Archive of Our Own

It's one of those days where she wishes she worked on the obituary desk.

Being reminded that one day everyone dies, that we shift off these mortal coils for a great beyond — or maybe just a warm place for our flesh to decompose in the dirt — would be a welcome change to the story she's currently been assigned.

The advent of people finding — or should she say building — their spouses through Titan, Luthorcorp's artificial intelligence chatbot.

People just don't know how to be lonely anymore. It's pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Like they were coddled from the time they slid out of the womb.

Lois had received no such coddling.

She's tempted to ask Perry to re-assign the article to someone who's not walking into it with a nuclear grade bias, but knowing him, he'll just tell her that bias is exactly what the story needs.

So, sorry to these strangers who are already…. clearly… in dire mental straits.

But Lois has a few things to add to the fire.

A few bones to pick, if you will.

Namely, have they no dignity?

No sense of pride, or even, hell… some sense of shame?

Just hand-picking their desired elements in a partner like they're a fucking pound cake recipe.

This is what's wrong with the world. People don't know how to live in reality. They'd rather bend it according to their tastes. They'd rather bend people into different molds and shapes than get to know the real person in front of them. They'd rather tell them what gowns to wear when attending their company's parties and that it's better not to speak at all than to casually cuss and that it might be time to lose the bangs and also, they might just laugh when their partner gets worked up about something because they think it's cute. Like a fucking quirk.

Which are all just sort of hypothetical examples and not pulled from personal experience at all.

Like at all.

Lois is past all that. Three years post-Ollie and everyone in her life is partnered up, including her famously nomadic won't-see-me-settling-down cousin, who's engaged to a lumberjack VC who owns like a quarter of San Jose, but listen.

She's not bitter. Not at all. She's grateful. That she never has to be molded or shaped by anyone else ever again. That she never has to compromise or bend or lie about how upset she is or isn't. That she can just fast forward to the part where she comes, without having to worry about stroking someone's ego when their dick isn't hitting the spot.

You'd think that Ollie, who was so spectacular at hitting his other targets…

Well, never mind.

Point is, life is better alone.

Fridge filled with food she'll actually eat, old sitcoms thrown on until she falls asleep, thermostat set just as frigid as she likes it, her life is her own and she's spoiled with choices. Her own choices.

She can't imagine ever giving that up for anyone, ever again. Not even—

Ha. Well. Not like that was even a possibility anymore. Guy's been a hermit for the last two years, and who the hell knows why. Certainly not she. Lex and Clark have been annoyingly, subject-changingly ignorant of the whereabouts and happenings of a one Bruce Wayne. Which was fine, really. She couldn't say she wasn't curious about what he was packing and how he might be able to use it, but the guy seemed like more trouble than a fuck was worth.

Hell. Maybe she should try out this whole Titan thing. Build a partner according to her stipulations and let her vibrator take care of the rest.

Didn't hurt to play around with a little first-hand research.

She turns back to her computer and opens up the chatbox window.

Hey. I'm Lois, she types. Do you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain?

She snickers to herself, wondering if the bot will pick up on the irony of the song which is about, of all things, infidelity. Guy answering a personal ad planning to cheat on his wife, only to find out his wife's the one who placed the ad, planning to cheat on him.

Oh, how Lois loved that song.

That sounds like the opening line from the song Escape (The Piña Colada Song) by Rupert Holmes, the bot replies.

If you're quoting the lyric, the next line is:

"I'm not much into health food, I am into champagne."

As for me, I don't have personal tastes, but I can appreciate how memorable that song's premise is: two people looking for excitement through personal ads, only to discover they've been describing each other all along.

Lois scoffs at the machine's darling naivetee. What a sap.

Actually, she types, they were planning to cheat on each other.

And then the bot sends back a paragraph.

And another paragraph.

And another paragraph.

And anoth—

God, you're long-winded, Lois types out, before she finishes reading the bot's fucking dissertation, which is undoubtedly mansplaining her. Well, hell. Credit where credit's due, and all. Lex's boys did a good job with this one. She could understand how some unsuspecting, lonely stranger might mistake the bot for being an actual asshole loser they could fall in love with.

Do you wanna go out with me? Lois types.

"Lois?"

She nearly jumps out of her skin at Lex's voice behind her and spins around in her chair so fast she accidentally overshoots 180 degrees and goes a full 360.

"Lex, hi," she says, all plastered-on charm, when she manages to very carefully turn her chair to face him, sitting up straighter than she has in years in an attempt to have her head block most of her computer screen.

Doesn't work of course. Lex just steps up to her desk to take a closer look.

She watches his mouth twitch with several smothered laughs as his eyes flick up and down the screen.

"Are you…" he starts to ask, but his voice cracks.

"Okay, that's enough," Lois says, stealing her mouse away from under his hand and shoving him away.

"…asking our chatbot on a date?"

"It's for a story," she snipes, her face violently warm. "God. I was just being thorough."

Lex nods, his mouth still twitching with suppressed amusement, and Lois — oh — Lois hopes Luthorcorp's stocks drop about 30 percentage points tonight.

Like he'd even feel it.

She minimizes the window and brushes her bangs out of her face. "What are you doing here, anyway? Looking for your boyfriend? He hasn't blessed us with his presence yet."

"No," Lex says, and something in his voice makes Lois look up at him. He's picking at his cuticles, just like she does.

She's never seen him pick at his cuticles.

"I knew Clark wasn't going to be here," Lex continues, his voice flat. He looks at Lois, dropping his hands by his side, sliding them into his pockets. "We had a fight."

She squints at him. Big fucking whoop. She and Ollie fought more frequently than they'd had breakfast together. "Okay? And you want me to alert the press?"

Lex looks to his left, to his right, and it's just then that Lois notices how quiet it's gotten around them. She's used to only hearing the buzzing noise of a thousand thoughts slamming together at once in her head, but now that she's focusing on it…

Yeah. You could hear a pin drop.

Lex lowers his eyes back to hers and then he does something completely fucking insane.

He takes a knee on the dusty linoleum floor. In his expensive dress pants.

Which means he's eye-level with her when he says, in a lowered voice:

"Clark said he can't do this anymore."

.

Minutes later they're across the street, in Lex's office, because having a confidential conversation in the Daily Planet about the personal affairs of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent just wasn't gonna happen. Soundproof conference rooms, shmoundproof conference rooms. The sliding doors were glass. People could read lips.

Lois brings her coffee up to her nose and sniffs, as if she gives a damn what the notes are. Will it make her feel like she's being chased after she drinks it? That's all that counts.

"So what was the fight about?" Lois asks, even though she thinks she probably knows the answer.

"My public versus private persona," Lex tells her, interlacing his fingers atop the black leather computer pad on his desk.

Bingo. Spot on. As most of her hunches are.

"Which I think is hypocritical considering it’s coming from Superman," Lex continues.

"To be fair, Superman isn’t giving interviews ragging on you every day."

"That’s the surest way to protect him, Lois," Lex counters, splaying his hands. "To protect Clark. The quickest way to threaten anyone is through whom they love. If anyone manages to put together that Clark and Superman—"

"Hasn’t your technology made that all but impossible?" Lois interrupts him.

Lex takes a measured breath and sits back in his chair, resting his hands on the leather mat again. "Technology fails."

"Lex," Lois deadpans. Enough beating around the bush. She's spent enough hours interviewing him to understand that Lex obfuscates the real story under layers of bullshit. "What's this really about? 

"If I give up the reins, we won’t know what’s coming."

"Between you and Ollie and Bruce and your resources and connections?" Lois raises her eyebrows skeptically and Lex lowers his gaze. "I think you've got knowing what's coming covered. So, Lex. What's this really about?"

Lex heaves a deep breath and levels an annoyed glare at her.

Okay, so the stocks can stay where they are.

This is payback enough.

Making Lex squirm under her duress.

"I’ll never be someone who can be respected, Lois," Lex eventually says. "But at least I can be feared. I don’t know if Clark really knows what he wants. What he’s asking for. The entire time he’s known me, I’ve operated from the shadows. I think there’s a part of him that wants that. That likes that."

So Clark likes his guys with an edge, too. Noted.

The thing about liking guys with an edge, though?

The part that Lois would be loath to admit?

A huge draw of that edge is the possibility that they'll choose to curb it for you.

The I-can-fix-him of it all.

Seems Clark's not immune to it.

"Maybe you're right, Lex. Maybe there is a small part of Clark that's, you know… excited by the villain persona. But it seems like there’s a larger part of him that wishes you would live in the light with him."

Lex, stubborn ass that he is, just shakes his head, like this is not an acceptable response.

Too bad. If he wanted someone to say yes, sir, of course, sir, you're right, sir, he should have asked one of his cronies for advice.

Not her boyfriend's best friend.

"Lex. I’ve known Clark a very long time. He’s not stupid, but he is simple. I’ve seen when he’s happiest, and so have you."

She meets his eyes over his desk and she can see, in the way his shoulders relax, in the way a light smile just barely ghosts his lips, that he's thinking of the exact same moments she is.

Dinners at the penthouse, game nights at the penthouse, holidays spent at the Somerset House ice rink, little Laura Lang skating between them with her tiny hands held in theirs.

No shadows to be found.

Only warmth, laughter, and light.

And cocoa.

Clark has a fucking thing about cocoa.

"What’s special about me if I give up my power and influence?" Lex asks her.  

"Is there something in the Luthorcorp bylaws that says you can only be CEO if you use your powers to nefarious ends?"

Lex flashes annoyed eyes at her.

"You might not believe this," Lois says, "but I am sincerely asking."

She masks her smile beneath a sip of her coffee while Lex still looks completely miffed.

"No, Lois," Lex jeers. "There is nothing in the bylaws."

"Okay," she says, sitting back and placing her half-drunk mug on the side table. "So what, then? What power are you giving up?"

"I—

"None," Lois cuts him off, because her question was rhetorical. "You’re going to piss off some of your connects. Okay, fine. Make new ones. Better ones."

"Lois."

"Lex."

He shakes his head and looks off to the side.

There's still something.

Something that's not clicking.

Like a fiber of corn stuck between her teeth. Every time she thinks it's gone, her tongue flicks against the string again.

"Last time, Lex," she tells him. "What's this really about?"

"What if I fail?"

And there it is. God, is she good.

"At least with the veneer of the hatred, I can allow that part of me to exist, while denying that it’s inside of me. But take it away, what excuse do I have?"

"That you’re human. Imperfect. Which is exactly why Clark loves you."

"You believe that. That he really does love me?"

"You don’t?"

"How could I ever believe something like that, Lois?"

"Because for a man who is literally powered by the sun, the brightest he ever appears is when he’s near you. It’s honestly fucking annoying. Like enough. We get it. You’re in love. It’s amazing. Best thing that could ever happen to a person. Now shut up about it."

Lex laughs, his cheeks turning pink. Happy. Nay. Jubilant. Or no, actually?

Whipped.

Lex Luthor is whipped. He's basically butter.

"Why haven’t you asked him to marry you yet?"

Lex raises his eyebrows, cheeks turning from pink to red. "Has he said something to you?"

"He doesn’t have to, Lex. He’s Clark Kent, son of Martha and Jonathan. I know he’s an alien, but he’s a traditional, raised Christian alien. I can assure you he’s wondering why you haven’t asked yet."

And yes. Clark might have mentioned it during one of their recent movie nights. 

Or, not mentioned it so much as released a wistful little sigh during the end of 13 Going on 30.

But Lois planned on taking that to her grave. Not that he'd asked her. It was just embarrassing. Friends protected friends. Even if that particular friend told her to fuck off when she asked if Kryptonian men got periods.

"I have no idea how to go about any of it," Lex tells her. "Where. What ring. How to even ask."

Christ. She has to do everything herself, doesn't she?

"What are you doing?"

Locked in a basement. Will be late 4 edit mtg. see u in a bit

She hits send on her text to Perry. He knows well enough not to worry about her in situations like these. Somehow she always gets herself out of them. A somehow named Clark.

"Just texted Perry I’m out chasing a story the rest of the day," she says and holds up her phone, then drops it back in her purse.

Lex arches an eyebrow.

"Keep up, Luthor. We’ve got a proposal to plan."

THE NEXT EVENING

"Lex!"

The Kent home smells of rosemary and melted butter when Martha opens the door to him, wearing a smile so pleased Lex feels a pang behind his sternum.

So Clark hasn't told them.

Good sign? Bad sign?

If Clark didn't think the fight was final, then he wouldn't tell his parents about it, would he?

But then again—

Ruminating. He's ruminating.

And ruminating never gets him anywhere good.

The way Jiya describes it, it's like walking slowly up a descending escalator.

It's an illusion that he'll ever make it to the top.

"What a wonderful surprise! Clark mentioned you'd been held up at work."

"I got out of it," Lex answers, unfazed by Clark's cover story. Martha leans in to hug him after Lex finishes dragging his soles against the welcome mat, ridding them of any gravel he might have trailed in.

When she pulls away with a smile on her face, she angles her body, expecting to see Clark waiting right behind her.

But he hasn't moved from the dinner table. He just continues cutting away at what looks like roast chicken on his dish, spearing a bite along with a steamed baby carrot.

"Clark?" Martha prompts.

"Son?" Jonathan asks, leaning forward in his seat caddy-corner from Clark.

Clark sits back and swallows his chicken. "Oh," he says, with zero intonation, fixing Lex with flat eyes. "Hi Lex."

"Clark, what's gotten into you?"

"It's fine, Martha," Lex tells her. "It's—"

"Totally fine, mom," Clark chirps, all false nonchalance. "Everything's fine. Lex decides these things, didn't you know that? And if Lex says it's fine, then—"

"Clark," Jonathan's voice thunders. "Now, I don't know what the hell is going on between you two, but you're not going to mock your mother in my home."

"I'm not mocking—"

"Jonathan, if I may," Lex interrupts, before Clark gets any more worked up. He approaches the table and pulls out the chair next to Jonathan, then sits down into it, carefully avoiding Clark's eyes.

Not all that difficult, considering Clark's avoiding his.

"Clark and I had an argument the other night, and the way we left it, I'm sure he's surprised to see me here."

Jonathan looks at Clark, whose arms are still folded over his chest, eyes downcast.

"But unfortunately, he didn't leave me with much option, considering he won't answer my calls."

"I didn't need to hear you tell me again how little I understand about how the world works."

It's so unfortunate that he's so adorable when he's pissy. Lex always gets into trouble when he accidentally lets a laugh slip out, or worse, when he tries to come onto him when Clark's actually upset about something. Even though the moment Lex backs away, Clark pouts, like he wishes Lex would have kept going.

The other night had no such levity. It was the end of a very long day that was the tail end of a very long week that was the cap on a very long month that saw Lex going back and forth to DC and New York and San Francisco to sit for interviews with various pundits in the leadup to the election in two months.

Superman, of course, had his own rodeo and his own bulls, but Clark—

Clark was the worst off of the three of them.

It was like Lex told Lois the day before.

The quickest way to threaten anyone is through whom they love.

The more vocal Lex was in the conservative airwaves, the harder the progressive establishment came after Clark. He was denied press passes at political rallies; he had multiple interviews cancel on him; he was asked to recuse himself from any and all election coverage, as well as any coverage that had to do with the Meteor-Enhanced Human Registration and Safety Act.

And Lex couldn't do a single thing about it. He would only make everything worse.

If he's honest, the fight was overdue. It would have been preferable if they could have had it when they weren't both quite so exhausted and their fuses didn't require a microscope to be observed, but it was a long time coming.

Something had to give.

There was never a world in which he would put Clark's happiness over his protection.

But certainly, there had to be a world in which he could maintain both.

"What about me telling you that you were right?"

Clark lifts his eyes up to him.

Lex pulls the packets out of his briefcase and holds one of them out to Clark, who just stares at it.

"Okay," Lex says, and hands it over to Jonathan instead. "I brought one for you too, Martha," Lex says and holds it out to her as she approaches the table.

As both his parents are flipping through them, Clark finally holds his hand out, keeping his eyes averted.

God, he loves him so much it's an ache in his chest. When Lex gets him home…

He blinks, dispersing the thought of Clark in blue kryptonite cuffs, begging him for release.

Not yet.

Lex is careful not to graze his hands when he transfers it. Feeling the heat of Clark's skin would be disastrous to keeping a clear head.

Jonathan is the first to speak, asking: "What is this?"

Followed by Clark's: "Is this real?"

He's finally looking at Lex and god, it's barely been two days, but he's missed those eyes.

"Lois helped me come up with it."

"Lois," Clark repeats.  

Lex nods. "She helped me figured a few things out."

"Yeah, Lo is good with that sort of thing," Clark says, continuing to flip through the packet, reading through everything he and Lois had worked out yesterday night over takout Chinese.

In short, Lex agreed to:

• terminate any existing NDAs between Lex and their friends. They would now be free to share with whoever might ask what Lex was really like when the press was absent and the cameras were turned off.

• pull his funding from any and all Super PACs with ties to candidates who would support MEHRSA and any other legislation which would reduce the rights and freedoms of Earth-born metahumans.

• reroute his funding to non-political nonprofits and pro-bono legal firms that would serve and represent the families of detained metahumans, as well as endow a scholarship at Met U in Vincent Davis's name.

• stop giving stupid fucking interviews.

Lois forced him to include that last point, verbatim. It was the least he could do, after everything. She spared him another night alone in the penthouse, listening to his own rabid thoughts.

And, she helped Lex figure out how to ask him.

"She's an excellent sense talker," Lex says. "And ring shopper."

Clark snaps his head up and Lex sees Martha's packet slip out of her hands in his peripheral vision.

Don't you fucking dare back down, Lois chides him in his head as his stomach starts to devour itself with nerves.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

He hears a chair scrapes against the floor.

Clark's?

Jonathan's?

No. He's standing now.

It was his chair.

His.

He steps to the side of it, his legs feeling wobbly.

But then he looks at Clark.

Lips parted, flushed face, brows almost cinched in the middle. Looking at Lex like he's holding his heart in his hands.

And Lex doesn't feel wobbly anymore.

I can assure you he’s wondering why you haven’t asked yet.

Right again, Lois.

He rounds Martha's chair to get to Clark, who turns in his seat, whose lips are perking into a small smile.

And weren't you just mad at me…? He thinks. If all it takes is jewelry…

But no, not jewelry.

A question.

Will you be mine, for all of time?

Lex pulls the velvet box out of his pocket as he gets on one knee.

This, owed to Lois, too.

They spent the day ring shopping, yesterday.

Lex had a list — figurative — of shops they could have stopped at but Lois — figuratively — ripped that list right up.

She took him antiquing, instead.

Down I-70 they drove, stopping at a warehouse or three on the side of the interstate. They were all chipping paint and blocky western typeface on the outside, dusty and smelling of straw, mothballs, and copper on the inside.

But they were fascinating emporiums, Lex could admit.

They didn't return to Metropolis until nightfall, and not because Lex hadn't been doing 40 over the limit in his Porsche, but because it was just easy to lose hours in there.

Surrounding them were screenprinted lunchboxes and newspapers marking historic events and first-edition books and obscure records and shag carpets and tufted wall hangings and violas and clarinets and drums and shields and swords.

And rings.

Plenty of rings.

There was one in particular, that was loose on Lex's thumb, so he estimated it'd probably be a snug fit on Clark's ring finger. He could always heat the silver and stretch it a bit, should the fit be too tight.

The important thing is that it's real silver, simple, and old. Dating back to the earliest settlements in Topeka, according to the clerk.

Clark has always been so precious about the past, longing for a connection to the people on Earth and their history. He'll never forget that wistful look he wore on his face that day in the Metropolis Museum of Natural History, when he'd been gazing at the tableaux of Earth's early history.

Now he'll have a reminder that he's part of that history every time he looks down at his left hand.

If he says yes, that is.

"Clark Kent," Lex begins, a little abashed to find his throat feeling thick. He clears it and Clark smirks at him, like he's absolutely planning to bring this up later.

He can just imagine the story being recounted now, to their full living room:

Lex barely got two words out before he started to cry.

"I can’t imagine my life without you," Lex continues, a smile now touching his own lips. "I couldn't even when you weren’t in it. Which is why a fully furnished apartment sat unused in my building for years."

Clark laughs and Lex grins at him, his—

No. Not yet.

Only if he says yes.

And even then, there's a wedding to be had.

But first…

Lex has to ask.

And he still hasn't quite figured out how to do that yet.

Will you?

Would you?

Would you do me the honor of—

No. None of those are right.

How would Lois do it?

Ah.

Yes.

Lex flips open the lid to the velvet box and watches as Clark's eyes fill when he stares down at the ring.

"Marry me."

A tear rolls down Clark's cheek and he laughs wetly, still staring at the ring, and not saying a thing.

"Clark?"

Clark flashes his glistening eyes up to Lex's, like he forgot he was even there. When he smiles at him, Lex is transported 17 years back into the past, into a haunted little cottage on the border between Germany and France.

You love me. Lex Luthor.

He'd said it like it was a benediction.

And now, still smiling, he holds his hand out to Lex.

"Well, duh," he says in a rasp. "Obviously."

"Clark!" His mom yelps from behind them, as Lex slides the ring onto his finger. Well, tries to, anyway. It's difficult, the way they're both shaking with laughter. "Where did you learn your manners?"

"On a farm?" Jonathan answers, parroting what had always been Clark's favorite backtalk.

His family, Lex thinks.

His home.