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

[isitablurred]

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

Comments

Lack-of-Sirens, 7th

[presspasskey]

Something was wrong, that much was obvious. It had been wrong ever since her computer and NV just went out like that (and incidentally, whatever had caused it was going to pay in blood if she lost the article she'd been working on

[isitablurred]

He couldn't see, but he could hear, grateful for the sound of Lois' voice, for her approaching heartbeat and the patter of he shoes on the grass. He drew himself back upright, using her shoulder to guide himself, and blinked scarred white eyes in her direction. The heat vision had seared the lenses, and he couldn't see through them.

"I'm so glad you're okay. The pulse...whatever it was it came from this way. I lost control of my powers. It was just a blip."

He raised his hand to his own eyes; they were burned all around, painful to touch.

"Can we go inside? It's almost dark, and I don't want either of us out here when it comes down on us."

He couldn't know that inside was just as unsafe as outside. A simple window, time misplaced, watched that had stopped at the most crucial moment.

[presspasskey]

Oh, god.

She immediately looped an arm around his waist (or what she could of it--she never stopped being surprised how much mass he had, when she was this close to him) and did her best to take some of his weight.

"I'm fine, everything's gonna be fine, just-- just lean on me, okay?"

Her voice stayed steady, through an immense effort of will. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about her panicking.

She gently started leading him back towards the stairwell--hoping to god no one would notice, because there would be no decent explanation without endangering Clark's identity--there was only so much plausibility in 'Lois Lane taking in her superhero best friend when he somehow burned his eyes and can't see, and of course her boyfriend's at home why do you ask.'

"I'm just going to take this one stair at a time--you'll probably feel it, right? We'll go slow." Cool, calm--get him through this, that's all that matters. Keep him talking. "How'd you get hurt

[isitablurred]

He admonished her softly, trying to force a smile even though he didn't exactly feel it.

"My legs are working just fine, Lois, it's just my eyes that aren't." His hand slid down to hers, finding it, closing firmly around it, and he looked up toward where he thought her eyes must be, wishing the initial burn would start to clear. The feeling was unnerving, and highly uncomfortable. Last time it had taken days.

When she led him downstairs, he did his best to listen to everything around them, to try to get some bearing that didn't involve her hand in his own. He could navigate the stairs - mostly - by the sounds her feet made on them, and as they reached the door to their appartment he could hear the buzz that the emergency light made above the fire exit just opposite.

Since Lois had been heading outside, the door wasn't locked, and just a moment later they were stepping into the relative safety of their apartment. Clark relaxed instantly.

"Nobody saw us?"

Morning, 8th

[presspasskey]

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

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

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

[isitablurred]

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

[presspasskey]

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

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

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

And then, after another moment, his presence registered more fully in her brain and she pushed herself onto an elbow, hazel eyes rather bleary and confused. Her tone of voice and her ever-informative face had a hundred different shades (I'm glad you're here, are you okay, how can I

[isitablurred]

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

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

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

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