How many weeks, months, years did it take to put back together a broken life?
Lois didn't know—at this point, she'd been with Clark for so long that it was like he'd always been there for her. Even when she'd miscarried, she'd had him.
Lana wasn't so fortunate. Her marriage had been unhappy to begin with—or rather, it had become so by the time the Kents had come back into her life. Then her husband had been taken from her, possessed by a long-dead Kryptonian. They'd been able to cure some of Edge's victims, but not all of them. And not Kyle. He was gone, and whatever he might've done to save his marriage was now forever denied to his widow.
Lois couldn't know what she was going through, but it felt like that added insult to injury—robbed Lana of closure. If they'd separated, there might've been a note of finality to it. If he'd died while they were on better terms, than at least Lana would have her memories. Instead, a cut that should've been clean and precise was messy and painful and festering.
For months now, the Kents had practically taken Lana in. Tending to her children, running errands for her, trying to clear all the space they could for her to work through the feelings that they felt responsible for, letting Edge get away with his crimes for as long as he had. Lois knew Lana blamed herself too. Even if Kyle had gone behind Lana's back to join Edge's program, it was still impossible for her to blame him. It was even hard to blame Edge—Lana was too sweet to properly hate the man who was, in the end, truly responsible for it all.
At least Lois had a sense of pride in her family. Jonathan and Jordan were sweethearts, acting as brotherly as could be to Lana's girls, while Clark was a model godfather to them and Lois herself tried to play aunt. Lois also felt a streak of guilt running through that pride. As troubled as her family was, she still
had it.
She had
Clark.
She knew what a good man he was, knew how much better Lana's life would've been if things had worked out with her and him. It made Lois almost feel like she'd stolen something from Lana. Maimed her, even.
That Kent sense of responsibility was powerful stuff.
So here they were, spending another night in with a bottle of wine. Lois's boys had taken out Lana's girls, who of course appreciated a night on the town more than an evening in with the grown-ups, so all there was to do was nurse Lana through her moroseness.
Clark told stories about growing up in Smallville, stories Lana could half-finish, but didn't. Usually, Lois would feel a bit excluded by these shared memories, but with Lana so maudlin, she wished she could go back to her worried paranoia that Lana would steal her high school beau back from Lois.
It felt almost obscene to her, having Clark, his comforting warmth that she would hold onto in the night—that she could kiss and caress and feel anytime she wanted, while Lana was shut out. She could look but not touch; see their togetherness but not have it herself. It seemed so unfair.
At least Lana knew when to call it quits with the wine. When she finished her third glass, she set it down on the coffee table with resounding finality. "Thanks for staying up with me, but all I really feel like doing is going to bed early. I've taken up too much of your time anyway. You mind if I use your guest room again? I'll get some rest and you can do whatever you want to do."
"All we really want to do tonight is keep you company," Clark assured her, "but if you need your rest, you need your rest."
Lana ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth, twisting her hips a little to the left and to the right. "Maybe what I really need is just to be in a house that doesn't feel so empty. I always get such a good night's rest over here. I'd be over all the time if you didn't need your privacy."
Lana was facing Clark, so Lois came up behind her, wrapping her arms around Lana's waist in a supportive embrace, her chin set on Lana's shoulder. "Hey, you are never intruding on us. We're here for you. As far as Clark and I are concerned, you're family. This place is as much yours as ours."
"You know Ma," Clark added, coming forward to wrap both women up in an enormous bear-hug. "She wouldn't want anything else—for any of us."
Lana took a deep breath, her lithe body heaving against both husband and wife, and Lois finally felt, gratifyingly, like they were getting through to her. Like Lana's walls were coming down, some of that sea of inconsolable grief inside her finally leaking out. She heard a sniffle and knew there was a tear on Lana's cheek. She nuzzled her face to Lana's.
Big, tall Clark couldn't stoop to hug Lana like she could, but his stalwart, masculine physique was its own kind of comfort. Lois petted his chest as she hugged Lana, all her jealousy put aside. It was hard not to be a little envious of how Lana had gotten to have Clark in her life for so long, but now, she was just grateful that she had such a good man, who could give so much of himself to a friend, be partners with her as they both tried to help Lana back to her feet.
Then Lois felt Clark stiffen, a palpable tension now in the air. Lois was too attuned to Clark's moods to make any mistake. And she knew the man—he wasn't the innocuous hayseed he'd pretended to be so often in Metropolis. As Superman, he'd seen pretty much everything under the sun. So the only thing that could really embarrass him was if he'd sensed something sexual, something Lana was doing, something she was feeling. And it wasn't hard to guess what that was, with Lana wrapped in Clark's arms.
Lois was not
patient,
Lois was
decisive.
A long time ago, when she didn't know Clark and Superman could count their differences on a pair of spectacles, she'd gotten used to the idea of being in love with both of them. Comfortable with the notion of sharing, since, after all, she was the one being shared. Obviously, it hadn't exactly come up, but Lois hadn't gotten prudish now that she was a mom. Now she saw a way to finally get through to Lana, to really help her, and all it required was that she share Clark. Well, she already shared him with the whole world—and most days, she liked the world a lot less than she did Lana.
She pulled Lana aside, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Lana, before you call it a night, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, Lois," Lana replied.
Clark picked up the wine bottle and put the cork back into it. He seemed relieved no longer to be noticing Lana's reaction to him. Lois knew he'd feel guilty about it, feel it was his fault Lana had gotten turned on, but she had no intention of raking either of them over the coals. Lana was probably equally embarrassed. They'd need Lois to put that squeamishness behind them.
"I know things with you and Kyle," Lois paused, "that they weren't where you wanted them to be before he passed. But I have to ask—when was the last time the two of you were intimate?"
Lana blinked in disbelief, sobering with shock. "Lois, how can you ask me that?" she demanded, sounding hurt.
She tried to pull away, but Lois wouldn't let her. "Wait,
wait.
I was just thinking... maybe that's why you've had such a hard time moving on. You really suffered a double loss. Not only was your husband taken from you, but even before that, you lost being touched, being loved... being made to feel beautiful. The things every woman deserves. Especially one as kind and as gorgeous as you are."
Tears were welling up in Lana's eyes. Clark nervously kneaded the bottle in his hands. "Lois, maybe we should pick this up some other time—"
