Chapter Text
Lois Lane bought a cute dress over the summer. It wasn't just a dress. It was basically symbolic of Lois's journey of self-discovery and self-actualization. Also it made her boobs look fucking phenomenal.
The choice fell well outside Lois's usual genre of dressing and made her consider the question: How often do I go on picnics? The answer was, Almost never. And that should have prompted her to put the blue and white striped floral dress (ideal attire for a picnic) back on the hanger with nary a backward glance.
But! The summer had been a time of experimentation and risk-taking. Not merely with personal style, but also with maintaining outside of work friendships, opening her mind to the idea that the flyover states might not be completely devoid of value, and exploring just how far she could go physically with her closest friend/coworker/personal cheerleader Clark Kent before they crossed the line between Friends who Cuddle into More than Friends. It was absolutely within the realm of possibilities that Lois might become a devoted picnicker.
Or. You know. Not.
The dress was purchased in July. It took until October for Lois and Clark to get their shit together enough to take the dress (and themselves) out on a picnic in Central Park.
One of the best things about Clark Kent, when it came to maintaining a friendship with Lois Lane, was that both of them were socially flaky in equal measure. There had been fully a dozen weekends between Lois buying the dress and the two of them finding the simultaneous availability to allow for a meet up. Between questionable weather and their fucked-up work schedules, they’d made plans and cancelled them multiple times.
Lois was starting to look forward to Daylight Savings for the first time in her life; at least they’d get an extra hour in the day to dash over to Metropolis's prettiest green space.
However, the stars aligned, they (and by they, Lois meant Clark) packed a lunch and met up on a crunchy patch of grass under a tree that hadn’t yet lost all its leaves. It was one of those perfect weather days where the sky was the bluest blue she’d ever seen (next to Clark’s eyes), the sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the air could only be described as crispy.
It helped that Clark brought all the stuff; Lois just had to put on the dress and show up. In true Lois Lane, Terrible Friend, fashion she showed up late and empty-handed. In true Clark Kent, Best Guy in the World, fashion he didn’t make any digs about it.
Clark had spread out the quilt from his bed on the ground. He was dressed like an extremely hot scarecrow, in a plaid shirt, suitable autumnal orange, over a white t-shirt and jeans and was unpacking their lunch. The only thing that wasn’t quite picturesque about the scene was the fact that he didn’t bring the food and beverages in a wicker hamper, but instead carried everything in his work backpack. Oh, well. No one could be perfect.
Regardless of the aesthetics, he’d put together quite the delicious-looking assortment of edibles (no, not the kind at the back of his parents' pantry). Their outdoor feast consisted of cold cut sandwiches, hand-cut chips, apple cider mocktails (Clark took the posted sign about No Alcoholic Beverages in the Park more seriously than 99% of Metropolis's park-going population), and pumpkin hand pies for dessert.
Lois expressed her appreciation the only way she knew how: by tackling Clark in a massive bear hug. Granted, he was the only massive part of the hug, but what Lois lacked in size, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. She suspected that, when he fell backwards, it was not entirely because of the force of her hug, but it was nice for him to pretend that Lois was a being of extraordinary strength and power.
“You’re welcome!” he said, understanding the gratitude implied in Lois knocking him on the ground and sitting on his stomach without her having to voice the words 'thank' and 'you' aloud. “I’m glad we could finally do this - I know our Nordic brethren are like, ‘There’s no bad weather, only bad clothes,’ but I’d rather not do a picnic in the snow.”
“You and me both,” Lois concurred, getting off of Clark and digging through the spread.
She was an adult. Sooner than she wanted to contemplate, she’d be fully thirty years old. She could start with dessert.
The hand pie was the perfect fall bite - spicy and sweet with just enough earthiness to remind the eater that the puree filling had been a vegetable once upon a time.
“Oh my God, this crust is insane,” Lois complimented him, spraying crumbs as she spoke.
“It’s Grandma Essie’s tried and true pie crust recipe,” Clark told her, starting with a sandwich because he was a conventional fucking nerd. “The secret is a tablespoon of vinegar, for maximum flake.”
“Did she win all the blue ribbons?” Lois asked, assuming the answer was, yes, duh.
The answer was, no, actually. Apparently Clark’s grandma never entered town or county bake-offs; she was opposed to the idea of competition on principle.
Classic Kent, Lois thought wryly. They were non-conformist, but in a really, really nice way. Radicals, but about concepts like equality, empathy, compassion. Lois couldn’t relate, exactly, but she admired the vibe tremendously, having witnessed it first hand.
The dress was a by-product of the vibe. Over the summer, Lois spent a week in Smallville hanging out with Clark’s friends and family, eating delicious food, and meeting some of the nicest people she’d ever encountered in her life. They were so outrageously friendly that Lois was now included in Clark’s high school friend group chat, despite the fact that she hadn’t gone to their high school, and hadn’t met a third of the people who regularly texted her.
But that was Smallville: a place so warm and welcoming that at times it felt like it couldn’t be real. Lois held onto her natural cynicism as long as she could, but she succumbed by the end of the trip. On their last night in town they went out line dancing and Lois bought the dress specifically to get her country girl groove on.
She liked the way she looked in the dress; more specifically, she liked the way Clark looked at her in the dress. The way he was looking at her now.
The only problem was that she bought the dress in the dog days of summer and they were sitting in the shade. While the low neck and little cap sleeves did a lot to enhance the bod, they didn’t provide much in the way of warmth for said bod. Lois couldn’t be sure whether Clark was surveying her admiringly or counting her goosebumps.
“You cold?” Clark asked, already rolling down the sleeves of his button-down shirt and shrugging out of it. He held the shirt out to her without a word.
Lois hesitated before she took it, pretending to be a thoughtful individual who cared about Clark’s comfort. “Will you be cold?”
“I run hot,” Clark said and Lois knew from experience that was true. When they snuggled up on the couch to watch TV during their weekly after-work dinners, it was like having her own all-in-one space heater and weighted blanket (only one that had a cute face and fun personality).
Lois took the shirt and popped it on; it was ridiculously too big because Clark was a comically oversized individual, but it retained his body heat and the smell of his Old Spice body wash, so it was basically the best shirt ever.
They made quick work of the food and slowly sipped their apple cider and ginger beer concoctions. Clark got halfway through his before he flopped down on the blanket, hands behind his head, eyes closed, the breeze ruffling his hair, the absolute picture of serenity.
The guy really was the whole package. Square jaw, pretty eyes, delightfully curly hair and a body that both wouldn't quit, but was also clearly a temple to pie. He also had a presence about him; not in a cult leader way, but in a camp counselor way. A trusted buddy who would make you a Frito pie, hold your hand and reassure a freaked out child in a dark forest, but also wasn't averse to playing a little dirty during Capture the Flag. He was reassuring, gentle. And sweet. Above all else, Clark was sweet.
“I’m glad we’re doing this,” he said, eyes still closed, a gentle smile on his lips. “Thanks for today.”
That, for example. Lois had done jack shit to organize this trip, aside from sending Clark a text that read, in its entirety: Picnic Sunday? He sacrificed his personal bedspread and he made the food. All Lois did was don the dress, which he wasn’t looking at currently, and yet there he lay, happy as a clam, thanking her for just...being there, she guessed.
As though she could absorb Clark’s simple ability to be and be happy through osmosis, she leaned against him, using his stomach as a pillow. She could see the sky through the gaps in the branches; a breeze blew through and a few more leaves floated down toward them, a truly picturesque image.
Until something small, black, and moving in erratic patterns flew past the tree overhead interrupted the mood.
Lois sat up on her haunches, squinting at the mystery object. “Is that a bird?”
Clark opened his eyes and looked up.
“It’s a drone,” he said, dislodging Lois as he sat up, trying to spot the pilot.
Lois stood and left the shade of the tree. The drone was slowly circling the park; it was larger than the typical commercial models used by amateur photographers and wedding videographers. Its presence raised Lois's hackles immediately.
“Oh, ew,” Lois said, drawing the conclusion as the words were coming out of her mouth. “Is that some Eye in the Sky bullshit? Give me your phone.”
Clark’s phone had better video quality than hers and he handed it over as soon as she made the request. Lois took a video of the drone in action, with the intention of uploading the footage onto the computers at the Planet when she got to work tomorrow, to see if there were any labels or identifying information that could conclusively prove her suspicions.
The Planet wasn’t actively investigating the new public safety initiative, announced last week by the Metropolis Metropolitan Police, but they were definitely aware of it. If the footage she collected showed any evidence of LC branding, she could probably convince Perry to let her do some digging on the clock. The press release submitted to the Planet by the MMPD put everyone around the office on edge; the practiced banality of the language seemed tailor-made to arouse suspicion.
The Metropolis Metropolitan Police Department is proud to announce a new public safety initiative, in collaboration with LuthorCorp: A mobile CCTV program called ‘Eyes in the Sky.’
The announcement went on to describe the effects of the program, which would provide real-time feedback about potential traffic hazards and including up-to-the-minute updates to any citizens who downloaded the EyeApp where they could not only access information collected by the drones, but also submit their own photos and videos to the app.
With live feedback from our Eyes and our citizens, we can improve traffic flow, public safety, and keep Metropolis’s reputation as the City of Tomorrow intact for the next generation.
The reaction from the Planet squad was swift and derisive. Perry made a Big Brother reference before he finished reading the first sentence. Jimmy observed that it seemed like a lot of tech to decide whether or not the city would install new traffic lights. Lois was concerned that the phrase ‘improve public safety’ was code for ‘actively engaging in profiling.’ Clark thought that it was insane that the city council would approve this collaboration since, in his words, “It’s asking a lot for the public to give up a reasonable expectation of privacy for the sake of avoiding a few fender-benders.”
Ron didn't say anything directly, just asked Perry to forward him the statement before he popped his noise cancelling headphones on and got to work furiously typing. That's how you win Pulitzers.
The paper published the statement (with questions for the MMPD) and received reassurance from the Chief of Police that this was a pilot program whose focus was primarily on transit issues throughout the city. Keeping an eye out for potholes or areas of congestion.
Yet there appeared to be one of the aforementioned Eyes, buzzing above a public park. Unless there were serious concerns about bottlenecks on the bike path, it looked like Chief Henderson hadn’t been entirely transparent.
Clark got to his feet beside her, doing as the program instructed him: keeping his eyes on the sky until the drone zoomed out of sight. Lois closed the video and emailed it to herself with a small frown - then jumped when Clark’s phone vibrated in her hand.
“If it’s the cops, then we can be pretty sure there’s audio recording and that’s definitely a legal liability for the program - oh, nope, never mind,” he interrupted himself once he got a glimpse of the screen, which displayed the name Cassie Ross.
Cassie was likely short for Cassidy, the younger sister of Clark’s childhood bestie Pete, who still lived in Smallville. Lois hadn’t spent that much time with the second-youngest Ross, but the time she spent with her she enjoyed, more so than she expected, given that Cassidy was a child and Lois didn’t like children, as a rule. Granted, at fourteen years of ages, Cassidy was an old child and she seemed to take delight in relentlessly teasing Clark, a pastime Lois totally supported.
Lois sat back down on the blanket to finish her drink and check her own phone to make sure the video went through. In the meantime, she kept an ear out and eavesdropped on Clark’s conversation. Since they came back from Smallville, he was more relaxed around the office, more thoroughly himself than the quietly competent professional journalist persona he put on during his first months at the Planet. When he first arrived, he'd tried to smooth out his accent into something close to neutral. While he hadn't been trying so hard to mask his natural speech patterns at work, it really came to the fore when he was talking to someone from his hometown. Lois liked hearing it. A lot.
“Hey Cass!” Clark said warmly, dropping down on the blanket beside Lois, resuming his previous lounging posture. He put Cassidy on speaker and lay the phone, face-up, on the blanket between them. “How’re you doing?”
“Have you read The Great Gatsby?”
“Oh, I’m good, thanks for asking,” Clark replied, absolutely oozing cheeky big brother energy. “I’m out on a picnic with Lois, weather’s real nice - ”
“CLAAAAAAAAAARK - Hi, Lois! - STOOOOOOOOOOP. Did you read the stupid book, yes or no?”
Clark confirmed that he had, in fact, read the stupid book. So had Lois, but she didn’t remember anything about it, except that the green light symbolized hope. Or longing? Or the futility of hope? It had been literally a decade ago, in high school, which was shocking to consider. The length of time Lois had been out of high school, that was, not the fact that she’d read The Great Gatsby.
“Honors English is kicking my ass,” Cassie confessed. “I need ClarkNotes. Only not right now, I can’t believe you answered my call while you’re on a date, you loser.”
We’re not on a date, Lois expected Clark to say, possibly with an eye roll and a smirk at Lois. When Lois met the extended Ross family, Cassie was the one who’d stomped right up to them, demanding to know if Lois was Clark’s girlfriend. He’d played dumb, pretending that girlfriends were girls who were the friends of people generally. She figured he’d perform a similar act of denial now.
Except he didn’t.
“Aww, well, anything for you, Cassie-girl,” he said, smiling over at Lois, no trace of denial in his voice or expression. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“‘kay,” Cassie said, then raised her voice and shouted, “BYE LOIS!”
“Bye, Cassidy!” Lois yelled back into the phone before Cassidy hung up and the screen went black. With Clark lying on his back and Lois lying on her stomach, their faces were much closer together than usual.
They’d been in a similar position before - ironically while Lois was wearing the same dress. Okay, maybe not ironically since Lois bought the dress partially because she thought Clark would think it looked kinda sexy on her. In her case, (unlike in the case of The Great Gatsby), her hopes were fulfilled. When Clark saw her wearing the dress, he said - and this was a direct quote - "Wow."
Things were in danger of tipping from Will They? to They Will, until Lois slammed the metaphorical breaks on their metaphorical relationship (there was definitely a side plot about a car in Gatsby too, but she couldn't remember what happened). She and Clark were slow dancing and he dipped her and it was really cute and his arms around her were really big and strong and his face was really close to hers and she did kiss him, but it wasn’t a kiss-kiss. Not on the lips, she planted one on his cheek. The kind of kiss someone might give to a Grandma Essie, come to think of it.
There were other times over the last few months that their faces came really close together like this and Clark would look at her and she would look at him and… nothing would happen. There was just this string of unspecified tension between the two of them that neither of them verbally acknowledged.
Clark, because he was a gentleman, probably. He had a blend of old-fashioned manners and modern sensibilities around consent that meant his first impulse was to ask for permission before he did anything that he suspected might be physically out of her comfort zone. Thinking back to their dance, Lois recalled him asking her if it was okay before he dipped her. He definitely wasn’t going to start kissing her without giving her plenty of lead time, ample opportunity to consider the matter before she said yes or no.
Lois wasn’t much of a gentleman. She wouldn’t say she had violated any of Clark’s boundaries, per se, but she knew that when it came to physical stuff, she would have to be the one to make the move, to start the conversation about making the move.
She hadn’t yet. And today - despite the beautiful weather, gorgeous setting, Clark’s face being so close to her face - was not the day to do it.
Because what if she wrecked it? Lois had just barely gotten into the swing of Friendship, let alone Romantic Friendship. Despite Clark’s comments to Cassidy, she’d never actually been anyone’s Girlfriend before and didn’t want to fuck it up. If she made the first move, then she felt like the whole relationship, its success or (more probably in her case) failure, would be on her.
Lois prided herself on competence - nah, fuck it, excellence in her professional life. It made up for the failings of her personal life, at last it had done for the past few years. If she took on the responsibility of a relationship with Clark - the feelings stuff especially - she was worried her incompetence would show. That she’d get hurt, but also that she’d hurt him.
That was the last thing she’d ever want to do. Clark might have been a big, beefy dude, but he had the emotional fortitude of a marshmallow. He cried during sad animal shelter commercials (not obnoxiously, but she’d caught him furtively wiping away a tear when Sarah McLaughlin started singing). Physical closeness didn’t necessitate emotional closeness (a fact borne out by all of Lois’s previous more-than-friends relationships), but she knew Clark would want that. In fact, she'd go so far as to say he deserved someone he could love with his whole heart and…to be completely, brutally honest (a specialty of hers!) not all the parts of Lois were loveable.
To her simultaneous relief and frustration, Clark didn’t do anything more than beckon her closer.
“Come over here, girlie,” he said and Lois rolled into his arms.
He tucked her head right under his chin, where she fit extremely well. He did kiss her, but it was on the top of her head; his lips didn’t even make contact with her skin through her hair. Lois nuzzled her nose into his t-shirt, closing her eyes, all wrapped up and content as could be.
The day was beautiful, her stomach was full of delicious food, and she was snuggling with her bestie. Screw their lack of an #aesthetic picnic basket, they didn't need it. Lois almost hoped the drones got a good angle on them because she was sure they looked absolutely fucking adorable.