If I sound angry, I'm sorry

[presspasskey]

Who: presspasskey and isitablurred
When: September 22nd
Where: The SuperApartment
Summary: Lois finds a bloodstained shirt. She’s not pleased.
Warnings: Strong language.

Comments

[isitablurred]

[It had been a long day. You could tell it had been a long day because Clark didn't listen out for Lois before he came in through the door, too preoccupied with adjusting his watch as he reattached it to his wrist. Superman didn't wear a watch. So how did he tell the time? Well that was a very good question, and it had a lot to do with x-raying the walls of likely looking buildings and hunting the walls for anything resembling minute hands.

None the less it meant that he was pretty much always late. Superspeed or not, that was never going to change.

So with the watch on, and adjusted, Clark closed the main door and turned to put down his keys.]

Lois, I'm home!

[Wow. Well that sounded...domestic

[presspasskey]

[Lois didn't bother to look up or call back when she heard him walk in. Not for the first time a rush of irritation and anger--at the world and herself--for letting this get into this situation. It had been better than having nowhere to go after a month, and away from a place she didn't trust, with both companies digging their fingers in. It had been with the only person she knew, the stupid, impossible, unbelievably caring alien with a serious hero complex she'd somehow fallen in love with.

Lois, I'm home!

They'd been playing house for months now--and that's all it was. Or so it felt, some days. The days when all they talked about was trivialities, and it felt half-forced; the days when the apartment felt so empty because she was the only one who lived there--sure, Clark sometimes slept over, but it wasn't home, was it? Usually she told herself she was worked up over nothing, and this was just how Couples With Routines worked

[isitablurred]

[It took him a moment to turn the shirt over several times in his hands, until the blood soaked silver S looked up at him accusingly. The bulletwound looked like nothing more complicated than a small tear, but he could see the singing around the edges without even using his microscopic vision. He could smell the gunpowder. Lois probably could too.]

It's not--nothing.

[He stumbled after her, stepping into the doorway, clutching the shirt closer.]

Lois. Lois, it's nothing, really.

[But he wasn't going to get away with it that easily, was he?]

[presspasskey]

[Lois is well and truly on the verge of actually crying right now--and unfortunately, the person she's always found shelter in is exactly the one she can't go to now. Goddammit, that day in the rain was three months ago. Some days she wonders if he really was dead in her arms, no matter what she tries to hope for.

He feels far enough away for it to be true.

She just stalks out, towards the bedroom proper--my bedroom, it's not like he's even been interested lately.]

Of course not. What's a liter or two of blood here and there, right?

[She slams the door to the bedroom shut too, and half-sits, half-collapses on the bed.

Melodramatic exaggeration and childish behavior? Probably. But she is far beyond caring.]