Thunderstruck.
That was the only way to describe how he felt. Thunderstruck. And even that seemed inadequate, somehow. Clark had been hit by lightning more times than he cared to remember, but the shock to his body had never felt even remotely like this. A part of him wondered if he'd heard right. Another part of him wondered if Lois was pulling his leg. The greater part of him felt humbled.
Yes.
He wanted to say yes.
But...
No.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
It wasn't fair to her. She didn't know what she was getting herself into. It was one thing to ask average Joe Clark Kent to marry her. It was another to ask Clark Kent, aka Superman, to marry her. She needed to know all the facts before she could really and truly decide if he was someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
But that would mean finally gathering up the courage to let her into that secret part of himself, the part he never let anyone get anywhere close to. It meant no more hiding and no more secrets. It also, on the other hand, meant no more lying. No more inadvertently hurting Lois.
It's time, he told himself, painfully aware of the fact that Lois was waiting for an answer. Time to finally be completely truthful. Time to let her know everything.
"Lois...I..." he stuttered, trying to find the right words. "I'm flattered, but..."
He saw the instant her heart broke as she thought he was turning her down. Guilt flooded him.
"I...understand," she started to say as a blush began to flood her face.
"No, Lois, that's not it. There are things..."
Breaking news! he heard a radio announcer say as a car drove down the street. He almost groaned at his super hearing. A nuclear reactor in Japan is melting down. Workers are trapped inside. Local emergency services are doing all they can to reach the trapped workers, but the radiation levels are too high for them to safely...
He swiftly severed the connection. He had no choice but to go and help. He just wished the timing would have been better.
"I...I...I have to go," he stammered. "I promise, we'll talk more about this."
"So...it's a 'no,' then," Lois said flatly, the hurt lancing through her words.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's...it's just that we need to talk some more, before I can answer you. And we will. I promise. I just...I can't stay here, Lois. I have to go."
He couldn't afford any more of a delay. He stood and backed away from the bench, turning and disappearing down the trail as soon as he dared. He found a secluded section of the park, and, after carefully ensuring that he was alone, changed into his Superman uniform. In seconds, he was en route to the disaster, all the while kicking himself that he hadn't found a better way to leave things with Lois.
"Idiot!" he heard Lois chastising herself as he tuned his hearing to her. "I knew it was a bad idea to ask him. It's still too early in our relationship. And now I've scared him off. Good going, moron."
"I wanted to say yes," he whispered to the stars as he flew. "But you deserve better. You deserve the truth. And, once I tell you everything, if you still want to be with me, I promise I will say yes."
He had no more time to think back on the proposal. Japan came into his line of sight, and he had to focus solely on his mission. If he didn't, innocent lives could be lost. As much as it pained him to put Lois out of his thoughts, for the good of the people in danger, he had to. As the nuclear facility came into his view, he adopted the neutral mask and personality of Superman, leaving Clark Kent somewhere behind as he raced to the rescue.
He landed amid the throng of emergency workers and spoke rapidly to them in Japanese. They all seemed relieved that he was there to help, and eagerly briefed him on the situation that was unfolding. In mere minutes, Clark felt ready to enter into the building and begin what was sure to be a long rescue operation.
He found the first group of workers easily enough. They had made it fairly close to the door before collapsing. He brought them outside and to the paramedics, then headed back in. For hours, he searched the facility, from top to bottom and in every obscure corner. As he got deeper inside, he began to find the bodies of those who'd already died, thanks to the high levels of radiation inside. And, he noticed, as he got deeper and deeper into the facility, he began to feel strangely. He almost felt...sick.
It made him pause, as the thought occurred to him. He knew it wasn't the same feeling of "being ill" that filled him from seeing the people he hadn't been able to save. It wasn't the heaviness in his heart that he always felt during such disasters. It wasn't the guilt he carried when leaving the dead behind as he looked for those he could still save. It was different, in a way he'd never before experienced. His head felt stuffier and stuffier as the hours crawled by. His nose all but clogged up. His eyes watered. His throat went dry and raspy, until it hurt to swallow, let alone to talk. His chest felt like the entire world was sitting on it, making his lungs burn with every breath. Each time he coughed, a bit of mucus came up, though it did nothing to relieve the congestion he felt.
At one point, he sneezed, blasting a hole through the wall before him and through to the room beyond.
Sick.
So this was what it felt like.
The question was - how? How had he suddenly become sick? And why? His body was incompatible with Earthly diseases, or so Dr. Klein had once put it. The common colds and flues of the world couldn't grab hold in his body. His immune system instantly overpowered whatever illness he came in contact with and destroyed it, practically before the germs or virus knew what had hit it. It was one of the reasons why he never had to fear contracting something like AIDS or Hepatitis when dealing with people who were bleeding. It was a very good thing, to be sure. More often than not, Clark found himself covered in blood or other bodily fluids from the people he was helping.
So how could he be sick now? Was it due to the radiation in the air? But he shook his head as soon as the thought entered it. He'd been in worse radiation before and it had never affected him. So what in the world was going on?
Eventually, Clark was satisfied that everyone still alive inside of the building has been rescued, so he set about to sealing the leaks that were left - the ones he hadn't had a chance to solder shut in his haste to save lives. Only once he was certain that the solder points would hold and that he'd gotten them all, did he turn his attention to the dead. It should have been the easiest part of the rescue, but with his worsening health, it was a task of Herculean proportions.
Finally, he emerged for the last time, this time empty-handed, after making absolutely certain that no one - alive or dead - remained within.
"Everyone is out," he told those in charge. He coughed harshly as soon as the words came out and it nearly sent him to his knees.
"Thank you, Superman," responded one man, the name K. Hamada on his badge.
Clark nodded. "I've sealed up the leaks as best I can. It should hold," he told them, "at least for a while. Still, I would suggest that someone more experienced look at it once the radiation levels go down, just to be on the safe side."
"We will," Mr. Hamada assured him. "We are indebted to you for your help. There's no telling how much more tragic things would have been if you hadn't been here."
"I'm just glad I could help," he told everyone with a weak smile. Again, he coughed.
"Superman? Are you all right?" someone else asked.
Clark managed a nod, knowing it was a lie. "I'll be fine. Is there anything else I can do?" he asked, praying the answer was 'no.' He was feeling worse by the second, it seemed.
Mr. Hamada paused, thinking. "I think we're all set. We'll take it from here. Thank you again, Superman. We are truly indebted to you."
Clark nodded once in acknowledgement. Mr. Hamada extended a hand, which Clark took and shook. Then he slowly rose into the sky and started for home. He pushed himself as fast as he could, wanting to get back as soon as possible. He felt completely drained and in danger of collapsing, to the point where flying over the open ocean was terrifying. He breathed a sigh of relief once he had land beneath him again. He thought briefly about heading to his parents' farm in Kansas, but dismissed the notion almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind.
He was run down, he told himself. He'd been too long in too high of a level of radiation, without the benefit of sunlight in between his trips into and out of the building. He needed to rest up, get some sunlight in the morning, and he would feel better, his mind told him.
His heart knew better.
By the time he reached Metropolis, he could barely fly. Forced into a landing, he found himself still a ways from either his apartment or Lois'. But he was near one friend's apartment. Someone he could trust to get him where he needed to be. He angled himself down to land before the building in question. But when he touched down, he collapsed on the steps leading up into the building.
He must have blacked out, at least for a couple of minutes. The next thing he knew, someone was shaking him.
"Superman?"
Clark's eyes slowly creaked opened and adjusted to the suddenly harsh light from the streetlights.
"Help," he pleaded, the word an effort.
***
"Good going, Lois," Lois criticized herself as she paced her apartment, still seething and embarrassed from Clark's rejection.
For hours, she'd been ranting to herself, in an effort to bleed her emotions dry enough to begin healing her broken heart. After Clark had run off - and wasn't that just so typical of him, to run off during an important moment! - she'd held it together long enough to make it to her car. But once she was behind the wheel with the doors locked, engine idling and the heat beginning to seep out from the radiator vents, she'd cried. She cried harder than she'd ever cried in all her life.
When she'd finally composed herself well enough to drive home, she'd begun ranting out loud to herself. She'd ranted all the way home. She'd ranted as she'd unlocked her apartment door, walked inside, and set the locks again. She'd ranted as she'd showered, dried her hair, and slipped into her pajamas. And now she was aimlessly pacing her living room, her mind still spinning, as the same words poured from her lips in an endless cycle.
"Now you've done it. You've scared him off. The one time I've ever been completely happy in my life, and I've gone and destroyed it. Why? Why did I have to ask him to marry me? Why couldn't I have waited for him to make the first move?"
She abruptly changed direction and headed into her kitchen. She roughly threw open the freezer and grabbed the first cartoon of ice cream her fingertips touched - chocolate. She frowned. It couldn't have been rocky road or vanilla chocolate chip or vanilla fudge swirl. No. It had to be chocolate. Like Clark in that stupid analogy that girl had once given her, back when Lois had been confused over if she should continue dating Clark or take a chance with Dan. What had her name been? Elizabeth?
"No," Lois said as she thought it over, grabbing a spoon as she did so. "Sarah. That was it. Her name was Sarah."
She took the ice cream into her living room and plopped down onto the couch.
"This is all my fault," she continued, shoving the first bite of the creamy frozen treat into her mouth. She let it melt as she savored it. "I've never been a patient woman, and this is my punishment. Still," she said with a pause, "I never thought he'd actually [/i]turn me down[/i]. He's been lusting after me since the day we met. I thought he'd welcome the idea of spending our lives together. Unless..."
She stopped, stunned, as the thought came to her.
"Unless he doesn't love me the way I thought he did."
Was that possible? Could she and Clark's feelings toward each other be so different? She didn't think so. She'd never seen Clark so mad, jealous, or possessive as he'd been when she and Dan had briefly seen each other. She supposed it could have just been some weird kind of competition that Clark had imagined between himself and Dan, and a need to win said competition. But she just didn't believe it. Clark had never struck her as that kind of man.
Nor did he strike her as the type to need to be in control - that Lois taking the lead in their relationship and being the one to propose would have been a blow to his ego. In fact, he'd always told her how much he admired her initiative and willingness to take the lead on whatever needed to be done. No, he hadn't been scared of the fact that she'd been the one to propose marriage.
So...what then?
The phone rang, shattering her thoughts. She glanced at the offending item, too tired and too depressed to answer. She let it ring. And ring. And ring. She even turned off the machine, not wanting to deal with anyone or anything. But whoever was calling wasn't giving up easily. They called back. And they called back. On the fourth attempt, Lois finally picked up.
"What?" she barked into the mouthpiece.
"Lois?"
She didn't recognize the voice. "Who is this?"
"Lois, it's me. Mayson. Mayson Drake."
That gave Lois pause. "Mayson? Why...why are you calling me?" Though the two had learned to tolerate each other, they were far from friends.
"I need your help."
"My help?" she asked, aware that she was repeating everything at this point. "With what?"
"It's...it's Clark."
Lois gripped the headset as anger shot through her. "What about Clark?"
"He's here, at my apartment."
"Yeah, well, you're welcome to him," Lois spat out.
The rat had left her and gone scurrying back to that overbearing bimbo? Fine. They could have each other!
"You don't understand. He's...he's in trouble," Mayson said, her voice shaking.
Lois's pulse instantly skyrocketed as a bolt of worry zipped through her veins. But she wasn't about to show it. "Yeah, well, obviously he picked you to turn to. I'm sure you can handle it."
She was about to slam the phone down when Mayson spoke.
"Wait! Don't hang up! Listen to me, please."
That almost sounded like begging. And the panic in Mayson's voice was unmistakable. Lois' guts twisted and the coppery taste of fear was in her mouth. Her hands started to shake and she had to strengthen her grip on the phone again. Mayson Drake was a woman who didn't beg. She, like Lois, had a commanding, sometimes abrasive edge to her. No. She didn't beg for things. She demanded them.
"What's wrong?" Lois heard herself ask, before she was aware that she was even asking.
"He's sick. Very sick. Lois...I'm afraid. I think...I think he may be dying," Mayson haltingly got out, her words watery with tears - whether they were shed or unshed, Lois couldn't tell.
"That's ridiculous! He was just with me not five hours ago!" Lois exclaimed, half in disbelief, and half to conceal her growing fear. Mayson wasn't one to exaggerate. If she was afraid for Clark, something must really be wrong.
"Trust me on this," Mayson said, begging once more.
"I'll meet you at the hospital."
"That's...that's not possible."
"What do you mean? If he needs help, for God's sake, get him help!" Lois cried, wanting nothing more than to reach through the phone and slap the irritating blonde.
"It's...it's complicated. You, of all people, should know that," Mayson said cryptically. "Just come to my apartment."
Lois mulled it over. "Fine," she huffed. "What's the address?"
"Nineteen twenty-two Ashbury. Apartment five B, like boy."
"Nineteen twenty-two Ashbury," Lois said as she scribbled it down on a piece of scrap paper. Five B. Got it. You're all the way uptown and halfway across the city!" she said as the address registered in her mind. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Without waiting for a reply, she hung up.
She rushed out of her pajamas and into jeans and a warm red cable knit sweater. She stuffed her feet into her favorite pair of sneakers, then grabbed her purse, sticking the piece of paper with Mayson's address on it into the open top. As she pulled on her coat and hat, she momentarily paused.
Why was she in such a rush? Yes, Mayson had said Clark was sick, but what if she was lying? What if this was some kind of sick joke, meant to lure her over...for what? she had to wonder. To gloat? To show off that Clark had gone running to Mayson? To prove that Lois was old news?
"No," she whispered. "Clark would never allow that. And Mayson? She's overbearing and annoying, but she isn't cruel. If she says Clark is sick, he's sick."
Her resolved steeled, she grabbed her keys and left the apartment. Rushing to her car, she ignored the friendly calls of the neighbors she passed by, not even hearing them. As soon as she reached the Jeep, she climbed inside and, not even waiting for the car to warm up, she started for Mayson's apartment. At that hour, there was hardly any traffic on the road, a fact Lois was forever grateful for, once she had the time to think back on that night. As it was, she took almost no notice of anything that wasn't immediately impacting her journey. Every stop sign and red light received a sharp word from her tongue. Every slow driver was cursed under her breath. But, at last, she found the building.
Her timing couldn't have been better. As she pulled up, looking for a place to park, a car exited a spot right outside of the doors. Lois drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she waited for the elderly gentleman to finally vacate the parking space. Once he was gone, she carefully maneuvered the Jeep into the tight space. Then she was practically running into the building.
The elevator must have been on the ground floor. It opened seconds after she pressed the call button. The car was empty, and she pressed the button to close the doors as soon as she stepped inside.
One.
Lois tapped her foot as the lighted panel showed that the elevator was at the first floor.
Two.
She grew more impatient.
Three.
She bounced on the balls of her feet, wishing she could make the elevator go faster.
Four.
Dread washed over her. What was she going to find, once she knocked on Mayson's door?
Five.
Finally. She was there. The door slid open and Lois stepped out, cold fear rushing through her veins. Her gut instinct told her that whatever she was about to see, it wasn't going to be good.
She marched to Mayson's door before she could lose her nerve, though she hesitated before knocking. She took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm her frayed nerves and racing heart, then forced herself to knock. A second later, she heard movement behind the door.
"Just a second!" came the call from within.
Footsteps, then the turning of a lock. The door pulled open just a bit, the chain still attached. Mayson's face appeared in the opening she'd created.
"Oh, Lois," she said, sounding relieved.
The door shut again. Lois heard the scrape of the chain as it was freed from the lock. The door opened once more.
"I'm glad you're here," Mayson said awkwardly.
"Mayson, what's going on? What's wrong with Clark?" Lois asked, before she even took a step forward.
"I'm not sure. But he's sick. That's all I know. How and why is a mystery," Mayson said. "Come in and see for yourself."
She backed away from the door, allowing Lois entrance. Lois stepped inside the neat apartment. It wasn't at all what she'd expected, though Lois hadn't really expected anything specific at all. Clean, crisp lines dominated the space, though the modern design on the furniture was composed of soft curves. Neutral earth tones were in abundance, feeling somehow bland to Lois as she threw a cursory glance around the living room. Everything seemed to have a place - the television, the coffee table - the one messy space in the room, as it was covered with what Lois could only assume was notes on one or more of the woman's cases - the couch, the uncomfortable looking egg shaped chairs.
No sign of Clark, she thought sourly.
"Where's Clark?" she asked.
Mayson gestured down the hallway to their right. "This way. In the guest room."
Guest room, Lois sneered to herself.
Jealous.
She was actually jealous of Mayson and her apartment, which, if Lois had to guess, was twice the size of her own modest little abode. Sure, it made sense, Lois had to admit. As a deputy D.A., Mayson had to make more in a year than Lois did. Was this why Clark had been attracted to the woman? How many times had he been here, making out with the woman in her sterile looking living room? Or worse, the bedroom?
Focus, Lois, she reminded herself. Comparing your life to Mayson's isn't going to accomplish anything.
"Right here," Mayson said, stopping before the second door on the left.
She quietly opened the door. Lois peered inside. Beyond the door, the room was dark, with the only light coming from a dim lamp on the nightstand next to the bed. She could see someone laying in the bed, the comforter pulled up to his neck. But something was off.
She stepped inside the room and went to the bedside. She looked down on the familiar face snuggled into the blankets. Confused, she pulled the blankets back.
"Superman?" she asked, looking to Mayson. "I don't understand. I thought you said Clark was in trouble."
"He is, can't you see that?"
"Mayson, for the love of God, don't jerk me ar..." She bit off her words abruptly and looked back at the sleeping face next to her. "C...Clark?"
To Be Continued...
