Description: Sequel to
The Letter. Superman has taken to heart some of the things Lois said in her letter. What will happen when one of Lucy's granddaughters turns up to contest part of Aunt Lois' will?
Acknowledgements and Comments: While The Letter was not my usual WAFF my muse (along with encouragement from my beta) had to find a way to continue this in a more hopeful manner. This is the official continuation of the official ending.
Watch out for alternative continuations based on the alternative endings. Thanks go to Morgana and KenJ for their usual fantastic job pointing out my mistakes and unclear passages.
Disclaimer: Superman, Clark Kent, Lois Lane and all other character and place names are owned by DC and/or Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. I own nothing ... except my fantasies -- which frequently include Clark/Superman.
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Chapter 1"Can I help you?" Clark stood at the door, looking in confusion at the woman out in the corridor: the woman glaring back at him.
"Yes. You can give me back my apartment."
"What?" Clark laughed. "I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong apartment, miss."
"No, I don't. I know exactly where I am. Now hand over the keys and get packing."
Clark stood up straighter and narrowed his eyes, finally taking in the reality of the woman arguing with him. She was short. Barely five foot three he would guess - and that might be pushing it. She had jet black hair cut into a shoulder length bob. Her eyes were hidden behind slightly tinted, slim glasses. He mentally brightened the dull grey of her eyes into a bright blue and imagined taking off the glasses to reveal that sparking blue. His gaze travelled down her body taking in her chocolate brown, fitted, skirt suit and flat black shoes. He immediately re-evaluated her height up to five foot four, much more towards 'average' for a woman, as he'd actually been including high heels in his original estimation.
Returning his eyes up to her face he met her burning gaze. "Like what you see?" she accused.
Clark took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. "Just trying to take in who exactly would be trying to kick me out of my apartment." She folded her arms in mirror of his pose and glared at him. "So, what makes you think this apartment is yours, then?" he queried.
"It just is."
Clark laughed and unfolded him arms. "Win many arguments that way?"
"Well…" she trailed off and Clark was momentarily distracted by a clearly embarrassed flush creeping up her cheeks.
"Look. I just moved in last week, but I can assure you that I own this apartment legitimately. If you want to see the papers I can go and get them."
"No. Uh." The lady sighed and the fighting stance which had been surrounding her seemed to drain away. "The thing is … I know you own the apartment. It's just …" Clark saw the young lady's eyes begin to shimmer. "She … she never …" A tear escaped and began to travel down the gently blushing cheek.
Clark opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say. His heart lurched at the pain he could feel radiating from this fiery, yet vulnerable woman. "Um, would you … like to come in?" he asked gently.
She nodded stiffly.
Clark opened the door wider and indicated into the apartment. Turning away he felt the petite lady follow him inside. Once she passed him and entered the living area he closed the door, shutting them both inside. As the door clicked shut Clark turned, only to almost crash into the young lady. She hadn't made it any further into the apartment than a couple of steps. He stepped around and to the side, aiming for the kitchen.
"Um, would you like something to drink miss? I can make a pot of tea …" he let his friendly tone linger. The woman didn't move. He hoped there was nothing wrong. He took a step back towards the living area, leaving the kitchen behind.
"You re-decorated," came the sharp accusation.
"I what?" he asked, shocked. As he approached her she lifted her arm and gesticulated at the walls. Clark caught a glimpse of a familiar gold watch on her wrist.
"It's not the same colour. You re-decorated." She finally turned and looked at him. He could see her eyes glistening with a combination of anger and tears.
"Actually, that would be the realtor. It was like this when I bought the place." He tried to explain and, hopefully, dispel her wrath, but his thought train continued and he had to admit that he would have preferred that they
hadn't decorated to 'increase sales possibilities'. He'd preferred it as it was, too. Clark held out his arm and indicated to the couch. The lady glared for a moment, and then the fire faded from her eyes. She nodded in agreement and then moved to sit down.
Once seated she unbuttoned her jacket and let it hang open. Clark could not sense any comfort coming from his visitor, though. She didn't rest back into the couch, or take off her jacket. That could indicate that she didn't expect to stay long, that she was still angry, or that she was uncomfortable. Clark guessed at the latter two. With her initial declaration of ownership of the apartment he presumed that this could be a long and complicated visit.
After a minute of awkward silence Clark repeated his request in regards to refreshments. "Tea?" he asked. "Or I have coffee. Both decaf and regular. And I have a variety of tea infusions too. Or there's even-"
"Tea would be fine," she suddenly smiled at him with a tiny laugh accompanying her request. "You babble like her."
Clark, who had stood and was half way to the kitchen, turned in confusion. "Her?" There was no reply. The lady just stared into space, her anger now fully replaced by a seeming melancholy. Clark returned to his task of getting the tea. As the lady was clearly lost in her own world he decided not to inquire over whether she would prefer any particular infusion, and just pulled out some traditional English Breakfast. He also risked a little heat vision on the water, to heat it up quicker, reasoning that the lady was too involved in her own thoughts to be able to accurately measure the time which had passed.
So, it was less than a minute later when Clark returned to the couch with a tray. A teapot, two cups, a milk jug, the sugar bowl and some teaspoons graced the tray, which he placed on the coffee table. Sliding back onto the couch he turned to attend to his guest. She nodded when he indicated milk and sugar and then she held out her hand to take the tea cup.
He smiled, gently. "Thank you," came her reply. "I guess you are wondering what's going on here." She lifted the cup to take a sip.
"Not at all," Clark replied in a teasing manner. He hoped that his friendly character would relax the dark-haired lady and allow her to feel more at home.
Maybe she already is home, came the unexpected thought. He frowned and shook his head.
"Sorry," she smiled and looked away. "I know I was blunt and rude … back at the door. I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's okay. You're not being blunt and rude now, are you?" he replied rhetorically. She didn't turn back. "Hey." He tried to get her attention and placed his hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn. She did. Warmth travelled through his hand and up his arm as he rested his hand at the top of her arm. She met his eyes and he was surprised to see a tear travelling down her cheek. "Hey," he said once more, as gently as he could. This lady was a clear contradiction of fire and compassion. It reminded him of someone. Although … being here - in this apartment - could have actually been the instigator of his memories of … Lois. Not necessarily this woman.
"It's just … I loved it here. Whenever I visited her I … this was where I was happiest."
Clark's heart began to beat a rapid tattoo. The woman clearly knew a previous occupant to his apartment. But seeing that the only owner for the last sixty years had been Lois, then this woman knew Lois.
"So," he paused and cleared his throat. "I'm guessing you knew L … the woman who lived here before?"
She nodded. "She was my Aunt. Well, actually my Great Aunt; my gran's sister."
Clark stood and strode away. His heart was pounding. This was one of Lucy's granddaughters. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, recalling that moment when he'd entered the offices of Merton, Wallace and Hannah a month ago. This lady had been there. One of the many people dressed in black: allowed to publically grieve. His eidetic memory recalled what each face looked like, even if he had never met them before. He saw faces around the city; faces he knew from so many different places, events, rescues. But he was just so used to recognising faces that he hadn't thought about
where he'd met her.
"She was called Lois, wasn’t she? The woman who owned this apartment?" Clark tried to keep his voice steady. He slid his hands into his pockets.
"Yes. Aunt Lois. She was my best friend."
She was mine too, thought Clark. Although the past tense in his sentence was even more pronounced than hers.
He also recalled every single part of the will. He knew her name now, too. He recalled the watch on her wrist. He'd thought it familiar before, but now he knew that it had belonged to Lois. Bequeathed to her grandniece …
But it would be careless of him to speak her name without a clear reason to know it.
"Could I ask
your name?" he spoke tentatively.
"Lauren." He was correct. "Lauren Lane."
"I'm Clark Jonson." He turned and stretched out his hand, smiling as genuinely as he could, all trace of emotion missing. Lauren stood and took the offered hand. As they shook Clark felt a return of the warmth which had seeped up his arm while touching Lauren's shoulder earlier. For some reason his fingers enclosed her hand and then wouldn't let go. This woman was a link to Lois. He felt Lauren attempt to pull away. When his fingers wouldn't release, no matter how much he told them to, she looked up and met his gaze.
Clark's heart skipped wildly as their eyes locked. His lips parted, allowing him to take in desperately needed air. Hers parted too, and then paused. It was only moments later, though, when she spoke and he abruptly dropped her hand.
"Clark? Your name is Clark?" Lauren queried.
"Yes."
"It's just … my Aunt knew a Clark. She talked about him sometimes."
"Really?" He tried to interject a light, questioning tone into his reply, but his rapid heart rate meant it came out like a squeak.
Lauren turned away and sat back down, reaching for her tea. "He was quite famous actually. A long time ago. There's even a film that was made about his death - well, about the cloned gangsters anyway. Although, the story is so utterly 'loosely' based on the truth, that Aunt Lois refused to watch it. Possibly …" she gave a little laugh, then sipped the tea. "Possibly you were even named after him. Do you know why your parents named you Clark?"
"Uh…" Clark racked his brain to come up with an answer that wouldn't betray his identity. Gaining time to think, he made his way back to the couch and also reached for his tea cup. "Actually it was my mom's maiden name."
"Oh." Lauren seemed disappointed by that. "I guess … it would have been rather strange, but also rather nice to think that he … uh, Clark Kent, that is … lived on - here - actually in Lois' apartment. She would have liked that very much."
Clark carefully took a sip of tea. This turn of the conversation was very disturbing. If he continued to press the subject further, and inquire as to who this Clark Kent was, then things could become worse than awkward. Suddenly he felt like he was back sixty years, having a conversation with Lois about Superman. The difficulties of keeping up two identities came back to him and he momentarily regretted his decision to follow Lois' advice in her letter, and 'live' again. It was too hard.
But then he recalled her gentle plea, her last request, so lovingly written in that letter. It
wasn't too hard. He would live again, if only to honour Lois' last wish. And, strangely enough, he had already fallen back into 'living'. It would break his heart to let go and return to Superman full time once again. After sixty years living as the world's hero it only took one week to become addicted to life as a normal human once more.
As the time drifted on with nothing further said Clark began to feel uncomfortable. There was an, admittedly, beautiful lady sitting in his apartment, who was actually a complete stranger, but she happened to know the 'love of his life': Lois. What did a person say in that situation?
He'd already, thankfully, stalled the conversation about who
he was. They'd established who
she was. What else was there?
Except …
"So, you claimed this apartment was yours. I
know it's mine, legitimately. You've admitted that it belonged to your Aunt. So what was that all about?" Clark let his eyes twinkle and his smile grow, hoping that Lauren wouldn't feel he was accusing her, or being angry, or defensive.
"I never told her how much I loved it here. It wasn't just that
she was here. I told you she was my best friend. But, aside from loving her, and loving the time I spent with her … I loved it
here. I don't know what it is about this place." Lauren stood, placing her tea cup down. She began to amble around. "I felt at home every time I visited. I even stayed here regularly, and it felt like home, even whenever Aunt Lois was out. It was like I belonged here. Not just because of her. But just … me. I belonged here. I never told her. I think, if I had, she might have left the apartment to me, instead of the Superman Foundation."
"Oh!" Clark placed his cup down and stood, then walked up to meet her near the window. She had now stopped and was staring out.
"She used to stand here, at this window, sometimes. I'd see her staring out, and up. I'm not sure why. I know that the look on her face … well, it was the exact look that mentioning Clark would bring. I guess she was thinking of him."
Clark moved away, his heart resuming its pounding. Clark Kent was a dangerous subject. He needed to turn the conversation away again.
"Are … are you going to contest the will then?" Clark asked, a little fearfully. "Because I love this place too. And the contracts and money have already changed hands. The money is now at the Superman Foundation."
"I don't know." Lauren turned away from the window. He met her eyes and could see the tears shining there. "I … I don't want to give her up. I don't want to give up on this feeling of … belonging here." Clark's heart stopped beating as she spoke of belonging. "But I don't think I have any kind of valid case. Not really."
He released the breath he had been, unconsciously, holding. He wouldn't have to leave. Somehow, he was holding onto Lois by staying here, and if he truly had to say goodbye he feared that he would die himself. He'd tried, at her death, at her funeral, at the reading of the will and at the reading of the letter. He'd convinced himself that each one was the 'closure' he needed, that would allow him to neatly package up his feelings for her, and place them in the 'history' portion of his heart and his memory.
But they hadn't. And when the idea had come to him, to follow Lois' advice and 'live' again, he'd known that this apartment was where he wanted to live. He'd taken all his precious belonging out of his long-term, hidden storage, and approached the Foundation - through the realtor - with an offer on the apartment … as Clark Jonson.
Yet … by holding on to Lois in this way … it meant that Lauren had to let go of her instead. He could feel the pain radiating from her and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to stride over to her and enfold her in his arms. Except, he had no idea whether that would be welcome or not.
He took a step back toward her again, and opened his mouth, ready to say something, but not knowing what.
"I guess …" Lauren looked back out of the window. "I guess I just have to let go. Say goodbye." Clark watched as she took a shuddering breath. "I don't think I can." Her voice broke on the last word and she covered her face with her hands, trying to hide the freely flowing tears.
Clark immediately took the last step to bring himself up to her and he enfolded her in his arms. He'd known, a minute ago, that this was what was needed, but he'd held back. She turned and buried her head in his chest. He could feel her whole body shaking. He didn't know whether Lauren hadn't allowed herself to grieve so deeply until just this moment, or whether she'd been crying every night for the last two months, but either way, he didn't think she'd ever allowed herself to be 'comforted' in that grief. He tightened his hold and let his own tears run down his cheeks. He'd never been comforted in his grief either, in fact, he'd hardly let himself grieve, at least - not publically. As the tears flowed and the body in his arms trembled he felt the sharp edge to his grief begin to dull a little
When Lauren finally stopped shaking in his arms he loosened his hold. She pushed away and took her glasses off, wiping at her eyes. He kept his arms around her waist and she put her hands back on his chest, one hand still holding her yellow tinted glasses. She raised her face to look at him. He met her bright blue eyes, glistening with more tears. As he gazed down at her he was reminded of the clear waters of the ocean surrounding a tropical island paradise.
"Clark," she whispered and flicked her eyes around his face. "You're crying too." She suddenly looked confused.
"I …" he didn't know how to explain. As he searched for words her confused looked turned horrified and she pushed away from his chest.
"I … I'm sorry, Clark. I should leave." She rushed over to the door, but Clark caught her before she could reach the handle.
"It's okay, Lauren." He made her turn. "Lauren, I understand your grief. Believe me, I do. It's okay."
She took a deep breath and looked up at him. She nodded and smiled. "Thank you for the tea. And … thank you for" - she flicked her gaze over to the window - "you know."
"You are welcome, Lauren."
They stared in silence at one another. Clark found himself marvelling at the ocean colour of her eyes once more.
"Well," she finally looked away. "I should go. Thank you."
"All right," Clark replied softly.
Lauren turned and opened the apartment door. Clark watched her leave, unable to move from his spot - a few feet from the door. Many minutes later he eventually stepped forward and slowly closed the wide-open door.
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