It had been days since the doctors had pulled Lois from surgery. Her condition had been weak, but stable, and though she had been brought into the hospital nothing short of a bloody mess, Clark had been promised that she would recover from her injuries in time.
Time had turned out to be a very unspecific, irritating detail, one that had left Clark pinned to Lois' side ever since she had been cleared for visitation. He hadn't left her alone. He didn't dare try. If her shooter found out that she was still alive, there was a good chance that he or she would make a move on her again. Clark refused to let that happen. He had almost lost her once, but that was all that they were getting. One shot. One attempt. They successfully hurt her, but they didn't kill her. They had failed. And with Clark here, they didn't stand a chance at getting anywhere near her ever again.
Hours of waiting had turned into days. Clark had barely slept, he had barely eaten, and he only left her room if he absolutely had to. Even then, it was only for a few minutes, if that. It had taken some motivation for Clark to call the paper to explain to their editor why neither of them would be able to work for an unspecific amount of time (for once, Clark was actually able to be honest about what had happened), but he knew that it was what Lois would have wanted for him to do. If she woke up and found out that they were both unemployed because Clark didn't think to check in with the big man back at the office, she'd probably make him wish that he was the one who had gotten shot instead.
Though, honestly, he kind of did already.
Eventually, his sleep deprivation caught up with him. Clark found himself chugging down cups of coffee on an hourly basis, but they only held up for but so long. Sleepless nights turned into him dozing off between gaps of straightening Lois' blankets out, making sure that she was comfortable, and surveying the area for any and every sign of potential threats. Soon enough, he was taking small naps here and there on the side, often finding himself nudged awake by one of the nurses, who would always stop in to explain any changes in Lois' condition and offer to bring him a meal or two throughout the day.
It was when his exhaustion had kicked him into nap mode that Lois had decided to wake. Clark had been crammed into one of the tiny guest chairs, head resting at an awkward angle against the wall behind him. He had been dreaming about something – at least he thought he had been – when a voice lured him to consciousness. Clark opened his eyes and blearily looked ahead, expecting to see one of the nurses or doctors again, but found no one. Which meant...
His eyes widened and he turned, spotting a very awake and very not-dead Lois. It only took him half a second to climb out of his chair and scoop up the hand that was reaching for him, a relieved expression quickly masking the worn and anxious look that had been carrying him along for days. “Hey. Hey, it's okay. Don't --” She was coughing. Clark quickly reached for the water pitcher that had been set up beside her bed and poured her a cup of water. Drink in hand, he carefully sat down on the edge of her bed and slipped a hand behind Lois' head, gently lifting it so that she could drink as needed. “Here. You need to drink this. C'mon.”