Well, here we go. Valar—I’d forgotten that I left you all at such a terrible spot! Gah! Thank goodness there’s no sign of wild men or chainsaws yet!
Here it is. I’m (rightfully) quite nervous, especially since it’s been so long. I hope so very much that you like it!
This is dedicated to YOU. I could make a very long list right now, but that’d take too long, and I want to get this chapter up. I’m thinking of you, my constant reviewers, who have stuck by me through the thick and thin. And, of course, my constant lurkers as well, whom I sympathize with and continue to encourage to come out of the shadows and join us.
Thank you all for your encouragement!
Enjoy!
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Chapter 45: At Last, At First
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Clark fidgeted in the car, fixing his eyes sightlessly out the window and trying not to let them drift, once again, to the woman in the driver’s seat. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock the grey fear that had seized him; its refreshing warmth only seemed to emphasize the growing pit of sickness in his stomach.
The “soon” that had been echoing in his head for days—even weeks, now—had turned into a gibbering, insistent, mind-blinding, “now!”
Now-now-now-now-now!
All right, maybe not right now, but soon -now!
He realized he was staring at her again and forced his gaze out the window towards the two-o’clock sun. He was making her nervous with that. He wasn’t ignorant of Lois’s raised heartbeat—the extra flush in her cheeks and heat coming off her skin, her hands on the wheel.
She was nervous.
Why?
He hoped she wasn’t thinking about Bureau 39. He knew how it could sneak up behind him and blindside him so easily. He knew how it was to be walking along and having his mind swept away, freezing him and shocking him—jerking his heart back to then , and freezing him in ice.
He shuddered.
No. That was then. This was now.
He was going to tell her. She was going to know. And then . . . and then. . .
His hands clenched—they were damp with sweat, and guilt mixed with shame sat like a cube of black, frozen tar in his gut.
What was she going to think of him?
Sometimes it seemed like she hardly could tolerate Clark Kent’s presence. Today was a rare, very good day. She was actually going to have lunch with him. At a park.
If it were any other woman, or even Lois with any other man, Clark would have thought that it was a not-very-sneaky way of having a casual date.
Ha!
Lois? With him—Clark? Right.
He cringed internally, something like the pain of a needle twisting in his heart, making him claustrophobic in his own chest cavity.
But the park was good. Hopefully he’d be able to steer them to a more secluded corner, away from everyone else, just in case (when) she screamed or flew off the handle. Hopefully he could physically hold her back until she was calm enough to not shout his secret to the world. Of course, that would probably just make her more furious, because nobody “held Lois Lane back”—especially someone she was angry at, and rightfully so.
Clark resisted the urge to groan and cover his face with his hands.
But she was in a good mood. That was hopeful, he thought desperately as he a hand through his hair for the nth time. And if he was right and it was Superman that had put her in such a good mood, maybe things wouldn’t be quite as bad. Maybe.
Or maybe it would be worse.
He had kissed her, despite the fact that he had promised himself that he wasn’t going to take advantage of her—that she would know everything before he did such a thing.
Or she had kissed him—Superman, that is. He wasn’t sure which one it was. But it certainly didn’t make the situation any simpler, one way or another.
Lois thought she loved Superman. No—Lois thought she loved Kal-El. But who was Kal-El? Clark had long since viewed Superman as a sort of mask—a safeguard to protect his life, his family, his friends . . . but who was Kal-El?
Another mask? No—it wasn’t that. But it wasn’t Clark Kent either, exactly. But what was the difference?
He honestly couldn’t say he knew. In both cases—as both Clark Kent and Kal-El—for Lois he felt like he was trying to act like himself . . . How could the end result be so different?
One side of him, Lois tolerated. Perhaps they could be considered some sort of friends. The other side she loved and would give—had given—everything for.
What had he gotten himself into?
It didn’t look like he was going to be able to get out of it easily, either . . . and that terrified him.
After Logram, Bureau 39, Luthor—everything paled behind the risk of the disappointment of Lois.
By the time Lois pulled into the parking lot he was sure he felt like he was sweating bullets. His suit beneath his work clothes felt uncomfortable and too tight, and he felt strangely light-headed.
Breathe, Clark. Breathe.
Why? He could usually hold his breath for . . . well . . . a long time, but right now he felt like he was suffocating.
Lois glanced at him as she opened her door, and he remembered to follow suit. He fumbled with the doorknob, but took extra care not to trip or stumble as he climbed out of the car.
He didn’t want to have Lois have another fresh reminder of how much of a complete klutz and idiot Clark Kent was.
He went around the back of the car to see Lois had already opened the back door and had lifted a grocery sack. She nodded towards an ice chest in the car.
“Think you can handle it alone?” she asked.
Teasing. She was teasing him. No doubt she half-expected Clark to have to struggle with the weight of . . . whatever she had in there. Resisting the nervous urge to peer inside with his x-ray vision to see if she had weighted it down intentionally or not, Clark stepped forward.
Goodness, why would she do such a thing anyway?
“I-I—” No. No stuttering. “Of course, Lois.”
That’s right. Play it cool. Now step forward—careful not to knock into her! Watch your shoelaces! All right. Now pick up the cooler. Careful. That’s it. Don’t make it look too easy, now.
Why not? Clark asked the cautioning voice in his head. She’s going to know in just a minute anyway.
Just a minute. . . .
Just remember what you’ve practiced.
Right.
“Lois, I’ve been needing to tell you something . . . .”
“You coming, Clark?”
He realized that he was standing there as if his feet had been cemented to the road, staring at her as she moved onto the pathway of the park. Starting, he stumbled forward.
“Sorry.” He would have adjusted his glasses, but his hands were busy carrying the cooler—which wasn’t heavy even in normal terms, Clark was sure.
Smooth one, Clark. Real smooth. Concentrate, now. It’s almost time.
They left the path and cut across the grass, towards the trees where no one else seemed to be around. Good. It looked like he wouldn’t even have to nudge Lois in the right direction.
Almost time.
“ . . . and I really hope you won’t be too angry, though you have perfect reason to be . . . .”
Lois stopped in a small kind of clearing in the shade of the trees and looked around. Clark could hear children playing, dogs running, old men playing chess, and a mother trying to stop her little son’s crying . . . in an airplane probably over 20,000 feet in the air above them. Nobody was close to them. He set the cooler down on the grass at Lois’s orders.
“ . . . but after everything—everything you’ve done, I owe you the truth—”
[I] “I—I—I . . . .”
“HELP SUPERMAN!”
Clark jerked upright at the sound, instinctively readying himself for an excuse, for a dart to run off and make a rescue . . .
No.
The pressure in his chest grew to a near panic and he froze, near choking on his own lungs—wanting to sink down on the ground in horrified tears.
What should he do—what could he do?!
Not now!
Lois had noticed Clark’s sudden stiffness. “Clark?” she asked, laying out the tablecloth. She looked up and her heart sank.
She knew that expression.
Oh, why now!?
Clark’s eyes went to her—he looked positively anguished.
“L-lois,” he stuttered, choking on his own condemnation. “I’ve . . . I’ve got to go.” He braced himself—for her fury, for her demanding of an explanation—
“Go, Clark,” Lois said, sounding as serious as he had ever heard her—but not angry. He looked at her, torn and anguished. “Whatever it is, just go!”
He wasn’t about to stick around to find an explanation from her. “L-lois—I’ll be back.”
“I can wait, Clark. I will wait,” Lois said firmly. I promise.
Clark nodded, though it was quick and distracted by whatever he was hearing. He cast one last look at her before turning and walking quickly into the trees. In seconds he was out of sight.
Lois didn’t hear a sonic boom, even though she strained her ears for it. That was fine. He was probably trying to be more careful. And he should be. He had to be.
She plopped down cross-legged on the tablecloth with a long, frustrated sigh. Of course she wasn’t upset with him, but why did fate seemed so fixed against them? Was it just bad karma? She frowned at the food she had begun to pull out of the ice chest and sighed again before beginning to put everything back.
She hoped he would not be long, but there was no way to know. And she was going to wait for him. She swore it.
She was going to wait for him all day—all night, if necessary.
All the next day too, if he had been called away to China or somewhere for something big (how far did his hearing work, anyway?). She could phone in to Perry and tell her she was taking a day off, and take no argument. She was glad she had brought plenty of food, and she could use the tablecloth as a blanket . . .
She wasn’t leaving this park until he came back, and told her everything.
Set and fixed only more firmly because of fate’s continued opposition, Lois closed the icebox and lay down on her stomach. With one last sigh, she reached over and pulled The Scarlet Pimpernel out of her bag, opened to her bookmarked spot, and began to read.
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Clark had no sooner saved a young couple from the hands of some thick (in more than one way) muggers near Suicide Slum when the bigger news caught his ear and he darted south towards South America and the mine that had collapsed in Argentina.
Every second took him hundreds of miles away from New Troy, from Metropolis . . . from Lois.
His heart shrank with every millisecond, and with the speed he was going he could feel it like a knife whittling away at his heart.
There was no question in whether he should have stayed with Lois or not. He couldn’t have stayed.
But it wasn’t fair.
Not to him. Not to Lois.
How many times had he run off on her like this?
How many more times could she take?
How many more times could he take?
Clark had long lost count—if he was ever keeping track in the first place—of how many times he’d sacrificed time, effort, energy, and even risked his life before to save others. And it had always been worth it—it always was worth it. How could he be so selfish so as to judge those little things as more valuable than those he helped?
But this was the first time that he felt as if he had sold his last chance for happiness . . . .
Lois . . . .
But no. He had already decided that he couldn’t let these things go. He couldn’t let the suffering continue—not while he could help.
Never, so long as he could help.
No matter what it cost him?
He worked as quickly as he could at the mine site—though work was much slower than he liked due to the risk of causing further collapse to the tunnels below where a number of miners were trapped. He worked grimly—speaking only scarcely, and though he was focused on his work, a part of him was far away—back in Metropolis. He peered through earth and rock, listening for the faintest beat of heart before burrowing in, careful not to accidentally crush the survivors as he pulled them to safety, but with every inhale of filthy, smoke-and-mud-thick air, came the anguish and clashing of too-many desperate thoughts that had built up and begun to peak throughout the day.
Would this be the last straw for Lois Lane?
And Logram . . . had he done it all for his daughter? Had Luthor somehow forced him into it? Clark knew better than anyone how cruel and manipulative Luthor could be.
Lois had said she would wait. But he’d left her again. She was so angry last time . . . and this time, after all the trouble she’d gone through—she’d actually fixed a picnic, for heaven sakes! Small as that seemed beside everything else, the thought made his stomach clench like someone had stuck a fist of kryptonite clean through him.
He’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.
The experiments . . . whatever Lex had meant with it, good had come of it after all. If he had sworn to protect the helpless—the innocent—from the darkness of the world, wasn’t this among the worst of it? The silent, slow, painful threat of disease that was even less merciful than Luthor himself?
And Lois had been in such a good mood all day. Odd, certainly—but good nonetheless. And they had actually been working as a team, as good as before the white room, if not better.
Had he just given up all of that by leaving her once again?
If he was really Superman, he should do his best to help take care of this new evil—the unseen enemy that his very blood and bone could cure. Otherwise, how could he claim to stand up for Truth when he was a liar to himself, even when he had sworn to do all he could do to help on the memory of his father?
What would he do, though?
Go to a doctor he trusted? The only one he knew was Hamilton. But did he know enough about blood, about cancer . . . . And could he trust him with this?
The world knew about the myth of kryptonite, at least but they still weren’t exactly sure what it did to him. To get . . . whatever they needed from him—
Red blood, pouring out of an open wound like the pit of broken earth that pulsed with frantic, fading human hearts deep in the earth beneath him.
—they would need to use Kryptonite, to weaken him—
White bone, dug deep from his being with knives as hot as the devil’s touch, searing him of his humanity—making him fear, making him quiver—
—to tear him apart—
—reducing him to nothing but a shivering animal . . . an alien. A threat—
—to take that part of him away and study him—
—And over it all, a sickly green, with the light ripping into his very soul and tearing him apart—leaving him broken, helpless, weeping—Nothing amidst the terrible whiteness . . .
—like a rat dissected under a microscope, always with cold, prying eyes watching like soulless lenses . . .
. . . . he was nothing but a child. . . terrified, vulnerable, alone . . .so weak . . . . [I]
Lois had asked if they could give him anything for the pain. Logram had answered in the negative—and somehow, Clark couldn’t help but think that in that, at least, the man had been telling the truth.
[I]Heaven help him . . . He couldn’t go through that again.
Then he was a liar. A fake. He had been so self-righteous in the face Logram, even in his helplessness—knowing that no matter what happened or what he was accused of, he had done his best for the world.
It was just pain. He’d heal . . . . It’d end. He would forget. It would be worth it.
. . . he’d heal.
Would he?
He needed Lois. He needed to talk to her. He needed her to tell him what to do.
To tell him that he was just a man. And that it was okay for him to be afraid—for him not to do this . . .
To tell him that he was a hero, and that he could do it. She believed in him, and she’d help him through it. She could help him through anything.
She’d already shown him that.
It took him longer than he had even feared to finish up his work at the mine. It seemed as if the whole front of the mountain had simply slumped over—too tired and hollowed out to give any more to those who picked at its heart. Clark was able to dig right through the slop to save most of the unfortunate miners who had not been able to get clear.
Five men died.
They were probably crushed to death immediately; they didn’t suffer before the end, fortunately.
Fortunately?
Only five.
Only?
How could anyone say that? Think that? One was too much, and if they had suffered, he might have found them in time. They might have hurt, but they would be alive.
Hadn’t he learned, more than anything, that life was worth any measure of pain?
Was it?
It was worth any sacrifice that a single man could make.
His lips were tight as he felt each chilling body he dug from the pit. Dirt clung beneath his fingernails from his digging—tools didn’t work with him, and he could move faster without them. His filthy hands trembled as he eased them out, feeling the cold of their unnaturally pale skin beneath the grime. Feeling how fragile, how easily broken they were, especially now—cold and still beneath his hands.
He flew their crushed, mud-crusted bodies down to the rescuers and lay them down carefully—straining—as if the empty shells of men were more heavy than rockets or mountains he was famed to be able to move.
He lay down the last body and straightened, looking around the oddly shadowed mountain, and the black smear of fallen earth. All was silent—all were accounted for. His work was done.
He took to the sky without a word, not wanting to stick around for the usual appreciative thanks. He didn’t think he could face that right now.
He didn’t have anything to say. Sorry was too little. Anything was too little. Everything was too little, even though he’d done what he could. Everyone was safe, or dead.
A nice, clean rescue.
He had done everything he could. He had come as soon as he had heard. But in some things he was still as helpless as any.
He was just one man. Against death, against separation—he was nothing. Even with strength, power—even whatever Logram had found in his blood—there were limits. There would always be pain. Always be death.
And if Lois left him, there was nothing he could do to make her change her mind.
He could only do so much.
Clark flew straight back to Metropolis—aiming for the park and ignoring the logical part of his mind that told him to check The Planet, or Lois’s home. Or anywhere but Central Park. He’d run out on her twice in just three days—but at least he hadn’t fallen asleep this time. Still, he couldn’t see her really waiting all this time.
Metropolis greeted him, the still-bustling city alight in the early glow of the setting sun over the bay.
It was beautiful, Clark thought. The sun sent rays of deep fire and blooms to gleam off cold, faceless buildings and set them alight, like some celestial flame burning away the darkness and turning it all to color and goodness and light.
Central Park, in contrast, was grey-green in the shadows of the tall towers around it. The trees were quiet and still, and the small lake there glimmered palely with some reflection of a reflection of a reflection of some distant light.
His heart shriveled and weighed him down as he grew close to it, and he slowed—hovering high in the air above the blend of brilliant color mixed with cold white and silver and black.
So much for good intentions. He would have to wait another day . . . again . . .
Maybe even another one after that, and another one and another one . . . Until she spoke to him again.
If ever . . .
?
It wasn’t fair to her to have to deal with this either.
He sighed heavily, causing a nearby cloud to cease in its seaward drift and hover in the chilling air indecisively.
Clark frowned at it, watching the tendrils of mist swirl as if disturbed by an invisible hand—shifting but directionless. He paused, then took a second to fly around the cloud and give it a short breath to push it back on its course. He watched it move forward for a moment, moving like a living thing up there with him. Finally catching himself and pushing aside whatever was threatening to choke him, he looked down.
And for once in his life, Clark couldn’t believe his eyes.
Lois was still there. She was still there, at the park, at nearly the same place that he had left her. She was lying there—from here he could see the gentle rise and fall of her back as she breathed, and the soft tickle of her hair against her cheek that had fallen over brow as she slept.
She was still there.
Superman dropped faster than gravity—faster than sound, faster than light—turning in a barely visible blur as he fell, and a fraction of a second later Clark Kent was standing but ten short paces from where Lois lay on the blanket.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, however, he found he couldn’t move, so he just stood there, strangely breathless and afraid to wake her, or to move any closer and perhaps cause her to vanish like some last mists of a dream.
No wonder she was asleep—no doubt she was exhausted, especially after the scarce sleep the night before. She’d been tired for weeks—driving herself into the dirt in a way that only Lois Lane could manage. Careless of herself or her own wellbeing, she’d pulled her classic move and gritted her teeth against luck and odds and refused to blink, falter, or slow in her pursuit of her goal.
But that was Lois. Once she put her mind to something, she was impossible to shake.
Being around Lois made him realize how fragile humans were. One moment of hesitation on his part, or one moment’s bad luck . . . and he could lose her. So easily hurt, so easily sickened, so easily tired.
He could still feel the dead in his hands. Their cold shells, empty, like so many he hadn’t been able to save . . .
But being around Lois . . . She made him realize how impossibly strong humans could be.
How she would never ever stop doing what she deemed to be right—even if it killed her.
She’d come close enough to that enough that he knew it to be true.
He took a slow step forward. Her face was rested on her arm as she slept, and the lunchbasket had clearly been raided and was now nearly empty save for a half-eaten sandwich and some wrappers. That was unexpected. If she’d fallen asleep right after he had left she wouldn’t have had the time to eat nearly the whole meal-for-two.
But then again, this was Lois—a compulsive eater when she was nervous or upset. And Clark’s heart sunk further into the growing night at the thought of how upset she must be this time.
They’d lost a good half a day’s work. Of course she’d be upset. She’d be beyond upset.
And he’d betrayed her trust again.
He didn’t even want to try to imagine how beyond upset she was going to be.
He took another step forward, listening to the grass bend beneath his feet. It sounded terribly loud, and the usual roar of cars and humanity seemed removed—almost as if he were hearing it through a very long tunnel.
His gaze paused at the copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel on the blanket right beside Lois’s hand. The bookmark was at the end—she’d probably finished it while she had waited.
He felt a sudden bittersweet wave of feeling at that. He loved her so much.
Lois, Lois. Can’t you see what’s hiding in your shadow? Can’t you see who been walking by your side?
He might have been content just to stand there and watch her, but at that moment her brow furrowed and she shifted in the beginnings of uneasy sleep. Her fist clenched unconsciously, and he stepped forward, listening to the increase of her heart beat as her dreams turned towards nightmares. He came to her side, crouching down and putting a feather-light hand on her shoulder.
“Lois?” he said softly. “Lois. It’s just a dream.”
It certainly felt like it sometimes, didn’t it? It was amazing how incredibly real life could feel, yet he could look back and see the swimming faces of white and black and a blur of color, and wonder if it was all just one beautiful, gruesome, devastating, miraculous, tragic, glorious haunting mix of nightmare and dream.
Like fallen dirt, crushing hopes and life. Like surfing along the cresting wave of dawn with Lois in his arms. Like white rooms, bleaching away humanity and hope. Like the glow of the sun that turned a grey world to fire.
But Lois . . . Lois was real. She was there.
Please don’t let her vanish like a dream before him. Let her stay there, and don’t ever, ever, ever let him wake up again . . .
She stirred slightly under his hand, turning her face towards him as she woke.
“Mmm,” her eyes opened blurrily. “Kal-El?”
“L-Lois . . . .”
Lois blinked and jerked upright into a sitting position—and would have knocked her head right into Clark’s if he had not pulled back quickly at near-super speed. She blinked at him for a moment.
“Oh! Clark.” She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head to wake herself fully up.
‘Oh. Clark’?
Just give her a minute for it to hit her. Give her a second to notice how the sun was now all but fully set, casting a dark, blue-and-black obsidian gleam to the skyscrapers visible through the trees.
Give her a moment to realize, and to tear into him like needles and fire.
She yawned, running a hand through her already-ruffled hair and mussing it further. Clark would have smiled had it not been for the fact that he felt he was falling, waiting for an explosion . . . . Waiting for his heart to stop . . . .
All right, give her another minute.
He felt like he was going to choke.
“What time is it?” Lois asked, looking up at him again.
Here it was. “A-almost nine.”
Let her sit there. Let her do the math.
That’s right—he’d been gone for seven hours.
Here it was . . . .
Would the world end by fire or by ice . . . ?
“Oh.”
Clark stared at her. ‘Oh’? Maybe he was dreaming.
Silence. Lois was just looking at him, her hair tousled from her sleep, looking as if she were holding back a question, but not an angry one. Was she still asleep, perhaps, despite the fact that her eyes were open? What was she doing?
“Y-you waited?” Clark stuttered, more to fill the growing silence than for conversation. He expected her to blow up at any second now—the wait was worse than the actual event.
“I said I would.” Lois said, standing. She looked up at him, her gaze unwavering—waiting.
“Y-yeah . . . b-but . . . .”
“You said you’d come back,” Lois continued, looking fully awake in the growing shadows. “You wouldn’t lie about that.”
Clark was finding it strangely hard to breathe. His mouth still tasted like dust and dirt, despite the dip into the Pacific and dart through the upper atmosphere he’d taken on the way here. He swallowed, trying to swallow it all away. He tugged at his tie, loosening it and pulling at his collar. His hand shook, and he hastily shoved it into his pocket, not wanting her to see it
Lois noticed the action and stepped back, blinking as if snapping fully awake, but still no anger showed through her face. She bit her lip, looking suddenly awkward
“I—I was going to wait for you,” she said, then stuttered. “Well, I did wait, but I was going to save something for you. Some food, I mean. But . . . I got hungry and you didn’t come back and while I was reading I wasn’t really paying attention, and . . . well, you know.”
An automatic, hesitant, shaking smile broke out of Clark’s braced confusion at her babbling, though he felt, perhaps, closer to tears. She seemed even more incoherent than usual, and defensive, but not in the offensive-defensive way that Lois Lane was known for (if that made sense).
Was he just about to shatter everything? Would anything ever be the same?
He would miss the babbling, he realized. The thought was almost absurd, at a time like this.
Now, Clark.
Now?
Well, if she was going to be rabidly furious about him in just a second (he was still waiting for that), what was one more spark on top of the inferno?
Or another inferno on top of an inferno, rather?
Had some alien come and taken over her brain?
Clark grimaced weakly at that, feeling ill.
He was going to be sick. The lingering taste of coal in his throat didn’t help.
But Lois was frowning, now—something close to a scowl as she gathered up the garbage and various wrappers and stuck them in the basket. She closed it, setting The Scarlet Pimpernel on top.
“L-L-Lois?”
Did her heart just literally skip a beat? Or had his own nervousness blocked out his hearing for a moment there? Or maybe his own heart’s beating was drowning out hers . . . .
He crossed his arms, his still-grimy hands clammy as he looked down at her as she straightened, her eyes intent on him.
“What is it, Clark?”
He found his mouth suddenly dry. “Lois,” he said, his voice soft and hardly more than a whisper. “I . . . have to tell you something.”
He paused then, waiting for fate to intervene as it had time and time again, and taking one more moment to pray that this would turn out all right.
Lois said nothing, but just stepped towards him, focused as a beam of light in the coming darkness.
“I should have told you before, and I hope . . . ”—hope was all he had, time after time—“I—I’m s-s-sorry, Lois.”
He was choking. He couldn’t breathe. He could feel dirt and grime on his palms—still stuck beneath his fingernails. He was cold, near shivering.
Lois frowned, and for a bare moment Clark had a bizarre thought that she might scold him for apologizing. But no—she did that for Superman, not Clark.
Just say it.
He took a slow, deep breath, and spoke slowly.
“Lois,” he whispered, feeling so very weak and vulnerable that he wondered that he could even stand. He couldn’t look at her—couldn’t see the disappointment in her eyes. “I—I’m n-not who you think I am.”
Not human.
“I—I never meant to l-lie . . . .”
No. He never did. He never meant for any of this to happen. Never meant to bring her into this . . . .
“I hope you can forgive me. I c-can’t make any excuses . . . .”
He had none that were worth their weight in words. They were all empty. Weak. Cowardly.
“I . . . I just hope you’ll just—”
Accept me.
“—forgive me.”
Lois . . . . Lois . . . .
His voice was soft—was it even possible that she might not even hear him? He seemed to have lost the strength . . . lost all his strength. He couldn’t look at her.
He shut his eyes, listening to her heartbeat, noticing that she was oddly quiet—was she holding her breath, or was he going numb? Falling into deafness?
“Lois,” he whispered, his voice soft and low. He reached up to his glasses, feeling the cold of them against his shaking fingers. Slowly, he slipped them from his face and let his hand fall to his side. “I’m Superman.”
Silence.
It was done.
The world seemed to have faded away to nothing. The sun had plunged into the ocean, and the city had gone still, save for a soft brush of wind in the empty air that echoed silence deeper than stillness.
Clark shut his eyes, fighting the horrified, shamed tears behind his darkened lids.
Was this death? A sudden wave of terror, followed by nothing? He was numb, cold, standing there more vulnerable and exposed than he had ever felt before. Was he even there anymore, or had he taken to the air and vanished into empty space without noticing? Without anyone noticing?
I’m Superman.
How could so much be carried in such small, empty words?
I’m an alien—a freak.
Look at me. Look at how weak your hero truly is.
I’ve lied to you. I’ve hidden from you, like a coward.
I am nothing.
I endanger you.
I don’t deserve you.
I need you.
It was too quiet. It was too still.
So cold.
And suddenly, she was there—a world of warmth and fire in a little whirl of wind.
Lois buried her face in his chest, and she clung to him like she had only a few nights before—only then he had been in his Suit, and she had been afraid that Superman was going to fly off without her. Now, he was just Clark. Just Clark.
He was holding her back before he knew it—holding her, never wanting to let go. His glasses fell unnoticed to the grass.
“You lunkhead,” she said, her voice muffled his coat. “You cursed, foolish, thick-headed, mule-brained [I]idiot.” Clark flinched, about to pull back, but her grip didn’t ease. “Look at me.”
Clark did so—opening his eyes hesitantly. She was watching him, and despite her firm words, her tone was strangely gentle. She gave a noble attempt at a smile, even while it shook and a stray tear ran down her cheek.
“What did I tell you about details?”
‘Details?’ Clark bit his lip as he tried to figure out what Lois was talking about . . . .
. . . and then he realized that Lois never said anything to Clark about details, but to Superman—no, Kal-El—, just the night before.
“I know you. I’ve seen your soul. I have seen that, Kal, and it doesn’t matter what little details I may or may not know, because they don’t matter.”
Clark blinked at her, not knowing what to say to that—not knowing what to do. Out of all the reactions he had expected—that he had prepared for—this was not on the list.
She stepped back slowly, her eyes moving over his face as if memorizing the features all over again, but she didn’t let him go. Clark couldn’t believe it. Was she in shock? Or had Lois been replaced by an irrationally, inhumanly calm clone while he was gone?
“Y-you’re not . . . angry?”
Lois looked away, looked down. “I was,” she admitted softly. “And hurt.” Clark winced.
That was worse than her anger. Worse than disappointment.
He had hurt her.
“Lois, I—I’m s-sorry . . .” he whispered.
“Don’t apologize,” Lois said, with that tremulous smile as she stepping back slightly. She wiped at the tears on her face, only to have them be immediately replaced. “I know why you didn’t tell me! It’s my own s-stupid fault that I walked into that trap like a r-rookie reporter, and then I d-didn’t even p-pay attention to you—C-Clark—when you were right there . . . r-right there, the w-whole time. . . . ” She swore desperately, crying in earnest now. “How can you forgive me?”
Clark stared at her like a deer in the headlights. “W-what? No! Lois . . . I—”
Of all the reactions, he had never expected to have to defend Lois from herself.
“—I should have told y-you . . . .” He bowed his head, not able to look at her. “This is all my fault—”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself!” Lois said, suddenly fire despite her tears as she clutched him tight. “Not for this, not for your secrets, not for B-bureau 39, not for Luthor! I walked into the trap, and I chose to come with you, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. We’ve been over this, Kal-El, Clark, or whatever you want to call yourself. And I was the one that wouldn’t listen to you, and kept t-treating you like d-dirt, even after Bureau 39, and your dad, and Lex . . . .” She swore again. “How can you even s-stand me?”
Clark was aghast. “Lois, you s-saved my life. Y-you . . . you’ve done so much for me, and I’m just . . . a coward. Just a f-foolish, idiotic c-country bumpkin.”
Lois swore, and held him tight again and soaking his shirt with her tears. “See?” she said, her voice soft, guilty. “Look what I’ve done to you, Clark. I never meant to hurt you. I was r-ready to take on the world for you, and here I was, beating you down worse than anybody when you needed m-me the most.”
“No! Don’t blame yourself, Lois. You . . . you couldn’t have known—”
Lois surprised him with a sudden rumble of soft laughter against his chest that cut him short.
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she chuckled, wiping her tears again. “I don’t care who or what you are, Clark. None of this is your fault.”
“It’s not yours either. Y-you . . . you’ve done so much . . . .”
Lois looked ready to argue that last point, but wisely kept her tongue this time.
“I love you, Clark.”
Clark felt pain like a lance through his heart. “L-Lois . . . .”
“I understand if, y-you know, you can’t say the same thing r-right now,” she added quickly, not meeting his eyes. “I—I understand, after all of this. But . . . we need each other, Clark.” I need you. “P-please. Promise me you won’t l-leave me like that again.” Her eyes widened and she backpedaled, as if afraid of pressing him too much. “I—I mean, even just as friends. P-partners, you know? Just don’t leave—”
Clark was still, unsure what to do. His head was resting atop hers, and he wondered if that was all right. It was so natural for him, Kal-El . . . but for him . . . Clark?
“I won’t,” Clark whispered. The words hung between them like an oath—unbreakable, untouchable by the world. It was enough.
Was this happening? Or was this just a dream?
“You’re shaking,” Lois said, her eyes concerned as she tilted her head up to see him. “Are you all right? Did you get enough sunlight? What kept you away so long?”
It was absurd—totally and completely strange to have Lois asking him if he was all right. If he had gotten enough sunlight. It was insane. And so ridiculously familiar that Clark gave a short chuckle.
“I’m fine, Lois.” And as he said it he began to relax. He didn’t know how this was happening, or if he was going to wake up in a moment and realize that it was all just a dream, but he was going to let it last as long as he could.
It was approaching perfect darkness—with the dim stars filtering through the cooling light of the city above them. Lois closed her eyes against Clark’s chest, feeling completely secure for the first time in her life.
He was here. He wouldn’t leave her. And for now, that was enough.
-----------------------------------------
When they finally parted Clark reached up to adjust his glasses on his nose, but they were gone. Lois bent down and picked them up from the grass where they had fallen unnoticed and handed them to him. He took them with a murmured thanks, and cleared his throat as he straightened, trying to compose himself. Lois was staring at him.
“What is it?” Clark asked.
“I don’t know how I never saw it,” she said. “I must be the blindest woman in the universe. Worse—even a blind person should have recognized you.”
“No one else has, Lois,” he shrugged slightly.
He should have known better than to think that Lois would be comforted by something like that. She always did think of herself far above the group of “everyone else.”
They cleaned up together, some strange pall of surrealness mixed with awkwardness over them despite their reluctance to step apart. As soon as they were done they headed back to the car slowly, with Clark carrying the cooler in one hand, as his other one had slipped hesitantly over Lois’s as they stood, and she hadn’t pulled away, but just given a soft squeeze back.
They were all but silent until they both climbed into the cab and closed the doors, with Clark lifting the notes they’d gotten from Logram’s lab. Lois dug through her purse, her usual mutters absent as she gave deep cleaning a whole new meaning in search of her keys. Clark just watched her as she finally found them, pulled them out, and drove them into the ignition victoriously.
“You . . . you already knew, didn’t you?” Clark asked at last. On the way to the car he had figured it was the only explanation for her reaction . . . or lack thereof.
Lois stopped, her hand dropping from the keys as she looked at him. “What makes you say that?”
Clark didn’t want to say.
“Come on, Clark. You didn’t really think I would fly off the deep end when you told me, did you?”
Clark looked cornered at that. Lois exhaled a soft, self-depreciating breath, not needing him to answer. “I don’t blame you,” she said softly, looking sad.
“How long has it been?”
Lois looked down at her hands on the wheel. “Just this morning,” she admitted, ducking her head.
Oh. The picnic. Her awkward stuttering. Her consideration, and kindness. That made sense.
Clark blushed, shifted, and straightened a corner on one of the dog-eared pages he held. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Lois said by rote.
“What was it? That gave me away, I mean?” It was odd for Lois to hear his voice. It was a strange mix, fluxing between Superman’s confident tone, Kal-El’s warmth, and Clark’s awkward, embarrassed stumbling. Lois wondered when the last time it was that he let his guard down like this. Never, except for in front of his parents? Or his mother, now, with his father gone?
Lois knew how lonely it could never be able to take off a mask. She felt a bit odd herself right now.
Clark had been with her in the white room. He’d seen her vulnerable, terrified, lost . . . helpless . . . Weak.
Clark had seen through her. Clark had seen her vulnerabilities. Clark knew her, even better than Kal-El knew her . . . Because even though Kal-El knew her better than anyone . . . Clark knew all of her—even the snobby, self-absorbed, blind-sighted, short-tempered reporter who snubbed him time after time.
And he still loved her.
Superman still loved her. Clark still loved her, even after how she’d brushed him aside.
Besides the guilt, somehow that just made her feel warm inside.
He hadn’t left her. He wasn’t going to leave her.
It made her wonder if she could frighten him off even if she wanted to. Probably not. It’d probably be just like him trying to frighten her off. It just wouldn’t work.
She liked that thought. A lot.
Lois gave him a small, sideways smile. “Well, even though I should have figured out on my own, I guess I was just too stupid. So I didn’t really find out—you told me.”
“What?” He supposed there were enough hints for her to put it together, if that’s what she meant.
“No, you told me,” Lois said, as if reading his mind. She bit her lip, looking out the window. “While you were asleep. I guess you were having a dream.” She looked at him. “‘Lois, I’m Superman.’ You said it, just like you did tonight.”
Clark looked down at the mention of his nightmares, and Lois wondered why. She’d seen his nightmares before—both wakeful and sleeping—and she could understand. There was nothing for him to be embarrassed of, especially in front of her. And it was her job to make sure he understood that.
But Clark frowned. “But . . . that was Superman”
Lois wondered if he usually referred to himself in third person, or if it was just reflex, as he was dressed as Clark Kent. But then again, she’d heard Kal-El refer to “Superman” as another person before too, hadn’t she?
“Sure it was. But why would Superman tell me that he was Superman?” Lois pointed out. “It didn’t make sense, and once I realized that, everything kind of fell into place.”
“I—I guess that makes sense,” Clark said, a bit sheepishly. “So that was why—?” He stopped abruptly.
Lois knew what he had stopped himself from saying. “About today?” she finished. She bit her lip. “Clark, I . . . I know you. I . . . I know there’s so much I don’t know, but I want to know. I know you probably think that I’m being shallow or something, that I’m saying I love you just because Superman is you. But Clark—I figured it out. Superman is you, and it’s not the other way around. Finding out that you were Clark Kent all along explained so much that hadn’t made sense before. You are Kal-El—with a history, with a past. With a family, with fears, with hopes, with dreams . . . . ”
Clark was staring at her with that odd admiration mixed with reverence of his. “I—I think I underestimated you again, Lois.”
Lois sighed. “I don’t blame you. After everything, and all . . . .” she trailed off. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, Ka—Clark,” she smiled, embarrassed at her slip. “The more I find out about you, the more I realize that there’s so much more that I haven’t seen.”
Clark shifted, clearly uncomfortable at her scrutinizing. “I’m just a farmboy, Lois.”
“I know,” she replied, almost to herself. “That’s what is so amazing.”
She started the car and backed up, pulling out of the parking lot.
A small, almost secretive smile grew on her face and she looked at him crookedly as she stopped at a stoplight.
“Clark? I . . . I just have to ask . . . Why do you keep lifesavers in your pocket?”
Clark shot her a startled glance, his hand shooting to his pocket automatically—and to his own surprise, he laughed.
Lois knew. Everything was going to be all right now. The nightmare was over.
The nightmare was over
TBC . . . .
