Epilogue
Clark Kent stood in the drizzling rain as the casket containing Mayson Drake's body was lowered to its resting place.
He had dreaded coming, but he had been unable to stay away. He'd feared his presence would add to her family's pain, but he'd felt compelled to give them a chance to ask questions of him. Or vent their anger for his part in the tragedy of Mayson's death. Or ignore him as being irrelevant to her life.
Other than having received the standard greeting as he'd entered the church, no one had spoken to him or acknowledged his presence.
The casket stopped, the priest said the final blessing, a few flowers were thrown in final farewell, and the gathering of mourners began to slowly disperse.
Clark turned away, walking slowly and enveloped in a cloud of detachment from which there seemed no escape.
__|~|__
Lois checked the clock for about the hundredth time. She was in her apartment, but her thoughts were with Clark at Mayson's funeral.
There were smatterings of relief mixed in with her concern. The day had finally come. Perhaps after today, Clark would be able to move on.
Perhaps *they* would be able to move on.
A week has passed since they had slept in his bed, blanketed in the newness of shared knowledge - Clark was Superman and Lois loved Clark.
She had woken up alone. She had wandered from the bedroom and found him staring out of the window.
He had turned to her and given her a nebulous smile that hadn't had the strength or conviction to penetrate the haunted shadows lurking in his eyes.
Now, Lois regretted that she hadn't walked right up to him, taken him into her arms, and held him in resolute testament to the progress they had made.
But, determined to honour her promise not to pressure him, she had met Clark's smile with one just as full of uncertainty and agreed without question when he'd suggested they go to the police station and follow up the story of Lana's arrest.
They had both slipped back from the edge - back to the ease and familiarity of being friends and partners.
Of course, one thing was new. Now they were also fellow-conspirators in the world's biggest secret.
Although, Clark had avoided being with her as Superman.
Did he resent her uninvited presence in the exclusive group who knew that Superman had an everyday life as Clark Kent? Did he harbour even the slightest of fears that she would reveal what she knew? Or, more likely, did he worry that her knowing would somehow threaten her safety?
Lois could only speculate. They hadn't talked. Not about anything that really mattered.
Henderson had come to the Daily Planet the day after Lana had been formally charged, seeking answers for why Clark had been so uncooperative.
Lois had blathered on, citing his concern for Lana. His concern for Superman's reputation. His concern for his partner's safety.
In the end, she'd probably confused Henderson more than she had convinced him, but Lois thought she had probably done enough that the busy cop wouldn't give too much more thought to where Clark had been during the long hours of the night.
Clark had tried to help Ray and Millie Lang when they'd arrived in Metropolis.
Superman had visited at least a dozen of the people injured in the subway collapse, bringing a little excitement to their hospital-bound lives.
But as Lois and Clark had played out the charade of status quo, she had watched him carefully and one thing had become patently obvious. Although Superman was invulnerable in body, Clark Kent was very definitely not invulnerable in heart.
It hurt him deeply that people had believed he could have shot Mayson.
Being questioned by the police had shaken him.
Being unable to answer truthfully had eroded his confidence that he could be both Superman and Clark Kent.
And he was trapped in his guilt at having been the person who had brought Lana and Mayson together.
Lois had hated the thought of Clark going to the funeral alone. She'd known how difficult it would be for him.
But they'd both known she couldn't go. Not to the funeral of the woman whose unrequited love for Clark had indirectly led to her death.
So Clark had gone, and Lois had stayed.
She looked at the clock again and sighed. It had only advanced a few minutes.
__|~|__
"Mr Kent?"
He turned. His heart plummeted. The woman who had said his name was young. Blonde. Pretty. And enough like Mayson to snatch his breath away. "Ms Drake," he said. "I am so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," she said. "And thank you for coming. We appreciate the gesture."
Clark began to breathe more easily. "I will always regret my actions in the final few days of Mayson's life," he said.
"She was in love with you."
The woman's calm statement whipped across his heart. Clark had no reply.
"I know you didn't feel the same way."
"I …" He'd had many opportunities to state his true feelings for Mayson. Now was not the time.
"Mayson was never a person to take a hint," her sister said with a sad smile. "You had to be blunt or she just continued on, happily believing that everyone was in the place she had designated for them."
"I didn't want to hurt her," Clark said, knowing how inadequate it sounded against the backdrop of her death.
"I'm guessing 'blunt' isn't your strong point."
Clark shook his head. "I wish … I wish I had -"
Ms Drake gripped his arm. "Mayson valued life," she said. "That's why she wanted to be a DA - to get justice for those who had been hurt. She wouldn't want us to waste our lives with regrets."
Clark nodded tightly. Perry had told him that. His mom had said it, too. And he was pretty sure Lois had spent most of the past week thinking it.
"I'm very glad you were never charged with her murder," Mayson's sister said. "I knew you couldn’t have done it."
"You did?"
"Mayson's job brought her into contact with the worst of people - murderers and rapists and people who abuse children. She could never have fallen in love with a man who could kill."
Clark could only murmur his appreciation for her insight.
Mayson's sister released her grip on his arm and patted him a couple of times. "Don't linger here, Mr Kent. Mayson has moved on. You should, too." She turned away from him and walked back to the sanctuary of her family.
Clark waited while all of the cars drove away, leaving him alone.
He turned around and faced the hole in the ground. "Goodbye, Mayson," he said. "I'm sorry."
__|~|__
It was nearly two hours after the scheduled starting time for Mayson's funeral, and Lois was beginning to worry.
Had something happened?
Had someone recognised Clark? Had something been said that had caused him to sink further into the mire of self-recrimination?
Lois stood from her sofa with purpose. It was time to act.
Whatever had happened, Clark needed her. As his friend. And as the woman who loved him and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.
She quickly tidied the few stray objects lying around her apartment and then set her table with a lacy cloth, candles, her plates with the hand-painted roses, her best silver, and two wine glasses.
Then, she went to search her wardrobe for her most romantic, most alluring outfit.
She loved Clark. He had said nothing could kill his love for her. Nothing. Not even an accusation of murder.
It was time to celebrate that love.
__|~|__
Pannikin was almost back to her normal self - prowling around the apartment in futile pursuit of non-existent vermin.
Mrs McCreadie sat in her chair near the window, drinking her late afternoon cup of tea and dividing her attention between her cat and her neighbourhood.
As she watched, Mr Kent, carrying a bunch of mixed flowers and dressed in a black suit and a smart charcoal overcoat, walked under her window and let himself into his apartment.
Mrs McCreadie smiled. She hadn't seen that nice reporter, Lois Lane, since the day the murderer had been arrested. Flowers were definitely a good sign. Mrs McCreadie eagerly stood from her chair and peered out of the window.
She waited for ten minutes, finishing her tea while she scanned the extremities of her visibility, but Lois Lane did not appear and Clark did not leave his apartment.
Disappointed, Mrs McCreadie returned her cup to the kitchen. Pannikin relented from her one-cat crusade against the rodent world and came over, looking for some affection.
Her purr-engine had just started when a knock sounded.
After a final glide over Pannikin's sleek flank, Mrs McCreadie went to the door and opened it. "Oh. Mr Kent. Clark."
He smiled. He pushed forward the bunch of flowers he was holding.
"They're for me?" Mrs McCreadie asked, feeling swamped by an odd mix of disbelief, delight, and dismay.
"They're to thank you for what you did for Lois," he explained. "I'm so incredibly grateful that you went to help her."
"Oh." With hands that trembled slightly, Mrs McCreadie reached out and took the bouquet. "Th…thank you, Mr Kent. I don't remember …" She'd been going to say she didn't remember the last time a handsome young man had given her flowers, but she chopped off her words. "That's very kind."
Clark slipped his other hand from his overcoat pocket and offered her a tin. "This is for Pannikin," he said. "The label says it's 'gourmet fish'." His smile was endearingly self-conscious - if Mrs McCreadie had been twenty-five years younger, she probably would have invited him in and locked the door. If she'd been fifteen years younger, she might have considered it.
Instead, she took the tin and gave him another smile of thanks. "I read in the paper that Lana Lang was charged."
"Yeah."
"And Ms Drake was buried today."
The spasm of pain that crossed his face made Mrs McCreadie wish she hadn't mentioned the funeral, but it was too late now.
"Did you go?" she inquired gently.
He nodded.
"Did Ms Lane go?"
"No. We decided … We thought it might not be appropriate."
"I haven't seen her for a few days."
"No. We … we've been busy. The subway collapse … There's always a story to write."
Mrs McCreadie thrust the flowers towards him. "Mr Kent," she said firmly. "Clark. These are lovely, but please … I'm not the person you should be giving flowers to."
He appeared flustered for a moment, but he didn't take back the flowers. "I will. It's just …"
"Have you and Ms Lane had a fight?"
"No. No. Nothing like that. It's just …"
"Hard to forget? Hard to accept something so wonderful when you can't forget that one woman is dead and another is going to be in prison for a very long time?"
The young man nodded, his lovely brown eyes eloquent with confusion and regret.
Mrs McCreadie reached across the bouquet to rest a motherly hand on the sleeve of his jacket. "Go to Lois," she said. "Go and talk to her. Tell her everything."
"Tell her that I feel guilty because I couldn't be what Lana needed? Guilty because I couldn't be what Mayson needed? Guilty because I'm drowning in so much guilt, I can't be what she needs?"
"If that's what you're feeling, then, yes. Tell her that."
"She deserves better than that. She … she risked her life, for me. Without you …" He cleared this throat and studied his shoes.
"Would you have done the same for her?"
His head shot up. "Yes. But that's different."
"She loves you."
"What if I disappoint her?"
"Clark," Mrs McCreadie said sternly. "I think there is a much greater chance you will disappoint yourself than you will disappoint her."
His mouth opened but no sound emerged.
"Has she ever disappointed you?" Mrs McCreadie asked.
His nod was barely perceptible.
"Did you stop loving her?"
"No!"
Mrs McCreadie hid her smile at the vehemence of his reply. "What happened to Mayson Drake was a tragedy, but it wasn't Lois's fault."
"Of course it wasn't," he exploded.
"Then stop making her pay for it."
He stared at her, dumbstruck. Mrs McCreadie gathered the flowers closer to her face and inhaled deeply. "These are lovely," she said. "But on second thoughts, I think I should keep them. Go and buy another bouquet - I suggest red roses - and take them to Lois."
His smile simmered for a moment before gaining more strength. "I hope Pannikin enjoys the fish."
Mrs McCreadie chuckled. "I expect to see Lois as a regular visitor to your apartment from now on."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Go and get out of those black clothes and put on something cheery," Mrs McCreadie instructed. "Perhaps navy pants, a white shirt, that nice beige jacket of yours, and the vibrant blue tie with the beautiful red rose."
"You think so?" he asked dubiously.
"Yes." She shooed him away with the bouquet. "Get out of here. You have more important things to do than chat with an old woman."
He put a light hand on her shoulder. "Thank you," he said gravely. "Thank you for everything you did for us. I won't ever forget."
Feeling a sudden spurt of tears into eyes that hadn't cried since the day she had buried her husband, Mrs McCreadie nodded abruptly, stepped back, and shut the door.
She buried her nose into the flowers, allowing their sweet aroma to infuse calm through her dishevelled emotions. Then she straightened and bustled into the kitchen. "Pannikin!" she called. "Come and see what that nice Mr Kent has brought for you."
__|~|__
Lois slowly replaced her phone. She'd dialled Clark's home number, but he hadn't answered. She had refrained from calling his cell phone, just in case he was still at the funeral.
She checked the mirror again and despite her worries, she couldn't stop the little rush of satisfaction.
She looked great. Feminine. Sexy.
She had achieved exactly the message she wanted.
A woman did not dress like this for a friend.
A woman dressed like this for one man. One very special man.
A knock sounded, and her heart leapt.
Lois hurried over to her door. She stretched to look through the peek hole and saw a red rose. Behind it, there was a splash of blue and red tie and a white shirt outlined with the lapels of a beige jacket.
It was Clark.
With trembling fingers, Lois released all three locks and swung open the door.
They both froze, suspended on opposite edges of the chasm, within one step of leaving 'just-friends' behind forever.
Clark shyly extended the single - perfect - rose.
Lois reached forward and accepted his gift.
She examined its flawlessly formed petals and inhaled its beautiful scent.
"I didn't buy a bunch," Clark said. She looked from the flower and into his face. "I … I only have one heart, and …"
Lois waited.
"… it's yours."
Lois felt her tears rise - tears of empathy for all he had endured, tears of celebration for his strength, tears of hope that they had finally reached the place where they were *both* ready to move forward.
"I'm sorry for …" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry about …"
Lois swallowed, easing the tension in her throat and making speech possible. "This last week?"
Clark nodded. "I couldn't get past -"
"It's OK," Lois said. "I understand."
"Thank you," he breathed. His hand lifted in brief salute towards her dress. "You're beautiful." His eyes meandered from her feet to her face. "You look stunning. Were you expecting company?"
"Yes. You."
His responding smile was pure Clark, unfettered by doubts.
Lois felt drawn to stare at him - to savour the knowledge that Clark had returned to her - but she didn't want their open communication to become bogged in silence. "Thank you for the rose," she said.
Clark's expression became more serious as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants. "I'm hoping it will say the things I have been so slow to say. That I need you. That you're my best friend. That I want to be with you every day of my life." A smile touched his lips. "That I have been in love with you for a very long time."
"I thought we had agreed that that was to be my line this time."
His smile billowed to full strength, mushing her muscles. "You can say it anytime you want to. I'm ready to hear it now."
Because this felt *exactly* like being with Clark, Lois couldn't resist teasing him. "Say what?" she inquired with a little quirk of one eyebrow.
"You said you had been in love with me for a long time."
"I did. I was. I am. I always will be."
Clark gripped her elbow as his earnestness swept away their banter. "Lois," he said. "Thank you for helping me when I was in trouble. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for accepting everything about me. And although I can't even think about Lana pointing a gun at you without feeling sick, thank you for risking your life to save me."
Lois plunged directly into those deep brown eyes. "I didn't believe for one second that you had done what the evidence said you had done."
"Before you came to get me from the police station, that was what terrified me the most. It wasn't being charged with murder, it wasn't facing a court and trying to defend myself when I couldn't be totally honest, it wasn't even the world finding out that I'm an alien. It was that my best friend and the woman I love might believe that I could kill."
"That is never going to happen," she vowed. "Never."
He stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing, but conveying much. Then, with a touch of awkwardness, he said, "Do you mind if I come in?"
With a smile of welcome, Lois stepped back. Clark entered her apartment, turning to shut the door behind him.
When he faced her again, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and captured her gaze. "I love you, Lois," he said. "I have loved you since the moment I met you in Perry's office. I will always love you."
Lois shaped her palm to his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. "I love you, Clark," she said. "It took me a long time to realise, but now I know I will always love you, too."
He sighed with quiet contentment, causing bubbles of elation to cavort across Lois's heart. Elation and anticipation. Surely, now was the perfect time for him to seal their declarations of love with a kiss.
He took the rose from her hand and carefully laid it on the table between the candles. "Did you order in?" he asked with a grin. "Or did you cook?"
"Neither," she replied, trying to smother her disappointment.
"Neither?"
"I thought Superman could take me to any restaurant in the world and we could bring our food back here for an intimate meal for two."
"Is that what you'd like?"
"Yes," she said gravely, knowing his question and her answer referred to more than just the details of food.
There was a blur of evolving colour, and then Superman stood before her.
Lois felt her mouth drop. "Wow!" she breathed.
"Where would you like to go?" he asked casually.
But suddenly, Lois didn't want to go. Not now. She wanted to be alone with Clark for just a little longer. "You tripped up, you know?" she said.
Superman didn't look unduly worried by her assertion. "I did?"
"I told Superman that my mom was in rehab. I never told Clark. But Clark said she was in the best place where they could help her."
Clark's mouth fell open. "You were testing me?" he said. "*That's* why you suddenly wanted to talk about your week away?"
She nodded. "And you failed the test, giving me proof of my hypothesis."
Superman grimaced a little. "I'm sorry, Lois. It must have felt as if I didn't want to share that part of my life with you."
"I figure the habit of protecting the secret is pretty engrained by now."
"Yeah. I just felt … uncomfortable. I'd wanted you to know for so long, but I was scared it would change us - change our friendship."
"Change isn't always bad," she reminded him.
"Is it going to matter? Can we still be ... us?"
"Are you asking if I can love a man who is two people?"
"I'm asking if you can love me, Clark Kent. That's all I want."
"Yes," she declared. "I love you, Clark." She grinned. "And I can love Superman, too."
His smile was full. Lois waited. Waited for him to ease a little closer. Waited for him to take them to the next step.
He didn't move. Her overtaxed supply of patience withered to nothing.
"Suddenly, I'm not so hungry," she said. "We can fly later."
"OK," he said warily.
Lois twirled her hand in a circular motion. Superman spun, and a second later, Clark stood before her. She stepped up to him and rested her fingers on the knot of his navy blue tie. "Do I have to start undressing you to kiss you again?"
His shock lasted only a few moments before being dissolved by a wide grin. "No," he said. "But please don't let that stop you."
"Clark!"
He just kept on grinning at her, looking happy and carefree and ridiculously pleased with himself.
"Don't you think I've waited long enough for you to kiss me?" Lois demanded.
"*You've* waited?" he exclaimed. "I waited so much longer than -"
She put her finger over his mouth, hushing him. Her hand slowly dropped away. His arms surrounded her. His hand cupped her neck. His lips met hers. Hesitant introduction flourished into comprehensive exploration as his mouth imprinted hers with wave after wave of his love.
Lois was swept into the whirlwind of Clark's kiss. She met him eagerly, holding nothing back. She tasted him, becoming familiar in a new and exhilarating way with the mouth whose smile had brightened her world so many times.
When they eased apart, breathless and a little overawed, it was done. They had moved beyond friendship and into the dawn of something new. Something beautiful. Something strong. Something everlasting.
They were in love.
