Slowly moving her neck from right to left, Lois runs her hand over it, trying for the hundredth time this week to get ride of the knot that seems to reappear every damn time she's too tired or stressed.

Not that it's of any use, she knows: there was only one person who managed to get ride of it, and – well, she just had to get used to it.

Then again, she had to get used to a lot of things, these past few months.

Releasing a soft sigh, she opens her eyes again, and they land on her reflection on the glass doors of the elevator; shoulders heavy and dark circles under her eyes, she pretends not to notice how tired she looks. Instead, she straightens up and braces herself for one more lonely night in a apartment where they should have been two. With a soft thud, the doors open, and she heads for her apartment, trying her best to ignore the familiar weigh that settles on her chest.

Most of the time, she manages just fine; other times - like today - for one reason or another, she doesn't, and all she can think about is -

The days were okay. Being Lois Lane, the intrepid journalist of The Daily Planet, had always taken a lot of her time: for most of her life, it took almost all of it, really. For the past few months, she had found out that returning to that rhythm was a pretty effective way to keep from thinking too much - which was exactly what she wanted.

Because every time she does, she feels like drowning again.

She knows what drowning feels like: she had. The panic that spreads awfully fast as you realize what's happening, the disorientation of not being able to flee the pain growing inside your chest, knowing that you're slowly dying and that there's nothing you can do about it. Lois has experienced that back in Gotham, trapped under water as the warehouse ruins made any escape impossible, and then started living with it all day, everyday, a few moments later, as she bended, helpless, over his body.

Getting closer to the door, she finds herself playing with the ring on her left hand again, something that seems to have become a subconscious habit. (She pretends not to notice that she finds herself doing it whenever that emptiness creeps in a little harder than usual, because that's the closest way to be with him, now.)

Trying to ignore everything she's feeling, Lois focuses on her daily mantra.

Keep going. Keep going, keep going, keep going.

So, like every single day since that awful one, that's what she does.

"You've got to be kidding me", she watches him, surprised, not able to keep from laughing.

"What's wrong with it?", he says, visibly a little offended, and his cheeks redden a little.

"Babe, one day, I'll take the time to explain to you what's wrong with yellow roses", and she leans in, kissing him softly on the cheek to make his insulted frown disappear.

"Fine, you can choose the flowers. But I get to choose the wine, and I have to warn you: my mother and my sister really got into origami, and they're really excited about sharing that newly discovered talent with us. So I hope you love Asia, because it looks like we're in for a Japanese themed wedding", and the woman laughs again.

She puts her blond, silky hair behind her ear and turns to pick her ringing phone from her bag next to her, and Lois can finally see her face.

She's beautiful.

"Oh, that's the alarm I set up: time for the part you're most excited about."

"Cake tasting?", he beams.

"Cake testing", she smiles, rolling her eyes playfully as she puts on her coat. "Although I'm not sure: can we have cake, in our Asian theme party?"

"That's an excellent question. We'll have to ask the people deciding of our wedding for us, won't we?", a fake look of seriousness on his face. He takes her hand, puts what they owe on the table, and Lois watch them leave the small café.

They've been gone for a while when Lois finally comes back to reality, her own engagement ring clenched in her left hand, longing, pain, and jealousy in her chest, and images of what could have been in her head.

Wincing, she tries to make abstraction of the pain and gets up from where she's laying on the sofa, swearing under her breath when, on top of everything, she puts too much weight on her right leg. She keeps forgetting about that damn leg.

Making her way to the door, she tries to ignore the dizziness, and prays to God it isn't some commercial solicitors again.

It isn't.

"Hi, Martha", she says, genuinely surprised as she takes in the woman before her. Dressed in her blue jeans and black coat, she's standing with a small smile on her face, purse on her shoulder and a giant bag of food in one hand, looking worried as she inspects Lois from the head down. Not that she can blame her, really; she's seen herself in a mirror, and she knows how it looks like.

"Hi, honey", she greets, and draws her into a hug. As gentle as she is, it takes all Lois have not to grunt in agony when she has to slightly bent down.

"I'm not gonna ask you how you are", she says as she pulls back, keeping her at arms' length, a disapproving look on her face.

"I'm fine", Lois smiles, even if she knows the stitches on her head and the blues on her bare arms are not exactly helping her case. "Please, come in. I'm sorry, I've just been back, the place is a mess."

Martha just waves a hand at her, "Come on, you know I don't care about that." She moves to put the food in the fridge, and the young woman tries to follows her to the kitchen without wincing again – which is not exactly an easy task.

"Thanks for the food", she says with a smile, sincerely grateful. Not that she's eating much, these days, but when she does, it will be good to taste Martha delicious homemade meals instead of some tasteless warmed up microwave thing. "Do you want something to drink? Coffee?"

"It's okay, I grabbed us two on my way here. The memory of the first time you made us coffee still haunts me, you know", and Lois chuckles at that: she can still see their embarrassed faces, back at the Kent farm, when she turned back to them after they tasted it, and the way Clark started to laugh when she tasted it herself, and suddenly understood.

"Fair", she smiles as Martha takes a seat. Lois leans on the kitchen counter behind her, and she almost closes her eyes in ecstasy when she takes a sip: it's been weeks since her last good cup of coffee.

Apparently, it shows. "Good?", Martha asks, amused.

"Good", she nods, "You're the best. How come you didn't tell me you were coming?"

"Well, it wasn't really planed: I just came to check on you", she says, confirming what Lois already suspected. Of course she did.

She doesn't bother pretending she doesn't know what she's referring to. "How did you know?"

"Mr White called me", and that, she didn't see coming.

"Perry? Why?", she asks a little harshly, suddenly angry.

"Because he's worried about you", she says softy, and Lois shakes her head in disbelief, already preparing what she's going to yell at him when she's back at the Planet."Honey, I know I'm not your mother – and even if I was, I wouldn't have much say in this. But I still love you like my own daughter; you know that, right?"

When Lois nods, deliberately trying to avoid her gaze, she continues. "Then you'll understand why I'm so concerned about you, too. Lois, for the past few months, you've been getting yourself in very dangerous situations - "

"I don't 'get into them', it goes with the job", she argues, hoping it would just stop there. If she's being honest, she's not even convincing herself, but Martha doesn't need to know that. "Always have."

"It has always involved back to back trips to Russia, Iran and Pakistan, all in six weeks?" Her voice is gentle, careful, but Lois suddenly feels trapped.

She doesn't want to talk about it. Especially not right now, when she hasn't properly slept in days, and is both physically and emotionally exhausted.

"You've been reckless", and it's not a question. "And if that has anything to do with -"

"I'm not looking for troubles", she cuts in, because she knows full well where Martha is going. "I don't know what Perry told you, but those stories just happened to present themselves one after the other, and I'm not going to miss an important subject just because -"

"Clark wouldn't have wanted that."

Before she can even think about it, Lois finally turns to her, taken by surprise. Martha is looking at her with a determination that is normally found in her own eyes, and for a second, she can't look away. She can't do anything, really, except hoping her heart stops beating that fast, and that all the self-control she has managed for the past few months isn't going to leave her now.

She's been doing so, so well.

"I -", she finally says, and she hates herself for having to clear her throat to continue, "I don't know what you're talking about." Martha's having none of it, though.

"I know it's difficult, Lois. I know – it's hell. And I'm not even going to try to find words to describe what it's like, or to make it okay, because there are none. But Clark -", she takes a shaky breath, and Lois looks up to see a small, sad smile on her face. "He loved you so, so much. I mean, it was written all over his face", and now she's chuckling. "I knew it well before he told me, just by that stupid smile he had whenever he talked about you – which was a lot, by the way."

Lois' lips goes up, too, but it feels like her heart is twitching, and it hurts so much she could cry.

She probably will, if Martha keeps going.

"You were everything to him", she continues as she gets up, planting herself in front of her. "His all world. And I can't stand by while the person my son loved more than everything is risking her life."

She knows that biologically, they're not related, but for a second, she sees Clark: the same resolve he'd show whenever he felt strongly about something, the same drive to protect.

"Life goes on, honey. It didn't for him", Martha squeezes her hand, her eyes shining with tears that won't fall, because she's strong, so strong, and she won't let them. "But it does for you. It has to."

Lois hasn't cried in weeks. Today, she comes dangerously close to.

"Yeah, well, it sucks", she manages, trying to hold on despite all the memories of them planning their life together rushing through her head.

Martha laughs as she brings her in her arms once more. "It does", she whispers, gently rubbing her back."It really does."

When they finally separate, she lays a hand on her cheek, a sincere smile on her face."I never thanked you."

"For what?", Lois asked, confused.

"Making my boy so happy", she simply says, a sincere smile gracing her features. "I'd never seen him this happy – I actually don't think I've ever seen him really happy before. I mean, we tried, and I think he had a pretty good childhood", and she suddenly seems like she's somewhere else. Somewhere in the last thirty years, Lois guesses. "But growing up with all his abilities wasn't easy, and we didn't -"

Lois sees a million regrets and a terrible guilt on her face, and her heart aches.

It only last for a second, though; Martha shakes herself back to reality, and bravely smiles up at her again.

"Anyway. The point is, growing up having to deal with all of that was hard for him. He was lonely, and that didn't change much afterwards. We always feared that he'd never find someone, you know, someone he'd find worth trusting. Or, that even if he did, that they wouldn't be able to handle it - and then you came."

"Yeah, well, I didn't leave him much choice, really", she tries to joke, because this time, she really thinks she might break down. Even if she tries to ignore it every day, she misses him so much it actually hurts, and she doesn't tell her how her son was the one she'd never think she'd find, too.

"That you didn't", Martha laughs. "It's actually the first thing he said when he told me about you, actually: "She's so driven, mom. So passionate. I don't think I ever met someone like her before." And then he went on and on for at least an hour: "She's witty, and she's funny, and she's beautiful, and she's smart"...God!", she rolls her eyes, and Lois laughs with her.

They talk all afternoon, and despite Lois' invitation to stay over, Martha eventually leaves to head back to Kansas. As they say goodbye, the young woman makes sure she knows something, too.

"He did, you know – had a good childhood, I mean. He always had a smile on his face when he would talk about it, or about you and his dad. He wouldn't have trade it for the world."

Martha stares at her, both sadness and smile on her features, and takes her in her arms one more time.

It's been one year today.

Settled on one of the kitchen counter stools, coffee in hands – and left thumb once again playing with her ring, she realizes - she stares at the picture on the fridge, the memory of him putting it there, chuckling while she complained, still fresh in her memory.

"I look drunk."

"You were drunk", and the terrible headache she's trying to survive is here to prove how right he is. Given his smirk, he's very aware that he is, too.

"Just a little", she mumbles in her coffee, and nearly chokes when she looks up and sees what he's doing. "What are you – oh, no no no. Forget that right now, Kent."

"What? It's a good picture."

"Well, yeah, for you! You look gorgeous; I just look like an intoxicated, smitten woman trying to become your second skin, given the way I wrap all my limbs around you – and don't you dare say 'which you were'", she warns, pointing a threatening finger towards him.

"I wasn't", he just says, kissing it as he comes to face her across the counter, and rests his forearms on it. "Besides, you just did that for me, didn't you." He properly kisses her then, and despite her pouting, she surrenders and kisses back.

As innocent as he looks, she's sure he knows what he does to her, and viciously takes advantage of it. Damn him.

She still can't help but smile back at him when they pull back, and curses his stupid beautiful face – and then, wine, the Planet's Christmas party and Jenny's stupid Instax when she feels like another army starts firing guns inside her skull again.

"That bad, uh?", he says sympathetically as she drops her head on the counter with a pained moan. He moves to get the aspirin from the cabinet, and hands it to her with that same expression, that same look in his eyes he had back in the spaceship when she was bleeding out, and that comes back whenever she's sick, or hurt, or sad.

The look that shows how much it pains him to see her like that, the one that applies to any human he sees suffering, and that makes him oh so unique.

"Anything I can do?", he asks gently, hand running over her cheek to try and make her feel better when she swallows the salutatory pill with a thank you.

"I'm fine, don't worry", she smiles. "But once the little bombs in my head stop going off, I'd love to ungraciously sprawl on your chest and go hang out over the city. Oh, and I still hate you for putting that thing on the fridge."

He chuckles. "Deal. And for the record, you do look beautiful on that photo – completed wasted or not."

She throws her napkin at him to hide her blush.

Taking a deep breath, Lois gets up to get the picture, thumb ghosting over him. Swallowing hard, she smiles softly at that grin she loves so much, then gathers her bag and coat.

Just before she leaves, she slips it in her wallet.

She's tired. Today wasn't particularly a good one, despite what everyone keeps wishing her, and all she wants is to collapse in a dreamless sleep and never wake up.

Still, she smiles as she listens to her sister's voice message ("Looks like my sis is getting old, huh? Go get drunk, that's how I go through every single one of my birthdays"). They have never been close, still really aren't, but ever since last year, Lucy's calls and messages have been more and more frequent.

They don't talk about it, because they're just not that type of family, but Lois is grateful.

She's so concentrated on her phone that she almost misses it.

" - unusual atmospheric activity near the pole. The phenomenon, although without much consequence, is to be mentioned, as it is one never observed before. Now, for our evening's program, Matthew Ringwald."

Lois' mind starts racing.

The North pole, where Clark told her his father's ship was. Unusual atmospheric activity never observed before, except it had happened before, they just didn't know it. It happened, and she was there: she still has the scar from that night, the one he gave her when he saved her, just before the Kryptonian engine left the military watched area, three years years ago. The meters had gone nuts, according to what Professor Hamilton told her afterward, when they found her. Just like they must have done now.

Which meant the ship had been activated again. It had to; and if that was true, then -

Straightening up on her couch, she closes her eyes, and puts all her energy in trying to breathe to slow her heartbeat.

She did that. She had done that a couple of times, now, in fact: eight months ago, when one of her sources told her about heavy military presence in Kansas, she had everything but run down to Smallville, leaving her on-going investigation on the spot to head there – to him. When some people claimed to have seen a mysterious vigilante in Tokyo, she had harassed her Chinese sources for three days straight, until she realized that had nothing to do with what she was looking for - who she was looking for.

Both times, she had to face the reality and accept that it was nothing more than her grief and despair, nothing more than her trying to make her delusional hopes come true. Both times, her heart broke all over again.

And yet, she couldn't seem to accept it. Why would she?

It just couldn't be true. He was indestructible, had been for thirty-five years: he had lost consciousness under water for hours, run through flames and got out unscattered, had taken bullets in the heads – and every time, every time, he had made it.

Was it so foolish to think that this time, it would just take a little more time for him to be okay again? Was it so foolish to think that this time, he would come back, too, eventually?

She knew it couldn't be, though. For one, if Superman had come back, someone would have seen him; North pole or not, he would have to have get there from Smallville, and someone would have to had seen him. Martha would have called. Bruce or Diana would have called.

He would have come see her.

Changing the channel, Lois shakes herself, trying with all she has to stop her mind from wondering about the painful 'what if?'.

She doesn't sleep at all that night.

In the following days, she buries herself in her work.

If there's one thing she's learnt in the past fourteen months, it's that when that hole in her chest is hurting too bad, or when all she can think about are gentle blue eyes, dark hair and a beautiful smile from another world, the only thing that can distract her is precisely that: putting herself completely into her story, only stopping to pass out for a few hours at the end of the day.

She's not exactly sure it's healthy, and she's positive her mother and Martha would definitively have something to say about it, but that's the only solution she came up with so far.

As much as she tries to pretend it did, the feeling – she doesn't want to call it hope, but it is, and she hates herself for it – hasn't completely left her.

Two days after that report, she had broke and called Bruce: if someone knew something she didn't, it would be him. Him and Diana have been busy looking for other metahumans, as they called them. People different, with abilities. Lois isn't sure why he admitted that to her, or why Diana keeps her informed; probably the guilt of surviving when he didn't. Whatever the reason, she knows she can count on them to tell her the truth.

And the truth was, he didn't know anything about it, and neither did the Amazon Princess.

"I didn't look into that thing at the North Pole, no, but I didn't notice anything special. I don't think Diana did, either. Why?"

Ignoring her heart dropping in her chest, she closed her eyes, her grip tightening a little on her phone. "No reason. It's – nothing."

"Lois - "

"So, did you finally find him? Barry Allen, I mean."

After that, she tries to think about her on-going article, and nothing else – and succeeds, for the most part. She starts as soon as she gets up, fills in Perry daily, trying to ignore his occasional worried looks, and is out chasing for more intels until – well, there's not really a time limit. All that's waiting for her is an empty apartment, now, after all.

It is after one of those days that, for the second time, her world is completely turned around.

It's 10:30 pm when she gets back home, tired, but happy: it took her ten days, but she finally put her hand on those Senators' names she was missing. She still has to meet one of her sources for more details about one of them, but she has her article.

She knows that won't last – because at one point, the lack of work makes her mind wander where it shouldn't – but for now, she's glad it's the weekend. Not having to worry about what time she has to wake up in the morning, she makes herself a bath, and relaxes as the hot water almost burn her skin.

Closing her eyes, she passes her hand on her neck again, moving it slowly to try to make the ache go. It's almost subconscious, now.

She has just slipped into one of Clark's flannel shirt when there's a knock on the door. Closing the closet, she smiles, well-aware of who it is: they hadn't really known her all that well, but ever since...ever since she's been alone, Mrs Grantham, the lady living on the apartment above theirs, brought her meals once a month.

She never mentioned why she did it, but it was pretty clear: she just showed up, a warm, gentle smile on her face, and filled Lois about what was going on on the building.

"Hi, Mrs - "

Except it's not Mrs Grantham. It's not her, and it's someone she doesn't expect, because she stops herself from expecting him every single day when she wakes up.

"Hey", and here it is, that deep, low voice she has almost forgotten, she realizes; there's no mistaken, though. It's exactly the same one she remembers, when she knows it can't be.

It just can't.

Yet, it's the same silhouette, too, tall and muscled, the same frame she loves so much. It's the same face, the same square jaw, although now covered with a slight beard, the same blue eyes, although at the moment there's apprehension behind them, the same small smile, although it's uncertain.

Her mind goes completely blank.

She has no coherent thought whatsoever, as if she has been hit so hard it just made her brain stop functioning. She vaguely wonders if she has fallen asleep without realizing it, or if weeks of repressed grief and pain have finally driven her mad.

She stares.

Her blues eyes are fixed on his, and she can't neither think nor move.

She doesn't know how long she stays like that, but at some point, his lips are moving again. "Lois?", he asks, and although it seems like it's coming from far away, it still brings her back to reality.

He looks worried now, but she doesn't understand, can't process what's happening, because there's suddenly too much going on at once in her head. There's thoughts, there's what she's seeing, or thinks she's seeing, because it could be her imagination, or just a dream, but at the same time, it doesn't feel like one. Yet life isn't that good, it doesn't just answer all your prayers and tearful pleas, and the idea that this is really happening, to her, is absurd.

But it's this face, the one that she fell in love with years ago, that she thought about every day since, and even more ever since he died – because he did, he died. He sacrificed himself, and her world broke into pieces, and now she doesn't understand.

She starts panicking.

Her eyes still can't seem to leave his as she feels her heart beating faster and faster, and she's vaguely aware she's started to shake, as well. Not only is she frozen in place, she also feels like all the air has left the apartment.

"I don't -" she hears herself start, but it's the only words that make it.

He's here.

He died, she held his lifeless body between her arms, and she dreamed and dreamed about having him back, and now, he's here. Clark's here.

"Is it really you?", she manages, and it must be, because he nods, and there's that kindness in his eyes that she has never seen in nobody else's. It's not possible, and yet, it's true.

After all, that's always been his thing: she never thought it would be possible for her to fall, really fall for someone, and then he came. She never thought it would be possible that someone could make her, realistic and as a consequence cynic journalist, see humanity a totally different way, and then he came.

She'd lose hope she would ever see him again, and here he is.

Lois is suddenly hit with so much relief she thinks she could cry – she probably is.

"You came back", and now she knows she is, because she feels the sob breaking through her before she completely breaks down. She's in his arms before she even realizes it, and it's so warm, so safe, so familiar, the only thing she can do is cling to his shirt and bury her face in his neck.

He's whispering words of comfort to her, lips on her neck, and she moves to put her arms around his neck and hold tight, because if all of this is real, if for some reason, she's lucky enough to have her life back, she's never letting go again.

After the first days following his disappearance, she thought she had used all the tears she had in her body, but here she is, letting it all out all over again: the gut wrenching pain, the months of loneliness, the regrets, the constant hole she hasn't stop feeling since that day. He's slightly rocking her, his hands gently running on her shoulders and back, one of them settling on her nape.

It's the way he usually holds her when he wants to comfort her, the only way someone has ever manage to make her feel better. It's him, she knows it's him, and, it makes her cry even more.

In her tears, Lois mumbles how much she's missed him; he kisses her head, and she can't remember anything feeling better.

"I know", Clark whispers softly. "I'm here now, it's okay." Of all the times she has heard people tell her that in the past year, she has never believed them once; but he're here, and, as she's always have, him, she believes.

She pulls back, at one point, because she needs to see his face again, to touch it as she had needed to for months. He's smiling at her, hands still holding her close, so wonderfully close, and she let her fingers rediscover every contour of his features.

It's surreal.

"Hi", Clark says again, nuzzling her.

"Hey." Her face might split her grin is suddenly so big; she's pretty sure it's the highest emotional roller coaster she'll ever experience. "I can't believe you're really here", she whispers stupidly. Smiling, he brings his forehead to hers, and her eyes close at the forgotten sensation.

"I'm sorry I left you alone", he whispers, and she holds his body even closer to hers. He closes the distance and kisses her, and, as cliché as it sounds, there's no words.

She feels him move away, but she doesn't let him. Not yet - and probably not ever again. He obliges, of course, he always does, and she relishes in that moment in which it's just him, and nothing else. The air missing from her lungs is the only thing that makes her finally pull away, and he smiles at her again, lips travelling on her cheek, on her nose, on her chin as she locks her arms behind his neck."Oh my God..."

"You can still call me Clark, you know."

His eyes meet hers, and suddenly she's laughing, because he's such a dork, always have been, and in the blink of an eye she has him back, teasing her just like he always does. Its feels like her life has been put on a terrible hold, and is all of the sudden being put into play again.

She laughs and kisses at the same time as her chest suddenly feels like exploding in the most perfect way.

"Can I come home now?"

"Yes", she mouths, hands running in his thick hair. "Yes, please."

In a lot of ways, she processes his return just like she did his death: shock, denial, confusion, feeling so much things she might go insane.

The three first stages, she experiences right there at their front door. The last, she does in their bedroom, nothing else but gentle touches, muffled moans and hungry kisses under the soft cotton sheets.

Lois knows they have a lot to talk about. She has a million questions to ask him – how he came back, when, what's going to happen next – and he probably has, too, but for now, this is all she wants, the only thing she needs: him.

Just him.

"I love you", she whispers against his lips, settled on his laps, arms firmly locked around his neck and legs around his hips. He smiles at that, pressing his body even closer, and his hands gently run over her bare thighs. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Have you seen your mother yet?", Lois asks softly as her fingers run over his face, basked in the moonlight coming through the drapes. She can't seem to stop touching him.

"Yeah...She fainted, actually. I nearly gave her a stroke", he frowns, apparently not completely over the incident, and Lois immediately comes to soften the space between his brows.

"I can understand that", she smiles gently, an he smiles back, face inches away from hers on his pillow. "And I'm sure she didn't mind when she regain consciousness."

"She didn't, no. Which I didn't really understand, at first: she was crying, and I didn't really remembered things clearly, so -"

"You didn't remember?", and this time it's her time to frown.

"Not really. I woke up alone on my father's spaceship, not in my – well, grave. It took me a while to feel normal again; I remembered Luthor, the fight, but – not everything. I was a little weak, disorientated, and I couldn't really think straight."

"Are you okay now?", she asked, hand momentarily stopping her movement in his dark hair.

"I'm fine", and his fingers keeps drawing patterns on the small of her back to calm her. "Lois, look", he continues when he sees she's not convinced, putting her hand on his smooth hairy chest. "Not even a scar", he smiles at her, and she nods, trying to forget the images of the hole that was there the last time she saw him.

It must show, because he leans in, kissing her gently. "Everything's fine now", and she manages to smile a little for his sake.

"So, what did you do afterwards?"

"I came here, actually."

"You what?", she suddenly raises herself on her elbow. "When?"

Clark turns on his back to see her better, a hand behind his head. "Last night. And I didn't come in", he continues before she has the chance to ask, "because I couldn't tell exactly what was going on. When I arrived in Metropolis, I saw which date it was – which year – and I started to understand. But I didn't know where you stood, exactly. I saw you were okay, and I didn't want to perturb you without knowing what was going on, so I - "

"Went and made your mother faint instead?"

"Pretty much, yes", he smiles, still a little guilty. "And after she calmed down, and made me take a shower, and fed me enough food to be full for three days, she told me everything."

Of course, Lois doesn't mind that he talked to his mother first; she wouldn't have even if he had gone to check on and see her first, really. She isn't mad, just confused.

"Did you think I was with someone else or something?", she asked, puzzled.

"Not that specifically, but - I had been gone for more than a year, Lo. I didn't know what could have possibly happen during that time, and if you had move on, I didn't want to come and ruin everything head first just because I needed to be with you", he says simply.

She just looks at him at that, still the same sincere and selfless man he always have been, and, one hand resting on his chest, she leans down to kiss him. She hopes he understands all that she means by it.

"I never wanted anyone else", she whispers, and moves her hand to his square jaw.

The mood suddenly changes, though, when, with a frown, she realizes something. She starts chuckling, dropping her head on his chest as her laughing builds up, and soon, she can't stop.

"What?", he frowns, but there's amusement in his eyes when she looks up at him.

"Nothing, it's just – With that all super vision thing you have going on, you really didn't notice all your things were still here?"

"Well, I didn't exactly look in every closet", he starts to argue, cheeks getting slightly pink.

"Clark, there's still pictures of you all over the apartment."

"I was focused on you, not the apartment!"

"I was wearing your shirt!", and now he really is embarrassed, and she can't stop laughing, dropping sloppy kissing on his lips to make him forgive her. He's chuckling with her, in the end, and she catches him looking at her with that look.

She can't remember the last time she has been this happy.

She yelps when he suddenly flips her on her back, threatening something about it being pretty reckless to make fun of Superman and, cradling his face in her hands, Lois gladly accepts her punishment and kisses him back.

One of his hands comes to rest over hers, and he freezes. Clark doesn't say anything for a few seconds, and stares at the hand he's now holding – her left hand.

She's starting to get worried when he looks back at her again, as if waiting for her to deny something. When she doesn't, that beautiful grin of his slowly grows on his face, and even if she doesn't really understand what's gotten into him, she can't help her own stupid one.

"So I guess you've been talking to my mom, huh?", he beams, and that's when it hits her. Oh, come on.

"Did you seriously just notice that right now?", she asks as he straightens up and focuses on her hand again, and even if she's making fun of him, there's something close to apprehension building in the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah, well, again, my attention was somewhere else", and this time, he doesn't care enough about looking foolish to appear embarrassed. He simply looks at her, suddenly serious. "Should I take that as a yes, then?"

It's ridiculous.

She knows it's ridiculous, because she knew. She knew he wanted to propose to her: ever since Martha had handed that package to her, back in Smallville, the thought has always been in her mind. Thoughts of how he would have ask her, had he had the time; if he would have gotten on his knee; if he already had plans for how the wedding would go, because he had to know she'd say yes.

She knew, but the stupid thing in her chest doesn't seem to care, because it skips a beat at his words.

For a second, all she can do is look at him, and she struggles to come up with something other than gaping.

"To what?", she finally manages in what comes out as an innocent tone, and she's glad to hear that her voice isn't betraying what's she feeling inside as she tries to keep a straight face. "I don't remember you asking anything."

He chuckles then, and, nodding to himself, lets go of her. "True." Pushing the covers away, Clark gets out of bed, and, in nothing but his underwear, gets down on one knee in front of the mattress – in front of her.

"May I?", he gestures to her fingers, and, still clutching the sheets to her naked chest, she takes her ring off for the first time, and hands it to him. Before she can retrieve it, he catches her hand.

"Lois Joanne Lane, love of my life", he starts, and she holds on tight to him to make sure it's all real. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that that ring was first handed to you by mother and, well, the American mail services", and she laughs, poker face be damned. "But will you make me the happiest Kryptonian on Earth, and marry me?"

She nods, nods like a maniac, and it's lucky he has super hearing, because she's sure there's no other way he would have hear her muffled, high pitched 'yes', the only sound she can muster. But he doesn't seem to care, because he just puts the ring back on her left finger, and before she knows it, she's on her back again, Clark right over her.

She can feel his grin against her own when he kisses her.

The light finally wakes her up.

She doesn't open her eyes yet, though, way too comfortable to think about getting up. Slowly, Lois starts to take in her surroundings: the noise from the city, the sun warming her exposed leg. The one that's entangled with hers, the arm across her waist, the steady breath on her nape.

It's the first time in months that she doesn't wake up with that painful weigh on her chest.

He's still sleeping, and that's okay. She had made fun of him one day, when she caught him watching her one particular morning he woke up before her ("Some would consider it romantic, you know." "And some would consider it creepy and something a psychopath does before getting out his knife."). Today though, she doesn't even fight the urge to do it herself.

God knows how much she longed to see that face again.

She's careful as she turns in his arms, smiling when, at her movements, he unconsciously secures his hold on her.

Lois is aware she's staring again, cuddled in his blue flannel shirt on one of the table's chairs, knees to her chest, a coffee warming her hands. She can't really help it, though: in the light on the day, it seems even more difficult to believe.

As stupid as it sounds, she's also afraid that somehow, if she closes her eyes for too long, it would all be gone again.

That he will be gone again.

After all, whose prayers get answer like that? That must be her reality though, because the slightly mocking tone she's hearing right now sounds wonderfully real.

"Earth to Lane?", he asks as he busies himself in the kitchen, juggling between eggs, bacon and something smelling like heaven. His eyes sparkles with amusement, brows up as if he is waiting for an answer.

"Sorry", she smiles. "You were saying?"

He brings two plates, dropping one in front of her and a small kiss on her lips, and she's glad when he moves his chair a little closer to her, apparently craving for proximity as much as she does. "I said, I think I should contact Bruce Wayne."

"So soon?" is the first thing that she blurts out, and she damns herself for sounding so much like a spoiled child.

"I'm not going now", he says sweetly, his hand brushing her thigh. "But I guess I'll have to, eventually: if there's something suspect about the way I returned, he's the one that can help me figure it out. The Batman's still here, right?"

"He is, yeah", she says, picking up on her food. "Although he doesn't really operate as he used to", and she smiles at Clark's questioning look. "He abandoned the torture and Bat marks, for once. And he mostly hands the criminals to the police right away, now. Superman's death inspired a lot of people, apparently", and she sticks her fork a little too hard in her bacon at that.

"Isn't that a good thing?", he asks, careful, apparently aware that he's touching a delicate subject.

She feels his eyes on her, but doesn't look up. "Yeah, of course it is."

"Lois, what is it?"

"Nothing." He just waits, and she gives in. "They don't deserve you", she blurts out, finally meeting his confused eyes.

"What?"

"They don't deserve you: none of them", and despite herself, all the anger and resentment she's been feeling for the past year takes over. "They've been making a fuss of mourning, building monuments, arranging parades when in the last days before you were killed, they were accusing you of being a powerful tyrant, not even wanting to see that is was their beloved Luthor behind of all that. They -"

She's breathing a little faster now, but she catches herself, and try not to raise her voice. It's not him she's mad at.

"They don't deserve you - Humanity doesn't deserve you. I know it won't change the way you feel about them, and that you'll always be Superman; I'm not even trying to change that. I'm sorry, I just -"

"Hey." His hand comes to rest on her neck, thumb running on her cheek, and she leans into his touch for a second. She finally looks up, only to see a smile full of compassion. "I'm sorry you had to live through all that."

"I know", she mumbles. "I'm sorry, I know they're not all like that, it's just...I mean, you should have seen those politicians. McGarrett, Hannigan, suddenly stopping worshiping their pal Luthor, saying they "always knew he was dark"", and God, how she hates them.

"Yeah...But from what my mom told me, reporter Lois Lane punched one of them pretty hard, in one of the hearings", he smirks, and she relaxes again.

"You should have seen him", she snorts as he chuckles. "He cried."

Later, she tells him.

Not everything, of course. He doesn't need to know everything, whether it's the constant pain she had to grow accustomed to, or the worst days, where she felt like she could die. (He doesn't push, but from his looks and comforting touches and kisses, she knows he's well aware, anyway.) It's been the worst experience of her entire life, and she still remembers the pain, the heartaches; but he's here with her now, and it's okay.

Instead, she tells him how his mother, and even her own family, tried to help, how Perry watched over her, how even Lombard had made an effort to become less of a pain.

She even jokes that she's mostly glad he's back because she seriously missed her own personal warming, hugging and cooking machine, and she smiles when he laughs.

They're talking about the other metahumans; sitting at the end on the table, Lois has just shown him the files Bruce send her about those three very particular people, two of which him and Diana have already tracked down.

She doesn't even notice she's doing it until he stops her.

Gently pushing her hand from where it moves on her neck in yet another attempt to finally untie the knot there, he replaces it with his own, and starts massaging. He doesn't even stop talking, eyes still focus on her computer screen as he exposes his theories to her; it's just a reflex.

Lois glances at him, staring for a few seconds, and focuses back on the computer with a small smile, her own hand settling on his thigh as she leans into him.

He gets ride of the knot.