As heavy as can be.

I asked you a question and I didn't need you to reply

Is it getting heavy?

But then I realize, is it getting heavy

Well, I thought it was already as heavy as can be

Tell everybody waiting for Superman

That they should try to hold on the best they can

He hasn't dropped them, forgot them or anything

It's just too heavy for a Superman to lift

Is it getting heavy?

Well, I thought it was already as heavy as can be

He disappears for two weeks.

No, that's not true. He's everywhere.

He disappears from Lois' life. He doesn't call, doesn't write, doesn't reach out for her. The moment he left her arms in the destroyed train station, she lost him. A brief glance and a kiss to her cheek… and then he'd flown away into the city, between the slag and the dirt. He left her standing there alone, in a pile of garbage, while the dust in the air sticks to tears that are streaming down her face.

He was there between her arms, his face against her belly, her hands soothingly brushing his hair. For a brief second, she felt like he belonged to her, was hers to claim.

But then he was gone, and the truth sunk in. He wasn't hers anymore. He never was. He belongs to this planet, to its people. There were more important things to do than mourn, than hold her, and Lois knew that. She fears, although she will never recognize it, that there will always be more important things in his life.

So she tries to forget about him, tries to go back to her life, tries to help this town in a different way, in her own way. But it's not easy to forget him when he's everywhere (but besides her).

He is in every single news report, in every paper, his new name slips into every conversation, the casual and the serious. His symbol appears out of nowhere in between the ashes that lay where once Metropolis used to be, in posters and graffitis, in shirts and tattoos. The legend of Superman emerges from the remains of the city, and the citizens take what's left of them and rebuild themselves after his example.

He's almost a saint. An omnipresent hero. A silent protector. A ray of hope between the dust that still floats in the air.

Lois still has a hard time when she tries to breath that air. It feels heavy in her lungs, in her throat, as if she is inhaling every single scream that filled the city atmosphere in the past weeks. She can hardly sleep anymore, and she can't seem to bring herself to eat.

She writes, though. She can't think of a moment on her life when she couldn't write. She chuckles. She can't breath, she can't eat, she can't sleep and she can't love, but she still can take a piece of paper and a pen an disappear for two days, just to come back later with a new story between her hands.

She writes about him, of course. Two days after the invasion, she wrote a three page article about the whole shebang (well, not about everything. There are a few aspects of the story that she'd prefer to keep for herself, because a part of her likes to separate the story of Superman from the story of Lois and Clark). An hour after the papers where put on the stands, the Daily Planet was completely sold out. The internet version of the article broke every record in the world, and Lois knew that her name would always be related to the new hero.

She doesn't even want to think about how much that excites her.

Then, the phone started to ring. The FBI, the ONU, every single paper or news agency in the world, even the Pope himself. Everyone wanted to know more about Earth's new friend, and Lois was the only path that seemed to conduced to him.

She didn't say a world. Not a single thing.

"Miss Lane, you understand that this could be considered a case of treason?" a very serious, very tall man told her one afternoon, in her little cubicle at the bullet, while he looked at her as if she was crazy. (Maybe she is).

"I'm sorry, but if you want more information about him, you'd have to ask yourself" she answered, using the same generic phrase that she used in every meeting, every phone call, every email.

"And, how am I supposed to do that?" the man asked, in a sigh.

"I think he's repairing the highway bridges this morning. I'd say you can start with that" she said, pointing in the direction of the little Tv that showed Superman and a few more workers trying to straighten the iron bars of what it used to be a bridge.

The man only gave her a side glance, filled with hatred, before he left the building without saying nothing more.

But she can't always handle the situation so gracefully. Not this afternoon, at least. When the phone rings for what it feels like the millionth time, she freaks out. She ends up screaming at Perry and Jimmy and everyone around her, and White just sends her home.

She leaves the office, but she doesn't go home. Instead, she takes the elevator and climbs to the last floor, to where they keep the office supplies and that kind of stuff, carrying only a coffee and her purse. She sits in a box, takes off her shoes, and looks out of the window. She can see the ruins from here, the baste space where once there were buildings and shops, cars and noise, life in its most common expression. Now there's nothing. She tries to remember how it was before. The little Gelatto shop two blocks down to her right, the place where she used to buy old records and books, the park outside the Central Police Station where she liked to sit in her lunch breaks. Everything is gone. It's been ripped away from them.

Paradoxically, she feels empty and, yet, there's a burden in her chest that doesn't let her breath.

And then, when she feels like everything in her world has fell apart… she sees him. She stands up, and the coffee slips from her hands and falls to the floor. She breaths for the first time in weeks.

He's nothing more than a blue and red trail that stands out between the gray tones of the concrete. He flies between the buildings on the other side of the street, as if he's checking the ruins, supervising them, and Lois walks to the window, laying her hand and her forehead against it, smiling like and idiot.

"Clark…" she says, in a whisper that is barely audible and that slips unconsciously from her lips, as a tear slides down her cheek, the same cheek he kissed the last time they saw each other.

But he hears her. He appears in front of her so fast that she thinks she's imagining it. There he is, on the other side of the window, his cape floating in the breeze, his eyes glimmering under the sun.

"Lois…" he says, and even thought she can't really hear his voice through the thick glass, she knows he's calling her. It's not his voice what she feels. His eyes are doing the work. She presses both of her hands to the glass, and he comes closer to it, resting his hand in the other side. He looks tired. His hair is messy and there are bags under his eyes, and Lois wonders if he's reached his ceiling. Is that even possible?

"Come home. Please." she begs. She can't even control the longing in her voice, but she doesn't really care. He half smiles, looking down, and Lois is about to ask him to shred the glass into pieces and take her away from everything, to another time and place, away from the phones and the bridges, away from the Daily Planet and the cape.

He looks at her then, and nods. He's smiling so brightly that she feels her knees going weak.

"I'll be there" he's saying.

"I'll be waiting" she responds. He slowly flies away from the glass, from the window, from her. But his eyes don't leave Lois' face until he turns to the right and disappears between the buildings.

She races down to the street, races to the only functional train station, races to her apartment.

The blush on her cheeks and the smile on her lips never leave her face.

-oo-

Her apartment is nothing fancy or big, really. She does make good money from her job, and she could live in the prettier side of the city, in a nice loft with a good view. Still, she never seemed to be able to leave the place that saw her in her very first steps as a writer. She loves her little nest. Loves to come home after a long day at work, or after three months in the middle of the desert, where she's been living in a tent while trying to gather information for her next story.

She's always loved this place but now, for the first time, she feels insecure about it. How is she supposed to receive the World's greatest hero in here? It's not even clean. But, then again, nothing is really clean in this town anymore.

And, what does he eat, anyway? Does he like wine? Can he even drink it, for the matter? She has some, somewhere. She knows she had a few bottles somewhere. But that's pretty vague.

She goes down street, to the little market that is always open, and buys two bottles of wine, some vegetables and a frozen chicken. She buys some chocolate, too, because she figures that's something so universal, that even a kryptonian would like it.

She's about to put the key in the lock when she feels it. She knows this sensation, the feeling when you know what's about to happen, a hunch. Her whole professional life is cemented around her intuition.

She tries to fix her hair a little before she opens the door. And there he is, sitting in her little kitchen, reading the Daily Planet.

"You look beautiful, you don't have to fix anything" he says, standing up, and Lois throws the bags into the couch and runs into his arms, holding him close, breathing in his sent. He smells just like the autumn breeze, and his suit feels cold against her skin. She's about to cry with joy.

He rests his chin in the crown of her head, holding her so lightly, with so much care, as if she could brake between his arms (and technically, she would, but that doesn't scare her).

"Where have you been, Clark Kent?" she whispers, raising her head to look at him in the eyes, taking his beautiful face between her hands. He smiles, chuckles even, and runs his fingers through her hair.

"How come you don't know? I'm everywhere these days. It's almost impossible not to see me" he answers, almost bitterly. She shakes her head.

"I know where Superman has been. I'm concerned about Clark's whereabouts" she explains, caressing his jaw with her fingers, marveling in the fact that even thought he's been working day and night, he looks clean, immaculate, perfect. He rests his forehead against her, and takes a deep breath.

"I'm fine now. Perfect, even" he whispers, closing his eyes, and she can feel every single muscle in his body relaxing. She wants to laugh, and she doesn't even know why. She's so relieved to have him with her again, to see him, to feel him, that she feels she might explode in any moment.

"Why did you disappear?" she asks, and she knows she sounds almost childish, but she has to ask. He opens his eyes to look at her.

"I just… I came here a few times, but you were always sleeping. And you always seemed busy at the office and I didn't want to bother you" he says, wholeheartedly, speaking nothing but truth. "But you must know, Lois… that you were always on my mind. The longer the day, the more I think of you" he finishes, his whole face smiling, his cheeks blushing as if he is nothing but a teenager. Lois pats his cheek affectionately, while she feels her heart melting in her chest.

"I might have thought of you a few times, too…" she says, teasing him, earning a chuckle in response. She leans closer then, as close as she can without kissing him, and whispers against his lips "You are never a burden, Clark. Next time, wake me up, drag me out of the office, kidnap me in the street, I don't care… but promise me you won't disappear again" she says, half pleading, half reprimanding him. He holds her even more closely, his hands in her back, his strong chest against her own. She might be imagining it, but she can almost swear she can feel his heart pounding against her. Or maybe it's her own heart.

"I can't promise I won't disappear… but I can promise that I will always come back to you. Always" he says, before he brings her to him, kissing her slightly as first, as if her lips were snowflakes, and Lois holds him by the shoulders, kissing him back, holding her breath until she starts to feel dizzy.

Or maybe that has nothing to do with her breathing.

She tries to remember everything about this, about him. Tries to make a list of the things that happen around her when he's this close. Tries to built the dream where she will let herself drift away in the cold long nights, when Clark won't be by her side. She is afraid that now that she has him… she'll miss him even more.

She could live between his arms forever.

She loses her balance for a second, as she loses herself between his kisses, and knocks one of the kitchen chairs to the floor. Clark catches it before it lands, and carefully sets it in its place.

"I think I got a little bit too carried away…" Lois jokes, while she settles back in his arms. He smiles warmly, and looks at her with so much devotion that she feels herself blushing.

"And I think you might be the most amazing thing I've ever seen…" he answers, reaching for a strand of her hair and putting it behind her ear. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, once in each cheek, once on the tip of his nose, a million times on his lips. His fingers have found the end of her shirt, and now she can feel them in the small of her back, as warm as a sunbeam. She not so unconsciously grinds against his hips, and she shivers when she feels him holding a groan. She separates from his lips for a second.

"Maybe we should… go to my bedroom… before I break something else…" she manages to whisper, and her voice sounds hoarse and raspy, almost indecorously, but she doesn't really care.

Clark, however, frizzes in place. His hands leave their position in her waist, and he takes a step back, almost crushing into the small couch.

He looks bewildered. It's almost as if his face doesn't really match his whole image, with the suit and the muscles and the perfect everything. Lois frizzes as well, without really understanding what's happening.

"Are… are you ok? Did I say something wrong, did I hurt you?" she asks, and she realizes how stupid that sounds after the question has escaped from her lips. She doesn't think she'll ever be capable of hurting him. Clark takes a deep breath, and sits in the back of her couch, stretching out his arms, inviting her. She obeys.

"It's just that… I'm afraid I can't… I can't…" he's stuttering. Lois would be melted by his cuteness if she wasn't so concerned.

"You can't what, honey?" she helps, trying to sound as sweet as possible, running soothing circles with her hand in his back. Then it hits her. It hits her like a spaceship filled with kryptonians that want to colonize the Earth. "You can't have sex, that's what you can't do?" she asks, wondering if that's possible, wondering if a man that has the ability to shoot fire through his eyes and seems flawless can have this minor problem. Clark moves in the couch, uncomfortable.

"It's not that I physically can't. Because I can." he explains, emphasizing his words, and Lois has to hold a sigh of relief that wants to escape her lips. "It's just… that I'm afraid I might not control my strength once we start… doing it. And I'm scared that I might end up hurting you. And that's something I wouldn't be able to live with, Lois. I can't risk the chance of hurting someone I care so deeply about." he finishes, his voice filled with sorrow, with shame. She nods, because she understands. She measures her next words carefully.

"Have you ever done it?" she asks, confidently, because she wants him to feel free to open up to her in every way. He shakes his head, and looks almost embarrassed of himself. She hugs him, then, as close as she can. She settles her head on his shoulder and kisses his neck, nuzzling her nose against it.

"It's ok, Clark. It's fine" she says.

"Really?" he asks, unsure. She separates from him to look him in the eye.

"Really." she answers, taking his face between her hands, cradling it. He sighs, and relaxes in her arms. "Who knows, maybe in time we will find a way. Meanwhile… well, in many ways, I've been waiting a lifetime to find someone like you. I think I can wait a little more" she finishes, smiling at him. He leans into her, resting his head in her chest, and now she's the one that rests her chin in the crown of his head, and runs her fingers through his hair.

All of a sudden, an alarm starts to sound. Lois can barely hear it, but Clark stands up immediately and walks to the window.

"It sounds like something is happening on the Electric Company" he says, turning to look at her. She nods.

"I'll cook something, if you want to come back" she says casually, walking to him, trying to hide her disappointment. Clark smiles and kisses her.

"I prefer the white wine you bought" he whispers against her lips, nodding in the direction of the long forgotten paper bags. She has to bit her lip to suppress her grin.

"Go save the world, Kansas boy" she orders, playfully smacking his shoulder, and he flies out of the window turning into Superman in a split second, disappearing in the cold autumn air.

Lois takes the bags and turns on her computer. It's almost midnight. Not the best time of the day to make dinner for two. She figures this is going to be her life, from now on.

Still, she thinks, as she finishes her article and fries the chicken, if Lois Lane is one thing that is adaptable.

(And falling in love).

-oo-

She turns in her bed, brings the sheets closer to her, and sighs. She can't fall asleep. She's as tired as she can be, but she can't close her eyes.

She can't remember a time when she's felt this restless. The bed sheets are burning her, so she kicks them off. And then she gets cold. And the pillows are making her neck hurt. And every single noise that comes from the outside makes her sit in her bed.

Is she always going to worry about him like this? Or maybe, in time, she'll get used to it.

She takes a look at the clock in her bedside table. It's almost three a.m.

He usually comes to see her between the end of his day work with the cleaning-reconstruction groups, and his night watch. But today he was missing in action all day.

Sometimes, when he's too busy to stop by, he leaves a present for her in her balcony.

The day they started cleaning the place where the Aquarium used to be, he left her a beautiful seashell of the size of an orange.

When they moved to the other side of the city, he brought her an iron flower that used to adorn one of the bridges of Metropolis' Central Park.

He sometimes leaves actual flowers, or some candy, or even a little note. Once, he left a hat.

Her favorite present was the stack of Records that she found two days ago, when the cleaning unit moved to the block two streets away from her office. She mentioned once, casually, how much she missed the little shop. He collected all the albums he could find. They are dirty, and some of them are broken. But she still keeps them with the rest of her collection, carefully hidden inside the wooden box that she keeps in her room.

She stands up, because she wants to make sure that he didn't left her anything. Maybe it was something so small that she just missed it.

But all she finds is an old plant pot that's been long forgotten, and nothing more. She wants to cry.

She searches in her pantries until she finds an old bottle of vodka that she bought the last time she was in Russia. She fixes herself a drink, pouring a good amount of the drink, two ice cubes and a little bit of orange juice. She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the little mirror that she has in the living room. She's nothing more than a pale shadow with bags under her eyes. She's almost glad he didn't come. She looks hideous.

All of these gets forgotten when she enters her room again because right there, sitting in her unmade bed, there's a tall, muscular men clad in a suit, his red cape sprawled over her sheets, his head in his hands.

"Thank God…" she whispers. It slips from her lips, as the air returns to her lungs. She kneels in front of him, and takes him by the forearms. He's shaking. She's never been more afraid in her life. "Clark… what happened?" she murmurs, running one hand on his messy hair, feeling him sigh. He looks up, and his eyes are red and swollen, and she hasn't seen him so broken since she saw him falling to his knees on the Train Station. He looks at her for a moment, she isn't sure for how long. But she stares back at him because she's been craving for this moment the whole day. He leans into her, then, and rests his head on the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath that makes him shudder. She holds him as close as she can, hugging him by the shoulders.

"It's ok. It's ok" she repeats over and over, rocking him a bit in her arms.

It's ok to break down. It's ok to be tired. It's ok to cry. It's ok to fall once in a while.

It's ok because she's there to catch him.

"I'm sorry…" he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken, as he moves away from her arms (to her discontent). "I'm sorry, I shouldn't come here to fill you with my problems…"

"That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard…" she half jokes, taking him by the face. There's a glimpse of a smile in his lips, for the briefest of seconds. "Do you want to talk about it?" Lois asks, in a whisper, cleaning his cheeks with her thumbs. He swallows thickly.

"We were… we were cleaning the old Library today. There wasn't much to clean, actually. It was so close to the Terraforming machine that there was just dirt and dust and garbage. But then I moved a piece of roof and I found… I found kids. Lots of kids. Dead kids" he finishes, and his voice is barely audible, and almost gets lost behind the sound of the storm that is forming outside. She's crying. Silently, because she doesn't want to interrupt him. But the tears are falling down her cheeks, and she has to clasp her hands to his shoulders to stop them from shaking.

"Clark…" she starts, but he shakes his head and his jaw tightens.

"I know what you are going to say, Lois. I know you are going to tell me that it wasn't my fault, that I shouldn't feel responsible, that I did my best and that I saved the lives of every other kid in this world. And maybe tomorrow, or next week, or in a year that will serve me as a comfort. Maybe one day I'll wake up feeling better about this. But that day is not today" he states, in resignation, fisting his hands until they turn white.

Lois doesn't know what to say. Which is a statement in itself, really. She hardly gets speechless. And yet, so far, Clark has managed to put her in that state more times than she'd like to confess.

She almost wishes he was angry. She wishes it because, in that case, he could just fly away for a day or two and punch some mountains or trees somewhere far and isolated, until his anger is nothing more than a distant memory. But this is different. She knows shame and sorrow, knows how that works. It creeps into your bones and burns your skin, and it haunts you until you can't see, you can't breath, you can't feel anything but your grief. It's intoxicating. It's poisonous. Apparently, it attacks kryptonians with the same easiness that it attacks humans.

But then she understands why he came to her in the first place. He doesn't need words or, in any case, he doesn't want them. He came here because he feels weak and broken… and he needs her to fix that.

She stands up, then, and holds out her hand. He takes it, and she leads him to the bed. She lays down and he follows, and he looks so out of place laying there, with his suit and his boots still on, resting on her flowery sheets. Still, Lois is certain that after this night she will never want to be on this bed by her own.

She leans closer to him, sneaking her arm around his waist, and one of Clark's hands finds her back, while the other laces their fingers together and brings them to his lips. They are facing each other, their foreheads touching, their legs tangled over the sheets.

She kisses him as tenderly as she can, kisses him with her lips, kisses him with her breath, kisses him with her eyelashes. He closes his eyes and sighs, and she wonders when was the last time he slept.

"You taste like oranges… and something more" he whispers, between her kisses. She smiles.

"I was worried about you" she says, and that's all the explanation he's going to get.

"And I thought you were a tough lady…" he mocks her. She hits him on the shoulder.

"Not everyone can just… look at the Sun for a second and become this… invincible, ultra-powerful entity!" she complains, dryly. But Clark doesn't laugh. He opens his bright blue eyes and looks directly at her, piercing her. She feels naked under his gaze. And she is. In many ways than one.

"My real strength doesn't come from the Sun, Lois Lane. My powers are a gift, an instrument, even a weapon. My Powers are the "how", but not the "why". The Sun feeds my powers… but my source of strength lays between my arms" he says, with such conviction and truthfulness, that his voice sends shivers down her spine.

"You could chose any woman on the face of the Earth… and you chose me?" she answers, caressing his jaw with the tip of her fingers, the joy bubbling in her chest like a glass of the finest Champaign. He chuckles.

"I could tell you the same thing" he says.

"Well, I didn't have another option, really. The other kryptonians were not as nice as you are. Or handsome, for the matter" she jokes, and he laughs, really laughs, loud and clear and oh so beautifully. He laughs and she laughs and he rolls her in bed, holds her in his arms, settles her against his chest. She crosses her arms over the "S" of his suit, and rest her head in there, looking straight at him. He runs his hands down her hair, the tips of his fingers brushing her back, and his breathing gets slow and heavy as he falls asleep.

She follows him, eventually, when the Sun is slowly rising between the buildings.

She wonders, before she drifts away, if the "S" on his suit could stand for "soul mate".

(Boy he's making her cheesy!)