*8*

Jimmy is waiting for her when Lois exits the doctor’s office, excitement and anticipation transforming his features into a youthful mask. “Can you believe it?” he asks before she can say anything. “The Daily Planet is finally coming back--it almost seems too good to be true.”

“Almost,” she says, and tries to infuse some of her own excitement into her voice. It shouldn’t be hard; she’s overjoyed to be getting the Planet back (doesn’t even know, really, who she is without it), and happy to be headed to the unveiling of its remodeling. But the doctor’s words still ring in her ears and she’s still tucking away the prescription bottle in her purse (hoping the pills work, and yet not if the cost of that is taking away the bits of happiness she has left to her) and there is a steady, rhythmic pounding at each of her temples, sharp spikes of pain that make lights seem too bright, sounds too loud, and excitement just out of reach. “Almost,” she says again, forcing a smile, “but it is real. We should have known nothing could keep the Planet--or Perry--down for long.”

“That’s true.” Jimmy’s smile fades as he watches her tuck away the pills. He looks behind them at the doctor’s office, looks back at her, a crease forming in his brow. “Lois…is everything all right? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she says brusquely, but she has missed Jimmy (missed his presence and his loyalty and his ever-present willingness to do or be whatever she needs him to be), and she does not like to see him worried (and she wants to talk to someone, now that she can no longer confide in Clark). So she summons up another smile and adds, “I’ve just been getting migraines lately. The doctor gave me some pills to try to get rid of them.”

He is instantly sympathetic (following her cues as ably as if they have seen each other more than once in the past couple months). “Ah, man, I’m sorry. I had a migraine once, and wow, it was brutal. I hope those pills work.”

“Me, too.” They turn a corner, leaving the doctor’s office behind, and Lois feels the tension ease between her shoulder blades.

The truth is, bad as her migraines have been lately, she finally gave in and visited the doctor for another reason entirely. She went because the migraines are worse when she fully indulges the flashes of a life-that-could-have-been. She went because she’s been savoring those flashes more than usual (more and more as her deadline approaches and her farewell to Clark draws ever nearer) and sometimes it’s impossible for her to even open her eyes to reality anymore. And she went, ultimately, because she’s afraid, in some small and dark corner of herself, that she is losing her mind (that she made everything up these past months, and that she is about to destroy Clark for no good reason at all).

Not that it’s done her much good. Three appointments in the past couple weeks, CAT scans and MRIs and x-rays, and in the end, she has a few pills to take for headaches and nothing conclusive at all about hallucinations. Not that she brought those up out loud--no need to have them send her straight to the padded room without even stopping to ask her whether she’s partial to white straitjackets. Three appointments, and it was just a waste of time (and she’s still stuck trying to come up with a way to both break Clark’s heart and protect it as much as possible).

Three appointments, and no more time left on her deadline, and she has to destroy Clark Kent.

A hazy of burst of color and almost-sound (she cannot hear anything happening in these quick bursts of might-have-been, but other-Lois hears, and comprehends and reacts, and so Lois herself feels as if she hears) blur through the street ahead of her, the other, happier (luckier) Lois, walking with Clark at her side until a cab pulls up in front of him and a blonde woman shouts for him to hurry or they’ll miss their lead. Other-Lois pretends she doesn’t care, but she is struggling, bereft, as Clark apologetically leaves, and the abandoned feeling does not only come because of her job insecurity.

Lois blinks, and the images are gone, leaving her (wearier, harder, so much less lucky) alone with only Jimmy at her side, prattling on about something that seems too far away for her to try to catch up. Her fingers itch, desperate for pen and paper, for the journal where she has begun recording each and every glimpse of this life she would give anything (even the future? even Paradise? she sometimes asks herself, when Clark’s lips are on hers and his hand caresses her cheeks and she thinks she will die if she cannot have his presence a fixture in her life) to have for her own (to have for Clark, because even though other-Clark is sad and hurting and wounded sometimes, she is sure that it pales in comparison to what her Clark will end up being when she is through with him).

Instead of digging out her journal in the middle of the street (like a crazy woman, though that’s what she’s begun to think she is), Lois winds her fingers through the strap of her purse and makes herself smile at Jimmy, pretending as if she has been listening to him. Only, he’s not talking anymore, just looking at her expectantly.

“What?” she asks blankly, and slowly unfurls one hand just long enough to press her fingers against her temples, letting the pressure give her an instant of relief from the pounding that has become almost constant.

“Is Clark going to meet us there?” Jimmy asks, patiently. “I mean, he mentioned that you’d be together, but then when you called to meet you, I just figured he’d be showing up. But…?” He pauses again and watches her instead of the ground in front of him, and she’s glad that she’s not so far gone she can’t read the crosswalk signs for him.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says shortly, hoping that’s the end of it.

She is, of course, not that lucky.

Jimmy’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. “You…guess?”

She could do more than guess, actually. She was supposed to meet Clark early for breakfast so they could go to the unveiling together. She’s supposed to be with him right now, soaking in his warmth, delighting in his smile, relaxing in his presence. She’s supposed to be dropping his hand, and squashing his smiles, and crushing his hope.

But she’s a coward, and weak, and so she did not meet Clark for breakfast (in fact, intentionally arranged her latest doctor’s appointment so that she had something to distract her from the image of Clark waiting fruitlessly for her), and she did not call him (she is increasingly unsure that she can follow through on what she needs to do when he is in front of her, happy and trusting and unsuspecting), and she has been dreading the moment when she has to see him in front of the Daily Planet building.

“I guess,” she says, firmly this time. “We didn’t have anything concrete nailed down.”

Jimmy slides an uncertain glance over at her; she thinks he almost drops a hand on her shoulder before thinking better of it. “You know,” he begins, voice so casual it reads like a screaming alarm, “Clark’s told me that you’re dating now. It’s…not really a secret.”

There’s a questioning lilt to his voice (as if he knows he is just making up his own excuses for her odd behavior) that twists Lois’s conscience (yet again, new ways of torture, because she hadn’t considered this either, losing some of her, their, small circle of friends). Nonetheless, she forces a bright smile. “We are dating, and I don’t think it was ever a secret.”

She can’t quite decipher his reaction. Maybe it is surprise, maybe happiness, maybe confusion; maybe it is some of all these things. His smile seems genuine, at least, and his hand does briefly brush over her shoulder this time. “That’s great, Lois! Really, Clark really…cares…about you. And…” He shrugs, still watching her out of the corner of his eye (and his strange reaction leaves her grounded to the moment, the flashes she longs for temporarily scared away).

With a sigh, Lois stops in the middle of the sidewalk so she can turn and face him head-on. “All right,” she says. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“Your little innocent act doesn’t work on me anymore, Jimmy, you know that. I can tell there’s something you want to say.”

He stalls a minute more before finally caving, holding up his hands in front of him as if to hold her back. “All right, well, it’s just… CK really likes you, Lois. Like, really, really likes you. And I know you and I have known each other longer, and the last thing I want to do is make you think I’m picking sides, but…I guess I’m just a little worried about him. About both of you. I don’t want either one of you getting hurt.”

Absurdly (because she is going to hurt Clark, already knows it, knew it before she ever even opened this door in the first place), she feels deeply offended. And hurt. And so incredibly, horribly guilty. She wraps her hands tighter in the strap of her purse, so tightly she wonders if there will be bruises ringing her wrists and knuckles, and takes a deep break.

“Listen, Jimmy, relationships don’t always work out. But Clark and I both decided to try this out and see what happens. And it’s…it’s good, all right? We’re both okay, we’re both still here.” She smiles at Jimmy, because she knows this is what really worries him (this kid too young, too alone, with no parents that she’s heard him talk about yet; though Clark, she thinks, probably knows his entire life story by now). “And even if it doesn’t work out, we’ll still be okay.”

His smile is shaky, unsure (not comforted or convinced at all, and why did her source ever think she was the one to do this if she is such an unconvincing actress?). “Right. But, Lois…I don’t think CK has ever even thought about your relationship not working out. I don’t think he’ll be--”

“I know,” she rasps. Another bright smile (eventually, they will be all that is left of her, and therefore, at least somewhat real). “Trust me, Jimmy, I didn’t agree to this lightly, okay?” When he winces and looks away, she adds, “You’re a good friend. Thanks for worrying about us.”

He’s diverted immediately, blushing at the compliment even as he stands a bit straighter. It’s a nice look on him, enough to distract her from her own worries until they reach the Daily Planet.

Perry’s already there, standing still and silent as he surveys the cracked shell of their beloved paper.

“Hey, Chief!” Jimmy calls out, grinning and alight, concern set aside in favor of excitement (and Lois wishes it were that easy for her, too). “And hey, I can finally call you that again!”

Laughing, Perry slings his arm around Jimmy for the briefest moment, in a move that looks like a hug (and that must feel like one, too, if Jimmy’s radiant expression is anything to go by). “Don’t call me, Chief, kid,” he says gruffly, then ruins it by laughing again.

“Great job getting Stern onboard,” Lois says. Because she needs to say something. Because she wants to be a part of this moment, all happiness and relief and victory (and she is numb and disillusioned, severed from their glee; as if she has become as much a phantom as other-Lois). “I was afraid there for a while that the Planet was done for.”

“She was beaten for a little bit, but it’d take more than a criminal owner and a little fire to keep her down for good.” Perry smirks down at her, daring her to call him out on his almost-retirement and near-move to Florida.

(Do you know? she wants to ask him. Can you tell how broken I am inside? Can you see the lies eating me up from the inside out? Can you help me?)

“How could I have ever doubted?” she teases, and scrounges up another bright (fake) smile.

Perry turns to Jimmy (distracted by something new, and blinded by a dream come true, and she’s never seen the similarities between him and her so clearly). Lois is left for a moment to stare up at the hollow façade of her favorite place on Earth. The place she belongs--more her home than her apartment or any of the places she’d ever lived with her family. She still clearly, sharply remembers the first time she walked through those doors, weeks away from her graduation, armed with a story, determination, and so much idealistic hope. She remembers Perry, his distractibility fading into interest and calculation as she talked. She remembers the feel of his hand on hers as he shook it, the smell of ink and coffee, the sense of belonging when she sat at her tiny desk, shoved into some forgotten corner.

So many memories, so much history, and yet, looking up at the building now, with the sheet billowing out over the remade globe, the moments that seem the most pivotal, the most monumental…all center around Clark.

Hardly noticing him as she barged into Perry’s office. The first time he effortlessly followed her quick pace, the smile he hid from her until she was ready to realize he was laughing with her rather than at her. His desk placed just so, precisely where he could look over at her (where she could always see him, just out of the corner of her eye; just that little bit out of focus). The coffee he brought her, always the perfect temperature, and his hand on her back, and his laughter inviting hers.

(A ring placed in a desk drawer and a banner welcoming them back. Signs pairing their names and pictures showing them side by side. Kisses shared in the janitor’s closet and the conference room and out in the open. Cheers from a group of their friends, including an older Perry and Jimmy, shouting Surprise! for a husband who’s disappeared in a blur of red and blue.)

She’s always belonged at the Planet, but she thinks she’s only been completely happy there since Clark arrived, as if some piece of her had just been waiting, all along, for him, until it could ease and unfurl and slide into place. Homes can be lonely and cold and sterile, even when you belong, but Clark makes it warm and bright and happy.

And for the first time (now accepting and believing that the Planet is actually coming back, that it is not dead and gone forever), Lois starts to wonder how much is going to change. Once she breaks Clark’s heart--once she cements Superman’s place in history--what will be left at the Planet? Clark Kent will still exist, she’s been promised that, but he will be secondary to Superman. Will he still work at the Planet? Even if he does, there will be no more coffee or friendly wagers or easy partnership or undercover nights. There will only be hurt and coldness and silence, and maybe he will even leave (she doesn’t know, hadn’t thought to ask because she hadn’t dared think she’d ever be back here again). And she wonders, numbly, if it will still be home at all.

“Lois!”

She turns, slowly, almost dreamlike, to see Clark coming toward her, relief scrawled all across his features. His glasses reflect the light in a scattering of prisms, his tie barely matches his suit, and his face is open and trusting even through the confusion and relief. He’s beautiful, even more so than Superman because he could be so many things, terrible and awesome and frightening, and this is who he is. He’s beautiful…and unattainable.

(Hadn’t she known that? Doesn’t she know, yet, that her place is merely to write about wonderful things, not to own them for herself? The reporter does not become the story, and even though it is Clark Kent jogging toward her, it is Superman who is the biggest story there has ever been.)

“You’ll have to give Superman up,” her source had warned her when she finally agreed to his plan, after days of convincing. “And you’ll have to forget about Lex Luthor--he’s not important anymore. But overall, I can promise you that the sacrifices you make will be worth it. It will, after all, save world and make the future a…well, a utopia.”

Lex Luthor. Superman. These are sacrifices she can endure. One is easily shrugged aside (grand romantic gestures more easily dismissed than her rage at the knowledge that Lex blew up the Planet), the other hurts, but she will survive them both.

But there’s something her source had neglected to mention, something more important than any of the rest of it: that she will lose Clark Kent, too (partnership and friendship and now so much more), and this is the sacrifice that she thinks will destroy her.

“Lois, are you all right?” Clark steps close, radiating heat and affection both, and runs his hands down her arm. She wouldn’t be surprised to find out that his sweeping gaze is actually him x-raying her for hidden damage; he’s trying to conceal it, but she can see fear and worry still in his gaze, no longer hidden by his glasses now that he stands so close she can see past the reflections. “I thought we were going to have breakfast.”

This isn’t about you, she reminds herself harshly. This is about Superman, and the world, and the future. She can’t afford to be distracted anymore with what she wants, only with what is best. And, she thinks, if Clark knew everything (and he can’t, that has been stressed to her above all), he would know (even if he could never admit) that this is the right thing to do.

“Sorry, Clark,” she says with a casual shrug. “Must have slipped my mind.”

His hands fall away from hers as he takes a step back. “What?” He shakes his head, his brow creased. “We talked about it just last night. I waited for you for almost an hour. I thought you were hur--” Sharply, he breaks off and looks away, his jaw clenching.

And there it is. He’s worried about her. Distraught, leaping to paranoid conclusions, waiting on her instead of doing any of the hundreds of other things Superman should be doing.

Distracted.

Just as her source had warned her.

She adds steel to her heart, to her spine, to her voice. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, Clark,” she says sharply. “The Daily Planet is going to be open for business again, and that means I’ve got to make sure we have stories to put on the front page. I’m sorry if you had to eat breakfast alone, but you don’t have to make such a big deal about it. It’s fine.”

It’s quick, short, the smallest flash of hurt gleaming there in his eyes before he blinks it away, but the aftermath lingers, aching like a bruise on her heart. “I’m not trying to…” He huffs out a breath and reaches for her hand. She turns, pretending she did not see, and lets his hand drop back, empty, to his side. “I was just worried about you.”

It’s impossible to look at him, so she rolls her eyes, stares up at the veiled globe. “Really, I’d think that after all the times you’ve disappeared on me, you’d be the last person to criticize one missed breakfast.”

And she knows that this time, his hurt will be harder to conceal, more difficult to wrap his arms around and wrestle it into submission, lock it away in a cavernous box, veil it behind curtains he does not realize are so sheer they might as well be translucent. But she does not look, because she does not need to see it (does not need it etched into her mind to torture her for the rest of her life).

She told him she was giving them a chance. She didn't tell him it was a dead one, already a ghost--just like her. And she cannot blame him for not knowing that. She cannot hate him for making her play this entire twisted story out to its bitter end.

“Lois, Clark!” Perry’s voice interrupts them, a loud noise that piles up on top of all the other noises to drive those spikes deeper into her skull. If Clark weren’t still so close, she’d reach into her purse and try one of those pills the doctor gave her right now. “Stern’s here!”

Clark turns to face the arriving car, carefully positioned so that she cannot see his expression. Lois stares straight ahead (watches him out of the corner of her eye; she certainly has enough practice with that), and smiles at Stern, and laughs with Jimmy and Perry, and claps when the sheet is ripped away to reveal the rebuilt bones of her home, and feels Clark. Steady. Warm. Right behind her (never leaving her side, even as he always has his face tilted away from her).

“Lois,” he whispers, softly, when everyone begins dispersing. “I’m sorry.”

A god brought to his knees. A good man driven to unnecessary apologies. Clark looking at her as if he can see her slipping away, and thinking it is all his own fault.

And she wonders how anything can ever be worth this.

*