Hi all,
Let me take a moment to introduce myself. I'm new to these boards, but I've been reading Lois and Clark fanfic for a few months now. As an experienced author for a couple of other fandoms, I couldn't resist the temptation to write about our favorite invesigative reporters. Their story contains so many intriguing possibilities.
My opening piece centers on the events in TOGOM. I know, I know...another TOGOM story. Hopefully, you won't mind too much. I've read lots of stories, but no one seems to have taken this particular angle so...I couldn't resist taking on the challenge.
I'll try to keep a weekly posting schedule, but I'm notorious for having writer's block at the most inopportune times. I'm also busy with my other identity as a teacher, so sometimes, I just don't have the time to write.
As with most authors, though, feedback gives me the will to keep writing. Please let me know if you think this is worth continuing.
This piece will have both a PG and Nfic version. All the usual disclaimers apply.
___
The Afterlife
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at our house tonight, Lois? Alice would love to have you.”
Managing a weak smile in response to his kindness, Lois replied, “Thanks, Chief, but I just need some time to myself.”
“Take all the time you need, honey,” he said softly, hating to see her in such obvious distress.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully as he opened the door to leave.
Turning to her once more, Perry made one last attempt to relieve her pain. “You know, I can write that story if it will be too much for you.”
“No!” she screamed emphatically, then quickly reined in her emotions. I will remain in control. After a moment, she added in a shaky voice, “Perry, I have to do this for him.”
“All right, honey,” he replied gently, pulling her into his embrace. “It will be all right.”
Savoring the moment of comfort he offered, Lois allowed her trusted mentor to soothe her as tears streamed silently down her face.
They held like that for awhile, each needing support for the terrible loss they had suffered. Eventually, Lois pulled away, resolutely wiping the tears from her face. “Go on home, Chief. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, Lois, but you call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Goodnight, Perry. Thanks for taking me home.”
“You’re welcome, darlin’. Goodnight.”
Closing the door behind her, she turned to face a room that was as empty as her life had suddenly become.
___
“Clark? Is that you, honey?” a woman’s voice called out brightly.
Not able to form words in response, he stepped out of the shadows into her line of sight.
“What’s wrong?” Martha gasped, concerned by his obvious distress. When he didn’t immediately answer, she continued, “Is Lois all right?”
“What?” he replied, lost in his own thoughts. “No, Mom, she’s fine…at least physically.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, confused.
“The last time I saw her, she was crying, but….”
“Why did you leave her then?” Martha interrupted. “You didn’t have another one of your fights, did you?”
“No, Mom. It’s worse than that. She thinks I’m dead.”
“She what?” Martha asked, stunned by his revelation.
“It all happened, so fast, Mom. I didn’t know what to do,” he said, hugging his mother forlornly.
“Maybe you better sit down and tell me what happened.”
“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked as he entered the room. “Why are you so upset, Clark?
“He said that Lois thinks he’s dead,” Martha explained.
“Why on earth would she think that, son?”
“We were at this club on an undercover assignment when some gangsters began harassing her.” At that comment, Jonathan and Martha took a quick glance at one another, amazed at the trouble those two could get into. “I stepped in to stop them and they shot me.”
“But you can’t be hurt…,” Jonathan began, faltering as he realized the seriousness of the situation.
“Oh, Clark, what are you going to do?” Martha asked, hugging him tightly.
“I’m going to tell her, Mom. I can’t let her suffer like that.”
“But, Clark…,” Jonathan said, old fears making him nervous.
“You should have seen her, Dad. She was devastated. She deserves to know that I didn’t die, even though no one else can ever know.”
“What do you mean ‘no one else can ever know’? What about Perry or Jimmy? Can’t you find some way to come back as Clark?” Martha asked.
“Mom, Clark is dead. There were too many witnesses to try to pass it off as a mistake, and I can’t reveal that Clark Kent is Superman. Everyone I love would be in danger…you, Dad, Lo…,” he said, stopping himself. “I have to face it…I can never be Clark Kent again.”
“So, what are you going to do?” asked Jonathan.
“Be Superman full time, I guess. What else can I do?”
“There’s got to be a way out of this mess,” Martha replied hopefully.
“I don’t see how, Mom,” he said dejectedly as the phone began to ring.
“I wonder who is calling at this hour,” Jonathan thought aloud.
“I’m sure it’s the police,” Clark said flatly.
“The police?” Jonathan said in askance.
“Yeah, Dad, you know… ‘Mr. and Mrs. Kent, I regret to inform you....’”
Martha blanched visibly upon hearing the words every parent feared, pulling her son into a quick embrace. “Oh, Clark, I’m just so thankful that you’re safe. We’ll handle this, honey. Go talk to Lois, and tell her we love her, okay.”
“I will, Mom. I love you both.” Without another word, Clark Kent was gone.
___
She thought she would be able to cry, thought that, once she was alone, she would finally be able to release the rage, the pain, the sheer anguish she felt at the loss of her best friend and partner. She had held it together so well thus far. Lois Lane, the intrepid reporter and independent woman, had again projected an image of strength and courage to the world. After the initial shock of the shooting had worn off, she had managed to corral her feelings, locking them away until she could deal with her loss in private.
She had related the story of her partner’s death to the police with a cool detachment, speaking as if the brutal murder were a dream made insignificant by the light of day. She could see the surprise in Henderson’s expression, but her sense of self-preservation would not allow her to give true meaning to the facts she presented. Even with Perry, she had managed to keep her emotions in check. Her silent tears were more a response to his fatherly presence and sense of loss than they were to her own pain.
Finally granted her privacy, however, she found that the release she so desperately sought was just beyond her reach. She felt the pain acutely, guilt assaulting every cell in her body. He was gone, and she was to blame. If only she hadn’t insisted that they go to the club, if only she had left when he had suggested it. God, I sacrificed Clark for a cup full of nickels, she thought shamefully, drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging herself tightly.
She rocked back and forth on the couch, willing the tears to come, praying for the nightmare to end. How could she not have known how crucial he was to her own existence? She had taken him for granted, naively believing that the support he leant her was, in fact, her own strength. He was the low man, she was the top banana. Was I ever there for you, Clark?
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the notepad she always kept handy. She couldn’t bring him back, nor could she thank him for protecting her or encouraging her or comforting her when she was frightened. She had gambled on the promise of an unlimited future, not daring to risk her heart in an uncertain present. Atoning for her mistakes was impossible, she realized, but she had one final chance to do something for Clark—she would tell his story.
Taking the notepad in hand, she began furiously scribbling adjectives on the paper before her: brilliant, funny, well-traveled, well-read, inquisitive, talented, honest, good-natured, gorgeous, patient, sweet, kind, caring, thoughtful. Pausing for a moment to examine her list, she chastised herself for making him out to be some kind of saint. Clark was a man, made special as much for his imperfections as for his upstanding character. Adding to her list, she continued: late, frustrating, overprotective, argumentative, unreliable, exasperating, stubborn…love.
The last word had been an afterthought, her hand forming the letters seemingly of its own volition. “Love,” she said aloud, wondering at its significance. The word sounded foreign to her ears, its meaning just beyond her grasp. She continued to stare at the paper, the elegant lines of her script slowly dissolving into an image of Clark Kent. “Oh, God,” she realized. “I love him…loved him.”
The truth so long denied opened the floodgates of her emotions. She began to shake violently, tears coursing down her cheeks. Through the haze of her oppressive grief, her eyes fixated on a picture of the two of them at the recent Kerth awards ceremony. Recognizing for the first time the obvious love between them, she began to sob harder. “Clark,” she cried, rocking herself into oblivion.
