Oops - forgot I needed to post here as well as on the nfic side. Thanks for the reminder, Chris and Wendy!
Once back at the clinic, she led him to the chair she’d been sitting on when she’d been waiting for him earlier, hugely relieved to have made it back inside after their difficult journey from the park. They’d walked mostly in silence, each of them with their own reasons not to speak much, and all the time, she’d been acutely aware of his miserable state.
She couldn’t understand why he was ill. He’d explained all of that to her – how he never got sick because of who he was, and how nothing could hurt him because of his invulnerable aura. He’d even proved the truth of his claim to her by inviting her to prick his finger with a pin. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to make the pin penetrate his skin, and when he’d offered to give it a try, the pin had snapped.
Yet here he was, shivering and pale, holding himself protectively around his waist as if attempting to quell the shakes.
“Who should I call?” she asked him, the words coming easier each time she spoke.
He shook his head. “I’ll be okay.”
She frowned. He didn’t seem okay. After a moment’s debate, she crossed to the reception desk. “Can you call someone?” she asked Doris, whose jaw dropped immediately. Ignoring the astounded look she was receiving from the other side of the desk, she added, “Clark’s sick.”
To her credit, Doris rallied quickly and, after glancing over in Clark’s direction, nodded. “Sure, honey. I’ll page Frank.”
She nodded her thanks and went back to Clark. “Frank’s on his way.”
He grimaced but didn’t object. Sensing he wasn’t up to further conversation, she settled down beside him to wait.
He seemed so miserable, she thought, eyeing him sideways. Miserable and suffering. After a moment’s hesitation, she slid her arm gingerly along his shoulders. When he didn’t seem to mind, she let herself relax a bit and allowed her arm to drape more heavily, hoping the contact might reassure him a little.
A few minutes later, the inner doors burst open and out shambled a familiar figure. “Well, if it ain’t Romeo and Juliet,” exclaimed George heartily, pulling one of the reception chairs around in front of Clark. “Hey, buddy,” he said in quieter tones while settling into the chair. “Frank’s with a patient, so you got me instead. What’s up?”
“Hey, George,” mumbled Clark. “Since when...when did you start practising medicine?”
George chuckled. “I know a whole lot more about it than you do, buddy, so pipe down.” He glanced quickly over Clark’s appearance, then stretched out and felt Clark’s forehead. Then he produced a pencil light and flicked the beam across Clark’s eyes a couple of times. Finally, he prised one of Clark’s arms away from his body and checked his pulse. While he was doing that, he murmured, “So how long ago since you took the hit, Clark?”
Hit? Lois flicked her gaze between the two men, understanding the implication of George’s question but shocked that it might apply to Clark.
“Last night,” muttered Clark through clenched teeth. “But it’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh?” said George, releasing Clark’s wrist. “What does it look like, exactly?”
“I d...don’t have a secret stash,” Clark replied. “We destroyed it, remember?”
Destroyed what? She understood quite clearly that they were talking about drugs; Clark’s drugs, to be precise, but the concept was simply too unlikely to be believable. Clark was a drug addict? Never!
“I...I don’t understand,” she interjected.
George’s head whipped around to gaze at her in surprise. She smiled shyly and nodded, just in case he had any doubt that the words had indeed come from her mouth. At that, he beamed broadly. “Hey, Lois! Welcome back to the world of sound.” Then his smile spit into a wide grin. “Great voice.”
She returned his grin, flattered by his obvious pleasure at her new-found speaking voice. George was another one of the good guys – he wasn’t her therapist, but she’d met him a couple of times at group events and she knew that Clark liked him a lot. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m still a bit rusty but I’m g...getting there.”
“Well, it’s great to hear you at last,” he said. He turned back to Clark. “You should get sick more often, I guess.”
“You’re all heart,” said Clark.
George laughed. “So, do I tell her, buddy?”
Clark grimaced and shook his head. “It’s not fair on her.”
“Well, it’s your call, but she’s going to find out sooner or later,” George said. “Seems to me she has a right to know as much about you as you know about her.”
“But...” He sighed. “Okay.”
“Clark here is an ex-drug addict,” explained George, confirming her suspicions. “And what you’re seeing here are typical withdrawal symptoms – although these are a tad more severe than Clark’s usual pattern. Junkies often suffer worse if they take a hit after a long abstinence, and Clark’s been clean for, oh, a few months?” He looked at Clark for confirmation, who nodded. “But what I want to know,” continued George, “is where he got his fix, since he and I destroyed everything a few months ago. At least, I thought we did.”
“We did,” insisted Clark. “But last night...the art gallery raid...they blindsided me with it...”
Lois took a moment to understand what Clark was saying. What did an art gallery raid have to do with him, or with drugs? Someone had caught him unawares with something – the drugs? They’d forced him to take drugs? But how could anyone force Superman to do anything?
“You’re kidding!” exclaimed George. “The raiders had it? Where the heck did they get it from?”
Clark shrugged.
George shook his head in disgust. “Shit, buddy. This stinks.”
“Yeah.”
“I...I still don’t understand,” interrupted Lois again, frustrated that the two men were racing ahead and she still didn’t understand half of what they were saying. “How could they force him?”
She found herself being frowned at by both men. Had she asked a stupid question? She didn’t think so.
“Oh!” exclaimed George after a moment. “He doesn’t inject, Lois. It’s a rock – he just has to get close enough to it and he gets high.”
Surprised, she looked at Clark, who nodded in miserable confirmation. Poor Clark! She wondered how often this had happened to him, although judging by George’s reaction, this was a first.
“So what happened?” asked George. “Did they get away from you?”
Clark grimaced. “Yes and no.”
“What do you mean? They escaped but didn’t take anything?”
“George...” Clark’s eyes closed briefly, a clear indication of how badly he was suffering. “Can’t this wait?”
“Sorry,” said George immediately. “I’m just kind of blown away by this, you know? It really stinks.”
“Tell me about it,” said Clark.
Lois was still hardly able to take it all in. This was a side to Clark she’d never suspected before now. He’d always been so reliable and steady, always so smiling and patient. She’d built up an impression of a guy who was always there when she needed him, was good and kind, had two respectable and highly responsible jobs, and was forever happy in whatever he did.
She realised now that her impression had been pretty one-dimensional. No-one was that perfect and free of worry. In Clark’s case, in fact, he appeared to have more to worry about than most.
Listening to his short, painfully clipped speech and watching his strained face, she suddenly experienced a strong surge of sympathy for him. The agony he was suffering was something she understood very well – not because she’d ever been a drug addict herself, but because his pain was clearly more than just physical. His mental torment was equally acute, and that was something she could easily identify with.
“Okay,” said George, suddenly all brisk and business-like. “I think the best thing we can do is get you into bed and let you sleep this off. Then when you’re feeling better you and I will have a chat. You want to come upstairs? I’m sure Carolyn will be delighted to find you a nice comfy bed somewhere.”
Clark shook his head.
“Ah.” George grinned at Lois. “I forgot to tell you – as well as being a junkie, he also has a hospital phobia.”
Another surprise. Clark spent so much time with her at the clinic, she never would have guessed he hated it. Which meant that as well as keeping his problems tucked away out of sight and only letting her see the happy, caring Clark, he’d been suppressing his fear of hospitals from her.
She began to feel guilty. She’d taken him completely for granted, when really, he’d made a lot of sacrifices just to be with her. How selfish she’d been not to notice.
“Home,” said Clark.
George shook his head. “You don’t want to be alone when you’re going through the screaming heebie-jeebies, buddy.”
“I’ll be okay.”
George sucked air through his teeth. “I’d really rather you stayed here.”
Clark shook his head again. “Call me a cab. I’ll be fine.”
George turned to her. “Lois, you tell him.”
She baulked. George was asking her opinion on something? She didn’t do opinions, the same as she didn’t do emergencies.
Yet after just a moment’s panic, she found herself calming down. Felt a new spark of self-assurance spring up within her. She looked at Clark, sitting so abject beside her yet clearly determined not to remain in the clinic for a moment longer than he absolutely had to, and then at George, who clearly wanted his patient to see sense and remain within reach of medical help.
She could do this.
“I’ll go home with him,” she announced.
****************
The cab journey wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was quite exciting. She’d been stuck inside the clinic for so long, she’d forgotten how bustling and vibrant the city was. A lot had changed since she’d last been here – new shops, new buildings, and even new roads had sprung up while she’d been away.
She wondered if their journey would take them past the Daily Planet. She’d heard it had been rebuilt after a terrorist bomb had hit it a year or so back, and she was keen to see what the new building looked like. Would the globe still take pride of place at the front?
Dragging her gaze from the cab window, she glanced quickly at Clark. Now that she understood what was wrong with him, she was less nervous that he might fall unconscious, but she was still a little anxious that he wouldn’t be able to help her find his apartment. The cabbie had the address and she had the correct money to pay him, but once they were out on the street, she’d be relying on Clark for the next stage in their journey.
He sensed her looking at him and gave her a weak smile. Okay, things were going to be fine.
She looked out the window again, but this time she wasn’t really looking at the passing cityscape. She was remembering a different Lois, a strong and independent woman who’d have had no trouble in escorting a sick man home to his apartment. Heck, the old Lois would have commandeered a truck, driven it through the streets of Metropolis and grabbed whoever she needed off the sidewalk to help her if she’d thought that was what it took to get Clark home.
She could hardly believe she was the same person as that Lois. Her imagination just didn’t stretch that far. The Lois she knew was frail. She shied away from decisions, needed other people to tell her what to do when things got complicated. She frightened easily.
Yet she didn’t want to be like this. She wanted to be that other Lois again. Being frail Lois was lonely and depressing, and she was afraid of where that might lead if she didn’t snap out of it sooner or later. Would she simply wither away completely? Shrink into a tiny little dot of a personality who couldn’t even look after herself properly?
So she tried. At the clinic, she never missed a therapy session and went to all her classes – even the stupid art class where you were given a blank sheet of paper and told to express yourself. She’d have preferred a music class if they really wanted her to express herself – she knew she had a halfway decent singing voice – but that would have meant breaking the silence and she’d never been brave enough to do that.
Clark helped, of course, His way of treating her like a normal human being made her feel a lot more confident about herself, and, better still, he didn’t try to make all her decisions for her – even though she knew that sometimes she was terribly hesitant and could take ages to make up her mind.
So in small ways, her bravery was paying off. Hey, she was sitting here with Clark, wasn’t she? In a cab, on her way to his apartment, ready to help him upstairs and sit with him until he was feeling better. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the stuff of adventure books – she’d read more exciting shopping lists – but it was a start, wasn’t it?
She smiled to herself as she remembered her conversation with George at the clinic. She’d actually stood up to him. He’d questioned the wisdom of her accompanying Clark to his apartment – he’d been concerned that she wasn’t ready for the great outdoors after so many months of cosseted living at the clinic. But then she, the frail, hesitant Lois, had told larger-than-life, opinionated George that she was completely ready for this, and anyway, hadn’t the clinic been telling her for weeks that she should take more control of her life? Well, this was her way of doing just that, she’d told him emphatically.
He’d raised one eyebrow, rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and said, “Well, as Clark knows, I’m a great believer in patients taking control of their own recovery. You’re not my patient, though, so I’m going to check in with your own doctor first. If she says okay, then you go. Okay?”
She’d agreed, and after a lengthy phone call with her doctor, he’d given her the thumbs up. He’d even given her money for the taxi plus a bit extra for emergencies.
She’d won an argument. A touch of the old Lois had emerged, she reflected, allowing her smile to broaden as she gazed out of the window.
“Is this the right block?” shouted the cabbie from the front.
She looked at Clark. “Is it?”
He nodded.
She paid the cabbie and in no time at all, they were out of the sidewalk. She glanced up. Clark’s apartment block was a modest building in a slightly run-down part of Metropolis. It was kind of what she’d expected – despite the power and fame of his alter-ego, Superman, the Clark Kent she knew wouldn’t want to live with the ostentatious trappings of celebrity.
“I’m on the top floor,” he said, dragging her attention away from the building.
He was shivering again and had his arms wrapped around his body. In the warmth of the cab, he’d seemed to get a little better, but out here on the street there was a cool breeze blowing which, despite his invulnerability, seemed to cut right through him. To her relief, however, he switched into auto-pilot now that he was nearly home, leading her inside and up in the elevator to his apartment.
They walked up to his front door. In his trembling hand, his key rattled ineffectually against the lock casing. After watching him struggle for a moment and swithering as to whether her help would be welcome or not, she couldn’t bear to see him humiliated by so simple a task any longer. Without fuss, she reached across, closed her hand over his, guided the key in and turned it with him.
Together, they pulled the key out of the lock and pushed the door open. Mortified eyes met hers as they paused on the threshold, but she just smiled and said, “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To help?”
Feeling more confident now, she ushered him inside with a light hand on his back and closed the door for him.
Nice place, she thought as she took in the apartment with a sweeping glance. She liked the bare brick walls and stripped wooden floor, the hard surfaces softened by rugs and wall hangings. A couple of comfortable-looking sofas and a low coffee table formed a welcoming living area, and there was a wonderful floor-to-ceiling window on one side of the apartment, with a small concrete balcony beyond.
Clark seemed unsure what to do now that they were inside. Heck, she was pretty unsure herself. Just what was the protocol on helping a man, who was normally a whole lot more competent than she, to settle himself down and rest until he was well? And in his own apartment, where she was a stranger?
“Why...why don’t you just head off to bed?” she suggested. “I’ll make myself comfortable out here.”
That appeared to settle his indecision and he nodded stiffly. “Okay.”
She followed him down the few steps into the living area and headed for one of the sofas, noting, without making it too obvious that she was doing so, where his bedroom was. She’d wait until she was sure he’d be settled and then, if she could screw up her courage, she’d look in on him to make sure he was okay.
A dark red phone on the coffee table caught her eye. She hadn’t used one in years, whereas the old Lois would have had a receiver glued to her ear for half the working day.
Which led her to another thought. By now, Clark should have been at work. The old Lois would have done something about that. Biting her nails, she eyed the phone nervously. It was one thing talking face to face with Clark and George – and Doris, she reminded herself – but quite another to pick up the phone and address a total stranger.
Maybe he wasn’t expected at work today. Maybe, just this once, he’d taken the whole day off.
Who was she kidding? He’d been wearing his work suit – of course he was expected at the Planet.
She could do this. She’d already done the hardest part of all – breaking her silence – so this should be a breeze. Besides, what use was she if she couldn’t do this one, small thing for him?
Maybe the phone wasn’t working. She couldn’t phone if it wasn’t working, now could she?
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course the phone was working. Turning decisively, moving sharply before she could chicken out, she crossed the living room and stopped near his bedroom. “Is...is there anyone you’d like me to phone?” she called out. “The Planet, maybe?”
There was silence, and for a moment, she thought maybe he was already asleep. Then he appeared from around the corner.
She gulped and tried not to stare. He was naked from the waist up, and the resulting view was...wow. All that chest...those biceps...the flat stomach...she’d never expected to feel like this about a man again. Not after everything she’d witnessed in Brazzaville.
“You sure?” he asked.
She nodded. “If you’d like me to.”
“Okay.” A violent shiver shook his large frame and he began hugging himself again, stooping forward slightly. “Th...thanks.”
He really wasn’t well, she reflected. “You’d better get to bed,” she said. “Get warm.”
He nodded and turned back into his bedroom.
*************
She dialled the number nervously, her fingers shaking a little on each button. Her first call to Information, to get the Planet’s main number, hadn’t been so bad, but this second call, to the Planet itself, was proving to be a lot scarier than she’d expected. This was her first real interaction with the outside world since she’d returned from Brazzaville. The cabbie hadn’t counted because she hadn’t needed to tell him her name, but in a moment, she was going to be announcing who she was and asking to be put through to the editor.
And that was the even scarier part. She was going to be speaking to the editor of the Daily Planet. This was as close as she’d ever come to stepping back into the old Lois Lane’s life, and the prospect was daunting. The editor, a man she’d never met, but whose predecessor had known her better than her own father, would instantly recognise her name. He’d know all about her, both past and present. There would be questions. Perhaps she’d say she was just a friend of Clark’s.
“Good morning, Daily Planet,” said a chirpy male voice. “How may we help you?”
