Lois & Clark Forums Forums Active Threads This Week

If Perry White has a mental file on this situation, it is only a matter of time before he puts everything together and discovers who Kallen Ellis really is. That man is part reporter, part blood hound. Hmmm, will he tell Lois about his theories when they finally surface? It might be fascinating to see that scene.

Meanwhile, what is the Clark disappearance backstory?


Why indeed? Lois' intuition is working in the background. Once she figures out that Kallen, Clark and Superman are one and the same the fireworks are gonna be impressive!

Really having fun with this story. Looking forward to the next parts.

Looking forward to Clark meeting Jerome and Lois. Clark messed up and it's understandable if Lois feels hurt and mad at him, but I believe she can forgive him, even if it takes some time. He has missed out precious time with Jerome and it can't be recovered, but he has the chance to make things right now.

Andreia

[sarcasm] Oh, right, that's not going to rebound on their developing relationship at all. No way that could have a negative effect, right? [/end sarcasm]

I wonder if she'll fall in love with Superman and reject Clark (again!) and when Clark reveals that the two men are one she goes totally ballistic and zing! She remembers everything!

But because she's had this time as pre-intervention Lois, she decides she wants Superman and not Clark and Clark goes a little nuts because not again! And H. G. Wells happens along and says that he can't fix this one.

Oh, but you wouldn't do that to your gentle readers, would you? That would be so very cruel!

This is getting good. I can't wait to see how he does with his new ability. Will he take to it quickly or will there be a steep learning curve? Also, can't wait to see Lois' thoughts on this.

Chapter 14
Please leave any comments here. Thank you!

Chapter 14

Kal sat at the small desk in his hotel room, fingers drumming once against the edge of his phone. The mid-morning light filtered in through the curtains—unseen, but still felt. The city was already moving outside, a distant buzz of traffic and footsteps and elevator dings. He hadn't touched his coffee yet.

The decision had already been made. Now it was just a matter of following through.

He inhaled slowly, exhaled even slower, and dialed the number he hadn't called in over two years.

Dr. Bernard Klein.

It rang twice before a chipper voice answered.

"Dr. Klein's office, how can I help you?"

Kal cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the nerves winding quietly in his chest. "Yes, this is… I'm calling on behalf of Superman. I was hoping to speak with Dr. Klein."

There was a beat of silence, and when the receptionist spoke again, her voice was more cautious. "I'm sorry, did you say—?"

"I know it's unexpected," Kal said quickly. "But he's requested to speak with Dr. Klein directly. It's… important."

Another pause, then the soft click of hold music.

He waited.

Thirty seconds later, the music cut out.

"Superman?" Dr. Klein's voice was as familiar as it was disarming—nervous, curious, kind. "Is that really you?"

Kal swallowed. "Yes. But I'm not calling about a rescue. I need your help… for something else."

Dr. Klein's voice was careful, tinged with disbelief. "You… you sound different. Are you all right?"

Kal hesitated. "I'm not in danger. But I'm not who I used to be."

There was a pause, the sound of shifting papers and a faint tap—maybe of glasses being set down.

"I see," Klein said slowly. "Is this… connected to what happened two years ago? When you disappeared?"

"Yes," Kal said. "I didn't just vanish. I was injured. Badly."

"Are you hurt now?"

"No. Not in that way." Kal exhaled. "But I've lost something important. And I need your help to understand what's left."

Another long pause. Then Dr. Klein's voice softened. "Come in. I'll clear the lab this afternoon. You'll have complete privacy."

Kal hesitated. "I won't be coming in the suit. I'll be in street clothes. Name's Kallen Ellis."

Another pause. "Understood," Klein said, his tone shifting slightly. "I'll meet you at the front desk and make sure no one asks questions."

"Thank you," Kal said, the tension in his shoulders easing, just slightly.

"I'll see you at two o'clock."

He ended the call and sat still for a beat, the hotel room buzzing faintly with morning life just outside the window. The decision was made. Now all he had to do was follow through.

He picked up the phone again, this time dialing a more familiar number.

"Lois Lane."

"It's me," Kal said. "I'm not going to be able to meet up this afternoon. Something came up."

A brief pause. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just… something I need to do. I'll fill you in tonight, if that's alright."

"Of course," she said quickly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I am," Kal replied. And this time, it was mostly true. "Talk later?"

"Later," she said, and the call ended without fanfare—but not without weight.

Kal slipped the phone back into its cradle and turned toward the closet. Kal took his time getting ready. Just jeans, a collared shirt, a weathered jacket, and the familiar sweep of his cane ahead of him as he made his way to the lab.

He kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of STAR Labs. No one gave him a second glance. A man with a cane wasn't remarkable. In this moment, he wasn't Superman. He was Kallen Ellis.

Dr. Klein was already waiting when Kal entered the lobby of STAR Labs.

"Mr. Ellis," he said with a polite nod, his voice carefully neutral. "Come with me. My lab is just down the hall."

Kal followed him further into the building. He heard the sliding doors open as they entered into the lab—familiar in layout, but different in feel. Less bustle, more containment. The hum of equipment, the scent of metal and ozone. Klein locked the door behind them.

"Place is clear," he said. "You can relax."

Kal exhaled slowly. "Thank you."

Dr. Klein gestured toward a padded examination bench and pulled up a chair beside it. "So," he began, "let's start with what you can tell me."

Kal found a lab stool with his cane then sat, hands resting loosely on his knees. "As you know, I haven't been active for the past two years. On my last rescue… a weapon emitted a concentrated burst of ultraviolet light directly into my eyes. I was blinded instantly. At the time, I assumed it would heal. Given enough time, I thought it might reverse itself."

Dr. Klein's brows drew together, concern evident. "But it didn't."

Kal shook his head. "No."

"Has there been any improvement? Even partial vision?"

"Nothing," Kal said quietly. "No light. No shapes. Just… darkness."

"Were any of your other powers affected?"

"My hearing's still there, so is invulnerability. But x-ray vision, microscopic vision—those are gone. I haven't tested the others. Not seriously."

"Why not?"

Kal's voice was dry. "Because the last time I misjudged my own strength, I cracked a support beam in my kitchen. I can't afford to guess wrong."

"Alright. Then let's not guess."

Dr. Klein set the clipboard aside. "Kal, I think we should test the rest of your powers. Not full-strength," he added quickly, "just enough to establish some baselines. You've already lost two abilities we know of. Let's find out what's still functioning."

Kal tensed slightly. "Doctor…"

"I know you're nervous," Klein said gently. "But I'll be careful. Everything is calibrated for low-stress testing. And it's better to find out here, in a safe place, than out there."

Kal nodded once, reluctantly. "Alright. Where do we start?"

Klein gestured to a reinforced panel mounted behind a blast shield. "Heat vision first. Focus on the beeping target—just enough to trigger the sensation."

Kal turned his face toward the sound. It took effort—more effort than he expected—but eventually, he felt a flicker of warmth behind his eyes. A heartbeat later, the sensor chirped once.

"Minimal output," Klein said, noting the result. "Residual energy, but the beam's attenuated. Like a pilot light. No risk of damage, but not operationally useful."

"Figures," Kal murmured.

"Let's try freezing breath," Klein said, wheeling out a small mist-filled chamber lined with temperature-reactive strips. "Just aim straight ahead—again, light effort."

Kal exhaled slowly. The chamber fogged. One of the test strips turned pale blue.

Klein looked up, mildly impressed. "Still functional. Limited area of effect, but the temperature drop is measurable."

Next came the strength test. Klein guided Kal to a braced platform with a spring-loaded resistance rig.

"I want you to grip this handle and slowly apply pressure. Stop the second you feel strain."

Kal wrapped his fingers around the grip. The machine clicked softly as the resistance built. After a moment, he stopped.

Klein blinked at the reading. "That was about 60% of baseline strength, assuming the values we'd logged before. Controlled. Impressive, given how long you've been avoiding using it."

"I've had to be careful," Kal said. "Everything in my life depends on precision now. I don't get second chances if I overdo it."

Klein gave a small nod, visibly thoughtful. "It's clear you're holding back—intentionally. You're managing your output constantly, which tells me your physical control is still intact. You're not dangerous. You're just… cautious."

Kal looked away slightly. "I have to be."

After a beat, Klein gestured toward the far end of the lab, where a padded section of wall had been rigged with motion sensors. "One last test. I'd like to get a read on your speed—reflexive more than full-speed. Just a short burst forward. Stop before you reach the wall."

Kal moved into position. When Klein gave the word, he pushed forward—just enough to feel the blur return to his limbs.

The sensors chirped again. Klein checked the output.

"Still there," he said, half to himself. "Dampened. But still there."

Kal returned to the bench slowly, his breath even but strained.

"You're suppressing your abilities," Klein said softly, "even now."

Kal's jaw tightened. "I'm managing them."

"No," Klein said, more gently. "That kind of caution doesn't come from control. It comes from fear. And I don't think that fear is all physical."

Kal didn't answer right away. His shoulders remained squared, but his posture had shifted—just enough to show the weight he still carried.

Klein gave him a moment before adding, "What you're doing—functioning like this—it's incredible. You've built a system around uncertainty and still maintained stability. But Kal… it's okay to want more than that. It's okay to hope."

Kal let the words sit between them.

Then, finally: "If there's a way to fly again… I need to know."

Klein nodded. "Then we'll figure it out."

He stood, crossing the lab with quiet efficiency. Kal listened to the subtle scrape of drawers opening, the click of glass and metal. When Klein returned, he set a tray of varied items on the table: small weights, polished stones, different metals, plastic tubing, and a few rubberized disks.

"These won't hurt," Klein said. "I just want to run some basic calibration tests. Spatial awareness, material differentiation… you don't have to touch anything, just tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary."

Kal's brow creased. "Doc… I told you. I'm blind. There's nothing to notice."

Klein didn't flinch. "Humor me."

Kal sighed and nodded once. "Alright."

Klein placed the first object—a thin copper plate—somewhere on the table.

"Can you point to where that is?"

Kal remained still for a moment. Then slowly, he extended a hand, index finger hovering uncertainly in the air. His brows furrowed, and after another few seconds, he lowered his hand and shook his head. "Nothing."

"That's okay," Klein said easily, marking something on his clipboard. "Let's try again."

Another object. Another pause.

And then—

Kal's head tilted faintly. He raised his hand and stopped just above the tabletop, about four inches left of center. His hand didn't touch the surface, but his fingers hovered—confident, uncertain, and somehow both at once.

"Here," he said.

Klein didn't respond immediately. Then: "You're right."

Kal's posture stiffened. "I didn't feel it with my hand."

"What did you feel?"

Kal was silent for a long moment. "I don't know. Just… pressure. A kind of pull."

Klein's pen paused above the clipboard.

"Have you noticed anything like that before today?" he asked, voice quiet now. Measured.

Kal hesitated, then nodded once. "Lately. Sometimes when I'm working with maps. Rubber bands, labeled pins. Sometimes I know where things are—before I touch them."

Klein didn't speak right away. Then he placed another object, and the testing resumed—with clearer results each time.

Finally, after what felt like hours of 'looking' for objects, Kal couldn't keep his anxiety at bay any longer. "Dr. Klein?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. Sorry. It appears that you are or have developed a new ability."

"Pardon?"

Klein tapped his pen against the clipboard, his voice growing more focused now. "It's not sight. But it's something. The way you're reacting—the way you know where objects are without touching them—it's consistent. Repeatable. That tells me this isn't a fluke."

Kal's brow furrowed. "So what is it?"

Klein picked up one of the metal objects again, turning it over in his hand. "The closest comparison we have in nature is magnetoreception—a sense found in certain migratory birds, turtles, even some mammals. It allows them to perceive Earth's magnetic field. They use it to navigate, sometimes across entire continents."

"You think I'm… navigating like a bird?" Kal asked, deadpan.

Klein gave a dry chuckle. "I think you're doing something even more complex. You're not just detecting polarity or direction—you're reading spatial pattern—density, material composition, subtle field shifts, maybe even motion."

Kal sat in stunned silence.

"You're perceiving the world through a form of electromagnetic sensitivity," Klein continued. "Like a living compass, but more advanced. It's adaptive," Klein said. "Your body, your brain—they've compensated for the loss of vision by amplifying other inputs. This isn't a side effect. It's evolution. You're learning to see again, just in a different language."

Kal didn't answer. Not right away. He just sat there, turning the words over in his mind like pieces of a puzzle he didn't know he was holding.

Finally, he said, "Can it be refined?"

"I think so," Klein said. "With practice. Calibration. If we can understand the parameters—what triggers it, how it maps in your mind—we might even be able to help you use it for flight. Or rescue. Whatever you need."

Kal exhaled slowly, the weight of two years shifting in his chest—not gone, but lighter. "How do we start?"

Hi Amanda!
Uh-huh.

/Watches in delighted fascination as the spark creeps along the fuse cord/

Oops?


I wonder if Lois now wonders how she could have written this when she knows, deep down in a dark and hidden pace, that she had been a hack in the beginning, just like everyone else.



it was for a story on amnesia research and its practical application to junior reporters?

Oops?

She’s a Kryptonian sleeper agent and only remembers her cover identity?

He could have quickly written a manuscript telling the fictitious story of how Wanda grew up? And Lois only remembers the manuscript?

Maybe if he explained it via multiverse instead of time travel?



Oh boy.

Ooooohhhhh…that’s smart!

She wants to revisit the fun with a fresh mind?

Oops?

Great touch!

Yes, calling her emotional or crazy or both – not helping.

She was crawling up a sewer and he was right behind her.

Perfectly normal situation.



Wonderful phrasing – he was him

/Eyes part counter/

Edit: and reading Terry's FDK, yeah, somewhere I think I also posted this theory. Might have been on Discord, though, as one of the possible scenarios. Thank you for reminding me!

Michael

Sorry, for the delay in posting. A few FDK's got me wondering if maybe I should flesh this story out a bit more. I toyed around with a few ideas for a couple of days but ultimately, I've decided to leave it as is. I have other stories to get back to and I'm looking forward to working on something for ficathon. Maybe someday I will come back to this and give it an A-plot. For now, I hope you enjoy a little more B-plot fun.


The More Things Stay the Same
Part 4

“Perry, I can handle more than this!” Lois stood in the editor’s office, waving a sheet of paper with her latest assignment on it.

It had been two weeks since her accident. Her doctor had given her the go ahead to resume light duties at work a few days ago. After being cooped up in an unfamiliar townhouse for a week, Lois was chomping at the bit to get back to her job. But Perry was giving her only the simplest assignments – mostly research and catching up on recent events which she had forgotten. She’d come into his office to ask for something more challenging and he’d handed her an interview with Metropolis’ resident centenarian. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy.

“I know you can, darling,” Perry replied pacifyingly. “I’m just working you back up to the harder pieces. There will be plenty of award-winning articles waiting to be written when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now! Why can’t I work on that murder story?”

“Clark’s working on that.”

Lois crossed her arms petulantly. “Of course he is,” she muttered. “Give me something else then – a dishonest politician, gang wars, something!”

“Now, Lois – your doctor only wants you doing light work for a few weeks,” Perry reminded her gently.

Lois frowned. “How do you know what my doctor wants?”

The editor looked confused for a moment. “Well, Clark said – ”

“Clark!” Lois exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “Of course! Clark needs to butt out.”

“Lois, he’s your husband.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s allowed to run my life.” Lois stormed out of the editor’s office and cast her eyes about the newsroom for her husband, ready to give him a piece of her mind. Unfortunately (or fortunately for him), he seemed to be out at the moment.

Lois stormed over to her desk, glaring at those who dared to look her way – all of whom promptly found themselves very busy with their own work. She was fed up with people treating her with kid gloves. She just wanted to get back to her old life.

That was the problem though. Her old life didn’t exist anymore. The new Lois was happily married and apparently okay with being bossed around by some man she barely knew.

Okay, that was unfair. Clark hadn’t really been bossing her around. He’d just been… looking out for her, she supposed. He was kind and sweet… and meddling and overbearing and irritating. She honestly couldn’t fathom why she had ever married the man.

She still couldn’t remember anything about him aside from their first few weeks working together at the Planet. She’d spent hours poring through the photo albums of their time together as children, their wedding, and their lives since then. She kept hoping for some glimmer of memory, but there was nothing.

She’d asked him questions and listened to him tell stories about things they had done together – but some of it simply didn’t line up right with the things she did remember. And whenever she tried to get him to explain the inconsistencies, he changed the subject or found a reason to leave.

He was hiding something. She knew that much. But she couldn’t figure out what.

Obviously, it had something to do with why her mind had blocked out nearly all her memories of him. She’d mentioned this to her doctor, who had agreed that sometimes people blocked out painful or harmful memories. Dr. Barger had then asked many questions about whether or not she felt safe in her home.

Lois couldn’t say for sure one way or another. She didn’t think Clark was abusive. He seemed very loving – bordering on smothering sometimes. It was hard to imagine that perhaps he had another side – a scary side that he was hiding from her right now and which her mind had chosen to block out. But then, she supposed it could be possible.

He was definitely hiding something from her and that had her suspicious. She just didn’t know if what he was hiding was actually harmful or if perhaps, he was hiding something for ‘her own good’ as he seemed want to do.

Clark seemed so hesitant to share anything with her and he had admitted to being afraid that some information or other would be too much for her to handle. She got the distinct impression that he’d dealt with something like this before – a loved one losing their memory and reacting badly to reminders of things they’d forgotten. Maybe he’d had a grandparent with dementia or something.

But she wasn’t senile. And she wasn’t sick. She wasn’t even really injured anymore. The wound on her head had healed. Okay, so the damage to her brain was apparently still in play but Dr. Barger said that it was possible the memories might never return, even after she was fully healed. She may simply have to get used to living her life as it was now – without the memories she had forgotten.

It was a scary thought in some ways. In other ways, it was comforting. It meant that the rest of her life didn’t actually hinge upon things she couldn’t remember. She was healed and mentally stable. She could move on with her life and make her own decisions. If the memories did return one day – great! If not, it would be okay too. She didn’t need to remember to go on living.

She just wished that everyone else would realize that - particularly Clark and Perry who were apparently in cahoots about keeping her playing desk jockey for the foreseeable future.

Someone turned the sound up on a nearby television and the news broadcast caught Lois’ attention. An accident involving a semi-truck had snapped one of the cables on a nearby bridge. Superman was already on the scene, securing the unstable bridge while first responders worked to get people off the bridge, including those who had been injured in the accident.

Lois jumped to her feet and grabbed her purse which was already packed with her notepad, pen, and tape recorder. Just because Perry wouldn’t assign her a decent story didn’t mean she couldn’t find one on her own. She was waiting for people to get off the elevator when the editor, himself, stepped out of his office and hollered for someone to get down to the bridge accident.

“On it, Chief!” Lois hollered back.

“What? Lois – ”

But Lois was already stepping into the elevator and the door was shutting out Perry’s words. She smiled to herself as she hit the button for the lobby. It was going to be a good day, even if she had to make it so herself.

********

The cab driver took Lois as close to the accident as he could get before traffic slowed to a crawl. Lois jumped out and walked the rest of the way. By the time she got there, most of the excitement was over. All the vehicles had been moved off the bridge and the people who were injured had been taken to nearby hospitals. The bridge itself had been stabilized for the time being but was blocked off pending repairs. Superman was speaking with the fire chief so Lois made herself busy, interviewing first responders and eyewitnesses.

She managed to get the full story and some really good quotes but she kept one eye on the superhero at all times. A Superman quote was a sure way to push a story onto the front page. Besides, she’d been wanting to talk to him.

She finished up speaking to one witness just as Superman stepped away from the fire chief and looked like he was getting ready to leave.

“Superman!”

His eyes darted to hers and, for a moment, she thought he might have smiled at her. Then the moment passed and he assumed his usual friendly but detached expression as he approached.

“Lois,” he greeted her. “How are you?”

“I’m good. I was wondering if I could get a quote for the Daily Planet?”

“Of course.” He gave her a brief overview of what had occurred at the bridge and the part he had played in the rescue.

Lois jotted down a few notes and then tucked her pad back in her purse. “Thank you. Um… before you go…” she began nervously. Superman tilted his head to the side in interest and Lois took a breath to steel her nerves. “I was wondering if I could ask you a personal question?”

The hero nodded and Lois launched into what she wanted to say before she could chicken out. “I guess you already know that I was injured a few weeks ago – they said you were the one to bring me to the hospital – but, well, I ended up losing some not insignificant portions of my memory and I’m just trying to figure out a few things about my life. One of the questions I’ve had is… well… are we friends?”

Superman looked surprised at the question and Lois rushed to explain before he could respond. “Because, you know, I don’t remember much of the past three years but I do remember when you first showed up and that interview you gave me and I guess it just seemed to me that maybe we were becoming friends. That is, I’d like to be. And I hope we are and – ”

Superman held up his hand to stop her rambling. Now he was definitely smiling – and what a smile it was! But Lois blushed and hoped he wasn’t laughing at her. But, when he spoke, his voice was kind and gentle and almost… familiar!

“Of course we’re friends, Lois.”

Lois tucked away her surprise at the familiarity of his voice. She’d examine that later. For now, she returned his smile. “I’m so glad. Because… well, you’re the kind of person I’d like to be friends with. You know?”

Superman nodded. “I’m glad we’re friends too, Lois.” He glanced off to the side suddenly, as though he were listening to something far away. When he looked back at her, his smile had faded. “I have to go.”

“Of course. Go. I’ll see you around.”

“See you around, Lois.” And with that, he shot up into the sky – off to save the day somewhere else.

Lois watched him go and couldn’t help the smile which spread across her face. She had butterflies in her stomach and, for the first time in weeks, she felt like her old self again.




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Chapter 5

The tires crunched slowly along the gravel driveway.

Clark cut the engine but didn’t move. The Kent farmhouse sat quiet at the top of the rise, its front windows catching the last light of the afternoon. He knew every angle of that house. Every board in that porch. Every creak of the front steps. It looked the same—but he didn’t.

He reached across the passenger seat and unlatched the folded wheelchair beside him. His movements were practiced, not graceful. He angled his body, braced one hand on the frame, and shifted his weight, one transfer at a time. The driver’s door stayed open behind him as he settled into the chair and adjusted the footrests.

For a moment, he just sat there.

Not quite ready.

Then the front door opened.

Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just quietly opened.

Martha stepped into the doorway and leaned against the frame. She didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. She just looked at him, eyes steady, arms folded against the evening chill.

He wheeled slowly up the path, the gravel bumping under his tires.

When he reached the porch, she was still there. Still silent.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, voice rough.

Her throat worked, but she didn’t speak. She just stepped down, reached him, and placed a hand gently on his cheek.

“You came back,” she whispered.

Jonathan looked at him a long time. Then he crossed the kitchen, put one hand on Clark’s shoulder, and said simply, “It’s good to have you home.”

Clark nodded, his throat tight. “It’s good to be here.”

Jonathan eased down into the chair across from him like it wasn’t just his knees slowing him but the weight of everything left unsaid. He folded his hands on the table. Looked Clark over again.

“You had lunch yet?” he asked, like it was the only safe place to start.

Clark gave a small shake of the head. “Not yet.”

“We’ve got stew on. From last night. Good as it was the first time.”

Martha set another mug down near Jonathan’s elbow but didn’t speak. She just sat across from Clark again, hands resting around her tea.

Clark looked at the liquid in his cup, hoping it held all the answers. “I thought about this moment a thousand times.”

Jonathan’s voice was steady. “Did you think we’d be angry?”

Clark managed a breath of a laugh. “I hoped you’d open the door. That was as far as I let myself go.”

“Once Lois found out you were back, we knew you would be back,” Martha said. “This house has always been your home. Even when you forgot how to come back.”

Clark looked down. “I didn’t forget. I just… I wasn’t sure I was still someone who belonged here.”

Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “You think love is conditional.”

“No,” Clark said quietly. “but I didn’t think I’d know how to face anyone who used to count on me.”

“You think your son only needs a dad who can fly?” Jonathan asked.

Clark didn’t answer.

Martha’s voice softened. “He needs a father. And Lois… she needed to survive. She didn’t do it waiting on a miracle. She did it by building something new.”

Clark nodded, eyes fixed on the photo still resting on the table.

“I don’t want to hurt them. Not again.”

“Then don’t,” Jonathan said. “You don’t get to fix this in a day. But you do get to try.”

Clark looked up at him. “You think I should see her?”

“I think,” Jonathan said slowly, “you should be ready for her not to want to see you.”

That landed like truth always did in this house.

Clark didn’t flinch.

“I am,” he said. “But I still need to try.”

Jonathan gave a short nod. “Then you’ll have our support. But this next part? It’s not about what you need. It’s about what they do.”

Jonathan didn’t say anything else after that. He just picked up his mug and took a long sip like he’d said all he was going to.

Clark sat back, nodding. He didn’t expect a clear path. He didn’t expect to be welcomed without conditions. But still… a quiet part of him had hoped.

Martha stood and moved toward the stove, adjusting the burner under a pot. “You’re staying for dinner.”

Clark blinked. “You sure?”

She gave him a look that said it wasn’t a question. “You’re not driving back anywhere tonight.”

His eyes veered over to look at the stairs. “But…” He started, uncomfortably, like it hurt him to bring the next words to life.

She turned to the cupboard. “Once we found out Jerome was on the way, we started building an addition onto the back of the house. The last few months of Lois’s pregnancy were hard on her and needed a place to rest without having to climb a bunch of stairs.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He said it so naturally it almost surprised him.

Jonathan finished his tea and stood. “I’m going to check the water trough.”

He left through the back door without another word. Clark watched him go, then turned back to Martha, who was now pulling bowls down from the shelf.

“He okay?”

“He will be,” she said, not looking up. “He’s just… feeling the edges of things.”

Clark understood that more than he could say.

He stayed quiet for a while, watching the way she moved, the familiarity of her rhythm in the kitchen. He used to take that for granted—the soft clatter of dishes, the way her hand hovered over a pan before she touched it, like she was measuring the heat by instinct.

She moved like someone who’d rebuilt her peace in layers.

And he didn’t want to be the reason it cracked.

He looked toward the door, voice low. “Do they ever come out here? Lois and Jerome?”

Martha didn’t answer right away. She folded a dish towel with exact care before responding.

“They do,” she said simply. “Now and then.”

“How often?”

“Often enough that it feels like family.”

Clark nodded. That hurt more than he expected it to.

“She still keeps in touch with you both?”

Martha turned back to him. Her expression was kind but firm. “She never stopped.”

He swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what I’m hoping for,” he admitted. “Just… not to make it worse.”

Martha’s gaze softened again, but she didn’t speak. Just returned to the stove and stirred the pot on the burner.

A few minutes passed.

Then, gently, she said, “Why don’t you lie down for a bit? You’ve had a long day.”

He didn’t argue. His body felt like lead.

She showed him to the spare room. It was neat and warm. A folded quilt rested at the foot of the bed. A small fan hummed quietly on the dresser.

He transferred from the chair to the bed with practiced care, settled against the pillow, and let out a slow breath.

In the kitchen, could still hear the faint sounds of the kitchen—Martha’s footsteps, the squeak of a drawer, the soft click of silverware being set out.

He didn’t know what time it was when he dozed off, just like he didn’t know that Lois and Jerome were expected after dinner.

And neither Martha nor Jonathan had decided whether they were going to tell him.

Thanks for reading!

A great deal has happen between them and as yet, what it is has not been revealed.


Kallen's isolation is so sad. I want to give him a hug...

Wanted to say, I'm really enjoying this story!

Wait a minute... He is not is contact with his parents! No matter what reason he could give, that is very cruel and just plain not right. Hearing that Jonathan is not saying anything speaks volumes. They are both hurt.


Slowly, ever so slowly, Kallen is putting together an investigation worthy of Clark Kent.

Chapter 13

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any feedback here.

Happy Tuesday! Here is the next installment of Stuck in the Dark. The feedback I've received identified some gaping plot holes so I have made edits to several of the early chapters. Hopefully, this has fixed the issues or at least made them less obvious. Thanks for helping make this story the best it can be. I truly appreciate it!

Chapter 13

They’d been working for a couple hours now, the hotel room transformed into a controlled chaos of raised-line maps, labeled files, and Kal’s digital recorder tracking every thread. He kept his system neat, efficient. Every movement had purpose.

But every so often, a wrinkle formed.

Lois paused mid-sentence when Kal stilled, fingertips hovering above the braille label on a file.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought this one was Southside,” he murmured. “But I must’ve misfiled it. Either that, or I just lost track of the layout again.”

She didn’t move to help—not immediately. Kal wasn’t asking for it, and she’d learned better than to rush in.

Still, the quiet lingered too long.

“You okay?” she asked, softer now.

He exhaled. “I’m fine. Just…” His jaw flexed slightly. “Some days, it’s harder than others. Doesn’t mean I can’t do the work. But it wears on me. It’s not the work. It’s the second-guessing. Every step, every system—I build it, and then I have to trust it’ll hold.” There was no self-pity in his tone. Just fatigue. Honesty.

He sat back, shoulders tense. Then, without reaching for the map, he angled his head and pointed toward the far edge of the desk.

“No—wait. That one’s Southside.” He tapped the corner of a folder with near-perfect accuracy.

Lois blinked. “How did you—?”

“Lucky guess?” he offered meekly.

She didn’t press. Just watched him for a moment longer, then nodded and picked up the thread of the work again—filing it away, like she always did.

A few minutes later, Kal started searching for another folder of information. When she realized he was having trouble locating it, Lois nudged one of the folders an inch closer to his hand. She meant it to be subtle—gentle, even—but Kal’s fingers stilled.

He didn’t say anything, not at first. Just let the silence stretch, his jaw tense. Then he reached out—slowly, deliberately—and moved the folder back to its original place.

“I had it,” he said, obviously irritated by her action. Then he shook his head, trying to push the sharpness out. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped.”

Lois didn’t flinch. “You didn’t,” she said softly. “Not really.”

Kal exhaled through his nose, the tightness in his shoulders slow to ease. “It’s just… when people assume I need help, it gets in my head. Even when I know they mean well.”

“I wasn’t assuming,” she said. “I just—” She caught herself. Rewound. “I didn't want you to be frustrated when you picked up the wrong one. I don't know when to help."

He nodded, but didn’t look up. “I know.” A beat passed. “I just… need to know I can still figure it out, that I can pull my weight here. I haven't worked with a partner at the Oklahoman. I don't know how to do this."

Lois's voice was gentler now. “Don’t cut yourself short. You know enough to realize we needed all these records. We’ll figure it out together.”

Kal didn’t respond right away. His hand hovered for a moment above the folder, then withdrew entirely.

“I’m just trying to do what I saw you doing at the Planet,” he said, shrugging. “I know how to work alone. I’ve had to. It’s cleaner. Simpler.”

“Safer,” Lois added quietly.

He gave a small nod. “Yeah. That too.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t press.

Instead, she reached for a different folder, opening it without a word and laying it between them like a fresh start.

Kal tilted his head slightly, listening to the shift of paper, the way she didn’t nudge it toward him this time.

And he reached for it on his own.

They worked in silence for a while after that, the kind that wasn’t heavy—just focused. Intent.

But Lois kept glancing over, not because he needed her to, but because she wanted to. Because every so often, he’d pause—just slightly—before labeling a file, or tapping a folder’s corner to orient himself.

She waited until one of those pauses stretched a little longer than usual.

“Kal,” she said, keeping her tone light but careful. “Have you ever considered talking to someone about this?”

He didn’t look up. “I’m not exactly eager to sit down with a therapist and unpack my feelings about tactile file systems.”

She gave a small huff of breath—close to a laugh, but not quite. “That’s not what I meant.”

He tilted his head slightly toward her, curious. “Then who?”

“Dr. Klein,” she said, and the name landed quietly between them. “You could go as Superman. He’d keep your confidence.”

Kal didn’t answer. Not right away.

Lois let the silence hang. She didn’t fill it. Didn’t backtrack. Just let it settle.

“I don’t know what he could even do,” Kal said eventually. “I’ve already learned how to work like this. Mostly.”

“I’m not saying he’d fix it,” Lois said. “I don’t think this is about fixing. But maybe he could help you understand it. Help you figure out what’s really going on under the surface.”

Still, Kal didn’t respond. But his jaw shifted—like he was grinding down a thought too heavy to name.

Lois folded her arms on the table, voice soft but sure. “I’ve seen the way you know where something is before you touch it. That wasn’t a lucky guess earlier.”

Kal’s brow furrowed.

“I’m not saying it to put you on the spot,” she added quickly. “I’m saying… maybe there’s more going on than you realize. And if anyone could help you figure out what that more is, it’s Dr. Klein.”

That finally drew a flicker of reaction—a small tilt of his head, the kind he gave when he didn’t want to admit something out loud but had already conceded it internally.

Lois didn’t push further.

Instead, she said, “Just think about it.”
And then she turned the page of the report between them, as if that was all she’d needed to say.

They continued working for several more hours until Lois had to admit that she was beyond tired and left for home.

The room had gone quiet after that, save for the hum of the mini-fridge and the occasional car slipping past on the street below. Kal sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, cane resting against the nightstand.

He’d gone over the files twice. Rechecked his recorder. Everything was in order.

So why couldn’t he sleep?

He lay back eventually, muscles tight against the mattress. The dark didn’t matter—it never did anymore—but something about the silence felt heavier than usual. Louder.

He was about to turn over when a sound pricked the edge of his hearing. A voice—faint, far off. A sharp inhale. Someone muttering under their breath.

Then: the unmistakable sound of impact. A trash can tipping? A scuffle?

Kal froze, listening hard. The street outside wasn’t especially rough, but it wasn’t spotless either. Could be nothing. Probably was nothing.

Still, his heart picked up its pace.

Another sound: hurried footsteps. A sharp expletive. Something metal scraping pavement.

He sat up.

He could check. Could throw on a coat and head outside. But what then?

He hadn’t flown in years. Hadn’t intervened. Not since—

His hand found the edge of the nightstand again, steadying himself against the weight in his chest.

What if he misread the situation?

What if he got it wrong?

His jaw clenched.

By the time he made it to the window and cracked it open an inch, the sounds had faded. The voices moved on. The tension dissolved into ordinary city noise.

And Kal stood there, hands braced on the windowsill, a ghost of himself staring out at a world he used to be able to navigate without thinking.

He wasn’t afraid of helping.

He was afraid of how.

Of whether he still could.

Lois arrived late the next morning, coffee in one hand and a half-eaten protein bar in the other. Kal was already at the table, hands moving slowly across one of the raised-line maps. He didn’t look up when she entered—but he didn’t need to.

“You okay?” she asked, setting the coffee down beside him.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just started early.” But there was a heaviness in his voice. Something slightly off rhythm.

She didn’t press. Instead, she pulled out a chair and slid into it, mirroring his posture without drawing attention to it.

They worked like that for a while—quiet, steady. Neither of them rushing to fill the silence.

Eventually, Kal set the map aside. “I heard something last night,” he said. Lois looked up. “Outside the hotel. Maybe a fight. Maybe not. By the time I got to the window, it was over.”

“You think someone was hurt?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t do anything.”

“You couldn’t have known for sure.”

“That’s the part that bothers me,” he said quietly. “I used to just know. My hearing, my instincts—they worked together. Now…” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “Now I second-guess everything.”

Lois leaned forward. “What did it feel like? The moment you heard it.”

“Like the air shifted. Like I could almost feel the shape of it—but I couldn’t follow through. Like the map I used to rely was just out of reach.”

There was silence between them again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was careful. Waiting.

Lois studied his expression, the way his brows pinched—not in pain, but in calculation. As if he were still trying to chart a course through something he hadn’t fully named yet.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything at all,” he answered, almost under his breath.

She didn’t argue. She just let it land.

Kal reached for the coffee she’d brought, his fingers wrapping around the cup like it was grounding him. He didn’t drink it right away—just held it, the warmth bleeding into his skin.

“I think I need to know,” he said finally. “If there’s a way I can help, if I can still matter”

Lois didn’t breathe until he looked up—just a flicker, but enough.

“How can I help?”

“I think,” he started reluctantly, “I think I want to go see Dr. Klein.” Then he went back to the map.

Lois held her gaze on him, trying to decide if she should say anything. Taking her cue from his return to the map, she decided to let it go for now. His willingness to talk to Dr. Klein is progress and there was no need to risk him changing his mind by pushing him too far too fast. They would focus on the investigation for today and discuss scheduling his appointment tomorrow.

A few quiet moments passed before Kal spoke again. “Check this out.” He said as he held a document out to Lois. Lois took the page from his hand, scanning the text quickly. Her eyes narrowed halfway through, then widened in recognition.

“This name—” she pointed, forgetting again for a moment that he couldn’t see. “It’s the same consultant that appeared in one of my Southside files. I flagged it but hadn’t found a connection yet.”

Kal’s brow furrowed. “So we’ve got duplicate phrasing, mirrored zoning, and now a shared consultant.”

“Which means,” Lois said slowly, “this isn’t just a pattern. It’s coordinated. Someone’s steering this.”

Kal nodded. “Then we need to find out who’s holding the wheel.”

They locked eyes—or rather, Kal tilted his head just slightly toward her, catching the weight of her silence.

Lois stood and started pacing, her energy shifting into high gear. “If this person’s involved in both cities, odds are they’re not acting alone. Could be a front for something bigger—maybe even Intergang itself.”

Kal reached for his recorder. “We’ll need to trace their professional history. Board memberships, shell corporations, past legal affiliations.”

“I can handle Metropolis,” Lois said. “And you’ve already got the threads in Norman.”

They both nodded—two reporters chasing the same truth from different directions.

As she gathered the files and moved toward the door, Kal said quietly, “Thanks for the coffee. And thanks again for… trusting me with this.”

Lois paused, hand on the knob. “It’s not trust,” she said, glancing back at him. “It’s belief. And you’ve earned it.”

Then she was gone.

Kal sat for a moment in the silence that followed, his fingers brushing lightly over the map again. He hadn’t meant for the conversation about Dr. Klein to slip out—but maybe it was time. Time for him to do more than exist. Time to stop pretending life hadn’t kept moving while he had stayed stuck in what had become comfortable. No one had expectations of him in his life as Kal Ellis which meant he didn’t have to worry about disappointing anyone when he couldn’t live up to who he once was.

He reached for his phone and started to dial. It wasn’t STAR Labs number his fingers started to enter. Instead, it was the one for the Kansas farmhouse he’d once called home, the people who he used to talk to about everything, especially about a decision as big as this. But before he made it to the final digit, he stopped. It wasn’t time yet. He wasn’t ready to talk to them. He needed to know what Dr. Klein thought, that was his rationalization, anyway.

Tomorrow, he’d call Dr. Klein. Tomorrow, he would start trying to find answers to the questions he’d been afraid to ask.

Thank you for reading! I think you are definitely getting the better version of this story. You should receive answers to your questions soon!

Thanks for pointing the inconsistency about Clark's backstory out! I have gone back and edited some of the early chapters to clarify what people were led to believe. As far as Mayson goes, I don't really have a storyline need for her to be involved. That may change as we get further into the story. We'll see...

Thank you for pointing that out! I have gone back and added references to Martha and Jonathan into the earlier chapters (mostly 1 - 10 at this point). The posts have been updated on here to reflect those edits. While Kal's (Clark's) behavior may seem a bit out of character for how he and his parents get along, I tried to keep it within reason after such a drastic change in his life.


I admit I oversimplified that aspect of things, relying on 'movie magic' to keep from getting bogged down in the minutia of the creation of a new identity. (I did a better job of writing a more realistic explanation in the updated version of Zenith but couldn't think of a way to do it in this story without Jimmy being able to hunt him down.)


That has kind of been addressed in the edits I made in the earlier chapters. Kal's hair is long but I still haven't figured out a good way to explain about the beard. My original thought was that he rubbed that Kryptonite paste Diana Stride made on a razor so his facial hair would be temporarily vulnerable but when I double checked the timeline, Top Copy aired after The Eyes Have It so that wouldn't work. I'm still trying to think of a possible method for him to use that no one else has written. If I think of one, I will go back and edit the story to include it; otherwise, his shaving may have to fall into the category of 'movie magic' as well.


Thank you to all the readers and reviewers. I appreciate any feedback provided and take it into consideration when editing.
aPurpleOkie

My guess is that it's just regular amnesia, but since she's lived her life twice, she only forgot the most recent iteration of it. Looking forward to seeing what happens!

Very powerful writing, drawing us into how things are now for Kal. You have definitely intrigued me, and I'm wondering...

Has he isolated himself from his entire support system? It reads as though he doesn't have a social life now. He seems to be the opposite of Clark, who made friends fairly easily and kept them. And as Morgana asked, where are Martha & Jonathan?

I also wonder how he presumably got a job at a newspaper presumably without a history, including a resume, a journalism degree, a portfolio, and references.

And then there are the more mundane questions, like how in the world does he trim his hair and either shave or trim a beard?

Chapter 4

Thank you for reading!

CHAPTER 4

Boone waited in the Daily Planet lobby longer than necessary.

He’d given the receptionist his name and said he had a personal inquiry for Perry White. Not a story. Not a tip. Just a private matter.

Eventually, a young assistant appeared, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Voss?”

He nodded.

“Mr. White will see you now.”

She led him to the elevator without asking questions, and Boone was grateful for it. Inside the cab, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor numbers as they lit up one by one. His reflection in the polished doors was unfamiliar: grayer, bearded, older. No cape. No glasses. No mask—but still hiding.

The elevator opened onto the bullpen floor, and the hum of old routines washed over him. Phones ringing. Keys clacking. Low voices threading through deadlines.

He followed the assistant without hesitation, but let her lead. He knew every inch of this place, but Boone Voss wasn’t supposed to. Boone didn’t know the path to Perry’s office. Boone didn’t belong here.

Perry was waiting just outside the glass-walled conference room. His stance was guarded, but not hostile—yet. His eyes swept over Boone, the chair, the face.

“Boone Voss?” he asked, voice rough with disbelief or habit.

“Thanks for making time,” Boone said.

“You said it was personal.”

“It is.”

Perry nodded once and opened the door. Boone wheeled in, quiet and steady. The room hadn’t changed. Framed headlines. Thin carpet. Glass walls that offered no privacy at all.

Perry followed him in. The door swung closed behind them with a soft click.

“I’ve got five minutes,” he said. “Start talking.”

Boone kept his hands folded on the armrests. “I was at the Webbers Falls press conference yesterday.”

Perry leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Waiting.

“There was someone there. A woman. She called out a name—‘Clark.’ Just that. One word.”

Perry’s brow creased slightly. “And?”

“I didn’t turn around,” Boone admitted. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about it. I thought maybe…”

Perry didn’t blink. “You came here to track down a voice in a crowd?”

Boone nodded. “When it echoes like that, yeah.”

“You think it was someone you know?”

“I think it might’ve been Lois.”

That landed.

Perry didn’t move. But the temperature in the room changed.

“She hasn’t been with us in years,” he said slowly.

“I figured,” Boone replied.

“What’s your interest in Lois Lane?”

Before he could answer, the door opened again.

“Sorry—got the message late.”

Jimmy Olsen stepped into the room, camera bag slung over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw Boone. “Oh. Hey.”

Boone nodded. “Hi.”

Jimmy’s brow furrowed. “Do I… know you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jimmy tilted his head, squinting. “Huh.”

Perry cut in. “He thinks he saw Lois. Wants to know where she is.”

Jimmy turned to Boone again. “Why?”

Boone shifted in his chair. “I don’t want to disrupt anything. I just… if it was her, I need to know.”

“You don’t know her,” Perry said, voice flat.

Boone didn’t respond.

“You didn’t even say her name until I did,” Perry added.

“I didn’t think I had to,” Boone said carefully. “You knew who I meant.”

Perry narrowed his eyes. “Funny. Most people don’t talk about her at all.”

Boone stayed silent.

Jimmy spoke up, quieter now. “She doesn’t go by Lois Lane anymore.”

Boone glanced at him, uncertain. “No?”

“No,” Perry added. “Nowadays, she’s Elaine Kent.”

Boone froze.

It wasn’t much. Just a breath. A slight hitch. But it was enough.

“You didn’t know that,” Jimmy said.

“No,” Boone admitted, voice low. “Jimmy… what happened?”

Jimmy’s brow furrowed. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“That line. Just… say it.”

Boone blinked. “Jimmy, what happened?”

Jimmy went still. The blood drained from his face.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.

Perry turned sharply. “What?”

Jimmy pointed, stunned. “It’s him. It’s CK.”

Boone didn’t deny it. He just sat quietly, hands still.

Perry stared at him, eyes narrowing. “Is that true?”

Boone held a pregnant breath before he reluctantly nodded. “Yes.”

Everything in the room shifted.

Jimmy sank into a chair, eyes wide. “Jesus, man. We thought you were dead.”

“So did I,” he said.

Perry didn’t sit. “You disappeared.”

Clark nodded. “I left thinking I could return one day. But when the time came… I couldn’t. I wasn’t who she remembered. Not even close.”

“You didn’t come back at all,” Perry snapped.

Clark took it.

“I don’t know what she thought happened. I don’t know what you’ve been told. But when I finally…” He tapped the side of the chair. “I wasn’t the same. I thought I could wait until I was better. Stronger. Until I could be the version of me she remembered.”

Perry’s jaw clenched. “And in the meantime, you let her bury you.”

Clark’s hands gripped the chair arms tighter. “I know.”

Jimmy looked at him. “You missed a lot.”

“I know.”

“She has a son,” Perry said.

Clark blinked. “She—what?”

“Jerome,” Jimmy said softly. “He’s about four now.”

Clark sat back like the air had left the room. “I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

“She didn’t know you were alive,” Perry said. “You left her to figure it out on her own.”

Clark nodded slowly. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… need to see her. To explain.”

Perry narrowed his eyes. “Explain what?”

“That I wasn’t strong enough to come back. That I stayed gone for the wrong reasons.”

“You think she needs to hear that?” Jimmy asked.

“I don’t know what she needs,” Clark said. “But I know what I owe.”

Perry walked toward the door but didn’t open it yet.

“She’s not in Metropolis anymore.”

“I figured.”

“She’s not hiding,” he added, “but she’s not easy to find, either.”

“I didn’t want to show up unannounced,” Clark said. “That’s why I came here first.”

“She has a life,” Perry said. “A son. A new name. And people who’ve helped her hold all that together.”

Clark nodded. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“She knows your name,” Perry said. “She told Jerome who you were. But she never told him the whole story. That was her choice.”

“I won’t confuse him,” Clark said. “Or push.”

“You’re damn right you won’t.”

Jimmy gave Clark a long look. “We missed you. But that doesn’t mean we forgot what you cost her.”

Clark met his gaze. “Neither did I.”

He wheeled himself to the door.

And as he left the bullpen—quiet, anonymous, scarred—he knew one thing for certain:

There was no version of this that didn’t hurt.

But pain was the price of return.

And maybe, just maybe, it could also be the beginning of something real.

Uh oh Lois. Now you've done it. Good luck trying to stop Krypto from sleeping in your bed n the future. It can be done, but it won't be fun for any of you.

Well done, 90stvfangirl.

My curiosity is piqued. I hope a sequel comes to you soon.

Yay Bernie! He put all the clues together and came up with the right answer.

Sweet little fic.