Chapter Text
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It’s exhausting, oftentimes, blearily staring at a computer screen for hours on end and paring down names and places and deciphering connections between two obscure points, sometimes in languages that she doesn’t speak, gathering it all up for Perry’s consent or condemnation — only for Lois’ scoop to be entirely undermined. By actions so brazen and outlandish that she has to sit there for a solid second absorbing the new levels of audacity reached by public figures. Today, the latest example is a special televised speech given by the Boravia’s President, Vasil Ghurkos, announcing the upcoming invasion of Jarhanpur. She’d been so focused on the details, on getting her sources right, double and triple checking the figures, that she’d underestimated the brazenness of Ghurkos violating six different international laws and mocking humanitarian rights by outright announcing the invasion himself.
A pre-emptive defensive strike, he calls it.
“That’s an oxymoron,” Jimmy pipes up, from the back.
“He can use whatever figure of speech he wants,” Cat says, horrified, from the side, “this is so wrong. Someone’s gonna stop him, right? Like, that can’t be how easy it is?”
“Who is going to stop him?” Perry says, arms folded as he stares at the screen. “He has the backing of America, and the UN won’t finish wiping their asses before there’s at least a few thousand dead. No one is going to intervene.”
“This is so wrong,” Cat says, again.
“That’s reality,” Lombard says, right back. “You’d know that if you worked in something other than gossip columns.”
Cat glares at him. “Steve, you cover sports.”
“Quiet,” Perry hushes, waving away the bickering.
They all stare up at the TV screens.
“Today,” Ghurkos says, “Boravia moves to secure its borders under full constitutional authority and the defense mandate passed unanimously by our Security Council. This is not a war of conquest. This is a restoration of order.”
This is entirely illegal.
But what does Lois Lane know? She’s only been covering war-torn regions across the globe for over a decade. She says nothing, though, already mentally editing her piece to account for the updated timeline and information. She’ll have to get in touch with her contact in the US military defense contract division, bolster her figures to see if they’ve provided any latest updates on the types of ammunition and firepower the Boravians are supplied with. Now that they’re not hiding their intent, it’ll be more brutal. The entire speech Ghurkos gave is in English rather than Boravia’s native language because — of course it is, because the audience isn’t the people of his own country or even the one he’s invading, but Americans. American taxpayer money is what is funding this entire calamity. It’s where Ghurkos knows to keep the focus.
Nearby, a chair spins violently off axis, and everyone looks over at the empty seat when it stops.
Lois frowns. “Where is Clark?”
She could have sworn she saw him a minute ago.
#
Over the last several years, Merriam-Webster Dictionary had to redefine many words with the introduction of Metahumans.
One such example:
sonic boom
noun
so·nic boom | \ ˈsä-nik ˈbüm \
- A loud explosive noise caused by the shock wave from an object (such as a supersonic aircraft or meteor) traveling through the air faster than the speed of sound.
- (Colloquial) The unmistakable thunderclap that marks the arrival—or intervention—of Superman, often preceding high-speed flight, heroic rescues, or the last-minute halting of global catastrophes.
Example: The tanks hadn’t even crossed the border before the sky cracked open with a sonic boom—Superman had arrived.
#
Sometime past midnight, she stands in the quiet bullpit, arms crossed tightly over her chest and a deep set frown on her face. Behind her, Jimmy is snoring with his head face-down on his desk, and Perry’s office lights are still on but he hasn’t come out in an hour. Her face is illuminated by the largest TV screen on the wall—a live news feed of the Jarhanpur border, where the trouble is unfolding. Platoons of Boravian tanks have rolled across the arid border, flanked by thousands of soldiers and the blue and white Boravian flag — and then a sonic boom.
A blur of red and blue tears across the sky, and Lois instinctively knows what that means and where it’s headed.
“Soldiers of Boravia,” Superman says, addressing the army at large, cape fluttering behind him. “I know what you’ve been told. That you march here for honor. For your flag. For your orders. But look around you—this is not conquest. Jarhanpur is a land of struggling farmers and elders. You’re threatening missiles at schoolchildren who throw rocks. You are not liberators here. You are invaders. I’ve seen what war does. There’s nothing heroic about crushing the weak and innocent. But you don’t have to follow through.”
A soldier from the Boravian infantry stands up from the ranks. “Go home, alien!”
A chorus of mocking laughter and jeers rises from the front line. A tank lowers its aim to lock onto Superman, as if that can do anything to him.
“You don’t have to do this,” Superman continues. “You don’t have to be remembered for what you were ordered to destroy. You have a choice. You always have a choice. Stand down. Go home. Leave these people in peace, and let history remember you for restraint, not ruin. Because if you cross that line—” He points to the shallow trench marking the border between Jarhanpur and Boravia. “—then I will stand in your way. And I will not allow you to pass.”
A long silence follows.
Then a commander announces through a speaker, "You have no authority here, Superman. You have breached international airspace and Boravian defense operations. Stand down!”
Superman’s expression hardens. Just slightly. Lois knows that look.
He looks skyward, takes in a slow breath, and lowers his gaze. "I gave you the chance."
And then — it’s chaos.
One by one, he dismantles everything. He rips through the tank column, shearing gun barrels with his bare hands like they’re confetti. Another tank fires—but he’s already there, catching the shell, melting it with heat vision before it hits the ground. The camera can hardly follow the chaos. Every weapon disabled. Every engine neutralized. When the Boravian army sends jets screaming overhead—he slams into one midair, sending it spinning into a sand dune with the pilot ejecting midair. Explosions bloom in fireballs, but Superman ensures the Boravian soldiers are hurled clear—dazed, not dead.
The cameras follow the chaos for minutes that feel like hours, the dismantling of the army so shocking that she can only stare with her jaw on the floor.
“Jimmy!” she snaps her fingers, waking him up. “Get everyone here—”
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Perry says, appearing behind her. He, too, snaps his fingers at a bleary-eyed Jimmy, hollering, “Get everyone back here! We need to stop the presses and get out new articles, I don’t care if it's late. This is breaking news. Get— where’s Clark?”
“Food poisoning,” Jimmy answers, groggily.
Lois is too busy typing up her new headline to add in her two cents. She’s told Clark a dozen times to stop eating at that hole in the wall around the corner because this is at least the fifth time he’s come down with food poisoning in the last year, but he never listens.
“Lois,” Perry says. “I need you to write a front page story worthy of—”
“Already on it!” Lois says, pivoting away.
She even knows the headline already.
#
SUPERMAN INTERVENES: WAR HALTED IN SECONDS
By Lois Lane, Senior Reporter
JARHANPUR BORDER— In the span of less than four minutes, what could have been the deadliest armed conflict of the year ended without a single death. In what many are calling the most dramatic unilateral act by a superpowered or Metahuman individual in modern history, Superman intervened in the rising armed conflict between Boravia and Jarhanpur, halting what appeared to be an imminent invasion by Boravian forces. Within moments of his arrival at the contested border, he disabled Boravia’s military equipment, prevented cross-border aggression, and ensured that no loss of life occurred—on either side.
Superman arrived in the skies over Jarhanpur moments before Boravian forces were set to cross the disputed border. Witnesses say he descended “like thunder,” disabling all armored units, jets, and heavy weaponry with precision and overwhelming force—yet not a single soldier was killed. While Superman ripped cannon barrels from tanks, melted incoming artillery midair, and forced fighter pilots to eject before destroying their aircrafts, most Boravian troops were incapacitated without injury.
In the hours since the incident, Superman has not issued a formal statement but reportedly warned Boravian commanders both prior to and after engagement. Superman has long claimed to fight “for all mankind.” But today, the world saw something more defined—a chosen side on behalf of an impoverished nation against what many deem America’s greatest ally. It calls into question a significant debate which has erupted in the hours since.
In Jarhanpur, the cities and towns have been overrun with celebration. Many of its citizens had been living without stable electricity or running water in the weeks leading up to the clash, an advance directive carried out by the Boravian army prior to the expected invasion. Yet people rejoiced in the streets — lit candles, banged pots, and sang. “He saved lives,” said Rafiq Mahir, a schoolteacher who had been translating for UN observers at the border.
“I thought it was the end,” said Samira Qalil, a Jarhanpur mother of three who had taken shelter in a field hospital with her children. “Then we looked up, and he was there. The sky broke open, and the fear just vanished. Allah answered our prayers!”
But not all are rejoicing.
In Boravia, the reaction has been fierce. Government officials have condemned the intervention as “a breach of national sovereignty,” with Defense Minister Alrik Vadek calling Superman “a rogue actor” and “a destabilizing force outside any chain of command.” Protests erupted in the capital of Velkovia, with calls for a formal complaint to the United Nations and possible sanctions against Jarhanpur for "harboring unlawful Metahuman alliances."
Protests have broken out in Boravia’s capital and beyond. Effigies of Superman are burned alongside signs reading “No Cape Above the State.” The Boravian media broadcast a constant stream of images — destroyed tanks and grounded aircraft, calling attention to the economic cost of Superman’s intervention. Soldiers with bandages and bruises are paraded out on state TV as “victims of alien overreach.”
Other more moderate voices still speak of fear. A newly leaked memo generated from a highly placed representative at the U.N. subcommittee reads: "There is growing fear that Superman’s personal moral compass may be overriding international law. A god without a leash is a weapon."
The world has since erupted in passionate debate.
But Superman’s message is clear: No war. Not here. Not today.
#
It’s lunchtime chaos—yellow cabs honking, pedestrians weaving around food carts and crossing streets through heavy traffic. Lois stands in front of her favorite falafel food stand, balancing a paper tray of fries and pita in one hand, jotting notes into her phone with the other. She wears sunglasses and a lived-in blazer, her hair pulled into a quick twist, barely disguising her exhaustion.
“Extra tahini, Miss Lane?”
Lois, with her mouth already watering, smiles at the vendor. “You know me too well, Malik.”
He offers her back a broad smile. “Falafel wrap with fries is an easy order to remember, ma’am.”
“Cut it with the ma’am stuff, Malik. Just call me—”
“Miss Lane?” another voice booms from the sky, just as she’s about to take a bite of the wrap.
She looks up, and there he is — Superman, hovering in the sky above Metropolis' busy midtown streets and skyscrapers. Down below, the crowd around her gasps. Some people point skyward, phones raised. The familiar red-and-blue figure descends slowly from above. Some people stop and stare, but not all. Even the appearance of Superman doesn’t stop Metropolis’ constant energy. He lands softly in front of her, feet just brushing the sidewalk before coming to a still stand.
The commotion of the street lowers to a hush, and she’s aware of all the eyes on her. And him. On both of them together. “Didn’t expect you to drop out of the sky for lunch?” Lois says. “Especially considering I just saw footage of you all the way across the globe.”
“I wanted to thank you,” Superman replies, “for your article. It was fair.”
“Fair? I was aiming for neutral.”
“Well,” Superman says, his tone entirely too warm, voice so deep, the kind that seems to resonate from somewhere beneath his broad chest; the type that does things to her libido she’d best not name. “You struck a balance. That matters.”
She tilts her head up at him, because of course he’s indecently tall. “You know what would show your gratitude? A quote. Maybe an actual sit-down interview. Just thirty minutes. Twenty.” He stares at her, amused but unmoved, so she tries glibly, “Ten?”
Superman chuckles softly, looking down at the cracked sidewalk. “I’ll think about it.”
She knows a brushoff when she hears one. She grabs the falafel plate again, stuffing an errant fry into her mouth, followed by a larger bit of the wrap. If the people looking on had any stray and fallible ideas that there was anything romantic going on between them, anything too friendly, she’s sure she's crushed it with this singular display of an unfeminine devouring of food. She’d care more but she’s famished, and it never really helps her reputation when people think she’s only gotten to where she is because of how she looks. Flirting with Superman has always been dangerous, even if it’s left her with a high every time.
It’s not worth it, though.
That’s what Lois keeps telling herself.
They stand for a beat. After a few photo snaps and some side chat, the crowd around him slowly resumes normal life. People still sneak glances, but Lois steps aside to walk back the short three blocks to the Daily Planet. She’s not sure if it's surprising or not that Superman joins her.
“So,” she says, unable to waste the opportunity. “How do you feel? About what you did out there?”
“Still looking for a quote?”
“Always.”
“Just one, then.” He smiles, and it’s so utterly infuriating that he almost has dimples. “I stand by my actions. One hundred percent. No regrets.”
She studies his face—earnest, open, confident in a way that only he can be. And yet there’s something exhausted there too, buried in the corners of his eyes. If she’s had a long day, she can’t imagine what he has been through. Even the Man of Steel could get tired, surely. Maybe not.
“You should celebrate,” she tells him.
He blinks. “Celebrate?”
“Yeah. You stopped a war without killing anyone. That’s rare. That’s historic. You should take a minute and feel good about it before the headlines twist it.”
A pause. “What would that even look like?”
Lois chuckles, knowing and cynical. “Some of the headlines tomorrow will be brutal. You should brace yourself for that.”
“No, I meant—” here, Superman pauses, almost— awkwardly? “How would I celebrate today? What could that entail?”
Oh. “Oh,” she says, blinking back at him. “I don’t know. Cake? A rooftop beer? One full REM cycle?” She looks up at him then—really looks. There’s a flicker of something unguarded between them. Attraction. History. Something hopeful that she needs to squash if she knows what’s good for her. “Don’t you have anyone to celebrate with, Superman?”
He seems to take his time to answer, longer than she expects, but just as she expects, he doesn’t ultimately give her a response. He never does when anyone asks anything remotely personal.
“Go,” she tells him. “Celebrate with someone while it still feels like a victory.”
“You’re right,” Superman says.
“I usually am.”
He smiles. Then, with a gentle whoosh of wind and cape, he lifts off again, rising into the afternoon sky, leaving a gust of air and a trail of stares behind him. Lois watches him go, her hair fluttering in the updraft. Then she looks back at her food.
Then, to herself, chiding, “Should’ve hounded him more for that interview.”
She pops another fry in her mouth and walks back toward the Planet, already mentally jotting something down for her next piece.
#
On the way back to the office, Lois ends up scrolling through a half dozen of the most popular tweets on her phone.
@WestphaliaRules: Today it's Boravia. Tomorrow it’s anywhere. Superman is a weapon with no leash. This is how empires start. #supershit
@UNWatcherLive: Superman’s intervention has triggered emergency sessions in 3 world governments. The age of "superpower" has a new meaning.
@CapeAndOrder: Boravia: “We declare war.”
Superman: [enters chat]
Tanks: gone. Planes: gone. Soldiers: running.
Me: sip
#SuperShutdown #UNproblem
@IronStateCitizen: Superman just unilaterally dismantled a nation's army. If that’s not a violation of sovereignty, I don’t know what is. What’s next—regime change by cape? #supershit
@RightsBeforeCapes: He’s judge, jury, and executioner. No chain of command, no diplomacy. Just heat vision and steel fists. That’s not peace—it’s control. #supershit
@BoraviaFirstNow: A foreign alien destroys Boravian property and humiliates our forces, and the world cheers? Would they clap if it were your border? #supershit
@AltWarrior76: Funny how Superman always seems to show up in brown countries, disarming white armies. You sure he's neutral? #supershit
Lois closes the app, and decides she needs a longer break.
#
She’s still wearing her blazer from two news cycles ago when she finally stumbles home that night. She kicks off her shoes, drops her phone on the couch, and collapses face-first into her couch without even turning on the lights. The apartment complex is a worn-out, brick-faced complex that is wedged between a 24-hour laundromat and a bail bonds office. The building is old enough to have iron fire escapes and the elevator has been "under repair" since the last presidential administration — but to Lois, it’s home sweet home. The apartment may be small and cluttered, a place that looks exactly like someone who works 90-hour weeks and believes daily takeout is a given, but she appreciates its quaint charm.
She’s been awake for over thirty-six hours. She wants sleep, food, and a hot bath, and she isn’t entirely certain about the order of those preferences — when there was a three tap knock on the door.
Lois groans, half asleep. “No, no, no. Whoever it is, I swear to God, unless you're death or chinese takeout, turn around.”
Another three-tap knock at the door.
She peels herself up and trudges to the door, yanks it open—and there he is. Clark Kent. Drenched from the rain, glasses fogged, grinning ear to ear like a madman.
Lois stares at him, confused. “Clark? You’re supposed to be dying of food poisoning.”
Clark shrugs. “Yeah, I... feel much better. Can I come in?”
“It’s 2 a.m.”
“I know, I just—I had to see you. I wanted to talk about it. About today. Everything that happened.”
Lois leans against the doorframe, eyeing him like he’s made of bad decisions that follow alongside his poor taste in shady sushi places. “You want to talk about Superman? Aren’t you the one that scored the last big exclusive on him?”
“I wanted—I wanted to tell you something.”
She blinks. Even in her exhausted state, she can tell he has something serious on his mind. Clark isn’t one to ever impose on— well, anyone about anything. He’s kindhearted to a fault, to the point that when he’d first joined Daily Planet she’d assumed he’d last two weeks and then run screaming for the hills. Instead it’s been three years of constantly being surprised that his go-get-’em attitude actually results in a fairly decent amount of scoops and publications.
Still, she is exhausted.
Even as she invites him inside with a broad sweep of her arm, she is regretting it. “Clark, I’ve spent the last twelve hours trying to write three versions of the same article, hounding U.N. leaks, hunting down my highly decorated US military source only to get a no-comment, and dealing with some guy on Twitter who thinks Superman is from a communist planet. What I want is a blanket and enough unconsciousness to last until Tuesday.”
“I get it,” Clark replies, bashful as he moves through her modest foyer, unwrapping his scarf, wiping his wet feet diligently on the mat. “I do. But it’s just—what he did out there. He saved them. All of them. And I wanted to celebrate — and when I thought of who I wanted that with, all I could think about was you.”
Celebrate?
The word is oddly familiar, especially given her last conversation with Superman, but she just blinks at him with exhaustion, dismissing the coincidence. There’s such raw excitement in his voice, almost boyish. Like he believes, down to his bones, that today mattered. Maybe it did. Lois isn’t so cynical that she can’t see the hope in a war averted, especially in one where the odds were so fiercely stacked in the favor of one side. Despite her journalistic creed to remain neutral, it’s pretty clear that Boravia has been chomping at the bit to take over Jarhanpur for decades. Any pretense at a reason for war is flimsy at best. They want land, and they aren’t remotely shy about the means to make it happen.
“Today was a good day,” Clark says. “No deaths. No war. He didn’t just stop bullets, Lois. He stopped the history books from writing another tragedy.”
Lois remains silent. She does believe it. In her heart. But her mind’s too tired. Too jaded. Too aware that tomorrow the world will wake and start screaming like blaring alarms. Because things aren’t black and white, even when she wishes for it.
She steps further into her apartment, motioning halfheartedly for him to follow.
“What?” he asked. “You don’t agree? Come on, this would have turned into a bloodbath.”
Lois’s eyes flicker closed as she drops to the couch, rests her head back on the cushions. “Yeah, he did save a bunch of people. But the world’s not gonna thank him for it.”
“They don’t have to,” Clark replies, earnest. “That’s not why he did it.”
“No, but they’ll call it interference. Overreach. Just watch. There’ll be summits, sanctions, conspiracy threads. And somewhere, someone just decided they need a weapon that can stop him. That’s what today has triggered. A whole lot of problems for tomorrow.”
Clark frowns. “But it also saved a country. And millions of lives.”
She exhales, eyes heavy. She wants to agree. She does agree. But she’s exhausted and terrified by what comes next. “I just don’t know what the world’s going to do with it.”
Clark looks at her for a long moment. Something in her tone cuts through him because his face grows serious. Too serious. He has that look on his face that says too much even in his earnestness, that speaks volumes even in his silence. Lois Lane has come to feel a lot of things about Clark Kent when he gets that face, knows deep down that it’ll only promise trouble. Because this thing between them — this friendship that should never have gone past camaraderie, this dynamic she can no longer deny is something she relies upon, that she finds comfort in him that she would’ve thought naive in any other form — this thing is dangerous.
She isn’t blind. She knows Clark has a crush on her. Everyone at the Planet knows that.
But the problem is, the feelings aren’t entirely one-sided. She can’t afford to be distracted, god knows that. Relationships are messy, and she’s never been any good at it. Still, the way Clark Kent is staring at her, all too serious, filled with too much wounding devotion, she fears what he’s going to say because she’s always thought he’s perpetually one step shy of declaring his feelings for her — and she doesn’t entirely know what her response will be. Lois usually has her answers for everything.
He steps forward. “I need to tell you something, Lois. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”
Lois snorts, trying to alleviate the sudden tension in the air flippantly. “If you tell me you left your wallet at the Daily Planet and need cab fare, I’m going to shove you out the window.”
But instead, moving slowly, deliberately, he takes off his glasses — and just like that, Lois Lane’s entire world tilts off its axis.
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