The brownstone was quiet when Clark slipped through the door, shoulders still tense from the hours he’d spent overseas. A collapsed bridge, flooding, evacuations, it was one of those days that left him thinking he was too slow no matter how fast he moved.
He closed the door softly. The living room glowed with the warm light of a single lamp. Lois sat curled on the couch, her hair loose, the blanket draped over her legs. She looked up the moment she heard him, reading everything in the set of his jaw and the fatigue in his eyes.
“She’s asleep?” he asked, sadness edging his voice.
Lois nodded. “Out like a light. She held on until half an hour ago, I think.” She stood and crossed to him, touching his cheek. “Rough one?”
Clark let out a slow breath. “A long one.”
“No need to say more.” She pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. “It’s late. Get today’s bag and then we get to bed.”
He nodded, grateful. There were nights he needed hours to unwind, but there were also nights like this, where the rituals they’d built did the work for him.
Clark reached for the basket near the fireplace and pulled out the fourth bag, the drawstring tied in a neat bow. He sat down on the couch and drew her into his lap. She leaned into him as he pulled the string open. A small wooden ox slid into his hand, shaped with simple lines.
He ran his thumb across the smooth back of the figure, grounding himself in something still and solid.
Lois unfolded the paper and read the words she’d written:
The boy grew up long before he knew about his powers. His father showed him that true strength doesn’t need to prove anything. It can be silent. Wait. Listen. Sometimes courage means standing still when everything demands movement. That’s what he learned first.
Clark closed his eyes briefly. The disaster, the panic, the rushing, everything faded as the story settled over him.
“He taught me that every day,” Clark said quietly. “Still does, even now.”
Lois slipped her hand into his. “It fits today.”
“It fits a lot of days.”
They sat there for a moment, neither moving.
Finally, Lois stood and placed the figurine on the mantel beside the other pieces. Four now, forming a quiet line of story and meaning.
She turned back to him. “Come to bed. You’ve done enough for one day.”
Clark rose but didn’t move toward the stairs immediately. Instead, he pulled her close, arms wrapping around her waist. She fit against him the way she always did, her head tucking perfectly beneath his chin.
“Thank you,” he said into her hair. “For this. For waiting up.”
“Always.” Her voice was soft, muffled against his chest. “You know I can’t sleep well when you’re out there anyway.”
He tightened his hold slightly. “I hate that.”
“I don’t.” She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “It means I get to be the one here when you come home.”
Clark traced his thumb along her jawline, studying her face in the dim light. The exhaustion in her eyes matched his own, but beneath it was something steady, something that held him together on nights like this.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said.
Lois smiled, tired but genuine. “You showed up. You stayed. You let me in. You made me let you in” She took his hand. “Now come on. Martha will be up in a few hours, and we both need sleep before then.”
He let her lead him toward the stairs, pausing only to switch off the lamp. The room fell into darkness, but he could still see her perfectly, the outline of her silhouette, the way she glanced back to make sure he was following.
Upstairs, they moved quietly through their nighttime routine. Clark checked on Martha, standing in the doorway of the nursery for a long moment, watching the mobile turn slowly above her crib. The crescent moon, the bird, the cloud, all casting gentle shadows in the dim glow of the nightlight.
Lois appeared beside him, slipping her arm around his waist.
“She’s perfect,” she whispered.
“She is.”
They stood together in the doorway, the weight of the day finally beginning to lift. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new emergencies, new reasons to rush. But tonight, in the quiet of their home, with his family safe and close, Clark could be still.
Just like his father had taught him.
