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1. Jimmy
It was chance that Jimmy saw it first.
Actually, Jimmy had suspected for months, but he didn't really believe it until he saw it for himself. Pure, unadulterated, photographic evidence, the kind hard-hitting reporters used to break a story.
The darkroom was bathed in red light, discoloring everything. With careful hands, he hung the last of the most recent roll of pictures on the lines, confident that they would dry perfectly. Ducking the still-wet images, he gently took down the last batch of photos, stacking them in the crook of his arm. With great care to avoid ruining the developing images, he exited the room.
Breathing a sigh of relief at not messing up another batch, Jimmy settled into his desk. Smaller than the reporters' desks, it was toward the back of the newsroom and allowed him to observe the frenzy all around him. At the front, Perry was running through the stories, laying the rough copy face-down on each desk as he passed. Steve was sitting on the edge of Cat's desk, football in one hand, miming some sort of sequence while she batted her eyelashes and leaned forward far enough for him to look down her shirt. (Which he did.) Ron was speaking animatedly into a phone, his hands gesticulating sharply.
And, Lois and Clark were standing by the coffee machine, talking quietly.
Jimmy turned to the stack in front of him and began to sort - one pile went to Perry, one pile got trashed, and the last was for himself. In the first went shots of Bruno Mannheim giving a speech at the park, Lex Luthor's press conference, and any Superman sightings Jimmy had managed to capture. Into the second went the embarrassing (but fortunately decreasing) photos with his thumb in the edges of the frame. The third held photos he had taken to fill out a roll. It took maybe ten minutes to sort and re-sort the pictures, but when he was done he was happy to say that the good outweighed the bad. The best photos he handed off to Perry as he came by, the bad ones he trashed, and the last he pulled towards him.
The first photograph was a closeup of a sunflower he had taken at the park. Most of the pictures in the stack were inanimate objects - buildings, flowers, trees, and stacks of books - but the last made him pause.
He didn't remember this shot. Eyeing it critically, Jimmy noted that the upper half of the faces being cut off would normally be cause for scorn. However, here it looked almost artistic. The two figures stood near one another, their fronts nearly touching, one male and one female. His hand cupped one cheek, her head tilted slightly. The lines of their figures were perfect, and he knew that the photograph's angle impossible to recreate. The entire scene was intimate; the edge of the frame was just beyond the two figures, and the background appeared out of focus and nondescript. A private moment, Jimmy thought absently, glancing out the window. Turning back to the photo, he paused.
The clothes were unmistakable - red blazer, black skirt, blue suit.
Surreptitiously, he glanced back at the coffee machine. Clark was pouring Lois a second cup as she rattled on, mile a minute, on her research into the new Intergang piece. Taking the mug from his hands - Jimmy heard the offhand thanks - Lois continued talking, occasionally punctuating her points with a sharp gesture. Clark touched his glasses but nodded along, a serene expression on his features.
Jimmy's eyes flicked back and forth between the photo - the precious, precious photo - he held in his hands and the scene before him. Then, very carefully, he sealed the sole copy in a brown envelope and laid it in a drawer. Shutting the drawer with a satisfying thud, the young photographer pulled the neck strap of his camera over his head and stood.
The newsroom was still busy. Steve misjudged the size of the desk and, with a grand pantomime, fell off the edge and landed with a thud. Cat blinked in shock before bursting into peals of laughter. Ron, who had finally hung up the phone, paused in his note-taking to see what had happened. He, too, flashed a grin at Steve before he resumed taking notes, occasionally pausing to chuckle and shake his head. Perry, who by now had circled the room once, gave the sports reporter a hand up, then told him that if he had time to flirt then he had time to write a damn good editorial criticizing the Meteors' game that afternoon. Even Clark and Lois had turned to see what had caused the commotion. As Steve brushed himself off, they turned back to each other, all easy smiles and relaxed postures.
Jimmy grinned widely. Unscrewing the lens cap, he snapped a couple of shots of the newsroom before making his way to Perry.
2. Bruce and Diana
"Kal?"
Clark looked up from his newspaper and blushed when he realized he'd been caught zoning out. Diana almost laughed aloud at the guilty look on his face.
"I guess we're just not that interesting, Diana." Bruce's voice sounded mild, but Diana definitely saw the smirk.
Clark did, too, judging by the glare he leveled Bruce's way.
Unperturbed, Bruce continued blithely on, as if a death glare from the strongest man alive was just another facet of his life. Which, Diana reflected, it was. "Something on your mind, Kent?"
He opened his mouth to retort when his cell phone rang. Not missing the look of relief that passed over his features, Diana traded amused glances with Bruce as Clark checked the display and then opened his folded phone.
"Lois?"
"So, Bruce," Diana started, lowering her voice to not disturb the bespectacled reporter. "How is everything? I haven't seen you in a while."
"That's why we're here, Princess," he retorted, setting down the coffee mug gently.
"Yes, but even I know better than to assume you're just going to suddenly open up and tell us." She poked him in the arm.
"Getting physical, are we? I like that in a woman." He shot her a rakish grin and leaned toward her, pushing the mug and saucer to one side, playboy persona firmly in place.
Diana rolled her eyes. "Please, you've used that line on me before and it didn't work then." She smirked at him. "Is Bruce Wayne losing his touch?"
Clark shot them a suspicious look before reassuring Lois that, yes, he was listening, and no, he was not taking notes on napkins. He then cradled the phone against his shoulder as he dug out his memo pad.
Bruce pressed a hand to his chest. "Princess, you wound me."
"Not as much as that line hurt me." She hid her smile behind the rim of her mug.
"Got it. Yes, I wrote it all down. Yes, it's not on napkins. No, I'm not...Lois. Lois. Okay." By now, the other two were watching him as his expression changed. The lines around his eyes and mouth faded, and his posture relaxed very suddenly. "I know," he said softly, voice warm. "Me too. I'll see you later. Bye." He hung up and scribbled more notes.
Bruce's expression lost the licentious grin, and his gaze softened. Diana set down her tea and propped her head on her hands, a smile of her own spreading across her features.
"Kent."
"Hmm?" He looked up from the notepad, glasses slightly askew.
"You look happy," Bruce said, leaning back in his chair.
Clark appeared thoughtful. "I'd say it's because I am."
Bruce and Diana shared another look. "Good," Diana said firmly, and covered one of the reporter's hands with her own.
3. General Sam Lane
The phone rang twice, and precisely twice, before it was picked up.
"Lane here," the voice responded curtly, a precision honed by years of responding in kind.
"You know, that's my schtick now."
"Lois?" Sam Lane leaned back and smiled. "How's my girl?"
"Eh," came the voice on the other end, snappy and expressive even over the phone. "Pretty good. You?"
"No complaints. Retirement doesn't really suit me." Standing, he stacked his plates one-handed and placed them in the sink. "So, what's up? Did you win another Pulitzer?"
"No, I," she started, trailing off.
After a long silence, Sam broke in gently. "Lois, it's me. Your father. You can tell me anything."
A warm laugh sounded over the phone. "Dad, I'm not pregnant!" There was a muffled noise in the background, and he heard her mutter, "Not yet anyway."
"Well, you obviously have something on your mind." He grinned. "We can do this the hard way or the easy way."
"Dad!" She laughed again. "Okay, okay. So you know how Lucy and Alan are coming to Thanksgiving this year?"
"Yeah. It'll be like old times, except Lucy's married."
"Can I bring someone?"
Well, he hadn't expected that. "Well, sure. Who do you have in mind?" If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he was stalling for time. And hoping that it was a guy; he wasn't sure he'd do if Lois realized she batted for a league of her own.
"My...Clark. Clark Kent."
"Your Clark?" He bit back his sigh of relief but didn't bother to suppress a chuckle. There really wasn't anything quite like baiting Lois.
"Dad..."
"Lois, it's fine. Bring the guy. As long as he doesn't eat like a farm boy, there'll be plenty of food."
"Um." Guilt rang loudly in the single syllable.
The former general resisted the urge to smack his palm against his forehead and settled for shaking his head instead. "Lois, you're really something."
"Funny, Clark says the same thing. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."
"Take care. I love you."
Click.
4. Ma and Pa Kent
"Martha, if you keep checking that ham, it's never going to cook."
Martha pulled off the oven mitts and laid them on the counter. "I know, I know. It's just hard to not stare at them." She nodded slightly towards the window. She moved to the sink and began to rinse off the few plates and pans, eyes straying to the window only a few times.
"Leave them be," Jonathan Kent said quietly, arms coming to wrap around his wife's waist. "Do you remember our first Christmas on the farm?"
Martha laughed as she dried her hands on a towel. "We snuck out in the middle of the night and made snow angels."
"And then we built that igloo, remember?" He tickled her lightly, delighting in her giggles. "I'm pretty sure my parents knew and turned a blind eye." Opening a cupboard, he pulled out two Santa mugs. Filling them with hot cocoa, he and Martha sat at the table, a view of the backyard visible through the patio door.
"To be young again," Martha sighed, watching as Clark and Lois waged a snowball fight to rival the ones he and Kara had three Christmases ago. Using his speed, he appeared behind Lois and stuffed a snowball down the back of her shirt. She yelped and hurled three snowballs at him in quick succession, loudly calling him a cheater.
Clark, nose and cheeks red from the cold, took the hits, stumbling backwards dramatically. Lois tackled him and they fell into the snow a tangle of arms and legs and coats.
"Gotcha!" she shouted in triumph, a wide grin on her face. Suddenly, their positions were reversed, and it was easy to see that the snowball fight had devolved into a kiss. A very long kiss.
Until Lois's hand came came up and stuffed snow into Clark's jacket. As he convulsed into shivers, Lois wriggled out and ran up to the sliding door, laughing and rosy.
"Shoes by the door, right?" She asked, pulling off the beaten pair of boots. Martha nodded and stood, moving to the cabinet to pour a couple more mugs of hot chocolate.
"Marshmallows, dear?"
Lois shook her head and accepted the proffered mug, leaning against the counter. "Mr. Kent, your fields are just beautiful. I haven't seen land like this since when I lived in Nebraska."
Jonathan waved a hand dismissively. "Please, Lois. Call me Pa. You're practically family, remember?"
Clark then came in, stamping his feet free of snow before entering. He tugged off his own boots and gloves before taking the other mug of cocoa. "That was a dirty trick." He leveled a mock glare at Lois.
"Please. After what you pulled? All's fair in love and war--" She was cut off by a kiss, Clark leveraging his weight against the counter. When they broke apart, Lois was even redder, and they continued to bicker lightheartedly.
Martha, who by now stood behind her husband, placed a hand on his shoulder. In turn, Jonathan covered her hand with his.
In the background, the radio changed songs.
5. Lois and Clark
Three days on a planet with a red sun and Clark was feeling very human. Well rested, yes, thanks to the nap on the Javelin, but definitely happy to be back on Earth.
The lobby of his building was almost foreign to him, the elevator more so. He really was spoiled by the teleporters.
Don't forget your ability to fly, he thought sarcastically, pressing the call button with perhaps a little more vigor than was really necessary. He watched as the numbers slowly ticked up and the doors opened. It was just past midnight, so the lobby was dimmed and the elevator was empty. Clark stepped inside, loosening an already loosened tie further, and pressed the button for his floor. The doors closed and the slow ride up began. He resisted tapping his foot impatiently.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. I really am being spoiled.
The lift came to a gentle halt and the doors opened smoothly. He stepped out and walked to his door, patting down his pockets trying to remember just where he had put the key. He stood in front of his door and began turning out pockets, trying to find it. Swearing mildly under his breath, he had just reached into that long-forgotten breast pocket when the door opened.
"Finally," Lois exclaimed, before grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him soundly.
When they broke, Clark didn't bother hiding his grin. "I missed you too, Lois." His eyebrows knit together in mild confusion. "But why are you in my apartment?" She tugged him in by the tie, pulling it off of him as he kicked the door shut behind them.
"Quiet, you," she said, pushing the jacket off of him. He toed off his shoes and socks while she hung it up for him, and he placed the oxfords neatly beside a similar pair in the closet.
"So, what's the occasion?" She looked at him quizzically. "You don't usually greet me in a silk robe," he explained, fingering the tie at her waist.
She laughed. "You forgot. I can't believe you forgot." She tugged his arm towards the stairs to the bedroom.
"It's been a busy few weeks. You know how it is."
She grinned. "Yeah, I do." They stopped in front of a heavy, black curtain hung in the doorway of the bedroom. "But you'll like this."
He glanced at the curtain, but with his powers largely out of commission all he saw was thick, dark material. "It's a nice curtain," he commented neutrally.
Lois rolled her eyes. "Get in there, Smallville," she huffed, giving him a push.
He brought his arm up to push the cloth aside and found himself in his bedroom. Every light was red - the lamps on the end tables had red bulbs, the lights on the wall had red material over them, and the large window was curtained off with another blackout curtain.
"Wow," he breathed, not noticing as Lois pulled the curtain closed. He did, however, notice when she untied the robe and tossed it onto a chair. Her black nightgown looked somehow darker under the red lamps, and her skin took on an haunting red glow.
She moved to stand in front of him and kissed him, slowly, as if savoring the sensation. Gently, she lifted the glasses from his face and set them on the dresser. "You're awfully overdressed," she murmured, undoing buttons with practiced ease. She pushed the shirt off of him, but this time he kissed her, and then it became a whirl of hands and mouths until they tumbled together into a tangled mess onto the bed.
He pushed himself up onto hands and knees and studied her. The red light made his blue eyes look alien, and she shivered both in anticipation and under the weight of his gaze.
"What is it?"
He shook his head and moved to lie beside her. "Nothing, I just..." He trailed off and fingered her nightgown instead, palm tracing the contours of her body.
"No peeking," she warned, a smirk curling her lips.
"Lois--" There was hesitance and uncertainty in his voice, in his face.
"God, Clark," she interrupted, propping herself up on an elbow. "You're the thickest man I've ever met." With her other hand, she gently ran her fingertips down his jawline, over his shoulder, along his arm, and chose her words carefully. After a long moment, she spoke, voice soft in the darkness. "You feel like you live in a world made of cardboard, always taking constant care not to break something. To break someone. Never allowing yourself to lose control - even for a moment - or someone could die." She grinned at the dawning comprehension in his eyes and continued, hand pressed against his chest. "But here - now - you're just Clark. And I'm just Lois."
He covered her hand with his own and pulled her to him. He tucked a lock of her dark hair behind an ear and kissed her, making her toes curl. He pushed the strap of her nightgown aside and kissed his way down her neck and along her collarbone.
She laughed lightly and tilted her head to the side, closing her eyes to enjoy the sensation. Her fingers clenched against his chest, nails pressing gently into flesh and muscle. She brought her mouth close to his ear, brushing aside too-dark hair.
"Happy birthday, Clark," she breathed, before she felt her nightgown fall away completely.