Title: We always fail destiny

Spoilers: Everything up to 'Power' and then it goes AU

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit.

He opened his eyes to the bright sky of a clear morning, blues and purples with three slashes of orange scraping across his vision. His breathing was even, deep, nearly mechanic as he brought a strong hand up to set his skewed glasses correctly over his nose. For a minute he thought about lying in the grass for a few more minutes, maybe hours, but that was when he remembered the dream he'd had.

His head had literally split in two. Disjointed and disfigured, the two halves met the other in a clash that couldn't make them whole again. He'd cried out for her, always her, but the voice that had always saved him before was silent and reproachful. Heavy knees then hit the ground, shaking the earth and uprooting the nearby trees, creating a chasm in the sky that had swallowed him whole, or as whole as he could be without Lois Lane.

In a second he was standing, his back tense for fear of a threat, his muscles tight in preparation of a war. In the space of another second he relaxed, his crisp white button up shirt breathing a sigh of relief until it held for long ticks of a wired metronome. This was his farm. The grass smelled the same. The trees whispered the same tune. Even the dirt coughed alike. But it was the barn that caught his attention.

The wood was caved in, leaving half of the building hanging onto itself and the other half making love to the ground. He hadn't done this. He never allowed this and his brows met together in confusion as he supersped to the damaged memory.

'No.' He lifted a few chunks of wood and ended up watching it fall to rotting crumbs in his hands. Without thinking he turned, half expecting to see the childhood home crushed to the ground with wooden stakes proclaiming the burial site. His sigh of relief was muffled as he made his way up the steps and touched the front door, a barely shaking hand resting on the knob before turning it.

The dust was solid, clinging to his slacks and drifting into his hair. There wasn't enough of him to keep walking inside of a deserted place that reeked of ghosts and longings forgotten. Everything was covered, smothered in plastic and drapings that were designed to keep the objects free from years of disuse.

Clark Kent couldn't halt the whir in his throat that proclaimed all of this was wrong. There was supposed to be sun shining through open windows and plastic fruit Lois had bought in hopes he would think it was real. His articles weren't lying on the kitchen table where he'd started doing most of his work when the other rooms began to haunt him too much.

This wasn't his world. This wasn't the world he'd lived in for the past fifty years. And that meant…. His eyes widened before he frantically ran outside and shot off into the changing sky. It meant Lois could still be alive.

Self-conscious, he pulled the lapels of his trench coat closer to his body as he took a small step back. On the other side of the street, he watched her enter the double glass doors to Gotham Gazette, her brunette hair swaying in her ponytail and her lower legs showing from under a coal colored skirt. There was a tiny smile tugging at his lips as he recalled a conversation she'd had with him years ago concerning her wardrobe.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

She groaned, turning around and planting her hands on her hips in the middle of their bedroom.

"Smallville, I need you to be honest."

"I am."

Unbuttoning the jacket, she kept staring at him with a tight mouth as if she was about ready to kick him. Inwardly, he was beginning to feel the need to pretend there was some sort of Superman emergency far, far away.

"Lois, I can't help it if you look fantastic in everything."

"You're a terrible liar."

"And you know I'm not stupid enough to lie to you. I happen to value my life, thank you very much."

Freeing herself form the confining jacket, she stepped between his knees which were hanging off from the edge of their bed while his upper body controlled the majority of the rest of the space. She bent down, placing her hands on either side of his waist, letting her damp hair fall onto his open shirt as he swallowed loudly.

"Do you think Ollie would be of more help to me?"

She was on her back before she could blink with his raised eyebrow begging her to ask the question again.

"ClarkKent! Not fair!"

Feeling her warmth pulling him towards her, he closed his eyes and reminded himself that this was not his Lois Lane. This Lois already had her hero, Clark. His steps were rushed as he crossed the road and he ducked his head as he passed a few idling cars waiting for a red light to turn green. The concrete was solid under his shoes and he was sure if he wasn't careful he would leave cracks in the sidewalk. By the time he opened the doors he already knew where she was, his ears still attuned to her heartbeat and the exasperated sigh she never failed to give. He chose the stairs, knowing it would be empty, and reached the twelfth floor before the stairwell door had closed behind him with a light click.

His eyes were focused on her face, a frown creasing her forehead and a pen in between her lips as she listened to a blonde man's impassioned speech about a hero in Gotham's midst. She waited for him to finish before slipping the tip of the pen out of her mouth and writing something on the pages he'd laid on her desk.

"Lois, this has the potential to be the biggest story ever!"

"You may be right. You may also be psychotic. Either way, if you want to write this story, you're going to need some proof."

"I gave you proof!"

"You gave me stories." She picked through a few of the papers. "Woman saved by hero. Boy witnesses savior. Man says he saw a flying person."

"They all saw something!"

"When you see something, we'll talk about how he might actually be a hero. Until then, you've got an article on Dr. Thompson's speech at City Hall due tomorrow."

The blonde man took the pages Lois was holding out to him and looked as if he had every intention of going back to work when he suddenly turned around.

"I'm not giving up on this story, Lane."

Something flickered across her face and he felt the conflicting emotions as if her feelings were his own.

"The best ones never do."

She looked down at her lap for a few seconds before straightening her back and swiveling in her chair to begin typing on her keyboard with quick strokes and fluid movements. He lost himself then, just for a little. She was so much younger, less shaped, more unaware. But she was always Lois, strong and pig headed, fiery and untameable.

"Lois Lane?"

Her head swung up at her name, her mouth already opening in response. "That's me. What do you want?"

His knees nearly gave way at her direct stare, those hazel eyes unchanged and still calling for his heart. He smiled, unable to halt it even though it would start the alarm bells in her head.

"You're really here," he murmured.

Lois immediately narrowed her eyes, trying to remember where she'd seen him from. The black rimmed glasses gave her no help and neither did the gray streaked hair that framed his angular features. Those eyes, though, they swallowed her whole.

"Do I know you?"

"Yeah, I mean, no." He shook his head, mentally kicking himself. "I've read some of your articles. They're great."

"Thank you," Lois replied warily. "Is there a particular reason you're here?"

"I," he looked around them, trying to find a reasonable explanation before she tried to push him out of the window, and then it hit him. "I was hoping you could help me find Clark Kent."

"Clark Kent?"

"Yes."

With a barely audible scoff, Lois sat back in her chair and looked up at the stranger.

"What do you want with him?"

"Old friend of the family. His birthday's coming up."

She tilted her head slightly and he knew she was trying to pick up on his awkward scent.

"What was your name?"

He panicked. His mind raced and he swallowed air he hadn't known he'd breathed. He should've been more prepared. Scratch that. He should've been prepared. Hadn't Lois taught him anything? Clark Kent. He could go with Kent. No. Cal. No. Kel. No way. Carl. Definitely not. Clark Kent. Clark Kent. Clark. Kent.

"Clent. Clent Jones."

"Alright," she paused. "Clent. If you're such a good friend of the family why don't you know where Clark is?"

"It's been a long time. And I did go to Smallville but from the look of things, no one lives at the Kent's anymore."

Lois stood, her arms crossing over her black blouse as she chewed the inside of her cheek. This time she looked him over carefully. Black dress shoes slightly scuffed. Equally black slacks that held long and thick legs. A white collared shirt a little wrinkled where it tucked into the top of his pants. She didn't let herself focus on his broad chest and flat stomach barely covered by his trench coat. His glasses were, by all accounts, geeky in her dictionary, hiding dark blue eyes that seemed to looking at her as if he'd known her since she was born. His face, young but old, chiseled and strong, held wrinkles at the outskirts of his eyes and two very faint lines hovering around his beckoning lips. Jet black hair completed the picture, thick and wavy with broad gray streaks at his temples and brother strands peppering lightly the rest.

In fact, if she didn't know any better…. Lois felt her mouth drop slightly.

"Oh, my God. You're Clark's father aren't you?" She rushed out the rest of her thoughts. "I mean his biological father."

The last thing he wanted to do was lie to her.

"Don't…tell anyone, please."

"Maybe we should take this somewhere more private." But with witnesses.

"Okay," he breathed. "Where?"

She contemplated many things for the hour before her early lunch break. While researching her newfound stranger in Gotham's database, she thought of calling Clark. It was ridiculous and she didn't, not when he'd made clear where they stood.

A beep from her computer pulled her up short.

"Who the hell are you?" she frowned.