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Lois didn’t do team bonding nights. What more could she learn about her coworkers? Cat practically prattled off every thought, and never seemed to notice that Lois was only half listening. Jenny, the de facto leader of the interns, was way too interested in trying to set Lois up, so much so that every time Lois saw those blonde curls, she made a beeline in the opposite direction.
No, Lois did not need to spend more time with her coworkers. She saw them more often than she saw her own family, though that wasn’t saying much. She also saw the cashier at the corner store by her apartment more often than she saw the General or her sister. They traded holiday cards for God’s sake.
Still, it held true that Lois in no way felt like she needed to spend a second more of her time with the staff of The Daily Planet.
No matter how many times Cat told her how fun karaoke was (Steve somehow knew all the words to Super Bass) or how funny it was to see Perry play air hockey at the local bar, nothing moved the needle for Lois. She would much rather settle into her apartment with a good true crime podcast and a beer.
It had actually gotten to the point that she was afraid that she was going to punch one of her coworkers in the face if she had to listen to a second more of their yammering.
Just yesterday, she almost screamed at Judith after suffering through a good 3 minutes of her grandson’s one-man performance of Into The Woods. Judith said he had the voice of an angel.
If that were true, Lois would be happy to go to hell.
She practically shoved Craig out of her way when he was walking far too slowly across the bullpen, somehow, despite all plugged up with his AirPods, blocking Lois every time she tried to slide past.
Steve tried to corner her on Monday, talking about how fun it would be for her to join their fantasy league. It didn’t take much investigation to know that he was offering mainly because he lost so terribly last season and needed people to pad the bottom rungs.
Even Jimmy was getting on her nerves when he missed a prime Superman shot because he forgot to switch out battery packs.
No, Lois needed a nice long shower and takeout from the Korean restaurant down the street, where the food was the best kind of spicy, and she could get the grape juice in the little can to wash it all down.
It should honestly be an investigation in itself as to how she ended up here, a scowl on her face and an overpriced bag of popcorn in her lap.
It was an old movie theater, a historic one, Jimmy had said. It was in the basement of a church at the center of town, where the teenage ushers debated Tarantino versus Nolan versus Coppola and had Letterboxd accounts that they curated more than their dating profiles.
Lois wasn’t elitist. Her wardrobe as a child heavily consisted of too-long army jackets and combat boots that she would ruin way too quickly. She didn’t know brands or trends. When one of the girls at a military gala spoke about Ulla Johnson, Lois asked if that was her aunt.
Even if she wasn’t highbrow, she was generally judgmental and she couldn’t stand the seats in the theater. They were far too squeaky and close together, so you were practically on top of your neighbor. The padding was pretty much nonexistent, and there were grease stains on the dull fabric that would make for the perfect before-picture for a steam cleaner ad.
Lois was partial to AMCs where the seats were as soft as pillows, and reclined until you were almost too perpendicular. It was one thing to force her to hang out after work. It was entirely another to make her sit in this rock-hard chair that would give those fold-out seats that they stuck in school auditoriums a run for their money.
There wasn’t even good enough service in the basement theater to get a couple of emails across while she waited.
This was the last time they should let Jimmy pick a movie theater. She couldn’t give two shits that it was historic. She wanted her leather recliner seat and Nicole Kidman talking about how we come to this place for magic.
No one was coming to this damn movie theater for magic. They were coming because they wanted to fuck up their back so much that they needed to go to the chiropractor.
Where was everyone else? They were supposed to get here soon. Lois was only the first one to arrive because she was all the way across town already, chasing a story that had her knocking on politicians’ doors most of the day.
Lois checked her watch and then her phone, which was stupid because she wasn’t even getting a single bar.
As she was about to get up, the double doors pushed open and Clark Kent walked in, all 6’4’’ of him. In one hand, he held a soda and in the other, his ticket.
“Finally,” Lois said, “I was beginning to think that Jimmy sent me the wrong address.”
Clark quickly found his seat, all the way across the row from Lois. “I don’t think there are too many other Cinematheque Royales in the city.”
Lois scoffed, “Royale. Give me a break. There is one-ply toilet paper and the popcorn tastes like it was made a year ago.”
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” Clark laughed, sliding off his jacket and throwing it over the back of his chair.
“The floor is sticky. And this movie looks dumb. I only said yes because I wanted to shut Jimmy up, and I couldn’t exactly think of a better excuse now that everyone figured out that my dog is less than real, and was just a ruse to get me out of social events.”
“Yeah, because you almost sneezed yourself across the room when it was bring-your-pet-to-work day. Not exactly subtle,” Clark recalled. He shifted in his seat, obviously as uncomfortable in the damn thing as she was.
“You know what I don’t get?” she began, “Who is really making all the decisions in HR? They have all these random team bonding days, like what even is Office Lip Sync Battle? Is any of it working? Do you feel bonded?” Lois huffed, and Clark couldn’t stifle his chuckle.
“The night is young,” he took a long slug of his soda.
Lois rolled her eyes, glancing down at her phone. Even if her texts weren’t coming through, at least she could tell that it was well past the time that everyone else should’ve been there.
The previews flickered on the screen.
“I’m going to go check my texts,” she placed the popcorn by her seat (because there were no trays God damn it) and stomped towards the doors.
As soon as she made it into the hallway, her phone buzzed.
JIMMY: We’re not going to make it. An urgent story came through - Perry is keeping us in the bullpen.
Lois quickly shot off a text: I’ll be there in an hour.
JIMMY: Don’t bother. He said that since you and Kent are already too far from the office, stay put and we’ll cover it. By the time you get here, it’ll be posted.
Lois groaned as she trudged back to her seat, “Figures. I’m here while a story is breaking. Perry is benching us.”
Clark got up, holding his phone to the ceiling until a text or two trickled in. He held it close, as his eyes scanned the latest from his friend a couple of cities over. “My contact over in Gotham said that a General Lane announced that they are going to try to push an anti-metahuman bill through DC. It would technically put so much legislation between heroes and doing any semblance of good that they are also essentially benched.”
“I thank God every day that the only things I inherited from my dad were a mean right hook and an abhorrent sleep schedule. What an asshole.” Lois plopped back into her seat, several over from Clark’s.
“Maybe it’s good that you don’t break your own father’s story.”
“Yeah, I doubt it would do me any good at the Thanksgiving table if I ever decide to show up. He’s just so infuriating! In all his efforts to keep the military as the strongest force in the country, he has failed to realize that that ship sailed years ago,” Lois crinkled up the popcorn bag in her hands. “Saddling heroes up with more rules doesn’t negate their power; it only becomes a slight annoyance that no one in their right mind would take seriously. There should be some checks and balances, but he’s going about it in the wrong way. Ugh. Family, amirite?” Lois popped a few kernels in her mouth as she tried to focus on the film slop in front of her, trailers that actually made her less likely to go to those movies.
Lois let her head thunk back against the seat. “And tell me why Jimmy chose this movie?”
“Because it was the only theater not sold out and big enough to cram half the bullpen into,” Clark said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “That, and he has a soft spot for bad zombie movies.”
“How much do I have to pay you to say that I sat through the whole thing?” Lois went to grab her work bag, already halfway pulling her jacket over her shoulders.
“C’mon. We’re already here. Ninety minutes of bad makeup and fake blood won’t kill you.”
“You can’t be sure about that,” Lois shot back, arms crossed.
The lights began to dim as the last trailer played.
Clark turned in his seat, squinting across the darkening theater. “So are you really going to sit way over there the whole time?”
“Yes,” she said crisply, “This is my seat and that is your seat.” She had been keeping him at arm’s length ever since their almost kiss last week which she convinced herself was due to lack of sleep and also her lack of a love life.
“That’s ridiculous. There isn’t anyone else here.”
“Are you saying you’re not a person who talks during movies? You look like one.”
“I don’t talk during movies, plus even if we had a whole conversation, how much would we really be missing? I doubt we have to really be invested in the plot. It has a 32 percent on Rotten Tomatoes.”
There was a pause, then the quiet shuffle of movement. Lois sighed as she saw him walk her way, dropping into the seat beside her.
She glared at him, but didn’t get up. “You never listen.”
The opening credits rolled and Lois tilted her popcorn his way. “Only because it’s stale.”
He offered her his soda, which she accepted. “Only because you might be thirsty.”
---
On screen, a grainy shot of a foggy cemetery filled the frame. The orchestra swelled, overly dramatic, and a woman in a torn nightgown tripped over a gravestone for the third time in as many minutes.
Lois made a face. “Seriously? She’s running from the zombie in heels?”
Clark bit back a laugh. “That’s the problem you’re focusing on? Not the part where she went back into the scary house when she could’ve just driven off with her friends?”
“She’s making bad choices and bad footwear decisions,” Lois shot back. “I’m allowed to be offended on multiple levels.”
---
The zombie lurched into frame in a costume that looked like it came from Shein.
“Oh my god,” Lois muttered. “That’s supposed to be terrifying?”
“I thought you said that you don’t like people who talk through movies?” He countered, eyes glinting in the flickering light.
Lois didn’t look away from the screen. “I don’t. But this shouldn’t count as a movie. If we didn’t talk through it, I’m convinced we would die of boredom.” She reached for his drink, taking a slug.
---
The violins screeched as a hand shot out from the ground, grabbing the heroine’s ankle. Clark jerked back in his seat, eyes wide, nearly knocking over his soda before he caught himself.
Lois slapped a hand over her mouth, but the laugh still broke through. “Oh my god. It actually got you?”
Clark gave her a sheepish look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It came out of nowhere.”
“If only I had gotten that on video,” she sighed, leaning back into her seat.
Two minutes later, Lois froze in her chair, the kernels in her hand dropping into her lap, as a new zombie emerged from the shadows.
“What, Lois? Are you scared?” Clark teased, nudging her lightly with his elbow.
“Shut up!” Lois punched his shoulder, but grabbed his hand at the next jump scare.
---
Lois shook her head, still staring at the screen. “Wait. You’re telling me that if your girlfriend, hypothetically, of course, was turned into a zombie, you wouldn’t be running for the hills?”
Clark shook his head, “Of course not! If she was my girlfriend, then I would certainly risk it to try to save her.”
Lois snorted. “Oh, come on. Be serious. You’d just stick around? Fight off zombies hand-to-hand while she tries to eat your face?”
He shrugged, “How could I live with myself if I survive the zombie apocalypse knowing that I didn’t even try to save her? What kind of boyfriend would I be?”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “The alive kind.”
“Lois, I’m sorry to say, but you’ve got to raise your standards.”
Lois blinked at him, half-laughing, half-startled by the way he said it. She shoved him lightly in the arm. “You’re ridiculous.”
Clark smirked, “Plus, forget make-up sex, I saved you from the zombie apocalypse sex must be incredible.”
Lois choked on her popcorn. “You’re gross,” she said after a beat too long.
---
Clark dug to the bottom of her popcorn bag, leaning a little too close. Lois blinked, suddenly aware of how much space he was taking. “Personal space much?” She muttered, though the warning lacked bite.
“Lois, these seats look like they were made for children. I can’t move any farther away.”
He was right, of course. The chairs were laughably tiny.
Lois huffed, “I had much more room when you were sitting in your actual assigned seat.”
“Who knew that the take-no-prisoners Lois Lane was such a stickler for assigned seating?”
She crossed her arms but, without thinking, snagged another sip of his soda, pretending not to notice the smirk that flickered across his face.
---
“Oh no!” She whispered under her breath, “He died! He was my favorite.”
Clark looked at her, his brows scrunched, “He was your favorite? The guy said three words.”
Lois shrugged, “He’s hot.”
“No he’s not! He sacrificed his friend and was practically stumbling around drunk this whole movie,” Clark scoffed.
The camera panned to the dead jock, his shirt ripped open, the blood glistening on his chest. The actor was sweaty and breathing heavy and for all intents and purposes, very very hot.
Lois raised her eyebrow. A challenge.
“Okay, I get it!” Clark stuck his hand in front of her eyes, “Stop ogling.”
She pried his fingers open so she had a better view. “Can’t a girl appreciate a good jawline? You seem very worked up about a dead man, Kent.” Oh, this was fun.
“I’m not! Let’s forget it. He’s dead. He can’t be hot.”
Right on cue, the jock gasped, his eyes snapping open wide, and he lurched upright. Sweat slicked his tousled hair, and his chest heaved. He was sculpted and glistening and Lois was convinced that it was the best part of the movie.
“Now, look at that,” she leaned forward in her seat, “Seems really undead to me.”
“Let’s just focus on the plot, okay!”
Lois smirked, eyes fixed on the screen. “I thought we agreed that there is no plot.”
Clark let out a long, defeated sigh, leaning back in his seat. “How long is this movie?”
---
The credits rolled, and the theater lights flickered on. Lois stretched, crumbling up the popcorn bag.
“So that was a movie,” she laughed, grabbing her backpack.
“It was bad.”
“Absolutely atrocious,” she replied, though the twinkle in her eye suggested she wasn’t entirely complaining.
Both of them rose, the seats rattling as they did so.
Just as they reached the double doors, Clark’s hand shot out, pressing firmly against her stomach.
“Wait. Zombies,” he said, eyes darting around the theater.
Lois blinked, trying not to laugh. “Oh, right. How could I possibly forget?”
Before she could step forward, he tugged her behind a pillar. “Stay low. They could be anywhere.”
Lois snorted but crouched next to him, matching his exaggerated stealth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m vigilant,” Clark replied, peering around the corner. “Follow my lead if you want to survive,” he said, with a fake Terminator accent that made her laugh out loud.
At one point, Clark stepped closer, with a promise that he was shielding her. She froze. “Uh, shouldn’t you be, you know, looking the other way if there are zombies around? Gotta watch your back and everything.”
He tilted his head, and smiled down at her. “Yeah, I probably should do that,” he said, and didn’t move away, “but cut me some slack. This is my first zombie apocalypse. Still learning the ropes.”
Clark stepped closer. She could see the blues in his eyes.
Lois froze, holding up a hand. “Whoa. Not teenagers, Kent. I’m not letting you kiss me in a movie theater.”
He raised an incredulous eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “So you’re saying maybe outside a movie theater?”
Lois opened her mouth, but stopped as he leaned down, his hand placed lightly on her waist. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle brush of his chest against hers.
He looked for any sense of hesitation, but she didn’t budge.
“Why do teenagers get to have all the fun?” he asked. And with one solid swoop, he kissed her, like every rom com she swore she didn’t watch, like every middle school fantasy she had of one of the younger army recruits shutting her up behind the barracks.
He kissed her like he had been waiting for this for years, like he was afraid she wasn’t going to let him do it again.
But, he shouldn’t be worried, because Lois melted right into him, her right hand finding its way into his hair, her left, placed on his chest.
Clark pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing a little too fast in the dim theater light.
“You know,” he whispered, “Maybe it would be worth it to get a monthly pass. There are quite a lot of movies I want to see.”
“Only if you promise not to talk through them,” Lois teased, a small smirk tugging at her lips.
“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on doing much talking,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw.
“Oh really? And what were you planning, then?”
“Maybe it’s better if I show you,” Clark said, offering his arm. Lois looped hers through it with a laugh.
“If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead.”
“Fair enough,” he said, grinning. “Though I did learn something tonight - you seem to have a thing for dead guys.”
“Oh shut up!” she laughed, letting him lead the way. The lobby lights cast long shadows as they walked side by side, her arm snug against his.