I Would Like To Give You the Silver Branch

Chapter 2

 

 

Then

Lois Lane didn't go away but then, Clark hadn't expected her to just give a story up. She was one of the few contemporary journalists recognizable by name. She showed up on his mom's porch in the middle of supper with a greasy take-out bag.

"I heard around town that Martha Kent makes the best pies in the county so I couldn't get dessert and Clark Kent is practically a vegetarian so I couldn't grab a pepperoni pizza. I figured 'fries.' Everyone likes wedge fries."

Although Clark had told his mother that Lois was a friend, he held his hand out for Martha to stay seated as he made his way to the screen door. "Lois." He deliberately pulled every syllable of her name out as both a warning and a sigh.

"Clark."

"I'm still not going to agree to an interview. I'm very grateful for your discretion, Ms Lane. I really am. I'm sorry you travelled all this way for nothing." Then he had to add, "Thank you very much for the fries."

"Thirty minutes. I'll wait until you finish eating." Lois shook the take-out bag.

Clark turned to look over his shoulder at his mother. She pressed her lips together into a half-smile and glanced at the over-filled platters on the table. He dipped his chin down before opening the screen door. "Please come in and join us for dinner."

"Really, I can wait outside. It's kinda nice out."

"We don't let anyone sit out for dinner around here. But I'm sure you know that."

She grinned, but didn't answer as she made her way indoors. "Good evening, Mrs Kent."

"Good evening, Ms Lane. Thank you for joining us."

Few people understood his mom's dry sense of humour but one corner of Lois' grin curled up even further. "Thank you very much. I hope the fries go with your, uh--"

"Tagine with tempeh and lentils," said Martha.

"Now with its traditional side dish of wedge fries," Clark said. He slid the serving bowl to her side of the table.

He expected her to push. He expected rapid-fire questions and pointed digging. Instead Lois Lane only complimented his mom on her cooking and set about to demolishing everything on her plate in about thirty seconds flat. Including the wedge fries. His mom doled a generous helping of seconds out to her and she vacuumed that up as well.

"And here I thought Clark had no competition when it came to his appetite," said Martha.

Lois talked around the remains of her mouthful. "I miss meals when I'm on the job. When I can actually sit down to eat, I try to make up for it."

"That's not very healthy."

"I don't really have a choice. It's hard to grab a sandwich when you need both hands to hold the camera and-or write notes. This is really delicious."

"You should take your fries back to your room so you have something to snack on," said Martha. "I think I still have some apple chips around here from last fall that you can bring as well."

"What if I want the rest of the fries?" Clark asked.

Martha gave him a look that said, "I raised you to be a gentleman and to be generous to your guests." Clark then realised Lois strategy: instead of wearing them down with an interrogation, she wormed her way in through his mother's warm heart. Smart. Martha Kent always did have a thing for strays. Clark scraped the serving bowl for the last of the tagine and left all but one wedge fry on the plate. Lois snatched that last fry and chomped in in half.

Shaking her head with a murmured, "Kids," Martha returned to her meal with pointed tidiness.

"I'll do the dishes, Mrs Kent," said Lois. "Cooks should never do the dishes."

"Thanks for the offer." Clark kicked his chair back and stretched his hands behind his head. "I'll catch up on my reading while you do that."

"You cooked that?"

He nodded.

She muttered, "Figures." But she stood by her word and started to take the plates.

His mom gave Clark another look, this one translating to "See to our guest" as well as "Are you certain you want her to stay here longer?"

He took the spot to Lois' right, snagging the dishcloth hanging from one of the cabinets. "I'll dry."

"You cooked," Lois pointed out.

"So did you. Well, you brought the wedge fries."

"Ha! I knew they were irresistible." She bumped his thigh with her hip.

Clark's breath caught. Aside from his parents, he wasn't used to casual touches. Even people who knew--Pete and Lana, his friends-- had been an undercurrent of tentativeness in their contact ever since the school bus incident. They weren't mean. Never mean. Just... they just...

They never teased him.


Now

Lois rarely found herself in a traditional caregiver role so she blamed an undiagnosed head injury for the Chinese take-out staining her hotel room's table, the wine in the fridge, and the hot bath bubbling in the tiny ensuite. She hoped Clark didn't mind smelling like orange zest and rosewood oil.

Someone knocked.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Lois."

Lois' palms sweat every time a key piece of evidence for a story fell into her hands. She wiped her hands on her jeans because Clark wasn't a story. He was... Clark was...

"Lois?"

She shook herself out of her verbal torpor to open the door. Clark waited in the hallway, his head dipped down so the bill of his cap covered his face. That gorgeous, gorgeous face with the cheekbones and the eyes that left Lois wanting throw every writing rule out the door to find an appropriate adjective. Intelligent life was out there and they created a perfect man.

She waved him in. "You're appropriately dusty, Drywall Dave."

He patted down his coveralls. "There's no escaping dirt around here. Luckily, it's been a wet summer so far or the smog would be terrible."

"There's fewer accidental fires than FEMA predicted although I'm not sure we should chalk that up to the weather," said Lois, closing the door behind him.

He raised his head-- hallelujah, welcome back, gorgeous, with the cupid-bow mouth and the lower lip that just begged to be nibbled on. And of course he had a dimple on his chin. Lois silently shook her fist at Jor-el and Lara for their ridiculous genes. This was playing with a stacked deck. She had journalistic integrity, yes, but she was also a woman in her thirties with all the appropriate increases in libido. She'd chosen poorly with her last fling. She should have known better than to pick someone up in Monaco, playground of the entitled.

Clark smiled at the Chinese take-out on the table. "I can't stay long."

"Stay long enough to eat."

He turned his head to the bathroom, questioning.

Lois put her fists to her waist. "You think I'm going to share the last Tropical Sunrise bath bomb with you?"

"My mistake. And the wine?"

"That's so we can get drunk and make-out."

Lois had to smile when Clark's eyes crossed.

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