"Look ahead," Martha said. "Don't let her spoil what you have with your daughters. They love you. You're a wonderful father to them. Don't let your bitterness damage that."
"I'm not their father."
"And I'm not Clark's mother," Martha said. "But do you think that makes a scrap of difference to how much I love him?"
Evan smiled, knowing he had been outmanoeuvred. "What did you do with the green rock?"
"Took it to the bathroom and flushed it."
"I would have destroyed it," Evan said. "I would never have allowed it to be near Clark."
"I know." She squeezed his hand and looked around the room. "Do you think this flying mansion has the means to make a cup of tea?"
"It must have," Evan replied as he stood. "Let's investigate."
Part 21
The sound of a motor pierced the murky veil of Lois's misery.
Clark had left her.
And - although hours had passed - he hadn't returned.
She had waited. And hoped. And sobbed with regret. And become numb with fear.
But he hadn't returned.
There had been no whir of moving air. No footsteps. No call of her name.
Until now, the only sound to penetrate her torment had been the shrill of her cell phone.
But Clark didn't have a phone, so she had ignored it.
The motor stopped, and Lois groaned. She hoped that whoever it was would go away. Perhaps it was the sheriff, coming for the promised visit. Lois groaned again.
She struggled to a sitting position, and the shards jabbed callously inside her fragile head.
The clock said it was mid-afternoon.
She moved tentatively to the window.
An unfamiliar car had parked next to the Buick. It was black in colour, its darkened windows oddly reminiscent of a hearse.
By the time the front doors opened, Lois's heart was beating faster than normal.
Who was here? And what did they want?
Evan Shadbolt emerged from the driver's side.
He moved quickly to the passenger side and opened the door. A woman rose from the car and slowly scanned her surroundings, beginning with the house, moving past the barn, and then staring for a long moment out to the fields.
She was a slight woman, wearing a plain ankle-length dress under her drably functional coat.
It was Martha Kent.
She had come home.
And her son was gone.
Panic pulsed through Lois's veins. What was she going to do? How was she going to explain Clark's disappearance?
She only had the truth.
The time for cover-ups was over.
But her heart ached for the returning mother.
And for her shattered son.
They needed each other.
Clark *had* to come home.
Lois passed the dressing table and its mirror without stopping to inspect the damage she was sure had been wrought by hours of crying. She stumbled down the stairs, dreading the moment she came face to face with Martha Kent.
She had failed everyone.
She'd hurt Clark.
And because he had trusted her, the pain of her betrayal would probably go deeper than even that inflicted by Trask and Moyne.
The back door opened as Lois reached the bottom of the stairs. She heard a little gasp of joy - a tiny sound that poured scalding condemnation through the clefts of her heart.
She forced herself forward, crossing the living room with short sharp steps.
When she arrived at the doorway, two heads swung towards her.
Lois's gaze was drawn to Martha - the mother who had taken in the baby she had found in a spaceship. The mother who had loved her son irrespective of his differences. The mother who had suffered for that love.
Martha stepped towards Lois, her arms outstretched.
Lois put up her hand to maintain the distance between them. "You ... you don't know what I did," she said. "Clark isn't here," she added quickly.
Martha's arms dropped. "Did you tell him about me?"
Lois soundlessly shook her head. "No. He remembered. He remembered everything."
"And he got upset? Really upset?"
Lois could only nod as she awaited the other woman's response, unsure of what would be worse - her anger, her disappointment, or her reproach.
"Do you know where he is?" Martha asked.
"No," Lois said, fighting down her tears. "He stormed out this morning, and I haven't seen him since."
"You poor girl," Martha said, stepping up to Lois and enfolding her in her arms.
The embrace shook loose Lois's tears, but she clamped down on them, aware that it should be Clark's mom who was in need of comfort and support.
"Ssshh," Martha crooned. "Ssshh, honey. It will be all right."
Lois jolted back from Martha's shoulder. "H...how can it be all r...right?" she cried. "I've hurt him, and he'd already been hurt so much. I lied to him. I told him you were dead."
"What other choice did you have?" Martha asked gently. Her smile peeked out. "You are perfect for my boy," she said. "But you're both going to have to learn to stop taking responsibility for things that aren't your fault."
"But I lied to him. That was my fault. That was my decision."
"And if you'd told him the truth, how would that have helped?"
"He'd be here now. You'd have your son."
"By not telling him, you gave him a few days to enjoy being free from the chains of the past. You showed him what is possible."
Lois shifted her gaze from Martha to Evan, who was standing behind her, staring at the floor. "How much have you told her?" Lois asked him.
His head lifted, but it was Martha who replied. "He told me some," she said. "But mostly, I know Clark. I know how easily he blames himself. I know how quickly he decides that the solution to any problem is to withdraw. I have watched his struggles to feel at home on this foreign planet. I know that sometimes his self-sacrificing nature gets the better of his common sense."
"Did you know that he can get really, really angry?" Lois asked.
"Yes," Martha said calmly. "But I also know that he never gets angry at others. His anger is only ever directed at himself."
"No," Lois said vehemently. "Perhaps he has changed during the last seven years, because he was angry with me. And he had every reason to be angry with me."
Martha took a breath, lifted her head and shoulders, and looked straight into Lois's eyes. "Were you the one who captured him?" she demanded. "Were you the one who condemned him for being different? Were you the one who decided that he had to be wrenched from his home? Were you the one who blamed him for two murders? Were you the one who tore apart his family? Were you the one who caused his amnesia?"
"N...no," Lois whispered. "But I am the one who -"
"You are the one who loves him," Martha said. "You are the one who accepts him. You are the one who put her heart on the line to prove to him that being different isn't a life sentence of isolation." She took Lois's left hand in hers and looked at the rings. "You are the one who married him."
No words would come. All Lois knew was that she wanted to cry and cry and cry until the pain inside her finally subsided.
Martha turned to Evan. "You make a cup of tea for Lois," she said. "I'll go and talk to Clark."
"You don't understand," Lois said. "He's not in the barn. I went and looked for him. I called him. I couldn't find -"
"Of course he's not in the barn," Martha said. "He'll be in his tree house. That's where he always goes when he's upset."
"His tree house?" Lois said. "He never said anything about a tree house."
"It's meant to be a secret," Martha said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I think he was always a little bit embarrassed that he needed somewhere to go when his desire to be just a regular person became too much for him. Jonathan and I always pretended not to know of its existence."
"You think he's there now?" Lois asked. "Where's the tree house? I have to go to him. I have to try to make him understand how much he needs you. I have to make him see that if I'd handled this better -"
Martha put a restraining hand on Lois's arm. "Did he say we should leave him? That it's too dangerous for us to be with him?"
"Yes," Lois said. "But I have to make him see that -"
"Clark has worried about that most of his life," Martha said. "And of course, it finally happened, so I imagine his fears are even greater now." She smiled reassuringly. "You and I have some work to do to help him see that nothing is going to drive us away."
Lois had tried to do that. But all of her efforts had turned out so badly. "I ... I only wanted ..."
"Do you love him?"
"With my whole heart."
"Did you always try to do what would be best for him?"
"Yes. But -"
"That's all that matters."
"I don't think it's all that matters to Clark," Lois said dolefully. "I think he thinks I tried to force him into being someone he's not."
Martha patted Lois's arm. "Just promise me you won't leave until I've spoken with him."
"I won't leave," Lois said. "I've promised him I will never leave him."
Martha hugged Lois and then turned towards the door. Evan stepped into her path. "No," he said. "You can't go. The moment you first see Clark should be special for both of you. *I'll* go."
"He might still be angry," Lois said.
"Then it's better that he direct his anger at me than either of you," Evan said. "You two ladies sit down, have a cup of tea, and begin to get to know each other. When Clark is seeing things more clearly, I'll send him in."
Martha looked to Lois and then nodded. "OK," she said. "Thank you, Evan."
"Where's the tree house?"
"It's in the large spruce tree," Martha replied. "Go behind the barn and head north for about a hundred yards."
Evan walked out of the kitchen, leaving the two women alone. It was Martha who spoke first. "I am *so* glad that Clark found you," she said.
"I should make that tea," Lois said. "Or I'm going to start crying again."
Martha took off her coat. "Are my clothes still in the closet? Or have you packed them away?"
"They're in the closet. But Clark and I have been using your bedroom."
"I'll move my things into Clark's room later," Martha said. "But for now, I just want to get into something with a bit of colour."
"You don't have to change rooms. Clark and I can have his room."
"I shared that room with Jonathan for over twenty-five years," Martha said. "With him not here now, I'd prefer to be somewhere else."
"OK," Lois agreed, although the course back to sharing a bedroom with Clark seemed strewn with difficulties.
"Put the kettle on," Martha said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
||_||
Clark sat on the uneven wooden floor, one leg straight, one bent, his wrist resting on his knee as he stared ahead.
The images in his mind were strong enough to blot out everything else.
He was back in the cell again.
Alone.
Despised.
Filthy.
Unwanted.
He was different.
Unacceptable.
The people around him always got hurt.
He couldn't be with Lois. He couldn't allow her to risk being with him.
She was gone anyway.
She wasn't in the cell.
He was here.
Alone.
Forever alone.
||_||
Evan climbed the rope ladder and tapped on the door of the tree house.
There was no response.
He hadn't expected one. He pushed open the door and saw Clark. He climbed the last few steps and perched in the doorway.
Clark continued to stare ahead.
"Clark?" Evan said.
There was no acknowledgement of Evan's presence. "Your mom's here," he said nonchalantly.
Clark swallowed, but said nothing.
"She saw your photograph in the newspaper," Evan commented. "She is very proud of you."
Clark's thumb tapped against his knee.
"She came home as soon as she knew it was safe to do so."
"She won't be safe while I'm here."
"I can understand you feeling like that," Evan said.
Clark didn't move.
"But you see," Evan continued. "It doesn't matter how strong we are or how powerful we are, we all have to learn that sometimes other people can see things more clearly than we can."
Clark's head turned, and he faced Evan directly. "Would you leave, please?" he said. "This is not my prison, and you are not my guard."
"I'll leave," Evan said easily. "But not until I've said what I came to say."
Clark turned away, staring at the wall of the tree house.
"I probably understand better than anyone the pain and the anguish you have suffered," Evan said. "I witnessed it. Heck, I contributed to it. I saw things the way I wanted to see them and remained blind to the things I didn't want to see. I feel such overwhelming guilt for what I did to you - but I don't pity you."
Clark shifted his foot, dragging it closer to his body and sharpening the angle of his knee.
"I don't pity you," Evan said. "I envy you. I envy what you have right now."
Clark turned, his brown eyes sparking. "You envy my powers?" he said scornfully. "You envy what I can do? It is nothing -"
"No," Evan said. "I don't envy what you can do; I envy what you have." He gestured in the direction of the house. "You have two women who love you. And if that isn't enough, they are two of the strongest, most incredible people I have ever met. I have spent the last four years despising half the population simply because they were women, but in Lois and your mother, I see characteristics deserving of the highest respect."
Clark's head rolled backwards, and he looked at wooden planks of the low ceiling.
"And they both adore you," Evan said. "They both accepted you without reservation. They are both staunchly committed to your wellbeing and happiness." He paused, hoping to add emphasis to his next words. "They both deserve a hell of a lot more than you're giving them."
Clark's head spun around, his mouth open with a retort. It closed slowly, and only a groan of pain emerged.
"All they want is for you to accept what is so obvious to them - that you are Clark first, and an alien second."
"That wasn't how it was the night Trask and Moyne came here and took me away," Clark snapped.
"But we're not talking about Trask and Moyne," Evan said. "We're talking about Lois and Martha. They love you. They love you despite your differences. They love you because of your differences. The bottom line is that they just love you - and they'll continue to love you no matter how long you fight their perception of who you are."
"I know who I am," Clark said. "I proved it today. Moyne always said that if I was ever with a human woman, I would hurt her."
Evan nodded. "And you hurt Lois today."
Clark sucked in a breath of utter pain. "I know," he said. "I could hear her crying. I had to stop listening. I didn't know that I could tune out sounds, but I had to block out her crying. I couldn't bear it any longer."
"She's upset because she knows she hurt you."
"She didn't do anything wrong," Clark said fiercely.
"She's sorry that she lied to you about your mom."
"What else was she supposed to do?" Clark fired at him. "How could she have explained Mom going missing seven years ago without also telling me what I'd been doing during that time?"
"She couldn't. But she's still upset. She's still afraid."
"She should be afraid. What if someone like Trask -"
"Lois isn't afraid of that," Evan said. "She's afraid because, other than when you had amnesia, you have never given her any indication that you can perceive a situation realistically. You always want to shoulder the blame yourself. She's scared that you are going to leave her."
"I am," Clark declared. "After the way I treated her this morning, that's what she should want."
"You're probably right," Evan said. "But you know Lois. She doesn't take well to others telling her what she should think. When she was given her last assignment, I'm sure they told her what to think about the prisoner. But ... she's Lois. No one is ever going to convince her that you're anything other than a strong, kind, gentle hero. Not even you. And your mother is exactly the same. Like I said, you are probably the luckiest guy on this planet."
"What am I going to do?" Clark asked desperately.
"Well, you could cling to what Trask and Moyne told you, and in doing that, you will put those two women through a mountain of pain. Neither of them will leave you, of course, nor will they blame you, but it will hurt them immensely."
"I spent seven years listening to Moyne. I can't stop his voice."
"You could start listening to Lois and your mom. They both have a lot to say about who they think you are."
"It's not that simple. I am who I am."
"Exactly. But are you going to look at all the putrid trash that has been piled on you? Or are you going to look at the man underneath? I know what Martha and Lois see."
"And what if I fail them? Again?"
"Clark," Evan said. "What is the big problem here? Is it that you're not human? Or that you're not perfect?"
"I ..."
"None of us is perfect," Evan said. "We all make mistakes. Some of us are carrying the burden of far greater mistakes that you will ever know."
"I'm ... I'm not sure how to face them."
"Simple," Evan said. "All you're going to have to do is walk into that kitchen. With those two women, you don't have to *do* anything to be accepted. You just are."
"I can't believe how I spoke to Lois," Clark said. "I can't believe she will be able to forgive me."
"I can't believe that you will ever be able to forgive me," Evan said. "Perhaps you have. Perhaps you haven't. I don't even have the right to ask for your forgiveness. But if you could even consider forgiving me for seven years of wrong, I think you can realise that it's going to be possible for Lois to forgive you for a few misspoken words."
"It was more than a few misspoken words," Clark said. "I was so angry. She was there. I -"
"Of course you were angry," Evan said. "You have every justification for being angry. All that time ... all those years, when you had to keep every single emotion bottled away inside you. Of course it was going to come out. It had to."
"But not at Lois. I wasn't angry with her."
"Then go and tell her that. She'll understand."
"Do you think so?" Clark asked plaintively.
Evan smiled. "I thought you knew Lois," he said.
Clark almost smiled. "I do," he said.
"Then don't ask stupid questions."
Clark swung onto his knees. "Let's get out of here," he said.
Evan climbed down the ladder. Clark jumped to the ground. They walked together in silence. When they'd passed the barn, Evan stopped. He extended his hand. "Good luck, Clark," he said.
Clark shook his hand. "You're not coming in?"
"No."
"I'm sure Mom will want to thank you for bringing her home."
"No. I've done what I was assigned to do. It's time to go."
Evan turned to the car. With a flash of movement, Clark was between Evan and the car. "How long ago did my father die?" he asked.
"Five years ago."
"How long have you been with my mother?"
"Since yesterday evening."
Clark stared at Evan. Evan stared back. "You care for her, don't you?" Clark asked quietly.
"I said you were the luckiest guy on the planet," Evan said.
"Have you told her?"
"Clark, there's no room here for me. I know that."
"Have you asked Mom what she wants?"
"No. And I'm not going to. You ... Lois ... your mom ... you deserve a chance to get on with your lives without a stain from the past."
"Perhaps in time?"
"No. Never." Evan opened the car door. "I made a terrible mistake. Now I have to pay for it."
||_||
Martha heard the motor start.
That meant Evan was leaving.
She turned to Lois. "I think Clark's coming," she said.
Lois stood up. "I'll wait upstairs. I'm sure you want some time alone with your son."
"When I'm done with him, I'll send him up to you," Martha said. "And I'll go out and begin to reclaim my vegetable garden - so you'll have the house to yourselves."
"I hope ... I hope it's everything you both deserve."
"Thank you, honey."
Lois slipped away, and Martha turned to the door, awaiting her son as the excitement welled like effervescent spring water inside her.
She saw his shadow pass the window.
Her heart accelerated, pushing pure exhilaration through her veins.
The door handle turned.
The door swung open.
And Clark was there.
Martha sprinted forward into his arms. She held him, crying and laughing and crying some more.
"Mom," he breathed. "Oh, Mom."
She held him, marking time with his breaths. Finally, she took hold of his shoulders and eased away from him so she could look at him. There were tears on his cheeks, and his face was no longer that of a man just stepping into adulthood - but he was still Clark.
Her Clark.
"Did ... did they hurt you?" he asked.
"No," she said.
"Please don't try to save me from the truth."
"For two years, I was safely tucked away where Trask couldn't find me," she said. "Then after your father died, I was allowed to join a rural community."
"Did they tell you anything about what happened to me?"
"A man called Philip Deller wrote me," she said.
"*Deller* wrote you?"
"Yes."
"Did he tell you details? Did he tell you where I was? And ... and other stuff?"
Martha couldn't bear to look at the pain in his eyes. "No," she said, brushing a motherly hand across his shirt. "And unless you want to tell me, I don't want to know."
"I don't want anyone to know."
She looked up to his face. "He told me you were alive. He had a plan to free you. I'm not sure what he intended to do, but I fear he paid for his kindness with his life."
"There has been so much death," Clark said. "Dad ..."
Martha hugged him closely, noting how broad he had become. "I'm sorry, Clark. I wish your dad could have been here today."
"Did he suffer?" Clark asked.
"He had a heart attack. They took him to the hospital, and he died later that night."
"Did they let you go with him?"
"Yes. I was with him when he died."
"I'm so sorry, Mom," Clark said. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be with you."
"There have been a lot of times in the past seven years when we haven't been able to be where we wanted to be," Martha said.
"I'm s -"
"It's time to move on," Martha said, cutting across his apology. "It's finally time to move on."
"I ... I don't know if I can."
"Yes, you can. The three of us can move on together."
Clark looked around the kitchen. "Is Lois still here?" he asked, his voice quivery with fear.
"She promised you she would never leave you."
"Have you met her?"
"Met her, fell in love with her, and was completely swept off my feet by my son's good fortune," Martha said.
Clark's smile glimmered, but the fear didn't leave his eyes. "I hurt her."
"She's upstairs, waiting for you."
"What if I hurt her again?"
"That's a risk we all take when we love," Martha said. "I lost you for a time, and it hurt so bad that sometimes it felt like my heart was being torn apart. But if I could go back to the moment when I first looked into your little spaceship, do you think I would walk away? Even if I knew everything I know now?"
"I ... I ..."
"Of course I couldn't," she said. "There has never been a day that I have regretted picking you up and bringing you home."
"What about -"
"No. Not even for one day."
"But Lois and me ... That's different."
"I lost your father, too," Martha said. "But think of how lonely and how empty my life would have been without the two of you."
"You've been without the two of us for the past five years," Clark said.
"Exactly," she retorted. "And why were those years so full of longing for you and your dad? Because I knew what I was missing, that's why. How blessed I am that I had all those good years."
"I ... I'm not sure I can ... I can't see things that way."
"That's why you need to get up those stairs and start living the wonderful life you've been given."
"So that I know what I'm missing if they come back and take me again?"
"No - so you don't get to the end of your days and realise that you chose emptiness when you could have had such abundance. That you chose fear when love was right there for the taking."
"I can't hurt her again."
"Yes, you can. And you will. She'll probably hurt you, too. That's life. That's marriage. That's love."
"But this is *Lois*. I can't bear it when she's hurting."
Martha pointed upwards. "Then go make it better."
"I ... I don't know how to."
She gave him a little shove towards the door. "She's your wife, Clark. She's waiting for you in the bedroom. That might not tell you where to start, but it should certainly give you some idea of where to finish."
Clark's jaw dropped.
"I'm going outside to see if I can find any trace of my vegetable garden," Martha said. "It's horribly neglected. I'll be busy for at least three or four hours."
He seemed a little dumbfounded.
"Go," Martha said. "The best thing about a few angry words is the make-up s-"
But Clark was gone.
Martha chuckled as she walked out of her kitchen and headed to the garden shed in search of her tools.
It was so good to be home.
||_||
Clark reached the top of the stairs and stopped. The door to his childhood bedroom was closed; the door to his parents' bedroom was open.
Her heartbeat was coming from the room to his right.
The open door.
She was in there.
He couldn't hear movement.
Was she angry?
Would she talk to him?
He didn't know what to say. How could he draw anything coherent from his jangle of emotions?
How could he make her understand that his anger had been directed at Trask? And Moyne? And his own inability to prevent his slide back into the sludge of their vitriol?
He had to go into the bedroom.
He had to see Lois.
He had to try to explain.
His head shot up at the sound of a footstep.
She was in the doorway.
Her eyes were puffy; her hair still carried the tracks of her comb.
From the tree house, he had heard her weeping, and it had gouged his heart. Seeing the effects of her distress felt like acid on open wounds.
"Come on in," she said, her expression inscrutable. She stepped back.
Clark hesitated. So much had happened in this room.
The bedroom therapy - the battles waged within him between Moyne's poison and Lois's loving encouragement and understanding.
And the intimacies of their marriage - made possible because of the shield of amnesia.
But that shield had been shattered.
Lois waited for him.
The spectre of the cell rose from hibernation and roared through the corridors of his mind.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't go into the bedroom with Lois. She would expect ... She wouldn't understand. How could she understand that everything had changed? That the man who had made love with her last night had crumbled in the harsh light of the truth?
But he couldn't just walk away.
Not from Lois.
Not after what he had said to her.
Clark opened his mouth, wanting to speak, wanting to wipe his earlier words from her memory.
His mouth closed.
Animal. Dirty animal.
Moyne's voice snaked through his mind, leaving a toxic trail of contamination.
"Come on in," Lois said.
Had he glimpsed a smile?
If not from her mouth, perhaps from her tear-chafed eyes?
Fixing his gaze in hers, Clark shuffled forward. One step. Two steps into the room.
Within touching distance.
She looked up to him.
He wanted to run. To run away before she saw through his transparent covering and perceived his shame.
But he couldn't move. His feet were heavy. His hands were anchored to the bottom of his pockets.
Her gaze didn't waver, detaining him with invisible bonds. "I'm sorry, Clark," she said. "I shouldn't have lied to you."
*She* was sorry. "I ... I'm sorry, too," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." There was more he should say, but before he could even begin to compose the words, Lois smiled.
Not a smile fully formed, but potent with ...
Acceptance.
Palpable. Complete. Indestructible. Unconditional acceptance.
That had never changed.
It had been there the first time ... when he had dared to look at her as he'd offered her the Neosporin. It had been there as she'd walked across the cell to him two days later. It had been there when she had washed his hair. It had been there as she'd cut the poison from his shoulder.
It was still there now.
Acceptance. So pure. So powerful.
She stepped behind him. She closed the door. And shut out the world.
She came closer. She reached for him. Her hands landed on his shirtsleeves, just down from his shoulders.
Heat erupted, melding her palms to his body.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't move.
Her hands lifted, and she took hold of his top button and slipped it from the hole.
"N...n...no," he said on a quivering breath.
She ignored him. She moved to his second button and unloosed that.
"Lois," he said as his panic reared. "I can't."
"Let me," she said.
"I *can't*."
"Let me."
She dropped to his third button. And his fourth. And lower, to his fifth. When his shirt hung open, she took a fistful of either side of his shirt and pulled it from his jeans.
He was trembling now.
He couldn't do this.
Moyne's voice reverberated through his head.
Animal.
Scum.
Abomination.
Inhuman monster.
Her fingertip grazed softly down his chest.
He shivered as her touch rippled through his flesh and to his core.
Her hands slipped inside his open shirt and cupped the curves of his ribcage.
Moyne's voice hammered again, more insistent now.
Animal.
No woman would ever touch you.
You're a freak.
"I can't," Clark grated.
"Let me."
Her hands moved with slow deliberation. Her fingertips. Her thumb. Sliding across his skin.
Moyne's voice screamed loathing and abuse.
Animal.
Dirty animal.
Her hands coasted upwards, across his pecs, and onto his shoulders. Her thumbs traced his collarbones, and her fingers climbed the sides of his neck. His eyes closed. She rode the ridges of his shoulders, pushing the shirt from his body.
He stood before her.
Exposed.
Within him, the battle raged.
Moyne's voice spewed hate.
Lois's hands massaged love.
The voice surged, seizing the ascendency. Clark's spirit crumbled in defeat.
He couldn't do this.
He was an animal.
He wasn't human. He had no right to her.
He had no right to any woman.
Her hands moved slowly down his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. They felt like silk on his skin. They rounded his ribs and flattened on his back, moving, stroking, caressing.
Her sweater brushed against his chest.
He breathed in the scent of her.
Her mouth contacted his - a touch so fleeting that she was gone before the harsh voice could rise in protest.
But it came.
No woman will ever want you.
A woman wants a man - a real man, not a murdering brute who lives like swine.
From the far recesses of his consciousness, other memories stirred.
Memories of her touch. Her mouth. Her body.
Memories that stood in defiance of Moyne.
He felt her kiss again. Was it memory-fuelled imagination? Or reality?
Clark's mouth fell open. Her kiss deepened. It was her. Now.
No woman ...
"Let me," she whispered into his mouth. "Let me."
Her hands captured his head. Her body pressed against his.
Moyne's taunts rose again, loud and insistent. Monster! Vile beast! Murderer!
She continued to kiss him, and his pulse boomed through his head, drowning out the words.
She eased him towards the bed. They turned, her mouth never breaking from his. The world dropped away. Her hands pushed on his shoulders, and he allowed himself to fall onto the cold sheet that felt like ice under the burning skin of his back.
Lois followed him, her body tight against his.
Animal.
Filthy animal.
He snatched his hands from his pockets and clung to her.
Her body. Her hands. Her mouth. He knew her. He knew her intimately.
And he trusted her.
Lois beckoned him forward. She called him out of captivity with the sweet promise of freedom.
Her strength was overwhelming.
He couldn't resist.
Not Lois.
Ani ...
The voice came one last time, but it was beaten. The sting had gone. Seven years of Moyne's hatred could not stand against the power of her love. The battle had been won.
Her voice came softly through the quietness. "I love you, Clark. I love you."
The hatred was gone.
The fear was beaten.
And he was free.
