Super Shook Up TOC from part 4:Her eyes came back to his quickly, a hint of hope and anticipation in them. "You remember what?"
Could he tell her that? He didn't know if it was something she'd know he was supposed to remember. What if, among all the other things, he hadn't told her that?
She was still watching him, waiting for a response.
What could he say? What *should* he say? He remembered the way he kept his apartment? He remembered the way he made spaghetti? He remembered the way he made her coffee...
He *did* remember the way she took her coffee, and that he always brought her a cup in the newsroom every morning. And he remembered...
"I remember that I love you. Actually, I don't think I ever forgot that."
She gasped slightly, her face quickly gaining creases of some emotion he couldn't quite place--some place between horror and shock. Oh, no. He hadn't told her before. He started trying to come up with some way to backtrack, but then the creases smoothed into a meager attempt at what he hoped would have been a smile. And then she started crying again.~~~Part 5~~~
Clark's words hit her chest with psychical force, robbing her of her breath. She couldn't help the tears starting again. He loved her. She'd known that. Sort of. But... but...
How did he remember that he loved her, of all things, when he couldn't even remember that he was the most powerful man on the planet? How did... what did that mean, exactly? And what was she supposed to say? She got the feeling she ought to say something, especially as he'd gone deathly silent in the last minute. She glanced back in his direction but didn't quite meet his face.
He was standing there, all Clark-like in his discomfort. He even had one shoe--red boot--pointed inward like he always did when he was unsure of himself or when... when his feelings were hurt. Oh, god. What was she supposed to do? She needed time, space to breathe, to think.
But she didn't have that. She had a superhero, best friend, partner, and love interest all rolled into one, who wasn't quite sure who he was or where he was from. He just knew he loved her. And she had to deal with all of that.
Or him. Maybe it'd just be better to deal with him, not how he felt about her. She should focus on getting him to remember something else. The rest of his memory should start coming back now, right? That one memory should have opened the floodgates, theoretically. Not that she knew anything about psychology or the like aside from the intro course she'd taken years ago in college. She couldn't remember them ever having covered memory loss.
Clark cleared his throat softly. She didn't look up. She couldn't look up until she had a plan, not into those eyes. She couldn't stand to look at Clark's eyes when he was hurt. But how much time had passed? Thirty seconds? Three minutes? How long had he been standing there... worried? Upset?
"Clark?" she started, not really sure of what to say. She'd have to make up the plan on the fly.
"I... uh, Lois, I..." he stammered.
She looked up. Oh no. Her concerned and adorably befuddled Clark had disappeared, and now he was just plain... she wasn't sure what he was. Devastated? And seeing devastated dressed in red and blue spandex was more than wrong.
All she had was a tenuous grip on the situation, and it was slipping fast.
He started again, "I, uh, I'll just go get changed." He hooked his thumb in the general direction of his bedroom and walked away, his cape flowing behind him as went.
The last time she'd seen the cape walking away from her had been over twenty-four hours ago. God, it seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd kissed him goodbye. No, not goodbye. She'd kissed him for luck. Because she'd been scared to death he wouldn't make it back, and she hadn't wanted him to know that. She'd told him as much, though. Scared enough for the both of us, she'd said. And what had he done? He'd smiled, assuring her he'd come back and that they'd go flying.
How had he done it? How could he have been so brave? Not Superman, he was Clark. How could her Clark have been so brave as to put it all on the line for the planet?
She'd kissed *Clark* for luck before he'd flown off, surely uncertain of his success. And when he'd been in distress on his way back, he'd headed for *her* apartment.
And look how she'd helped him. She'd crushed him and stomped on the only memory he'd found.
What was she supposed to do now?
***
He'd made her cry. Again. Twice in the space of five minutes, and he was trying not to cry himself. She... didn't love him. Knowing--remembering--she didn't feel the same way hurt like hell.
He tugged at the cape to pull it off, then remembered it was attached by a harness, or *to* a harness, rather. He fumbled a moment for the catches, finally finding them, and let the cape fall to the carpet with a soft thud. He exhaled heavily and ran his hands through his hair.
She should have said something in response, right? Women didn't just break down when you told them you loved them, did they? Sure, they might cry, but... not like this. Not when they loved you back. She should have said something.
<Don't fall for me, Farmboy. I don't have the time for it.>
Or maybe she had. When had that been? Recently? Had he already confessed his love for her only to have her turn him down cold? Was that why she was crying? Because she'd already told him not to love her?
<In your dreams, Kent. In your dreams.>
He remembered kissing her, though. More than a few times. Were those dreams, too?
<Oh, Clark, I love you! I want to spend the rest of my life with you!>
That one had to have been a dream.
He pounded his fist against the armoire in frustration. He was getting flashes of memories now, but he couldn't piece any of them together. And they all had to do with her. With Lois. And he... he'd punched a hole straight through the door of the armoire.
How the heck had that happened?
Lois's voice carried from the other room. "Are you okay in there?"
He wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like he was in pain.
Her head peeked around the corner of the wall. "Clark?" she asked softly. "Are you okay? I heard a noise."
"I, uh..." He pulled his arm out of the splintered wood. "I think I broke something."
She hurried over to his side and gaped at the hole, then his forearm. "Clark! That's solid oak!"
She grabbed his hand and turned it over, as if looking for some sort of injury. Which, by all rights, she should have found. He should have at least had a scrape or something.
"Are you sure?" he asked, skeptical.
Her eyes were wide as she looked up at his face. "Look at it, Clark! That wasn't particle board."
He tried not to notice that she hadn't let go of his hand yet. Maybe she wouldn't notice, either, and she'd keep holding it.
She did notice, but she didn't let go. "You're not hurt." He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.
"I know. It's weird. I didn't even feel anything," he added, keeping very still so she wouldn't drop his hand from her grasp.
She dropped it, her hands searching out the wood instead, examining the hole. "What am I saying? Of course you're not hurt."
"Of course?"
"Yeah, you don't get hurt, remember?"
He flinched a little at the word. It was an innocent question. But he didn't remember, and a little more to the point, he *could* get hurt. Just not the way she was implying. His feelings weren't quite as invulnerable as his body seemed to be.
"No," he said quietly. "I don't remember." He turned away from her slightly and moved to open the ruined door. He still wanted to get changed out of the loud costume. It didn't feel right on him anymore.
He paused when he felt her hand on his arm. She spoke softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I..."
"I know, Lois. It's okay." It wasn't, really, but he didn't have the heart to make her cry again. He wasn't sure he could handle it, but she didn't have to know that.
She pulled at his arm, trying to turn him to face her, so he did. She wasn't crying, at least. But the look on her face was still far from happy.
"Clark, look at me."
He did, but said nothing, and found her eyes searching, reading his face.
"What you said back there..." She nodded her head in the direction of the living room.
Here it was; she was going to respond now, and he closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst.
"I just... you took me by surprise, is all."
He didn't want to open his eyes. He felt off balance, like the floor might suddenly disappear and swallow him. Her hand touched his face, and it made the feeling worse.
"Open your eyes, Clark."
He wasn't sure he could handle the look on her face, the tender rejection he knew he'd find there. She ran her thumb across his cheek. Why was she doing that?
Slowly, he opened his eyes. She...
There was no rejection in her expression, no regret in having to let him down. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"I do," she started softly. "I do care for you..." She trailed off, ducking her head a little.
<Like a brother.>
He sucked in a breath and waited for the words.
"I... It's just a lot to take in." Her eyes met his again. "I care for you. A lot. I... There's so much I'm feeling right now. You're hurt--mentally, at least. You don't remember anything, and all I know is that you're my partner, my best friend, and... maybe the start of something so much more... And I don't know how to help you." Her voice was shaking slightly.
The start of something so much more. He held on to that. It felt important and it grabbed at his heart. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "I don't know how you can help me, either. But just being here is a start."
She smiled softly and placed a hand over his.
"Let me finish getting changed and we can talk." He ran his thumb over her cheek softly before letting go.
She nodded and turned to leave his bedroom.
***
She sat on the couch and pulled a cushion to her stomach. Clark loved her. Superman loved her. Clark was Superman. He'd risked his life to save the world, and he'd come back to her. There was so much to process, so many emotions flooding through her. She didn't have to do it all now, though. Or figure out if she really did love him too. Right now she just had to concentrate on helping him, helping Superman--no, Clark--get his memory back.
She thought hard. What helped to trigger memories? What had triggered his first memory? The picture. Him and her together. That was a start. Him editing her copy. Little things, things from the newsroom. She could do that.
What else? They teased each other in the newsroom, playful banter. Maybe if she engaged in a little of that, that might help. But what about his powers? How did she help him remember those when she didn't even know how they worked? Obviously some of them were unconscious, like his strength. And the floating. Maybe now that she knew he was Clark, she'd be able to help him better. Somehow.
He emerged from his bedroom then, wearing jeans and one of those snug-fitting t-shirts she'd always unwillingly admired. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and he came to sit next to her on the couch.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she answered, suddenly immensely more comfortable around him now that he was just Clark. Clark without his glasses, but somehow that was more endearing. More natural, even. He looked more comfortable, too.
He shifted a bit so he was facing her. "So, where do we start?"
She froze for a second. Start what? Why her mind suddenly supplied "kissing" as the answer, she had no clue. "With what?"
"Getting my memory back?" His smile was a little unsure.
"Oh, right. Your memory. I forgot... er, you know what I mean." She felt her face flush.
His smile grew warmer, and he nodded. "Maybe you could tell me more about these... uh, powers I have."
"Sure. I mean... I don't know all that much about them..."
"Well, you know more than me, I'm sure. You mentioned flying. And there was the floating thing. And, of course, I seem to be stronger than an ordinary man." He nodded in the direction of his bedroom. "And it didn't hurt, either."
She glanced down to the hand she was holding and ran her fingers against his skin and along his forearm, as if she needed to reassure herself he hadn't been hurt. "No, you're invulnerable. To everything, as far as I know. And you can fly--floating comes along with that, I assume. You're strong, really strong."
"How strong?" Clark looked intrigued, curious.
"Well, you lifted an entire space ship into orbit the first time I met you."
"I did what?" He was incredulous now.
"There was a small problem with a shuttle launch a while back. You showed up out of nowhere, swallowed a bomb, then lifted the shuttle into orbit after you found out the rocket boosters were shot."
"A bomb?! I swallowed a bomb?"
She nodded shyly and wondered if now was a good time to bring up the super speed and x-ray vision. Just how much could he handle? "Should I go on?"
His eyes went wide. "There's more?"
She nodded again, unsure if she should continue.
"I, uh..." Clark started. "I guess I really should know everything... as impossible as this all seems."
She went on to tell him about the x-ray vision, heat vision, super cooling breath, super speed, and everything else she could think of. He still looked as if he was having trouble believing her. Who could blame him?
Clark leaned his side against the couch, probably for a bit more support. "So, how is it that I can do all this? Where did these powers come from?"
Where *did* they come from? She wasn't exactly sure. Superman was just Superman. She was pretty sure he got his energy from the sun and told him as much. But then there was the hard part...
"Clark, you're Kryptonian."
"Cryptwhatian?"
"Kryptonian. You're... an alien."
He paled. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
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