“Maybe.” She turned the mega-watt smile on him, raised up on her tiptoes, grabbed the back of his head, and kissed him fully, resoundingly on his still moving lips.

He froze.

“Shut you up,” Lois stated with satisfaction.

Who said that?! Horrible, horrible good manners, hard-wired into his psyche! Darn them! Darn them to the fiery cellars where Lex Luthor dwelled! Lois was only the tiniest bit drunk. He didn’t care. He’d go up and just watch her sleep it off. That would be enough for him.

But then, Clark had shown her the scar. He had chosen to show her. Lois knew this was important. In showing her the scar, he had shown her what trapped him And he had, also, given her the key. Lois would free him; from the isolation that had to be stifling, from the
uncertainty that had to be chronic, and from the fear that stayed with him. The fear of being found out, the fear of rejection, the fear of her rejection of him once she knew.

This she could see clearly now. When he’d caught her at the planetarium, he had been holding himself steady by sheer force of will, by self-discipline, by long, long practice. But Superman had been afraid. Had he once shown his true self to someone he’d loved? Had they turned away? With disgust? With fear? With condemnation?

Clark, in showing her the chicken pox scar, had shown her the deeper scars. The ones that haunted him, closed him in, cut him off. But not anymore. He didn’t know it yet, but that part of Clark Kent’s life was over. She was here. And this was a job for Lois Lane.

On her side, Lois stood perfectly still until she heard the sound of his retreating footsteps. Even then, she hardly dared breathe until the loud echo of the lobby door’s closing confirmed Clark’s departure.

“Superman has left the building,” Lois whispered to herself as she crossed to her window.

For sometime she only stood there, waiting, watching him move out of sight. She noted the soft sonic boom.

“Next up, man-eating shark.”

His mind slowly, unbelievably slowly, processed the words on the page. Superman turned to stone. Frozen completely on Lois’ bed, trespassing and invading her privacy, and utterly unable to move.

She knew.
Lois knew.

You asked me if you’d lost me, Clark.” Lois stood up to watch him. “It’s the opposite. You’ve found us

Clark reached for her; across the bed under which so much of their history lay buried, across the space that had always been between them, across the years that had finally led them to this place. And he found her there, waiting…warm…willing…and all his.

“Lois, I was talking. I...missed that...didn’t see that coming...didn’t get the full effect...So, I wondered if...you could...again?”

“We’re here, Clark.” Lois nodded towards her building. He’d never noticed they’d arrived. “You could come up?”

Oh, he was definitely going up. Bridges could collapse and villagers might flee mudslides, but he was so going up. She’d kissed him. Kissed him...kissed him.

“I...You’re...um...a little tipsy, Lois.”

Who said that?! Horrible, horrible good manners, hard-wired into his psyche! Darn them! Darn them to the fiery cellars where Lex Luthor dwelled! Lois was only the tiniest bit drunk. He didn’t care. He’d go up and just watch her sleep it off. That would be enough for him.

But then, Clark had shown her the scar. He had chosen to show her. Lois knew this was important. In showing her the scar, he had shown her what trapped him And he had, also, given her the key. Lois would free him; from the isolation that had to be stifling, from the uncertainty that had to be chronic, and from the fear that stayed with him. The fear of being found out, the fear of rejection, the fear of her rejection of him once she knew.

This she could see clearly now. When he’d caught her at the planetarium, he had been holding himself steady by sheer force of will, by self-discipline, by long, long practice. But Superman had been afraid. Had he once shown his true self to someone he’d loved? Had they turned away? With disgust? With fear? With condemnation?

Clark, in showing her the chicken pox scar, had shown her the deeper scars. The ones that haunted him, closed him in, cut him off. But not anymore. He didn’t know it yet, but that part of Clark Kent’s life was over. She was here. And this was a job for Lois Lane.

Jimmy was tugging unsuccessfully on Lois’ front door. Having been there himself, Clark took immediate pity on him. He marched over and yanked it open, breaking any number of bolts. If Jimmy noticed, there was no sign of it. His boots beat a rapid tattoo down the hallway.