And she had repaid his kindness, his love for her, by giving him a glimpse of heaven – a taste of the waters of life – and then taking it away. Taking it away with the memory that still existed in his mind – of the light which had danced through her eyes on that evening, as she made a complete and utter idiot of herself without knowing she was doing so. The night she had proclaimed complete and undying love to Superman. That image had lurked behind his closed eyelids as her soft mouth pressed fire and heat against his, and her curves melted into his strong chest, until he had to wrench himself away, consumed by the horrific, gut-wrenching pain of knowing that if Lois had a choice between him and Superman, the hero would still be at the head of the list.

Okay, so maybe she had a reason to be mad at him. But it was so tiny, insignificant, infinitesimal compared to the oceans of pain that had almost drowned him in the last six months. Watching her be wooed by Lex, knowing that she didn't trust Clark enough to heed his warnings and steer clear of them, hearing that she was considering the devil's proposal, had come first. That had been terrible, but the last three months had been even worse. He was the victim here -- he was the injured party. He was the one with the right to be mad. Not her.

“We obviously can’t work together any longer. As of this moment, the writing team of Lane and Kent is officially over.”