(Untitled)

[theboyscout]

Clark hates days like this. Days where the power of nature defeats anything and everything humans throw at it, snuffing out lives like nothing so much as a timid little match against the darkness. The flooding in the Northeast is crazy, day after day of rain with too few breaks inbetween to get a handle on things. Especially since he has to be

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[presspasskey]

Lois pretends very hard to be surprised to see him come in, and actively forces herself not to run up and hug him. She's got CNN on TV, and she reaches for the remote to mute it as she stands to, at the least, drag him into the kitchen for food.

"The occasion," she says with deliberately exaggerated exasperation, "is that someone left their partner with half the notes gone at the Planet today. And so long as I'm going to be working overtime on this, I'm doing it comfortably."

At the last minute she opts against being quite so obvious with dragging him to the kitchen and grabs her plate. "If you want any sesame chicken, you'd better hurry," she adds. "This is the last call before it's mine."

[theboyscout]

"Oh." He'd forgotten about that. Well, not really, but leaving in the middle of a brainstorming session hadn't been at the top of things to keep in mind. "I'm sorry."

Clark sighs quietly, but allows himself to be dragged toward the food, and spends a minute looking through the selections before choosing some fried rice and half the carton of shrimp chow mein. And then realizes he's still dirty.

"I should probably go shower."

[presspasskey]

Lois just raises an eyebrow slightly and smiles. "I'm sure the-- hay really needed some urgent bailing."

Yeah. 'Cause she totally believes that.

Wrinkling her nose a little at him, she nods rather emphatically. "Yeah, I think you should. Don't want you eating extraneous dirt by accident. Shoo. I--" She blinks, then, hearing her phone starting to ring in the other room. "Crap. Just go shower," she calls back as she dashes for her phone.

[theboyscout]

He stares after her for a moment, frowning at the phone like it's a hairy tarantula, and then turns to make his way to, and then up, the staircase. Grabbing a change of clothing, and peeking into the guest room to see if she's brought an overnight bag, doesn't take took long.

No, it's the shower: scalding hot water washing away the grime of the afternoon and evening. Not that he'd notice the scalding part.

It's about fifteen minutes later when he pads barefoot down to the ground floor in clean sweat pants, white tee shirt clinging to still-damp skin, and hair a shade darker than usual curling around his ears and neck, still dripping. Which is all ignored in favor of the food waiting to be re-heated.

"Who was the call?"