Chapter 4
Clark sank onto the couch and surveyed his surroundings. His apartment in Sarasota, although smaller, was furnished similarly to the place he'd had in Metropolis. He'd added a few pieces from his most recent travels, like a carved wooden Hopi Indian statuette and several stone figurines from Costa Rica. When he'd rented the apartment he hadn’t anticipated being there as much as he was, and he’d left most of his belongings in storage in his parents’ barn. Before long, however, he’d realised that he couldn’t travel the same way he had in his early twenties. Not with the added responsibility of Superman. It was unwise to try and carry an extra Suit with him, going into some of the places he was going- and trying to clean the eye-catching Spandex when he often had little privacy was practically impossible. So he’d formed the habit of leaving his spare Suits at the apartment in Sarasota, and returning briefly when needed. Along the way, he’d decided he disliked the bare, Spartan feel of the apartment and returned to Kansas to retrieve his belongings.
This, however, was the first time he’d been back to Florida for more than a night in well over a month. He had enough notes for a couple of weeks of articles from his travels throughout Panama and Colombia, and he was giving himself a break from travel until he needed more material.
He’d only been home long enough to throw the contents of his duffel bag into the washing machine and order in a pizza. Leaning back against the couch, he turned on the television and let himself relax. As much as he liked travelling and experiencing other cultures, it was nice to be able to just enjoy the comforts of home.
The ringing of the portable phone on the kitchen counter interrupted the programme he was watching. He considered letting the machine get it, but decided it might just be his parents- very few people had this number, after all. Still half concentrating on the television, he answered the call.
“Jerome King.” After almost a year, he still had to remind himself not to say Clark Kent when answering the phone. No one replied. “Hello?” Still no reply. Shrugging, he put it down to a wrong number and flopped back down on the couch.
***
Lois was tired, frustrated, anxious, and now, soaked to the skin.
Jumping on the first flight to Florida had seemed like a brilliant idea when she’d made her snap decision last night. But the first available flight hadn’t left Metropolis until after midday, and then she’d had the aggravation of changing planes in Atlanta. Upon getting to the airport in Sarasota, she’d discovered that the rental car she’d reserved had not, in fact, been reserved due to some mix up in the rental company’s computer. Consequently, it had been after 8 pm before she’d finally made it to her hotel. She’d taken the time to change out of her travel-grimy clothing and study the map provided by the rental car company to figure out the fastest way to get from her hotel by the bay to North Euclid Avenue before jumping into the tiny subcompact she’d been stuck with.
She’d gotten more than halfway across town before realising that it would be a good idea to confirm that he was actually home. If he was working as a freelance travel writer, chances were he would be on the road, somewhere in the jungles of Central America. Accordingly she’d pulled over at the first pay phone she’d seen, making it to the phone just as the threatening clouds finally stopped threatening and started raining. She’d dialled the number from memory, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white, only to hang up in panic as soon as she heard his voice.
It was him. The voice was unmistakable. The warm, velvety tones echoed in her dreams, and the sound of it was enough to ramp up her nervousness even more. She found the right apartment building and pulled up, turning off the engine and taking a few deep breaths to try and control herself.
It was time.
***
Clark had just picked up a second slice of pizza when he heard a soft knocking at his door. Puzzled- who knew he was here? He dropped the slice back into the box and called out “Coming!” to whoever was knocking.
He slid the deadbolt back and opened the door. Standing on his doorstep was someone he’d never expected to see again- unless he was dressed in head to toe Spandex, anyway.
“Lois?!”
“Hi Clark.”
He hung onto the door in amazement, staring at her. She looked tired and drawn, thin rather than the slenderness he remembered so well.
“Can I come in?”
Belatedly he realised that she was dripping wet and he was just standing there with his mouth open, looking like a fool. Her question sparked him into action, and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her inside.
“Of course, come in! You’re soaked, you must be freezing.” He left her standing in the middle of his small living room and strode into the bedroom, unearthing a pair of sweats from a drawer. They’d look ridiculously baggy on Lois’ much smaller figure, but at least, she’d be able to cinch the drawstring in enough to keep the pants up.
Returning to the living room, he thrust them at her. “Here. The bathroom is through there,” he pointed. “There’s towels in the cabinet under the sink.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Clark.”
When she’d disappeared into the bathroom, he moved into the kitchen with the intention of making a pot of coffee and to try and gather his racing thoughts.
Lois Lane was here. In his bathroom.
What was she doing here? Was she here on assignment for some unknown reason? And how had she found him? What did she want?
He heard the shower start and heaved a sigh. At least he had a few minute’s grace- although the thought of her showering just a few feet away wasn’t helping matters.
Inexplicably, he was angry that she’d come. He’d spent the majority of the past year trying to rebuild his life, trying to forget Lois Lane. He’d had to accept the fact that nothing would ever stop him from loving her, but he was… coping. He’d managed mostly avoid talking to her in the rare moments he did a rescue in Metropolis, and he’d finally gotten to the point where he didn’t think of her every second of every day.
And now she was here, and she was acting so- so normal. Like everything that had passed between them- their abortive attempt at romance- had never happened.
He felt the distinctive crumple of metal under his hand and realised he’d accidentally squashed the handle of the kettle he still held. Sighing again, he reshaped the handle and turned the gas burner on. Maybe, if he managed to get her to leave quickly, there wouldn’t be too much damage done.
He heard the shower stop and told himself to get a grip. He filled the kettle with water and gave it a few helpful bursts of heat vision. It was boiling by the time she emerged from the bathroom and he quickly removed it from the burner, pouring the water into the coffee cups he’d left standing ready.
He looked up as she approached and settled onto one of the high stools at the kitchen counter, feeling the familiar twist in his gut. She was even more beautiful than he’d remembered. The sweats were just as oversized as he’d thought they’d be, making her look small and vulnerable, making him ache to take her in his arms and protect her from whatever it was that had driven her to come and find him.
But he couldn’t. She was engaged to someone else.
Anger made his movements brisk as he set a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Here. Feel better?”
She nodded. “Thanks, Clark.”
He stayed in the kitchen, keeping the counter between them and both hands wrapped around his own coffee cup, unwilling to break the silence. He watched as she sipped at her coffee, grimacing at the real sugar and milk he’d used in lieu of her usual artificial substitutes.
Finally she spoke.
“So how have you been?”
“Fine. Doing a lot of travelling. I just got back from Colombia. You?”
She nodded, drawing idle patterns in a small splash of water on the counter.
“Fine. Working a lot. Solo again.”
He couldn’t take any more of this. Was this really why she’d come all the way to Sarasota? To make small talk? He set his cup down hard enough to risk it breaking.
“Why are you here, Lois?”
She met his gaze fleetingly before looking back at the pattern she was creating.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why now? It’s been almost a year, why wait till now?”
“I only found out where you were a few days ago. You… weren’t easy to find.”
“Did it occur to you that maybe I didn’t want to be found?” The words
came out clipped with anger. He hadn’t wanted to be found, at least by Lois. Maybe he had, at the beginning, but now all he wanted was to be left alone, to live his life as best he could. He took two steps away abruptly, unable to bear being this close to her, and ran an exasperated hand through his hair.
“Okay. You’ve seen me. Now I think you should go.”
Her face paled and she tilted her chin up in that characteristic pose he’d seen so many times.
“Is that really what you want?”
He strode to the front door and flung it open.
“Damn it, Lois. Yes. Go back to Metropolis, back to your fiancé, back to your life and let me go back to mine. Please.” His voice broke, to his chagrin, and the last word came out like a plea.
“Fine.” She stood and walked over to him. “I’ll leave, if that’s what you want. But you’re wrong about something, Clark. Dan and I split up.”
On that parting remark, she left without a backwards glance.
***
After she’d left, Clark sat on the couch for a long time, staring unseeing into the distance.
Had Lois really been here? And had he really thrown her out?
He’d wanted to see her so badly. It had taken all the willpower he
possessed to stop himself from putting on the Spandex and appearing at her apartment window so many times. There was so much he wanted to ask her, so much he wanted to say, and he’d squandered the chance in useless anger.
“This isn’t helping,” he muttered. Forcing himself to move, he got up and snapped off the lights, detouring past the bathroom and smiling wistfully when he saw the small pile of neatly folded clothes. He’d have to find some way of returning them.
Crawling into bed, he tried not to think of Lois, tried not to relive every moment she’d been in his apartment.
Sleep was a long time coming.
