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Part 2/11
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I hurry to speak first - I need to say this before he changes the subject. "I'm just scared. I just feel so out of control. I'm not sure where this…, us…, where we're headed and that scares me. Every time I think we're actually going to move forward something else happens. And then I think that maybe it's not meant to be. And you - you promise to stick around and not run off… and then you run off the first chance that you get. But when I think about losing you, as a friend, and maybe as more than a friend then I … it's, well, it's scary, Clark."
"I know. It scares me, too."
"Really?"
"Really. And I'm sorry about this," he waves his handcuffed hand. Then he gives me a mischievous smile. "Maybe you could just think of this as a gesture of trust?"
I can't help but smile back at him. He means it – he actually let Bobby chain us to the wall so we could talk. I feel oddly touched that he'd go this far to make up with me. Then a thought occurs to me and I give him a furious look. "Don't tell me that you set this up on purpose…"
"No!" Clark holds up his free hand to forestall that line of thinking. "I didn't, I promise. It's just that the situation presented itself and I …"
"You what?"
"I just want to make things right between us. Lois, I promise I'm not running from you."
"Not right now. But what happens after Bobby comes back? Then what? You keep saying you have something to tell me, so do it. For once, tell me the truth. If it's me, tell me it's me. I don't care anymore how heinous it is. Nothing can be worse than what I'm imagining."
"It's not you."
"Then what is it?"
Clark opens his mouth like he's about to speak but then he tilts his head in curiosity. "What do you imagine it is?" He's stalling, but I'll play along.
"Serial killer," I blurt out.
"Oh please." He looks appalled.
"Some other career – you're a pimp or a drug dealer."
"Do you really think I'd do something that sleazy?" He looks at me like he's trying to decide whether I'm serious or not.
"It's always the ones you'd never suspect," I say flippantly. I really can't picture him doing anything illegal. Clark is the most cut-and-dried person I know.
He grimaces. "It's nothing like that."
"Okay. You have an overactive bladder."
He rolls his eyes. "You were closer when you guessed it was a second job."
"Really? You have a second job?" Now this is news and it only makes me more curious. The thought that maybe he's moonlighting for the Tattler crosses my mind. But no, Clark is too principled for that.
"It's not a job, really. It's more like…" He sighs. "I don't know, it's kind of unique."
"So you're not a bike messenger or something like that?"
"No."
"Something with odd hours and secret meetings… you're a spy!"
"Guess again." He looks just the smallest bit uncomfortable with this game but my curiosity is piqued. Clark Kent has a secret - that much I already knew. But now he's stuck with me and he actually seems willing to let me ferret it out of him.
"You'll tell me if I get it?"
He nods. "Yes."
"What if I get warm? Will you tell me that too?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Um, something unique…" I watch his face, looking for clues. He's smiling but it seems uncertain. His eyes look almost worried.
"Do you make a lot of money? How profitable is this venture for you?"
"I don't make any money doing this. It's… it's more like a service, I guess."
"Oh." I think that over. Clark runs out on me to perform charitable service. I sigh, if only because there's something niggling at the back of my mind. It's a half-formed thought but I can't pin down what it means.
"Lois, I…"
"No, wait! Don't tell me! Let me try, at least." I furrow my brow in concentration.
"Okay." He doesn't sound like it's okay.
"So it's a service – like helping little old ladies across the street?"
"Kind of."
"Is this an anonymous kind of thing? I mean, I never see anyone thanking you. You aren't getting fan mail or gift baskets or anything like that, are you?"
"Not really. I do it with a kind of anonymity, but… it's fairly public. Everyone sees what I do."
"Everyone sees you, but no one knows it's you?"
"Yes." He's looking more guarded with each question I ask.
"Do you wear a disguise? Are you running around dressed like Zorro and fighting oppression?"
"I'm not fighting oppression."
"You're putting money in parking meters? Delivering Meals-On-Wheels? Checking for open manhole covers?"
"No. It's nothing like that." He rubs his handcuffed wrist, the gesture fairly screams that he wishes he was somewhere else.
"Have you ever done one of these anonymous good deeds for me?"
He hesitates for the barest of seconds and then looks me in the eye. "Yes."
"Really? And I didn't know it was you?" This surprises me. Plus there's something about his expression as he shakes his head. He's so solemn, so grim. I wrack my brain trying to think – it's there. It's right there in his eyes. But what is it?
"Please, when you figure this out, try not to be angry..."
That distracts me. "I'll be angry with you? Was it not a good deed? Are you like the Prankster?"
"No, not like that. I just… I don't know. I'm afraid you'll be angry because I never told you before. But I couldn't, not at first. And then everything just got more and more complicated. And now it's so complicated that I don't know that I can ever…" He trails off and rubs his wrist again. The niggle at the back of my mind whispers that it's something baaaaaaad.
His gaze has never left mine and his eyes seem to be pleading. All of sudden I'm terrified. I know that whatever it is, it's going to change everything forever. I try to swallow but my mouth has gone dry.
"Clark, now you're really scaring me." It comes out as a hoarse whisper.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to. More than anything I've wanted to tell you this. There's just no good way to do it."
"So tell me." My heart has started pounding so hard that my chest hurts.
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, nodding his head like he's having some inner conversation. Then he removes his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket before meeting my gaze again. "I, uh, I don't really need glasses."
"You only wear them to look smarter?" I'm confused. That's his big secret? After all that build-up? What a let down! He looks so different without his glasses. And yet, somehow, very familiar.
"No. I started wearing them about five years ago. The lens' curvature distracts my eyes enough that I don't accidentally invade people's privacy or burn holes through stuff."
"Burn holes through stuff?" I repeat numbly. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
"Like this." A thin beam of red light flashes from his eyes and slices through the cuff on his wrist. The handcuff falls away as he warily looks back up at me.
There's a disconnect between what I just saw and what it means. There's only one person who can do that… and he's… Clark. Clark is Superman. The niggle goes 'Ahhhhhh… nope. Not what I was thinking.'
He's watching me anxiously and I have to turn my head away. I can feel the flush creeping across my cheeks as I remember all the things I've said about Superman in front of Clark. I try to work up a little righteous indignation but really all I'm feeling is shock. And hurt. And a little bit nauseated. Why couldn't he have told me sooner?
Then it dawns on me - he's tried. How many of those conversations that he ran out on started with him saying he had to tell me something? But, then, why not continue the conversation when he got back?
Maybe because you were being a snob about it, my inner voice prompts.
Obviously that line of thinking is no good.
Clark touches my hand and I flinch. "Here, let me…" he says and then gently snaps the handcuff on my wrist in two like it was nothing.
I rub my wrist. Bobby really did put the thing on too tight. "Thanks," I manage weakly. I don't know what else to say. What does he want me to say? What is the protocol for this situation? It's not like there's a handbook, 'So You're Dating A Superhero: How To Handle The Confession.'
Clark stands and extends his hand to help me up. I ignore it and stand up on my own. My legs feel a little shaky. It's weird, too weird, to stand here and have him look so normal, so Clark-like, and yet still have the image of him blasting the cuffs off replaying in an endless loop in my mind's eye.
"Will you do me a favor?" My voice sounds far more casual than I feel.
"Yes, anything."
"Put the glasses back on, please."
He does and it's a little easier to look at him, although I can't bring myself to look into his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Sure. Fine. Why wouldn't I be?" I try for nonchalance but fail miserably.
There's an awkward silence.
"You can understand why I didn't want anyone to know, can't you? I just wanted a normal life."
"Sure. I can understand that." In principle I can understand that. In practice I can't make any sense out of it. He had a normal life. You couldn't get more normal than Clark. It really is the ones you'd never suspect.
"But you're upset with me."
"You. Me. The whole situation." I don't what I'm upset about, I just know that I am. The niggle at the back of my mind has become an ephemeral kind of longing. I've lost something – I just can't put a name yet to what I've lost.
"Lois, I've tried…"
"I know that!" This comes out sharper than I intended and I feel bad when Clark takes a reflexive step back. "I know you have. Honestly… I don't know what to think. This might take a while."
"Okay."
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to get back on track. Work – work will save me. Work will distract me from having to process this. "Here's what we need to do. We need to get over to the Schafer Building and take a look around before it burns down. And we need to track down Bobby and force feed him until he tells us who E is."
Clark gives me a hopeful smile. "Gosh, if only we knew someone with x-ray vision, that would speed the search along."
"That's not funny. You're not allowed to make jokes about this."
"Sorry." He looks chagrined.
As we leave the warehouse his fingers brush across my back. It feels a little strange, in the same way Clark feels strange to me now. So familiar and yet completely unknown.
I think again about the kiss we shared two nights ago, when he said he was ready for the next step. Oh my god, I've kissed Superman. Not that I hadn't kissed Superman before, I have. It just was never, ever, like that kiss with Clark. With Superman there was always a weird vibe of hero worship on my side and restraint on his. With Clark it was an entirely different kind of restraint. My stomach slides at the recollection. It's hard to reconcile the two men together in my mind.
I blink back sudden tears. That's what I'm missing - I'll have to look at him differently from now on. He can't just be plain old Clark to me anymore.
I miss him already.
