Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Darkest Dreams 37/?

Hello, all! It's really late in Happy Valley right now, and seeing as I wrote about a third of this long chapter tonight, I am exhausted. But I *was* able to get it out on time, despite my extra chapter on Monday, so I'm content, even though I strangely am missing the horde of chainsaw men and wild people with sticks that usually follow me around between chapters. You kind of get attached to them, you know?

Anyway, I am sorry that I didn't have much time to reply to the reviews again, but I promise to do better this next week. I *promise* I do read them and really appreciate them--I even print some out and have a little board with my favorite review quotes on there. So please . . . keep up the reviews!

I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

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Chapter 37: To Be Alone

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Lois called Jimmy on her cell phone, and despite her own hot anger she let out a soft sigh of relief when she found that Clark had, indeed, stopped in—and was actually working at his desk at that very moment. Lois quickly threatened Jimmy with his life if he dared tell Clark that she was calling to check up on him, and then hung up with a curt thanks.

She drove away from the clinic, feeling admittedly better. Of course, she was still furious with Clark Kent—and it had built up a few degrees again, when it was confirmed that she didn’t need to worry about him—and she was still tired and irritated, but she was in control, at least.

Not enough to try going home yet, though. No doubt Kent would either be hanging onto her doorbell or have her phone ringing off the hook. Right now she might not be as tempted to nail him up next to Luthor, but she didn’t trust herself enough to face him like this.

She had to prepare herself. She had to be ready.

She was going to see right through him. The farm boy didn’t have a chance.

Her jeep was going to be ready to pick up from the shop the next day, but the repair shop she had chosen and the car rental were not exactly the closest distance, so rather than worry about taking care of the rental the next day, Lois just dropped it off and decided to walk home. It was only a couple miles, and she had worn comfortable shoes for good, hard investigating. Besides, the sun was already setting, and the sky was clear, for the moment, which was refreshing after the long week of clouds and storms.

And it would probably be good for her to stop and let herself think.

She had been so busy. So busy, and with Superman missing, Luthor gone bad, Clark Kent disappearing, Bureau 39, or the Primaries . . . she felt like she had cut her strings some place back in time and was drifting, having lost herself in the clutter of her own life.

She sighed, breathing in the grey dusk of twilight, which smelled so lovely after the intermittent sprinkles of rain throughout the day. She could see clouds billowing up out beyond the bay, though. This peace was not going to last. Tomorrow, no doubt, would bring a torrent of rain.

She sighed. Another cloudy day. She hoped Superman could get enough sun, through the clouds and all. He had functioned well enough before, even when Metropolis had been cloudy for weeks on end—but he had been able to move about, too. But maybe he wasn’t even in Metropolis right now; maybe he had left, and was recovering somewhere in the Bahamas, or maybe Hawaii. Lois smiled at that. She could just see him, stretched out on some beach with raspberry lemonade at his side . . .

She hoped he was okay.

She stepped forward, her face upwards as she tasted the wind. The sun sank lower, bathing the clouds in brilliant hues of scarlet and yellow, and against the remnants of blue sky, she felt wrapped up in comfort.

Lois Lane wasn’t a sentimentalist. She wasn’t a tree hugger—she just didn’t have time for that sort of thing. But she so did love to fly, high up there in the stars. She’d never felt so free, so inspired, so happy, as when she flew up there . . . with him. She loved to take time and walk to Central Park and read off where no one could see her and bother her. She had missed that quiet time.

But sometimes . . . it was just too quiet.

She sighed. However much she had missed it, there was a reason she had been avoiding it, though. Thinking was dangerous. It made that loneliness creep up on her and pounce, and could leave her feeling so lost and afraid and alone that she just wanted to break down and cry until someone came that could take care of her. And only one person could do such a thing—Superman.

Sometimes, when she was working, it was like he was right beside her. It was like she could feel him, and if she turned fast enough, perhaps he would be there.

He felt so close sometimes.

The last of the sun’s golden rays sank behind grey clouds and were swallowed up in the sea.

Lois adjusted her grip on her purse and shook herself, having realized that she had slowed to a stop to watch the vanishing light. She brought her eyes down and walked forward, her thoughts taking off into the sky again.

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Lois had left a good part of the Bureau 39 article done, and Clark finished and fixed a few things as he thought guiltily about how he had abandoned her to work on her own. Finishing the article, he sent it to Perry, then left.

Now, he was sitting down on the floor, leaning back against the wall across from Lois’s apartment door, a large box of chocolates and a carefully set bouquet of blue and yellow flowers that he had selected from the flower store. His eyes didn’t move from the door, as if she somehow hoped that she might appear inside, though he knew by both hearing and sight that she certainly was not on the other side of the door.

He shifted and ran his hand through his dark hair—which was already fluffed upwards from the repeated action—then rested his arms on his knees. In his work suit he looked more than a little awkward. He had been waiting for over an hour, and he had already told himself he wasn’t moving until Lois came home. And then, if she wouldn’t talk to him, he’d camp out in the hall until she had to listen . . .

Clark shivered.

Lois, I’m Superman, he repeated to himself. It had become like a mantra throughout the day, though every time he thought of the words he felt slightly ill, and his palms grew damp with fear.

Why was he so afraid? He had reasoned through it. He was going to tell her. Being afraid did nothing.

He was afraid. He was a coward. He was helpless. He was a figure of glass, balancing on the edge of a cliff ready to fall, and only Lois could catch him.

And she might be so angry that as he leaped forward into her arms she might not even notice him.

She never seemed to notice Clark Kent.

And was it fair at all to expect her to, after everything he had put her through?

Clark sighed heavily, and his breath shook at the end. It was a sigh of utter weariness. He was tired of lying. He was tired of being afraid—for himself, for his mother, for Lois . . . for the world. He was tired of being afraid of Them, and Luthor most of all.

He was tired of that sick twist of dread that had curled up in his heart and had only grown larger and blacker after his escape, his father’s death, and coming back to Metropolis . . .

Clark ran hand through his hair yet again. He just wanted it over. He just wanted Lois to see him for who he was, and for her to know how much he cared for her . . . and heaven help her not be too upset at him.

A good lot of chance that hope had of coming true, at this point.

Please don’t let her turn him away.

Clark swallowed, pulling his right arm against his stomach. It didn’t hurt really, but despite his long nap, he was tired, and it had become almost second nature for him to take a little more care with it.

After what had happened.

Clark shook his head. Dark thoughts always tried to sneak up on him and pounce. In Smallville he had done his best to keep them away by keeping busy, and his mother had made sure that he wasn’t alone long enough to spend much time obsessing, except late at night, alone in the dark. He had kept busy since coming back to Metropolis, and hadn’t had time to think.

Now he had time to think, and maybe it wasn’t such a good thing.

White . . . Green . . .

Clark cut off the thought quickly, screwing his eyes shut and rubbing them as if to physically erase the memories from the planes of his eyes. He had learned that if he took too long to stem that familiar growing horror as it slid into him, there was often nothing he could do but be swept away in the flood of terrible memories.

Lois, I’m Superman.

A moth danced around the ceiling of the hallway, knocking itself against the dull white walls it blindly sought its way towards the yellowed lightbulb above Clark’s head. The faint knocking of the delicate wings against the wall sounded bruising in his ears with the surrounding silence. He shook his head, letting the soft yet lonely sound mix with the babble of nightfall in Metropolis.

Superman was coming back, soon—but he wasn’t back, quite yet. Clark couldn’t consider that his rescues and heroics the day before had been anything more than just himself. Superman was more than he was. Superman was an ideal—an image . . . and last night Clark had been the one running around catching bullets and nabbing crooks.

It was an odd thought. Despite the fact that Clark had spent most of his life doing just that thing, without any disguise . . . something had happened. The suit was more than just a mask, now. It was a symbol, and so long as he stayed hidden Superman was still missing, as far as the world was concerned.

Until then, the city would have to make do with Clark Kent.

Clark had actually had to leave his place of vigil only a few minutes before, when he had heard a soft and pain-filled cry for help. He had followed the cries to Hobb’s Bay where he had found a half-conscious man—shot twice, once in the shoulder and once in the leg, and Clark had rushed taken care of him as best as he could and called for an ambulance—as it was, it wouldn’t have done the man good to be raced there on foot. His condition hadn’t looked good at all, but the doctors thought he had a good chance at surviving, at least.

Clark brushed his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t know why he hadn’t heard the gunshots in the first place. He didn’t know why someone would take such a normal, middle-class man and shoot him. Why? Why did mankind do any of these things?

Why did they . . . ?

White. Terror. Pain . . .

Why? his thoughts cried desperately. He just wanted to help. He had always just wanted to help.

Clark had raced to the docks, where he had heard the feeble cries, and seen the man slumped there as if he had simply been tossed there to be taken out with the garbage.

He had tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much blood—too much blood. It had gotten all over his hands, trying to help him the half-delirious man who had only had enough strength to look up at him through a weakened gaze and recognize him.

“Superman.” His voice had held relief, gratitude, and hope. The man had thought he was going to die, but Clark being there had made him stop and hope again. It made Clark feel like nothing. He didn’t deserve that kind of thanks—that kind of worship. He was just a normal guy, where it counted. A normal man with flaws. Sure, he did his best to help people, but so did countless of other good souls around the world.

Every time someone looked at him with that sort of awe he felt so small. He didn’t deserve it. No man did.

And at that moment Clark had certainly felt inadequate and helpless. He had tried to stem the blood flow as he could until the ambulance came, but the man’s heart beat was erratic and faint. Once the authorities came he had run off before they could see him, but had hidden not far away until he heard that the man had a chance of surviving.

Blood. There had been so much blood. It had soaked right into the skin of his hands, it seemed, and though he had scrubbed his hands with soap for ten minutes in superspeed—until the water evaporated and the soap burned into a black stench—he could still feel it on him.

He shivered, and returned to staring at the unchanging closed door before him.

Where was Lois? He needed Lois.

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Lois continued her walk home. The stars had come out, and were actually visible—a rare thing in Metropolis, and an even rarer thing from this far down between the tall buildings, bright lights, and dirty air of the city. So she walked slower and enjoyed it, hoping that by the time she got home maybe Clark would have given up seeing her for tonight at least.

Why did he even bother anymore? Lois had lost track of the times he had run off on her and had to come back begging for an apology. Usually, Lois just ranted at him for a while and that was it. Of course, this time had been much worse, and the man certainly did deserve to feel like the low-class idiot he was, but right now Lois just wanted to go home and go to bed.

He was so persistent. Couldn’t he just see that she just wasn’t interested in whatever his little town crush had to offer her?

Crazy man. As if she cared or had the time—

Something cold and hard dug into the small of her back, and Lois’s musings fell flat on the chilling ground and froze there.

“Okay, Lane. Into the alleyway.”

Oh, no.

Lois froze at the harsh voice and realization of what exactly was going on there. But the man holding the gun to her back didn’t seem ready to give her some time to let her thought processes pick up.

No.

“Listen. See that kid across the street?” Lois did. He wore some slightly too-large clothes and looked to be from one of the poorer families around here. He was probably in his early-teens, thin, with hair that needed trimming and an air that Lois could see even from where she was reminded her somewhat of a younger Jimmy Olsen. He was carrying a backpack and seemed completely oblivious to any danger, despite the empty street and shadowed corners. “Now see that man walking towards him? You don’t do as you’re told, and the kid’s dead.”

Lois’s throat was tight, but that threat doused her with cold water. She had no doubt that they could and would carry through with their threat. She stepped forward stiffly, carefully. The man walking towards the boy had a hand in the large pocket of his trench coat and was watching her.

She let herself be pushed in, and she saw two other men standing in the black shadows behind a dumpster. The darkness made their faces angular and alien, and Lois hid a shiver.

They looked just like random hoodlums, or perhaps yet some more thugs from some old criminal with a grudge, by the fact that they knew her name—but as soon as the one with the gun opened his mouth she knew differently.

“The boss is tired of you picking around, Miss Lane,” his voice tickled against her neck and his breath stank—she shuddered in sheer revulsion at his closeness.

The boss.

Lex.

What had happened? She had tried so hard that morning not to make him upset—just to put off his advances, rather than down right refusing. Apparently that hadn’t been enough.

Lex Luthor had lost his patience.

Lex Luthor. That meant they could have kryptonite. They could be coming for him, again…

“I won’t call him,” Lois’s voice shook, but her expression was unwavering. “It won’t work again. I don’t care what you do—kill me if you want, but I won’t call him.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Miss Lane,” the ruffian continued speaking in her ear. “You’re coming with us right here…”

That thought was just as awful. Every smile and gentle touch that Lex Luthor had bestowed upon her now fell upon her memory as slime and filth.

Lois made her move then. She elbowed the man behind her in the gut, twisted out of his grip, and jerked back wards away from him. But the thugs must have been warned that she would try something, because immediately hard hands caught her from behind and knocked her hard into the brick wall of the alley.

Pain exploded in Lois’s head the side of her face smacked against wall and she gave an involuntary cry as she fell. The hands grabbed her and dragged her to her feet roughly, but Lois wasn’t through despite the white flashes before her eyes, she pulled back and attempted a blind punch, but it was blocked and the man holding her backhanded her sharply across the face.

“Help, S—!” Lois choked on the automatic cry. The man backhanded her again and she staggered and would have fallen had not harsh hands caught her from behind. She bit her tongue, refusing to make more of a cry even as she tasted blood in her mouth and felt a damp trickle making its way down her brow.

Cold metal dug into her side and Lois felt her mind slow.

This was it. This was finally it. She was going to die at the hands of the Lex’s thugs, but heaven help her if she was going to bring Superman into this again.

Poor Kal-El. He would never forgive himself, idiot man.

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Clark was beginning to nod off despite himself, and he was now sitting cross-legged against the wall with his head bowed into his hands and his fingers lost in the depths of his dark hair as he waited.

The hall was silent. Any passerbyers had already passed, and now were settled in their apartments, going about their normal lives. The dim, yellowed lightbulb over Clark’s head was buzzing slightly, and as he sat there it began to flicker, as if trying to send some sort of alien Morse code with the occasional flicker and crackle of electricity as it blinked on and off half-heartedly. The moth had passed on—though to where, Clark didn’t know.

Lois. Lois Lois Lois Lois.

She would come striding up the stairway like a righteous angel set of dealing swift judgment. Her hair would fall out behind her like some beautiful dark cape and her eyes would flash brighter than the hottest fire.

She was so beautiful when she was angry.

She was so beautiful when she was so focused—like a beam of concentrated sunlight.

She was so beautiful when she finally slowed down and smiled, and laughed. She had the most beautiful smile . . .

The very thought of it made a smile grow on Clark’s own face despite his nervousness and darker thoughts. He smiled and listened for her—searching for her heartbeat. Of course, that was ridiculous. Even if he did not imagine her calling him in Smallville from all the way in Metropolis, it was surprising enough that he could hear the difference in her heart beat twenty feet away. Besides, he had no idea where she had gone to.

The whole city thrumbed with thousands of heartbeats, but he was right—he couldn’t find Lois’s.

So he stretched , searching for something else. Her breathing, perhaps, or that grumbling under her breath that she did so often. Lois practically kept a two-sided conversation going with herself all the time, after all—

Crack!

Clark flinched at the sound, and jerked upright. What the…?

A faint, stifled cry.

Lois!?

Clark was off the ground and running without a further thought—not superspeed, because of the man that had just come up the stairs and stared at him as if he were mad as he ran past—but still fast.

Probably unnaturally so, and he wasn’t exactly sure if his feet were touching the ground as he darted around the corner away from the man—but it was dark as he shot through the stairway and out onto the darkened street in front of the apartment complex, so that was okay.

“Help, Su—“ The cry was cut off.

It was Lois.

Fear dug its fingernails into Clark’s heart as he darted into the shadows in the alleyway, ripping off his clothes to the bright suit underneath as he launched upwards into the black air without a second thought.

Lois.

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“Okay, girlie, into the truck.”

What? Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill her here, and then get rid of her body…?

Whoooosh!

Wind brushed against her face, but even as she blinked at the sudden draft, the four men in front of her just…disappeared.

Vanished, just like that.

What the…?

Lois blinked, beginning to turn her head, then…

Whoooosh!

“L-Lo-is, are you all right?”

Lois turned sharply, suddenly free of her captors, and felt her knees go weak.

Superman.

He was standing there, in all his blue and red and yellow glory. But his controlled, distanced, and confident air was missing. He looked ready to jump forward and catch her—but held back for some reason, and his eyes were dark with barely controlled panic.

Superman…He was there.

There was no time for anger. No time for demanding explanations.

She flung forward with a cry, and he was forced to catch her. His warm hands were on her arms, supporting her, holding her…

She buried her face in his s-shield, not allowing him to keep her at arm’s length.

He was so warm.

He was so real.

Lois breathed out a thankful oath and shut her eyes, clinging onto him. “S-superman.” He was here. He was alive. He wasn’t hurt.

“Lois.” Her own name was breathed out in relief, and his arms went around her, protecting her. He was shaking slightly, but he pulled back, cutting the embrace short—far too short. His hand brushed her hair back from her eyes in a familiar gesture as he looked at the bruise and cut on her brow, and his eyes darkened. “Are you okay?”

Lois nodded, putting her hand over his on her face. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him, even if she wanted to. He looked so good—healthy, and whole. The bandages were gone, and he stood without a sign of a limp.

She leaned forward to hug him again, tears breaking at her eyes. “Superman. Kal-El. Oh, Kal.”

Clark wanted to pull away, even though he didn’t. He couldn’t let this happen—not so long as she didn’t know his secret—and right now he felt far too shaken to even try to tell her. But he couldn’t make himself step back again. He had worked around her, and spent restless nights wishing for her embrace, for her beautiful voice and warm arms. And he had almost lost her.

His own arms tightened around her and he brought her close again. He heard her sniffle and his heart ached. But then, he felt tears sting at his own eyes, and he couldn’t help but lean forward into her embrace, just resting for a moment—just standing there, in the shadowed alleyway that could have held a terrible doom for both of them, but now was a place of such a reunion. So they stood under the dark sky, the stars shining like pure beams over the two of them as they stood.

Together.

No longer drifting like scattered pieces of grass on the wind. No longer fettered down in a lonely prison while strangers walked by, unheeding. No longer sitting in whiteness, blinded and unfeeling.

No longer alone.

Clark would have been content to stand like that forever without moving. Relief and pain seeped out of him like tears, filling with a beautiful warmth. He could stand there forever, as long as Lois was there with him.

“L-Lois?” he whispered, not letting go of her. “Are you—are sure you’re all right?”

Lois sniffled. Slowly, she turned her tear-streaked face up towards his. Her eyes were wide and dark as she looked at him, the starlight dancing in their depths. Her love for him outshone them all.

She had never looked so beautiful.

But then a shadow passed over her face, and Clark could practically see the wall of defenses beginning to rise. He tensed and readied to pull away from her—preparing himself for what was to come.

Lois knew he was alive. Now came the storm.

But instead of pushing him away—shouting at him, screaming at him . . . the woman clung to him tighter.

Lois didn’t want to shout at him. She may have been angry at him, but that anger was nothing beside her own hurt, fear, and uncertainty. She didn’t want him to fly away again and disappear. The very thought made her heart shrink within her with fear.

She didn’t want him to leave her again.

She couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.

“Why, Kal-El? Why did you leave me?” her voice broke, and her chin shook slightly as a single clear tear made a trail into the darkness of her hair. “You didn’t even say goodbye! ” Lois felt him wince in her embrace, and she put her arms even tighter around him. No. She wasn’t going to let him go. Please, don’t let him leave her again . . . “Wh-where have you been?”

Clark gently tried to step out of her embrace, but Lois’s hold was like a vice. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed, her eyes shooting fire only inches from his even as the tears just began to dry. “I’m not letting you go until you talk. You’ve got that superhero look in your eye, but I’m not letting you fly away like this. Look at me, Superman.”

Clark obeyed hesitantly, though he certainly wanted to put some distance between himself and Lois. He couldn’t think clear with her so close, looking at him with that protective, fiery glare.

It was the first time she’d really looked at him for weeks. She had just been too busy to look at Clark Smallville Kent. Clark looked away, feeling suddenly awkward, bumbling, and far too human for Lois Lane. He couldn’t let her see that, or she might leave him.

Please don’t let her leave him . . .

He didn’t want to be alone again. Never again.

Clark took a deep breath that Lois was sure to notice from her proximity, but that was not to be helped.

“I’m sorry, Lois,” Clark said in the very best Superman voice he could muster. “C-Clark needed help, and I didn’t have time to explain.”

He couldn’t have explained it, then. It had taken enough work to get him to where he was, where he was at least trying to tell her.

“Stop that!” Lois said sharply, and actually stomped on his foot. It didn’t hurt him, obviously, but it certainly made Clark blink and lean back slightly in surprise, and Lois moved with him like a starfish around a clam, not even flinching in the slight moment of unbalance.

“Wh-what?” Clark stuttered, regaining his full physical balance and pulling his arms away from her. He went still as he wondered if having his arms around her had bothered her, but quickly banished the thought—she certainly was making no move to pull away. He looked at her in pure confusion.

“The mask!” Lois said, her face only inches from his as she glared up at him like a panther at the bottom of a tree. “You were wearing that confounded superhero mask.”

Clark stared at her, feeling completely thrown off balance. He swallowed.

“M-maybe you’re wrong, L-lois,” he said haltingly. “M-maybe you have the masks mixed up.”

“Yeah, right,” Lois said dryly, but her voice was softer now, and there was a note of tenderness in her tone as she looked up at him. “Because I just ripped that mask away again, Kal, and you’re standing right here before me.”

Clark agreed. He felt exposed at that moment, and knew that Lois saw right through him. But somehow it wasn’t a completely unpleasant thought, even if it wasn’t pleasant either.

It felt so good just to hold her. So good, even despite the nagging guilt and pain that he shouldn’t be close to her—that he shouldn’t be taking advantage of her like this, or putting her in danger…again. He tore his eyes away from her and stared at the dark alley behind her. He couldn’t look at her.

“So why didn’t you come back?” Lois asked suddenly, gentleness giving way to a sharp-edged tone and something even more painful to Clark—hurt. “That note, Kal-El…why didn’t you just talk to me?

Clark managed not to wince. He had to pull up part of his “mask” at least part of the way, or Lois was going to have him melted down into a puddle on the ground beneath her. “I…” He started to say “uh” and cut himself off sharply. No. He couldn’t stutter. He took a deep, only slightly shaky breath and spoke, refusing to stutter or stumble over his words. He was Superman. He spoke slowly and softly, carefully pronouncing each word as if measuring it before giving it utterance. “I knew you wouldn’t just let me go again, Lois, and my presence put you in danger. And . . . I needed time to . . . to think.”

To think. To rest. To recover. To sit in the sun, and . . .

And wish he was back with her.

Looking back, he didn’t need any of those things half so much as he needed her.

But if she knew who he was—Clark Kent, idiot farm boy extraordinaire—she’d probably push him away. She would be embarrassed, humiliated . . . she would look at him with such disgust.

She was already so mad at him . . .

She was going to be so hurt.

He needed her, but was it right for him to force himself on her by burdening her with his secret?

She already carried so much. She was just as much this city’s heroine as he was its hero, she just lacked the superpowers and the bright outfit.

Lois snorted. “If you haven’t recognized yet from all the times you’ve rescued me, Superman, most of the times I get into trouble have nothing to do with you. So where have you been?”

Clark didn’t answer immediately. “S-somewhere safe,” he hedged, trying not to make it sound like hedging but, of course, failing.

“And that is so helpful, thank you very much,” Lois said dryly.

She was killing him. His heart was going over 120, and he was sure that she could feel it, still wrapped around him like she was. He took yet another deep breath, and spoke in a deep, pure Superman tone. “Are you going to let me go now, Miss Lane?”

“No,” was the sharp retort. “Mr. Superman,” she added.

Clark shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was, somewhat. He managed the faintest shadow of a wry smile. One thing was for sure—Lois was no longer stuttering and blinking in awe of him. That was long gone.

He looked at her hesitantly—as if half-afraid that he would completely lose all composure when his eyes traced her perfect face. Luckily, he was able to keep a thin string on his control as he tried to distance himself, and his brow furrowed slightly. Of course, he could easily pry her away, but he didn’t want to risk hurting her, and somehow he felt that that would be unforgivable. He swallowed, realizing he was beginning to shake again, and immediately took another deep breath and forced himself to still.

As much as Lois was killing him by her closeness right now, the thought of turning her against him right now was even worse. He tore his eyes away from her and looked upwards. It wasn’t like he could leave her alone after that close call anyway. “Okay,” he said, exhaling softly and slowly with the words. “Then I guess I’ll just have to take you home.” One arm went back around her shoulders and the other pointed to the sky as they left the ground.

Lois gasped and tightened her arms around him reflexively, though it was hardly necessary. Clark mused that if he were a human she’d be squeezing the breath right out of his lungs.

But he wasn’t a human. He was an alien. He was different.

Even if—when he told her, what could he expect in their relationship? How much could he allow?

How could he expect Lois to get in a relation with him—with either Superman or Clark Kent? He didn’t even know if they could have kids.

And Lois deserved the best. A normal life, with a husband that could put all of his concern towards her. A husband she wouldn’t have to share with the world.

A husband that wasn’t an alien. A husband she didn’t have to worry about being caught and dissected like a frog.

They were still looking for him.

That was enough to put a cold bucket of water over him. He shivered slightly, and hoped that Lois wouldn’t notice.

He didn’t look at her, but was still aware of her. Her heart was beating against his, her breath warm against his neck as she ignored the city beneath them completely, her face turned up to watch him. Her arms relaxed their iron grip slightly, probably realizing that Superman wasn’t going to dump her in mid-air.

He was flying. That enough was to raise his spirits. The air was calm, the sky was clear, and Clark felt a part of his heart slip back into place.

He was free.

They had caught him. They had taken away his freedom in the most terrible way. But he was free now. They couldn’t touch him, way up here.

He was free.

He took a deep breath, leaning back to feel the wind brush across his face. Despite the lack of sunlight, the cool air itself was enough to send energy through his tired limbs.

And Lois . . .

Clark smiled.

He had always loved flying, but the best thing in the world was flying with Lois Lane.

So he took his time taking her home, and while he felt her eyes on him, he didn’t look at her.

It was enough to hold her in his arms. He didn’t know if he could keep a hold of himself if he looked at her again.

“How are you?” Lois asked softly, her voice a whisper as it was lost in the wind, but not to him.

Clark wondered briefly if he could get away with ignoring the answer, or pretending like he hadn’t heard. Of course, that was one disadvantage of being an alien—a super-powered alien, at that—you didn’t get to use those kind of excuses. Still, he didn’t know exactly what to say.

“I’m fine,” he replied, not looking at her, and feeling melancholy dampen his enthusiasm for flight.

He had to tell her.

Please don’t let her leave him . . .

One of Lois’s arms actually slipped out from around him, causing him to hold her closer automatically. He looked down involuntarily as Lois moved one of her arms and reached towards his right arm, which was pointed forward as he flew. She was able reach to his elbow, her fingers almost brushing the hidden, faded scar on his arm. Clark actually flinched despite himself, slowing in the sky as he pulled his arm away. He looked at her.

“Sorry,” Lois said, her voice even softer, and she didn’t meet his eyes as she pulled her arm back to herself as if hesitant to touch him. “Does it…still hurt?”

Yes. But she couldn’t know how vulnerable he had been—how vulnerable he still was. He needed to be strong for her, but he couldn’t bear the sight of her loving eyes on him when he was so much more familiar with a dismissive glance or exasperated look.

He tore his eyes away from her and started forward in the air again.

“S-sometimes. But . . . it’s not bad, Lois. I’m . . . okay.”

It’s not bad. Not bad, though it had been ripped clean open to the air and torn into like a carcass among starving wolves. Not bad, though even the memory of the pain made his stomach clench and his fingers tremble . . .

Not bad, though it had stood out like a red, black, and blue mark of mortality and fear on his own flesh for weeks . . . for a lifetime . . .

A mark of slavery. Of captivity. Of vulnerability and helplessness.

Of fear.

Clark shuddered at the memories, but Lois brought him back. He was safe. He was free, up here, with her. It was gone. It was past. . .

Lois was strangely silent for the rest of the time, the side of her face buried in his chest but going surprisingly still once she wrapped her arms around him again.

He eased down onto the roof of her apartment slowly and looked down to find that her eyes were closed, but as he landed her arms gripped around him tightly again, but not so angrily as before—more like a child clinging to comfort after a nightmare—and her eyes opened slowly.

“Are…are you okay, Lois?” Her silence was concerning him.

Lois looked up to meet his eyes, but didn’t pull her face away from his chest. “You’re here,” she said, the stars reflecting off her dark, soulful eyes. “For the first time in weeks, Kal-El, I think I’m okay, just for a moment.”

Clark took a deep breath. He wasn’t good at this. “Y-you can talk to me, you know, Lois.”

Lois, I’m Superman.

One moment. Just one more moment like this, holding her, being with her, before he ruined it all.

One more moment so precious that Clark wished he could hold it and cherish it away forever and never let it fade.

He didn’t know what he was going to do if she rejected him.

Lois lowered her face, hiding in the bright colors of the suit. “I think I’m doing okay,” she said, her voice very, very soft. “I mean, I’m kind of used to the whole being held hostage kind of thing, you know?” With another glance at his face, she gave a weak smile. “Okay, so I’m a wreck, and you know it. I guess that makes two of us, you and me.”

Clark’s words were serious. “I’m sorry, Lois.”

“Don’t make me stomp on your toe again,” Lois threatened with a light in her eye as she looked up at him. “I thought I had you trained with the whole apologetic thing.”

Clark smiled absently at that. She certainly never cared whenever Clark apologized to her. She never even noticed.

When he stayed quiet Lois stopped her teasing looked up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“I said I was, Lois.” He always said he was okay, and she always took his word for it, as Clark. But now . . .

“Then you lied,” Lois said plainly. “You look tired. You said you were still hurting. Have you been getting enough sun?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s been a bit cloudy.”

Lois bit her lip. “You didn’t sleep last night either, did you? You were out on the streets all night, weren’t you?”

Clark looked at her. There was no way he could lie to her. “Yes.”

A flash of satisfaction shot across Lois’s face, but then she gave him a confused look. “Why were you hiding?”

Clark shifted. Lois was going into full-question mode, and he didn’t want her to find out . . . not like this. “I . . . L-Lois . . . I have to go.”

Lois still hadn’t released him, and her arms tightened around him again. Of course he didn’t want to tell her. He was scared, and was ashamed to admit it. Men were like that, and Superman worse than most.

“No,” Lois said. “Not yet.” She leaned forward against him again. “I don’t care why, Kal-El. I trust you.”

Like she never had trusted Clark Kent.

Clark’s heart ached at her complete faith in him. He held her and they stood there unmoving in the shadows of her living room. Clark shut his eyes, wanting to lose himself in her. To forget himself—Clark Kent and Superman alike—to forget the world, to forget the universe, and just have Lois Lane, holding him.

Lois . . .

“Lois—I’m sorry I lied to you,” Clark said softly.

Lois didn’t say anything, but brought her face up to look at him. Her eyes were soft. “I know, Kal. But I was there, remember? You can tell me everything. How are you, really?”

Clark took a deep breath. “A wreck,” he said, trying for a lighter tone and giving her a wry grin.

Lois chuckled. “But be grateful for this, at least—we’re not nearly as bad as Clark.”

The moment shattered, and Clark fumbled with his smile clumsily before it he dropped it right onto the ground and lost it. “C-Clark?” he repeated with a blink.

“Yeah,” Lois said, sounding a bit frustrated despite her somewhat amused tone. “He’s has turned into a bumbling mess. I mean, he wasn’t too bad before…still a hick from Smallville, but at least he had some potential—he just needed to be taken to the blacksmith and hammered a few times with some major heat, and he might have come through all right. I mean, his writing isn’t half bad, and he used to not be too bad on the street either, I guess. But now…I think any heat would make the guy shatter. And he’s driving me crazy!”

Clark winced, his heart sinking. He felt a bit sick. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” Lois said, leaning forward and resting her cheek against his chest as she let herself babble of her troubles to someone she could trust. She had locked everything up for so long, and she needed to talk to someone that could understand. Melinda was nice, but she just couldn’t understand. Besides, Kal-El knew Clark, so he could relate. Clark Kent had run off on him too. “I mean, he ran off on me today. He just left, without a word. And yesterday, while we were looking around for some…stuff for an article, something scared him and he grabbed me like a kid grabs a teddy bear, and he wouldn’t let go. He froze up like a first-grader on stage of a school play, and he wouldn’t snap out of it. And then he can’t even say two words together without tripping over his tongue. He’s hopeless. ”

Clark looked away from her. Shamed, guilt, and hurt showered down on him like frozen rain. The combination was not a stab to the heart, but more like someone was taking a small knife and peeling just an edge of his heart’s surface and tugging on it—tearing it away slowly, layer by layer. In some ways it felt even worse than a direct stab.

Was he really so pitiful? He was trying to not give himself away around Lois, but he certainly wasn’t trying[.I] to act the part of a complete klutz. He was actually trying to get back to normal, a bit, though apparently it wasn’t working. His heart sunk further.

[I]What if Lois was right? he thought, dismayed. He had been trying to control his fear and his stuttering, but Clark Kent really was himself—a terrified, stuttering, completely unprotected and helpless version of his confused being.

Even with all of his control, it was taking almost his whole concentration to keep himself from breaking down into a quivering mass of stuttering apologies.

I-I’m s-sorry . . .

“I d-don’t think you should judge him, L-Lois,” Clark said very carefully, and still his voice shook.

Lois looked away, a faint stain coloring her cheeks. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said, looking embarrassed and a bit ashamed at his soft words. “It just gets so frustrating, you know?”

“Y-yeah,” Clark said softly, looking away from her. “I…I know.”

They stood there in silence, still holding each other, but Clark’s moment of bliss had passed. Things were not so simple as they had been in the white room. They couldn’t just ignore their problems, the dangers, no matter what was doomed to happen to them.

And now he had not excuse not to tell her but for that sick, tired feeling and the black tar that had wrapped itself so firmly around his heart.

And for the first time in some days, Clark realized that he did not want to tell Lois his secret right now.

How ironic, he thought. He had been trying for two days now, running around and trying to get a word in edgewise. Now that he had her full attention, though, he didn’t feel like telling her.

He felt sick. He needed sunlight. And the world was calling for him.

A cry for help caught his ear, and he went still, realizing that Superman was truly completely back, and his duty was calling for him.

“I—I have to go, Lois,” Clark said.

Lois’s arms tightened around him again, and her heartbeat doubled in fear. “Kal-El . . . please promise me you won’t leave me. Not like last time. Please.”

Lois’s voice had a desperate edge to it, and it struck Clark to the core.

“L-Lois . . . ”

“Tomorrow,” Lois said firmly, but her eyes were begging. “Tomorrow night, at seven. I’ll have dinner . . . even if you don’t need to eat, you said you liked it. And dessert? And we can, you know, play Boggle? Watch a movie?”

“I—I don’t think I can make that promise, Lois . . . ”

“I’ll be waiting,” Lois insisted. “I’ll have it all waiting for you, and if you don’t come . . . I’m expecting you, Kal-El.”

Please come.

She didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t come.

Clark didn’t look at her. “I—I’ll try.”

The screams. The cries for help. He had to go.

He had to go wash his hands of the blood of that man he had found. He had to go wash his hands of Lois’s tears, of his own pain and cowardice, of all the pain in the world.

He had to go.

He pulled away from her, and felt suddenly as if the slightest wind might sweep him away and lose him in the endless sky.

“Goodbye, Lois,” he said softly, and lifting a fist to the air, shot suddenly off into the darkness. A sonic boom sounded high overhead.

Lois’s lips moved in a silent farewell.

Goodbye.

------------------------------

Lois stood there on the roof, her face upwards towards the stars as if moving might chase away the last remnant of the closeness of Superman’s spirit. So she didn’t move, not even an inch—perhaps in shock, or maybe just caught up in a dream she couldn’t bare to let go of.

The night air was cold, though. She hadn’t realized it, standing there with Kal-El. She hugged herself, shivering slightly.

He was always so warm.

He was all right.

She hadn’t realized how much of a burden worrying about him had been. Before she had been cold and stiff—frozen, afraid that every wasted moment might cost him, or her, or both of them. Now, felt like frozen butter stuck in a microwave just long enough to become a pale yellow, soft solid floating thing amidst amber liquid warmth.

Granted she still worried about him, and she had plenty of questions.

But he was alive. He was free.

He was back.

She could still feel his arms around her, like a ghostly shadow of warmth.

She wiped at the tears that had trailed from her eye without her noticing. She sniffled.

She shouldn’t be crying. He was back. This was good. One of many things that were beginning to look good.

Even if she no longer had Lex fooled . . . he no longer had her fooled, either.

The masks were off for all three of them—Lois Lane, Superman, and Lex Luthor alike.

And she was going to see Kal-El tomorrow. She didn’t allow her mind to consider the chance that he wouldn’t come. He was too much of a gentleman to keep her waiting for him.

He was. He would be there.

It was a good half an hour later that she turned away from the sky at last and headed slowly down the stairs towards her apartment. She felt light as a feather—though whether that was from flying with Superman, or because of the sudden relief that fell over her, she didn’t know.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel a shadow of dread mirroring her every step.

For the first time in weeks, panic and fear and doubt wasn’t hounding every moment of her consciousness.

For the first moment in weeks, she wasn’t alone.

She stepped down the hall, reaching absently into her purse to get her house key, and then she stopped.

Clark Kent.

He was standing there, right next to her door, his shoulders a bit hunched, and the expected chocolates and flowers in one hand. His other was held loosely at his side, rubbing against his pant leg in an absent manner as if to he was trying to rid himself of a spot of grease on his palm, or something.

Lois’s eyes narrowed and she snapped to the present. She’d forgotten about him.

She didn’t want to talk to him. Not right now. She wanted to lose herself in her recent time with Superman. She wanted to forget everything else.

She walked forward, striding forward surely and wondering if it would be possible to charge right into her apartment before Clark Kent even noticed her. No chance of that, though. As she came closer his head snapped up and he looked at her, his eyes widening behind his glasses and his face going a bit pale. He looked at her carefully, his eyes concerned under the flickering yellow lightbulb.

She needed to get that replaced.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, straightened a bit, and cleared his throat. Lois frowned at him, wondering if he had prepared a speech.

“Lois,” he said, surprisingly not stuttering. “Can I—”

But she wasn’t in the mood of that. She wanted to spend the evening with Superman—mentally, if she couldn’t physically. Clark Kent was just getting in the way, and darn his cursedly readable and gentle eyes. “Talk to me, Kent? No. Not right now. Now if you’d excuse me.”

She pushed past him, and in surprising time had the door open and closed it right on his stunned face. Lois locked the door behind him, feeling pleasingly vindictive.

Served him right.

He had scared her to death and wasted hours of her day. He could feel a little pain himself. It might be good to teach him a lesson.

She turned away from the door, already forgetting about him as she turned towards her window. She stepped forward and unlocked it—a clear invitation, she hoped, if he decided to come back to night.

Just in case he came back.

She headed to her room and dropped her purse from where it had been hanging in the crook of her arm, and stepped out of her shoes absently on her way to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

She turned on the light and stared at herself in the mirror.

She was smiling. It wasn’t a huge, broad, idiot grin . . . but it certainly was a smile.

It felt good to smile. She would have to do it more often.

As long as no one bugged her about it.

Lois took her time in the shower. She took her time getting out, and munched on a double-chocolate fudge bar even as she brushed and dried her hair.

Forty-five minutes later, comfortably warm and wrapped up in her pajamas and bathrobe, Lois went into her living room and sat down in front of the television and turned it on.

It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for.

Superman.

There he was. Across the every news channel she flipped over, flying over the ruins of a flaming ship. It was a replay of earlier footage, and as she watched Superman carefully set down two coughing and water-logged men next to the crowd of waiting rescue workers, then flew back off and vanished into the dark and flame. The camera angle was bad, and the shot was poor and blurry in the dark, but it was clear it was him.

“Thanks to Superman, there were only seven injured, only two seriously, and every member of the crew got off the ship alive. However, Metropolis’s own superhero didn’t stay around to explain his disappearance or his sudden return.”

The camera returned to the studio. “In fact, besides his appearance at the fuel explosion and a shoot out between the police and a getaway car, Superman has been notably absent even since his reappearance. The question of the city and the world awaits him: Where was he, and why?”

Lois had those exact same questions, but she was willing to wait. She knew what he had been through. She was willing to give him time.

She sat back to watch and listen.

Superman only showed up for one more rescue the next hour—an attempted robbery, probably by some poor fools who hadn’t heard of his return yet. Again, he didn’t stay around to talk.

Lois watched the replays over and over. She watched the rehash over the speculations of where he had gone, the reactions of various city members, including the mayor, and then watched the replays again.

Finally satisfied for now, Lois turned off the TV and stifled the beginnings of a yawn. She stood in the sudden silence of her apartment and headed towards her bed, set on getting a good night’s rest.

She had so much to do tomorrow, to get ready.

Superman was coming over.

Lois started to untie her bathrobe, but then stopped, turned around, and walked back to the front door and peered through the peephole.

She couldn’t believe it.

He was still there.

Clark Kent was still there, standing across her room, slumped desolately, his head bowed, the flowers hanging mournfully in his hand.

Couldn’t he take a hint? It was almost midnight!

How long had he been waiting out there, anyway?

Lois hesitated a moment longer. She still didn’t want to talk to him. He needed a firm talking-to, and Lois just wasn’t in the mood for that right now. She just wanted to go to sleep. She turned around, grabbed a small, paper-wrapped package from her purse and strode towards the door. She paused, taking a moment to set her jaw.

She undid the locks quickly and opened the door, but not enough to invite Clark Kent in. Clark’s head lifted and his eyes lit up with hope.

How could just that little light make her heart jump? He was just so much like a little kid, even though he was a full-grown man!

“Didn’t you get the message?” she said in the most neutral tone she could muster. “I don’t want to talk to you tonight.”

Clark looked like he wanted to fidget, and was only just keeping himself from doing so. His dark hair fell in front of his eyes and he looked at her through the panes of his glasses. “L-Lois . . . ” he began, his voice shaking, but then stopped and swallowed before continuing carefully. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”

“So am I,” Lois said coolly. She looked down at the flowers and the chocolates he held. “I suppose you’re asking an apology.”

Clark ducked his head. “I am sorry Lois. But . . . I do have an explanation this time.”

Lois rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it, Clark. Not tonight.”

“But Lois—”

“Listen!” Lois interrupted sharply. “I am not mad at you, Clark. I am furious. Worse, I am hurt. So if you want me to try and forgive you, listen to me for a minute, okay? I’m trying. I’m working on it. But right now I’m tired, and I’m not feeling very rational, so your best bet is just—go. I’ll see you on Monday, and by then I’ll probably have forgotten it along with all your other explained and unexplained disappearances, okay?”

Clark winced and held out his peace offerings. After what he had heard from Lois some time before, he didn’t know how much he wanted to tell her tonight, anyway. She took them, her expression unchanging. “I—I am sorry, Lois.”

“You always are,” Lois said, looking at him closely, but if she were honest with herself it was more with investigative curiosity, now, than anger. That’s what’s so strange. He always was sorry, but he did it again and again and again.

What was he apologizing for, exactly?

Clark winced again and shuffled his feet. “Well . . . I guess I’ll . . . see you. G-goodbye, Lois.”

“Bye.”

Clark took a breath and began to turn away.

“Kent!”

Lois tossed a small paper-bag wrapped parcel at him, half expecting him to drop it or have it hit him and bounce to the floor, but Clark turned sharply and actually managed to make a clean catch. Lois’s eyebrows lifted. Nice catch.

“I tracked that down while you were off in La La Land, or wherever you go,” Lois said, her voice cool. “I think it belongs to you. Good night.”

She closed the door without waiting for a response.

Clark winced, staring at the door for a moment. He ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the package. He began to unwrap it slowly, willing to find out what it held the old-fashioned way rather than using his x-ray vision.

His pocketknife—the knife that his father had given him, years ago—slipped out of the wrappings and into Clark’s hand.

While he had been off, sleeping, Lois had been tracking down the Primaries, stringing them up by their toes, and tracking down a simple, worthless pocketknife for her annoying partner.

Clark glanced back up at the door, puzzled once again by the character that made up Lois Lane.

Clark’s hand closed over the knife, and he shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he looked at Lois’s door and spoke three soft, heartfelt words.

“Thank you, Lois.”

TBC . . .