Lois paced her living room, knowing what she had to do now that Clark was home but wondering how she was supposed to do it. Her stomach was knotted and her palms were sweaty. For how long had she dreamed of this moment? How many times over the last twenty years had she envisioned herself doing what she was about to do? But, never, in her darkest moments, had she imagined the circumstances to be like this.
“Better just to rip off the band-aid,” she muttered to herself as she slowed her pacing. For a moment, she turned and faced the direction of the kitchen, contemplating a cup of coffee, but as the clock struck eleven, she shook her head. “Too late for that. And I’m wound up enough as it is.”
She sat down on the couch, suddenly feeling exhausted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the gift she’d been attempting to wrap earlier in the day when Henderson had called. It was still unwrapped and the tape on the tape dispenser was still twisted uselessly on itself.
“Was that really just today?” she wondered out loud. “Feels like a year ago.”
She shook her head, then reached for the cordless phone she kept on the side table. She wanted to lay back and relax, but she felt like every muscle was coiled like a spring, even though Clark was out of immediate danger. It was the call that had her worried, she knew. How could she verbalize everything that had happened?
With a heavy sigh, she stretched her back until she heard and felt a satisfying pop! Then she pulled the number from her phone’s contact list and listened as it dialed. For one, heart-stopping moment, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the phone to be picked up. But in the next second, she heard the sound of the phone being answered.
“Hi, Lois,” Martha greeted her tiredly, clearly holding back a yawn.
“Martha, hi,” Lois said in turn. “I’m sorry to call you so late.”
“It’s okay, dear,” the other woman said, and Lois could hear the small smile in her voice. “I was up watching a movie anyway. What’s going on?” Once upon a time, Martha had started every conversation asking if there was any news on Clark. But in the past couple of years, she’d strayed further and further from that routine as it became more and more apparent that Clark might never be found.
“I…have some news,” Lois began cautiously. “Something happened today. Something I…” She swallowed hard, her mouth gone dry. “I asked the police not to call you until I…knew more. I didn’t want you getting half-answers and partial stories.”
“Are you alright?” Martha asked with concern. “What happened?”
“I’m fine,” Lois answered immediately. “It’s actually not about me at all. It’s about Clark. We found him, Martha.”
Stunned silence filled the air between them. Half a minute passed and Lois wondered if the poor woman had gone into shock.
“Are you…sure?” Martha asked cautiously when she found her voice again, too scared to be hopeful.
“Positive.”
Lois could hear Martha swallowing hard. “Is he…?” Her words were thick with the threat of tears and she didn’t seem capable of asking the rest of the question.
Lois felt her lips trembling as even as she almost smiled tenderly, as though the look could quell Martha’s fears. “He’s alive, Martha. He’s…here…with me. At my house,” Lois said gently.
A choked sob came from the other end of the phone line. “Oh, thank God,” Martha murmured. “How is he? Is he okay? How did you find him? After all this time…”
“I…didn’t,” Lois sheepishly admitted. “Batman did.”
“Bless him,” Martha said, her voice reverent. She paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I’ll be on the next flight out, I promise.”
“Martha…wait,” Lois softly said, putting a stop to Martha’s babbling. “He’s….things are….complicated,” she finally settled on. “I don’t have all the details yet. The police and Dr. Klein are working on piecing things together. And I will too, as soon as I can. But Clark…was found in Arkham Asylum. He doesn’t have any of his powers right now, to the best of my knowledge. It’s clear that his invulnerability hasn’t been intact for some time now, at any rate.”
“He’s been without his powers before,” Martha replied staunchly. “When you were both in Smallville, not long after he started at the paper, he discovered what Kryptonite can do to him. He was able to recover then. He’ll recover now.” Determination to see her son well and whole again was in the woman’s voice.
“I believe it,” Lois agreed. But…I wish that was all that was wrong. I…they…when he was at the asylum…” She swallowed down the lump that was forming in her throat as she beat back the tears that were pricking at her eyes.
“What?” Martha asked, her words heaving with dread.
Lois swallowed again. “He was there for about ten years, Martha. During that time…or before…we’re not sure as there was no history of what happened before he somehow ended up in that awful place…” She sighed and started over. “He’s been clearly abused. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t true.”
“A…abused?” The word sounded foreign on the older woman’s tongue.
Lois nodded though Martha couldn’t see it. “He’s got a lot of bones that were broken and which healed improperly. Dr. Klein thinks he can fix them once Clark’s powers return. There are…scars, Martha. So many scars.”
“My son!” Martha sobbed.
For a long moment, Lois quietly listened to Clark’s mother as she grieved. It broke Lois’ heart to listen as she wailed, sobbed, and, at one point, dry-heaved. Lois didn’t blame Martha one bit. She knew, perhaps, a little of what the older woman was going through. They’d gotten Clark back only to lose him all over again.
“Scars…” Martha finally got out, swallowing hard as she bit back fresh tears. “Scars will fade, in time. Bones can be reset. Can’t they?” She was pleading for good news.
“Dr. Klein thinks he might be able to fix them…in time,” Lois said carefully, not wanting to give Martha false hope.
“If that’s the worst of it, we can get through this,” Martha asserted, and Lois knew it was simply her way of trying to take a bad situation and gain control over it. “For so long, I feared my boy was dead. It’s like…”
“Like a resurrection, of a sort,” Lois supplied when Martha’s voice tapered off. “I know.”
“It’s a miracle. But, oh God, I almost gave up hope of ever seeing him again.” A new bubble of grief spilled out into Martha’s words. She sniffled a little.
“Martha? There’s…something else. Something that…I’m not sure how to tell you,” Lois cautiously offered after a moment. “Something…worse than his…physical deformities.”
“What can be worse than abuse?” Martha asked in a small, wary voice.
“The abuse…I wish that was the worst of things,” Lois forced herself to say. “I wish I could tell you that a surgery or two will solve all of Clark’s problems. I wish…”
She stopped for a moment as her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath before continuing. “The asylum…they made him undergo…” She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. “Electroshock treatment. He…his mind…he’s…in a fragile state, Martha.”
There was a strangled wail and the sound of retching. A tear slid down Lois’ cheek and she wished she was anywhere else doing anything else than delivering this news to Clark’s mother. Sniffling and the muffled sound of a nose being blown came across the phone lines. “Electroshock?” Martha asked, horrified.
“I just…I want you to prepare yourself, Martha.” Lois felt a lump rising in her throat and she worked hard for a moment trying to push it back down. A tear slid down her cheek that she felt too lethargic to wipe away. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she relayed the traumatizing and horrific reality before them and all the potentially impossible hurdles Clark would have to overcome. She heard her own voice crack as she forced herself to continue. “He…he doesn’t seem to know who he is right now. He doesn’t know me. When I called him by name…he’s afraid of his own name, Martha.”
A sob bubbled up in her throat and she feigned a cough as she tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “I know you can’t wait to hold him and see him again, but…he’s not the Clark we remember. Not right now.”
“People…they don’t come back…they’re never the same after electroshock.” It was as much a statement as a question, but Martha’s voice was hollow, as though she herself had been the one to be stripped of her essence.
“Dr. Klein isn’t sure in Clark’s case.” She paused for a couple of heartbeats as she readied herself to relay the other reason for her call. She pinched the bridge of her nose, hating what she was about to say. “Martha…there’s…something else I need to tell you. The thing is… I…had to tell Dr. Klein. About Clark. About Superman,” Lois apologized. “I’m sorry, Martha. I hate it every time I have to admit it out loud, even when it’s for Clark’s benefit, but he’s the only one who’s ever worked closely enough with Superman to possibly be of some help. He needed to know the whole truth so he can treat Clark.”
“I understand, dear,” Martha said, and Lois imagined the tearful, but approving, accompanying nod. Lois had to abstractly admire the brave front Martha was putting on.
Lois cleared her throat again. “He said…Clark’s suffered some brain damage from the electroshock.”
“Brain damage?” Martha squeaked out in disbelief. “Is…is he…?” She didn’t seem able to finish her thought.
I know, Lois thought to herself. It’s like Clark died twenty years ago only to be brought back to die again.
Only this time, that death was worse, she knew, because they were forced to live with him right here before their eyes. The finality of death wasn’t there. That sense of saying a final goodbye and learning how to move on with live had been stolen from them. Instead, they had the chance to fight for Clark, to go to the ends of the Earth if need be, trying desperately to restore him to his former self. But no matter what they did, it would never be enough. His healing, or lack therefore, was completely out of their control.
It’s up to him, his powers, and maybe the grace of God or the universe or whatever is out there, Lois thought with a sigh.
“We don’t know yet,” Lois said, answering the unvoiced question. “Dr. Klein said that, for you and me, once the brain cells die off, they don’t repair themselves. But Clark’s body is different from ours. He can recover from trauma a lot faster than you or I can. There’s a slight possibility that his brain might benefit from his healing aura once it returns. But…” Her voice trailed off as she found herself unable to continue.
“Don’t get my hopes up,” Clark’s mother filled in for her with despair.
For an uncertain moment, Lois thought the woman might crumble on the other end of the phone line. But Martha Kent was stronger than that. She’d been broken down and now she was ready to rebuild herself stronger than before. This was a woman who’d once beaten every conceivable odds to become a mother to an infant who’d dropped out of the sky. She would not take no for an answer.
“But, Lois, I don’t want to hear about what this Doctor Klein thinks. You know my son. What do you think?”
“I…” Lois paused. She’d been so busy that day that she hadn’t really gotten the chance to examine how she felt about the situation. “Honestly, I’m not sure,” she finally answered. “At first glance, he looks so much like his old self. But then…I look at him and he’s a stranger, Martha. He’s not…” A few silver tears slipped past her defenses and rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away and her breath shuddered as she continued to speak. “There’s an emptiness in him now. It’s like Clark is gone and a ghost was put in his place. I want to believe he’s in there somewhere, buried deep inside. But how can anyone go through an ordeal like that and not lose themselves?”
She shook her head, wishing the movement could clear out her bleak thoughts. “I’m not giving up on him though. He’s got to be in there still. He’s Clark. He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.” She paused and took a shaking breath. “I think you should come and see him, if you’re up for it. He’s too weak to do any traveling right now. And I have to warn you…he’s…” She gulped around a new lump in her throat. “He’s nearly skeletal. Dr. Klein is shocked Clark can still move around at all. He’s severely malnourished.”
“I’ll help you prepare all of his favorite meals,” Martha said with determination. “I’ll get my boy back to the picture of health.”
Lois smiled warmly. “I know you will,” she encouraged. “And when he’s cleared for travel, I promise, I’ll bring him out to Kansas for a visit. Maybe being home again will help jog his memory. In the meantime, I’m telling him as many stories as I can, hoping that something lights a spark in him.”
“I know,” Martha replied gently. “I’m glad he has you to take care of him.”
“He has you too, even if he doesn’t remember it,” Lois countered softly. “We’ll get him through this,” she vowed. Then she paused. “Listen, Martha…I was…able to convince the police to withhold the fact that Clark was found from the press…for now. But, sooner or later, it’s going to get out. I can write the story for the Planet but…I can’t control what the other news outlets will say. Or do. You may want to consider getting away from Kansas for a while.”
“It’s going to be a madhouse here, isn’t it?” Martha asked thoughtfully.
Lois nodded. “It’ll be worse here if the press gets wind of the fact that he’s staying with me,” she said in a sobering tone. “If it weren’t for my worries about Clark being able to travel, I’d try to find somewhere else to lay low until it blows over.”
A thoughtful silence followed before Martha spoke. “I’ll be there as soon as I can book a flight. If it gets bad, we’ll have a press conference.”
“If it gets out about his mental state…if he ever recovers…” Lois began as her thoughts took a terrifying twist, “there’ll be no hiding it. It could jeopardize his secret.”
Martha took a deep breath. Lois could hear it over the phone and could imagine Martha’s worry. “We’ll cross that bridge if and when we get to it.”
Lois sighed. “You’re right.”
“I’ll call you once I know when I’ll be in Metropolis,” Martha stated, as if to say goodbye.
“Okay, I’ll get the extra guest room ready for you,” Lois replied. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
Gently, distractedly, Lois hung up the phone and held it in her hand, staring at the black and silver headset as though it would give her the continuing strength she would need. She wished she was done with phone calls for the night, but there were others who needed to be told the news, as happy and grim as it was. She decided Perry should be first, though their former boss was long since retired. Then she figured she would call Jimmy. Already, she could hear the excitement in the younger man’s voice as he learned that his once best friend had been found alive. As luck would have it, Jimmy was also her editor now, and she knew it would be no problem when she asked for time off to nurse Clark back to whatever would pass for health.
***
It was after midnight by the time Lois got off the phone with Perry and Jimmy, and she was immensely grateful that Batman had been the one to find Clark, since she figured the caped hero of the night would alert the other supers to the fact that Clark/Superman had been found. She didn’t think she could handle a conversation with Wonder Woman that night. In truth, it was closer to one in the morning than midnight, and she was tired all the way down to her soul.
And yet, she couldn’t sleep. She wanted to. She tried. She showered and had a cup of the herbal tea Clark had once introduced her to, claiming it would reduce her stress and help her relax. She’d found it to be helpful during the long years of searching for him, and always kept some on hand as a bittersweet reminder of her best friend. She tried the melatonin gummies she’d occasionally relied on – with varying success - to help her sleep when she couldn’t. Nothing worked. She tossed and turned for over two hours before climbing back out of her bed and padding down the hall to Clark’s room.
She was greeted with the deep, even breathing that only sleep could bring as she peeked into his room. She’d deliberately left the bedroom door open. She hadn’t wanted him to feel locked in, like he had for ten years in that cramped and depressing little cell in the asylum. She’d needed him to know that he was free and safe here. He could come and go as he pleased. He didn’t need to worry about ever being harmed again. He was home, if he wanted to stay with her. Or, if he seemed more comfortable when she eventually took him to Kansas, well, she would grieve his absence but understand his need to be back to his roots.
She hoped he would stay.
I’m being selfish, she acknowledged to herself. He doesn’t belong to me. How often did I reject his friendship? How many times did I warn him not to fall for me? How many times did I turn a blind eye to the affection he was so obviously throwing my way? How badly did I break his heart that day in the park, when he told me that he loved me?
I should have loved him back. I did. It’s why I couldn’t bring myself to marry Lex. Why every relationship I’ve had since then has went up in smoke. And now…it might be too late. He doesn’t even remember me.
Lois watched him sleep for a few long, almost peaceful moments. It would have been peaceful, if not for the horrors that she saw as she gazed at the way Clark was curled up on his left side, his body tightly pulled into a fetal position. His left arm was tucked beneath his head. His right arm was pulled up against his chest, his fist above his heart. Everything about the way he held himself spoke of defensiveness, down to the way his head was bowed, his chin resting against his protruding collarbones. Lois’ heart broke as she realized that, even in his sleep, Clark was trying to protect himself from some kind of physical trauma. She wondered exactly what had happened to him.
A tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered the way he’d once been. How he’d always stood so tall and proud, even in his humblest moments. The way he’d always carried himself with such fluid grace it was hard to picture him as a mere mortal. The effortless way he’d navigated his world, always finding something to laugh or smile about. The sunny, optimistic way he’d viewed life. The easy way he’d made friends wherever he went. The brilliant smile that had never strayed far from his lips. The spark of intelligence and love that had eternally blazed in his eyes.
Now, he was a different man that Lois didn’t recognize. Sure, he physically looked much the same – a little older, a lot paler and skeletally thin – but he wasn’t the Clark she’d known once upon a time. The person sleeping before her on the guest bed in her spare bedroom was nothing but the shell of a man. Everything that had made him Clark Kent was missing.
His movements were slow and clumsy. His steps were shuffling as though he lacked the energy to make a proper footstep. His body was bowed – hunched over as though to minimize his presence in the room. He had yet to speak and Lois worried that his voice and laughter had rusted away to oblivion or been burned away as the electricity had been mercilessly shot into his brain, over and over again. Thinking back over the day, she realized she’d seen only three emotions cross his features thus far – terror, confusion, and an unnerving blank stare that completely hid whatever might be going on in his abused mind. His eyes were glassy and dull, unfocused at times, and nearly lifeless, as though he’d long ago lost the will to live. Lois wondered if that wasn’t the case. Perhaps his soul had died during his imprisonment but his body hadn’t quite gotten the message yet.
And the burnt, scarred flesh around his temples was an ugly reminder of the torture he’d been subjected to. Each crease of his marred skin represented another memory, another piece of his soul, lost to the inhumane electricity that had been remorselessly blasted into his skull. Each pucker of his flesh was the remnant of another cruel ‘treatment’ that had robbed him of his identity. Each burn he’d endured had stolen away his personality and everything that had made him Clark.
And those scars were just the ones that were always visible. How many more lurked beneath his clothing? How many dozens of faded pink and white marks covered his chest and back? Lois hadn’t been able to count them all when she’d helped Clark to shave and given him a haircut before he’d showered and dressed in clean clothing earlier in the night. She’d wept at the sight of them, then wept harder at how Clark had merely looked at her with a fleeting expression of confusion. What had happened to him? Had the sadistic people who’d fried Clark’s brain also physically attacked him? Had he gotten those wounds during the still-unaccounted for ten years between his disappearance and his admission into the Arkham Asylum? But if that was true, then he’d been without his powers before he’d been locked away in the asylum’s basement. What on Earth had Clark endured?
More tears followed the first as Lois thought about all that Clark had lost during those years he’d been locked away. How much of himself he’d lost. How many people he’d once loved who’d died in the intervening years. How Lois had begun to realize her budding feelings for him around the time he’d gone missing. How they could have possibly become a couple. Lois bit back a sob. Everything had been stolen from Clark!
“I swear to you,” she whispered at the sleeping form of her best friend. “I’ll find a way to bring you back, Clark.”
Clark whimpered in his sleep – the first sound Lois had heard him make so far - and began to tremble – from the cold or from some nightmare, Lois wasn’t sure. He’d fallen asleep on top of the comforter, so Lois crept to the closet and retrieved a couple of warm, hand-made, crocheted blankets that Martha had given her. Favorites from Clark’s childhood, Martha had told Lois. Carefully, so as not to awaken Clark, Lois deposited the pile at the foot of the bed, then, one by one, she draped the blankets over his shaking form. When the last one was arranged to her liking, she gently sat down on the bed next to him. Stretching her body, she twisted a bit and hugged him, with her hand smoothing the hair away from his brow, until, at long last, Clark finally calmed.
***
Lois awoke hours later, shivering from the cold that had settled in the house as the outside temperature had dropped. Like Clark, she’d fallen asleep atop the comforter, but unlike him, she didn’t have the benefit of Martha’s blankets to help keep her warm. She sat up, feeling refreshed and she rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes, clearing out the last remnants of sleep. Having Clark in her arms had done wonders for her state of mind, she realized, though she knew the real work was just beginning in her fight to bring him back from the yawning abyss inside his mind.
She slipped off the bed and, with frigid feet, hustled back to her bedroom to dress before going downstairs to adjust the thermostat. She shook her head. With all that had happened the previous evening, she’d forgotten to check the settings and it was colder in the house than she liked it to be. She cranked the heat up to seventy and waited impatiently for the house to reach temperature. In the meanwhile, she knew she had to check on Clark.
He was awake when she got to his room, sitting quietly at the edge of his bed, staring blankly into the distance. Lois knocked on the door, but Clark barely seemed to acknowledge the noise. She entered and sat next to him, placing a loving hand on his right knee. He flinched slightly at the contact, but Lois thought – imagined? – he was less fearful of her touch than he had been the previous day.
“Good morning,” she told him, smiling as brightly as she could, given the circumstances. “Hungry?” She gave him a chance to respond, knowing he wouldn’t, then she continued. “I’m starving. Come on downstairs and I’ll see what I have in terms of breakfast. I need to go food shopping, but I should have something in the pantry.”
Carefully, she took him by the hand. He understood enough to stand and follow along behind her as she guided him back downstairs and to the kitchen. She showed him the little breakfast nook and he sat quietly, with no expectation, no judgment, no sense that he was aware of anything. Lois rummaged around in the closets for a moment, then emerged with a tall can of oatmeal.
“This should do,” she told him as she set about boiling water. “Listen, I called your mother last night. She’s working on trying to fly out to see you. She’s…your disappearance has been hard on her. She’s…” She shook her head, searching for the right words. “Ecstatic,” she finally settled on. “She can’t wait to see you, Clark.”
Again, she saw the heartbreaking fear cross his features at the sound of his name. She sighed. “I wish I knew what they did to you. Why they made you so afraid of your name. I hate that you’re hurting so badly. I just wish I knew what happened so I can help you heal from it.” She paused, then suppressed a chuckle as she measured out some oatmeal into two bowls. “I guess this is a start,” she said, allowing a small smile to cross her face. “Feeding you something actually edible, for once. You used to bring me the most delicious meals, do you remember? Pizza so good I had to restrain myself from eating half a pie in one sitting. Authentic Chinese food that I could eat for days and not get sick of. Tacos that were out of this world.” She sighed again. “And I used to be able to burn water. Oh, I’m not saying I’m a gourmet chef by any means, but at least my food won’t kill anyone.”
She poured some of the now-steaming water into the oatmeal and mixed it before bringing it over to the table. She set a spoon and one of the bowls before Clark, before returning to the island in the middle and fixing his coffee the way she remembered him liking it. “Although,” she added as an afterthought as she examined the watery, soupy mess in her own bowl, “oatmeal making still eludes me. It either comes out like soup or like wallpaper paste. There has never been an in-between for me,” she said as she settled in her seat across from him. “Careful with the coffee, it’s hot,” she warned, not wishing to see him cause himself pain by scalding his mouth on the drink.
Clark looked at the coffee like it was something from another planet. She wondered how long it had been since he’d last had a cup. No matter. She would allow him to rediscover it at his own pace. In the meanwhile, she poured him a glass of orange juice instead.
“I made it just the way you used to,” she said after a long moment of watching him simply stare at the mug of coffee. “Mostly sugar, some coffee, and a healthy dose of full-fat cream. I used to tease you all the time about how you could drink it like that and never gain a pound. Meanwhile, just smelling your coffee would make me feel like I needed an hour on the treadmill.” She smiled, hoping he’d know she was just joking with him.
If he understood that she was jesting with him, Clark didn’t show it. Instead, he gingerly set to eating his meal, with Lois surreptitiously watching him out of the corners of her eyes. The way he had to hold his spoon looked painful to her as he worked around his mangled fingers.
“Dr. Klein thinks he can help you,” she said at last. “Once you’ve recovered a bit, he wants to try resetting your bones so they can heal properly.” She gestured to the awkward way he had to hold his spoon. “He just doesn’t want to do it right now, while you have so much other recovering to do.”
Clark finished his oatmeal and his stomach rumbled loudly. Lois wordlessly rose and prepared him a second bowl, which came out thicker than the first, but still not the proper consistency. But Clark ate it all the same as she pushed her own oatmeal around in her bowl, eating small bites of it here and there.
“I called Perry and Jimmy last night, after I spoke to your mother,” she finally said after swallowing down a bite of her food. “Do you remember them?” Clark didn’t pull his gaze from his food. “I hated telling them that they shouldn’t come by just yet, until you’ve had a chance to heal a bit. But, Clark, they were thrilled to know you’re alive. I think Perry was crying. I’ve never seen or heard that man cry before. Not even when his son got sentenced to life in prison for his various schemes and other illegal activities.” She cleared her throat. “And Jimmy? I’ve never heard that level of excitement come out of him about anything, ever,” she recalled with a ghost of a smile.
Clark simply focused on his food, then looked at her when the bowl was clean. Taking a guess, she made him a third bowl, and he seemed to have no problem devouring that one as well, even though it came out too thick for Lois’ taste. He didn’t appear to want to wait for her to water it down a bit more to thin it out. When he was done, he drained his orange juice then looked with confusion at the coffee cup.
“Go on,” Lois encouraged, sliding the mug into his right hand. “I remember how you used to like it. I hope I did it justice. You used to make the coffee for the both of us. You always seemed to know exactly when I needed a cup – be it at work or when we hung out together after hours. And you always made it better than I did. I remember, you learned how I like my coffee within the first week of us working together. I was still sore over having a partner and you were still green when it came to working for a real newspaper. I wasn’t being particularly nice to you…but you?”
She shrugged and smiled over the memories as they came floating back to her. “You never gave up on me, Clark. With nothing but your natural friendliness, optimism, and impeccable manners, you cracked my defenses. Oh, that’s not to say you didn’t know when to give as good as you got,” she added, waving a hand dismissively as she watched him take an experimental sip of his drink. She thought she saw a hint of his confusion melt away and he took another sip. He liked the coffee, even if he didn’t remember that once upon a time, he’d almost lived on it during some of their tougher cases.
She decided to continue to feed him tidbits of his past, hoping to fill in some of the holes in his memory. “I once shamelessly stole your story, so you sent me on a wild goose chase at the Metropolis Sewage Reclamation Facility. When I finally stopped wandering around – after hours, mind you – I found a Godzilla doll that you’d left for me.” She chuckled lightly at the memory. “It sounds terrible, but…I’d earned it. And you showed me that, as willing as you were to befriend me, you weren’t going to let me take advantage of you. You weren’t the naïve ‘hack from Nowheresville’ I’d initially taken you for. I respected you for having the guts to put me in my place, even while I was furious for having wasted my time and smelling like something had crawled under my skin and died. Not to mention the mosquito bites.”
Clark blinked dully at her before drinking again.
“You never gave up on me,” she repeated as she paused to take a sip of her own coffee. “And I never gave up on finding you. Now that you’re safe and home again, I’m still not giving up on you, Clark. No matter what it takes, I’m going to find a way to help you,” she swore, ignoring his continued distress over his true name.
***
A day and a half.
That was all the respite Lois and Clark got before the news broke that the missing reporter had been found alive after twenty years.
Then the hordes of unrelenting reporters descended upon Lois’ home, camping out in the freezing temperatures for the slightest chance of sneaking a peek at the man holed up within. Grudgingly, Lois was forced to keep the blinds closed and the drapes pulled tight to hide Clark from their prying eyes and merciless cameras. It hurt her to keep Clark in the dark. She wanted him to experience as much sunlight as possible to aid in his healing process. But the one hour where she tried keeping the curtains open on the upper floor, one of the news stations sent a drone up to try and catch a glimpse of Clark, who, as luck would have it, was on the main floor eating lunch at the time.
They would go away in time, Lois knew, but in the meanwhile, they were driving her crazy. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. And, worse, she had to wonder if Clark felt like a prisoner, albeit in a bigger cell and without the abuse he’d suffered through. But whatever Clark was thinking – if he was thinking at all – was kept locked in his tortured mind. He said nothing and didn’t react at all to the change in his surroundings – not for the positive and certainly not for the negative.
But, again, Lois knew that, once the story grew stale and it was clear that no one would be seeing Clark, the reporters would drift away, dispersing with no stories, no pictures, and a lot of wasted time. And the sunlight would still be there when that moment came, and Clark could use it to heal his wounds. The more immediate problem was getting Martha into the house without the media bombarding her with a thousand questions she couldn’t answer and a thousand cameras shoved into her face to splash the image of the relieved mother all over the news.
Henderson solved that problem for them in the end.
Lois was just sitting down at her laptop, attempting to draft the statement she knew she and Martha would be forced to make eventually. She’d just sent off her version of Clark’s discovery and rescue to Jimmy, hoping to beat the other reporters to it. She wanted the Daily Planet to be the first to report the facts. People tended to remember the first version of a story. And, besides, the Planet was Clark’s paper. It should be the first to report that their colleague and friend had been found. There was a knock on the door and, at first, Lois ignored it.
“Probably another one of those pesky Dirt Digger reporters,” she said, spitting out the word ‘reporters.’ It was a stretch for her to consider anyone who worked for such a rag to be a journalist.
But the knocking continued and her telephone rang. She checked the caller ID, then immediately answered the call.
“Lois, open your damn door,” came the gruff, annoyed voice of Henderson. Then he abruptly hung up.
Lois stuck the cell phone in the pocket of her sweatpants and rushed to the door. There, behind the wood and glass, was Bill and a uniformed officer. In the background, beyond the police tape cordoning off the area around her house, she could see the media scrambling to snap her picture, though she suspected that she was blocked from their view by Henderson’s strategically placed body.
“About time,” Henderson quipped, cracking a partial smile.
Lois shrugged. “I thought you were one of those Dirt Digger nutjobs.”
“You gonna invite us in or not?” Henderson grinned.
“We need to see Clark,” the uniformed officer said, sliding her sunglasses down her nose a bit.
Lois gaped. “Martha?!” She quickly gestured for the two to come inside, then she locked the door behind them once they were in.
Martha was laughing. “I borrowed a page from my son’s playbook. No one sees past the costume,” she chortled.
Lois blanched. “Wait…what? Does Henderson…?”
Henderson nodded once. “You don’t think I made the connection back when Clark first went missing?”
“He asked when he picked me up from the airport,” Martha explained, citing the arrangement they’d worked out to get Martha to Lois’ house without alerting the media, “and I told him.” She sighed tiredly. “I don’t like telling people, but, right now, Clark needs as many of us on his side as he can get.”
Lois nodded, then gave Henderson a hard look. “You never asked me,” she said pointedly.
Henderson shrugged and grinned. “I knew you’d lie to me.”
“Where’s my son?” Martha asked, looking around with troubled eyes.
“He was resting when I last checked on him,” Lois said, nodding in an upward direction. “He tends to nod off here and there. I’m not sure if he’s legitimately tired or if it’s a force of habit from having nothing to do while he was locked in the asylum. Or if his body is using the sleep to try and recover,” she added thoughtfully.
“I’ll give you your space then,” Henderson said, stepping back a pace.
“Bill?” Lois said, reaching out to him with one hand. “Thanks. For getting Martha here. For keeping Clark’s…uniqueness a secret.”
Henderson put a hand on her shoulder. “Believe me, it’s been my pleasure. Listen, if you need anything else, let me know, okay?”
Lois smiled. “Actually, there is something. If the media doesn’t let up, I’m probably going to need my groceries delivered in the foreseeable future. Someone will need to beat a path through those vultures for the poor delivery guy.”
Henderson laughed. “You have my word.” He reached up and touched the brim of his hat. “See you around then.”
“Thanks again, Bill.”
Lois showed him to the door, then locked the house back up again. She turned to Martha and flung herself into the older woman’s arms. For the first time since Clark had been rescued, she felt a fleeting sense of relief, born from the knowledge that she was no longer alone in her fight to save Clark. His mother was here. Surely, she would know what to do. Surely, she would find some way to crack open the vault of Clark’s mind so that he could once again find his way back to his true self.
To her surprise, she found herself sobbing as she clutched Martha. A gentle, reassuring pat on the back followed, and when Lois pulled away again, she saw tears pooled in Martha’s eyes. They both simply looked at each other for a few heartbeats, then they both gave each other a wobbly smile.
“Let’s go see if he’s awake,” Lois offered. Then she paused as she went to help Martha with her suitcase. “Or, actually, it might be better if you change first. I don’t know what Clark will think if he sees a police uniform. The last time he saw one, he was locked in his room in Arkham.”
Martha nodded as she started to undo the buttons on the blue dress shirt. “Don’t worry, dear, your friend had me put this all on over my clothing. We were in a bit of a rush to get here.”
Lois nodded. “Leave it to Bill,” she said wonderingly.
Martha quickly removed her costume and gathered it all in her arms to deposit in her guest room. Lois led the way up the steps, letting Martha leave her possessions in her room first. Then she brought Martha to Clark’s room.
As usual, the door was open. As the afternoon had grown old, deep shadows had crept into the room from the waning light that managed to seep in around the edges of the heavy curtains. The bedside lamp was on, throwing a soft orange glow. Clark was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring without really seeing, in the direction of the windows. Lois imagined she saw a bit of longing in his eyes as he fixated his gaze on the weak shafts of light.
“Clark?” she called to him, in little more than a whisper.
She saw the way his spine stiffened at the name. It would be a long time before his name ceased to be a source of terror for him, she knew. Still, it broke her heart to see it each time she used his name. But she was determined not to let him see how much his reaction hurt. This wasn’t about her. It was only about Clark.
“Clark? Your mother is here,” she continued, as Martha stepped around Lois and, with a quickness that belied her age, rushed to her son.
Martha appeared to almost collapse as she took in the sight of his face for the first time in twenty years. But, somehow, she remained on her feet and she reached toward Clark, enveloping him in her arms for the first time in an eternity. She hugged him tightly and finally let her tears flow freely.
“Oh, Clark!” Martha exclaimed as she held him, one hand on his back, the other on the back of his head. She kissed his cheek but he didn’t respond other than to flinch at the contact with her. “I’ve missed you so much!”
A lump formed in Lois’ throat and she blinked away a fresh set of tears. She’d thought she’d be prepared to see mother and son finally reunited. After the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, she’d thought she could handle anything at this point. She’d been wrong. So, so wrong. Happiness and sadness dueled in her heart and she wasn’t entirely sure if one or the other would win out.
“I never gave up on you,” Lois heard Martha telling Clark. “Even when the formal searches and investigations tapered off, I knew you had to be out there, somewhere. And Lois? She fought harder to find you than anyone. Oh, Clark. There’s so much to tell you. So much has happened in the last twenty years. I just wish your father was still here to see you here now. He never stopped wondering where you were. Never stopped believing you’d be found one day.”
Clark looked blankly forward and Lois had no idea if he was even comprehending what was being said. He sat board-stiff and with a look of confusion and terror as Martha continued to use his name.
Feeling suddenly awkward, Lois silently excused herself from the room, stepping backwards until she was back out in the hall. She pulled the door mostly shut to give Martha her privacy without making Clark feel closed in. Then, though a part of her was burning with curiosity to see if Clark showed any recollection of his mother, she forced herself to go back downstairs.
She busied herself with the press conference statement she’d been about to draft when Martha and Bill had shown up on her doorstep. She kept it vague but adequate enough to satisfy the media – or so she hoped. She wanted nothing more than for the press to lose interest in Clark and his story so that he could recuperate in peace. She knew Martha wouldn’t mind that she’d taken the lead on it. After all, Lois was practiced in these kinds of things. She’d been the one to help the Kents navigate the first press conferences after Clark had vanished and the search parties had been formed. And she’d attended more press conferences than she could recount – almost all of them boring, uneventful, and giving little to no new information on a situation.
Martha returned to the living room some time later, Clark following in her footsteps like a puppy brought to heel. Lois cringed. It was devastating to see how broken he was, to the point where he couldn’t seem to do anything independently, with the notable exception of using the bathroom when the urge struck him. She missed the kind, but fiery, passionate, independent, occasionally headstrong man he’d once been. She wanted him to take the lead, to tease her mercilessly, to touch her heart with the small, sweet gestures he’d always done, expecting nothing – not even her affections – in return. She wanted to see that mischievous glint in his eyes when they were working on a case, side by side, or when he was gently making fun of her, or when he – as she had come to understand too late - was about to use his abilities to give them the upper hand in an investigation. This silent, vacant-eyed ghost that wandered her home had broken her in too many ways to count, and she knew that things were only just getting started as she tried to help him regain his memories, his personality, his identity, and his place in the world.
“Lois? I thought I might get started on dinner,” Martha said in a quiet tone of voice that suggested how much pain she was in from seeing her son in the condition he was in.
Lois looked at the clock. It was a tad early, but then her stomach rumbled at the thought of a meal she didn’t have to cook. “Sure thing,” she said with a nod. She saved the file she was working on and shut the computer. “I was just working on the statement we should make for the press conference.”
Martha frowned and her forehead creased in disgust. “I hate those things,” she said with distaste.
Lois nodded. “I know. But maybe it’ll get the press off our backs if we give them just enough for them to use in their articles and news clips. Don’t worry. I’ve worded it vaguely enough so that they won’t know how serious Clark’s condition is. They’ll never be able to connect him to…” Her eyes flickered over to Clark, who was staring with dull eyes at some of the framed photos Lois had hung in the living room. She lowered her voice to whisper out her next words. “Superman’s continued absence.”
Martha looked relieved. “Good.” Then she sighed. “I still feel like this is all just a dream. Like any minute I’m going to wake up from this nightmare and find that it’s still 1993 and my boy is whole and safe.”
Lois sighed in turn. “Me too.” She stood, then went and took Martha by the arm, carefully linking them together. “I’d give anything I own for a time machine to go back and save him.” She shook her head at the ridiculous notion. “Come on. I’ll help you in the kitchen. Clark? Do you want to come to?”
If his name made any impact, he didn’t show it. He lumbered over to one of the armchairs and sat, turning his hollow gaze to the lights on the Christmas tree. Lois shrugged. Maybe it was a good sign that he wanted to bask in the tree lights. Maybe some part of him recognized how much he’d loved the holiday once upon a time. But she knew better than to say anything to Martha about it. False hope was just as bad – perhaps worse than – no hope at all.
To Be Continued…
