Title: Somos (We Are)
Rating: T, for innuendo
Fandom / Pairing: JLU, Clark/Lois
Summary: We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine. Even if I thought so when I was five.
Notes: Spoilers all the way through STAS, JL, and JLU, including Destroyer.
The first time he sees her, he is nonplussed. She is grating, in-your-face, borderline annoying. He is suitably unimpressed by the woman in the lavender blazer with the sharp tongue. When she names his alter ego Superman, he has to bite his cheek to keep from...something.

But slowly he finds his opinion of her changing, evolving. She's not grating, she's perseverant. She's not in-your-face, she's determined. She's not annoying, she's...well, she is kind of annoying. Still, she's ever so slowly charming him.

While Superman is off saving the city from villains of Lex's design, Clark is dashing about town with Lois Lane, chasing stories and uncovering the truth to the rumors. He wondered how she's built so reliable a network in a town several million strong.

She is brassy, ballsy, gutsy. She has, dare he say it, moxie. In red and black she is tempestuous, color high in her cheeks. In lavender, she is disarmingly soft. That is, until she opens her mouth. Then she is the Lois he knows and loves.

For, not unsurprisingly, Clark Kent soon finds himself very much in love with Lois Lane.


Clark was not supposed to be competition.

Lois walked into that office assertive, assured. She was the best, and no farm boy from Kansas was going to take that away from her, no matter what his resume held. Kansas Star, Shmansas Star. She was top dog, and he was supposed to respect that.

So when seemingly meek Clark Kent matched her snark for snark, she was stunned. When he snatched her story away from her under her own nose, she began to respect him. When he paid for her lunch once or twice, she was flattered. The first time she saw him in a tux, she felt the blood coursing through her veins, and she stumbled a little on her hem. The hand on her elbow he used to steady her was warm.

But when one man walked into her life, another flew. This one, clad in primary colors and a cape that refused to stay still, swept her off her feet (quite literally) and placed in her a trust so absolute she wondered how he could be so bright with his heart on his sleeve. She wondered why he chose Metropolis to protect, why he chose her to watch over and guard.

Sometimes, when Clark didn't know she was looking, she pondered his form, across the aisle from her. She pondered the two men who had entered her world at about the same time, pondered their connection, if any existed at all. She knew Superman's story - an orphaned child from a distant planet, the last survivor of an advanced race of humanoids come to protect the Earth.

But what did she know about Clark? He came from Kansas, was raised on a farm, and had traveled extensively before settling in Metropolis. Somehow, she knew more about the man she'd met only briefly, in interludes, than the one she was partnered with, the one she spent the vast majority of her time with, the one she shared bylines - bylines! - with.

She watched him remove his glasses and rub his eyes, clearly tired. He leaned back in his chair, glasses still off, and she observed him in an unguarded moment. There, in the lines of his face, ran a glimmer of recognition.

She blinked and it was gone. He opened his eyes and caught her gaze. Caught, she smiled guiltily. Wearing a small smile of his own, he replaced his glasses and turned back to his story.

She felt something inside her warm.


He sees her in a cocktail dress and she takes his breath away. It's not her looking feminine - she wears a skirt daily, after all - it's her looking radiant that stuns him. She trips a little on the long hemline and he instinctively catches her elbow.

"Well, c'mon," she says when she's steadied herself, smirking slightly. She's all angles and arcs and very much Lois. "Your car or mine?"

"Mine. Ol' Betty's feeling neglected." Gracefully - probably more so than he should be; Clark is supposed to be a klutz, after all - he opens the side door for her, and she slides in.

"You named you car Ol' Betty?" She prompts as he turns the ignition. She is all-out smirking then, and her voice sounds like she's trying not to laugh.

"Well, no."

"Why not? I named my car."

"I really hope you didn't give it a guy's name."

"Har, har, Smallville." She levels a cool stare at him that he simply grins at. "She's named Vittoria, actually."

It's his turn to choke back laughter. "Vittoria? Really?"

"Well, why not? White and pink are very feminine."

"It's just not you."

"I'm not feminine?" She pretends to look hurt and he can't help but find her pouting entirely too cute. Incongruous, but adorable.

"Your car's not feminine."

"True. My sister calls her Faith, anyway. What Lucy wants, Lucy gets." She looks out the window at the skyline. She even feels far-away.

"What, and Lois is a quitter?" He uses the excuse of changing lanes to avoid her gaze.

"Hardly," she tosses back with a roll of her eyes. "Daddy didn't raise no fools."

He parks the car and goes around to help her out. The event is black tie and private; only a chosen few of the press corps were invited, the elite. They mix and mingle with the crowd, taking down notes and quotes from some of the most powerful and influential people in Metropolis.

There is a lull in the evening, when most of the patrons are scattered across the dance floor. He's just put away his pad and pen when she saunters up to him, all grace and confidence. He sees her set down a flute of champagne on a nearby table and wonders if all her confidence isn't hers alone.

"Dance with me, Clark?" She so rarely says his given name that the sound of its consonants on her lips charms him completely. He readily agrees and before he can blink, they are revolving across the dance floor, his hands at her waist and hers across his shoulders. They are quiet for once in their lives, and he savors the moment as he spins her around and hears her laugh.

When he drops her off that evening, she kisses him on the cheek and promises to share the byline.


Jimmy asks to take their photo. He cites the excuse that there's only a few exposures left on the roll, anyway, and would they mind very much?

They smile and shake their heads, welcoming a momentary break from their latest piece. She angles her body to the camera, he places a hand on the back of her chair. She still has the pen in-hand as she smiles, and he is dwarfing her without trying.

She doesn't see him ask Jimmy for a copy.

He doesn't see her do the same.

Later, when she asks Clark, almost shyly, if he'll come with her to the Excalibur Awards as her partner (as her 'plus one'), and Clark accepts almost shyly, Jimmy smiles softly and thinks of the photo.


She sat across from him and chewed thoughtfully. There is the story she told, of a world in which she died, in which he changed. She doesn't tell him parts of the story; they are hers and hers alone.

She found out that he loved her - that he does so at that instant. She knew, too, that neither of them could face it. She is just the girl he has to save so very often. He is something greater than mortals. And yet, and yet he was so very gentle with her. So infinitely caring and careful, even from the start.

She questioned her feelings for him later, when he is gone and she is alone in her apartment, in her bed. She wondered if this is what she wants. If she wants to be with a superman, with Superman. She wondered if she could handle it; she doesn't pine, but she still cares, still worries. She would still give her heart to him. Still hope beyond hope for him to return safely.

She turned over onto her side and stared out the window, studying the moon in the pane. She didn't doubt he loved her. She doubted herself and her own feelings. She doubted they could handle anything.

She wondered if maybe her appetite was whetted for a more mortal taste.

The phone rang and it's Clark checking in on her; Jimmy told him what happened, she's sure. She smiled slightly as she sat up and gently teased him. They've known each other for three years now, shared moments and segments of their lives. They have escaped danger and been thrown off highways and chased leads together. They've done lunches and dinners and danced and ran and joked and teased each other together.

He was her partner, and she loved him more for that.


Bruce baffles him.

An ordinary man and an extraordinary mind have crafted a Dark Knight, a man so radically opposite himself that they even rub each other the wrong way. They are grudging partners, grudgingly respectful, grudging rivals.

In an instant, he swept her off her feet, and Clark knows he's jealous. He has no right to be; she gave him every opportunity to move them past the will-they-won't-they stage they've lingered in for months if not years. He is fond of her, he loves her. And he loves her enough to give her up.

But when Bruce tells him to take care of her, he is struck dumb yet again. Just when he thinks he understands, the man sends him a curveball the size of Iowa. Clearly, he cares for Lois. He didn't think it was so obviously on his face. Or was it his jealousy?

Bruce turns away and the jet taxis off and Clark is left to think. He turns to the fence and sees Lois leaning against it, shoulder pressing into the chainlink. Quietly, he does the only thing he can do. He approaches her silently and places a hand on her lower back. It is a small gesture, but it is all she needs. Looking up at him, over her shoulder, she smiles gratefully and turns back to the plane. It takes off with a roar, and they are both left with their thoughts.


When she heard the news, her legs gave out. She sat in the chair pale and shaking. She was in denial; Clark had just spoken to her the night before. He had had a breakthrough, was lording it over her. He wasn't dead - he couldn't be. Even when she saw the totaled car pulled from the wreckage, she was in denial. It simply couldn't be - Clark, who was sharp and full of life, wasn't dead. Life didn't work that way.

She wanted it to be a bad dream.

And then, after everything, he was okay. Safe in Lana Lang's care the whole time. And she had wanted to react somehow, to cry, to throw her arms around him to kiss him, to touch him. But she walked out at the first implication that her concern for him went deeper than just friendship. She hadn't needed to deal with that, not with Lana so smug and Clark so earnest.

But, outside, she leaned against the wall and sighed. He was okay, he was fine. Beat up, but all right. Quietly, so they wouldn't hear her, she cried sharp, shaking sobs into her hand. She was reminded very sharply just how mortal Clark Kent was, and loved Superman a little more for his resilience.

She didn't - couldn't - know that she'd lose him, too, in a few years' time.


He clings to her. He memorizes this moment; the way she feels against him, the scent of her hair, the press of her lips on his. In this moment, he needs her. His Lois.

She is his, always.


Lately, she noted, she'd seen less of Superman and more of Clark Kent, though not by much. He was globe-trotting, following leads and searching out stories he knew were out there. She watched him come in and out and saw lines on his face she hadn't seen before. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well, hadn't been taking good care of himself. She was worried. Superman could take care of himself; Clark Kent, apparently, could not.

She dragged him bodily out of the office. She was glad he was in town; no Clark meant more time for her to daydream, to think about the Kiss and think about what it all meant. He hadn't asked, and she didn't know if she had an answer to give.

But Clark she knew she could lord over and took advantage of it. She pulled him away from his desk, his weak protests falling on deaf ears. Today he'd looked more a mess than ever; his hair stuck up every which way, his tie was half undone already, and his glasses were skewed, like he'd sat on them at some point. Knowing Clark, she didn't put it past him.

"You're coming out to lunch with me, and I'm paying. No buts!" Clark tried to protest, but she grabbed him by his tie and placed a hand over his mouth.

"Look, Clark," she sighed and her eyes softened. "I'm worried about you. One hour isn't going to kill you, and you look like you need the break. I'm your friend, your partner; let me do this." He nodded behind his hand and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it all the more. She bit back a smile; he was just too cute sometimes.

They hit his favorite Italian place and conversed like they had before, before the attack and before the Justice League, before all of it. He told her about the stories he'd tracked down and she told him about all the danger she'd gotten into and out of. At these he'd had a tight look about him, almost guilty, but she reassured him she was fine.

"It's not like I ran into Metallo or anything," she pointed out around bites of ravioli. "With the Justice League in place, all the criminals have been up to bigger and badder things. Metropolis is peanuts compared to the world." She speared another square of pasta and brought it to her mouth, but paused. Clark was very still and quiet, abnormally so. He moved, he was fluid (except for when he tripped over himself, but that was to be expected) and never stock-still. It wasn't him.

Looking out the window, he murmured, "It's hard."

She set down her fork and reached for this hand. She felt a thrill run up her arm; she'd never really touched him, not like this. "I know." She looked at their clasped hands and felt a murmur of approval run through her. It looked right.

She gave his hand another squeeze. "C'mon. We can take the long way back." She signaled for the check and rummaged through her purse for her pocketbook.



"Thanks." Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she smiled before turning her attention back to her purse, handing the waitress the wallet with enough cash to cover the meal plus tip.

Out in the sunshine, he looked younger than he had in weeks. If she hadn't known better, she'd have said the sun made him more energetic. A stray wind blew past, ruffling his hair even more. A stray curl fell onto his forehead and she paused and stared, gears turning. It can't be...

"What?" He'd cottoned on to her staring.

"Your hair," she replied softly, reaching up. She tidied up his hair some, smoothing down the mess until all that was left was the stray curl across his forehead. She had the feeling that he was holding his breath. Then, very decisively, she pushed the wisp aside until he looked like Clark Kent again. He exhaled slowly, watching her guardedly.

"There we go. Clark Kent, reporter. Not Clark Kent, partyboy."

"I could be a party boy."

"Smallville, the only parties you go to are barn dances."

"Hey, those are pretty fun. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

Secretly, she smiled all the way back to the Daily Planet.


She brings him roses and he is confused.

"Uh, thanks?"

She blushes bright scarlet because the newsroom is furtively watching them now. They've been part of the rumor mill before, but this is different; this is real.

"Come on, Smallville. Don't tell me you forgot."

He glances at the calendar on his desk but the date looks like every other. He looks back at her and thinks her blushing is the sweetest thing he's seen in a long time.

"Sorry, Lois. I'm drawing a total blank."

"Today is," she pauses, licks her lips. "Today is our fifth anniversary."

He can feel the others in the room perk up at that. "Uh, come again?"

She's blushing even more now, if that's even possible, and he has a feeling that he's pink around the edges as well. "Today marks the fifth anniversary of us working together. Your fifth year here." The others around them stop listening, but his whole world is focused on her and the flowers in her hands.

"Oh, wow. It's been that long?" She nods mutely and thrusts the roses forward. They're red and lush, incredibly fragrant. "Thank you, Lois." And it's perhaps the most sincere thing he's ever said to her.

Her gaze drops to her shoes. "Yeah, well, I just...It seemed special, you know?" She quirks her head to the side and smiles sheepishly at him. He loves her more for the awkwardness, if it's even possible, and he beams at her, a brilliant smile.

"I love them," he says, and rests the bouquet on the desktop. He stands and envelops her in a hug. She is warm and soft, and she hugs him back tightly. He pulls back and sees something in her eyes, a glimmer of an emotion he knows, but she blinks once, twice, and it is gone.

"Lane! Kent!" Their little world is shattered and they jump apart as Perry calls to them. "Get in here! I need you two to cover something for me." He disappears and they share a look before heading toward the Chief's office.


He came to her in the dark of night. She'd unplugged her phone before heading to bed. She couldn't face the world at the moment.

It was too hard to believe that he was gone. He is - was - Superman. He wasn't supposed to die. It wasn't possible. She wished Diana had done Toyman in; she wished she hadn't thought that.

She shook in silent sobs, muffled by a pillow. It wasn't anything like when Clark had died. Then, she hadn't seen him go, could retain some small hope that he had managed to survive. But Superman...she'd seen the footage from three different angles, and they all told the same story. He was gone, for good.

A tapping at her window had her choking back another sob and swallowing her tears. She grabbed her dressing gown and tied it, standing from the bed. Rubbing her eyes on a corner of the terrycloth, she made her way into the main room. When she saw who was at her window, she rubbed her eyes again, sure the tears were blurring her vision.

He floated there.

She nearly tripped over herself getting to the window to undo the latch, to let him in. He looked strange, bearded, in furs, hair long and shaggy. But he was here, and she was breathless.


"Shut up." His jaw clicked shut. Tentatively, she reached out a hand, unsure of what she should expect. Her fingers met fur and she nearly started to cry. When the same hand felt the roughness of his beard and the line of his jaw despite it, she felt her knees shake violently. When they gave way, he caught her, and she kissed him soundly, other arm snaking around his neck.

He broke the kiss and spun her around effortlessly, and she laughed, a little hysterical but mostly happy beyond measure. She hugged him fiercely the moment her feet touched ground.

"Don't ever leave me again," she murmured against his chest.

"I won't," he soothed. "I won't." And it was a promise.


He walks into the pressroom, not expecting anything. Today is his birthday. Diana and Bruce have already given him their tokens and well-wishes. But they were early, and today is his birthday proper.

Well, he muses in the elevator, technically, it's the day Ma and Pa found him. But it's good enough for him. It's the day Clark Kent was born, at any rate, and he is as much Clark as he is Superman, maybe moreso the former.

He steps out of the elevator onto the floor of the pressroom. Turning the corner, he is ambushed by a crowd of his fellow staff reporters shouting, "Happy Birthday!" Someone sets off a cracker and streamers fly at him. He gapes in shock before laughing and thanking his co-workers profusely. The group dissipates, the world ever pushing forward, until there is only Lois.

"Happy birthday, Smallville." She smiles shyly and clasps her hands behind her back.

"Thanks, Lois."

She reveals her hands and an envelope in one. Unsure, she hands it to him. "It's not much, but, well..."

He takes the envelope and resists peeking. "It doesn't matter. It's the thought that counts."

"Then this counts for a lot. Seriously, Kent, you're the hardest person I know to shop for."

"You're not the first person to tell me that," he remarks mildly, smiling.

"Yeah, well, I won't be the last." She turns slightly and they walk to his desk in comfortable silence.


"So," she started, turning her attention back to the screen. "What are you doing here so late?"

He faltered. "Uh, just checking in, I guess. I was wondering how the press conference went."

"Just turn on CNN. They've been running it on loop all day."

"Yeah, I saw. I saw you in the front row, too." She heard the smile in his voice.

"You know me. When it comes to Superman, I'm always front and center. If not, you know, the one being rescued."

She sensed him shift, and she wondered how long she's been able to do that. "You're...involved, right?"

She stiffened, unsure if she should answer. She loves them both and doesn't know what is right anymore. "I...I don't know. I haven't seen him much since all this Justice League stuff began." She hit save and sent the file to the editor. Turning around, she didn't quite meet his gaze. This was one conversation she never imagined having with him.

"But?" He wasn't studying her; his gaze was focused on the Metropolis skyline out of the window.

"But..." She trailed off and looked at the view he's so carefully studying. "Sometimes, I wonder."

There was a long silence between them, full and empty all at once.


He visits her in the hospital after everything is settled. Metropolis is recovering with its usual exuberance, and he marvels at the resilience of the human race. At his town's refusal to take anything. Alien invasions and meta-humans and even battles unconcerned with humanity had lead to a healthy business for construction workers. Sooner than anyone could have imagined, much of the infrastructure was back in place. The city was cracked but not broken.

He passes the old Daily Planet building in his little red car and feels a pang of guilt. It was his fault and he knows it. Knows that he should have known better.

He makes the turn into the hospital and parks in a garage and walks the rest of the way. She is on the fourth floor, happily writing from her laptop and sending things to Perry via e-mail. It annoys the nurses to no end, but she disregards them and does as she is wont to do.

So very Lois Lane.

He knocks softly and opens the door. He's caught her in a quiet moment; she is resting. Her face is softened in sleep. Delicately, he runs a finger along the curve of her cheek. Her lashes flutter and she opens her eyes.

"Smallville?" She asks, sitting up. Yawning widely, she stretches and blinks away the remnants of sleep. "What time is it?"

"It's just past ten."

"Criminy. They spoil me here. When I go back to work, I'm going to be in for a long adjustment." He bites his lip. She's already told him, the other him, he's not to blame. He still feels guilty.

"So, tell me what's going on in the real world?" She makes a face. "The news is only so satisfying. I miss being out in the field." Her voice takes on a wistful tone frighteningly fast.

"Not much, really. It's just...happening. Most of the League's villains are out of commission. Things have been...quiet."

"Quiet." She looks out the window. "That's so strange. I'm so used to something happening. I don't do quiet."

"I'm well aware," he remarks, and she tosses him a grin. He hasn't seen her smile like that in a long time. He stands and moves next to her. She's craning her neck to look at him and, in that instant, it's now or never.

So he chooses now.

He kisses her softly, just a brush of lips on lips. But Lois isn't that kind of gal; she grabs his tie and pulls him closer until he's practically on top of her despite the cast on her leg and the bandages on her arms. He is kissing her with all that he is, because all that he is has worried about her, has loved her, and suddenly, this is it.

Neither of them wants to break the kiss, so naturally they pull apart at the same moment.

Then, she grins cheekily at him. "I was waiting for that."


When she was younger, she'd loved gymnastics and soccer.

They were her two greatest loves when she was a child. Something about both of them gave her great joy, a sense of exhilaration she'd never experienced before. They were her two great loves.

Then, one day, her father crouched down beside her and said, "Lois, honey, you can't keep doing both. You have to choose." Choose? How could she choose between flying and running? Between her two greatest passions?

So she chose swimming and had it both ways.

But now, she had to choose again, again between flying and running, and she wasn't sure she could. There wasn't a third option, a hidden "All of the above." It's one or the other, and she felt helpless.

She was drowning.


He stands in front of her door and fidgets.

Today is the day, he has decided. She will know. Today.

He fears her response. He fears that she will reject him thoroughly, that she will refuse him. He knows that would break him completely. He knows he would let it; he loves her enough to let her break him. He loves her enough to let her ruin him.

He can do this; he is Superman. He squares his shoulders and knocks against the green wood paneling. There is him and there is the door, and there is what lies just beyond.

She opens the door and his confidence is lost at the sight of her. She's wearing a pretty white sundress and a purple sweater. The colors bring out her eyes and make her look younger. He swallows.

She smiles nervously, thrown for a loop by his surprise visit. "Hey, Smallville. Come in." She opens her door wider and he steps through, still nervous. His hands are shaking and he clenches them to hide it.

After a long moment, he speaks. "Lois, I..." He trails off and shifts his weight and nudges his glasses. "I haven't...been completely honest with you."

He sees her eyes narrow, the vibrant purple (damn that sweater) flashing with the swirl of the white skirt. She moves closer to him and holds him with her stare. "Out with it." Her voice is sharp, a whip-crack she surely inherited from her father.

"I...I..." He is a man of words, and yet he finds himself struggling to find the right ones, to discover the syllables and vowels that can express everything he wants to tell her.

But actions speak louder than words.

He pulls off his glasses and tosses them aside, running a hand through his hair. They land with a clatter on the coffee table, but she is staring right at him, tracing his face, the line of his jaw, the curve of his hair.

The stray curl coming loose.

And as the light dawns in her eyes, he slowly unbuttons his shirt. Her eyes widen as she sees a hint of a familiar blue peeking out behind the cotton of his shirt, as she sees a red-and-yellow shield hide behind more buttons.

She closes the distance between them in an instant and frantically undoes his shirt, pushing it off of him, until he stands before her half Clark, half Superman, and all stock-still. Tenderly, she traces the S insignia on his chest, just as she did so many years ago. He can feel himself breaking, splintering into a million fragments.

She meets his eyes and there is everything there. "You're..." She trails off, looking helpless, before turning around and bursting into tears.

He is so shocked by this that it is a full minute before he approaches her. "Lois?" He places a hand on her shoulder, but she brushes him off and he feels himself shatter all the more. He lets his hand drop and he takes a few steps back.

"I'm sorry," he offers quietly, feeling himself dying slowly.

"Idiot," she says thickly, swallowing tears and sniffling. "You big, blue fool." She dabs her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater but doesn't face him yet.

"I didn't want to make you cry," he adds softly.

She laughs, and it is bright enough that he allows hope to grow in his chest. "Men," she remarks simply and shakes her head.

And turns around.

And kisses him.

He can feel her pressing up all along him, along the length of him, fusing their fronts together in a searing kiss. She tastes like salt and acceptance and life, and in this moment he understands how much she loves him, and he loves her more (if possible) for it. Overcome with joy, he spins her around effortlessly, kissing her sharply once, twice, thrice and embracing her tightly.

"Well," she comments mildly, smiling against his shoulder, "I guess that explains how you were always keeping an eye on me."

He laughs breathlessly into her neck.


They lie beside each other on his bed. It's his place this time, but they are no strangers to her bed either.

She is tracing looping patterns on the planes of his chest, his blue nightshirt open. He gazes indulgently at her form in the black silk nightgown, following the curves of her figure with his eyes.

"No x-ray vision, remember?" She grins at him wickedly and he blushes crimson, caught. She smacks him lightly on the chest, but he catches her hand instead and kisses her softly.

They suspect Perry knows. They assume he saw the expenses for the D.C. trip, saw only one hotel room with only one bed and pieced the rest of it together.

Or maybe it's the hand that he'll place at the small of her back when she fights for a quote with the press corps. Or the way she smiles differently for him. Or the way they walk out of the newsroom together, bantering back and forth but without the charged tension as before.

Or maybe it was the noise coming from the closet that one time.

She runs a finger along his jaw and mischievously asks, "How much do you love me?" She knows he loves her with all he has, but this is a game between them.

He smiles, cottoning on, and pulls her closer and whispers that whole planets couldn't stop him from reaching her.

She looks at him with large, lavender eyes and smiles.

"Galaxies couldn't keep me away."

You fear, sometimes, I do not love you so much as you wish? My dear Girl I love you ever and ever and without reserve. The more I have known you the more have I lov'd. In every way - even my jealousies have been agonies of Love, in the hottest fit I ever had I would have died for you. I have vex'd you too much. But for Love! Can I help it? You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. (John Keats to Fanny Brawne, March 1820)
AN: This was inspired by the excerpt above. It is the first in my tentatively-titled "Sealed With a Kiss" series. At 5400 words, this is also my longest piece to date.

AN2: All verb tense changes are deliberate, I swear! Lois should be in past tense, Clark in present.

AN3: All timelines and descriptions should fall within canon. I re-watched every C/L-ish episode for this, so I'm willing to be it works out. A big thank you to "World's Finest Online" for all their reviews, screencaps, and general awesomeness.