So, before I go to bed tonight, I thought I’ll show you how Lois and Clark’s evening is going.
TOCChapter thirty-oneIt’s already getting dark by the time we leave. The last light fades to dusty blue through Wayne’s windows, marking the end of a long and eventful day.
Clark stops at the door. “Wayne. Thank you. For all of it.” He pulls the other man into a hug.
Wayne answers with a small smile, “That’s what we do here, son. We take care of our own.” He claps Clark’s shoulder in a fatherly way.
Clark gives him a tired smile and turns toward the car. For a few steps, he moves like he always has: alone, like he’s done since he was a kid learning not to need anyone. Then his pace wavers, and before I know it, I’m at his side, Lucy moving in on the other. She doesn’t say much, just slips under his arm and we walk him to the Jeep together.
“You don’t have to…” Clark starts, but his voice trails off.
“Yes, we do,” Lucy says simply.
Then he lets us help. His hand tightens briefly on my shoulder, wordless gratitude.
Wayne follows us out. “I’ll come by tomorrow, tell you if I found something.”
Lucy helps Clark into the back seat, then climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Thanks, Wayne,” I say. “For everything.”
“You just keep him eating regular and make sure he doesn’t try to do everything himself.” Wayne’s smile is sad. “He’s got a habit of trying to carry the world alone. He was already like that as a little boy. But I think you already figured that out.”
“I did.”
“Good. Then you’ll know when to push and when to just stand beside him.” He glances at Clark, then back at me. “He needs both.”
“I’ll try. If he doesn’t listen, I’ll call you or Maisie for help.” I smile at Wayne.
“And take good care of the little one.” Wayne steps closer and pulls me into a strong hug, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I wish Jonathan and Martha could have met their grandchild. They always wanted a big family.”
My throat tightens. “I wish they could have too.”
I slide into the back seat beside Clark. As the engine starts and headlights cut through the darkness, I glance over at him.
He’s leaning back against the seat, but his eyes are open, fixed on something in the distance through the windshield. His expression is intent, almost strained, like he’s trying to see something just beyond reach.
After a moment, something shifts in his face. Confusion. Then disappointment, maybe fear, quickly hidden.
“How do you feel?” I ask quietly.
He blinks, the focus breaking. “Tired.” A pause. “But… normal.”
The word normal sounds wrong in his mouth. Not relieved. Almost frightened.
His hand fumbles for mine in the darkness between the seats. When he finds it, his fingers curl around mine, gripping tight.
I squeeze back gently, and I feel some of the tension ease from his hand.
We drive in silence for a while, the darkness wrapping around us. The gentle sway of the road feels strangely peaceful after the chaos of the day.
But then I notice Clark go still beside me. His head tilts slightly, his whole body tense with concentration, like he’s straining to hear something far away.
After a long moment, his shoulders slump. Whatever he was listening for, he didn’t find it.
He shifts closer to me on the seat, just an inch, maybe less. Like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
I watch him in the dim light from the dashboard, questions forming that I don’t voice. He closes his eyes.
“Clark?” I ask softly.
His eyes snap open. “Sorry. I’m fine.”
But he’s not. I can see it in the way his free hand clenches and unclenches on his thigh.
A few minutes later, he’s staring at his hand, turning it over slowly in the faint light.
His brow furrows deeply, I watch him stare at his hand, searching for something that isn’t there.
Nothing happens.
He stares at it like it’s betrayed him.
From the front seat, Lucy glances at us in the rearview mirror but says nothing. Just keeps driving.
Clark shifts even closer to me, his shoulder pressing against mine now. His hand tightens around mine again, almost painfully.
“Clark, you’re okay,” I murmur.
“I know.” But his voice is thin, unconvincing.
I almost ask what’s wrong. Almost demand to know what he’s so afraid of.
But something stops me, the vulnerability in his expression, the way he seems to be barely holding himself together.
So instead, I lean into him, letting him feel my warmth, my solidity. Letting him know I’m here.
His breathing gradually slows. He rests his head against mine, and though the tension doesn’t fully leave his body, he stops testing. Stops straining.
He just holds onto me like I’m the only solid thing left in his world.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask quietly after a while, careful to keep my voice gentle.
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.” He looks at me, and there’s something new and frightened in his expression. “This morning I didn’t know where I came from. Tonight I know my parents sent me here to save my life. That they loved me. That they wanted…” He trails off.
“Wanted what?”
“For me to find someone. To not be alone.” His voice cracks slightly. “I never let myself really think about this. It seemed too dangerous. Too selfish.”
“It’s not selfish to want connection, people who care about you, Clark.”
“Isn’t it?” His grip on my hand tightens again. “When there’s someone out there willing to destroy everything I care about? When I can’t…” He stops himself.
When I can’t protect you. The unspoken words hang between us.
From the front seat, Lucy’s voice cuts in. “Then let it be selfish. Who cares.”
He’s quiet, absorbing that.
“She’s right,” I say. “And you don’t protect me by pushing me away, not if I get a say in the matter.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “You’re right… but everything is different now.”
The smile fades. His hand tightens around mine again.
I laugh despite myself, trying to ease the tension. “I’m not going anywhere, Clark.”
“I know.” But he doesn’t let go. “I just… need to know you’re there.”
“I’m here,” I promise. “I’m right here.”
He nods and finally, slowly, his grip eases.
Whatever he’s not telling me, it’s still there. A weight he’s carrying alone, for now.
When he’s better, we’ll talk about this, but for now he just needs me to be there.
I rest my head against his shoulder, and feel him finally, truly relax into me.
***
By the time we get back to the B&B, it’s fully dark.
We sit in the parked Jeep for a moment, none of us quite ready to move.
“Clark stares out the window at the darkened street. “I thought I’d left this place behind forever. And now…” He trails off. “Now I have to leave again.”
“But it’s different this time,” Lucy says, turning in her seat to face him. “Last time you had to leave. This time you’re leaving because you’re choosing something.”
“Choosing?”
“A future.”
He looks at me, and I see it, the fear, yes, but also something else. Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
“Okay, let’s go in.”
Inside Lucy disappears into the bathroom first, emerging in sleep clothes and immediately claiming her bed.
Clark gathers his things slowly and disappears into the bathroom.
The door clicks shut, and suddenly it’s just Lucy and me in the quiet room.
Lucy sits on her bed, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. “So,” a smile playing at her lips. “You two looked cozy in the car.”
I feel my cheeks warm. “We were just…”
“Holding hands for twenty minutes straight?” Her smile widens. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“Lucy.”
“What? I’m just saying.” She shrugs, but her expression is softer now. “He really cares about you, you know. The way he kept checking to make sure you were still there…” She trails off. “It was kind of sweet. In a slightly desperate, touch-starved kind of way.”
I sit on the edge of Clark’s bed, running my hand over the worn quilt. “He’s scared. I think today really shook him.”
“Of course it did. He almost died.” Lucy’s voice drops. “But Lois… he’s not scared of dying. He’s scared of not being able to protect you.”
I look up at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I have eyes.” She shakes her head. “Something’s wrong, and he’s terrified you’ll figure it out.”
My chest tightens. “I know. I saw it too.”
“You going to ask him about it?”
“Not tonight.” I pause. “When he’s ready, he’ll tell me. Either voluntarily or when I ask him.”
“I think you meant when you interrogate him.” She throws her pillow at me.
“Lucy!” I scold her and throw the pillow back at her face.
She grins unapologetically and studies me for a moment, then nods. “You’re good for each other, you know.”
“Lucy…”
“The way he looks at you… like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.” She smiles. “And the way you look at him… Well. Let’s just say I know my sister.”
I shake my head, but feel my cheeks warm up.
She lies back on her bed, hands behind her head. “For what it’s worth, I like him. And considering both of your tendencies for meeting dangerous people, this kid’s going to need a very responsible aunt to balance things out.” She grins. “Lucky for you, I’m extremely responsible.”
“You? Responsible?”
“Hey, I’m the one who got up early and made you a coffee. I packed the snacks. And…”
The bathroom door opens, and Clark emerges in sweats and an old t-shirt. He pauses, taking in the room: the two of us sitting on separate beds, the easy quiet of sisters.
Lucy catches his eye and gives him a small wave. “Bathroom’s all yours, Lois.”
I grab my things and slip past Clark, squeezing his hand briefly as I go.
When I return from changing, they’re both already in bed.
Clark’s eyes flick to me, then to the empty space beside Lucy, then back. I see it happen: quick, quiet, almost invisible. He’s expecting Lucy and me to share again. The logical assumption.
He doesn’t ask. Of course he doesn’t.
He looks away.
I don’t let the moment pass.
“Scoot over,” I say, already moving toward his bed.
Clark blinks. “Are you sure? I can…”
“Clark.” My voice is softer now. “I want you close. I need to know you’re okay.”
I glance at Lucy, who gives me a knowing nod and burrows deeper into her pillow.
He hesitates, then shifts over, giving me space. But even as I slide under the blanket, he stays carefully on his side, leaving inches between us, worried about crossing some invisible line.
“I might still be too warm,” he says quietly. “From the fever.”
“I don’t care.”
Lucy’s voice floats across the dark room. “But no funny business over there, understood?”
I smile despite myself. “Lucy.”
“Kidding,” she says. Then, after a beat: “Mostly.”
Clark flushes slightly, and I can feel his embarrassment even in the dim light from the window.
“We’re just sleeping,” I say, trying, and mostly failing, not to smile.
“Mm-hmm,” Lucy murmurs, already half-asleep. “Just making sure.”
I reach over and switch off the bedside lamp. We lie still, facing away from each other in the darkness.
It’s strange how quickly things can change. A week ago, I was in Metropolis, desperately trying to find a man I’d known for forty-eight hours. A week ago, I thought I might be raising this baby alone.
Now here I am, in a B&B in Kansas, lying close to that man. And he knows. He knows everything: about the baby, about where he comes from.
And he’s still here.
My hand drifts to my stomach, that now-familiar gesture. The baby’s warmth pulses beneath my palm.
We’re going to be okay, I think. Somehow, we’re going to figure this out.
Behind me, I feel Clark move again.
Minutes pass. Long enough that I think he might’ve drifted off.
Then I feel it, the slightest shift of the mattress. The soft rustling of the bedsheet as he rolls onto his side, facing my back now.
His warmth radiates across the small gap between us.
A presence.
A promise.
I stay still. This isn’t about romance. It’s not about desire. It’s about the way his presence calms something in me.
I need this. The shared space. The soft rhythm of his breath. The slow return to calm.
Carefully, I shift back toward him, closing the gap. My back comes to rest against his chest, and I feel him go still, like he’s afraid to move, afraid to assume.
“Is this okay?” I whisper.
His answer is barely audible. “Yeah.”
Slowly, tentatively, his arm comes around me. His hand hovers for a moment, uncertain, before settling gently over my stomach.
Over where our child is growing.
“And this is also okay.” I cover his hand with mine, pressing it there. Holding him there.
I feel something in him finally let go, some last wall of fear or doubt or unworthiness.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper.
His fingers curl slightly under mine. “I’ve got you too.”
We lie like that, his hand warm against my belly, mine covering his. Two people building something neither of us planned but both of us want.
His breathing deepens, evens out. Sleep pulling him under.
I let myself relax into him, into this moment, into the trust we’re building.
We’ll figure out tomorrow when it comes.
Tonight, we sleep.
***
Sometime in the night, Clark stirs. His breathing quickens. His arm tightens around me.
“Clark?” I whisper.
His eyes flutter open briefly, unfocused in the darkness. For a moment he looks lost, like he doesn’t know where he is.
“You’re okay,” I murmur. “You’re safe.”
Recognition filters in. “Lois.”
“Right here.”
He shifts closer, and I feel him relax again, sinking back into sleep.
This time, no nightmares follow.
T. B. C.
