This is a response to Yvonne's challenge. I'll admit that it is really weird. I've always hated ToGoM, and I've always thought I'd never write a ToGoM fic. Read at your own risk. This is inspired by a lot of cold medicine and written in about 20 minutes
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Clark’s Dead. Not Dead. Dead.
by Alicia U.
“CLARK! NOOOOOOO!” Lois took a step away from her partner’s crumbling body.
He had been shot. At point blank range. By Clyde Barrow.
“Oh God! Clark!” Her eyes fixed on his crumbled form.
Barrow, Capone, and Dillenger were now charging towards Clark’s lifeless form.
He was dead. They had shot him.
Her heart burned with rage.
“You,” she screamed. “You killed him!” She wanted to shoot them. Kill them. Hurt them.
Capone put his arms on Clark’s shoulders, and Clark . . .
Clark stood up to face him.
He stood up! Clark stood up! “What?” she muttered incoherently. “Clark!”
“Lois!” He exclaimed.
She took a few running steps towards the commotion, and put her hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Clark! You’re alive!”
Her heart raced. It didn’t seem possible. She had seen Clyde shoot Clark. She had seen her partner fall to the ground.
Clark had died. And now he was alive.
She wasn’t sure what to do. Nothing made sense any more.
The gangsters had run away from Clark, obviously not believing he had seemingly risen from the dead.
She threw her arms around his shoulders, and muttered, “You’re not . . . you’re not . . .”
“Dead?” He looked into her eyes, and smiled. “No, Lois. I’m fine. The bullets didn’t hit me.”
Lois took a step back, and shook her head incredulously. “Are you kidding, Clark? I saw them hit you.” She took a shuddering deep breath. “He shot you from a few feet away. He had to have hit you.” She did a double take and grabbed his jacket. “But you’re not bleeding.”
“I guess Dillenger’s a bad shot.” He shrugged, and smiled good-naturedly.
Lois shook her head. “Dillenger didn’t shoot you, Clark. It was Clyde.”
Clark took a deep breath, and said, “Okay, Lois, it’s time I told you the truth about myself.”
Lois wasn’t sure what to say. Nothing made sense. Absolutely nothing. It just kept getting crazier. And crazier. And crazier. “The truth about yourself? What else could there be that I don’t already know.” She grinned. “You’re easier to read than an open book.”
“Don’t be so sure, Lois. I’m more like a book written in Swahili.”
“I can still read it.”
“Lois, don’t tell me you know Swahili.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. But I know about you. I know everything about you.”
“Believe me, Lois. You don’t know what I have to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “I got shot, but the bullets didn’t hurt me.”
Obviously. That didn’t answer any of her burning questions. So Clark got shot and it didn’t hurt him. “Why?” Was he trying to string her along? What was he trying to pull?
He put his hands on her shoulders, Tilted his head to look into her eyes, and said in a soft voice. “Lois, I’m Superman.”
“No, Clark, be serious. If you’re Superman, than I’m the president of the United States. Come on. Tell me what happened?”
“I’m Superman.” He sighed deeply. “Lois. I. Am. Superman.”
She blinked her eyes, and then burst out laughing. It was all so absurd. “Clark, don’t lie to me. We both know you should be lying there on the ground, dead.”
Clark shook his head, and dropped his hands from her shoulders. He turned around, and finally said, “Okay, um, if you’re not going to believe the truth . . .”
“Clark! Don’t play games with me.” She was desperate.
“Okay. Fine. The gun wasn’t real.”
“Not real?” It was just crazy talk. What was Clark trying to prove. He was as much Superman as she was Wonderwoman. She’d be much more likely to believe the gun wasn’t real.
“Well, come on. Think about it for a second, Lois.”
“What?” She’d done more than enough thinking in the last five minutes. Her mind was still racing.
He shrugged dramatically. “Clones?” His voice took on a desperate tone. “Bonnie and Clyde, Al Capone, John Dillanger? They’ve all been dead for years!”
“Right.” Of course they’d been dead for years.
“So why on earth would adult mobster clones be terrorizing Metropolis? The idea is as crazy as . . .”
“. . . The idea of your being Superman,” she finished with a grin.
“Exactly.” He motioned with his hand, trying to outline his point.
Lois grinned. “Bonnie and Clyde and the rest of them can’t be real. That’s not how clones work.”
“Exactly. How are they adult, perfectly matched clones of gangsters than died so many years ago?”
Lois looked Clark up and down again. “Are you saying I’m crazy?”
“You? Crazy? Never.”
She looked daggers at he partner. “You’d better not think I’m crazy.”
“Of course not, Lois. I’m just saying . . .”
“. . . No, Clark, I know exactly what you’re saying.” She laughed loudly. “Ob-vi-ous-ly, this is a dream.”
“A dream?”
She shrugged. “It has to be a dream. How absurd can it get,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“You’re right, Lois. You’re always right. But I *am* Superman.”
“Of course I’m always right.” She looked at Clark, and shook her head. “Since this is a dream . . . Fine, Clark. You’re Superman. Right.”
A diabolical grin crossed Clark’s face. “If this is a dream . . .” He inched closer to Lois, and pressed his lips to hers.
“Clark!” She took a large step back. “This is my dream, not yours!”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He laughed slightly. “It was worth trying, wasn’t it?”
“ Okay, it’s a dream. I guess you can kiss me. All I know is that we are *not* going to any place run by anyone named Georgie Hairdo when we’re awake.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“You said that already.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers in the softest, most loving, most passionate dream-kiss Lois had ever felt.
When he finally pulled away, she said, “You’re dead, Kent. I’m going to kill you.”
The End
