Posting for Yvonne, since for some unfathomable reason she's decided to spend Christmas in the frozen north of Scotland without so much as an Internet connection! 
From Part 12:He heard the unmistakable catch in her voice, the hesitation over ‘I care’. He hoped he was wrong. Hoped she hadn’t found love just as they were breaking up. He certainly didn’t have the guts to ask her.
But breaking up they definitely were. They exchanged a few more sentences of comfort and regret, agreed to keep in touch, and then parted. As break-ups went, Clark thought, it was as amicable as was feasible.
And he really had appreciated Mayson’s friendship and companionship. He owed her a great deal, for her kindness and compassion had helped him re-enter the real world. Without Mayson, he probably would have found it considerably harder to rebuild his life and place his love for Lois in the proper perspective. He might not love Mayson in the romantic sense, but as the best and closest friend he could have wished for, he loved her dearly.
*******************
And now, the final section...The faceless, invisible people were hurting her again. She was begging them, pleading with them to stop. Her pain was palpable, her fear a dark, looming presence which stalked both of them through the nightmare. He watched, unable to help. Impotent in the face of her suffering.
She screamed.
“No!”
He shot bolt upright in bed, thrown out of the dream by her scream. “Lois,” he whispered into the night.
She felt so close. Her fear was still with him, her pain knifing through his heart.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head in the darkness. He’d thought he was free of the dreams – hadn’t had one in weeks.
Ever since breaking up with Mayson, he’d had a pretty smooth ride through life. He’d reconciled his feelings about the woman who’d died, taking to heart George’s remark that she’d been better off in his arms than trapped underneath a train carriage. And he’d signed up for a course on advanced first aid, so that he’d feel more confident dealing with crash-site injuries in the future. Work was good – he was really starting to enjoy himself – and Superman had started patrolling the night skies. He was getting some good results from the patrols; he’d heard that street crime was down by around ten per cent in the areas he visited most regularly.
So why now? Why did Lois Lane still have this power over him?
He pushed himself off the bed and walked into the bathroom. He was clammy with sweat and perhaps a cool shower would clear his head.
***************
“So, hon, what happened between you and Mayson?”
Clark paused in his attempts to pierce the caramel on the top of his crème brulee without making it shoot across the table and met Alice’s kindly gaze. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t see eye to eye on some stuff.”
“Awww,” said Alice. “You made such a fine couple. She seemed just right for you. Didn’t she, Perry?”
Perry looked up from his equally careful spoon-work on the brulee. “Yes. But I’m guessing this was pretty important stuff, huh, Clark?”
“Yeah. She didn’t approve of Superman.”
“Ah. That would do it,” said Perry. He prodded the top of his desert again. “Alice, couldn’t we just use forks on this? Or a pick-axe?” he added with a wink in Clark’s direction.
Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s simple, honey. Just a quick, sharp thrust with your spoon and you’re in.” She demonstrated the technique, successfully breaking the caramel shell.
Perry met Clark’s eyes across the table. “I think I can manage that, Alice.”
Clark swallowed his laughter and bent his head to the task in hand.
Alice swatted Perry’s hand. “Watch your tongue!”
Perry raised an eyebrow at Clark. “I could say something now, but I won’t.”
“Men!”
Perry grinned. “So how’s George, Clark? I haven’t seen him for a while.”
“Neither have I,” replied Clark. Which was true – George had suggested they cut back to monthly sessions, since Clark had been doing so well. However... “I’m seeing him tomorrow, though. I’ll tell him you were asking after him.”
“Okay.”
“I thought your regular day was Monday,” said Alice. “Tomorrow’s Wednesday.”
Clark sighed. Alice didn’t miss a trick; sometimes he wondered if he ought to have been less open with her about the details of his private life. “Yeah. I’ve been having a few sleep problems lately. Nothing serious,” he added quickly.
“But you thought it better to get it sorted than wait until things got worse,” said Alice, nodding.
“Yes.”
“Is it those dreams again?” she asked.
“Alice!” interjected Perry. “Stop interrogating him. The man deserves some privacy. It’s bad enough you keep grilling him about his love life.”
“I do not grill! I make conversation, don’t I, Clark?”
And to Clark’s relief, the discussion veered off into Alice’s conversational strategies and Perry’s lack of the same.
The truth was, he was indeed seeing George about his dreams. They’d been occurring more frequently lately, and he was concerned. What was he doing wrong? Was he developing some new and sinister psychiatric complaint?
Okay, that was probably a little paranoid of him, but he really was worried. His sleep was disturbed almost every other night, and whilst he didn’t require as much as anyone else, he knew that if the problem continued indefinitely, and/or got any worse, he’d be in trouble.
**************
“Sorry, buddy, I’ll have to postpone. Something’s come up.”
Clark’s heart sank. He’d been pinning his hopes on a good session with George to put his mind at rest. “That’s okay,” he said. “When can you fit me in?”
“Tomorrow’s looking good,” said George. “Can you make it around ten?”
“In the morning?” said Clark. Usually George gave him early evening sessions so as not to interfere with work. “You can’t see me any later?”
“Nope,” said George. “Ten it is.”
Clark sighed. “Well, okay. I’ll do my best.”
“Be there, Clark,” said George sharply. “It’s important. Very important.”
“Huh?” George was sounding unusually adamant. But if he was that concerned about Clark’s disturbed sleep, wouldn’t he try to squeeze in an appointment later today?
“Just be there, okay?”
“Okay.”
*****************
Another night, another dream.
Except this one was different. In this one, she was crying out to him, begging him to help her. He tried frantically, strained to reach her and protect her.
But still she remained just out of reach.
He tried harder. He pushed against the invisible force holding them apart, used every ounce of strength he possessed to break through the barrier.
“Lois...”
Her cries wrenched at his heart until he thought it would break and spill his uncontrollable emotions all over the cosmos.
She screamed and he woke up, his nerves on a knife-edge and his pulse racing.
Something was definitely wrong. And the worst of it was, the more he dreamt about her, the more he thought about her during the day. He felt like he was being sucked relentlessly down into a vortex of renewed self-destruction – and he didn’t have a clue why.
************
“Frankly, Clark, neither do I.”
“George, that’s not exactly helpful,” said Clark. “I’m...well, I’m concerned. I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong.”
George chuckled. “For concerned read scared stiff,” he said. “Your powers of understatement never cease to amaze me. Look, here’s what we’ll do. First off, we’ll try a couple of sessions under hypnosis. That often winkles out useful information on root causes. Then, depending on how that goes, we’ll book you in at the sleep clinic for a night or two – they observe your sleep patterns, monitor your brain activity and so on. That will probably give us some more clues and they may also identify some techniques you can use to break the dream cycle. Okay?”
Clark nodded. Both options filled him with a degree of apprehension, but anything was better than waking up every other night in a panicky sweat. “So when do we start?”
“Not today. I’d rather run the hypnosis sessions in the evenings, when you won’t be rushing back to work afterwards. Also, it may be helpful to run them nearer to your usual bedtime.” He paused, and began sucking air very noisily through his teeth.
“George, have you any idea how irritating that habit is?” said Clark, his patience finally cracking with the aggravating noise.
“It’s my thinking noise,” said George.
“Well, think a little more quietly.”
George snorted, but thankfully, shut himself up.
Until Clark heard a pen clicking against the metal of George’s clip-board. “George, do you have something on your mind? Would you like to swap places with me?”
George laughed. “Hell, no! Okay, I’m done thinking.” He came around to the end of the couch and lowered his ample frame on the edge, giving Clark scant warning to shift his legs out of the way. “Here’s the thing. Yesterday morning we got a new patient. This new patient was sent to us because, as you know, we have a world-wide reputation for drug addiction. Turns out, though, that there’s probably no addiction issue here, although there’s clearly been a lot of abuse, both mental and physical. We think this person is going to need long-term care and a lot of love from the right people.”
Clark frowned. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “Do you want me to write something in the paper? Maybe try and attract extra funds for their treatment?”
“No, that’s not why, although it might be a good idea,” said George. “No, I’m telling you because of where this person was sent from.”
“Which is?” prompted Clark. “Smallville?”
“No, a little further away than that,” said George. “She was sent to us from Brazzaville.” He met Clark’s gaze. “I don’t think I need to tell you where that is.”
The Congo.
She.
The world turned inside out. George’s face hung in front of Clark, studying him intently, seemingly the only thing not twisting itself into a new shape. Faint noises from all over the clinic echoed through his head, reality shifted and re-formed itself.
“Don’t forget to breathe, buddy,” said George from the other end of a very long tunnel.
Clark started, his body automatically sucking in a large lungful of air. He licked his lips, tested his voice. “L...Lois?” It was a weird, wobbly sort of a voice, but it appeared to work.
“Yes. The police in Brazzaville found her during a raid on a drug-dealer’s house. Apparently she was locked in a small room near the back. Been there for a very long time, they said.” George grimaced. “The conditions weren’t exactly pleasant, they said.”
“Can...can I see her?”
“In a few minutes. Let’s get you over the worst of the shock first, huh? Can’t have you meeting her sounding like some kind of spaced out junkie, can we?” said George. “Hang on a sec...”
George made Clark sip a glass of water until he was a little steadier, and then led him through the clinic to the same suite of bedrooms Clark himself had previously occupied.
They stopped outside a closed door. “Okay, remember what I said about her being ill,” murmured George. “She’s not the Lois you met, nor the Lois in any photos you may have seen, okay?”
Clark nodded, and George knocked softly and swung the door open.
The hospital bed was empty.
For a moment, Clark thought George had brought them to the wrong room, but then his gaze was drawn to the desk and chairs in front of the window at the end of the room. She was sitting side-on to the window, staring at the wall. He had a flashback to his meeting with Linda. God, he hoped this wasn’t going to be a repeat of that day.
She was wearing a hospital gown just like Linda’s. Her hair was short, just like Linda’s. She looked thin and frail, just like Linda.
But she wasn’t Linda.
She was Lois.
As he walked towards her with George by his side, her head slowly turned and he was confronted with a beautiful but totally blank face. Dark brown eyes, empty of life but entirely compelling, looked directly at him. For the first time in his life, he fully appreciated the concept that a person’s eyes were a window into their soul.
Suddenly, he was assailed by powerful images from his recurring dream. She was in torment, crying and shaking, while invisible demons assaulted her and he looked on in impotent helplessness. A sickening pressure in his head made him falter and touch his fingers to his temple.
“Clark, you okay?”
George’s voice came from a long way off. He dragged his gaze back to Lois, but her expression remained blank. Perhaps there was a hint of recognition in those deep, dark eyes? Did she remember him from the nightmares?
He received another powerful jolt from the violent dream. The pressure in his head increased.
“Sit down. The chair’s just behind you.” George’s voice again. He folded obediently into the chair, still staring at Lois.
“Okay, focus here, Clark.”
Dazed, he dragged his gaze away from Lois, turned his head slowly towards George’s voice. “Focus, Clark,” said George, snapping his fingers a couple of times in front of Clark’s face. The noise made Clark blink. “That’s it, buddy, come back to me.”
Clark blinked again.
“Okay, you with me?” said George. He was crouched beside Clark’s chair, looking anxiously up at him.
“Yeah.”
“Phew.” George passed a hand over his face. “Jesus, buddy, you scared me. I knew this was going to be a shock, but I didn’t think it would hit you this hard. What happened?”
Clark moved his gaze slowly back to Lois, but George stopped him with another snap of his fingers. “Here, buddy – look at me,” he said sharply. “We’ll meet Lois in a minute, okay? First I need you to tell me what just happened.”
“She...she’s the source,” Clark said. “All those dreams I had...she’s the source.” He felt her gaze on him again, began to look around-
“Here, Clark. Look at me,” commanded George.
He dragged his gaze away from her again, focused on George’s thick-framed glasses and the worried eyes behind them.
“What do you mean, buddy? I’m not following you.”
“I just had the same dream...vision, I guess,” he said. “When she looked at me...when I looked into her eyes...I saw. What she’s going through.”
George frowned. “What she *went* through, you mean?”
“No, going through. Right now. It’s in her head.”
“Don’t get me wrong, but I’m starting to hear echoes of the Twilight Zone tune here, buddy.”
“I know what she’s thinking,” Clark said. He stood up, suddenly filled with an overpowering compulsion to meet her, talk to her. He walked slowly up to the table and sat down opposite her, noticing that she followed him with her gaze as he moved.
“Hi,” he said softly.
She returned his gaze, but remained silent.
Thankfully, the visions didn’t hit him this time. Maybe her thoughts were distracted by his arrival.
“My name’s Clark,” he said. “What’s yours?”
She continued looking at him, but said nothing.
He felt George’s hand on his shoulder and glanced backwards briefly. “Buddy, you won’t get an answer,” he murmured. “She’s mute.” At Clark’s horrified gasp, he added, “It’s nothing physical. She just doesn’t seem to want to talk to anyone.”
Clark turned back to Lois. “Maybe she’ll talk to me.”
Afterwards, he couldn’t have explained how or why he knew what to do next, but the idea just came to him and he followed it through as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He thought the word ‘Hi’ at her.
There was a flicker of something across her blank features. A puzzled frown, perhaps.
He smiled and tried again. <<Hi>>
She frowned more deeply. Looked at his mouth, then up to his eyes.
<<Hi, my name’s Clark. What’s yours?>>
Her hand drifted up to the flimsy gold chain around her neck. He noticed it had a thin band of gold with her name engraved into it.
<<Lois.>>
He breath caught in his throat. She’d spoken to him! Actually communicated telepathically with him!
<<Nice to meet you, Lois.>>
She frowned again. <<How are you in my head?>>
<<I don’t know. Do you mind?>>
<<No. You’re different.>>
“Buddy, it’s better if you talk to her,” murmured George from behind his ear. “Even if she can’t talk back-“
“She is talking to me!” whispered Clark. “Telepathically.”
“Okay, now I’ve heard it all,” muttered George. “Remind me to rewrite my PhD thesis when all this is over, will you?”
“George, it’s true! She told me her name’s Lois, then she said I’m different.”
“Boy, she’s right there,” George observed dryly. “Okay, if this was anyone else but you, I really would be calling for the men in white coats, but I guess I have to keep an open mind. All right, ask her what her favourite food is. Carolyn couldn’t get her to eat a thing last night.”
Clark turned back to Lois <<What’s your favourite->>
<<I heard. Chocolate.>>
“Chocolate,” relayed Clark.
George laughed. “Well, it’s not the most nutritious thing in the world, but I guess we could get her some. Any particular favourites?”
<<Double fudge crunch bars.>>
Clark blinked at the rapid reply and relayed it to George. “I didn’t even have to ask,” he said. “I think she feels quite strongly about this.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Crunch bars it is, then.”
**************
And for the remainder of his life, Clark was to look back on that first meeting as the day that Clark Kent, the farmer’s son from Kansas, became a complete person. He’d bounced around the world since his parents had died, a loose cog in society, always trying to find his place in the life. He’d drifted into his engagement to Lana, had bumped into Mayson by chance, but nothing except his job at the Planet had seemed to have had any purpose or real meaning. Everything he’d done had been marking time until he found the missing piece in the puzzle of his life. Lois Lane was that missing piece, and had been from before he even knew she existed. It made no sense, but then neither had a lot of things in his life.
Until she came back.
It didn’t matter that she was damaged. It didn’t matter that she barely remembered who she was, let alone what had happened to her. It didn’t even matter that she was destined to remain in care for a long, long time.
All that mattered was that she was home, and that he, Clark Kent, had been granted the chance to meet her. Even better, it looked like he would be taking a significant role in her recovery, and for that, he considered himself the luckiest man in the world.
**************
EPILOGUE
“George, I need your help.”
Clark was lounging on George’s couch. Theoretically, he was having a session to help him deal with the stress of being Lois’s sole interpreter for the past month, but mostly, they’d been discussing her progress - which wasn’t insubstantial. Okay, so she still wasn’t talking to anyone, but she’d remembered a lot of things about herself and was apparently sleeping a little better.
George punched the air jubilantly. “Hallelujah! He finally realised.”
Clark smiled. “Very funny, George. No, I need your help to destroy something.”
“Oh? What would that be – my reputation? Perry’s Elvis obsession?”
“No.” Clark drew in a slow, deep breath. “I need you to help me destroy all the red kryptonite.”
If he’d expected George to jump for joy, he was disappointed. George merely raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, buddy? It’s a big step.”
“Never been surer about anything in my life, George.”
“You know if you ever suffer withdrawal symptoms, you’ll be left hanging without a safety net? There aren’t any drugs that are going to help you.”
Clark nodded. “I know. But it’s not very likely, is it? If I can’t get a hit, I’m not like to go into withdrawal.”
“And I guess there’s a faint chance that the stuff could actually have medicinal use in certain circumstances,” George added thoughtfully. “I mean, it more or less acts like a tranquiliser.”
“I’ll take the risk,” said Clark briskly. “I have to get rid of it, George. For one, Superman is too vulnerable while the stuff is around – thanks to the tabloids, all the criminals know exactly how to neutralise me. Just wave a chunk of red kryptonite around and I’m useless. And for two, I want to do it for Lois.”
“Ah.“ George sucked his teeth. Unfortunately, Clark hadn’t managed to cure him of the habit, despite regular nagging. “You feeling the pressure, buddy?”
Clark grimaced. “I know it’s only going to get worse. If I’m the only one who can talk to her, then things are going to get really tough when she starts talking about what went on in that house in Brazzaville. I don’t even want to be tempted to take the easy way out.”
“Fair point.” George clapped his hands together. “Okay, how do we do this?”
************
Clark hovered high over the field, watching George empty the bag of rocks onto the grass. He’d received countless reassurances that this was all the red kryptonite which had ever been found, but it still looked like a somewhat small pile from where he was. Funny how that small little pile could have brought so much havoc in his life.
While he waited for George to retreat to a safe distance, he glanced left to his boyhood home. The farmhouse looked the same from up here, but he knew that the new tenant farmers had made big changes inside. Still, he could pretend it was just as his parents had made it, a happy, warm household full of love and laughter.
His eyes drifted right to the spot where his parents had died, and where he’d run helplessly towards the wreckage, knowing he was too late to prevent the disaster. Well, he’d prevented countless similar disasters since then, and saved many children from the childhood he’d had to endure.
He looked towards the horizon, towards Metropolis. There was his future, a new, improved future now that Lois had returned. She might never be able to love him, she might never even like him, but she still completed him. His sea of tranquillity was finally becalmed.
He brought his gaze back to the Shuster’s Field. George was well away from the rocks in the jeep, flashing the headlights in the signal they’d agreed upon earlier.
He focused on the red glowing rocks and switched his heat vision on. The rocks glowed an even brighter red, and then began to turn yellow as they reached melting point. Finally, he was firing a white-hot pile of molten rock, fusing it together and destroying its chemical composition. He maintained the beam for as long as he possibly could, only stopping when he felt his powers dip slightly.
Satisfied he could do no more, he flew cautiously back down to the field. George had emerged from the jeep and was walking towards the semi-molten pile.
“Don’t get too close,” called Clark. “It’s still white-hot.”
“Be careful yourself,” called George.
But he had to be sure. He inched his way up to the rock, all of his senses on high alert. He felt the searing heat, smelt the sulphurous gases hissing from the core, but none of the usual sensations that accompanied a hit. He got right up to within a foot of the rock and still couldn’t feel a thing.
Okay! It was the final cleansing, the last act in a long, difficult journey which had taken him down to the darkest, deepest corners of his psyche and back up again, slowly and painfully clawing his way back to the surface. In the process, he’d learned a great deal about himself, and as George had once predicted, was now more confident and better equipped to deal with whatever life could throw at him.
“Come over here,” called George.
Clark ambled over to George. “It’s fine. I can’t feel a thing.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” said George. As soon as Clark was near enough, he grabbed his wrist, checked his pulse, studied his face carefully and fired off a few probing questions. Finally, he appeared to be satisfied. “Okay, you’re probably even more sober than I am.”
Clark raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you want to tell me, George?”
“Just that you’re a pain in the butt and will you please stop looking at me as if you want to hug me.”
Clark laughed. “Hell, no, George. Christ, what made you think I even like you?”
George stared at him. “You swore. Twice.”
“See what you’ve done to me? It’s going to take years of therapy to fix that.”
George began walking back to the jeep. “I know the name of a good guy, if you need a shrink.”
“Nah, I’ve already got one, thanks. He’s a bit of a wacko, and his language is a little colourful, but I think I’ll stick with him,” said Clark. He grinned at the rotund man walking beside him. “Like glue.”
“Oh, sh*t.”
THE END***********
