“I’ll ask him,” she said. She sat down beside Superman, clasping his hand in hers. “Look at me,” she said firmly. Clark was still frozen, so she reached forward and forcibly turned his face towards her. His eyes slowly focused on her face, turning away from his inner nightmares, and he blinked, coming to himself as if from a great distance. He inhaled sharply, having not realized that he was holding his breath.
Clark stared at her, his mind gibbering in near panic. He wasn’t from Krypton, he wanted to explain—not in the way that it mattered. He didn’t know any more about it than they did, and in his mind he was as human as anyone. He thought like a human, acted like a human, felt like a human…
The doctor shifted slightly, and panic rose to a new height, but Lois’s eyes had caught his like flies on flypaper, and it anchored him. He was brought out of the rising clamor of increasingly terrified thoughts as she tightened her hand over his. He took a shuddering breath.
There is such a stark beauty to this. And Lois and Clark's reactions to each other are so - so
primal. I can't really call it love, because love is more civilized, more polished and pretty. And I absolutely can't call it tenderness, because tenderness, even more than love, is a feeling you can indulge in when you have a surplus of things you need to survive. This Lois and this Clark haven't got that, certainly not Clark, but not really even Lois. Lois is hanging on to him for dear life, and he can respond, think and reach out only when Lois fills his feverish mind.
It's damn beautiful, Raven. But as you can imagine, I wouldn't mind if you'll bring Clark a bit of sunshine and bring him firmly back to the land of the living.
Ann
