The Ruse, Ch. 5
Socomama
05/31/24 06:05 PM
"In other words…
I. Love. You."
No, no no. No. They were so close. He's almost tortured by the decision, certain he is risking all he's ever wanted to save two hundred some-odd lives in a hijacked plane over the Atlantic. He could almost taste how close they were to something thrillingly new, and terrifyingly not pretend. And he knows that now he's blown it, and without a doubt, she's going to hate him when he returns.
He turns a few contemplative barrel rolls as he powers toward the sea, mulling how he is going to explain this longer absence to her. A hijacking can be delicate, and usually takes at least a half an hour to get under control once the plane is on the ground. First he has to land the plane. Then he has to check on the passengers inside, apprehend the hijackers and wait for the police to take over. He heard over the radio at the hotel bar that the plane was bound for Munich, but he decides to take them to Charles de Gaulle in Paris, the closest International airport equipped to handle the situation. He calculates how fast he can fly with the plane and still keep the passengers comfortable. Faster than the plane can fly itself, but it would still be another hour at least. Plus the time on the ground, one and a half hours. The party would be winding down by then, if she was even still there. Oh Lois.
He locates the plane, flying erratically but still cruising at the right altitude. He knocks on the window and waves to let the terrorists know he's here. This part is always a bit nerve-wracking because he can't enter the plane until it's on the ground, and because the doors have to remain shut to keep the plane pressurized, he's helpless to protect the passengers inside. He x-rays the scene and can see they don't have guns. Good. The terrorists' eyes grow wide and Superman proceeds to stabilize the plane and guide it gently into the runway, his mind on Lois, only Lois, and the betrayed, abandoned look that darkened her eyes when he left her behind.
He's never seen her look so hurt. Even the night he'd gently rejected her advances as Superman, she seemed to understand. This was something different. They were becoming something different, right there on that dance floor. And then he'd left her there, confused and alone.
He begins concocting his excuse. Stomach trouble? Violent, horrific, stomach trouble? Embarrassing, and besides, it's not like this is an isolated occurrence. On the way back from the bathroom he got a message at the front desk from the Planet - a source needed to meet him urgently? He couldn't tell her because she would want to come, and he knew it was dangerous? No, she'll hate him more for trying to protect her like that, and feel betrayed that he's been hiding his non-existent story from her. A man was having chest pains in the bathroom, so he took him to the emergency room? Not bad. But she would never believe it. She knew there was some other reason he was leaving. But how else could he explain this? He was supposed to be here with her. There was nowhere plausible for him to escape to in a hotel.
The terrorists are apprehended, and all passengers are safe and unharmed, save for one pilot who sustained a concussion and a cut in the struggle. Superman is free to go. He sighs. As much as he had been itching to get back to the party, now he's dreading it. He looks at the clock. 4:30 am. It is 10:30 pm in Metropolis.
The party is dwindling a bit but still lively, and the guests are significantly more lubricated than when he left. Lois and Jeanne are tucked into a sofa talking when she spots him from across the party. Her face looks...not angry, exactly...but raw, vulnerable. Stung. He squats down at her feet at the sofa, covers her hand with his and looks her in the eyes, pleading her forgiveness. "Lois, I'm so sorry I had to leave you. Can I talk to you?"
This is the only acceptable approach as her "boyfriend", but he still has no idea what he's about to say. He decides not to give her a reason and let her be angry. It's better than lying. It's better than cheese of the month. He winces at that one. God, this has gotten so bad. He feels certain she needs to know. Not here, not now, but soon. The all too conveniently vague…soon. His heart is pounding at super speed. He notes that hers is calm, steady, cold as ice.
Jeanne gets up from the sofa. "I'm turning into a pumpkin anyway. I'll leave you two to it. Lois, I'm looking forward to the ethics symposium tomorrow," she winks. Lois blushes and he knows her complicated relationship with Superman was explored in their conversation. "Leave it to you to have two gorgeous men falling at your feet," she whispers in her ear, squeezing her hand. "Go easy on him. He adores you." It was meant for her ears only, but Clark hears it, and winces again. She deserves better than two halves of him.
Lois gives her a half-hearted smile and waves her off. Lois turns back to Clark and looks at him under an arched brow. Well?
"I'm sorry, Lois. I had an emergency. It's personal, so personal that I can't really talk about it, but I promise I had a good reason," he cradles her soft, delicate hand between his, "and I wouldn't have left you for anything but a very good reason."
She looks at him flatly. "That's it?"
He stares back for a moment, then nods, knowing it isn't enough.
She clears her throat and takes back her hand. "Well, I have a big day tomorrow, and need to be clear-headed for the symposium. So, I'm going to turn in," she says briskly. "Sorry to cut our evening off."
"No, of course, I was actually going to suggest that you get some sleep…"
She's standing up, then briskly striding toward the door, and he's trailing behind her. They journey to the room in silence, not feeling the need to put on the ruse of a happy couple.
When they get up to the room, he promptly goes to the bathroom and turns on the tub, pouring the bath gel in to create a frothy foam of bubbles.
She peeks in at him from the bedroom, has already slipped off her shoes and pantyhose. "Didn't peg you for a bubble bath guy."
"I'm not. But I thought you'd want one. You always take a bath to relax."
"How did you know that?"
"Well…" his mind scrambles for an explanation, "you've called me from the tub before, for starters," he says, he hopes not too suggestively, "And a few times when I've left after a late night doing heavy research you've been drawing a bath. I've always known this about you," he says with a half-smile.
And only two weeks ago, he dive-bombed into her living room unannounced, without thinking or knocking, just as she was stepping out of the bath, just as she was wrapping her robe around her slender frame. She didn't mind at all, which made it even more of a problem than he'd intended, standing before her, him in the completely wrong suit, her in a completely alluring silk kimono.
He realized in that moment that his frequent super appearances could almost be considered violating, and certainly the closer she and Clark had gotten the more these Superman drop-ins were confusing her…him…them. He gently, painfully rejected her advances, and his heart dared to hope as she admitted that saving his life, Clark's life, was as natural to her as breathing, because there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. For Clark.
He mightily fought against the magnetic pull he felt, always feels, toward her when her guard is down and she slips into that rare, vulnerable space with him, with Superman. The pull that has him longing to touch her, cup her face, slide his fingers through her hair, pull her close against him, cover her in kisses…and some nights, he can't help himself. Even though he is well aware he's in the wrong suit, sabotaging a dream that was beginning to feel like it had wings, a future that was beginning to feel like it had roots. So he gives in, and takes the rose, pulls her into a dance, floats her around her living room. He is invulnerable, he can push asteroids out of the earth's orbit, he repels bullets and lasers and is immune to every virus known to man. But he is not immune to her. Her adoring gaze is as life-giving to him as the sun. When he feels weak, when his defenses are down, when he feels particularly alone and singularly powerless against all the brokenness he sees in the world, he basks in her glow, and she makes him feel like a man worthy of his purpose in life.
As Superman, a man the world sees as an aloof, heroic, untouchable alien, she is the only one who makes him feel seen and wonderfully human, in a way he always feared no one who knew the truth about his powers ever could. But as Clark, he feels a connection he can't describe, like his soul has always been tethered to hers. The ways she has softened her edges, let down her guard for only him makes him hopeful that one day she will let him all the way in, and he will tell her who he really is, and they will be okay. Yet it's his greatest fear, that her knowing will be the end of them. And it's the most vulnerable he's ever felt, knowing that the deception could cause him to lose her heart – as both men – forever.
In that moment, when he stilled her confused and roaming hands, he vowed that would be the last time he appeared at her window as Superman without knocking, and a very good reason.
Lois eyes the tub, now full of fluffy, sensuous bubbles. "I think I will take a soak, actually. I need to clear my head about this ethics symposium," she says, making a face. "Will you - uh, well – help me with my dress? It's not nearly as painful to unzip as it was to zip up, but the buttons might remain a challenge," she says with a half-smile.
He nods, grateful for any small opening she's giving him, and she turns around, lifting up her hair so he can access her buttons. "How are you feeling about your speech? And the symposium? Did Jeanne help you think it through?" he ventures carefully. He then works at the clasp of the necklace, allowing his fingertips to grace her neck ever so slightly, aching to touch her, wishing he could reinstate their closeness from before.
"I'm…well, I'm feeling a little nervous about it. Not my speech as much, I wrote that weeks ago. But I talked through my, uh, Superman relationship with Jeanne, which was really helpful, since she sort of specializes in well, crafting a narrative." He works at the tiny buttons as she babbles on, "Not that I need to craft a narrative, everything with Superman is above board, that's all true, I just need to be careful about what I say and how I say it so that people don't get the wrong idea, since they always seem to. And I want to be the right ally for Superman. It's really his image that I want to be sure I'm protecting." Clark lets his hand glide down her back as he unzips her, then takes her shoulders gently, turning her to face him. She seems affected as she says breathily, "I just need to…think it through a bit more."
He's enchanted. There are few things he enjoys more than watching her ramble adorably into a corner, but his heart tugs a little more at the way she's become his protector. He realizes his adoration is written on his face when her mouth starts to twitch at him. He coughs, in that lame breaking-the-awkwardness way that anyone over the age of five would have known wasn't a real cough. He groans inwardly.
"I completely understand. The tub is ready. I brought a book with me. I'll be reading for awhile out here, if you want to talk it through when you get out."
She gives him a weak, forgiving smile. "Thanks, Clark."
She turns in the doorframe. "Hey, by the way. When you left earlier, you know who swooped in at the bar?"
"Thomas Howson IV?" he grins, waggling his sleepy eyebrows.
She chuckles and shakes her head slowly, maybe a little seductively, she hopes. "Senator Charlie Carson," she says with a playful swagger.
"Oh really," he says, a little surprised. And more than a little bit concerned.
"Mmm hmm. At first I thought maybe I could weasel some election information out of him, so I let him flirt for a little bit."
"Loisss…you know his reputation. That could be dangerous. He could turn that around on you too," Clark admonishes. He trusts Senator Carson about as much as he ever trusted Lex Luthor. And, much to his chagrin, he's well aware she's never above using her beauty to her advantage for an exclusive.
"Oh Clark. I handle men like him every day. You of all people know that," her tone turns playful and coquettish.
He responds with a defeatist glare. "That I do," he says.
"Anyway, apparently he's joining me on the ethics symposium panel tomorrow," she says with an eyeroll. "And something's fishy about his connection to Intergang. He was sniffing around about our Intergang investigations the minute we started talking. Such a weasel. He was also asking me a lot of nosy questions about Superman."
Clark's eyebrows raise. "Oh really. The usual kind of questions, or more personal?" He and Lois were both used to answering curious questions from strangers about Superman - "Does he eat?" "Does he have a family?" "Where does he live?"
"The usual kind; he was trying to play it breezy, but there was an undercurrent of suspicion. Not surprisingly, he's one of those conservatives who thinks Superman could pose a threat."
Clark threw his head back. "Ah yes, I know the type. 'The United States must be able to protect itself against every potential security risk," he says, affecting the tone of a grumpy old man. Lois chuckles. "I'm a little surprised though, I hadn't noticed he was very vocal about Superman in the state Senate."
"Well, buckle up for tomorrow. And he's apt to be interesting this campaign season. But don't hold your breath for his affections winning us any exclusives, partner," Lois says wryly.
"Lois. I'm more than okay with not having the in with Senator Carson," Clark says.
"That's good. Because, tonight between the Superman bashing and the repeat advances I had enough, so I gave him an earful and may have said something I shouldn't have," she says.
"Which was?"
"I told him I can handle myself, I'm a black belt in taekwondo. But as he had just said himself, Superman always seems to appear when I'm in trouble. And if his hand drifted down my skirt one more time the only person Superman might be a threat to…was him."
Clark erupts with laughter. "Well, never let it be said that Lois Lane is a shrinking violet," he teases.
Lois pads into the bathroom, then turns around sliding her face between the frame and the nearly-shut door. "Please, Clark. No one's ever said that."
Michael