Waiting for a Lady - Lois and Clark/Forever Crossover
This is a brief follow-up to, Garden of Memories. In that story Clark had mysterious ‘died’ shortly before the couple was to celebrate their Sixtieth wedding anniversary. Lois, with the able assistance of her large, extended family rallies after the shock of his death. This is aptly symbolized by an extensive renovation of the townhouse and restoration of the garden which had been neglected after her husband’s death. On their anniversary the elderly lady is looking through their wedding album when she realizes a handsome young man has entered the garden. It is a happy shock to know the love of her life was still alive.
What happens now? Lois is well into her eighties and Clark’s appearance is that of a man in his prime. How does their love breach such an impossible chasm?
For those of you who were fans of the ABC Drama Forever; it will be intriguing to see how similar these two men – and the women they love – are, despite their vastly different backgrounds
This story is dedicated to long time FoLC writer Bob Bartholomew and his wife Beverly; this story my gift to their love and happy marriage.
Thanks to MikeM and KatherineKent for the great beta work!
Legal Disclaimer: Only a few of the characters in this story belong to me, the rest are owned by DC, December 3rd Productions and ABC television. I receive no monetary reward for this work. This is just my way of saying thank you for providing for years so much enjoyment to the loyal viewers and readers.
And so, let us begin …
CHAPTER ONE
S.T.A.R. Labs.
The sharp, bitter gusts of winter air chilled Ian Morgan, as he strode easily along Adams boulevard with a lightness of step more associated with the first blush of spring rather than the depths of midwinter.
Jack Frost pirouetted around his face and nipped at uncovered ear tips, turning them scarlet. He chided himself for leaving the black woolen cap Jo had given him years before in the hovercraft. Still he was snug, wrapped in a heavy camel hair coat and blue silk muffler – a feeble imitation of the skillfully embroidered one presented to him by his first wife, Nora.
Every footfall made a fresh impression in the newly fallen snow, as if he were the sole individual approaching the magnificent steel and glass edifice that is S.T.A.R. Labs. Snowflakes nonchalantly floated down, tickling the end of his nose and dusting long dark eyelashes.
The snowfall reminded him of days long ago when as a mere lad in England he spent many a winter’s holiday with his parents. On winter days like this whenever the snow came down he would stick his tongue out, allowing the icy crystals to land and quickly melt. Sadly, despite many improvements on the planet’s environment he was loathe to engage in such juvenile behavior these days.
Reaching into his pocket, he removed an ancient gold watch and opened it and then smiled softly. “I’m right on time; Jo should be ready in a few moments.” Snapping the watch closed, the smile grew wider and touched his eyes. It was time to put ancient memories aside of a life vanished long ago and wholeheartedly embrace the new one to beckoning to be created.
For the sixth time in as many months, Prof. Ian Morgan pulled the steel handles of the main doors which easily opened; puffs of artificially heated air flowed over his body, causing the snowflakes to melt and slide in rivulets down the coat’s front. The warmth drew him into the brightly lit lobby which was decorated with lush green plants and tropical flowers, their very presence belying the chilly climate outdoors.
Dr. Beverly Bartholomew, assistant to the Director of Genetics Research approached him, her hand extended in a warm greeting. “Good Morning Professor, your great-aunt is done with her final procedure. If there are no unforeseen occurrences she should meet you in the family lounge shortly.”
The gentleman bowed his head slightly to the petite, older woman with shoulder length, wavy brown hair. Her simple, but classic clothing never failed to make a favorable impression upon him, perhaps because her color of choice was either purple or lavender. A vibrant color his mother wore whenever she presided over elegant assembly balls at the family’s country estate. “Hello Dr. Bartholomew, how is your husband Robert faring?”
She responded with a merry twinkle in her eyes. “Oh he is quite well, thank you! Between his woodworking projects, writing assignments for the university and that granddaughter of ours, one wouldn’t think he was retired!”
He nodded sagely while removing coat and scarf. “Ah well, he is someone who appreciates each day. Indeed, one should not refer to it as ‘retirement’ but savoring life with those you love.”
“Professor Morgan, we’ll miss your visits! Our guests’ family members go out of their way to make the staff feel valued, but your kindly - and sometimes pointed - observations about the Renewal program have been appreciated. Your great-aunt Joanna has been a pleasure to work with. It has been a privilege to ‘renew’ the wife of such a famous Geneticist as Dr. Henry Morgan. Dr. Amundsen says that thanks to his pioneering research in cellular regeneration this entire process has become possible. Imagine people living one or even two hundred years longer than our current lifespan! Despite my working with the project from the beginning, the results still astound me.”
The younger man merely gave her a wry smile, a touch of bemusement in his dark eyes. “It’s a kind thought, but great Uncle Henry was only one of many contributors to Dr. Amundsen’s work.”
“Ah, you are far too modest, especially considering your own contributions to genetic research. That paper on ‘genetic modification in the reduction of cancerous cells’* presented to the Reykjavik Counsel is required reading for S.T.A.R. Lab's entire BioGen department. Even Dr. Klein was impressed and we all know how difficult it is to do that! In any case, it was an outstanding paper. Ah! Here we are, the perfect place to wait for your great-aunt the lounge is set up with coffee and refreshments.”
He kept his expression carefully neutral upon hearing Beverly’s remark about Ignatius Klein. Nonetheless he was rather pleased, especially since the stoic Dr. Klein was the leading expert on Kryptonian biology. Still, even he made blunders on occasion.
Mrs. Bartholomew showed him to the waiting area. She mused, their conversations were always too brief, but informative. Not only because they shared the same profession, but because his manner of dress and personality were for lack of a better word ‘courtly’. As if this visitor came from another place and time.
“Thank you Dr. Bartholomew …Beverly. If I do not see you before we depart, it has been a pleasure. Oh, by the by, please give Dr. Klein my regards.”
He face fell slightly. “Dr. Klein? Why? He very seldom sees renewal patients or their families.”
A rare smirk appeared. “He will know. Again, thank you.”
Puzzled at the request, but perfectly willing to carry it out, she gifted him with a gracious smile. “You are most welcome. I hope all the best for Joanna’s new life.”
Ian bowed slightly at the waist and then stepped into the room. Beverly quietly closed the door behind him. Slowly he drew breath into his lungs, allowing them to fill, then gradually, permitted the air to escape. It was the work of a moment to hang up his damp outer garments. He hated deceiving to Beverly. Unfortunately, the elaborate ruse was necessary in order to keep his centuries old secret and Jo’s privacy intact.
How could he explain he was the famed geneticist Dr. Henry Morgan? That three years after marrying Manhattan Police Detective Jo Martinez he had departed from his position at the New York City Police Department’s Forensics unit to enter the world of genetic research? Hoping by doing so he might discover the answers to his own mysterious long life and youthful appearance?
The death of his adopted son Abraham following swiftly on the heels of their daughter Sarah’s birth had prompted the move. There were so many memories for them in Manhattan – the bad outweighing the good - they decided to discover what life could be like in a smaller city where the pace was not as hectic.
Henry sent his resume to a number of research facilities and universities the first one to respond was the University of New Troy. Within six weeks they were living in a Cape Cod style home on the outskirts of Metropolis and Henry had begun a new career as a genetic researcher. Here their family grew to four when Jo gave birth to son Caleb. But Jo Martinez-Morgan was not content to be a stay-at-home mother.
When Caleb was enrolled into kindergarten she applied for and obtained a position within Metropolis Police Department. To Henry’s profound relief the position was a normal 9 to 5 desk job working as a Detective on a special white collar crime unit headed by Commissioner William Henderson. Despite not fighting crime on the streets, the job did have certain perks. It was not long before encounters with either the Superman or his friends, reporter Clark Kent and his wife Lois Lane-Kent, editor of The Daily Planet became a common occurrence.
Henry Morgan was occasionally called upon in an official capacity during a particularly difficult case or two. The couples never interacted socially.
The years went by swiftly and they were happy ones for the Morgan family. But eventually, Henry’s youthful appearance was a frequent joke among their friends and associates. Yet as time passed his non-aging ‘condition’ became more noticeable and the jokes ceased. He simply did not age along with his wife and contemporaries. They tried hair dyes and padding to soften his athletic build, but as time progressed the disguises became ineffectual.
Jo did her part to maintain a youthful appearance; diet and exercise which for the most part was successful, she had stoically endured a series of Botox treatments which helped, but no one can outrun Father Time. When Jo had turned fifty and Sarah and Caleb were in their late teens they had been brought into their father’s secret. They were also told that soon he would have to go away.
His children begged him to reconsider and he almost relented, but dear Jo made them see the logic of the decision. It was necessary to protect all of them. The idea of his loved ones dealing with another personage like ‘Adam’ was too frightening to consider.
On a calm, sunny afternoon in July, Professor Henry Morgan was on his way to work when his tire blew out and hit the guardrail plunging his vehicle into Hobbs Bay. A search was launched and eventually the twisted wreck had been located, sadly there was no sign of a body. The harbor police gently told the family it must have gone out to sea with the tide.
All during this time, Henry would mention having a much older brother who lived in England and he had children. So it was no surprise that three years after Henry’s death his 'nephew' Cedric came to visit the family. Of course the resemblance between Henry and Cedric was striking, yet it seemed perfectly natural for this relative to help Jo and the children navigate life without Henry. In time, Cedric went back to England and his ‘son’ Ian came for many a prolonged visit.
By this time Sarah and Caleb had graduated from college, moved out of the house and had families of their own. Jo retired from the MPD and spent as much time as possible with her ‘great-nephew’. Their private relationship had not changed; he still deeply loved Jo as much if not more than Abigail - his second wife. He fondly remembered nights when they would sit on their back porch and drink steaming mugs of tea. Those were the best times, which neither age nor infirmities could dim.
When it had been announced that Dr. Mercedes Amundsen had discovered a method of renewing human tissue, Henry wanted Jo to be a recipient. Sadly, Jo was well into her seventies and the procedure would have been fatal. But last year an astounding breakthrough had been made. Now anyone, no matter what their age, could take the procedure and survive.
He had been waiting for this day for what seemed like an eternity. It was not the first time he had come to S.T.A.R. Labs and placed in this room, but he was grateful today’s visit would be the final one. He had seen many others come through this waiting room with their loved ones, flipping through electronic magazine browsers and dropping a few deep sighs here and there; wishing time could move just a touch faster. Others were content to simply wait for their loved one to emerge; young and vibrant, ready to explore a new chapter in their lives.
In the twentieth and early part of the twenty-first century most of his fellow man had been consumed by impatience, always in a tearing hurry to be somewhere else. It was a manner of living he had never been comfortable with. Now, with this sublime new procedure and drug created by Dr. Amundsen, the human race might just learn to recapture and appreciate the simple joy of relaxing and being content as generations had in the past.
He went over to the refreshment table and made a cup of coffee, took a cranberry scone from the warming tray and placed both on a white china plate. This waiting room felt more like Lyons' Corner Houses, in London before the second Great War. Those were wonderful places where a man could enjoy an afternoon cup of tea and biscuit and talk about the latest cricket match with his mates.
Who would have expected such a convivial waiting room to exist in a vast multinational corporation like S.T.A.R. Labs? A place set aside to wait for a very special lady’s final renewal procedure and meeting with her doctor.
He sat down on a leather chair, turned back to his slim, well-worn volume of Keats’ poetry and took a sip of coffee; it was Sumatran, flavored with cream and sugar. The beans were very low in acidity and produced a tantalizing aroma that ranged from chocolate to toasted almonds. Say what you want about Americans and their coffee, but this particular brand was superior and, considering how early in the morning it was, precisely what was called for.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door of the waiting room opened, and the attending nurse gestured for someone to enter the room. Henry spied the man as he made his way inside and sat down on a large couch, the leather the color of dark walnut. A tall, athletic gentleman perhaps in his late thirties began reading from a tablet, the face is familiar, annoyingly so. His hair was the color of onyx and wavy, in a style made popular decades before. His cheekbones were chiseled and in a peculiar fashion reminded him of his dear wife. Other than that, he was a perfectly normal fellow in the prime of life, except for one thing; his eyes were obscured by a pair of wire framed glasses.
Now as a physician he saw nothing wrong with anyone wearing glasses, it was just that as a technique for improving vision, they were hopelessly outmoded. Certainly this man could simply have a laser retinal procedure which would correct the problem immediately and with minimal discomfort. He began to mentally calculate the different procedures that could be used.
But then a thought pierced his mind and the calculations ceased, quietly he drew in a breath.
The newcomer was at ease wearing glasses because it was all he knew. Special laser surgery was probably an anathema to him. It was obvious he was one of the many people who had come to S.T.A.R. Labs for renewal.
Last edited by Morgana; 11/07/17 06:37 PM.
