Two seconds.
That’s all it took from the time the man pulled the gun to the time it took for Clark to hit the ground.
Two seconds.
Two seconds that seemed to move in slow motion.
Two seconds in which Lois’ perfect, amazing, Hallmark-movie evening turned into a horror show.
Two seconds in which she felt frozen in place, helpless to do anything but look on as abject fear washed over her and left her colder than the rapidly dropping temperature.
“Clark!” Lois screamed as she watched him crumple to the ground, blood quickly soaking the front of his shirt and his suit jacket.
Her mind lurched into overdrive. Clark was bleeding out. He’d been shot. Only, he was invulnerable. He shouldn’t be able to be hurt. The bullet should have bounced off his skin like a rock being skipped on the surface of a calm lake.
Kryptonite.
That had to be it.
But that meant the man before her had to know, or guess, about Clark.
She sprang into action and leapt at the gunman before he could finish aiming at her. He shot, but it went wild and blasted a chunk out of the concrete wall that housed the elevators. Lois made a tight fist and slugged the gunman as hard as she could in the face. There was the sickening crunch! as his nose broke. Blood poured down his face, though not as seriously as Clark’s wound. The gunman was stunned and lost his grip on his weapon as his hands immediately flew up to protect his face against another one of Lois’ attacks. But his shocked state didn’t last and he was grabbing to regain his handgun in the next second. Lois snatched at his wrist, twisted viciously, and broke the delicate bones there. The gunman shrieked involuntarily. He cradled the broken wrist with his good hand and Lois saw her next opportunity. She grabbed the gun, turned it around, and used the heavy handgrip to wallop the man in the forehead, knocking his head against the concrete hard enough to make him black out.
Taking the weapon with her, she scrambled to Clark’s side, praying that he wasn’t dead.
“Clark?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
Clark moaned and made a feeble move to clutch at his gunshot wound. He coughed slightly and wheezed as he tried to regain his breath. Lois’ breath came out in a rush.
“Oh, thank God!” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. “Don’t move,” she instructed him as she knelt by his side and put the gun between the two of them. “Let me see.”
Clark immediately stilled what poor movements he was making and let Lois take a look at his wound. “Kryptonite,” he gasped out, though Lois already guessed as much. “Gotta…get it…out,” he said through gritted teeth as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. She could tell by the way his face scrunched up in a wince.
The wound looked bad, but not nearly as bad as she’d first thought it would be. The bullet had struck him closer to the shoulder than his heart, as she could see from the hole that had been ripped in his shirt. He was still badly bleeding though, and unless Lois could get the bullet out, Clark would lose too much blood. She knew, already, from being Clark’s medical proxy, that his blood was too different from a regular person’s. He would not be eligible for a transfusion if he lost too much. If she wasn’t able to stem the flow of Clark’s blood, he would die right there in the parking garage.
Lois nodded mostly to herself as a thought entered her mind. “Hold still,” she said as she began to rummage through her purse. A moment later, she found what she was looking for – a pair of long, thin hairpins she’d thrown in her bag after the end of a long day at work and had nearly forgotten about. Quickly, she set about using them like chopsticks to fish for the green bullet that would be Clark’s death if she failed. “Come on, come on,” she muttered to herself as she tried, unsuccessfully, to grab hold of the bullet.
Clark yelped in pain as she lost her grip again and the makeshift forceps she’d devised slipped and hit into his torn muscles.
“Sorry,” she apologized.
“Keep going,” Clark encouraged her, by way of forgiving her misstep.
Lois bit down on her lower lip as she concentrated. She altered her angle a little bit, prodded blindly for the bullet, then felt the hairpins catch it between them. Slowly, gently, unwilling to risk making the slightest wrong move, she eased the accursed metal and rock slug from Clark’s body. Tense seconds past as she worked at her task, until, at last, she felt it come free. She let the bullet drop into her empty palm, then held it aloft to examine it, making sure it looked intact.
“Get it away,” Clark pleaded, almost looking paler than when it had been inside his body. “Please.”
Lois nodded again and dropped the bloody green thing into a small change purse she had in her bag. Frowning, she looked down at the gun. “Hold on for just another minute,” she told Clark as she took off the blood-soaked gloves she wore and reached for the weapon. With deft hands and a knowledge of what she was doing, she swiftly emptied the chambers of the weapon, depositing the rest of the spent bullet’s brethren into the change purse too. She snapped it shut. “There,” she told him.
Clark’s body sagged in relief as the radioactive stone was sealed away. “Thank you.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, knowing that it was probably too soon to ask.
Clark didn’t try to move or to open his eyes, which had closed as the piece of his home world was barricaded away from him. “I’m not sure yet. I’m weak and the pain is still there, but it’s better than it was.” He took what appeared to be an experimental deeper breath. “Call the police. Have them arrest the gunman. I should be feeling more like myself by the time they arrive. I hope.”
“Are you sure?” Lois asked nervously.
“We can’t allow him to escape. I don’t have the ability to chase him down if he comes to,” Clark replied, finally cracking his eyes open.
“Okay,” Lois assented.
She took out her phone, but didn’t call 911. Instead, she called Henderson. He picked up on the second ring and listened quietly as she told him of what had happened. Then she hung up and looked at Clark.
“Henderson’s on his way.”
“Let me guess, he knows about me too?” Clark mused, pushing himself up a little straighter.
Lois unbuttoned the top of Clark’s dress shirt and checked the wound. “It’s stopped bleeding,” she said in both relief and wonderment. “And yes. But blame your mother on that one, not me,” she added with a grin.
Clark chuckled. “I’m sure she had her reasons.” He tested his arm out by moving it slowly in a wide circle. When it appeared not to bother him, he smiled. “See? I’m healing already.”
“Good. I’d hate to lose you on our first date,” Lois joked.
“No kidding. Of all the ways I feared this night could go wrong by the end…you having a miserable time, finding that we just don’t click as a couple, you slamming a door in my face before I could kiss you goodnight…getting shot was not on the list.” Clark quipped. He made a move to stand and Lois sprang to her feet to help him up. “Thanks,” he said sincerely. He looked at the still unconscious gunman. “You saved my life tonight.”
“Don’t mention it. You’ve saved mine more than I care to admit,” she replied, patting his unhurt shoulder.
Clark cocked his head to one side. “Seems like I’m still able to recover pretty quickly from being exposed to that rock,” he said in a low tone, lest anyone be in earshot. “I hear sirens coming this way already.”
“Quick,” Lois said, turning to him and fumbling with his buttons once again, “we need to hide the evidence you were shot. Henderson might know the truth, but we don’t need any other nosy cops seeing the blood and wondering why you’re not bleeding out on the floor and needing a ride in the ambulance.”
Clark nodded and took over, his fingers brushing against hers as he hastened to button his shirt and get his winter coat closed tightly over the evidence splashed all across his chest. “How do I look?” he asked as he craned his head this way and that, trying to determine if everything was hidden.
“Like someone who managed to avoid getting shot,” Lois said, shoving her bloody gloves in her pockets. “Who do you suppose this guy is?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the gunman.
“One of Luthor’s assassins,” Clark said with conviction, looking over the man’s unconscious form with disdain.
“Obviously. I mean, who is he?” Lois clarified.
The first police cruiser pulled into the parking garage. Clark barely glanced in its direction. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he said.
“And this time, at least we were able to stop an attempt on your life before the would-be assassin could kill themselves,” Lois added acridly.
Clark nodded but said nothing as the cruiser pulled to a stop and Henderson jumped out with a speed that surprised Clark, given the man’s age. Henderson slammed the door of the vehicle as he approached Lois and Clark. As soon as he was within an arm’s reach, he stuck out his hand to Clark.
“Kent, you have no idea how glad I am to see you alive and well,” the older man said, his face cracking into a rare, though modest, smile. “Last time I saw you…”
“I know,” Clark said, dipping his head in acknowledgment as his old friend’s voice trailed off. “I hear congratulations are in order. Chief of Police is pretty impressive, Bill.”
Henderson made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Ah, it’s okay. I don’t miss the grunt work, but sometimes I do miss being out in the middle of things.”
“I’ll bet,” Clark replied. “I always knew you’d go places though. I’m not surprised you made Chief.”
“Lois’ doing, mostly. With her investigations, she made me look good,” Henderson said, and it sounded to Lois like he wasn’t really joking. She blushed. But Henderson didn’t appear to notice and slipped right into his usual business-like demeanor. “Nice work knocking him out,” he sarcastically told Lois.
She shrugged. “I had no choice.”
“Let’s hope you didn’t knock out the memories of who hired him to make the hit,” Henderson replied in a similar tone. Then, looking at Clark, he apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”
It was Clark’s turn to brush off a comment. “Don’t worry about it. What happened, happened, and I’m better now. But we’ll need an ID on this guy as soon as possible. We think he may be linked to some…other close calls we’ve had,” he said, his voice going low.
Henderson grunted a sound of agreement. For a moment, he watched his officers, who’d arrived only moments after he had, as they worked the scene and collected what evidence they could. An ambulance had arrived as well, and the EMTs were working on reviving the gunman.
“Let’s talk over here, out of the way,” he said finally, gesturing to two empty parking spaces to the right of the crime scene. “I need to take your statement.”
Lois and Clark allowed the Chief of Police to lead them to the empty spaces, then, in hushed tones, they told Henderson what had happened. He jotted everything down on his notepad. Everything, that is, except for the fact that Clark had been struck.
“I appreciate you keeping my secret,” Clark said at the end of it all. “It’s nice to know I can count on people to respect my privacy.”
Henderson nodded. “It’s an honor to be part of the inner circle,” he responded thoughtfully. “What you did for us…I mean all of us, not just those of us in a uniform…it was probably the most selfless thing I’ve ever seen in all my years on the force. I can’t tell you how much I respect what you were doing while in your…other business suit.”
“Still, it’s not every day I come across someone trustworthy enough to be comfortable with them knowing,” Clark replied. “In fact, I was hoping I could entrust another secret to you. Lois? Give him that change purse.”
Lois mutely did as Clark asked, handing the bag over to a bewildered Henderson.
“Bullets made of Kryptonite,” Clark said in a tone so low it was almost lost amongst the ambient noises of the garage. “The only thing on Earth that can kill me. Bring them to Dr. Klein at S.T.A.R. Labs. He’ll know what to do with them. These are all the gunman had, that we know of. Except for the one embedded in the concrete by the elevator.”
Lois held her breath, wondering if Clark would divulge Lex’s part in his twenty-year disappearance. But he remained silent on the issue. Perhaps he was waiting until they could somehow find proof of Lex’s hellish deeds. So she said nothing on the subject.
“I want that change purse back,” she said instead, her voice hard and serious. “I had that specially made.”
It was true. As the years had gone by without word of where Clark could be, she’d asked Martha to make her something out of one of Clark’s old sweatshirts that he’d once lent to her. She’d worn it so often that the fabric was nearly threadbare in places and she hated to get rid of it. So, in desperation to save some of it at least, she’d asked Clark’s mother to make her something out of it that she could always keep with her. A week after sending the well-worn shirt to Kansas, Martha had mailed back the change purse, as well as a few scraps of the fabric that she’d been able to salvage. Lois still kept one of the scraps under her pillow, even though Clark was living in her house now. She hated to part with it, as though if she tossed it out, it would mean Clark would vanish again.
“Yeah, yeah,” Henderson said dismissively. “I’ll tell him to mail it back to you, okay?”
Lois nodded. If Henderson said he would do something, he would do it. “Thanks.”
“Okay, you two have been through enough tonight,” Henderson said after pocketing the change purse. “Go home. I’ll let you know once I find out anything about the perp.”
“Thanks, Bill,” Clark said sincerely. He turned to Lois. “Sorry about how tonight wound up. But Bill’s right. There’s nothing more we can do here…at least not until I get my press pass back.”
Reluctantly, Lois agreed. Then, together, they made their way to the car and headed for home.
***
It was late that night and Clark found himself tossing and turning in his bed. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was too full of dark thoughts to allow him any rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Luthor’s mocking face behind his closed lids. He heard the madman’s voice deriding him, telling him he was no one, that Clark Kent never existed, that Superman was all there had ever been. He once more heard the hissed threats against the lives of those he cared about. He could practically feel all of the torture and abuse Nigel had dealt to him at Luthor’s every whim. He could feel the walls closing in about him like the claustrophobic little cell he’d been stuffed into in the Arkham Asylum. He could hear the ghostly, echoing screams and rants of the other insane inmates as they howled in the sterile, bland, cheerless, windowless basement. He could feel every jolt of electricity as it slaughtered his brain cells and left him helpless, thoughtless, and zombie-like.
Finally, he could stand it no longer. He crept out of his bedroom and listened intently. From Lois’ room, he could hear only the soft sounds of her sleep breathing. Down the stairs he went, floating rather than walking, so as not to wake her. Her hall closest was his target – she’d shown him the secret space behind the false back wall, not unlike the one he’d had once upon a time. He went to it and opened the secret compartment with shaking hands. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do this. But he still felt drawn to it.
With trembling fingers, he plucked one of the blue unitards from its hanger and withdrew it from its hiding place. The thin, silky material felt almost alien in his grasp, and yet, there was so much familiarity and memory wrapped into that lifeless swath of fabric. He reached in again and found the rest of its brethren – a heavy, vibrant red cape, a matching pair of briefs, and a pair of sturdy red boots.
He handled the items as gingerly and with as much caution as he would handle a live grenade. He closed the closet and brought everything into the living room. Feeling physically weighed down by the memories encased in the costume he held and by the decision he had to make, he plopped onto the couch.
Every atom of his body, every brain cell was screaming at him to burn the outfit into a pile of cinders. This was what had gotten him into such trouble with Luthor all those years ago. If he’d never taken up the cape, he never would have become such a target. Clark Kent would have been a threat to Luthor, of course, but not in the same way Superman had been. Maybe Lois would have even seen Clark for who he was earlier. At the least, she never would have pined over a superhero who didn’t exist.
And yet…
Clark set aside the boots, briefs, and cape and stared only at the blue unitard. He traced the bold S on its front with one finger, caressing the crest that proclaimed the heritage of his birth, though not of his upbringing. Maybe it shouldn’t have, but the design called to him, cajoled him, seduced him. As much as it might benefit him to distance himself from the hero he’d created, it was a part of him. The suit and the symbol had once meant so much to him. It symbolized the freedom he’d gained to use his powers in public without causing a mass panic or putting his identity in jeopardy.
“I don’t really need to put it on,” he told himself in a whisper. “I’ve gone out flying before without it. And it’s not like I’m planning on doing any super work tonight.”
He almost put it down. He almost returned it to the closet. But he found himself remaining in his seat, unwilling or unable to put the costume back.
“No. Maybe it’s better to wear it, just this once,” he reasoned, wishing there was an easy answer or that his mother or Lois was there to help him make up his mind. But there was no one and he had to do it alone, as he had all those years ago when he’d decided to make an alter ego for himself.
He sighed. “Just this once,” he finally decided. “If only to give off the illusion of authority. No. I don’t really need to pretend I have any authority because I don’t have any. But…it’s respectful to wear the suit.”
Without another word, he shed his civilian clothing and pulled on the tight Spandex that had once given him so much comfort. Now it only put him ill at ease, like he was strapping a neon target to his back.
“It’s dark. I’ll be flying too high and fast to be seen,” he told himself in a kind of pep talk. “No one will see me unless I want them to.”
Then, stealthy as any ninja, he slipped out of the house and rocketed into the sky. He knew where to go. With his memory restored to what it had once been, he knew the landscape beneath him as well as the back of his hand. So he flew on through the night, sticking to the tattered clouds as much as he could and flying as fast as possible without breaking the sound barrier. He dared not risk the rumors that would spread if a sonic boom was to be heard.
It took him just minutes to get to his destination, then to locate the precise spot he needed to be in. Still, being back in Gotham turned his stomach to the point where he almost felt like he might become physically sick. Bravely, he swallowed hard, tamping down the bile in the back of his throat, then he descended lightly to the rooftop of the Gotham Museum of Natural History.
“Bruce Wayne,” he greeted the man hunched in the shadows, surveying the city below like a silent sentinel.
The man in question looked up, peering at Clark from behind his bat-themed cowl. “Clark Kent,” he said in turn, a bit gruffly but not unkind. He raked his eyes over Clark in an appraising way. “You look well. A lot better than the way I last saw you, at any rate.”
“That’s partly why I’m here,” Clark offered, approaching with measured steps. “I owe you a debt of thanks that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay. You saved my life when you found me in the Arkham Asylum,” he said, keeping his voice even and steady, though the thought of being in the same city as that asylum made his skin crawl. “And then again when that man broke into Lois’ home, apparently with the intention of murdering us both.”
“Don’t mention it,” Bruce said, standing up and abandoning his post. He stuck out a hand to Clark and Clark accepted it. The two shook hands and Clark made the immediate conclusion that he and Bruce would likely be friends if ever the opportunity arose for them to work together as a team.
“Glad to see you back in uniform,” Bruce added approvingly after a moment, gesturing to the primary colors of Superman’s distinctive disguise.
“It’s not permanent,” Clark hedged. “I just thought it might be more appropriate to meet the Batman if I were also in uniform.”
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “But surely you’ll be returning to the superhero business,” he said, and it was not a question.
“I don’t know,” Clark admitted quietly.
“You…don’t know?” Bruce repeated with surprise. “You’re Superman. People need you.”
“Maybe, but even if I was gung-ho about returning, there’s no way I could explain my absence for such a long time,” Clark countered, feeling a little relieved to be able to voice his concerns aloud to someone who could understand the pressures of living a dual life. “Not without revealing more than I’m comfortable with, at any rate. Besides, even if I could concoct a plausible explanation, I’ve been gone a long, long time. There’s no guarantee most people would even accept my return.”
“Does it matter what the public thinks?” Bruce asked, the question heavily-loaded.
“Yes,” Clark immediately answered. “I’m not like you. I’m not a normal guy with a million gadgets that stops criminals. I’m not like Tony Stark, with machine-given powers. I’m not even like that kid Peter, who got bit by a spider.”
“No, you aren’t,” Bruce neutrally agreed.
Clark frowned at his own inner musings. “And that’s a problem. I’m not from this planet. I’m worried that might affect people’s ability to forgive my absence. I’ve never been a fallible human being to them.”
“Wasn’t that the point of your disguise? To shake them off the trail of your true identity?” Bruce asked pointedly, crossing his arms and leaning back a bit, as if appraising Clark.
“Yes. But now I’m afraid that might work against me,” Clark explained, his heart heavy. “Superman was never given the ability to be wrong. He was always expected to be perfect. Now he’s just this loser who disappeared without a trace. People aren’t going to accept him just showing back up again.”
“You think they won’t trust you,” Bruce accurately surmised.
“Exactly,” Clark said with a singular nod. “If Superman isn’t trusted, I can’t do my job. No one will ever allow me help them the way I used to. This worry over the public’s opinion…it’s not an ego thing, Bruce.” He folded his arms across his chest and suppressed a sigh. “I don’t care, on a personal level, if people like me or not. But I can’t function as Superman if people are actively fearful or otherwise against me.”
“People were distraught when they realized you’d disappeared,” Bruce said, and Clark wasn’t entirely sure if that was an argument for Clark’s point or against it.
“All the more reason to believe that they might turn their back on me if I suddenly reappear…with or without a reason why,” Clark softly argued.
Bruce didn’t respond right away. But when he did, it wasn’t what Clark expected. He thought Bruce would either dismiss him if he wasn’t going to take on the role of Superman again or that Bruce would try to persuade him to return to his super duties.
“If you do decide to come back, there will always be a place for you in the Justice League,” Bruce said sincerely.
Clark was touched by the invitation, even if he couldn’t accept it right away. “Thanks, Bruce,” he said, dipping his head once in acknowledgment. “From what I’ve heard, the League is more my style than the Avengers,” he said jokingly, though the sentiment was true enough.
Bruce nodded in turn. “But an invitation into the League isn’t why you’re here,” he correctly deduced. “Nor, do I assume, did you come for my opinion on what to do in regards to returning as Superman.”
“No, it’s not,” Clark agreed. “I came to ask for your help. And I know I haven’t earned it yet. But...”
“With what?” Bruce interrupted, sounding intrigued, rather than annoyed, as Clark had half-feared the billionaire would be.
“Gathering evidence,” Clark said grimly. “I know who held me hostage and it’s time I exposed him for the criminal he is.”
Even with the cowl obscuring his features, it was clear that Bruce’s interest was piqued. “Oh?” he asked and Clark imagined a raised eyebrow beneath the mask.
“Lex Luthor. I need to find proof that he’s the one who imprisoned me in a cage for ten years, torturing me to the point where he effectively erased the memory of being Clark from me, before he shipped me off to the asylum.” Clark’s voice was solemn and grave.
“That’s a tall order,” Bruce said after considering it.
Clark nodded in agreement. “I know. But I also know you have the computer skills to hack into Luthor’s databases. Even once I get my press pass back, I have neither the skill nor the tools to do that,” Clark explained. “Lois and I will be working to expose the rest of Luthor’s criminal misdeeds but I need help in ensuring that he’s held accountable for stealing twenty years of my life.”
Bruce sat on the low wall around the edge of the roof. He steepled his fingers in thought. “I may be able to help, but I can’t guarantee I’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“Of course,” Clark allowed, leaning his back up against the small doorway that housed the stairwell that gave security and maintenance access to the roof. He crossed his arms over his chest once more. “That goes without saying.” He sighed. “That’s also assuming I can use it without exposing my super identity,” he added thoughtfully.
“Oh?” Bruce asked, curious.
“Long story,” Clark swiftly countered. “To make it short, Luthor knows who I am and brainwashed me into forgetting about Clark. Even if there’s something…a video, a voice recording, whatever, he’s probably going to be calling me Superman on it. Still, I have to hope there’s something I can use to put him in jail.”
“And if there isn’t?” Bruce asked, genuinely curious sounding.
Clark dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. “Then I’ll have to be content to putting him in jail for everything else he’s done.”
“You seem oddly okay with that,” Bruce observed in a neutral tone.
Again, Clark shrugged. “What choice do I have? If it comes down to my word against his with no evidence to back up my claim, I’m just the guy that spent a decade in a mental ward. No one would ever believe me.”
Bruce nodded approvingly. “Okay. It might take me some time.”
For the first time that night, relief spread over Clark. “Take as long as you need. Lois and I are going to take a while to gather our own evidence to build a case against him.”
“It may be harder than you anticipate,” Bruce warned. “Especially now that he’s the President.”
“Tell me about it,” Clark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’m determined to see it happen.”
“Good,” Bruce said, the barest hint of a smile cracking his otherwise business-like demeanor. “Go on. Find what you need. And if I or the rest of the League can help, let me know.”
“Trust me. I will,” Clark said, his voice serious and cold with contempt for Lex Luthor.
***
Lois was awake when Clark slipped back into the house. He found her sitting in the darkened living room, her laptop on her lap, the pale light from the screen casting a sickly hue of pallor on her face as she scrolled through her email. She looked up as he entered the room, a fleeting look of relief on her face that she quickly tried to mask.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey,” he returned in kind. “What are you doing awake?”
Lois shrugged and shut the computer’s lid. “I had a bad dream about the incident in the parking garage,” she explained quickly, waving her hand as if to dismiss any such dark thoughts. “And I couldn’t go back to sleep right away. What are you doing up?”
She reached for the side table, groping in the near-darkness for the lamp there. At length, her questing fingers found it and switched it on. They both blinked in the sudden intrusion of light, weak as it was. Lois gasped when she saw what he was wearing.
“Wow,” she breathed in awe. “You look…amazing. Like you stepped right out of the past. Does this mean…?” She didn’t finish her question. Perhaps she dared not to.
Clark shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. It’s…difficult, wearing this. Not because I don’t want to but…Luthor made me believe this outfit was all I was. And Dr. Fulton made me believe I was insane for thinking I could ever be Superman,” he said hesitantly, trying to explain the torrent of emotions he felt inside. “But I know that it is – or was, I guess – a part of me.”
“I understand how you could be conflicted about wearing it,” she told him, standing and reaching out to him.
He needed no invitation. He allowed himself to sink into her embrace as she hugged him tightly.
“I hate this,” he confessed. “I thought I was better, you know? I got my memory back…I got my ilife back. I even got you back. But Luthor’s still winning. He’s still getting his way. Superman, at least, is erased…he doesn’t exist because I can’t even put on the uniform without flashing back and feeling sick to my stomach.”
“If that’s true, why did you put on the suit tonight?” Lois asked
.
Clark pulled away and led her to the couch again. “I needed to talk to Bruce Wayne. And, while I’ve already been out and about flying in my street clothes, it felt more…respectful, I guess, to meet him dressed as equals. After all, he doesn’t exactly spend his evenings in pajamas sitting in front of the fireplace in his mansion. At least, that’s not where I met up with him anyway,” he said wryly. Then he sighed. “He wants me to join the League.”
“What did you tell him?” Lois asked, peering closely at him, as if she could read the answer in his features.
“That I’m not entirely sure I can be Superman anymore. I’ve been gone for a long time. Even if the public allows me to help them, they’ll want answers that I cannot provide. Not without exposing my real identity.” He stood up and paced. “Luthor’s won, Lois. You and I can bring him down, show the world what a criminal he is, but he’s won. I can’t be Clark and Superman anymore. Not without destroying my private life.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Lois assured him, her tone resolute. She stood up and touched his shoulder to get him to stop moving. He immediately ceased his pacing under the gentle pressure of her hand. “He hasn’t won anything. We’re going to tear down Lex Luthor and show the world what he did to you, and figure out how to bring Superman back…if you want to.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure anymore. There’s this huge part of me that misses it. I loved saving lives, Lois. I loved knowing that I could make a difference in the world. But there’s also a lot of trauma connected to the suit now. I don’t mean the kind that came from being five seconds too late to save a life, or making split-second decisions, knowing that whoever I chose to leave behind while I rescued someone else probably wouldn’t make it.” He could feel himself shaking as he spoke, the torment of his emotions being split the way they were almost too painful to bear. “I was tortured over this costume…over having a second identity.”
Lois wrapped her arms about his quaking form, as though she was the glue preventing him from falling apart.
In many ways, she was, Clark knew.
“It’s okay. It’s normal to be conflicted,” she soothingly told him. “I’d be more worried if you knew exactly what you want to do regarding Superman right now. You’ve only just gotten your memories back. And yes, what Lex and Dr. Fulton did to you…I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been to put that suit on tonight.” Gently, she let go of him, tugged his arm, and got him to sit down again.
“It…wasn’t easy,” he admitted sheepishly.
“And now that you’ve been wearing it for a while?” Lois carefully prodded.
“I’m still torn. All those unpleasant memories. But…I kind of miss wearing it too.”
“You know you don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Lois offered.
Clark sighed tiredly, then yawned. “I know.”
“It’s been a long day,” Lois said, switching topics as he tried to suppress a second yawn. “Why don’t we try to get some more sleep?”
Clark tamped down the instinct to crack a joke about he couldn’t get “more” sleep if he hadn’t gotten any yet that night, but decided against it. His troubled heart wasn’t fully in it. In the end, he simply nodded.
“Yeah. It’s going to be an early morning too,” he agreed, and that thought lifted his spirits. “I can’t believe I’m going back to the Planet.” He grinned.
“I can’t wait to have my partner back,” Lois said, matching his grin. She patted his leg. “Come on. I…um…was kind of hoping I could….or, rather, you could…stay with me for a while? I think I’m still a little worked up over the shooter,” she added after a moment where she stepped away, then looked shyly back at him.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” Clark said brightly. “I just want to change out of this and hang it back up,” he said, sweeping a hand before the stylized S on his chest.
Lois chuckled. “Fair enough. Come to my room when you’re ready.”
Not a minute later, Clark was gently knocking on the wall beside her open bedroom door, now clad in his soft sleeping clothes once more. Lois beckoned him in with one hand and pulled back the bedsheets. Clark looked inquisitively at her, but she only nodded her invitation. He slipped into the bed and pulled up the sheets. Lois immediately laid her head on his chest. For a long time, no one spoke, nor did either of them dare to move. Clark simply luxuriated in cuddling her so closely. Then, as Lois’ breathing changed to the deep, even breaths of sleep, Clark closed his eyes and drifted off.
To Be Continued…
