Short section again, I'm afraid. But just so you get an idea of my predicament, I began posting the story when I'd written 100 pages, but since then, I've only written another 30 pages or so. In other words, I'm posting much faster than I'm writing new stuff!]
She trudged up the echoing, institutional-grey staircase and turned into another corridor which was an exact replica of the one she’d just left. The nurses station was at the end, just as on her floor, but as she passed a darkened dispensary on her way to the station, a small movement caught her eye.
Someone was in there.
Her heart leapt in fright. She peered down the corridor to the distant nurses station, where a male nurse appeared to be completely engrossed in whatever he was reading. She could alert him, perhaps get him to check it out – but then again, maybe this was nothing. Perhaps this was a monster Clark situation, she thought, remembering George’s advice. She was looking for danger where none existed.
Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to check for herself. Cautiously, she made her way back to the open door of the dispensary and peered in. Yes, she’d imagined it-
Oh, God, no she hadn’t! There was definitely a shadowy figure moving amongst the dispensing trolleys, heading for a large cabinet at the end of the room.
She turned to run down to the nurses station - but suddenly the carriage and build of the figure she’d glimpsed seemed very familiar, and she knew, without a doubt, who the person in the dispensary was.
Clark.
What was he doing, skulking around the dispensary? Nothing in there would work on him, she was pretty sure. And anyway, if he wanted drugs – something to help him sleep, maybe - he’d surely ask one of the nurses.
But not if the drug he wanted was red kryptonite.
Oh, no...
She turned back into the room, hovering just inside the door. He was standing in front of the large cabinet now, a still, dark figure silently brooding on the choice which lay before him.
Please, Clark, don’t do it. Perhaps she should stop him. Walk up to him and plead with him, drag him away, or shame him, even, into leaving and going back to bed. She could put herself between him and the cabinet; force him to push her aside. Anything to stop him destroying himself.
But would he care; would he listen to her? She had little idea of his state of mind when he was this desperate. Perhaps he was so single-minded by this point that he’d ignore her.
On the other hand, he’d probably still respond to the clinic staff. She could fetch the nurse.
Instinctively, though, she knew that the decision to take a hit or not had to be Clark’s. If he was interrupted before he made the choice himself, he’d have to live with the uncertainty that he might have given in to his craving if left alone. The self-doubt would eat away at him terribly, she was sure. So really it was better that she remain in the shadows and hope he made the right choice himself.
An intense, narrow beam of light hit the side of the cabinet, making her jump. Then she saw that Clark was the source, which meant that he was using his laser vision to break the lock. Her heart sank.
Moments later he was reaching into the cabinet and drawing out a small box. He placed the box on a nearby desk and sat down in front of it.
Her hand went up to her mouth and tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she watched him prepare to take his hit. He must be hurting so badly, she thought, if he was this desperate. She’d stop him, she decided. If he actually opened the box, she would go right in there and take it away from him. No matter what he said or did, she’d get that box away from him and carry it as far away as she could go with it. There was no way she could stand by and watch him do this to himself.
He seemed to sit contemplating the box for ages. At one point, he laid his arms flat on the desk and rested his forehead on them. He was so still, she thought he might be dozing, but then his shoulders began to shake, and the heart-wrenching truth dawned on her that he was actually crying.
Tears ran down her own cheeks as she watched him struggle. He was fighting so hard, so bravely against himself. A weaker man would have given in by now, but not Clark. She wanted to rush in and comfort him; tell him how incredibly brave and strong he was.
But this was his struggle. He needed to finish it on his own.
He sat up again. His hand reached out to the lid of the box.
NO! she screamed silently.
His hand paused on the lid and for one awful second she thought he’d heard her telepathically. Frantically, she began to think up answers to the questions he’d ask her – what was she doing here, how long had she been watching him, what right did she have?
There were no right answers.
But then just as she thought he would turn around and confront her, his hand moved abruptly away from the box and closed around a nearby glass paperweight. It crumbled into dust in his grip.
Then he was on his feet, grabbing the box, rushing to the darkened window and flinging it wide open. His arm reached backwards and then hurled the box up into the night.
<<You did it.>>
His face whipped round and she realised with horror that she’d whispered her thoughts aloud. Wild, half-crazed eyes bored into her across the darkened room, his tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the indirect light from the corridor. He looked ill; like a man who’d stepped through the gates of hell.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shrinking back against the door jam.
He uttered a strangled cry of pain and launched himself straight through the open window and out into the night.
She rushed to the window to call after him, but he was gone.
***************
“You don’t understand!” she cried for the umpteenth time. “He’s sick. You have to find him.”
Why wouldn’t they listen to her? She’d raised the alarm immediately; rushed to the nurses station and told the duty nurse what had happened, but that had been ages ago and still they hadn’t done anything. Now Francine was there, arguing with her, telling her she was over-wrought and needing to calm down, when what she really needed was for someone – anyone – to go after Clark and make sure he was all right.
“He’ll be fine, Lois,” soothed Francine. “He’s quite capable of looking after himself. He just needs to cool off a little – like you do.”
“I don’t need to cool off!” she snapped. “I need for you to call George – he’ll know where Clark is.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” protested Francine. “I can’t just call George and ask him where his patient is. Besides, Clark’s free to go wherever he pleases. It’s not up to us to chase him down if he leaves the clinic premises.”
“Maybe not, but I can,” said Lois. She stood up and began making her way to the stairs. She’d use the pay phone in the foyer to call Information, and then once she’d got his number, she’d phone George.
“Lois, please,” said Francine, hurrying after her. “All you’re doing is upsetting yourself. The chances of finding Clark are almost nil, you know that. Especially with his abilities.”
“But I have to try,” she sobbed. “I made this happen, so I have to fix it.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Francine.
“Yes it is!” she cried. “That’s what you don’t understand – what you’ve never understood! Everything is my fault.”
“Lois, that’s not true! Please stop this.”
She felt Francine’s hand on her shoulder as she ran down the stairs, shrugged it off and continued her headlong rush down to the foyer. Spilling into the brightly lit entrance, she glanced wildly around, searching frantically for the pay phone. Spotted it near the doors, rushed over and lifted the receiver. Delved in her pocket for money-
No! She was still in her dressing gown - no money. Slamming the receiver back down, she rushed out into the night.
Where are you, Clark?
She swung around, her gaze darting in all directions, up to the sky, over the rooftops, into the distance in both directions, across the street, where the park loomed dark and dangerous in the dead of night. Where would he go?
His agonised face flashed across her memory. Streaked with half-dried tears, his eyes red and puffy, his features creased in pain and anguish. She’d caused that. Her stupid drive for fame and glory, her stupid mistakes, her stupid breakdown.
She looked towards the park again. So dark it could swallow you up. So dark you could hide who you really were. Hide from yourself.
She drew in a deep breath and crossed the street.
*******************
The small stones on the shingle paths between the flower beds cut painfully through the thin soles of her slippers. Already, she’d stepped in something squishy and slippery, could smell the stench of dog dirt drifting up from her foot. At least, she thought grimly, the smell might keep muggers at bay.
The park was almost pitch black, the only light coming from the buildings surrounding it. She could make out the path and the shapes of the bushes surrounding her, but otherwise all was blackness. She hugged herself and walked as quickly as was possible in her soft slippers, keeping her gaze rigidly forwards at all times lest she spy something frightening in the shadows surrounding her.
The park bench seemed miles away. Logically, she knew it was only five or ten minutes from the entrance to the park, but every step which took her deeper into the black wilderness was a step too far. She must be crazy, wandering through a city centre park in the middle of the night.
Wait a minute, she *was* crazy! Well, that was all right, then. She was only doing what crazy people did all the time-
There he was. A hunched-up, black shape at one end of the bench.
At least, she hoped it was him. God help her if it was anyone else.
She approached cautiously, studying the shape and size of the figure to confirm her hopes. Yes, it was definitely Clark.
Silently, she sat gingerly down at the other end of the bench. He was huddled in on himself, staring off to one side. She didn’t think he’d noticed her arrival, but she waited in any case, not exactly sure what to do now that she’d found him.
Just knowing that he was here, alive and unharmed, was a relief, in fact. His anguish had been so acute, she’d been scared he might go and do something really stupid. But he was okay. Relatively okay.
“Clark?”
His head whipped around. She tensed, feeling the intensity of his stare even though his face was in darkness.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His face turned away from her. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said huskily.
“Neither should you,” she answered.
“Go back,” he said. “It’s not safe. I can’t protect you.” He moved, huddling further in on himself. “Not...when I’m like this.”
“You need help,” she said simply. “I came to help you.”
His snorted derisively. “I’m way past anything you could do for me.”
She flinched, hurt by his blunt dismissal. “Oh.” And suddenly, she felt quite stupid and inadequate. However had she thought she could be of any use? Lois, the flake, helping someone in trouble? Who was she kidding?
“But George,” she began. “He-“
“Not even George can fix this,” he said. “Go back, Lois. You don’t want to waste your time on a junkie.”
“But I do,” she insisted. “And anyway, you’re not a junkie. George says he doesn’t think you’d ever take a hit willingly. Not nowadays.”
“Oh, he does, does he? Good old George.”
“Yes, good old George,” she retorted, her temper flaring in defence of the therapist. “You should listen to him more often instead of feeling sorry for yourself.”
Her outburst provoked complete silence. Had she touched a nerve? Or did he think she had no right to tell him what to do?
“You don’t understand,” he muttered.
“Only because you never tell me anything,” she replied.
Silence again. Same questions – was she getting through to him, or didn’t he want to hear her? Her temper flared again. She knew she was right, dammit! He did need to listen to George, and it was about time he started sharing more of himself with her. She’d had it up to here with being the only one in this...friendship?...who spilled their guts out in the open.
“Go back, Lois” he repeated.
“No.” She crossed her arms defiantly and hugged them tightly against herself, trying to quell the shivers running though her. Even her teeth were chattering. She clamped them together to shut them up.
“Is...is that your teeth?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied grumpily. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s freezing out here.”
He shifted on the seat, pulled something over his head. “Here.” A garment dangled from his outstretched hand.
She accepted the sweatshirt and tugged it on over her dressing gown. “Thanks.” The sweatshirt still contained his warmth and, temporarily at least, her shivers were quelled.
“Better?”
“A bit.”
He sighed heavily. “Come over here.”
She scooted along the bench and ducked under his arm. His body felt reassuringly warm as she huddled into him.
“Better now?” he asked, wrapping his other arm around her as well.
She nodded, secure and happier in the cocoon of his embrace. “Much.”
He shook his head. “This is crazy.”
“Then that’s okay, because we’re crazy too,” she said. “We both attend a clinic for crazy people, after all.”
He chuckled softly. “True.”
She seized the lighter moment to plunge back into their earlier conversation. “Clark, I’m sorry about tonight,” she said. “I shouldn’t have intruded on your privacy like that.”
She felt him tense up. He didn’t respond, but through the thin layers of clothing between them, she could feel the tremors of withdrawal still running through his body. Almost, just almost, she wished she could give him what he needed. Perhaps a tiny sliver would be just enough to calm his shakes, to take away the agony of a thousand nerve-endings all jangling simultaneously.
But no. That way lay the path to destruction. The only route was total abstinence, and she’d do anything in her power to help him stick to that route. It was the least she could do after everything he’d done for her. After she’d messed up so badly in the first place.
“Please talk to me,” she begged. “I know how much you’re hurting - I saw it with my own eyes. Maybe I can’t help, but I can listen.”
She waited, feeling his chest heave with shaky breaths, sensing his inward struggle.
“Sometimes all you need is someone to listen,” she prompted. “Like last time, remember? You told me what had happened, how you were feeling-“
“I’ve lost it, Lois,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I thought...I thought I had it all under control, but after today... I’ve lost everything, including you.”
“No, you haven’t,” she said. “I’m still here – I’m not going anywhere.” She took a deep breath. “Clark, I know. I know how you feel about me.”
“No, you don’t. Not really-“
“I do,” she insisted. “I overheard you and George one day last week. I was on my way to the gym when I heard your voice through an open door. I realised almost immediately that you were in therapy, and of course, I should have carried on, but I didn’t. I heard everything, Clark. I know about your search for me. I know you turned to drugs when you couldn’t find me. I know...I know you told George that you love me.”
“Oh, God...”
“It’s okay, Clark,” she said. “I admit, I was scared at first. Really scared. But then I realised there was no reason to be scared. You’re not going to try and seize control of me. You’re not going to try and make me into someone I’m not. You’ve always let me be my own person and there’s no reason for me to suspect you’d ever change that. You’ve shown nothing but respect for me.”
He made a strangled sound in his throat. “I wanted to show you so much more than that.”
“You have. And you will. If you let me in. Tell me what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.”
He sighed. “I want to...there’s so much I’ve wanted to share with you, but I didn’t want to scare you. Put pressure on you. You have your own problems to deal with.”
She nodded. “And George told you to back off. It was good advice at the time – I can’t deny it would have been better if I didn’t know all this stuff yet. But we’re here now, Clark. I do know how you feel about me, but I haven’t run screaming into the hills. I’m still here.” She slid an arm across his chest and hugged him. “I can’t love you back yet, but I do want to be with you.”
“But tonight...”
“Tonight I saw an incredibly brave man fight a battle that he never even chose to enter. Not only that, but he won,” she said. “You have no idea how proud I was of you, Clark.”
“You don’t understand,” he insisted. “Earlier, when I realised what was in that package they sent me...I should have thrown it away there and then.” He drew in a slow, shuddering breath. “Before...before I let myself get totally out of my mind.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” she told him. “It took you by surprise, just like at the art gallery. You weren’t ready to resist the temptation.”
“Maybe. I thought I was stronger than that, though,” he said. “I thought I’d finally kicked this thing.”
“And you have,” she said. “George believes you have. He’s the expert, Clark – he’s dealt with hundreds of cases like yours, so he should know, shouldn’t he?” She straightened up to face him, to see if her words were making any sort of impact. “But this is different,” she continued. “You can’t be expected to avoid it if the stuff is right under your nose. Don’t forget, I’ve seen what drugs do to people. I lived in a drug dealer’s house, remember? The addicts there would submit themselves to just about anything if they could see their reward waiting for them somewhere in the room.”
His mouth formed into a taut line at her mention of the atrocities in Brazzaville. “I still hate that you went through all that.”
She nodded. “But at least I can talk about it openly now. That’s because of you, of course,” she reminded him. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation at all if you hadn’t helped me so much.”
He sighed. “You know, it’s ironic,” he said. “Right after I first met you, I went out to Smallville with George and destroyed all the red kryptonite.” His mouth twisted. “Well, at least, I thought I did. Anyway, I wanted to make sure I was totally free of the stuff, that I’d never be tempted to get high ever again. I...I did it for you, Lois. I wanted to be strong for you. I didn’t want you to see me like this, or like I was yesterday afternoon. And yet...”
“I know,” she murmured. “But you’ve seen me at my absolute worst, too. Believe me, sometimes I wish you hadn’t.” When he began to apologise for that, she interrupted him. “The point is that we’ve both seen each other at our very best and worst – well, in my case, maybe not my absolute best, but one of these days you will.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, and she allowed herself quarter of a smile. “Yeah, I don’t plan on being like this for ever. Anyway, as I was about to say, at least I feel like I now know the real Clark Kent.” She reached out to cup his face in her hand. “Before, I only knew half of him.”
He closed his eyes, laid his warm hand over her chilly one at his cheek. “Now you know the half that would take a piece of red kryptonite from you right this minute if you offered it to him.”
Her heart ached for him. Would he? “I don’t think you would,” she said. “The man I saw tonight in the dispensary wouldn’t.”
He shook his head and fell into a deep, brooding silence.
She waited. Stroked his cheek gently with her thumb. Let him disappear inside himself. Sensed his emotions dip and sway in and out of his control.
And when he was ready, when he needed it, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Hey,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t deserve you, Lois Lane,” he whispered over her shoulder.
“And I don’t deserve you, Clark Kent,” she replied. “Look, why don’t we go back to my apartment and talk some more there? I’m freezing my butt off here.”
He shook with a half-laugh, half-sob. “Okay.”
******************
To their joint surprise, the clinic was in uproar when they returned. There was a police squad car parked outside the entrance with its blue lights flashing, and indoors, they discovered a huddle of people in the middle of the foyer, including both Francine and George and a fresh-faced cop barely out of high school.
When George spotted Lois and Clark, the air became blue with expletives. He appeared to be furious and relieved in equal parts, although Lois wasn’t too clear on who exactly was the target of his emotions, as he seemed to be yelling at everyone. Eventually, it took the boy-policeman to calm things down, suggesting to George that since the young couple were clearly exhausted and still pretty shaken, perhaps everyone ought to go to bed and leave the reprisals for tomorrow.
George snorted at the youngster, who couldn’t have been more than twenty himself, calling Lois and Clark ‘the young couple’, but grumpily agreed that he was probably right.
Lois and Clark made a hasty exit before George got his second wind.
In her apartment, Lois let Clark make coffee while she disposed of her ruined and smelly slippers and swapped his sweatshirt for a woolly sweater of her own. No doubt she looked totally unattractive in the resultant ensemble, but she was past caring.
When she returned to the living area, there were two steaming mugs of coffee on the floor beside the sofa and Clark was sitting at one end.
“Here,” she said, handing him his sweatshirt.
“Thanks,” he replied, pulling it on.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, taking a seat beside him.
He gave her a wan smile. “I’ll live.”
“Do you want to rest?” she suggested, because even in normal indoor lighting, he looked pale. “I said we’d talk, but maybe you should lie down-“
“I’d rather talk.”
“Okay.” She sipped some coffee. Smiled nervously. “Funny how you can’t think of what to say when you’ve finally got the chance to say anything you like.”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
They both sipped coffee. Of course, she knew what she wanted to ask, but when he was feeling lousy and so deeply depressed, she felt bad pressurising him with questions she knew he’d rather not answer.
On the other hand, there was the band-aid principle – get all the painful bits over quickly so they could begin to move onto happier things. And there was a good chance he’d open up to her right now, when his guard was already down.
“There is one thing, I guess...” she began tentatively.
“What’s that?” He glanced at her innocently, quite unaware of the storm she was about to unleash on him.
Oh, boy... Band-aid, she reminded herself. Rip it off quickly. “Why me, Clark?” she blurted out. “Why did you pick on me to obsess...to search for, when you’d never even met me? I thought maybe you’d seen my picture in the Planet, but then I realised I’ve only appeared a couple of times. So unless you read the entire archive, it’s not likely you’d have found me. So why? What’s so special about me?”
