Good Night, Lois – The Neverbird
Boxes and cages rattle as the plane drops due to another air hole. It’s a bumpy ride, feeling like the craft is hobbling along a cobblestone road rather than flying above the clouds.
I tighten my grip on the sorry excuse for an armrest, remembering just in time that grabbing anything for dear life is never a good idea with my powers. Mindful of the flimsy metal, I uncurl my hands, clasp them in my lap, and take deep breaths to suppress my mounting panic.
Lois reaches out and takes my hand in hers.
She frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I manage.
I force a smile on my face, trying to just grin away the beads of sweat covering my forehead.
It's strange - that meteorite is nowhere near me, yet I'm drenched in sweat. This isn't the first time I experience claustrophobia and I wish I had insisted on flying us to the Congo myself. But booking a commercial flight seemed like a good idea at the time. After nearly two days of sitting in airplanes, each of them tinier than the first one, I'm about to reconsider.
Her frown deepens. “You're not afraid of flying, are you?”
The idea is so ridiculous it almost makes me laugh.
“It’s not the flying,” I ground out.
The plane hits another air hole and we lose altitude. The boxes and cages tumble toward us and suddenly I can't breathe. I need to get us out of here. It's too tight, too…
Lois’ hand tightens around mine. “Hey, it's okay. I'm scared too.”
Mesmerized, I watch her as she raises my hand to her lips and places a kiss on my knuckles.
She smiles. “But I know I'm safe with you.”
The airplane drops again, but everything but her smile is suddenly forgotten.
“Tell me, why are we here again?” I croak.
“You and me, we're going to break the next Pulitzer story.”
Lois seems pretty confident.
I heave a sigh. “I just wish we hadn't taken the Neverbird to get there.”
She winks at me. “Well, it was about time you got off your rock before the flood caught up with you.”
That's true. Despite everything, I'm kind of glad we're here, together on an assignment for the Daily Planet. It's only temporary, a voice in the back of my mind insists. Just for this one story in the middle of the jungle where gun runners and who knows what other dangers loom.
But already I know I won't be able to turn my back on this so easily. Even if the walls of this Neverbird close in on me.
I wipe sweat off my brow, take more deep breaths and concentrate on Lois' heartbeat that picks up with every new drop of the plane. She tightens her grip on my hand and I caress her with my thumb.
“You're safe with me,” I mutter, not quite sure if it's her or me who needs convincing.
“I know. So if it's not the flying, what's bothering you?”
“I've always had a bit of a problem with tight spaces,” I admit. “Kind of feels like I'm buried alive.” Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I can't help but remember the first time I found myself in this predicament.
“Well, always isn't exactly true. I didn't experience claustrophobia until my first foster father locked me in a broom closet after I broke half their dishes while trying to clean them.” I begged him to let me do another chore, really I did. But he wouldn't have it. “He thought I was being defiant when in fact I was just clumsy as hell.”
I don't know what was worse, the walls closing in on me or being stuck in that closet when I could have gotten out so easily.
“Aww, Clark. I can't imagine what it must have been like, growing up like that.”
I smile at her. “It's okay. All of that happened so long ago.” I have you now, I want to add, but I don't. “It's only bad memories now.”
We're partners, Peter and Wendy out on a mission to bring down our next Captain Hook. Assuming the Neverbird will get us there in one piece.
Lois leans closer. “Thank you for coming along,” she whispers. “You’ve done so much for me already. Together we'll create new memories, better ones. And I promise I won't lock you up in the broom closet.”
“I'd appreciate that.”
Though with her, I’d even face the broom closet. But I'd much rather hold her in my arms as we listen to the jungle sounds before I say “Good Night, Lois.”
