Rachel, your story does an absolutely amazing job at exploring the love triangle between Clark, Lois and Superman. As readers, we can only watch the drama unfold. We don't get it. We don't understand why Lois loves Superman so intensely, but is so dismissive of Clark. We don't really understand why Clark has to keep Lois at arm's length when he is in the suit. And yet we do understand a bit of it, but we don't understand why we understand what we do understand, or what the heck it really is that we understand anyway. And we are left staring, gaping, enthralled, mesmerized.
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.
I love how fondly Lois is thinking of Superman. How she cares about him. How the thought of him soaking up the sun on some tropical beach, raspberry lemonade at his side, makes her smile. And how utterly ironic it is that this is pretty much what he was doing in the previous chapter, minus the raspberry lemonade. Except at that time Lois was going crazy with worry about the missing Clark Kent, whom she isn't likely to forgive for soaking up the sun on a beach. And he, of course - well,
Clark, of course - is probably not going to tell her why he went AWOL on her.
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.
And I love this, how the colors of the sky, scarlet, yellow and blue, are Superman's colors. Consciously or subconsciously, I think Lois is associating the sky with Superman, particularly at this moment when the heavens are aflame with his particular colors.
And sure enough the sight of the sky makes her start thinking of flying with Superman:
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.
And I totally love the reason why she hasn't allowed herself to think as much about Superman as she really wants to. It is because thinking about Superman reminds her of the fact that Superman isn't there, and because of his absence she is so incurably lonely:
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.
And this - how utterly poignant:
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.
Oh, Lois. No wonder he feels so close to you at work. Of course, when you turn around to catch him at work, you will invariably catch only Clark Kent.
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.
I love how she was staring at the Superman rays of the sun. Only when the sun had sunk under the horizon could she shake herself out of her reverie.
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.
Oh, God. Clark - not Superman,
Clark - is waiting outside Lois's door with chocolate and flowers. Blue and yellow flowers. Well, I would have been happy for such a bouquet, because I love blue flowers, and blue and yellow are the colors of our Swedish flag - but Clark, you really, really should have mixed some red flowers in there as well, to get a Superman-colored bouquet. Though absolutely not any flowers the color of blood. I remember how Lois shied away from Lex's blood red roses, even before she had figured him out.
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 . . .
I feel for him so intensely. At the same time, I can see that this approach is absolutely not going to work on Lois. I can imagine how I would react if someone decided to start camping outside my door until I let him in and talked to him. I would strongly disapprove of it. I would feel crowded, as if my personal space was being invaded by someone who was pitiful enough not to be able to come up with anything better for me than his own persevering presence.
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.
I think he is afraid because he subconsciously realizes that as Clark Kent, he has little to offer her except his own perseverance, his presence, and his fear.
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.
Oh, this is so utterly beautiful and poignant. He is thinking of himself as a figure of glass - what a marvellous way to express Clark's mental fragility. And this figure of glass is about to fall from a cliff and shatter as he crashes to the ground, far, far down below. And only Lois can catch him and save him.
But what if she doesn't bother catching him? What if she doesn't even see 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.
Because Clark is so afraid, so afraid....
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.
So poignant.
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.
Hmmm. Interesting. This is pretty much what Lois thought to herself. Thinking isn't such a good thing, because you realize things about yourself that you'd rather not be reminded of.
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.
Oh, how crushingly poignant and utterly ironic. Clark has to rub at his eyes as if to physically erase the horrible memories from the planes of his eyes - love that image - because if he didn't, the horror would take over and he would be helpless to fight it. And then this man, who is sometimes reduced to a shivering wreck by his own waking nightmares, is supposed to tell Lois that he is 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.
There is something about that moth - about how it is so fragile, so anxious to escape, and so trapped behind white walls....
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.
Superman is larger than life. Superman is perfection. But Clark, even Super-Clark, is just... Clark.
Why did they . . . ?
White. Terror. Pain . . .
Why? his thoughts cried desperately. He just wanted to help. He had always just wanted to help.
Why the hatred? Why had Luthor's men tortured him so? Why would his desire to help people evoke such studious hatred in the hearts of men like Luthor?
There is something about the naïve farmboy asking himself these questions. I don't think it ever occurred to Clark before that there are people who hate those who try to make the world a better place for everybody. Because if the world is to be a better place for everybody, it won't have room for people who want to exploit others for their own gain like Luthor.
“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.
I don't know if you are really comfortable with my insistent comparisons of your Clark Kent with the Jesus we find in the Gospel of Mark. First of all, I most certainly realize that Superman is no Son of god, no Redeemer of humanity. Yet he is a sort of earthly saviour and a symbol of hope that can't be replaced by anyone else. But as Clark Kent he is so bashful, so apologetic, so pitifully lacking in self confidence. And I keep insisting that this reminds me of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. That Jesus is unsure of his own role, reluctant to admit that he could be the Messiah. When I read that gospel back in the eighties, I was mesmerized by Jesus's humanity in it, his fallibility. His fears, I guess. His fears of what could happen to him. His fears of capture, of torture, of slow death.... I could so totally sympathize with him. Hmmmm. Interesting. If anyone prefers a Jesus who does not know fear, let me recommend the Gospel of John. That Jesus is totally confident in his own elevated divinity. He is, if I may say so, rather self-satisfied, too. For example, that Jesus promises paradise to everyone who believes in
him, in Jesus. Ah, but the Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew promises paradise to everyone who has taken pity on other
people and tried to help them, especially the poor and powerless ones.
If I may say so, your Clark is like the Jesus of Mark and Matthew, minus the ultimate godhood, of course. Like the Jesus of Mark your Clark is bashful and embarrassed, fearful of the incredible demands that others make on him and the hopes they pin on him. Like the Jesus of Matthew, he so much wants to help those who need help so badly.
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.
Hmmm. This reminds me of Lady Macbeth. Oh, but she had blood on her hands for entirely different reasons. But she, too, couldn't make that blood disappear, however much she washed her hands.
He shivered, and returned to staring at the unchanging closed door before him.
Where was Lois? He needed Lois.
Oh, poor Clark.
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.
The stars symbolize Superman to her, I think. She knows that he is an alien, so he is a man from the stars. But Clark Kent - he is the hopeless hack from Nowheresville.
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?
Well, interesting. What
does Clark have to offer her
as Clark? What can he give her when he is not being Superman, but just Clark?
“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.
I love how Lois would sacrifice herself to save a stranger.
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.
And I love how awful it is for Lois to realize that they may use her as bait to get at Superman again. And I love her fear, coupled with her steely determination not to give them what they want.
“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.
I love her steely determination in spite of her slight and vulnerable body. She
is going to sacrifice herself for another.
And I find it so interesting that Lois is a bit irritated with Kal-El. She knows that her death will crush him, and she wishes that he wouldn't take her death so personally. She honestly thinks that he is an idiot for caring so much.
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.
Oh, I love it. The stark poetry, the hollow emptiness of it.
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 . . .
So wonderful. I particularly love the fact that Clark sees Lois as an angel, dealing swift judgement and justice. I think that Clark sees in Lois what he would aspire to himself - her confidence and self-assurance coupled with her selflessness. Because she is, as Clark noted, righteous.
“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.
This is amazingly beautiful. Clark has been unable to fly. But now that Lois is in mortal danger, nothing could have stopped him from flying. Her choked cry for help was a siren call that literally gave him wings.
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.
Oh, so marvellous. Superman/Clark is there, stuttering like Clark, looking panicked like Clark, but wearing his Superman suit like Superman and saving her like Superman. And that is enough for Lois.
She flung forward with a cry, and he was forced to catch her. His warm hands were on her arms, supporting her, holding her…
Oh, just a bit earlier in this chapter
Clark was thinking of flinging himself into Lois's arms, but he feared that she wouldn't catch him. Now he is forced to catch
her as Superman.
She buried her face in his s-shield, not allowing him to keep her at arm’s length.
Because he would if he could.
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.
You are making me feel that Lois is drinking in Superman's presence and his embrace of her the way a person dying of thirst would drink from a spring in the desert.
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.
Oh, so incredibly beautiful. I can feel tears in my own eyes, too.
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.
I think that this is what their reunion means for both of them - they are no longer alone, if only briefly.
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.
So, so beautiful. I love how you keep using the imagery of stars here, as I feel that the stars symbolize Superman.
“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.”
I love how she is holding on to him, refusing to let him go.
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.
But Clark wants to flee and leave her, because if he doesn't he is afraid that she will leave him.
“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.”
I
love it! Lois noticed that Kal was hiding beind his superhero mask. And she knows now that the mask is not the man. She is in love with the man, and she needs the man, not the 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.”
Oh, that's wonderful. Clark is stuttering again, but of course still wearing the suit, and Lois recognizes him as the true man behind the mask. And she is right, too. Unfortunately, she is so horribly wrong about
Clark. Or is she?
“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.
Such a long quote, but it is all so brilliant. You know, Rachel, I was never quite sure why Clark ran away from Lois's apartment. Why he put on his geekiest glasses to prevent her from recognizing him. Why he insisted on taking away
Superman from her. But I guess he felt too inadequate, and I guess he was too scared. What, people expected
him to be Superman?
Lois expected him to be Superman?
He needed her, but was it right for him to force himself on her by burdening her with his secret?
This makes me really angry. I think Clark is making excuses for his behaviour. He is looking for reasons and subterfuges not to tell her, when the real reason is... he can't bear to look into her eyes when she realizes that her beloved Kal-El is really that stupid, infuriating Clark Kent.
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.
This is true. And I love how you have brought out Lois's heroism in this story.
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.
Lois loves Superman more than ever, and she needs Superman more than ever, but she is no longer in awe of him. How interesting.
How interesting, too, that
Lois has been a stuttering fool in front of Superman. But no longer.
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.
But even if he isn't pushing her away, he would nevertheless still like to do it. He still can't fully accept her love for him as Superman.
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.
All his self-doubts are expressed here. Even, I think, his self-loathing. He really hates the fact that he is an alien.
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.
Ah, but he is
flying with
Lois in his arms. And that is enough to make his spirits soar, at least momentarily.
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.”
He can't tell her. He can't show her his weakness.
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. . .
As Superman, he forces himself to look ahead to the future, not back to the past. As Superman, he is going to be hopeful.
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.”
Oh, I completely love this, particularly Lois's answer.
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.”
So extremely poignant.
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.”
I love that she hates his apologies.
Clark smiled absently at that. She certainly never cared whenever Clark apologized to her. She never even noticed.
But why doesn't she notice Clark's apologies? Is it because he isn't worth noticing?
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.
I love honesty with her. I love that he admits that he is a wreck.
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?”
Oh, this is bad. What is Lois going to say when she realizes that Superman is Clark Kent, and when she remembers what she has said to Superman about Clark?
“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.
Oh, poor Lois, she feels that she can tell Superman everything that is bothering her about Clark. Because she thinks that she can
trust Superman, so she can tell him everything. How ironic.
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.
Poor Lois. Poor Clark.
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.
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 . . .
Even though it is horrible for Clark to hear this, I think that, somehow, he needed to be told how pitiful he appears as Clark Kent. I think he needs to wonder why that is. Is it all because Lois has this extremely strange hangup which makes her idolize Superman and despise Clark Kent? Maybe. But isn't it possible that she has some kind of point? And if she does, is it possible for Clark Kent to shape up just a little? And if it isn't possible, why isn't it possible?
And will Lois ever be able to accept that Superman is Clark Kent?
“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.”
[I]Why does Clark frustrate her so? What is it about him that makes her so frustrated?
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.
And he isn't going to tell her, because he can't bear to tell her.
“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.
Oh, how Lois needs him. How she needs
Superman. 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.
And Clark is drowning under the burden of his own inadequacy. Oh, Rachel, you almost make me cry.
“Goodbye, Lois,” he said softly, and lifting a fist to the air, shot suddenly off into the darkness. A sonic boom sounded high overhead.
Oh, it sounds so final.
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.
As if Superman had been just a beautiful, beautiful dream. As if he had not been more real than a dream.
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.
Oh, so beautiful. Oh, poor Lois.
But then when she returns from the roof to her own apartment, Clark Kent is waiting for her outside her door.
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.
Oh, groan.
“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.
Oh, Lois. Oh, if you only knew.
But - to you he
isn't back. Not when he is Clark Kent. Because you need him as Superman, not as Clark Kent.
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.
Oh, poor Lois.
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.”
But when Superman is coming to her as Clark Kent, she doesn't want to listen to him.
“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?
You said you were going to investigate him, Lois. So investigate. You really have very little time. Lex Luthor may very well have figured out already what you can't see, namely, that Clark Kent is Superman.
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.”
So Lois is furious at Clark. Even so, she cares about him. What a generous thing it was to find that knife for Clark. In a way Lois is like one of those people that Jesus spoke of in the Gospel of Matthew, one of those who help others. Why did she do this for Clark? I think that somehow, deep down, she realizes that Clark is, if nothing else, a sort of mirror image of Superman. She may be dismissive of Clark, but she can't dismiss him - she can't let go of him.
So, Rachel. What is it that makes Lois love Superman so unconditionally and be so furious at Clark Kent? I think the best answer has to do with the absence of presence of courage. Superman is the noblest, bravest aspect of the farmboy from Krypton. Being Superman, showing his face to the world, sporting his flashy colors... it all takes courage.
Superman is courageous. He hurts, he is a wreck, but his courage is stronger than his fear.
Clark Kent, on the other hand, the persona which is Clark, seems to be the embodiment of Superman's fears. When Superman is Clark, he is helpless. He is fearful. He is paralysed by his own lack of courage.
I think Lois responds to Superman's noble courage and Clark Kent's abject fears. She so needs the noble man who flies. And she is so who is Clark Kent, who just can't shape up no matter what you do with him.
Lois needs to be held by the noble hero who is stronger than his own fears. And Clark Kent needs to be held by the brilliantly courageous righteous angel, Lois Lane, who is more of a hero than Superman is.
Can this love triangle between three people ever become a truly love story between two people who so deeply love and need one another? While we await your answer, we are going to lap up anything you care to give us, Rachel. Because you truly are such a great writer.
Ann
![[Linked Image]](http://s35.photobucket.com/albums/d189/dimebar_probably/Smileys/th_chainsaw.gif)
(or wring her neck--but that wouldn't help the story line at all.)
