Clark curved his arms around Lois's sun-warmed body.

He sensed something new in her. Something steadying and full of purpose.

Perhaps it was the beginning of healing. The dawn of a new stage in her life.

He hoped it was.

She had included him. She had told him of her decisions. She had told him about the time with Moyne.

She had talked of a future. Their future.

For so long, the future had entailed little more than desperately trying to survive the next ten minutes.

But now, everything had changed.

Clark couldn't even begin to imagine the full consequences of those changes.

But Lois was with him.

And nothing else mattered.


Part 22

Lois and Clark ate at an outside table of the moderately busy cafe they found at the end of their walk along the beach.

The food was good. The atmosphere was relaxed. The weather was sublime.

But for Lois, nothing could match the glow of satisfaction she felt because Clark hadn't hesitated when she'd suggested they join the twenty or so other people already eating.

The waiter had directed them to a vacant table near the fringe of the cluster of diners. Clark had perused the menu and asked Lois what she wanted. He'd interacted with the waiter when he returned to take their order.

Their meals arrived, and as they ate, they talked of normal, everyday things. The farm. The flower garden. The new computer. Clark's trip to Smallville that morning.

When they finished eating, he paid for their meals.

Lois figured they looked exactly like a normal couple relishing the casual ambience and Californian sunshine.

As they walked back to the beach, Clark slipped his hand into hers. *That* felt normal, too. Lois looked up, saw the unspoken question in his eyes, and smiled her assent.

Clark grinned, and it was so full of contentment that her heart skipped in response.

They walked back along the beach, blithely ignoring the fact that when you travel by alien-powered superflight there is no necessity to arrive and depart from the same point.

The shallow waves billowed up the sand, glittering with sunlit stars and beckoning Lois to join their game. She began inching towards the water's edge - through the darkened dampness where land and ocean met. The next wave scurried to greet her, bubbling across her toes.

Lois chuckled. The water was cold, but invigorating. She glanced up at Clark. "Do you want to roll up your jeans?" she asked. "We could go in a little way."

"Ah ... "

"If you're worried about splashes, you could take off your shirt," Lois said, her enthusiasm gaining momentum with every word. "We'll leave a little pile on the dry sand. My bag and our shoes -"

"No, Lois."

The sharpness of his reply stalled her, planting her feet in the sand and fastening her gaze on Clark. His expression was closed as he stood, poised between trepidation and resolve. Lois reached out and hooked her hand around his bare elbow. "OK," she said with all the softness she could muster. "I'm not forcing you to do anything."

His eyes dived to the ground. Lois felt his muscle twitch and noticed that his fist had balled into a tight cone of misgiving.

"It's OK," she said, her thumb gliding across the lower reaches of his bicep muscle. "It's OK."

His head lifted, and his eyes met hers. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said grimly.

"OK," Lois said. "But I said something that upset you. Was it that I suggested going into the water? Was it leaving our clothes in a pile? Was it taking off your shirt? Are you worried about scars?"

"I don't have any scars."

Not physical ones, perhaps. Lois lifted her hand and laid it on the curve where his neck met his shoulder. His underlying muscle felt like hardened steel. She stretched out her thumb to caress his jaw. "We're in this together, Clark," she said. "But I don't know what happened just then."

"I ... I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it."

"You don't have to give me any details. Just give me a hint about what is troubling you. So I know for next time."

"Wearing ... " He gulped so loudly that Lois winced. "... being allowed to wear clothes ..." His eyes lurched to hers, pleading for her understanding.

Lois recalled her earliest conversation with Scardino. He had said that when the alien had been shot, the bullet had ricocheted off him. Lois had asked if he'd been wearing a vest, and the reply had been that he'd been naked. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Her thumb continued its slow passage along Clark's jaw line.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's me. I ..." His hands lifted in frustration. "It's me. It's ..."

She slid her hand along his shoulder, down his arm, and into his hand. "Let's walk, shall we?" she suggested with a smile.

He nodded miserably, and they began walking again. Regret bulldozed trails of indecision through Lois's thoughts. Should she say nothing more, or should she try to mend what had been broken? "Clark?" she said.

"Uhm?"

"If what happened had been reversed ... If you'd unwittingly said something that made me uncomfortable, would you be thinking any less of me?"

"Of course not," Clark said quickly. "I'd be berating myself for what I'd said."

"Which is exactly what I'm doing right now."

He stopped abruptly and turned to her. "No, Lois," he said. "That wasn't your fault. You suggested something completely reasonable ... it's me. I just can't ... forget."

"It's all right," Lois said. "I understand something I hadn't realised before. No harm done."

"You ... you must think I behaved like an idiot."

"I think that your level of normalcy is nothing short of incredible. There is no one I admire more than you."

To her relief, Lois saw a ray of light birth in Clark's eyes, thawing the edge of his despondency. "There is no one I admire more than you," he said.

She chuckled and squeezed his hand. "Let's walk along the beach."

They set out again. "Lois?" Clark said. "Do you have any thoughts about what you'd like to do now?"

"Yes, I do," she said, speaking as the idea formed in her mind.

"What?"

"Would you take me to Metropolis, please?"

"Sure," Clark said. "Do you want to visit your father?"

"Not today. Soon, but not today."

"What would you like to do?"

"Would you mind moving all of my stuff to Smallville?"

"*All* of your stuff?"

"Yeah," she said. "And I'll give up my lease on the apartment."

"Lois -"

"If there isn't room in the farmhouse, perhaps we could store some of it in the barn."

"But Lois ..."

"Do you mind?"

"*I* don't mind, but it seems such a drastic step," Clark said. "You should be sure before you give up your apartment."

"You're wondering what happens if I change my mind."

"Yes. No." He shrugged as a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "I just don't want you to do anything you might regret."

"You're right," Lois said. "I still have over a month left on the lease. If we keep the apartment, we'll have somewhere to stay if we visit Dad - not that getting home to Smallville is particularly difficult or time-consuming ..."

"I can easily take your things to Smallville," Clark said. "It's a good idea. You need more clothes. And you must have other possessions that you'd like to have with you."

"I don't have much. My lifestyle wasn't conducive to collecting stuff."

"Would you like to go now?"

"Yeah," she replied. "If you've had enough of the beach."

Clark stopped walking, faced her, and put both hands lightly on her shoulders. "I really enjoyed it," he said. "Would you come with me again sometime?"

She nodded. "I really enjoyed it, too. We can come back anytime."

Clark glanced around. "Let's go somewhere a little less obvious," he said.

"Good idea." Before moving off, she smiled.

Clark smiled back.

And inside, Lois breathed a sigh of relief.

||_||

Clark waited in the corridor as Lois pushed the key into the door of her apartment.

He felt ... He wasn't sure how he felt. Almost as if he were intruding somewhere he didn't belong ... although that was clearly absurd.

Perhaps it was the lingering embarrassment from his irrational behaviour at the beach.

All Lois had suggested was that he roll up the legs of his jeans and paddle with her in the water. He'd reacted without thought. But Clark knew that even if he'd taken the time to consider her idea, he couldn't have done as she'd asked.

Clothes made him feel safe. Camouflaged. Normal.

Being out in public ... where people could look at him ... stare at him ... where he felt like an oddity. The clothing gave him the illusion of being able to blend in. To give up that protection ...

It was patently ridiculous.

His alien-ness wasn't discernible whether he was clothed or not.

The door swung open, and Lois entered her apartment. Clark followed. It looked as if she was still in the process of unpacking ... as if she had never really settled here. It felt impersonal and barren - not like a home at all. He wondered if it held any sentimental value for Lois. Probably not, he realised.

"How much can you take?" she asked.

"Weight? I've never found anything I can't lift."

Lois scanned the room. She stopped at the hutch. "So if I were to pack that with all of my clothes and anything else I want, you could simply pick up the whole thing and take it to Smallville?"

Clark nodded. "Do you mind if I remove your window? I'll put it back."

Lois gasped. "You're going to take it out of the window?"

"That will be less conspicuous than taking off from the street."

Lois giggled suddenly. "Or carrying it out of the front door."

Clark smiled. "Would you like to pack it yourself? Or would you like to tell me what you want, and I'll do it in a few seconds?"

"Everything needs sorting," Lois said. "I don't want some of it anymore."

"Is the hutch empty?"

Lois walked over to it and checked through all the cupboards and drawers. "Yeah," she said. "I never got around to unpacking properly."

"You could make two piles," Clark said. "The things you want in the hutch and the things to be thrown into the trash."

Lois nodded. "I'll be a lot slower than you."

"That doesn't matter."

"Would you mind doing something for me?"

"Of course not."

"I'd love a cup of coffee," Lois said. She walked to the window and pointed out of it. "There's a stall on the corner of that street and the one to the north. They have great coffee. Would you mind?"

"Latte?" Clark said. "Cappuccino? Mocha?"

"Latte," Lois said. "Thanks."

"I'll be back soon."

Lois grinned suddenly. "Are you going out of the door? Or the window?"

Clark felt his amusement melt away some of his mortification. "The door," he said.

"OK," she said, still grinning. "See you soon."

||_||

Lois stared into the bathroom mirror, searching it for inspiration.

Or if not inspiration, at least the ability to make the right decision.

The remainder of the day had gone well. They had worked together to clear out most of her possessions from her apartment. They'd left the bed there; they didn't need it at the farmhouse - not until Martha Kent returned home - and it would be useful if they did decide to spend a night in Metropolis.

After Clark had brought everything to the farmhouse, he had returned for her, and they had flown back to Smallville. Clark had gone out to do the chores and then prepared dinner for them while Lois had packed her clothes into the closet in Clark's parents' bedroom.

They had eaten together and discussed a few things, but neither had mentioned the incident at the beach.

They had spent the evening at the computer as she had begun introducing Clark to the technology of the mid-nineties. He'd caught on quickly, and it felt like they'd achieved a lot.

But through it all, her mind had been preoccupied with determining how she could help Clark overcome the damage inflicted in the cell. She knew enough about Moyne to know that there were probably good reasons why Clark had responded the way he had.

She understood why ... but that didn't mean she was willing to accept it as a situation that couldn't be changed.

She had a plan.

But it was a plan that came with a whole raft of risks - risks that even someone as impulsive as Lois Lane couldn't fail to recognise.

What if Clark didn't respond in the way she hoped?

What if she was besieged by memories of Moyne? Or Ivica? She couldn't begin if there was any chance that she wouldn't be able to continue.

But the truth was that - despite all of her uncertainty - she wanted to do it.

If it worked, it could be the beginning of Clark breaking free from the hold that Moyne still had on his life.

If it didn't work ... Lois didn't even want to think about that.

The face in the mirror looked just as indecisive as she felt.

What should she do?

Clark was already in the bed that they had been sharing. He'd asked - as he always did - where she would like him to sleep. She had replied without any thought. She wanted to be with him.

For a whole variety of reasons.

And now ... Now, she had to go into the bedroom and make a choice. To either slide into the bed beside Clark. Or to try to implement the plan that had been slowly materialising in her mind.

What should she do?

She turned away from the mirror and picked up her clothes, still undecided.

She opened the bathroom door, still undecided.

She entered the bedroom, saw Clark in the bed, and made her decision.

She would do it.

||_||

Clark watched as Lois put away her clothes.

He still found it almost impossible to believe that she would choose to sleep in the bed with him.

He pulled back the covers for her. She walked over, but instead of lying down, she sat cross-legged on the sheet.

Clark sensed her purposefulness and sat up, leaning back into the headboard. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You want to talk?"

"Yes, I do."

His heart sank. She would want to talk about what had happened at the beach today. He'd hoped - rather vacuously - that she would forget the incident. Or at least refrain from mentioning it until after he had managed to manufacture a defence that sounded remotely reasonable.

He still had nothing. He still had no way to explain the overwhelming need to avoid the feeling of being exposed. But Lois was sitting next to him - the expression on her face telling him that she intended to talk - and he knew there was no way out. "I think I know what you want to talk about," Clark said dejectedly.

Lois picked at her fingernail, and he realised that she wasn't entirely relaxed about this either. "I don't think you do," she said.

"Do you want to ask me a question?" Clark said. "Or tell me something?"

"I want to tell you something. Something I realised."

That surprised him. "Go on," he said.

Lois looked up and looped her hair behind her ear. "After Linda was murdered, I didn't grieve properly," she said. "I couldn't really ... in order to survive, I had to run and hide and steal. I couldn't think about it ... I had to plan what I was going to do. I had to keep my mind free to think quickly. I couldn't allow myself to sleep soundly ... the nightmares didn't start until I got home."

Clark coasted his hand over the sheet, palm up. Lois laid her hand in his.

"They debriefed me and forced me to have counselling, but I didn't allow anything to reach inside me ... to touch where I was really hurting," Lois said. "I was adamant that I was OK. I demanded to be allowed to return to work. People offered to help, but I refused. I couldn't accept that there was anything wrong. I couldn't accept that Linda was really dead. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to talk about it. I wouldn't allow myself to think about it."

She looked up from where she had been staring at the junction of their hands.

"But then Moyne came here ... and afterwards, I just dissolved into a mess. What Moyne did to me was nothing compared to what Ivica did to Linda. Nothing. Yet that time, I coped, and this time, I disintegrated."

"I think it compounded," Clark said quietly.

"Maybe," Lois said. "But I think there was another - much more important - factor."

"Being?"

"You," Lois said. "The difference is you. After Linda's death, I didn't have you. I didn't have anyone I trusted enough to allow my control to slip. This time, you were here. This time, I could afford to grieve. I didn't have to keep it all locked away ... because you were here ... and I know that when I'm with you, I'm safe."

Clark felt elation ripple through him with the effervescence of soda. "Lois," he said, and his voice cracked. "Lois, I'm so glad you feel like that."

"I'm safe with you, Clark," she said. "You being here gave me the freedom to let go. I could allow my deepest hurts and my greatest insecurities to show. It wasn't a conscious decision, but on some deep, profound level, I knew. Last time, I was so scared. So scared that if I didn't hold on, I would be washed away. But this time, I knew you were here. I knew that I didn't have to be alone. I knew that if I fell, you would catch me; if I slipped, you would hold me."

Clark was too overwhelmed for speech. He just hoped Lois would understand that she had paid him the greatest compliment of his life.

She smiled softly. "And now, I'm going to ask you to do something for me."

Clark tried not to grip her hand tighter. "What?"

Lois stood from the bed and crossed to the door. She shut it.

And they were alone. In a closed-off room.

She walked back to the bed and settled on the edge. "I want you to trust me," she said. "I want you to know that you're safe with me."

"Lois, I -"

"I won't ask you to do anything that is too difficult," she said. "We will take this slowly."

Clark tried to moisten his parched mouth. "What ... what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to take off your shirt."

"Lois, I -"

"That's all I'm going to ask. Just that you take off your shirt. Nothing else. And I want you to lie on the bed, face down."

Clark paused.

"It's only us here," Lois said softly. "Just you and me. We are safe with each other. We can trust each other. I won't do anything to hurt you."

"I ... I know that ... but ..."

Lois smiled. "Just take off your shirt, Clark," she said. "That's all you have to do."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to claim back some of the things Moyne and Trask stole from you."

"H...How?"

"I'm going to rub your back. Just your back. Nothing more. I'm not going to touch you in any way that is intimidating. I'm just going to remind you that touch can be a beautiful thing."

"Lois," he said desperately. "Lois, I know this is silly. I know I should have just taken off my shirt today at the beach. I don't know why I didn't. I -"

"Just take off your shirt, Clark," Lois said. "For the past two days, I've let you see the depths of my pain. I knew I could trust you. Now, I want you to trust me."

Clark discharged a pent-up breath as he straightened from the headboard. He clasped the hem of his tee shirt.

"Do you want me to look away?" Lois asked.

Instead of answering, Clark quickly slipped the shirt from his body and rolled over onto his stomach, his upper body perched high on his elbows as he stared ahead.

Waiting.

||_||

Lois gazed at the expanse of Clark's back, remembering when it had been marred by open wounds and discoloured by ugly bruises.

It was clear now. Clear. Perfect. Smooth.

Broad of width, silky of skin, tight of muscle.

Lois shuffled closer to him on the bed. She decided not to inquire if he were all right; she could see the tension pulling through his raised shoulders.

She needed a place to start. His hair, she decided. That's where they had started in the cell.

She leaned forward and put her spread-out fingers at the top of his head. He didn't flinch. Very slowly, she drew her fingers through his hair and down the back of his head. She lifted her hands and repeated the movement. This time, when she reached his neck, she separated her hands, one to each shoulder. Her thumbs lay along his hairline, and her fingers shaped to the ridge of his shoulders.

She pushed her thumbs back and forward across his neck, edging downwards, traversing the slightly rounded bumps of his spine. When she had gone as far as she could reach, she worked up again - this time pressing just a little deeper into the balls of muscle. Her thumbs reached his hairline, and she turned her hands so that the pads of her fingers climbed the sides of his neck. She reached the soft skin under his ears and lovingly caressed it with the tips of her fingers. She inched forward, past the border of his facial hair and into the slightly textured skin of a man who hadn't shaved for a few hours.

From there, she retreated, laying her palms on his neck and then continuing the fuller contact as she skimmed lightly down the length of his back, one hand on each side of the valley of his spine. She pulled up a couple of inches before reaching the waistband of his sweatpants, and her eyes lingered for a few seconds on the tantalising shape of his butt.

Sudden movement caught her attention, and her head snapped sideways. Clark's elbows splayed outwards as his upper body dropped lightly, his head landing sideways on the pillow.

Lois smiled as she swept up the length of his spine again. Upon reaching the top, she began a meticulous journey down the rib-tiered slopes of his back, venturing to the steep curves of his sides, but always returning to his spine.

Gradually, his muscles loosened under her touch. His shoulders sagged forward, and their magnificent definition muted a little.

When she reached the natural nadir of his waist, she twisted her hands and began working up the small distance to the top of his sweatpants. She continued right to them, not varying her rhythm. As her fingertips touched the material, she spread her hands and began long, slow strokes up and down the plains of his back.

After several sweeps, she stopped at his neck and burrowed her fingers into his hair. She thoroughly massaged the top and side of his head, noticing that his eyes had closed. She placed her hands on his cheeks and gently lifted, turning his head to expose the other side.

She continued massaging, tracing little patterns through the dark locks and watching as his hair parted and swayed at her bidding.

Deciding she had done enough for the first step of her plan, Lois leant forward to touch the lightest of kisses into his hair. Before he could respond, she wriggled from the bed. She picked up his discarded tee shirt and put it next to him, smiling when their eyes met.

Lois crossed the floor to turn off the light but didn't open the door. When she returned to the bed, she slipped in beside him. "Goodnight, Clark," she said nonchalantly.

"Good -" He cleared his throat. "Goodnight, Lois." There was silence for a couple of breaths, and then he spoke again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "We'll do more tomorrow night."

He didn't say anything. Lois smiled in the darkness. Stage One had been successfully completed.

||_||

Clark's back tingled with memories of Lois.

He'd known pain. Intense pain.

But this ...

This was just as intense.

Just as able to reach into the depths of his soul.

Her touch had spoken so eloquently.

Never had Clark felt so loved.

So accepted.

She'd said they would continue tomorrow.

What was she planning?

His back again? Or some other part of his body?

Taking off his shirt had been difficult. His aversion was nonsensical. She had already seen his upper body. She'd probably seen a whole lot more than that before he'd realised there was a woman in the vicinity and had taken measures to uphold what little modesty had been available to him.

But to willingly undress ... To force himself to remove his shirt - that had been difficult.

What would she ask of him tomorrow night?

Was this a two-night plan? Or an every-night-for-two-weeks plan?

How much further would she go?

"Clark?"

He jolted at the sudden sound of her voice as it carved through his thoughts. "Yes, Lois?"

"Stop obsessing."

"I ... I thought you were asleep."

"I was. Almost. But I can hear the turmoil chewing up your brain cells. Relax."

That was easy for her to say. "Sorry."

She chuckled. "Will you take me to visit my dad tomorrow, please?"

"Of course I will," he said, glad that she felt well enough to want to plan ahead.

"Thanks."

Now that they were on the subject of tomorrow ... "H...Have you decided what you're going to do tomorrow night?"

"Not completely. I have a few ideas."

"Ideas?" he said, hoping desperately that she would elaborate.

"Yeah. I thought I'd start by giving you the opportunity to ask any question you like. Anything. And I'll answer. That's me trusting you. Then I'll choose what we do. That's you trusting me."

Clark wanted to gulp, but he feared it would sound thunderous in the quietness of the room. "OK."

"Go to sleep."

"Goodnight, Lois."

"Goodnight, Clark."