Great chapter, Rachel, and welcome back!
Superman never stuttered. Kal-El stuttered— Clark stuttered.
The man who held never-ending confidence on the strength and goodness of mankind in a world that was rotting from the inside out, the man who would look at her with that undying faith in his eyes, the man with the confidence in his actions that he would lay down everything of his own to uphold his principles—that man was a humble, self-conscious, confident-lacking stutterer.
But why?
She watched him as finished ordering, marveling that the strongest man in the world was probably the one most sensitive.
What a wonderful tribute to Clark Kal-El Kent.
“Can you even think of a reason? Besides being brilliant, speaking another language, or ordering my dinner, I mean? Because if you're going to apologize for that, then you—” Then you need more help than I thought. That was what she had been about to say—which was a perfectly normal retort for one of Clark Kent's occasional dense moments. But her usual rant cut off suddenly. Her usual threats and grumblings to Clark felt so petty at best, and insensitive at worst.
Besides, Clark was already looking more guilty, not less, and she hadn't even finished, and that guilt reflected right back to her.
A rush of warm affection washed over her, followed by a strange protectiveness that was definitely weird to feel towards Clark, but wasn't a bad thing at all.
She reached out and put her hand over his where it rested on the table. “—then I'm just going to have to teach you better,” she finished.
I'm so glad to see that Lois is trying to break out of her pattern of scolding her mild-mannered partner.
He hesitated, then turned his hand over and interlaced his warm hand in hers. Lois would have been lying if she didn't say it was a bit strange, but she wouldn't have it otherwise.
His hand always was warm, wasn't it? The only time when she'd ever felt it cold was in the White Room, and that seemed so very far away, and yet there they still sat in it, together apart from the world.
She looked into his eyes, and knew everything was going to be all right.
They would make it all right. Together. She swore it.
That's lovely. And I wouldn't mind if they touched each other more often.
“It's the warehouse,” Lois said, slapping the paper down on the dashboard. “I could never forget that address. Not after . . . .”
“You mean—”
“Either they had planned for . . . what happened”—Lois shot him a look—“to happen someplace else and they had a change of plans, or like you said—they moved their experiments there. Either way, we need to check this out.”
They are going back to the
warehouse!!! To
that warehouse!!! Where Clark was so horribly tortured and almost killed!
“Still,” she muttered. “You shouldn't let everyone walk over you, Clark.”
“You're not just anyone, Lois.”
A hint of a smile pulled at her lip. “You've got that right, Flyboy,” she said. “I guess you can let me walk over you, when you want.”
“I trust you,” Clark said simply. And it was that simplicity that really brought the statement home.
Wonderful. Wonderful. The complete and utter trust inherent in these three short words... it is nothing short of miraculous.
It hit Lois like a full-fledged hammer, knocking her heart right into her throat. She swallowed with difficulty, and inhaled a long breath. How come that scared her so much, made her guilt rise up with double force, yet somehow she didn't think she'd ever heard anything so wonderful?
Yes, being given so much trust... it would make you feel inadequate and guilty, but at the same time, it would be the greatest possible tribute to you.
“Sor—”
Lois shot him a glare, and he stopped, realizing what he was doing. “Oh. Sor—I-I mean . . . .” he stuttered off.
Lois could help but quirk a smile at that. “Don't worry about it. We'll break you of that habit soon enough.” She reached over and patted him on the knee.
Superman's knee. In her car.
Along with the rest of him, of course.
Talk about surreal.
I love it.
So that was it. He'd just been trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. She certainly wasn't ungrateful—her hands were clammy and her mouth dry. Could he hear her heart thudding away in fear? And what about smell?
Now that was a weird thought.
But there he was, trying to lift her spirits when he was probably just as afraid and uncomfortable about this as she was, or likely more.
She was starting to sense a theme here.
But she wasn't going to think about the white room now, and how Clark had tried so hard to make her laugh, while he was bleeding out scarlet all over the white nothingness . . . .
And
Lois is suddenly beginning to realize how much
Clark has done to support
her, in spite of his own awful suffering!
“If you mean this time, eat my lucky stiletto,” she said, then paused. “In fact, if you mean when I came alone, you can eat it anyways. What else did you expect me to do?”
Clark looked at her again, then shrugged. “I--I guess . . . head straight into the mouth of danger and hope to strangle it on the way down?”
The man knew her too well. “Gets them every time,” Lois nodded.
Gaaahhh!!! I tell you, Rachel, the awful tension of this entire scene was just about as much as I could take!
“We should go,” he said.
He sounded like Superman. How hadn't she noticed it before? Or maybe it was just the serious, what-I-am-saying-may-save-your-life tone.
“Someone's here?”
“More than one,” Clark returned, with a flash of a weak smile, sounding more like himself . . . however that was.
Okay, Superman is back, good... but someone is there!! I can't stand it!!!
His fingers found what he was looking for. His fingernails slipped into the steel crack and he pulled. The wall slid open, and their shaking flashlight beams landed on steeply descending stairs.
“Well, this is original,” Lois said. “Let's go down the creepy staircases to Frankenstein's lab, shall we?”
She stepped down, and Clark followed, pulling the panel shut behind them. Pitch blackness, even darker than the halls above, fell over them like a shroud.
I would have died. I'm a super-claustrophobiac.
And there's kryptonite in that cellar, and dead cats - poor things - and
this: The electricity'd been out for weeks. It should be coagulated, clotted—rotting, like everything else in here. But as Clark turned away, putting the top back on with careful hands, she knew.
“Oh no,” she gasped. “That—that's . . . .” Blood. His blood.
Clark glanced at her, his eyes dark. “This isn't enough. They probably used the rest, or Luthor's keeping it somewhere else.”
Clark's blood!!!
But Clark stopped at one of the cages, reaching out to test the door. It was locked, but a tug solved that problem and the door eased open.
“This one's still alive,” he said, reaching in and lifting it up with a gentleness that didn't seem possible. Lois thought she heard a soft mew as he stepped forward slowly.
“Come on. He needs help, and I know a good vet just a short fl—drive away.”
Thank you for making Clark save the cat, Rachel.
Those who hang around these boards know my pet peeves all too well. For one thing, I keep insisting that the killing of young girls in fiction is a kind of plot device. It is perfect for fueling people's anger, because the killing of girls is so cruel and cowardly, since girls are cute, defenseless and sort of innocent. At the same time, girls are regarded as not all that important or valuable, which makes it okay to create a situation where the girls are dead. For example, just yesterday I saw an Academy Award-winning movie where a young girl, perhaps twelve years old, fights against evil and is instrumental in bringing down a very bad man. However, she dies herself in the end, but we are told that this is okay, because the girl went to a better world instead of this one! Honestly, can you remember a movie where a young boy fights against evil and
dies and we are told that it is all right that he is dead, because he went to a better world instead? They don't make movies like that, because it is never all right that a brave young boy dies. Only girls can be killed like that.
And cats! That was the reason for this long rant. The killing of cats is another plot device, because cats are like girls in many way - cute, defenseless and sort of innocent. It's cruel to kill them, but it's all right that they are dead, since they are not so valuable anyway. Well, guess what? I
hate this unthinking killing of cats!
And that is why I
love the fact that you had Clark save that cat! Seriously, Rachel, I love it. I mean it.
“But what about—”
“Never mind,” Clark said. “He doesn't have much time. And Luthor wouldn't have left anything here if any of it could have been brought back to him.” His voice was firm, unyielding, confident. Superman. He was in his essence again, just like when he was helping little Julia from the tree.
Curse the man. They were this close to tagging Luthor and a half-dead cat was the thing that made him throw everything into the air, just to save that one, miserable, worthless life.
It was ridiculous. Typical. Unreal. Unbelievable. Awe-inspiring, even.
That was what he did, after all. That was who he was.
Was there no end to the wonders of Clark Kent?
Yes, a cat's life is 'worthless'. But Clark Kent doesn't think so. I love it!!!
He paused, shutting his eyes for a short moment and breathing out the rest of an impossibly long breath. Lois understood. Even with that stench locked back behind metal doors, it was still sharp and pungent in her memory.
Had he been holding his breath that whole time—even while he'd been speaking?
I love the idea that Clark might have been holding his breath the entire time. And not just because of the smell, but because of the deep, deep fear that the place must have instilled in him.
They were shot at, and I almost had a heart attack, but Clark held on to the cat and Lois wasn't hurt and - -
“Clark! You were shot—!” Lois gasped.
Clark's eyebrows rose and he gave her a look. Lois immediately stopped, her eyes narrowing.
Still . . . .
“Are you okay?” she demanded, still short of breath, and feeling a bit jealous of his completely unwinded and calm self, standing there like they hadn't just run half a mile faster than the fastest Olimpic runner.
On the other hand, that was great. It hadn't been so long ago that he hadn't been able to make it to the bathroom without using up all the energy he had.
Clark's eyebrows lifted higher. “Um . . . maybe you missed the part of the conversation, Lois, but—”
“I know who you are, Clark. But I know better than anyone else that that really doesn't matter,” Lois snapped, the sudden rush of panic at the sight of the holes giving way to angry concern. “Now, are you all right?”
“Yes, Lois,” Clark said softly. He paused, then lifted his hand and opened it, letting two bullets fall to the ground with two soft clinks. “I've been catching bullets since my dad got me a .22 for my twelfth birthday. I'm fine.”
Phew!!!! And
eeeek!!! Lois stared at him for a moment without speaking. “You are so strange.”
From anyone else, it might have hurt. Hearing it from Lois, however, just made him smile as he settled the skin-and-bones cat under his coat, running a large hand gently down its sharply-ridged back. It purred weakly, nuzzling his hand.
It made him smile because she knew he was strange. She knew he was different. But it didn't matter to her.
I
love this. I just love it.
And Lois goes flying with Clark Kent!
Lovely, Rachel! But please don't scare me so much next time!
Ann
I love how Lois is still getting used to the idea that Clark is Superman. Her comments in this chapter were delightful. Especially when she feels the need to check to see if he is "cheating." 
