From the Dark (1/?)
by Catherine Bruce
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence, and perhaps some sexual situations later on. It all depends on how badly I blush while attempting to write… those scenes.
Summary: Here, Lois has been missing for over a year. When she comes back, she and Clark have to fix some issues. There, Lois is trying to come to terms with a world without a Clark Kent and somehow survive a war-torn Metropolis.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Lois and Clark." That joy and privilege falls to those that do.
Author's Notes: This is set a year after the events of "Tempus, Anyone?" Despite what it says in the first couple of parts, this is not a deathfic, even if some people start out dead. They get better, honest!
Author’s Notes the Second: This has been posted, if for no other reason, than to get me to write more. I have a total of 12,000 words typed at the moment, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight! Wahoo! It’s the first of these ‘plot’ stories that seems to have taken hold of me, and I would like very much to see where it goes.
Please Note: The timeline of this story is slightly confusing at first. It starts out Here, which is in a modern day Metropolis, and flip-flops back and forth to There, which starts out a year prior and takes place in an alternate alternate Metropolis.
Special Thanks: To my Beta Type Peoples! Without the proddings of one Psychofurball, this would never have gotten past the second part. Thanks also to LaraMoon, KSaraSara, Saskia, and anyone else I may have forgotten (hey, I’m getting this put together while I’m at work, so my brain’s a bit mush!) that I have pestered with this. If this part is discombobulated, don't blame them! I posted this on a whim, so any and all mistakes are thoroughly my own.
Part One
***
~*Here*~
“Superman, what are your plans now that Lois Lane has been officially declared dead?”
There was a collective gasp from several people in the small crowd that had gathered. It had been a tough rescue mission, one that should have been over in minutes instead of the hours that it had actually taken. Events had blossomed out like a Rube Goldberg machine; once he’d had one situation under control, it seemed to trigger the next. And now, after the last mishap actually seemed to be the last and there was a surprisingly minimal casualty rate, he had to answer the questions of reporters that had gathered over the course of the day. Some he recognized, from the Planet’s own staff to other press acquaintances he’d made as both Clark and as Superman, but there were many present that he did not.
The question came from a woman he knew from the Metropolis Star, and though he should have expected it sooner or later, the blonde woman’s inquiry took him by surprise.
Lois had only disappeared shortly over a year ago, without a trace, in an alleyway. The memory of her and her captor, and the unusual machine that he held her in, vanishing in a concussive force of flashing lights still caused Clark to bolt awake in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets. He kept replaying that moment over and over again in his mind, cursing himself for not being fast enough when it had really counted, for getting there just a fraction of a second too late.
To prevent himself from going mad from the guilt and the grief over letting down the most important person in his life, he had spent all of his free time and a good portion of his work day trying to find her. He had used all of the resources available to him as both an investigative reporter and as a superhero, trying to find any trace of her that he could.
A year later, and he still hadn’t learned anything except for the fact that without Lois, he had no life.
It had been as though she had simply vanished, with no trace or shred of evidence to indicate whether or not she had even left the alley. The pictures that Clark had drawn from memory of the man and of his machine had turned up nothing in any database. Even Interpol couldn’t match the face to anything they had on file.
“Superman?”
The reporter’s voice brought Clark back to the present. He took a composing breath, realizing that he needed to make a statement on the matter sooner or later. “For those who are unaware of the situation; a week ago, the Metropolis Police Department officially declared Lois Lane dead, and they have dropped the investigations into her disappearance.” He was surprised that his voice betrayed none of the tumultuous emotions that he was experiencing over the entire situation. “However, until a body is found, I will be continuing the search until she is brought home. And her fiancé, Clark Kent, has not given up the hope that she is still alive, either.”
Superman’s statement caused a slight uproar as the rescue was forgotten in light of this new piece of information. Clark smiled grimly as cameras flashed and questions were tossed out towards him too fast for even him to be able to process and answer.
Suddenly feeling exhausted as the combined trauma of the afternoon’s rescue and his weary heart struck him full force, Clark rose up both his hands to signal the end of the impromptu press conference. “Now, if you will excuse me, I hear my name being called.”
The throng of press would not fully disperse for another half hour as reporters and TV crews alike processed the information.
The story of Lois Lane and her disappearance should have by all rights been old news after the first month or two. As such, there were a handful of people who emitted long suffering groans whenever they opened a newspaper or turned on the evening news, firmly in the belief that the media was not only beating that dead horse, they were doing things to the corpse that were surely illegal in at least forty-seven states. However, it was not so much the story of the woman or her disappearance, but of the stark determination in one man and the unwavering devotion and heartbreaking passion of another in their determination to bring her home that kept the masses enthralled by this modern day Grimm fairytale.
***
~*There*~
“If I can’t go out with a bang, Herb, at least you can.” Tempus’ last and predictably smug words as he was dragged away tickled unpleasantly at the base of Lois’ skull, but she brushed them off as she climbed into the altered time machine. Sitting beside the nineteenth century author, she couldn’t bring herself to care what the embittered Utopian reject had to say after his defeat, because she was going home.
By this time next week, she would be Mrs. Kent. Or Lane-Kent. Well, she already knew that she would be keeping her highly reputable name at work. A broad smile instantly appeared on her face, one she wouldn’t have been able to stop even if she had wanted to, as she remembered how understanding her fiancé had been over the situation. However, either way she went, by this time next week she would have a plethora of name hyphenings to choose from, and she was more than eager to get there.
Clark’s – not her Clark, but the one of this Metropolis – plaintive plea for her to stray behind with him had caused her to miss her fiancé even more than she already did. And she knew that if she stayed, she could never be the Lois that he would need her to be. She had already made a connection to her own Kryptonian, and she was certain that no matter how much time would have passed, she would never be able to reach that same level with any one else. Even with a doppelganger from a reality not all that dissimilar to her own. Hopefully, if what ever higher being was in charge had a good bone in her body, this Clark would find his own Lois out there somewhere.
Wells fiddled with some knobs and dials, setting the course for home. Before he pushed the final button, he turned to smile at her warmly. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”
The image of the kind old man pressing in on the mostly nondescript metal disc was the last one she had for several weeks, and the last she had of the old author.
***
~*Here*~
It wasn't until late evening when Clark was able to return to his apartment. Even though he hadn't heard a call for help as he'd said he had at the press conference, no sooner than he was airborne did a cry come out from Colorado.
After several more rescues, he'd gone back to the Planet to write up the article due for the paper the next day. He would have stayed at his work desk even longer, trying to continue his research, but he had to endure another well meaning lecture from Perry about how Lois wouldn't want him to stop living. The editor had been sure to add "until she's home" at the end, but Clark was beginning to suspect that the phrase had come to be more for his benefit rather than Perry's belief that Lois was actually still alive.
Clark sighed wearily as he fed the fish in the large tank that had taken up residence between his sofa and the window for the past six months. Even after all this time that it had been in his apartment, after the lease in her's had expired, the aquarium still felt grossly out of place. The harsh illumination of the heating lamp seemed to glare at him, blaming him for uprooting it from its home.
He pressed the button on his answering machine and sank down onto his sofa as the messages played. There were a couple from his parents and one from Jimmy, expressing their concern after hearing about Superman's earlier statement to the press. One was from a contact regarding a story that Clark had been working on for a couple of weeks now.
Clark leaned his head back against the couch cushion, tuning out most of the messages. He was drained, both emotionally and physically, from the day's events and wanted nothing more that to sleep. But he knew that as soon as his eyes closed, he would be haunted by dreams of her.
Without realizing it, though, he found that he had slipped into that place between dreaming and consciousness, that state of limbo where he was never sure if he was awake or not.
The cushion beside him dipped slightly before he felt the ghostly whisperings of her fingers through his hair. Clark stifled the desire to take her hand into his own and pull her body towards him, knowing that if he did, she would disappear like a nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Instead he closed his eyes and sighed deeply, taking in a lungful of phantom perfume.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Clark." Her voice whispered softly through him in a breathy echo. "You know that one day you'll have to let me go."
Pain lanced through his heart as surely as a blow from kryptonite, and he had to speak past the lump that rose in his throat. "And you know that I can't do that."
"So you'll do what, exactly?" He felt her breath flutter against his face as she giggled softly. "Continue looking for me when you're old and gray, and Superman endorses adult diapers and denture cream?"
His heart swelled at the memory of her teasing voice. His closed eyes squeezed tightly at the sudden sting of threatening tears, though he couldn't help but return the playful banter. "Superman will have to endorse men's hair dye before anything else. Man of Steel is accurate for several reasons, you know." He felt the soft puff of air against is cheek again, and smiled softly at her infectious mirth. It faded almost as quickly as it had appeared as he sobered. "I would never stop looking for you, not after a year, or five. A hundred years could go by and I would still look for you."
"And when you find me?"
"I'll take you away someplace and marry you," he replied honestly.
She was silent for a moment, long enough so that he feared she had gone away. The there was a brush against his forehead, gossamer wings of a ghostly kiss against his flesh.
The atmosphere changed from a warm cocooning to a cold feeling of being bereft. For a mere instant the fingers running through his hair became corporeal before disappearing completely.
The last thing he heard before losing all consciousness was her voice, surprisingly loud and clear against his ear.
"What if you find me dead?"
Clark was jarred awake by the harsh trill of the phone. For a moment, disoriented, he was unsure where he was. The glare of the fish tank made him believe for a brief moment that he was somehow in Lois' apartment, but then he saw the rest of the room.
The phone rang again, and a third time, before the annoying sound forced him from his seat. "Clark Kent."
"Mr. Kent, this is Avril Dunninger from the Metropolis Hart Morgue. A Jane Doe came through a couple of hours ago, and we need you to ID the body."
"Why?" He refused to allow the dread that threatened to overwhelm him.
On the other end, Dunninger paused for a moment before reluctantly continuing. "She matches the description of Lois Lane."
***
~*There*~
When Lois finally came to, three weeks had already gone by.
Of course, she hadn’t been aware of this fact at the time. To her, it had only been a fraction of a second between Wells pressing a button to getting whacked upside the head with a two-by-four.
“Hey Darlin’, are you okay?”
Her editor’s gruff voice worked its way through the thick fog that had settled across her mind. “Perry?”
“Easy now, girl. That’s quite a conk on the noggin you took.”
Lois slowly sat up on the gravel, carefully fingering the goose egg that seemed to be growing near the base of her skull. The effort it took for her to get sitting took its toll, and fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea, she found herself supporting the brick wall of a building that she was sure she could convince someone that it would topple over if she moved. “What happened?” Memories drifted back of Clark – hers and not hers – and of an old English author and his time machine. “Where’s Wells? Clark? Am I home?”
“Wells Clark? Who are you talkin’ about?”
She blinked through the haze, for the first time looking at the face of her editor. Lois gasped at the web work of scarring that marred the left side of the newsman’s face and brought her fingertips to hover just a hairbreadth away from his skin. “Perry, what happened-“
He deflected her hand by grasping her wrist and pushing it, gently but firmly, to the side. “Now Darlin’, you know better than to ask an old hound dog about his battle scars when he’s sober.”
“Battle scars?” Lois parroted in confusion as she looked around her. The city was too dark, even for Metropolis. And, even though the alley that she rested in was cleaner than anything she’d ever seen in her home city, there was a grime that seemed to permeate deep into the surface. Through the mouth of the alley, she could see people milling about and working.
However, unlike her home, where the people were vibrant with color and life, even in the most downtrodden of areas, these hapless souls were listless and awash in a dull pastel. It was, by far, even worse than the city she had just left. “My god, Perry, what’s happened to Metropolis?
“Great shades, hon. You’ve really knocked yourself for a loop this time, haven’t you?” He handed her a capful of water from the canteen he carried at his side, advising her to drink slow.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered into the water. She had to fight back the urge to spit out the briny water, realizing instantly why the older man had advised small sips.
Perry took the cap back when she was done. “There we go. You didn’t lose anymore of your memories now, did you?”
Before she could answer, they were interrupted by another familiar voice at the mouth of the alley. “Hey, Chief,” Jimmy called, “The Girl okay?”
Lois mouthed the photographer’s nickname for her at her companion and quirked a bemused eyebrow. She wasn’t sure how to take his obvious surprise and amusement at her reaction. “Give us a minute, Olsen. I’m trying to suss that out.”
Instead of returning to whatever job he’d been on, Jimmy joined the two, his normally easy gate tempered with a slight limp. “Sorry about that beam, Girl. I tried to call out a warning, but it was too late.”
Suddenly, Lois had had it to a point just above her eyebrows with all of the answers she wasn’t getting. She attempted to stand up and tell them just that, even if her attempts were jumbled with a wobble and her hand never quite made it above her shoulder. By their startled reactions, she could tell that he had gotten her point across.
She slumped back to the ground, panting past the throbbing in her skull. “Would someone please tell me what the hell’s going on? Where am I? Where’s Clark?” Before they could answer, she jutted her chin out towards Jimmy. “What’s with this ‘Girl’ crap? I’m more than five years older than you, Embryo.”
Though she was exhausted from her little outburst, she wasn’t too tired to miss the familiar grin that threatened to split the young man’s face. “Damn, Girl, you really must have been knocked for a loop. Feel better, okay?” He patted her knee and stood quickly, and a moment later she and Perry were both alone again.
The editor whistled softly. “Boy’s got it pretty bad. I haven’t seen him smile like that in years.”
Lois whimpered slightly, tired and aching and trying to focus past her headache. Why the hell wasn’t anyone answering her questions? “Perry, please-“
“Alright, Darlin’, what’s the last thing you remember?” The humor was out of the old man’s voice as he became all business.
“The last thing I remember? I was sitting in the time machine with H G Wells-“
“The dead author?”
Ignoring his disbelief, she trudged on, “-thinking about getting home to Clark, and our wedding, and- Oh my god.” In the midst of her tirade she had brought up her hand to examine her engagement ring, only to find her left hand completely barren. “Oh god, no, where is it?” Tears stung her eyes as she frantically searched the gravel around her before turned to look pleadingly at her companion. “Perry?”
“Don’t you remember? If you’re caught with any precious jewelry, they confiscate it-“
“No!” The dam broke, and all the frustrations that she’d been feeling since the first time Tempus tore her from her home as she watched Clark make it just a fraction of a second to late poured out of her in great heaving sobs. “Please, no, I can’t lose it, I-I-“
Startled, Perry pulled her towards him and attempted to soothe her.
“I just want to go home!”
-end Part One
Other Bits
What would happen if:
-There had been no Clark Kent, but a Superman (or a facsimile thereof)?
-Kal-el had been found by someone other than the Kents? (Technically the same as the above, but shh!)
-How much of Clark's upbringing as a human makes Superman so Supermanish? And what is this Kryptonian instinct he said he's learned to block over the years?
-Unlike some of these ‘deathfics’ that people seem to enjoy writing *innocent whistle* someone wrote a fic where a main character starts out only kinda sorta dead, but gets better?
