Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Trusting Me, Trusting You 2:Bridge (14/?)

In reality, nothing had changed.

He'd always known that his time with Lois would be limited.

He wanted to enjoy every second, to store up every memory against the certain loneliness that was coming - whether he was physically entrapped or physically free, life without Lois would feel no less desolate than the past seven years.

But he would know that she was free.

He would gather memories as a farmer gathers wheat, and he would store them away for the famine that was surely coming.

Sweet memories of Lois - her smile, and her touch, and her blindness to all of his anomalies.

Memories so sweet and strong that whatever happened, he would always have the essence of her to carry with him.


Part 14

"Finished?"

Clark's single word question sliced smoothly through the comfortable silence that had ensued in the wake of their discussion.

The unexpected hint of chirpiness in his tone caused Lois to look up quickly. She took in his smile and felt her own spirits lift. "Yeah, thanks," she replied. She drained the last of her juice.

Clark scanned the room. "We should clear this stuff away."

"Yeah," she agreed. "A few of these things would be really hard to explain."

"Like the Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag?" Clark said, his tone suddenly imbued with a definite whiff of teasing. "And the apple-scented conditioner?"

Lois scrutinised his face before replying and saw no trace of shadows. "And the almost-finished-and-then-pulled-apart-again jigsaw puzzle?"

Clark tried to rein in his smile, and the effect - eyes that sparkled with amusement and a mouth that hovered alluringly on the precipice of laughter - was electric. "Have you been spying on me, Ms Lane?" he asked.

His feigned sternness called to something within her. Something she thought had been left in the dark place where Linda had died. Something that couldn't help but respond to him. "Absolutely," she said with a jaunty grin.

Clark pursed his lips and sucked in a hissed breath. "I'll have to be more careful around you." Before she could reply, he sprang to his feet and offered her his hand.

Lois smiled, remembering his self-conscious reaction when their fingers had collided over a jigsaw piece. His progress was remarkable. She had to keep reminding herself that there *had* to be damage. Alien ... human ... it didn't matter. *No one* could suffer what he had suffered and not be terribly wounded.

She slid her hand into his, knowing that his gesture - and her response - would not be trivial and insignificant to him.

He smiled as his large hand closed around her smaller one.

She'd never met anyone who appreciated the tiny things the way Clark did.

He pulled her to her feet. She didn't withdraw her hand, he didn't loosen his, and suddenly, they were standing together, connected.

She stared into his brown eyes.

His beard parted, and he smiled.

The warmth from their hands flowed like fire up her arm.

He nodded towards the window. "Are you going to hide the stuff in your office?" he said.

She snapped the thinking parts of her brain to attention. "Yeah."

"We should get it done."

"We should," Lois said. But she didn't want to. She wanted to stand here, hold his hand, and drink in the balminess of his eyes.

Then one of them moved, and they were apart.

"I'll bring everything to the door," Clark said.

There wasn't a trace of negativity in his tone, but Lois sensed that the unspoken complement to his statement was the acknowledgement of what he *couldn't* do.

"Have you painted before?" she asked as she picked up the trash from their lunch.

Clark nodded. "Dad and I painted fences and the barn. We even painted Mom's kitchen one summer."

"Did you do other jobs?" Lois asked. "Like with a hammer and nails?"

"Sure," he said as he began to roll the camp mattress. "Is there a reason why you're asking? Does it have something to do with your trip to Smallville tomorrow?"

"Nothing to do with Smallville," she said. "I'm wondering if you'd do something for me."

"Of course, I will," Clark said. Again she heard the unvoiced postscript: If I can.

"I told you about my dad and how he's in the nursing home."

Clark's compassion was swift and palpably sincere. "Yeah."

"He used to enjoy doing jigsaw puzzles, but I think it would be hard for him now, particularly if the pieces got swept off the table."

"How about a sort of large, flat tray?" Clark said. "With raised edges to keep the pieces where they belong?"

Lois smiled. "That was *exactly* what I was thinking."

"If you can get the materials, I could make it easily," Clark said.

"What would you need?"

Clark leant his knee into the half-rolled-up mattress and lifted his hands to indicate size. "A flat piece of wood - probably chipboard or something like that. I'd also need some moulded lumber for the edges. And some nails. That's it."

Lois smiled. "I have all of those things in my office."

He glanced to the window. "That is *some* office," he said appreciatively.

She shrugged a little self-consciously. "I've been planning to ask you."

Clark's gaze settled on her. "Hey, Lois," he scolded gently. "Please don't ever hesitate to ask me if there is *anything* I can do for you."

"Thanks," she said, pausing to look at him as she said the word so he would discern the fullness of her gratitude.

"Thank *you*," he said softly. "I'll make it after the pet door guy has left."

For the next few minutes, Lois traipsed up the stairs with the surprisingly large number of objects that had accumulated in the cell, but her mind was abuzz with Clark.

They had negotiated some potentially tumultuous topics during their interrupted lunch, and more than once, she had held her breath - fearing that she had steered them into turbulent waters.

And then had come his comment about the sleeping bag and the conditioner. The buoyancy in his voice had felt like the first hesitant rays of sunshine after the freeze of winter.

It had felt so good.

And it confirmed her decision not to tell him about Menzies.

His mood continued to brighten perceptibly as each item was removed from his room.

Was it simply because he had something practical to do?

Was it the satisfaction of working together? Was it the anticipation of making the tray for her dad?

Or did it go deeper than that?

Was he relieved that they had touched on the future?

At first, her assertion that she wouldn't leave him hadn't seemed to reassure him at all. Had he assumed that she meant she would stay only until he was out of the cell? Or had he assumed that her pledge reached further than that?

Either way, could that have possibly contributed to his cheerfulness?

Or was he optimistic that tomorrow he would hear something about his parents?

Regardless of the cause, Lois decided to enjoy it.

There was something invigorating about Clark Kent with a ready smile and a light-heartedness in his voice that just intensified its sexi-

Lois stopped mid-step, her hand half-reaching towards Clark for the racquets.

He smiled at her, but this one held a tinge of concern. "You OK?" he asked in that voice that was *definitely* sexy.

She nodded, hastily took the racquets from him, and hurried across the staffroom.

In her office, Lois deliberately turned away from the window and forced herself to take a moment to curb the headstrong thrust of her thoughts.

She was attracted to Clark - she'd accepted that.

She was desperately determined that he would get a happy ending.

She couldn't deny that a happy ending for her included him.

Being with him.

As friends.

Partners.

And - Lois sighed as she remembered the stretched seconds when they had stood as if their hands had been bonded together - and so much more.

Say it, Lane.

Linda's voice elbowed its way into Lois's mind.

Say it, you big wuss. Admit that you're hopelessly smitten.

Lois felt a smile tug at her mouth.

She missed Linda so much.

If Linda were here ...

... This would be so much easier.

Linda would give her perspective.

Linda would give her balance.

Linda would show her a way through the minefield of falling in love with an alien from another planet who had been horrifically imprisoned for seven years and was probably almost old enough to be her father.

When put like that, it sounded preposterous.

It *was* preposterous.

And crass.

And grossly unprofessional.

Except ...

Lois turned and looked out of the window.

Clark was kneeling on the concrete as he rolled up her Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag.

Except this was not about an alien.

Or a prisoner.

Or a man too old for her.

This was about Clark.

And when she was with him, everything else was merely dross.

In the last few minutes, he'd been as happily relaxed as she had ever seen him. She was going to enjoy it. She knew there were difficult times ahead. She knew that getting him out legally was going to require something close to a miracle. She also knew that - if she were forced into the alternative and had to break him out of the compound and run away with him - his freedom would be tainted by the need to stay hidden.

Why not enjoy whatever time they had together before they had to push through the murky cloud and enter a future doused with uncertainty?

Why not simply enjoy being together?

And ... if she caught herself dwelling too long on the ripped muscles of his forearms or the curves of his calves or the breadth of his back ... well ...

Lois chuckled.

She was sure of what Linda would have said.

You're a woman, Lane; he's a man. Everything else is an unnecessary complication.

In the cell, Clark had bundled up the sleeping bag and was waiting for her return. He would be wondering what was taking her so long.

She skipped down the stairs and sped through the staffroom.

"Everything OK?" Clark said.

Lois paused before reaching to take the bedding. She smiled at him, and her heart did a pirouette when he smiled back. "Everything's fine," she said. "I just needed a few moments to get some things straight in my head."

Understanding filtered into his smile. "You, too, huh?"

She nodded.

Clark picked up the pillow and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said as she became lost in his eyes again.

She broke away and took the bedding to her office. On her return, she brought the coveralls, the tin of white paint, and the brush, and she gave them to Clark.

"Thanks," he said.

Lois pointed to the side wall beyond the screened area. "You need to paint that bit of the wall," she told him.

"OK," he said easily.

She picked up several editions of the Daily Planet and deposited them in the trashcan.

When she returned, Clark was wearing the coveralls and had removed the lid from the paint tin. He looked up from his crouched position. "Do you have something to stir the paint, please?" he asked. "Something broad and flat?"

"A knife?"

He chuckled. "I've never stirred paint with a knife before, but it should work fine."

Lois took a knife from the cutlery tray and gave it to him. "Thanks," he said with a smile.

She sat next to him and watched as the knife glided through the thick white liquid, hoping that her next comment wouldn't jeopardise his good mood. "Clark? I ... ah ..."

His eyes rose from the paint to meet hers, and he waited for her to continue.

"I don't want to embarrass you, but I wondered if you'd like something to tie back your hair. To keep it from getting paint in it."

"That seems to be more practical than embarrassing," he said with a puzzled look.

"I wondered if you might think that only females tie back their hair." She shrugged, now feeling uncomfortable that she had brought up this subject. "I don't know the fashions in Smallville for men with long hair."

"Not many men in Smallville have long hair," Clark said. "It's too dangerous when you're around farm machinery."

"Oh." She had a question she had wanted to ask, and now seemed like a good chance to use it to move them away from the subject of hair accessories. "Do you mind how long your hair is? Even now it's clean and untangled, do you dislike it?"

The knife stilled in the paint.

"Just tell me the truth," Lois prompted.

"It seems such a petty thing," Clark said as he began stirring again. "But I hate it. I hate having long hair, and I hate the long, scraggly beard." He glanced up at her. "I know it's silly to get so hung up on something that, in reality, isn't important, but it's ... it's like my hair and beard are somehow representative of everything else."

Lois nodded. "As if your lack of control in making decisions about your personal appearance is a small part of a much bigger picture where you couldn't control anything in your life."

"Yeah," he said. He rallied a smile for her. "It's only a small thing. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"I asked," she reminded him.

His smile gained strength as some of his good humour flowed back. "It's silly," he said. "It's only hair." He grinned at her suddenly, and her heart jigged in response. "And anyway, having long and knotty hair meant I needed someone to untangle it for me."

Until that moment, Lois hadn't been sure if he'd enjoyed or endured her washing his hair. Now, she had no doubts. She smiled with jubilant satisfaction. "And then, we both would have missed out."

He smiled but tried to hide it by studying the swirling paint.

"How about - once the pet door is in - I cut it for you?" Lois offered eagerly. "I'm not sure I will do a great job, but I can cut it short. And I can get you a razor so you can shave off the beard. Once we are out, you can go to a -"

"Lois!"

The suddenness of his exclamation checked her outburst but not her smile. Enthusiasm continued to course through her, and that hadn't happened for such a long time. "Yes, Clark?" she asked blithely.

"You can't cut my hair."

"Oh," she said, subdued. "OK."

"You physically can't cut my hair," he explained. "It's too ... strong. From the time I was about ten years old, no human could cut it."

"Oh." She hadn't even considered that possibility. "So, how ...?"

"I used to do it myself. With two mirrors."

"So ... if I were to give you two mirrors, you could cut your hair to whatever length and style you wanted?"

Clark nodded.

"That's ..."

"Weird?"

She chuckled. "No, I was going to say 'cool'. That's really cool."

Clark lifted the knife out of the paint and held it while it dribbled into the tin. "Would you mind washing the knife?" he asked. "We shouldn't leave it out - real painters don't stir their paint with a knife." He picked up the lid and put the knife on it.

"Sure," Lois said as she rose to her feet.

"Thanks."

Lois took the lid and knife to the sink in the staffroom and turned on the faucet. As she scrubbed the sticky white paint from the knife, she couldn't help trying to imagine what Clark would look like clean-shaven and with short, neat hair.

As soon as the pet door had been installed, she could give him the mirrors.

Except ... Lois grunted with impatience. They would have to wait until after tomorrow - just in case Menzies *did* demand to see the alien.

A knock sounded on the external door as Lois finished cleaning all traces of the paint from the knife. She opened it and faced a young man wearing a tool belt and carrying a cardboard carton.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Jake. I'm here to install the pet door."

"Hi, Jake," Lois said. "Come in." She showed him through the staffroom and gestured to the door.

"You ordered a one-way door?"

She nodded. "I want it going into the next room."

Jake smiled. "Easily done," he said. "I'll bring in a few things and get started."

When Jake was gone, Lois looked into the cell and gazed at Clark's back as he swished the brush from side to side along the wall. She watched until she heard Jake's footsteps and then turned quickly.

"Would you like coffee?" she asked, hoping to forestall any questions about the specifics of why they had ordered the pet door.

"Thanks," Jake said as he began to remove the screws from the door hinge. "No milk, one sugar."

Lois leant past him and poked her head into the cell. "Would you like coffee?" she called to Clark.

"Thanks," Clark replied without even turning towards her.

"How do you have it?"

"Milk, two sugars."

Lois picked up the novel she had left on the shelf and pretended to be engrossed in it while the coffee brewed. When it was ready, she poured three mugs, put Jake's on the corner of the counter, and took another one through the doorway.

She placed it on the floor next to the paint tin. "Here's your coffee," she said in a detached tone.

"Thanks," he said, giving her no more than a passing glance.

Lois stepped back and stood for a few seconds, pretending to examine his progress. In reality, she was much more interested in the worker than his workmanship.

"Looking good," she muttered as she turned away.

She slipped through the doorway and returned to her novel as she sipped her coffee and appeared oblivious to the sounds of Jake's labour.

Half an hour later, he replaced the door and used the powered screwdriver to refasten the hinges. When he'd finished, he swung the door a few times, and then closed it. Crouching low, he pushed the flap and grunted with satisfaction when it opened easily. "All done," he said as he jumped to his feet.

"Thanks," Lois said.

"The boss will send the bill."

"OK."

Lois returned to her book while he packed away his tools and downed the remainder of his coffee. "Would you sign this, please?" Jake asked.

She dragged her eyes from the novel and scrawled her name in the book he held. He ripped off a copy and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said as she followed him to the door. "Bye."

After Jake had left, Lois shut the door and hurried back to Clark, feeling as if they had secured the first step towards his freedom. Now, their preparations could progress without being immediately obvious to Shadbolt and Longford.

There was still the possibility of someone - Scardino, if he had a key - looking through the window in her office, but they had bought some protection. Clark's everyday needs could be met without anyone else needing to open the door. Without anyone observing him.

If only something distracted Menzies and kept him away tomorrow.

Clark was still painting the wall. The movement of his arm caused the material of the coveralls to dance mesmerizingly across his butt.

He turned. "All finished?"

"Yup. All done."

He crouched low and wiped the brush on the edge of the tin. "Could you bring me a bowl of water, please?" he asked. "I need to wash the brush."

Lois would have thrown it in the trash, but she wasn't surprised that Clark would clean up after a job. And ... it was possible that they would need this ruse again. She filled the bowl with water, and took it back to him.

"Thanks," he said with the quiet and sincere gratitude that was his standard reaction when she did anything for him. "Would you like to get the materials for your dad's tray while I finish up here? I can probably have it done before supper."

"Be right back." As Lois mounted the steps, she smiled at Clark's eagerness. She'd glimpsed something else in him ... a farmer ... a capable man, used to practical tasks.

And that facet of his personality was no less attractive than all the others.

As she picked up the flat piece of wood, Lois chuckled.

If she could find something excitingly attractive in a farmer, she had it bad.

She should be struggling to bring cold rationality to her situation.

She should be fighting this attraction every inch of the way.

But if she did ... if she were successful in smothering her feelings ... if she freed Clark and then walked away from him ... what would she have?

A job ... but no partner.

A family ... a sister she never saw, a mother she never agreed with, and a father whose future was perilously uncertain.

A life ... but no one to share it with.

Compared with that, the prospect of being with a kind, caring, patient man seemed eminently enticing.

And his body wasn't too bad either.

Lois carried the board down the stairs.

She wanted to be with Clark.

Simple.

And there were enough impending problems without her adding a few extra by complicating something that - on the inside - should be simple.

If she wasn't already in love with him, she was within one smile or one lingering gaze from those luscious brown eyes of being totally enamoured.

There you go, Lane. How easy was that?

Lois chuckled. "Shut up, King," she muttered. "Who asked you?"

She was still smiling when she went into the cell.

Clark straightened from where he'd been washing the brush in the bowl. He wiped his hands on the coveralls and smiled.

And there it was.

The smile that pushed her over the edge.

He took the board, apparently completely unaware of the monumental upheaval happening inside her heart.

Clark perused the board as Lois perused him.

"Perfect," he said.

"That's what I was thinking," Lois said.

"Have you got the nails?" he asked. "And the lengths of lumber?"

"Yup. I'll ... ah ... I'll get them." With difficulty, Lois turned away.

In her office, she loaded up the hammer, nails, and two sticks of lumber. Running down the stairs, an idea hit her.

She couldn't do it.

But it was sooooo tempting.

If she were to trip ... just a little ... and wrench her ankle.

She couldn't do it.

She had to be honest with Clark. Totally honest. Honest in the little things ... because she was going to need his trust in the big things.

But she couldn't dissolve the lingering feeling that if she were to tweak her ankle just a little - nothing serious, but requiring some special attention from Clark - he wouldn't be too disappointed.

She walked into the cell, and handed him the tools and lumber.

"Exactly what I need," Clark said.

Lois smiled. He looked like a kid who'd just been given his first bike. "Oh," she said. "I forgot the saw."

Clark shook his head. "I don't need a saw," he said.

"You don't?"

He picked up the stick of square lumber and peered at it.

A few seconds later, a tiny piece dropped from the end and Clark held up the stick - grinning broadly - to show Lois a perfect forty-five degrees cut.

She put her hands on her hips and grinned right back. "It seems I have underestimated the skills of Kansas farmers," she said.

He placed the stick on the concrete, and then straightened. "Lois," he said with a half-mast grin that curled her toes. "You do realise that your reaction to my weirdness is even weirder than the things I can do?"

She shrugged and gave him a smile. "You're an alien," she said lightly. "I expect you to do things differently."

"Yes, but expecting and accepting are worlds apart."

"Not for me," she said.

"Does it bother you that I could ..." He gestured vaguely towards his eyes. "... hurt someone?"

"*Would* you do anything like that? Would you use your abilities to hurt an innocent person?"

"No," he said.

She shrugged. "It's not your abilities that I see," she said. "It's your heart."

The warmth in his eyes turned to liquid fire - and seared through her.

They stared at each other. Lois's breath was rough, her heartbeat was erratic, and her muscles felt like molten lava.

Finally, Clark eased his eyes away. "I ... I should get on with the tray for your dad," he said.

His voice sounded like he'd been starved of oxygen, too.

"You should," she said. "I have a couple of things to do in my office. Wave or call if you want me to come down."

"I will," he said as he dropped to his knees next to the flat piece of wood.

Lois climbed the stairs and slumped into her chair.

She had been sure.

Sure of what she wanted.

But ...

... What about him?

Was that what *he* wanted?

She had been so wrapped up in trying to analyse her own feelings, she hadn't spent too much time thinking about his side of this.

It was possible that life on the outside was going to be a phenomenal adjustment for him. Would being with her make it easier? Or more difficult?

Did he have someone else? She knew he wasn't married, but did he have someone that he hoped was waiting for him?

If she said she wanted to be with him, he would agree ... probably out of misplaced gratitude if nothing else.

He was the sort of guy who would put his own feelings to one side.

How could she find out what he really wanted?

It wasn't as if she could just stroll up to him and inquire nonchalantly if he wanted her to stick around once he was free.

In reality, he probably didn't know what he wanted.

For seven years, he had believed there was no hope of a future outside of the cell. She'd only just introduced that possibility. She had to give him time to get used to that.

Patience.

There was that word again.

She had to be his friend first.

He had to trust her.

Then, once he trusted her enough to walk out of the cell with her, perhaps he would begin to trust her with his heart.

His heart that *must* be calloused and damaged.

A heart that must be wary of being hurt again.

With a huge sigh that Lois hoped was going to magically infuse her with patience and wisdom, she looked down into the cell.

The tray for her dad was finished already.

She hurried through the door, down the stairs, and into the cell.

Clark held out the tray for her to see.

It was exactly what she had envisioned.

She smiled and took it from him. "Clark," she said. "It's perfect. Thank you."

He looked pleased. "You're welcome."

She ran her fingers over the smooth board. "After I left my dad's place, I realised that I should have brought some sandpaper."

"No need." His fingers split to form a 'V', and he pointed at his eyes.

Lois caressed the surface of the wood again. "You did a great job, Clark."

"I'll put everything in a pile near the door," he said.

"And I was thinking that we should check to see how much is visible through the pet door."

"OK."

She took the tray into the staffroom and placed it carefully on the table, imagining her dad sitting in his wheelchair and working on a jigsaw puzzle. She would buy one with large pieces to give to him on Thursday.

Lois closed the cell door and dropped to her stomach on the floor. She wriggled forward and pushed the flap open. Clark's bare feet came into view. "Clark?"

"Right here. I'll go over to the back wall."

As he walked away, more of him became visible. "Go to the furthest corner," Lois called through the pushed-open screen.

He did.

When he was standing in the corner, she could see far enough up his body that the lowest tendrils of his beard were visible. Lois smiled with triumph. "When you are standing, any changes to your hair and beard won't be obvious," she called.

His legs walked towards her, and a few seconds later, he crouched on the other side of the narrow tunnel. He held up the flap and grinned at her. "So, if I remain standing, no one will be able to see my face and head?"

She grinned back. "Very true, Mr Kent," she said. "When I get back from Smallville tomorrow, I might need somewhere to keep my mirrors."

His grin widened, reminding her of his earlier cheerfulness. "My place is available," he said.

"Then that's what I'll do."

He looked pleased. And happy. "Could you tell me when I'm out of sight, please? I'll position the mattress so that most of my body is in view but not my head and shoulders."

"OK." She watched his feet walk away at a forty-five degree angle. "Step left," she called.

He did.

"I can't see you now."

A few seconds later Clark's feet appeared, and he lay down on the concrete, chin resting on his arms, and a smile on his face.

"I have an idea," Lois said. It was an idea that had been romping around her mind for the past few hours, becoming more insistent as she had thought about how difficult tomorrow could be for Clark. She hadn't known how to suggest it, but for reasons she wasn't even going to examine, it seemed easier now they were lying on their stomachs and staring at each other through a hole in a door.

"What's your idea?" Clark asked.

"How about tomorrow evening, we have a little celebration?"

"A celebration?" he said hesitantly.

"The pet door is in, and that gives us the freedom to make some changes." She paused and was encouraged when he didn't immediately oppose the idea. "So to celebrate, I could bring in a camp table and two chairs, and we could pretend we were in a restaurant. I'll get a nice bottle of wine and ask Uncle Mike to provide a dessert as well as a main course."

Clark's smile had rolled out slowly as she had expounded on her idea.

"Sound good?" she urged.

"Lois ..."

"And whatever tomorrow brings, we'll deal with all of it together tomorrow night."

"That is a wonderful idea," Clark said, his eyes firing little darts of excitement that shot directly into her heart.

"I'll give you the mirrors as soon as we're alone, and then stay away to give you time to use them."

Genuine excitement animated his smile. "I can't wait," he said.

"Neither can I," she replied.