I was, needless to say, very surprised by the sight that greeted me when I emerged from the bedroom the next morning. Clark, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt and already shaved, was planted squarely in the center of the sun bursting through the windows--not that that was surprising. In fact, that had become pretty much par for the course in the past two days. No, what was surprising was that he was doing push-ups under that golden spotlight. And he looked...good. Not old-Clark-from-before good, but oh so much better than seemed possible after a measly fifty-six hours away from Luthor's cell. I didn't see any sign of bruising, and he was more filled out than the paltry amount of food he had been eating could account for.
Oh boy. And how did he fill out again? Are Kryptonian's actually half Delvian and he's producing his own sugar?
Had Clark found more of the drug? Had he dosed himself with it? Had his awful symptoms been withdrawal rather than the direct effects of the dosing?
Umm... no.
The lines of tension, the marks of stress, the hints of fear, the moments of irrationality--they were hidden, dissolved away by the sun pouring into him, seemingly imbuing him with everything that made him the man I so respected and admired and...liked.
Not just tolerated as I had tried to convey to the Daily Planet staff, but really, truly liked. Maybe better than anyone else in the world. Even Superman...well, though I was certain I loved him, he was too amazing to merely *like*.
Okay, one doesn't have to fault Lois for not figuring out the secret. Not with Clark and Superman being there in front of her the whole time. One *may*, however, fault Lois for being all googly-eyed over Superman and all brotherly-love with Clark.
The brilliant smile.
The incinerating smile.
The smile I had scoffed at, doubted, cursed, ignored, or missed, depending on the day. The smile that had made Toni Taylor take time out from her bid to rule West River. The smile that had charmed Antoinette Baines before she tried to kill us. The smile that really, really should *not* look so good.
Especially, since she keeps denial-crushing on her partner. And given his weakened physical and emotional state, Lois really could get down from her high horse and take a closer look at him.
"Are you sure you should be doing all that?"
"All what?" He blinked innocently. The man was *daring* me to admit that I had stared at him while he exercised! Well, he could just keep hoping--there wasn't a chance in the world I'd accommodate him.
There was absolutely no reason for my heart to start pumping at a hundred miles a minute or for the temperature to suddenly feel a bit warm. Honestly, there must have been something wrong with that sandwich I'd eaten last night. Or maybe even the smell of the chicken noodle soup had been enough to contaminate me.
And it might be even more devious. What if Lex *told* Clark to come by for regular treatments after his release? Otherwise, Superman would visit Lois and Perry and Jimmy and look for his parents...? But surely, that would be too devious, would it? Nah, not really.
"I will cut vegetables, set the table, and maybe even retrieve certain ingredients for you--but I will *not* be cooking anything. Got it?"
"He said I didn't belong here. That I had to earn my keep. Buy my way into acceptance. He said I'd never...that I was an al--too different."
I got it in Corrina's story, but how is our established Clark so susceptible?
I tossed and turned for twenty or thirty minutes before giving up and throwing the covers back. When I padded into the living room, I was surprised to find Clark still awake. He was staring into space, the notepad balanced on his knee and the pencil laid neatly down on the table.
Hmm...
"Clark." His smile was bleak. "That's who I am."
I sank to my knees beside him, my hand clenching spasmodically over his wrist. "Yes, you are." My own tone was dazed and numb. *Trauma victims will, in rare occurrences, disassociate to such an extent that they find themselves losing hold of their own identity.* The articles I had found on the Internet swam through my mind, causing ripples that upset all other thoughts in my head.
That's a really nice juxtaposition of Clark completely normal thoughts and trauma interpretation.
"I always wanted to be Clark." He swallowed painfully. "And now that's *all* I am."
"That's *enough*, Clark," I said slowly, meaning every word. What more could he be? How could he improve? He was everything he needed to be. Or he had been, anyway. I wasn't sure how much of that man Luthor had left me.
*sigh* Lois. Lois. Lois...
"Actually, I do. A very important one." The lamp left us in a silken pool of light, but shadows lapped at my feet, emphasizing the serious intensity of Clark's gaze, though the glasses obscured the specifics of his expression.
"Well?" I prompted.
"Would you turn the TV on?"
He's going to tell her?
"My secret, Lois--you remember how Trask said there was a meteorite called Kryptonite that could kill Superman?"
I gave a tiny nod, his hand still buried in my hair. "I named it."
His lips quirked. "I think *I* named it. But regardless...it's real."
Clark's eyes bored into mine; he enunciated each word separately. "It makes Superman ordinary, Lois. It makes him--just--like--me. It's a stone that glows green. And Luthor has it."
He's prepping Lois for the day when he will not be there anymore.
And after I read them, I hid what had turned out to be a letter, and I crawled into bed and huddled beneath all the blankets and still shivered with bone-deep, mind-numbing cold.
Michael
PS: I peeked at the top line of the next part. Glad you're not going to let us hang too much.
