DC Oneshots

Too Many Tears

Takes place shortly after the events of All Shook Up.

Too Many Tears

7:05. Smallville is five minutes late. No matter. If my instincts are right . . . and I'm usually never wrong . . . Clark Kent is probably saving a horde of orphans from a burning building. From day one a small part of me always suspected Clark Kent and Superman are one and the same. Though I never could prove it before. He comes on with that big, innocent farm boy routine, but I can see right through that faster than a speeding bullet. Clark Kent is the worst liar in the cosmos. How many times is he gonna use the excuse 'I forgot to return a DVD to Blockbuster,' when he flees to go save the day? Pathetic.

That kiss sealed his fate. No man can kiss like Clark Kent, and trust me I've kissed a fair amount of super frogs before I met him. It took one kiss from the Man of Steel and I knew in my bones, that my boyfriend was masquerading as a vigilante in his spare time. I think of Superman going missing after Nightfall nearly struck Earth, and my blood runs cold.

It's okay. Nightfall is in the past. Clark is no longer the walking poster boy for amnesia; he is back to full strength, or at least I think he is. Flying headlong into an asteroid the size of a small planet, had to have done some long-lasting damage. But he's Superman! The Nightfall incident happened weeks ago. If there was any damage to be worried about, surely we would have seen some signs by now? Then again, kryptonite is about as predictable as a hangover and twice as deadly. There is no telling what sort of effect a planet-size of kryptonite . . .

Cut it out, Lois. You're supposed to be angry with him, not a worried mother hen. He lied to you. Plain and simple. A loud ding beeps in the apartment and for a heartbeat, I think Clark is here. But then I realize it's the timer on the oven letting me know the chocolate chip cookies are ready. He better have a good excuse for keeping me on the sidelines. I do not bake for just anybody.

I take the cookies out of the oven and set them on the counter. I scan the clock by the microwave again. It reads 7:15. Maybe he ran into Intergang goons with Apocalypse tech. They did quite a number on Superman last year; he was missing from work for a week after they shot him with guns from Apokolips as hot as his heat vision. I won't be surprised if they left permanent scars on the Man of Steel. Or worse, he completely forgot about our date and is spending the night with Wonder Woman. The idea is so preposterous I laugh. Clark is no cheater.

I busily start to rearrange the living room. I shove the mini sofa towards the spherical window that has a great view of the city below. You can see all the way to the Daily Planet from here. It is the perfect spot to cuddle up together and confess I know his secret.

Finally, there is a tentative knock at the door. I can't get to the door fast enough. Before I open I do a quick survey of my outfit. Sparkly Superman dress. Check. Subtle makeup that would make Diana of Themyscira look like a middle schooler. Check. I rethink the Superman dress and dive into my closet to change into a sensible violet dress that Clark has liked on numerous occasions. In my haste to change, I knock over the lamp by my bed and it crashes to the floor.

"Lois?" Clark's voice echoes through the closed door. "Is everything alright?"

"One second Smallville!" I call into the next room loudly, but even if I whisper I am dead positive he can hear me. He could hear me call out for him even if I'm across the world in Timbuktu. He's fifteen minutes late, he can stand to wait five more minutes. I can see him in my mind's eye as clear as day leaning against the door, twiddling his thumbs impatiently, those azure eyes burning a hole into my door. He sure could burn a hole in my door if he felt like it.

Once I am certain I am presentable I open the door and immediately chastise myself for being overdressed. Clark Kent stands on my doorstep wearing a pair of loose torn jeans and a Daily Planet sweatshirt. His messy black hair a total rat's nest. Horn-rimmed glasses sit askew on his face as if he just ran into a wall and forgot to fix them. Sunken eyes peek through the glasses and I stifle a gasp. Doubt creeps into my mind. His eyes are so swollen and red he looks like he fought a horde of bees and lost.