*11*

It’s time. This is it, the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. It has to go perfectly, everything exactly right, because he’s not going to get a do-over or a repeat (or ever find someone else to trust this much). One chance to say it, one opportunity to confide this to the one person who can share this with him, one woman to entrust everything to.

He’s going to tell her.

The truth. The Secret. The fact behind the fear that’s been casting a shadow over him since he first discovered just how different he was (fear that he won’t be accepted; fear that he will be idolized; fear that betrayed anger will blot out everything else).

But this is Lois. He knows she won’t betray him. He knows she will keep his Secret for him, and she will not revile him for being an alien (ha! as if that’s ever been anything Superman’s had to worry about from Lois Lane!), and she will, of course, have to believe him, seeing as how he can fly even with glasses on. The only thing he doesn’t know…is how she will react. How she will look at him once the Secret is revealed. How she will (if she will) talk to him tomorrow.

He wishes he could see the future. That would be a useful power, much more helpful than super-smelling or arctic breath. But then…maybe he doesn’t want to know what will happen. Maybe it is too awful, too heartbreaking; maybe he would prefer to live out his dwindling moments of hope in blissful ignorance.

It doesn’t matter either way, of course. He has to tell her.

“Are you sure?” his dad had asked when Clark joined them for lunch. He’d known since closing Lois’s door behind him this morning that he has to do something (anything, though he is reluctant to admit that to himself; reluctant to face the squirming guilt that maybe this is just the only way open to him to retain some semblance of her love) to keep her from slipping away, but he couldn’t just tell Lois without at least warning his parents. It’s been their Secret even longer than it’s been his.

“You did say she’s been acting more distant,” his mom pointed out, even though she’d smiled when Clark announced his intentions. “Maybe this isn’t the right time.”

They are afraid for him, terrified that there is someone out there who knows who he is (someone Clark still hasn’t been able to find). But this is a different matter entirely, and actually, the fact that he has a stalker means it’s probably even more important he tell Lois. Safer for her if she knows to be on the lookout for someone who may use her to get to him (in both his guises).

“If I wait, I may never get another chance!” he exclaimed. He paced before them, back and forth, a little afraid to let them see the determination, the impatience (the panic that has nothing to do with the threat they’re thinking of) in his eyes. “She won’t tell me what’s going on, and this morning I realized…how can I expect her to tell me her secrets if I can’t tell her mine?” And then he did look at them, struck by the truth behind his own words. “I love her. She’s afraid of commitment, and I think I am too, in a way, but…but I love her. And I think--I hope--she loves me too.”

And (though he didn’t admit this to his parents) he knows that he has to tell her eventually. She is a part of his life forever, has been since he first caught sight of her and was swept up in her orbit. She is written into the very molecules of his being, wrapped around the chambers of his heart, flavored in every breath he takes. He is hers, and one day, no matter the circumstances, she will know his Secret. What better time to tell her, then, than now, when it is because he chooses to trust her?

So here he is, fiddling with the sleeves of his light blue shirt and wondering if he should dress up, dress down (dress as Superman). Listening for Lois’s arrival. Carefully measuring his breaths, in and out, in and out, gently lest he knock over the lamp with a worried sigh again.

He’s always dreamed of telling one special woman his Secret. He imagined candlelight and music, terror lodged in his throat and hope beating in his chest. Shock and surprise turning to acceptance and smiles. Kisses. Hugs. Belonging.

Then he chose to become Superman, and the dreams changed (because he met Lois or because the world is different, or are they the same thing, intrinsically tied up one in another?). Then all the specifics had gone hazy and unclear, unimportant. All that had been crystal clear was his hand (unsteady and purposely) pulling his glasses off his face. And Lois--it is always her, across from him, staring at him.

And that’s where the dream always ends.

Tonight, finally, he will find out how reality continues on from that instant. And tomorrow…tomorrow, he’ll never have to imagine this again. He’ll never have to dream about it, or wonder about what-ifs, or stop himself from imagining it too full of clichés and happily-ever-afters. Tomorrow, it will all be over: the fear, and the lies, and the stupid excuses, and the disappointment in her eyes, and the painful things he has to do to keep up the charade of being two people.

Clark has to stop in mid-step, then, has to hold his breath completely and fold his arms over his chest to keep himself in one piece (in one place).

He’s never been more terrified in his life. Flying out in the open, for the first time, dressed in the Superman Suit, was nothing compared to this. Facing Trask while his parents were tied up and he was wracked with pain is only a dim thought compared to what he’s about to do. Only the possibility of Lois marrying Luthor comes anything close to the absolute terror rampaging through him now.

All his life, ever since he first started running so fast and hearing so well and seeing through walls, he has been frightened of people looking at him. For years, he has shrunk away from attention, learned to be a master of distraction, and become used to fleeing ahead of suspicion. He has never actually planned on telling anyone real that he is Superman. That he’s an alien. That he’s different.

Even his dreams have always been just that--abstract dreams. Not real. Nothing more than imagination and fiction.

But he can’t rely on those anymore. He has to take a chance (on Lois, the woman who took a chance on Superman in her first article about him; who is taking a chance on Clark).

Her knock on his door startles him so badly his breath leaves his lungs in a whoosh and he has to blur across the living room to save the lamp (again). For just an instant (a shameful, childish instant), he thinks about just ignoring the knock. Rushing out of the apartment and pretending like he’s not home.

But, no. He wants this. Really, he does.

He does.

Swallowing hard, Clark takes the steps up to his landing one at a time, reaches for the doorknob, pulls the door open.

She’s here.

(In some small corner of his brain, relegated to the darkest shadows, he is almost disappointed that she did not cancel or fail to show up.)

Strangely, she looks almost as nervous as he does. That steadies him, just a bit. She is just as worried about whatever she’s hiding from him as he is about his Secret. (Whatever she has to tell him, he doesn’t care; it doesn’t matter next to how much he loves her. He hopes she feels the same about his Secret.) Here, as in all things, she seems to understand him. (She will understand, he promises himself, and wishes he could be sure of it.)

“Hey,” she says in a shadow of her normal voice.

“Hey,” he says back, and manages a smile.

“I have something to tell you,” they both say at the same time, and Clark lets out a nervous laugh while she forces a smile.

“Sorry.” He moves and gestures down toward the couch. “You want to sit down?”

She nods and follows him, but only sits for an instant before she is back upright, her feet tracing the path his own have worn in the rug. “Clark, let me go first, okay?”

“No, Lois.” He stands too, right in her path. This is his moment and he will not be waylaid. He can’t let all the courage he’s built up through the day dissipate (can’t give his cowardly self an out, or he may never bring himself to this moment again). “Let me this time! I know you’re mad about me always running out on you, or showing up late, or giving you stupid excuses--”

“No, it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head, wraps her arms around herself. Her face is set in a mask of resolution (Clark’s heart stutters and falls, because it is impossible to think that he has already lost his chance). “You were right when you said that I was pushing you away on purpose. I have been, and it’s just because I’ve been afraid to tell you something.”

“Me, too!” Buoyed by this sudden confession, he steps closer to her, rests his hands on her arms. She doesn’t loosen them from around herself, doesn’t hug him, but she doesn’t step away either. In fact, she stares up at him as if entranced. “But I’m tired of being afraid,” Clark whispers. “I don’t want to make excuses anymore.”

“I can’t make excuses anymore,” she whispers. Then, suddenly, she lunges forward and kisses him, quick and desperate and hard. He’s too stunned to respond, and she retreats halfway across the room before he can even think to grab hold of her. “Clark, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he tells her. She’s distracting him (she’s always distracting him), and he doesn’t know what she’s thinking or feeling, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Now that he has glimpsed the possibility of letting her in on his Secret, there is no way he can relegate himself back to the lonely world of lies and alter egos. He does want this, so badly there is a rushing noise in his ears and his hands shake.

Because once he tells her, once she knows…he will belong to her. In some way, in some form, he will always belong to her.

“I never wanted to lie to you, Lois--if you believe anything, please believe that. I just…this is something I’ve never told anyone before. But I want to tell you. I want you to be the first person I--”

“Clark, it’s over.”

There’s an eternity of blackness flickering at the edges of his vision, and drums pounding in his ears, and fire raging through his heart. There’s darkness behind him and ahead of him, and he is all alone in this cold night.

This can’t be happening. It’s not fair. He’s telling her his Secret! He’s trusting her with everything--and she’s already given up on him?

(He wants to belong to her; she wants to separate from him; and this has always been their problem, hasn’t it, always on different pages of the same story.)

“No!” He steps forward yet again (always, always, taking those steps; always, always, watching her retreat), crowds her, forces her to look at him instead of shut him out. “Please, wait, Lois, wait until I explain, all right? You may still want to break up with me afterward, but at least do it for the right reasons. You said you’d give us a chance, and that includes listening to me.”

“I did say that.” She nods, her eyes blank. Looking past him. Already moved on (to something brighter, and bigger, and better; more exciting than a mild-mannered reporter). “But this isn’t working, Clark. I didn’t want to tell you, but…I’ve tried, all right, and I just don’t feel that way about you.”

He stares at her. “Really? No romantic feelings toward me at all? And the magic show, the tickets, the red rose--what was that? The nights on my couch, the walks together, the way you said it was ‘nice’ being with me--that was all a lie?”

“I tried, okay!” She throws her arms up in the air, forcing him back a pace, and she is still not looking at him, but at least she is alive and afire again. At least she isn’t looking past him blankly, as if he’s not even there. “I just…I’m starting to think it was a mistake to give up on Superman.”

A strange thing happens then: Clark actually breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not Luthor, or her own feelings, or a lack of chemistry between them. It’s just his Secret. Again. (Always.)

And he already knows how to take that out of the equation.

(He tries not to think about fury taking the place of affection in her dark eyes; disappointment replacing fondness; shock subsuming everything he’s worked so hard to wake in her.)

“Lois, that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” He stops, takes a breath, and tries to regroup. This isn’t the way he planned it at all (and certainly not the way he’s dreamed of doing it). It’s all right, though. This is honest and messy and chaotic, which is, in the long run, probably better than a scene set just so and practiced words.

“You don’t have to give up Superman. There’s a reason Superman is always there for you when you need him and Clark never is,” he says, scrambling to catch up to where he wants this to be. This is the most important speech he’ll ever give in his life, and he’s always been better with the written word over the spoken (he always stumbles and forgets important things when he speaks; always holds back too much and stutters in the silent pauses), but he has to get this right. He has to say it in such a way that Lois will forgive him one day (hopefully very soon).

“Stop!” Lois looks almost panicked, her hands held between them as if she’s warding him off. Hope flowers inside Clark because she is never more defensive than when she is affected more than she wants to admit. She hasn’t given up on him! “Just stop, Clark, there’s no point, okay? You and I were never meant to be anything more than partners or friends. A romantic future just isn’t in the cards for us.”

“I don’t believe you.” A preternatural calm falls over him. He can almost literally see the line separating all the yesterdays from all the tomorrows, stamping a before and an after on each side, leaving him no way out. “All the kisses we’ve shared, the way your hand feels in mine, when you hug me and I feel like I can take on the whole world--I know those weren’t all one-sided, Lois. I know you’ve been lied to before, and you’re afraid to trust me--that’s why I need to--want to--tell you this.”

Lois looks right at him, finally meets his eyes, and he is staggered by the intensity there. “Don’t do this, Clark. We tried, it didn’t work out, that’s just the way it is. You can’t expect every woman you meet to be The One. Just move on.”

“I can’t. Lois, there’s more between us than you know. Have you ever wondered why Superman singled you out from the beginning? Why you’ve never seen him and me in the same place? It’s because--”

“Stop it, Clark! Don’t do this!”

“--I am Superman. Or rather, he is me. We’re the same--”

Lois sags, her hands over her face. “Oh, Clark! I told you not to tell me!”

“--person, and I’ve wanted to tell…” He trails off abruptly, his mind suddenly catching up to her words.

All his dreams. All his imaginings. All his golden fairy tales, and not one of them has ever included anything like this.

She looks utterly defeated. Exasperated. Annoyed. Impatient. All perfectly Lois Lane things to be (except for defeated; that’s all new), but…but not where Superman is concerned. Not when Clark has just admitted to lying to her and, for all intents and purposes, tricking her. Where’s the shock? The anger? The lightning-fast process of her mind putting all the pieces together? The tears? The shouting?

None of it’s there. There’s just sad irritation.

Because…because…

“You knew,” he whispers. “You already knew. How…when did you…I don’t understand.”

When she lifts her head and looks at him, he’s not surprised to see tears on her cheeks (though he wonders if they match the tears he feels building up inside him). He’s not surprised when she only stands there, motionless, watching him. He’s not surprised by anything. In fact, he feels…numb. Maybe, he thinks, it’s his heart going into shock, protecting him from the trauma being inflicted on him, the pain that will eventually cascade over him in electric surges.

“You shouldn’t have told me,” she whispers (as soft as the words are, they explode against his eardrums). “Why are you making this so difficult?”

Angrily, he shakes his head (to clear his ears and scare away the blackness creeping up in the corners of his vision). “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” she exclaims, gesturing between them. “I told you it was over--why do you have to prolong it?”

A long moment passes (an eternity; an eye-blink; he’s not sure which, only that his entire world shifts on its axis, reverses its orbit). Finally, he says, hoarsely, “I tell you that I’m Superman--something you already apparently know--and…and that’s all you have to say to me?”

He wanted (wants? he’s not sure, he’s so confused, everything is upside down and inside out) this Secret to bind them. He thought this would tie a cord between them (a welcome one, he hoped; he prayed). But Lois doesn’t want anything to do with him.

But why? Why, when she has admitted she regrets giving up on Superman? When she’s looked at Clark with stars in her eyes and…and affection, if not love…written all across her being? What has changed? What is different?

How did she find out?

“I’m sorry, but--”

“How long have you known?” he asks abruptly. His mind is cluttered and filled to overflowing with all his dreams and imaginings and hopes, and they are slow to return to the dusty corners of his heart, but belated as it is, he is beginning to put some pieces of his own together. Beginning to remember the night Lois came to his apartment and told him she wanted to try to love him. When she told him that she was giving up on Superman and taking a chance on Clark. The almost vindictive way she threw Superman’s name at him over and over again.

“It doesn’t matter, Clark. What matters--”

“How long have you known, Lois?” he cries, and whatever Lois sees in his face, it arrests her. There are more tears trailing down her face, but he only knows by the scent of salt; his eyes are blinded by his own fears and disappointments. “Since that night? The night you came to me and asked me on a date? Is that why you were crying? Why your heart was racing and I could tell you were hiding something? Is this what you were hiding, Lois?”

“Hey, I’m not the only one who’s been hiding things, and you’ve been doing it for far longer!” she snaps back, bristling.

Clark trembles. A crack echoes through his hearing and when he looks down, he sees hairline fractures in the floor spreading out from his feet, a shockwave effect caused by the amount of pressure it is taking him to stay in one spot.

“What happened, then?” he asks, and cannot help the bitterness pervading his tone. “You found out I was Superman--the ordinary man you promised you would love--and decided to give it a try? And then what? You found out I was Clark instead of the perfect hero you made up? Are you disappointed to find out that Superman isn’t real?”

Lois actually winces at that. And then (freezing the blood in Clark’s veins), she just shuts down. Her face goes expressionless, her eyes icy, her mouth a firm line. “You have no idea what I think, or why I came to you. You don’t know me, Clark! If you did, you would never--”

“No, I don’t!” His hands curl into fists, and Clark takes a precautionary step back (clearing a pathway to the door for Lois so he does not frighten her). “But I’ve tried! I have done nothing but ask you what you think, or what you feel, or what you want from me! I love you, Lois, and I have done everything to try to be what you need. What you want!”

“But why?” Lois shouts. “Why me? Why did you pick me to lie to, Clark? Out of all the people in this city, why did you have to make me look like the fool?”

The echoes of their voices die out. The apartment falls silent. Clark stares at Lois. She stares back. A silent, painful tableau.

“You think I did all this to make you look bad?” Clark finally asks, his voice a pale shadow barely daring to slice through the quiet around them. “You think I wanted to lie to you--to lie at all, about everything, for my entire life? I guess you don’t know me either, Lois. You’ve known my Secret all this time, and you still…don’t know me at all.”

“How can I?” she asks dully. “You’ve never bothered to show me who you really are.”

“I have shown you more of who I am than I have ever shown anyone else. I have been honest with you as much as I can, and I only ever lied about one thing. I trusted you with my Secret, Lois! And still…that’s not enough?”

(I gave you my heart, he wants to say, because it is what matters most, but he is already too hurt, too humiliated, too heartbroken, to let those fragile, vulnerable, shattered words out in the open. He will keep back this one last secret from her, even if he knows it isn’t truly secret at all.)

She swallows, the sound thunderous to him. Then, slowly, purposefully, she shakes her head. (Her heart is slow and ponderous in her chest, as leaden as his hope.) “No. It’s not enough.”

And Clark has no more words. He’s given them all away (entrusted them all to the revealing of his Secret), and left nothing for himself. No more convincing arguments to sway her to his side. No more pleading cries to hope that she will eventually learn to love him. No more dreams of a better tomorrow.

He doesn’t have to lie anymore, just like he wanted. He doesn’t have to imagine a scene where he tells his Secret to the woman he loves. It’s all been done, just like he planned. And just like his parents warned him, there is no going back.

“You’re right, Lois,” he says. “It’s over.”

And then he disappears from the apartment, blurs away and does not stop until he has crossed the world over, until he hovers in the atmosphere where he can scream and scream and no one will hear him (and if the earth shudders beneath the shockwaves of his grief, well, it is not the only world that has been irrevocably altered).

He is alone. Still. Always. Forever.

And Lois (cannot) will never love him.

*