Table of Contents
From Part 2:<I love you, Lois>
Those words, whispered as he was dying in her arms, would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Henderson?” The voice of Steven, assistant-editor, broke through her thoughts. “There’s a call for you on line two.”
Henderson grabbed her phone and started jotting down notes on her day planner. He left almost immediately, having torn half a page and... and left a mark on the next one. She could make out the address he’d written.
Capone’s address.
Barrow’s address...
*********
Now read on...Clark had spent the day flying around the city, saving more cats in trees than he had ever done in his Superman career. At least the activity had kept his mind off the previous evening. Mostly.
His thoughts kept returning to the night he had spent with Lois. He had taken advantage of her. She had been grieving and vulnerable, and he had kissed her, caressed her... made love to her.
They’d made love.
It had been totally unlike he’d ever dreamt of - passionate, yes... but not loving and tender like he had always pictured it in his fantasies. He’d been starving for her, so much that her needs had come second to his. He’d been selfish. Incredibly selfish.
Lois had wanted - needed - comfort from him. And that was what he should have given her. That was *all* he should have given her.
What on earth had made him think that she’d wanted sex, of all things?
<Maybe the fact that she was practically ripping your clothes off> his cynical inner voice suggested.
But that wasn’t fair. He’d known - who better? - that she wasn’t her usual self. She’d been torn apart by grief and guilt. She hadn’t known what she was doing. And he’d been too blinded by his own needs to *think* about what he was doing.
He hadn’t thought. Even now, those few minutes - seconds, even - before they’d ended up on the floor were a hazy blur.
He perched on top of a skyscraper and sighed. There was no point in going over and over what had happened. It should never have happened. Oh, sure, it had been one of the best experiences of his life - but in the worst possible circumstances.
Lois was right. They should both try to pretend that it had never happened. Certainly, they would never speak of it again.
It was time to put it behind him and move on. But that led to another problem - exactly what was ‘moving on’?
Clark Kent was dead and gone. Only Superman remained of the life he’d made for himself in Metropolis. The trouble with that, though, was that he’d always been far more than just Superman. He’d long known that the hero in the Spandex would drive him crazy if he didn’t have another life besides that one. There was only so much rescuing people he could do, after all.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He was pretty sure that, if he really did become Superman full time, he could find enough work to keep him busy - it was a large and dangerous world, after all. But it was no life for him. He needed something more than that. He needed interaction with people who knew him - *him*, the man, not the superhero - and whom he cared about. Otherwise he might as well be the robot, the automaton without feelings, that some of the media portrayed him as.
So... he needed a life. But it couldn’t be as Clark Kent. And it couldn’t be anywhere he was known, or might be recognised. So he couldn’t go back to Smallville, except for very discreet visits - he’d already spoken to his parents and explained the situation to them, and they’d been shocked but understanding. He hadn’t told them about what had happened with Lois, of course... but then, he couldn’t imagine telling anyone about that.
Where to go, then? London? Paris? Prague? Lagos? Moscow? Beijing? Tokyo? He spoke the native languages of each city fluently, so that wouldn’t be a problem. More difficult would be re-establishing himself as a journalist, since he couldn’t use Clark Kent’s resume. He could just try to be a writer - a freelance columnist, a travel writer, a novelist, even.
But he couldn’t seem to summon up enthusiasm for any of those places, any of those roles.
The trouble was that he wanted his own life back. And he couldn’t have it.
What he could do, he realised suddenly, was what Lois had asked him to do. Catch Barrow and the others.
And then a trivial detail from his research on the gangsters’ past returned to him... Dillinger was a movie buff. It was a long shot, but still...
Half an hour later, he’d covered all the cinemas and multiplexes in the city and he’d hit pay dirt. Sitting cross-legged in the air above a city-centre cinema, he waited patiently for the feature to end. Ten minutes after it did, he’d terrified John Dillinger so much that the man had given him the address of the gangters’ hideout.
He deposited Dillinger into Henderson’s custody, giving the detective the address on Old North Road; he’d decided to leave it to the police to raid the hideout. Given his current feelings about Clyde Barrow, his ‘murderer’, Clark didn’t trust himself anywhere near the gangster. Henderson already had the address, though, and he’d had a team keeping watch on the place since mid-morning. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the gangsters were captured, a fact which gave Clark considerable pleasure.
He was just beginning to think that he should go to Smallville and spend some time with his parents, discussing what options were open to him, when a faint cry pierced his super-sensitive hearing.
“Help! Superman!”
A familiar voice. A *very* familiar voice... calling for him!
Clark shot into hyper-speed, shooting across the city sky as fast as he was capable, all the time wondering just what danger Lois had got herself into this time.
A vat of liquid cement! And it was already up to her chin. Horrified, he darted down and pulled her out, along with a man whom he quickly realised was Emil Hamilton, the scientist responsible for resurrecting the gangsters in the first place. Hamilton quickly scurried off once Clark had dried, then brushed off the cement, leaving him alone with Lois.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, a lot less calmly than he felt.
Her voice was shaky, telling him a lot about how shook up she’d been. “A lot better than I was ten seconds ago. Thanks, Superman.”
“Any time,” he said automatically. “Who did this to you?”
“Al Capone,” she said briefly. At his quizzical expression, she added, “I found their hideout.”
“And they found you?” he questioned. Typical Lois - rushing into danger with both feet as always. And getting caught.
How could he possibly leave Metropolis? If he moved somewhere else, spent most of his time somewhere else, who would be around to protect Lois from the consequences of her actions? Who would save her when she cried for help?
“Yes, they found me,” she said dryly. “Nice detective work, Columbo.”
Clark winced at the sarcasm. No, Lois hadn’t forgotten last night yet either, and it looked like no matter how convincing she had tried to sound when she’d claimed that nobody was responsible for it, she was blaming him.
“Anyway, I’m fine now.”
The message was loud and clear. That was his cue to leave. He wasn’t needed any more. She didn’t want to see him, let alone talk to him. He nodded at her, then took flight again.
He would keep an eye on her from the air and make sure she got home - or back to the Planet - okay.
*********
Lois made her way into her apartment with a sigh of relief. So much for getting rid of Superman... he’d followed her to the Planet, of course. He must have guessed her intentions, or figured out something was up, or... whatever it was that alerted him she might be in trouble. And all, right she could have ended up in trouble. All right, Capone had ordered his goons to fire at the whole Planet staff gathered for the paper’s sixtieth anniversary. All right, she could have been killed.
Big deal.
He’d been there. He’d flown through the window and caught every single bullet at super speed. Every single one of them. No-one had been hit.
Why hadn’t he caught the bullet that had taken Clark away from her? She sunk onto the couch with a strangled sob. Why hadn’t he saved Clark? Why? *Why*?
The phone rang, startling her. She grabbed it with the firm intention of lashing out in anger at whoever was disturbing her now, when Martha Kent’s soft tones greeted her.
Martha.
Clark’s mother. A mother who had probably spent the previous night crying over the death of her only child, while...
She turned away from the floor by the window, where she’d dealt with her grief with Superman less than twenty-four hours before.
What could you say to a grieving mother? What could you say when you were the one responsible for her son’s death? She probably knew. The police must have told her about the circumstances of Clark’s death. Martha knew that she was the one to blame for her son’s murder. Oh god...
“I called to ask how you were,” Martha said, taking her by surprise. “The police officer who called us last night mentioned you were there when it happened, and - ”
“Martha, I’m so sorry! About... about everything. It was my fault, all my fault. Clark tried to convince me that it was a bad idea, but as usual I didn’t listen to him and - ”
“Lois, you’re not blaming yourself over what happened, are you?”
The breath she exhaled was probably enough of answer, for Martha went on.
“Oh, honey, you can’t torture yourself! Nobody could have had any idea that this would happen. Not even Clark.”
“I dragged him into that club, Martha. He wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t for me. And he tried to protect me. That’s why he died.”
“Just like you would have died protecting him if your roles had been reversed.”
How could Martha be so calm? How could she find the words to comfort her when she should be the one in grief? When she should be the one blaming her for the death of her son?
“Martha...” She paused, unsure of her next words. No matter how steady Martha’s voice sounded over the phone, she was probably more grief-stricken than she was letting on. Now was not the time to burden her with more. And yet... she wanted Clark’s mother to know what his last words had been. She wanted to share them with her, also to make sure she hadn’t dreamt them, maybe to get confirmation that Clark had really felt that way about her. More than anything, though, she wanted Martha to know how she had felt about Clark. How she still felt about him.
“Lois?”
“Martha, Clark said...” But would have Clark wanted his mother to know? And did Clark’s mother want to know about that kind of thing? How would she react? She seemed to like her, true, but maybe not as someone her son had been in love with. Maybe -
“Clark said?”
“Clark said he loved me,” she blurted out at last. “Before... before he... died. He said he loved me.”
“Oh, honey,” Martha said gently. “Clark’s always loved you. More than anything, you were what tied him to Metropolis.”
Lois felt tears welling up again. He’d always loved her? And she hadn’t known? Or, more honestly, hadn’t been willing to admit that she knew.
And... “You mean... if it hadn’t been for me, he might not have been here? He might still be alive?” she demanded, choking out the words.
“Lois, you know you can’t think like that! Just remember that Clark had never been so happy as he was working with you at the Planet. He loved working with you and spending time with you.”
Martha was right. Lois knew it - she’d always known that Clark loved being with her. He’d always shown real pleasure whenever she’d suggested spending time together socially, and he’d gone out of his way to ensure that she enjoyed whatever they did together. If only she’d let him see how much she enjoyed spending time in his company too...
“I’ll always miss him, Martha,” she said after a pause.
“We know you will, honey. And any time you want to call us, or come and see us, you just pick up the phone, you hear?”
“I will. And... thanks, Martha. Oh, this feels so wrong!” Lois exclaimed.
“What does?”
“You comforting me - it should be the other way around!”
“Talking with you is a comfort to us. Believe me,” Martha assured her.
*********
“Why did you say that to her?” Clark exclaimed in frustration.
“Say what?”
“That she could come and visit any time!”
“Clark, the poor girl’s torn apart with grief. What did you expect? That we’d just ignore her?”
“Mom! Lois can’t come here!”
“Why? Because you’re hiding out here?” his mom retorted.
“Of course!” he exclaimed; it was obvious, wasn’t it?
“Clark, honey, you can’t hide here for ever, and you know it,” his father interjected. “We’ve already had a couple of close calls - as it is, Patty Banks only just missed seeing you when she dropped by earlier. Besides, it’s no life for you - being Superman most of the time, and only being yourself behind closed doors with us.”
“I know you and Mom want me to go back to Metropolis,” Clark said wearily; they’d been around this discussion several times already that day. “But I can’t - dozens of people saw Clark Kent shot dead at point-blank range. And Lois was one of them. There’s no way I can just reappear.” He shook his head. “I know I have to decide what to do - and the only idea that’s occurring to me is to change my identity and start again on the other side of the world.”
“You can’t be serious, Clark -”
“I was thinking maybe Indonesia...”
“Clark Jerome Kent!”
Clark looked in resignation at his mother. He’d known that his parents wouldn’t be happy, but what choice did he have? He began to say so, but he was interrupted again.
“Clark, your father and I really think that you should consider telling Lois the truth.”
He froze. It wasn’t as if the thought of confessing everything to Lois hadn’t occurred to him at least a hundred times since that split-second decision to play dead. But there’d been a time for that, and that time had been before he’d made love to her.
How could he possibly tell her now that Superman was Clark Kent? That the man she’d cried painful tears of grief over was alive after all - and had stood there and watched her sob her heart out over him? That he’d held her while she’d cried, and had kissed her, and then had...
Had explored her body, touched her intimately, made love to her. All on the floor of her living-room while she’d still been weeping over his death.
If he told her the truth now, she’d tear him limb from limb. Never mind that he was invulnerable - Lois would murder him. And she’d have every right.
He'd been very touched to hear Lois's reaction to his 'deathbed' declaration of love. It seemed as if it had really meant something to her. But how would she react, how would she feel about that, if she discovered that he'd been lying to her all along? That he'd pretended to be dead and let her believe it despite her grief? That he'd stood there and watched her cry over him? That he'd even listened to her obvious emotion over the fact that he'd told her that he loved her, and yet hadn't told her the truth?
That he, while claiming to love her, had taken advantage of her grief in an unforgivable way?
She would never forgive him. And she would be fully entitled not to - he didn't deserve forgiveness.
Realising that his parents were still waiting for an answer, he shook his head. “I can’t, Mom. I just can’t tell her now - not after standing by and just watching her last night and saying nothing. But anyway,” he added, before they could object, “what good would it do? I’d still have to pretend to be dead.”
“She is your partner, Clark,” his father pointed out. “And she’s won... how many Kerths?”
“Three,” he supplied. “But I won one this year.”
“The point is, she’s a great investigative reporter. And you two are a team. Together, you’re the best there is. And if anyone’s going to be able to work out a way to explain how Clark Kent can be apparently shot dead and yet still be alive, that’s you and Lois. That’s why we think you should tell her.”
One look at his parents’ faces was enough to tell that arguing would be useless. They were obviously convinced that his only way out was through talking to Lois and telling her the whole truth. And he probably would have agreed if it wasn’t for the previous night.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, to avoid further discussion. His parents were not fooled by his lukewarm reaction to their idea, but at least they didn’t push the matter. “Anyway, I’d better get back.”
“You take care, honey,” his mother said, giving him a hug. “And let us know what you decide to do.”
*********
There were so many places Lois Lane wished to be, but the set of abandoned warehouses on Hobb’s Bay was certainly not one of them. She’d followed the same lead all day long, checking out with sources that she was on the right track and preparing tonight’s search.
The police still hadn’t found Clark’s body, and she knew that she would get no rest until someone found it. Until *she* found it. Barrow and the rest of the gang had been arrested; that should make her feel better, she knew. But Clark was still missing.
Clark was still missing. And until he was found, Lois knew that she would never be able to find closure. She would never be able to say goodbye.
Martha had mentioned a memorial service being held at some point in the future, though when asked, she’d been very non-committal on when that would be.
A memorial... that was all they could give him. He was the best man she’d ever met, and he wouldn’t even get a proper place to rest in peace.
Who knew where his body was now? Under the murky waters of Hobb’s Bay? In one of those dark alleys that you found all over the South Side? Or... or maybe in one of these warehouses she was exploring. She could stumble onto his body any minute. That flashlight wasn’t much help when it was pitch dark outside and the city council hadn’t bothered replacing the broken bulbs in the few lampposts around here. She dreaded finding him. Yet, if anyone had to find Clark, then better herself than someone who would take him for an anonymous corpse.
So far though, she had explored three of those large empty buildings and found nothing. Nothing at all.
She heard a muted sound behind her back. Reflexes made her switch off her flashlight and duck behind a crate. There were footsteps, then a voice whispering words too low for her to hear. Another voice answered just as quietly.
Lois stayed in her improvised hideout and held her breath. Whoever had entered the warehouse after her, there was a big chance they were up to no good. What else could bring someone to lurk around such a deserted place at this time of the night?
So much for thinking that she could lead her own search in peace. She didn’t feel like having another investigation on her hands. Not right now. She should be appalled that a job that had always been her escape when she felt down suddenly didn’t appeal to her, but she didn’t care. Her job was so closely linked to Clark that it was not an escape any more. She started every time the elevator chimed in the newsroom. She kept looking towards what had been his desk, half-expecting him to smile back at her. There was no corner of the newsroom that didn’t remind her of him.
Tears pricked her eyes; pride made her swallow them back. She had spent enough time crying over Clark’s death. The one thing she could do was keep working at what had always mattered to them. Clark had wanted to make the world a better place; he had believed, probably naively, that even mere reporters like the two of them could make a difference by putting criminals behind bars.
She hadn’t been much use in putting Capone and his gang in jail; all she’d managed to do was get herself in trouble and have Superman rescue her once more.
Superman.
A man she was eternally indebted to. A man who had failed to save her best friend. A man she had once loved...
She shook her head and focused her attention back to the men who had interrupted her quest. She would prove that she still had what it took to be a great reporter. She had been the best before Clark came along. True, their partnership had been the best year of her life and had made her feel stronger, but she wasn’t finished just because he wasn’t by her side any more.
She would prove to him – and herself – that she was still the best.
She rose to her knees and peered over the crate concealing her from the men’s sight. Damn it! Their faces were hidden in shadows, and their voices were still too muffled for her to hear what they were talking about. She could make out the shape of something that looked like a thick envelope. Frustration made her shift. The muted sound of her toes connecting to the crate in front of her was enough to silence the two men she’d been observing. She held back a yelp of pain and crouched back into the darkness. Too late. Their steps were getting closer now. They would find her...
*********
...tbc
