying to break a lead on this story about Lex."
Clark forced a laugh, tried to lighten the atmosphere, and then said, "I don't think you'll crack that one, Lois."
She just stared at him. "What?" she said, and he realised what he had said.
He was about to say something, when he heard something in the distance: a soul-breaking cry for help. He swallowed, and looked at Lois - she caught his eye and, reading his face, set her jaw.
"Go on," she said, her voice low and irritated.
"Lois -" he started, apologetic, but she cut across him.
"No," she said. "I don't want any pathetic excuses, Clark. You're about to run off, and I'm not going to be able to stop you whatever I do -"
In the blink of an eye, Clark flicked through a thousand memories of the same situation with Lois: each time she had argued less and less, each time she had been colder and more distant. He put his head in his hands as time snapped back to the 'present'.
"- so just leave," Lois said, her voice echoing back to him. "I want to be alone now."
"I'm sorry," he said, under his breath, to the vision of Lois he saw as though from the other end of a tunnel.
"I'm sorry."
- - -
Clark felt Lois's arms slide around his waist, and she leant up to kiss the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her - her lips pressed against the skin of his nape.
"I wish you would tell me what you're thinking," she whispered into his ear. He bowed his head. The sun was setting outside, dipping below the horizon and filling the whole barn with cold evening.
"I tell you everything," she said, kissing his shoulder through the blue fabric of his t-shirt. "All the stuff which - I'd rather keep to myself." He knew what she was talking about. Lois Lane didn't trust. It almost made it worse that she had trusted him.
"I can't," he murmured. At that she dropped her arms, and he felt bereft, and cold, without her.
"You keep saying that," she said, and her voice almost broke. When he looked at her, she pressed her lips together. "I can't but think that -" she swallowed, and then shook her head, "whatever."
"Lois -" he went to draw her in, but she threw up her hands and stepped back. Then she turned and walked back down the stairs.
Clark tried to follow her. He was back in the loft. He got as far as the last step, and was back again. Each time his surroundings were darker, and he started to feel desperate. Again he tried to take the steps back down and pull Lois back, again he was back in the loft.
I do tell you, he wanted to say.
I write it in the journal you gave me.
The last light faded.