Seven thirty-three.

He would come. He would. There was a reason he was late.

Traffic, perhaps.

There was an explanation. There had to be.

But whatever it was, Lois just wanted him to stroll down the corridor, knock on her door, greet her with his smile, and remind her just how wonderful it felt to be with him.

Lois Lane didn't believe in love. She didn't believe in marriage. She certainly didn't believe in 'happily ever after'.

But she was perilously close to believing in Clark Kent.

Seven thirty-four.


Part 4

Ten minutes later, Lois's limited reserve of patience had dwindled to nothing. She picked up her handbag, slewed her jacket over her shoulder, pulled open the door of her hotel room, and strode down the corridor towards the reception area.

She was hungry, and she was going to find a café and eat breakfast.

Alone.

When Mr Clark Kent actually bothered to show up, he would discover that Lois Lane didn't wait around for anyone.

She marched into the reception area, propelled by steaming indignation that she'd been stood up by a hick from Iowa. Or Kansas, which was worse.

Her feet stalled, her jaw dropped, her throat withered.

Clark was leaning against the far wall, wearing jeans that hugged his hips more tightly than his pants had last night and a textured grey sweater that accentuated the vast plains of his chest. He straightened. "Lois?" He swallowed. His smile glimmered like a rainbow after a storm. "Lois. Good morning. You … wow, you look great."

She advanced on him, using her stockpile of aggravation as a blowtorch to obliterate her tumultuous reaction to his presence. "Why are you waiting out here?" she demanded. "Why didn't you come to my door? I thought you wanted us to have breakfast together. Have you changed your mind?"

"No. No, of course I haven't." He checked his watch. "But I'm hopelessly early."

"You're early?"

"Everything was ready," Clark said. He regarded her with eyes that had lost none of their splendour overnight. "I couldn't stay away any longer."

"You're late," she said, thrusting her watch under his nose. "It's almost eight o'clock. You said seven-thirty."

Clark examined her watch, his mouth suspended on the verge of a smile. "I'm sorry, Lois," he said. "I didn't realise we made our plans in Metropolis time."

"Met-" Lois slammed her mouth shut and tried to pretend she was oblivious to the heat flooding across her cheeks. She lifted her chin and met him square on. "What time is it?"

"In Des Moines, it's a quarter to seven."

"Oh." A blaze of fresh comprehension swamped her embarrassment. "You're an hour early?"

"No," Clark said with a little gush of defensiveness. "I was only fifty-one minutes early." His smile trembled with heart-tugging hopefulness. "Are … are you ready?"

"I had decided I wasn't going to …" Her planned announcement that she no longer wanted to go out with him had held no conviction, even at the beginning, and quickly petered out to empty air.

Clark watched her, saying nothing, awaiting her verdict.

Lois closed her mouth, stunned by the galling realisation that she wasn't capable of standing before this man and boldly declaring that she would not be a party to something as ridiculous as going on a date with someone whose future presence in her life amounted to just a few hours.

Clark moved a step closer. "I feel like I'm stumbling around blindly, too, Lois," he said. "I'm guessing what I should do and hoping like crazy that I don't mess up anything too badly."

"Really?" she asked in a small voice that was draped with relief.

"Really," he said with a confirming nod. "But I do know how much I want to have breakfast with you." He gestured towards the door. "Please, Lois?"

There were hundreds of reasons why she shouldn't spend another moment with a man so unconsciously adept at employing the arsenal of weapons at his disposal, but right now, Lois, the master wordsmith, couldn't have constructed a sentence detailing even one of them.

She could do no more than nod silent acquiescence.

Clark's responding smile could have lit up a moderately sized city. "Let's go then," he said. He strode to the door and held it open for her.

As Lois passed him, she sneaked a glance into his face. She wasn't subtle enough, and he caught her, responding with a smile that wrapped around her heart like a shawl.

Lois fixed her gaze ahead and hurried through the door. Outside, the drizzly rain had become a steady downpour, and she pulled on her jacket.

"Wait here," Clark said. He ran to his car, opened the passenger door, and beckoned her forward.

She crossed the short distance and slipped into his car. When Clark joined her, he pushed the key into the ignition and peered out through the windshield. "This is not the weather I was hoping for," he said.

"It'll be OK," Lois said. "We shouldn't get too wet running between the car and café."

"A café was Plan B," Clark said, tapping on the steering wheel. "But it's Saturday, and this is Des Moines." He turned to her, his mouth hinting at a smile. "And - as hard as this is to believe - cafés around here don't generally run on Metropolis time. Although, they very definitely should, of course."

Lois felt herself smiling right back at him. "Are you trying to tell me that nothing's open yet?"

"There's a diner out on the highway," Clark said. "It'll be open, but the food is so awful, you'd probably never speak to me again, and I'm not willing to risk that."

"How long until something opens?" Lois asked.

"Forty minutes. Longer for the nicer places."

"How about the place you got coffee last night? That was open late. Could we go there?"

Clark shook his head. "I packed us a picnic," he said. "I'd thought the park would be nice. There's a little gazebo …" He lifted his hand from the steering wheel in frustration. "I remembered everything except to check the weather forecast."

"Is the gazebo covered?" Lois asked.

"Yes."

"Then we can probably stay dry."

"You might get cold."

Last night, it had been important to Clark that she have good coffee. Now, he was concerned about keeping her warm on a chilly morning.

"I just want you to have a good time," he said as if he thought her silence necessitated an explanation from him.

Lois reached over and patted his hand where it was resting on the steering wheel. The touch lasted less than a second, but it was enough to send tingles through the pads of her fingers.

She glanced into his face and caught him swallowing.

So, he felt it, too.

This … this thing between them. This connection. This feeling of being inexorably drawn together by something stronger than will or common sense or the practicalities of living more than a thousand miles apart.

It could only be a temporary thing, of course. No other outcome was possible. But, for now … Even Perry had said she should relax and have fun. "Let's go and see if the gazebo has a dry corner," Lois suggested.

"It doesn't have any corners at all," Clark retorted with a grin. "But if you'd like to go and look ..."

For the second time that morning, Lois found she was smiling simply because Clark was. "Corners or not," she said. "A picnic in the park sounds perfect."

And it did.

Because she would be with Clark.

And that simple fact elevated her spirits and reduced everything else, including the weather, to mere triviality.

Clark started the engine and pulled into the almost-empty road. "You seem happy this morning," he noted.

She did? Her? Happy?

When was the last time she had thought of herself as being happy? After an exclusive? No. That was satisfaction. Relief. And maybe a little bit of professional pride.

But now, happiness had crept upon her, enfolding her in its clutches, permeating her threadbare heart, and infusing her with vitality.

Was it really possible that one person could change everything?

"Are you?" he asked. "Feeling good?"

"Yeah," she said, although her reply was lacking in any real conviction.

"Did you sleep well?" Clark asked.

"OK. You?"

He seemed caught unawares by the abruptness of her comeback question. "Ah … yeah. Your hotel room seemed nice enough. Was it OK?"

Lois had taken so little notice of the room that she couldn't remember one feature. Actually, there was one. "It didn't have a clock," she stated with a playful glare at Clark's profile. "You didn't steal it, did you?"

"No," he said, glancing her way with a smile. "But if I'd thought of it, I may have been tempted."

"Why?"

"Metropolis time is good."

"Why?"

"Day starts earlier."

"And that is good because?"

He grinned. "You were right about asking a lot of questions."

"They call me 'Mad Dog Lane' because I don't give up until I have the answers I want." For the first time ever, the 'Mad Dog' tag didn't sting. Not here. Not with Clark. Not as they drove to a soggy gazebo to share breakfast.

But Clark was no longer smiling. "Mad Dog?" he grated. "Do you mind?"

"I'll tell you whether I mind or not if you tell me why you wanted the day to start earlier."

"Because I had a breakfast date with a beautiful woman."

Beautiful. Lois had fielded a plethora of similar comments. Usually, she dismissed them as insincere slush, used as a ploy to bend her to the will of the speaker.

But this time, she wasn't so sure.

"You really think I'm beautiful?" she asked, because she had to know, even though it sounded excruciatingly close to fishing for a further compliment.

"Yes. I do."

His three words, spoken with quietly steadfast assurance, set off a series of shock waves inside Lois. "I bet you say that to every woman you date," she threw back at him.

Clark swung into the kerb and brought the car to a smooth stop. He turned to her, his expression solemn. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Lois," he declared. "And I've never said that to anyone before because it hasn't been true until now."

She laughed. Short, brittle, embarrassed.

"I counted down the hours to seven thirty," he said. "Why wouldn't I be pleased about the day starting earlier?"

"Clark …" There was so much she wanted to say - a churning mass of scrambled feelings that were crying out for release - and even more she wanted to ask. But speaking the words gave them validity. And she might get some answers - answers she wasn't ready for yet. "Let's just go to the park, shall we?"

After another smile that lingered just long enough to melt another couple of million nerve endings, Clark pulled back onto the road and said, "Are you looking forward to the wedding?"

"I guess so." In truth, Lois hadn't given one thought to the wedding since she'd stopped bemoaning her moment of weakness in accepting Jane's invitation.

"Are you glad to have a day away from the paper?" Clark continued. "A break from Metropolis?"

"Not really." It was the truth. Or it had been. But it sounded petty and ungrateful. "I'm a little bit … obsessed about my work."

He nodded. "It shows."

"Really? How? Am I -"

"No," he said with a chuckle. "It shows in your stories."

"You've read my stories?" she gasped.

"Of course, I have. Jane often gets a copy of the Daily Planet when you have the front-page byline. She's very proud of your success."

"Oh." Lois wasn't sure what else to say, but some of her attitudes towards Jane were no longer sitting comfortably in her conscience.

"She thinks you're amazing," Clark said softly. So do I.

The final three words hadn't been spoken but they hung in the air, as tangible as the rain sloshing down the windows.

"Ah … that's nice of her," Lois muttered. Hurrying to change the subject, she cast a glance out of the windshield. "I hope the weather clears for the wedding."

"So do I." He turned off the main road and onto a smaller one. "I wonder how Jane's feeling this morning."

"I can't even imagine," Lois said.

"I figure she's excited," Clark said. "Anxious. Nervous. Ecstatic. Full of joy."

Yesterday, Lois would have spouted something disparaging about the myth of true love. But this morning …

The image of Clark waiting for her at the top of the aisle lodged firmly in her mind. He would be dynamite in a tux. She could imagine his smile … his anticipation … his radiating happiness … his eyes, brimming with love … his -

"They were hoping to take the photographs outside," Clark said. "But mud splatters can't be good for a white dress."

"You're looking forward to the wedding, aren't you?" Lois asked, hoping he would discern the teasing lilt in her tone.

"Ah …" He tossed her a sheepish smile. "I think it's nice when two people love each other enough to want to be together for the rest of their lives."

"Last night, you said you would risk everything for the woman you loved."

"I would."

"You'd be willing to commit the rest of your life to one woman?"

"Yes."

"What if your feelings were to change? What if you were to meet someone else who is perfect for you?"

"My wife would be perfect for me."

His solemn declaration skipped across her heart, imprinting the very sure knowledge that Clark Kent's wife would be a woman enveloped in the unwavering love of her husband. "What about having the freedom to go out with any woman?"

"I want the freedom to go out with one special woman," he replied. "The freedom to love her openly. The freedom to affirm publicly that we have chosen to be together. That she has chosen to be with me."

Lois felt her throat thicken with tears. She had believed in marriage once. She had dreamed of a man who would commit to building a life with her. The desire to believe still flickered weakly, but wanting to believe was never enough. She swallowed roughly and tried to chuckle to disguise the inner turmoil. "You are a very unusual man, Clark Kent."

"What do you mean?" he asked quickly.

"You're different from anyone I've ever met."

He flinched. Tried to hide it. Asked, with somewhat laboured nonchalance, "Is that a bad thing?"

"No."

Lois's reply reverberated more strongly than she had intended. It stated so much more than 'not a bad thing' and became 'a very good thing'. Lois held her breath. Clark's eyes stayed fixed on the road, but his throat lurched as he swallowed rather loudly. Lois snapped her head to the right and stared at the sodden landscape.

The deluge of attraction swept back, seasoned with memories.

Dancing with him.

His arm around her. The feel of his shoulder under her hand. The firm velvet of his chin against her temple.

Clark turned off the road and pulled into a parking bay facing a murky grey gazebo. As he killed the engine, the rain increased. He groaned. "Perhaps this isn't such a good idea," he said. "The wind is blowing rain into the gazebo."

Lois reached over and lightly rested her hand on the wrist band of his sweater. His head snapped towards her. "We can't see into all the gazebo," she said. "There might be an area that's still dry. Over to the left, perhaps."

"Would you like me to go and have a look?" Clark asked eagerly.

"Sure."

"Wait here."

He was gone before she'd opened her mouth to reply, sprinting through the rain and leaping up the gazebo steps. Lois watched, entranced. The man turned the simple act of running into compulsive viewing.

And his jeans appeared to have been fashioned purposely to emphasise a very nicely shaped butt!

Clark stayed in the gazebo only a few seconds and then dashed back to the car, grinning at her before he'd even shut the door. "There's a bit that's protected from the rain," he announced. "If you really don't mind risking a bit of dampness."

Lois had never minded risking anything. Except for perhaps her heart. And that worried her far more than a few drops of rain. Or it should. "Let's get the food."

Clark touched her - his fingers brushing lightly over her knuckles and setting fire to them. "My coat's in the trunk. You can use it to run through the rain. I'll get everything."

"You'll get wet."

He grinned at that. "Perhaps I can run fast enough to miss all the raindrops," he said. "Stay there while I get the coat."

A few seconds later, he opened her door and held his coat up for protection as Lois rose from the seat. She took the garment, propped it over her head, and ran for the gazebo.

She stood on the edge of the dry spot and followed Clark with her eyes as he rushed back to the trunk.

She was drawn to Clark Kent. Irresistibly. Overwhelmingly. Undeniably. Alarmingly.

He felt something, too. She knew he did.

What was he thinking?

Had he wondered - for even a second - if she could be the woman he was waiting to meet? The woman who could fulfil his dreams of 'happily ever after'?

He'd said he would risk heartache and disappointment for the woman he loved.

Had that been merely generalisation? Or had his message had a very specific intended audience?

He bounded up the steps and placed a loaded basket at her feet. "I also have a few things to make us more comfortable," he said. "Be back soon."

Lois crouched next to the basket. There were multiple containers. She opened one, and her stomach leaped at the chocolate aroma emanating from the crumbly pastry.

All it needed was coffee!

Perhaps Clark's favourite coffee shop would open soon and he'd take her there.

Had he planned more than breakfast? Lunch, perhaps? Sitting together at the wedding? Another dance?

He couldn't know that all of Lois's relationships had ended so badly, she'd concluded that love and Lois Lane were two divergent entities and therefore, completely immiscible.

Love? That word caused a tremor through the landscape of her thoughts.

Did Clark love her?

He couldn't. Not yet.

But there was something between them. Something Lois had never felt before.

She was sure he felt something, too, but was he thinking they would spend the weekend together - two days that would result in nothing more significant than memories when they returned to their separate lives on Monday?

Or was he thinking so much more?

With any other man, a pleasant, ultimately pointless, association would seem most likely. A little flirting. Perhaps some kissing. Maybe even a night together. Then, their lives would reset back to normal.

If that happened, Lois would fly to Metropolis tomorrow, throw herself into her work, and resolve that she would never again waste one moment thinking about her weekend in Des Moines.

She would do it, because she was Lois Lane.

But he was Clark Kent. And that changed everything.

He arrived again, carrying a pile of outdoor cushions and two blankets, one thick and heavy duty, one soft and delicate. "Perhaps you'd like to set it up the way you want it," he suggested. "Or you can wait until I get back and we'll do it together."

When he'd gone again, Lois spread out the thick blanket on the dry concrete. She added some cushions, placing them against one of the broad wooden support posts. She returned to the basket and began -

Coffee!

The aroma, fragrant and full-bodied, surrounded her like the embrace of an old friend.

Clark walked up the steps, more sedately this time, carrying two steaming take-away cups. Lois moved forward to meet him. "I was just thinking that all this needed was coffee," she said.

He handed her a cup. Their fingers brushed. "I hope it tastes all right," he said. "It was brewed about half an hour ago, but it's still hot."

Most of the coffee Lois drank at her desk was hours old and decidedly tepid. She sipped. Swallowed. Sighed. "Great coffee," she said appreciatively. "Just like last night. Perhaps we could go there later."

Clark eyed the cushions she had placed on the rug. "This looks wonderful, Lois." He hesitated a moment to offer a shy smile. "Would you like to sit down?"

But instead of sitting down, she moved closer to him, her attention riveted to the splatters of moisture that dotted his sweater.

Lois slowly lifted her hand. With her fingertip, she touched a single droplet. It trickled down her finger and into her palm. She brushed him lightly, feeling the protrusion of his collarbone. Her hand stalled at the point of his shoulder.

With her eyes, she traced the track her hand had left through the fibres of his sweater. She realised he was holding his breath. She tilted her head upwards. His mouth was there. Accessible. Poised. Ready.

He didn't lean closer. He didn't move. Not even the twitch of a muscle.

He waited, gifting Lois the freedom to choose.

She wrenched her gaze from his mouth. She stared at her hand as it began moving down his arm, gathering speed as she flicked at his sleeve and then continued with jolted strokes across his chest to his other shoulder and arm.

When she'd finished, he breathed again, taut and shallow. "Th…thanks."

"You're welcome."

Her gaze drifted back to his mouth, and she found he was smiling - a little shaken, a little tentative, but still with the power to captivate her. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, offering his hand to assist.

She should run now. Because if she ever got within kissing distance of that mouth again, her resistance would be about as useful as tissue paper in a blizzard.

And kissing Clark Kent …

Lois couldn't see how there could be any way back from that.

But she didn't run.

She took his hand and sat down. Clark began unpacking the basket, and Lois sipped from her coffee, as inside her, trepidation and euphoria engaged in a feisty battle for ascendency.