Phew, it’s done - I thought I might do an epilogue but at the moment I think this might be the perfect part to leave them for now.
Thanks for reading! And (because I didn’t say it often enough when posting these parts: big thanks to JadedEvie for her lovely and great feedback and her invaluable suggestions for this story.
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Chapter 15Dearest Lois, a love that risks nothing is worth nothing.
(Jonathan Kent - Big girls don’t fly)
I’m woken by soft, golden sunlight spilling across the sheets, warming my skin. For a moment, I lie still with my eyes closed, just breathing. The bed beside me is empty now, but the covers are still rumpled - and though I can’t tell if the faint warmth in the mattress is from you or the sun, it doesn’t really matter.
Because you’re here.
I can hear you, smell you,
feel you - even without looking. That quiet certainty sinks in low and steady. No lingering dream, no ghost clinging to my thoughts - just the gentle imprint of your presence.
A trace of lavender and sandalwood lingers on the pillow beside me, a subtle echo of you. It clings to the cotton like a whisper, soothing and familiar, wrapping around me like the ghost of a caress.
I stretch slowly, feeling the ache in my muscles - dull now, not sharp, not overwhelming.
Still not ready to leave the cocoon of warmth, I close my eyes again, letting my senses reach outward. The soft clatter of plates. The hum and hiss of the coffee machine sputtering to life. Distant traffic through the window.
Home.
For the first time in what feels like ages, I didn’t wake with a jolt. No dread, no silent panic clawing at the edges of my mind. Just quiet. And peace.
Eventually, I can't stay still any longer. I get up - the coolness of the floor kissing the soles of my feet as I pad softly into the next room.
You're standing in the kitchen, facing the window, sunlight brushing the line of your jaw. A mug rests casually in your hand, and the rich scent of coffee lingers in the air - bold, familiar, grounding. The scene before me - your easy stance, the way your shoulders move without stiffness, without pain - makes my chest tighten with quiet gratitude.
Just last night, every breath you took looked like it cost you. Now, you're here, bathed in sunlight, whole. And I can
breathe again.
You turn at the sound of my footsteps and your face lights up with a smile that feels like morning itself.
“Good morning, Lois. Did you sleep well?”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “I haven’t slept that well in months,” I say honestly. I step closer, leaning against the counter, letting the moment settle between us.
Then, quieter, almost shyly, “Do you ever close your eyes just to feel? To smell, to sense everything around you?”
Your gaze softens, your voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes, yeah. I guess you could say that.”
I nod, eyes half-lidded, letting myself take in the room through that lens again. “Like right now... the smell of coffee filling the apartment. The sunlight warming our skin. The hum of the city just beneath it all.” I glance at you, my voice softening. “It’s comforting.”
You chuckle, but there's a flicker in your eyes - something caught between surprise and something else, unreadable. “You’ve always had a sharp perception, Lois.”
“Not as sharp as yours.” I hold your gaze for a second longer, watching the subtle shift in your expression. “Sometimes when we’re together, I get the sense that you’re always aware of… everything.”
You smile, but there's something deeper in it now. “I have to be,” you say, voice low. “If I want to keep up with you.”
I laugh softly, but your words linger. I could press - but not now. Not yet. The air between us is too gentle, too golden, to disturb.
We settle at the table - you have set it beautifully, every detail simple but intentional. Plates arranged with quiet care, folded napkins, even a small jar of jam I don’t remember buying. The scent of toasted bread lingers in the air, mingling with something sweeter. Chocolate? My eyes drift to the small paper bag beside your plate and I smile as I spot a croissant, its golden layers catching the light like crisp petals.
My brows lift slightly. “You even went to a bakery?” I ask, surprised.
You nod with a small, almost bashful smile. “Just around the corner. I remembered you said once you like the ones from that little place nearby.”
I blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Clark… you didn’t have to do all this.”
Your expression softens. “I know. I wanted to.”
Something about the way you say it - without hesitation, without expecting anything in return - makes me feel like I’m the center of gravity in this small, golden morning.
You lift your cup, sipping quietly, your gaze meeting mine and holding there a beat too long. There’s something humming just beneath the surface - quiet anticipation, thick and unspoken. Like the moment before a truth.
I reach for the toast, taking a bite. The crunch is loud in the stillness, grounding, almost reassuring. You look at ease again, that quiet calm settling back into your features. The strain from yesterday has lifted, but the image of you, crumpled and gasping, flickers behind my eyes.
"You make great coffee, Clark," I say, my voice soft, lighter than I feel. “How do you always get it just right?”
Your laugh is low, warm, and impossibly familiar. It sinks into my skin like sunlight. “Practice,” you say. “I try to notice things. How people take their coffee. What makes them smile.” You pause, smile softening. “And I like getting it right when it’s for you.”
The words hit with more force than they should, not because they’re unexpected - but because they’re so earnest. So you. And somehow, that makes them mean more.
I shrug, a smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe the coffee is perfect because you made it.” The words leave me too easily, too naturally - and for a heartbeat, I wonder if I’ve said too much.
But your eyes don’t turn away. They linger, soft and searching, that same curious glint from earlier returning. “You’ve been saying things like that a lot today.” A pause. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
My fingers toy with the edge of the napkin, a flicker of nerves surfacing as I try to find the right words. “I’m just... noticing things more, I guess.” I study your face - the way the morning light catches in your hair, how calm you seem, how your presence fills the room without ever demanding it. “The things you keep doing for everyone, especially me. You’re doing so much and barely anyone ever notices how important you are.”
You smile, but there’s something cautious behind it. Like you’re holding a breath you’re not sure you can release yet.
"Well, you know me, Lois. It's what I do, I keep things going.” Then after a pause you add quietly. “Even when I shouldn't."
“Yeah.” The word slips out with a breath. I hold your gaze. “But maybe you don’t have to. Not with me.”
We fall into a quiet rhythm, finishing the meal slowly. The chocolate melts on my tongue, sweet and soft, but it’s your presence that lingers longer - quiet and steady and real.
You reach across the table and pour me a second cup of coffee. The gesture is simple, but something in it catches me.
I look at your hands - steady, sure. Nothing like last night.
“You know,” I murmur, brushing crumbs from the corner of my mouth, “I wasn’t sure we’d ever get the chance to have breakfast together again.”
Your brow lifts. “Why not?”
I set my mug down slowly. “You could barely stand last night, Clark. I’ve never seen you like that. It scared me.”
You say nothing, but I see it in the way your shoulders stiffen, the way your eyes flicker just briefly away from mine.
“You kept making sure I was okay,” I go on, softer now. “Making sure I had water, that I was warm. Like always.” I pause. “But you didn’t let me see the real you. You wouldn’t let me help.”
You swallow, but still, you don’t speak.
I stand up, gathering a few plates and taking them to the sink just to give my hands something to do. The quiet stretches, too full.
I glance over my shoulder. You’re watching me, but you look wary now. Like you know what’s coming.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, voice low. But the moment stretches out between us, thick with unspoken thoughts. The words hover at the edge of my tongue, but I can’t seem to make them cross the space between us.
My fingers curl slightly around the edge of the plate, then loosen. I look at you - really look - and for a second, it’s too much. The quiet steadiness in your eyes, the kindness, the weight I know you’re carrying even now. And the fear inside me that if I say it aloud, the air will shift and the fragile peace between us might crack.
I glance away, searching for something, anything to help me. And then I remember.
The notebook.
You left it here, weeks ago, back when we were chasing a lead. I slip out of my chair and cross into the living room, heart thudding as I dig it out from under a stack of magazines.
The cover’s worn. Familiar. My hand trembles just a little as I flip it open and find a blank page.
I don’t overthink it. I just write.
Two lines. Two truths. Two pages.
When I come back, you’re watching me - curious, patient. I place the notebook in front of you, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Middle of the notebook,” I murmur. “Page with the crease.”
You look confused. “Lois?”
“Turn to the middle,” I say quietly.
You do. And there, written in bold letters, are the words:
I know you’re Superman.Your hand stills on the page.
I watch the realization dawn across your face - slow and disbelieving. Confusion flickers first, then a sharp intake of breath, and something deeper - shock, fear, maybe even relief - rises in your eyes as you look up at me.
Your lips part like you might say something, but nothing comes. I can see the questions forming, the tension tightening across your shoulders.
“I... I didn’t mean to find out,” I say quickly, the words tumbling from a place I’ve kept locked tight. My voice is quiet, shaking. “I didn’t want to. Not like that.”
Still, you don’t speak. You just look at me, waiting - for what, I don’t know. The truth, maybe. Or the part of it I’m still afraid to say.
I take a slow breath. “There’s more,” I whisper. “It’s not just that I know. I… I’m not from this version of now.”
Your brow furrows, but you don’t interrupt. Your silence feels like a lifeline and a weight all at once.
“I came back,” I say. “To stop something.”
Your expression shifts again - this time you blink, confused, cautious. “Back from what?”
I swallow hard. My heart is pounding, and my hands feel cold. “From a future where you died.” My voice breaks, but I force myself to keep going. “Luthor... he killed you. I watched the news - watched them show your body in that cage like it was just another crime scene. I didn’t know it was you. Not until your parents told me.”
A breath catches in your throat. Your hand closes the notebook slowly, gently, like even touching the page hurts now.
“They were devastated, Clark. I’ve never seen anyone break like that.” My voice falters, barely a whisper now. “And I–” I swallow hard, pushing through the ache. “I couldn’t let it happen. So when a man claiming to be H.G. Wells offered me a way to travel through time to save you… I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t.”
“For months, I lived without you.” My voice trembles again. “I woke up every day with this unbearable emptiness. And then, just like that, H.G. Wells came, offering me a miracle. A second chance. It seemed almost too easy but I took it.
I had to.”
You’re still staring at me, wide-eyed, as if the world’s tilted and you’re trying to find the ground beneath you. “You came back… just to stop me from dying?”
My eyes sting. “It was like living with an open wound that kept getting deeper each day!”
I tell you the rest - how the memories started slipping away, how I couldn’t even control my own body anymore. How I had to watch myself making the same mistakes again and again, hurting you when I didn’t mean to. And how I felt myself unraveling, clinging to the one thing that still mattered.
You.
The fear. The desperation. The quiet stubborn hope that somehow, this time, I’d be in time.
There’s a long silence. You lower your eyes to the notebook again, opening it, your fingers resting on the words:
I know you’re Superman. Your hand lingers there. I can see the weight of it all pressing down on you - what I’ve carried, what I’ve risked.
Then, slowly, you cross the space between us. There’s hesitation in your step, like you’re not sure if I’ll let you in.
I try to smile, even as my throat tightens. “If you need proof, I know your mom’s secret cinnamon cookie recipe.” I glance at you, hoping - just a little - that the heaviness might lift for a second. “She showed me to distract us both from the grief. Said they were your favorite.”
That gets a flicker - your lips twitch upward. “She didn’t even tell
me,” you say softly. “She always said she wanted some leverage in case she needed to lure me home.”
That smile cracks something open in me.
And without a word, you pull me into your arms.
At first, your touch is gentle, almost reverent. Then your grip tightens, like you're afraid I might vanish if you let go. I feel your breath hitch, your voice breaking as you whisper, “Lois…”
You bury your face in my shoulder. My hand finds the back of your neck, grounding us both.
“You saved me,” you murmur, voice thick. “Not just yesterday. You’ve been saving me for a long time.”
I feel you stroke my back, your breath warm against my skin. And when you speak again, it’s with a rawness that makes my chest ache.
“I can’t imagine what you went through. Finding out that way. Carrying all of it alone.” You pull back just enough to meet my eyes, brushing away a tear with the softest touch. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that pain.”
Then, after a breath:
“But thank you. For coming back. For fighting for me. For being my friend.”
Another silence falls - but this one feels different. Not heavy, not painful. Just full. Full of the things we haven’t said. Full of everything that’s still ahead.
Your voice is barely audible, fragile in the stillness. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for that.”
Before you can say more, I touch your hand and point at the notebook, urging gently, “Turn the page.”
You hesitate - just a second - then slowly flip to the next one. And there, in the same bold letters, you find the second message.
You stare at the words:
I love you.Your breath catches. I see it in your eyes - the shift, the realization. That everything I did, everything I risked, came from that place in me where you’ve always lived. Where you never left.
For a long time, you don’t say anything. Just rest your gaze on the notebook, letting the truth settle in. Then, with quiet care, you close it and look at me.
Tears glisten in your eyes.
I smile, my voice trembling but certain. “You don’t have to thank me, Clark. Just stay. That’s all I want. Just… stay with me.”
Your expression softens, and you step closer until your forehead rests gently against mine. Your voice is barely a breath. “Always. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”
And then - slowly, almost shyly - you close the space between us.
I close my eyes.
When your lips meet mine, the world tilts and stills all at once. It’s soft and sure and full of everything we never had the chance to say. Everything we fought for.
When we finally pull apart, I let out a shaky breath and whisper, almost to myself, almost like a farewell:
“Goodbye, Mad Dog Lane.”
Because I don’t need the armor anymore.
You’re here.
And I’m home.
The end
