You can find the
Another Dimension, Another Time, Another Lois[/i] TOC here.
Where we left off in Part 15…“He sounds like a fantasy,” Martha continued. “Nobody is [i]that perfect, honey. You might want to start readying yourself that he’s been lying to you, or you could be setting yourself up for some serious heartache.”
“But he’s real,” Lois told her adamantly. “I guess he sounds a bit unbelievable, but – trust me – he’s not perfect. He’s my partner...” Her laughter died as she looked down at her plate. Okay, that sounded a bit vague. “…at work…” That sounded even more odd. All that gushing and now she was saying that they just worked together and that he disappeared. “He couldn’t have made it all up,” she whispered not wanting to go down that path. “Why would he lie?”
Martha went over to the freezer and pulled out a carton of vanilla ice cream. She scooped out a huge portion and dumped it on Lois’ warm pie. “Here, honey, it looks like you could use this.”
Lois gazed up at the woman and smiled. Why couldn’t
she have been born into this family? Unconditional love. She had heard about it but thought it fell into the world of mythology, like Santa Claus, unicorns, fairies, and… she gulped.
Flying superheroes, Clark finished her thought. That one phrase, though spoken softly, forlornly, and almost as if to himself, made her realize what it was about Clark that attracted her so.
“He believes in me,” Lois told the Kents. “I
have to believe in him.”
***
Part 16At breakfast the next morning, Lois’ felt despair begin to wash over her. She wished Superman were real and that he could fly in and save the day, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She was on her own. Only
she could save Clark.
Her mind went back over her exploration of the Kents’ basement during the middle of the night while the Kents were asleep. The basement doubled as a storm shelter, laundry room, and cold storage – for all of Martha’s canning. There hadn’t been anything there either, unless it was squirreled away in a box or in storage or very well hidden.
Lois had looked through some of the boxes but had only found Martha’s art supplies packed away. Clark’s mother didn’t have the time or energy for hobbies now that she had a farm to run essentially on her own. Lois hadn’t seen any evidence of children’s toys, sleds, high chairs, gardening tools, old school papers, artwork, or anything that implied that Clark or any other child had ever lived there.
This self-imposed assignment was beginning to appear bleak indeed. How could Lois think about starting to save Clark from dying if they couldn’t prove that Clark had even existed, let alone whence in time to rescue him? Lois sighed. Even if it were possible to contact the dead H.G. Wells and he did happen to actually have a working time machine… her research had hit a dead end.
Clark’s continued silence was disturbing as well. Lois was beginning to feel like she had imagined the whole thing, created him out of her fantasies. It didn’t help that with each failure the voice inside her head spoke to her less. The teasing banter from a couple of days before seemed almost a distant memory.
Shivering with the dread that she had become one of those people who listened to the strange voice inside her head and followed it blindly, Lois wrapped her hands around her coffee mug in hopes of warming herself. This thought made her feel cold, physically cold. Lois had been so sure that Clark was real. Maybe Sarah was right; Clark and Superman were just figments of her imagination, placed in her head by her subconscious to help her deal with the grief of Mayson and Lex.
Only Lex was a horrible man. Lois wasn’t grieving his death any more. Superman had pointed her to the truth about him. Good riddance.
Maybe a good therapist was what she needed to overcome her grief at losing her best friend, Mayson Drake, but that thought made Lois nauseous. She hated psychiatry, ever since her mother sent to see a shrink when her parents got divorced. What a waste of time that had been.
Even Lois had to admit that creating a fictitious handsome co-worker with whom
she fell in love – of all things – who just happened to have died in the past, and whom she needed to save, sure did sound like a desperate cry for help if she had ever heard one. Sarah would probably tell her it was a manifestation of Lois’ subconscious, giving her a way to feel like she had some control over life and death. Lois really hated psycho-babble. Perhaps she really was mentally unstable. She certainly felt like she was losing control... and her mind. At least that part of her mind where Clark lived.
She sniffled. She hated to think this, but Mayson’s death seemed not to matter compared to the loss of Clark – her true best friend. If she were to lose him completely, now… Oh, God! She didn’t even want to contemplate how empty her life would become, and a fresh wave of despair rolled over her.
Lois didn’t know if this melancholy was her frustration at not finding anything or if it was something on Clark’s part. She refused to give up on him, but with each longer bout of silence, it felt as if he was letting go.
I want you to be happy, Clark whispered as if confirming her worst nightmare.
~Don’t, Clark!~ Her throat constricted as she held in the sob.
“Lois, honey, are you okay?” Martha asked, sitting down next to her.
Lois shook her head, unable to speak. Clark couldn’t leave her. She wanted more than anything to wrap her arms around him and have him tell her everything would be all right. If he left she would be all alone in this. She needed her partner more than ever.
“Come on,” Martha said, patting Lois on the shoulder. “I need your help in the fields today. The physical exertion will get your mind off things.”
Reluctantly Lois rose to her feet and followed the petite woman. She did not want to do farm work, but she wanted to be alone with her thoughts – or lack of thoughts – even less. The thought of wading through more piles of back copies of the
Smallville Post on this beautiful summer’s day seemed more like torture.
Two hours and about a bucket of sweat later, Martha stopped the tractor and pulled out a small picnic basket. “Break time,” she called to Lois who was straightening up the hay raked up by the tedder Martha’s tractor was pulling.
They leaned against the big machine despite the combined heat of its motor and the heat of the day. At least they were standing in its shadow. Martha handed her a thermos of water and scone.
“Before Jonathan’s accident, I used to bake all the time,” Martha murmured. “I loved how his eyes would light up at the smell of fresh baked goods when he walked in from the barn or fields.” She sighed. “Now, I only bake on Sundays after church. I know I should be resting, but it’s one of the small pleasures I allow myself... under the guise of necessity.”
Lois didn’t understand why Martha was baring her soul to her. Maybe she felt the kinship they were supposed to have because of Clark.
“You don’t paint anymore?” Lois asked.
Martha gazed at her with amazed confusion. “How did…?”
“The painting in the living room…” Lois said quickly to cover her mistake.
“Ah… No. I don’t have time or energy for hobbies anymore.” Martha informed her, another sigh escaping. “Do you have any hobbies?”
“I take martial arts classes. Self defense is important in Metropolis.” And in her line of work.
“That sounds more like exercise. What do you do for fun?” Martha corrected.
Lois scoffed, taking a gulp of her water. “Fun? What’s that?” She had fun with Clark playing games at the Lexor, talking with Clark on stakeouts, on assignments, and just hanging out with him. Not that she would ever admit it in her dreams, but Clark’s addition to the Daily Planet had made her happier than she had been in years. In reality, searching for Clark was the only thing she had done for herself in a long time. In her real life, the only fun she had was her investigations, her work. Clark had made her see that there was more to life than just work.
“That crushed expression that you get from time to time,” Martha said, nodding at Lois. “This man – Kent – causes that, doesn’t he?”
“Can’t put one past you,” Lois confessed.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did he do?”
~He up and died on me.~ Lois swallowed. “I’m not sure what’s going on with him. I think he’s letting me go for my own good.”
Martha stared at her. “Do you love him?”
“More than I thought it was possible to love someone,” Lois whispered. Her dream self might repress the emotion, but she knew the truth. “That’s why I’m here, looking for him.”
“And does he love you?”
“I thought he did, but…” Lois said with a shrug. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“So, what’s the problem? If you don’t mind me asking,” Martha probed.
How could explain Clark communicating with her from beyond the grave if they couldn’t even find said grave? If no one but her, it seemed, ever knew he had lived? “He’s not at a hundred percent at the moment…” Let’s just expose the tip of the iceberg there, Lane.
Martha nodded with understanding. “Jonathan has always been my rock, but these last few years I’ve had to be the strong one.” Her eyes flashed up to Lois’. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m no hothouse flower.” She chuckled. “I’m more like one of those weeds you can’t get rid of even if you pull it up by its roots.”
Clark’s mom sounded a lot like her, Lois thought.
“It’s hard for Jonathan having to rely on me for so much. These first couple of years after the accident have been difficult on both of us, switching roles. Years ago…” Martha said, flipping up her hand as if to say ‘many, many years ago’. “Jonathan had to have back surgery. I went into town and got a job and had be the sole breadwinner for a while. He hated that. It made him feel less than a whole man. I’d known it was only temporary, and eventually we made it through. This new life of ours isn’t temporary, Lois. This isn’t what I signed up for, but you know what…?” She smiled at Lois. “That doesn’t matter. We’re together. I love him, and I wouldn’t trade the way he looks at me for a nine-to-five anywhere, because at a hundred percent or not, Jonathan’s still my world… it’s making him see that…” Martha exhaled and took a drink from her thermos.
Like father, like son.
Lois took another sip of water. ~That’s exactly how I feel about you, Clark,~ she reminded him, hoping he was listening. ~Let me be your rock. Just hold on.~
They heard a noise that sounded like another tractor. A man – probably a few years younger than herself – pulled up. Lois was happy for the distraction from their conversation and from getting back to her back-breaking chore. She wondered if this was the farmhand that Maisie had mentioned, the one not worth looking at. Who knew? Every man looked bland to her when compared to Clark and Superman.
“Thomas!” Martha said, waving. “Whatcha doing over here?”
Thomas cut off the engine of his tractor and walked up to them. Lois racked her brain trying to remember the name of the farmhand. She hadn’t thought it was Thomas.
The man stopped in front of them and, despite her dirty attire and dust stained face, gave Lois the once over like a prized pig. Lovely.
“Thomas Irig, Lois Lane. Lois is staying with us from Metropolis. Thomas is our neighbor,” Martha said by way of introductions.
Irig. As in Wayne
Irig? Lois hadn’t known that Mr. Irig had a son. She waved her weak greeting.
He nodded at her, recognizing a dismissal when he saw one. “Martha, Sheriff Harris is bothering my dad again about donations for the campaign.”
“You mean guilting him for a donation?” Martha replied between pressed lips, letting a tsk escape.
Lois’ brow furrowed. This didn’t sound like the Rachel Harris she had met when she and Clark had come to town during the Corn Festival.
“I hate to ask… and you know my dad would never say anything and just give the money. When will it end, Martha? It’s been over ten years since Walt…” Thomas looked down at his feet, his voice fading off.
Martha patted his arm reassuringly. “You want me to send Jonathan into town and give the Sheriff a what for?”
Thomas smiled. “Yeah. That would be great. You know Dad and I can’t… aren’t welcome…”
“Why would Rachel do that?” Lois asked, interrupting. She was unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.
Thomas’s face went white. “Rachel?”
Martha just stared at Lois in disbelief.
“I liked her. She’s professional and does her job well, even if she was a bit flirtatious with Clark…” Lois stopped herself, realizing she had said too much.
“Who?” Martha sputtered. “
Who?”
“Sheriff Harris. Rachel Harris,” Lois clarified at their stunned faces. Wasn’t that whom they were talking about?
“Do you think that’s funny?” Thomas snapped at her. “What kind of sick joke is that?” He looked to Martha for an explanation. “Who
is this woman, Martha?”
Martha placed a calming hand on Thomas’s arm before turning to Lois. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, Lois, or where you got your information, but the Rachel Harris from Smallville is dead.”
“
What?!” Lois gasped, stumbling backwards away from them, dropping her thermos. “She can’t be dead? How could she be dead? You just were talking about her re-election campaign.” Her hands began to shake.
“Rachel’s brother Max is Sheriff,” Thomas practically spit at her. “
He’s the one seeking blood money from us.”
Lois’ eyes flashed between Thomas and Martha as she put more space between them. “Rachel’s dead?” Oh, God! Was this it? Both Clark and Rachel were dead? Had something happened on prom night, killing them both? No wonder she hadn’t found anything about Clark. He died before leaving high school. Had they purged his school records because of that? She gazed into Martha’s eyes looking for a clue.
“Lois?” Martha asked slowly, carefully, as if she had discovered a ticking-time bomb in the reporter. “How do you know about Rachel?”
“They went to prom together. They did the two-step and the push-tush together, whatever that is,” Lois explained what they clearly already knew.
“Yeah! Well, everyone knows that Rachel was the push-tush champ…” Thomas said, before Martha’s raised hand silenced him.
“Who, Lois?
They who?”
“Clark and Rachel, of course?” stammered Lois, backing up as the air surrounding her suddenly felt heavier, thicker.
“Lois, Clark
who?” Martha asked, staring Lois in the eye.
“Kent, of course. Your son. The man from my dreams.”
Okay. Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say, Lois told herself as Martha’s jaw dropped open. Thomas was staring at Lois like she was nuts.
“Lois, I don’t have a…” Martha started to say before her face drained of color. “
Clark?”
Lois nodded. Was the mortar loose in Martha’s brick wall? “Clark Jerome Kent. Your son,” she repeated, pressing on and holding eye contact with Clark’s mom, hoping for a flicker of recognition.
The woman looked sick. Physically sick.
“Clark went to prom with Rachel Harris,” she reminded them.
Instead Martha grabbed hold of Thomas’s sleeve for a moment as she gathered her bearings.
“Rachel went to prom with my brother Walt,” Thomas informed her.
Lois felt as if her world was spinning. “Walt?” Had Clark not been adopted by the Kents because he had been born an Irig? Or was he adopted by them? Had he had been named Walt… or Walter? No wonder she couldn’t find any record of Clark. Relief washed over her. Was this a clue at last? She looked at Thomas. He was lanky and even taller than Clark, and his complexion was darker than both Martha and Jonathan. “Your brother Walt, what does he look like?”
“Walt’s dead,” Thomas said coldly.
She knew that already and brushed that fact aside with a flick of her hand. “He and Rachel died on prom night?” Lois inquired.
Thomas gave a short nod. “Car accident. Max said Walt had been drinking.”
Drinking? That didn’t sound like Clark, who was overly cautious. She couldn’t picture him drinking and driving. Maybe it was this incident that made him so careful. “What did Walt look like? Was he taller than you? Dark hair? Glasses?”
Martha’s eyes shot up to Lois’ in an intense way the reporter had never seen them. “Walt had deep auburn hair like his mother and was about your height,” the woman stepped closer to her. “What are you really doing here?”
Lois gulped. Got it, Walt wasn’t Clark. Where was Clark? Why hadn’t he taken Rachel to prom? Had he died before then? The way Martha stared at her reminded her of another man from Lois’ dreams. Not that Superman had ever looked at her like that, thank God! “I’m searching for Clark.”
Thomas looked back and forth between the two women, completely lost. “Martha, what is she…?”
Martha ignored him as she stepped towards Lois again in an even more aggressive manner. “Who do you work for?”
Normally one to hold her ground, Lois couldn’t help but take another step backwards, holding up her hands. She and Martha were on the same side. She needed to make Clark’s mother to see that. “I’m just looking for answers, Martha,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm.
“
Who do you work for?” Martha repeated.
“Where I work doesn’t have any bearing on why I’m in Smallville,” Lois said, knowing well how some people felt about the fourth estate. “I’m here to learn about Clark. That’s all.”
“The government? Some wacky fringe group?” Martha continued to rattle off. “A tabloid?”
Lois’ face hardened. “I’m
not a tabloid reporter! The Daily Planet deals only in real news.”
She watched as Martha’s anger doubled. “Get off my land!” the woman roared, pointing off into the distance.
The reporter decided it was time to get away from this field, these people. She turned around and ran deep into the field, though the tall grass. In the next field, the Kents were growing corn, and she pushed her way through the tall stalks. Lois kept running until she couldn’t run any longer; then she walked, stumbling forward through her tears, through the blindness, through the fog inside her head.
Eventually, Lois came through the corn to a small meadow between fields. She saw a hill topped with trees and aimed for it. Trees meant shade from the noon-day heat. At the top of the hill was a small plot of rocky land enclosed by a broken-down picket fence. Lois stepped over the low fence and sat down amongst the shadows and rocks. Her hands came to her face and she wept. Martha’s rejection, on top of Clark’s disappearance, brought back all her feelings of inadequacy her own family had piled on her.
She pushed past the pain and tried again to look at the facts. That was what she liked about news. It was all about cold, hard facts – there was no emotion there, just knowledge. Rachel Harris was dead. Lois still couldn’t believe it. Another person, who was alive and well in her dreams, had died. What was her brain trying to tell her? What did it all mean? How did these puzzle pieces fit together?
Something in Martha’s expression had told Lois that Clark had been real. The woman had acknowledged his name with her eyes, and it had made her defensive as if she was worried that Lois was going to do something to harm her dead son. How was Lois going to convince Martha and Jonathan that she wanted what they wanted? For their son to be alive and well again. She sighed. Maybe being part of the Kent family was just another pipedream she was going to lay aside, like having her father’s undying admiration and her mother’s respect.
Looking around she noticed that it wasn’t a rocky fenced meadow as she had originally thought. These rocks were old tombstones. Some had crumbled from years of neglect and disrepair and appeared to look like rocks at first glance. She had ended up in a graveyard.
Lois would have shivered at the creep factor had she been a lesser woman, but she had never been scared of cemeteries. She knew that dead bodies did not rise again in the form of vampires or zombies. She was too levelheaded to believe in such mumbo-jumbo; not too levelheaded to believe in ghosts apparently. Or aliens. Or time travel.
She tried to read the names or dates on the broken rocks.
Jonas K. – 1876.
Mary Smalls Kent – 1882.
Charles Kent – 1880.
Abigail – 1892.
Jerome – 1892.
Laura – 1892.
Samuel Kent – 1896.
This obviously was the Kent family graveyard. She assumed the dates were when these people died. 1892 must have been a difficult year plagued by sickness or violence. Her heart ached for Jonathan’s relatives.
Lois noticed that someone had placed flowers on a small grave in the corner. Wildflowers. They were wilted from the heat of the day, but fresh enough that it couldn’t have been more than twenty-four hours, thirty-six tops, since they had been laid there. She moved closer, kneeling down to try and read the etching. The name had been scratched into the stone by hand and not too deeply at that. She spit into her hand and used the liquid to make the indentations in the rock more pronounced.
Clark Kent – 5-17-66.
That couldn’t be right. Clark was a year older than her. That must be his birthdate.
She rubbed on the rock even further, but that was the only date on the rock.
Why would they only put one date? If this was right…
Lois sat up and stared at the grave marker.
No wonder she couldn’t find a record of Clark in Smallville. He never lived long enough to go to school, let alone high school, let alone college, or Metropolis. She had fallen in love with a baby, a baby who had died before she was even born, before she herself had been conceived. How old had he been when he died? Ghosts didn’t age, did they? No, that was ridiculous. She knew that the man from her dreams, the man to whom she had given her heart, was real. And yet, she also knew that this grave belonged to him.
Lois placed her hand over the slight curvature of the earth by the marker. Tears welled up in her eyes again. “Clark,” she said to him. “I finally found you.”
Were her dreams just dreams or repressed memories? Or a mixture of the two? How could she have memories of him as a man when he had never been a man? How was that possible? Clark Kent must have at one point been a real man, a reporter, her partner, her friend.
So, if he was supposed to have been a man, then how had his destiny been changed?
If there was a way to go back in time to “save” Clark from dying, there must also be a way from someone else to go back in time and kill him. Kill him as a baby. She could not believe that
this was an accident. He was supposed to be alive, and since Clark wasn’t alive, someone must have done this on purpose. A tear rolled down her cheek and landed on his grave, dampening the soil as she grimaced at that thought.
What kind of sick bastard killed a baby? Why? Why would someone go back in time and kill the sweetest man of Lois’ acquaintance? A man who everyone seemed to have liked? What could Clark have possibly done to anger someone to such an extreme? Or had she – she was “Mad Dog Lane” after all – ticked someone off enough to go back in time and kill the man Lois loved?
It’s always about you, isn’t it? Clark murmured.
“Who did this, Clark? Who killed you?” she asked him. She asked the universe. She would accept a response from anyone who had a suggestion.
I have no answers, Lois. You’ll have to ask my parents about my death.“I’m not really on their ‘friends and family’ list at the moment,” Lois reminded him, too overjoyed to hear his voice to berate him for abandoning her.
She sat there running her fingers through the dirt and dried grass on his grave, not wanting to leave, not knowing where she could go, reveling in being physically close to him, even a baby version of him.
Lois had the answers to the two questions she had come to Smallville to find. Was Clark real? And if so, when had he died? Yes and May 17, 1966. She sighed, not wanting to consider that this had been the easy part of her quest to save Clark.
How in the world was Lois supposed to save someone who died as a baby? And if she did, would he still grow up to be the same man from her dreams? Would Clark be Clark?
And if her dreams were really repressed memories, how could the absence of one man change so many lives for the worse? Johnny Taylor? Rachel Harris? Jonathan Kent? All of them were alive and well in her dreams. Even Ralph was still around and giving her grief. Clark had been there for her to lavish her attentions on. She had spent that night of the pheromones at Clark’s apartment doing the dance of the seven veils instead of being attacked at her own.
In her dreams, her and Lex’s relationship hadn’t progressed to the point of him inviting her to spend the night. Hopefully, it never would. Therefore, she had no reason to tell Lex about Ralph barging into her apartment and… because that event never happened. Thank God! No, it hadn’t happened, thanks to Clark. If she needed another reason to love Clark she had it. Well, if that didn’t cement Jimmy’s theory about Lex having Ralph murdered in her opinion, nothing would.
What about Superman? How did he play into this whole crazy scenario? Did he? Or was he still just a figment of her imagination? If time-travel was possible, and at this point Lois had to believe it must be, then it was feasible that Superman wasn’t just part of her psyche put there to tell her how horrible a man Lex Luthor really was. How had Clark dying as an infant stopped Superman from appearing and saving all those people on the Prometheus? No matter how many times she turned the puzzle piece, she just couldn’t get Superman to fit in anywhere. There was something about him that was too unique.
***
Lois stayed by Clark’s grave for hours. She didn’t want to leave. It had taken her months since she had first been introduced to Clark in her dreams until she had gotten to this point – to finding him in her real life – and leaving felt like abandoning him. Clark might try to leave her for her own good with his silence, but it wasn’t going to work. She loved him and, do or die, he was stuck with her until the bitter end. She wasn’t going to take the easy road and let him drop by the wayside.
She kissed her fingers and pressed them against the stone where Jonathan or Martha had etched Clark’s name. “This isn’t goodbye, Clark. I’m going to find you and bring you home.”
Lois stood up, dusted herself off, and stepped out of the graveyard. She walked down the hill towards the afternoon sun. It was hot; blistering hot as only August in the Midwest could be. She was thirsty, dirty, and sweaty. A cool breeze came through the trees and cooled her off for a moment.
Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?A smile slipped onto her lips. “Only those who care, Clark,” Lois told him.
She found the road that encircled the field of corn and started walking down it in the general direction to the Kents’ farmhouse. She didn’t know what kind of reception she would find there. She needed to talk to Martha and Jonathan and explain what she wanted to do for their son, but she didn’t think they would be in the mood to talk.
Lois had gone over and over Martha’s words in her head as she sat at Clark’s grave and wondered what had frightened his mother? Prying? Repercussions? Why had the Kents buried Clark in an almost unmarked grave in an abandoned graveyard? Had they actually been Clark’s birth parents and didn’t want Smallville to know about their private pain of losing a child? Had it been that they had never mentioned Clark’s birth and subsequent death to the authorities? If they weren’t his parents, why hadn’t they contacted the authorities when they had found the child – dead or alive? Had they been scared of being charged with Clark’s murder? Did they know who Clark’s birth parents were? Had they rescued Clark from someone who had abused him, but he had died anyway? Were they now scared that Lois would send someone to dig up Clark’s grave? She would never do that to them or to Clark.
She had lots of questions for them regarding Clark’s death. Any information they could give her would place her that much further along the path to rescuing him… once she figured out the problem of time travel and the dead author H.G. Wells.
“Clark, do you think you could contact Wells from where you are? In the beyond?” she suggested. Why not? She had come across weirder “pseudo-science” since learning about Clark. Come on, head transplants? Please.
No, Lois, I cannot contact H.G. Wells from wherever I am. There’s you, and there’s me. There is no beyond. That I can communicate with you is miracle enough for me.Well, so much for Clark being her happy medium. Lois sighed. It was miracle enough for her as well, but no reason to spout any more useless romantic lines with which they couldn’t follow through. Personally, she was still a little ticked off at him for not telling her that he loved her after she confessed that she loved him during those last few hours before Nightfall was supposed to hit. She still loved him, and as far as she could tell, despite it being quite a while since he had said the words, Clark loved her as well.
“Any advice on winning over your mom and dad?” she asked, hoping to keep him active enough in conversation that he wouldn’t go and disappear on her again.
Be honest. Since they think you lied to them – came here under false pretenses – this isn't the time to candy coat anything.“I haven’t come here under false pretenses,” Lois rebutted. “I told them from the beginning that I was here searching for a man named Kent.”
Lo-is, Clark groaned in a way she hadn’t heard in a good long time.
She continued to defend her argument, trying not to let the smile grow larger on her lips and let Clark know how much she enjoyed this annoying aspect of their relationship. “Okay, fine. I grant you I didn’t tell them that ‘Kent’ was ‘Clark Kent’ their son. I also didn’t tell them that I can speak to you and that you invade my dreams with memories of our life together. But as you know, I’m not a big fan of padded rooms.”
I don’t invade your dreams, Lois, Clark retorted.
They’re your memories, from your point of view. I have no control over them.“Right. You’re a figment of my imagination. I get it,” Lois responded. He really could be quite frustrating with his hands-off approach to her life.
Thanks for not giving up on me, he said softly.
“Not in my vocabulary,” she reminded him, kicking a rock further down the lane.
I’m still amazed that you love me.“Yep, there are no depths to my stupidity,” Lois grumbled. She didn’t remember him being such a chatterbox before.
In case you’re wondering, I’ll always love you.Yeah, right. She’d believe it when she saw it. “Always is a long time. Sure you want make such a long-term commitment there, Clark?” Lois could picture the man from her dreams cringe at her words.
You’re the one who proposed, Clark reminded her playfully.
I’ve already done my part on the ‘not even death will us part’ portion of our lives. Top that!“I never gave up on you,” she murmured.
Clark faded into silence again but even so she could feel his guilt. It wasn’t her guilt. She
had nothing to feel guilty about, so it must be his.
It wasn’t until she rounded the corner on the work road and could see his parents’ farmhouse that he spoke again.
This relationship isn’t healthy for you, Lois. If you can’t figure out a way to go into the past…“Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Kent,” she replied through pressed lips.
Clark continued on as if she hadn’t interrupted,
I don’t want to hold you back from having a real life, of having a real relationship with a real flesh and blood man, whom you can hold and touch and with whom you can have children… He paused and she heard him sigh before reluctantly admitting
… with someone like Scardino.Lois stopped and threw her hands into the air. “Dan? I broke up with Dan because of Dan, not because of you,” she shouted. “And at this moment, sex and children are the last thing I need. What I need to know is whether you’ll be there for me, Clark, or if you’re going to abandon me every time this gets hard?”
As long as you want me, Lois, I’ll be around.“Ha!” She started stomping on down the road. “Do you love me?”
I’ve never stopped loving you.“Then stop making decisions regarding my life without consulting me. If I decide that
this relationship is unhealthy for me or that I could do better, you’ll be the first to know.”
Got it.“Until then, we’re in this together.” She lowered her voice as she got closer to the farmhouse.
I just want you to be happy, Lois, Clark told her.
“Happy? I am happy!” she growled. “I have a man who loves me more than life itself. What makes you think I’m not happy?”
She could hear Clark’s chuckles echoing inside her head.
No idea.***End of Part 16*** Part 17 Comments A Tedder per Wikipedia is “a machine used in haymaking. It is used after cutting and before windrowing, and uses moving forks to airate or "fluff up" the hay and thus speed-up the process of hay-making.”
