The first weak rays of early dawn light were beginning to hit Metropolis’s pavements by the time Lois and Clark stepped wearily through his front door and into his apartment. The journey back from Barton had been long, painful, arduous and nightmarish, and neither uttered a word as they made their way down into his living room. Clark had already shaken off the effects of the low dose of red kryptonite he’d received, but was still clutching his middle, a sure sign of some kind of injury from the vicious kick he’d taken from the guard.
So far, he’d resisted all of Lois’s efforts to persuade him to seek medical help. Belatedly, it now occurred to her than she should have insisted he take her home to the clinic, where she could have enlisted the help of the medical staff there. However, she was too tired to fight with him any longer, and at least here at his apartment she could keep any eye on him in case he got any sicker.
Although that wasn’t the only reason she was here. She needed him nearby - the thought of going home to her empty, lonely studio apartment was unbearable.
“I’ll take the sofa,” she announced, already heading towards it.
“No, you have the bed,” he replied. “I’ll be fine out here.”
She sank down onto the sofa. “I’m not having this argument, okay? You’re hurt and you need a comfortable bed.” She kicked off her shoes and stretched out, still fully clothed. Undressing was a nicety she couldn’t face. “’Night.”
Even with her eyes closed, she could sense him still standing before her. Heard the extra effort it cost him to kneel on the carpet beside her, then felt his fingers gently stroking her hair. “You were great tonight, Lois,” he murmured.
“So were you,” she mumbled. “Go to bed.”
He kissed her cheek lightly. “I love you, Lois Lane.”
“Love you too,” she muttered drowsily.
It wasn’t until she heard his little gasp of surprise that she realised just what she’d said. Darn. She didn’t mean it, of course. Just one of those automatic responses people gave, but she was too tired to correct herself or to enter into a long discussion with him about her feelings. She’d sort it out later.
***********
Barely five minutes later, it seemed, she was jerking awake, her heart pounding in the wake of a vivid and extremely violent nightmare. She’d been fighting the guard again, except this time there had been no Clark to stop her before she beat the man to a bloody pulp, because Clark had already been killed. He’d been kicked to death by the guard.
Trembling, she sat up and glanced around, but the benign, soft shapes of Clark’s living room did little to dispel the vivid emotions of her dream, still so sharply in focus.
Her gaze settled on his bedroom. Was he okay? She’d suspected a cracked or even broken rib earlier, when he’d been clutching his middle and wincing whenever he took a deep breath. What if a broken bone was sticking into a vital bit of his innards? She couldn’t even hear him breathing from here. Swinging her legs down, she stood slowly and padded across the apartment.
He was lying on his back, the bedclothes just skimming the top of his chest. His head was turned away from her, but as she watched, she saw the slow rise and fall of his breathing. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, but he’d told her before that mild fever was a normal consequence of green kryptonite exposure. Otherwise, he seemed to be all right.
She relaxed a little. The terrors of her nightmare didn’t seem so bad when she was this near to him, and she found herself standing there for a long time just watching him breathe. He looked different in repose – more youthful and less troubled by the demons he carried with him by day. He was just a single individual, a young man with a rich life full of adventures and new experiences stretching ahead of him.
After a while, her legs grew weary and she ached for sleep, but still she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. A spell descended upon her, a product of the stillness in the room and Clark’s peaceful sleep. Better to watch and listen than to break the spell. Better to stay close to Clark than risk a return of the nightmare.
He stirred, turning his head towards her. “Lois?” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.
She started out of her semi-trance and turned to leave, not wishing to be discovered watching him sleep.
“Lois?”
His voice was strong this time; he was clearly awake. Reluctantly, she turned back to him and found him looking directly at her with concern in his eyes.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just came to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, pushing himself up on one arm. A small grimace as he moved, however, told her that his chest was still bothering him. “How long have you been standing there?”
She shrugged. “Not long.”
He frowned. “I could have sworn...must have been a dream, I guess. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She slid her gaze away from his, afraid that he might read the real truth in her eyes. “I’ll head back to bed now I know you’re all right.” She turned and made for the living room.
“Lois.”
His soft murmur made her pause, but she didn’t turn back immediately. Somewhere deep within her, she recognised the emotions behind that single, softly spoken word, but she wasn’t ready to acknowledge those feelings yet. Facing away from him, she heard him move in bed, the bedclothes rustling quietly in the still of the room. He didn’t say a word, but she knew that he was waiting for her answer to his unspoken question.
Her pulse quickening a little, she swivelled around to find that he’d pulled aside the quilt and shifted back to leave a space in the bed. Lifting her gaze from the bed to his eyes, she saw the clear invitation.
Normally, she would have bolted from the room. Common sense, at least, dictated she should return to the safety of the sofa.
But tonight wasn’t normal and common sense had deserted her. Instinct drew her to him. Instinct moved her silently and surely across the carpet, sat her on the edge of the bed and swung her legs up, sank her head into the soft pillow and allowed him to cover her with the quilt.
The bed was all warm and cosy from his body heat and the mattress felt soft and welcoming beneath her. It felt right to turn onto her side and face him. Inch a hand out towards him, feel his warm hand close over hers.
For a while, that was enough. To let her eyelids droop, to know that he was right beside her, to snuggle under the bedclothes with him and hold his hand – this was all she needed to keep the night terrors at bay.
Then she opened her eyes and found him still watching her, and she was ready for more. “I had a dream,” she confessed.
“A nightmare.”
She nodded. “You were dead.”
“I’m very much alive,” he said, squeezing her fingers as if to prove his point.
“I know that now.” She shifted a little closer to him. “But are you sure you’re okay, because I could see how badly you were hurting earlier.”
“I’m fine, Lois, but I’m not so sure you are. You went through hell tonight,” he murmured.
Yes, she had, which was why she was here now, wasn’t it? She wasn’t really in his bed to ensure that he was okay, but to seek his comfort. Only now that he was offering it, she didn’t want to grab at it too greedily or desperately: her fragile control would break if she exposed it too readily.
“I nearly killed him.” The confession blurted from her mouth, completely against her will. Mortified, she felt her chin begin to wobble.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I don’t believe you would have.”
“When he threatened me...all I wanted to do was kill,” she insisted, needing to make this clear him. “There’s so much poison inside me.”
“You saved our lives,” he said.
“All that hatred,” she quavered. “It scared me.”
“Hey.” His hand came up to stroke her hair. “Shhh...”
A tear spilled from her eye and ran down her cheek. “I’m still scared.”
“Come here, then.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his embrace, hugging her tight against his body. “You don’t need to be scared when I’ve got you, okay?” he murmured.
She nodded against his shoulder, the tears spilling freely down her cheeks. “Don’t let me go.”
“I won’t, Lois,” he murmured, hugging her even tighter. “I won’t.”
*****************
Sunlight was streaming through the windows when she next awoke. After a few moments of disorientation – the bed felt too big and comfortable to be her bed at the clinic – she remembered exactly where she was. Clark’s bed. With Clark still in it.
Or...not. Cracking open an eyelid revealed an empty, if rather crumpled, space where Clark should have been. She wasn’t sure what she felt about that. Disappointment? Relief?
She sat up and grimaced when she realised she was still fully clothed except for her shoes. Everything felt heavy, scratchy and wrinkled. What she wouldn’t give for a shower and a change of clothes.
Her nose twitched. Cooking smells were wafting into the room. Curious, she rose and shuffled into the kitchen.
Clark was standing at the cooker, clad only in a t-shirt and boxer shorts and apparently making pancakes.
“Smells good,” she remarked.
He turned and smiled. “You’re up.”
“Yeah, at last,” she said with a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Around twelve thirty.” He indicated the pan with his spatula. “Want some?”
“After I’ve had a wash, yes.”
“Okay. There’s a clean towel in the bathroom for you, and I left out a pair of my smallest sweats in the bedroom. I figured you’d want a change of clothes, even if nothing fits.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thanks.”
****************
Fifteen minutes later she was taking her seat at his table, feeling relatively clean and fresh. Pity she’d had to wear the same underwear as yesterday, but at least his sweats were clean if far too big for her.
Clark placed a mug of coffee and a plate of pancakes in front of her and sat down opposite her. His colour was much better this morning, she noted, although he still winced when he bent forward and didn’t quite manage to conceal his relief when he took the weight off his feet.
He really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble with breakfast, she thought. He’d have been better spending a little longer in bed and letting her find her own food.
Still, the pancakes looked appetising and there was no denying that she was hungry. “This looks great!” she exclaimed.
He beamed. “I hope you like them.”
“Let’s see...” She took a bite. “Mmmm,” she mumbled around the mouthful. “Not bad. But aren’t you having any?” He had only a solitary cup of coffee in front of him, which he was cradling between both hands.
“I already had mine,” he explained.
“Oh.” She glanced towards the sink, but didn’t see any dirty plate. Maybe he’d already cleaned up. “How are you, anyway?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he answered quickly, brushing away her concern. “How about you?”
Well, that was strange, because, by rights, she ought to feel terrible after last night’s events. She’d been held at gunpoint, threatened with rape and she’d nearly killed a man. She’d had a dreadful nightmare and then she’d cried herself to sleep in Clark’s arms.
So why did she feel so serene? Why did she feel like a huge weight had lifted off her? Absently, she cut off another piece of pancake and munched reflectively.
“Lois?” He looked worried.
She shrugged. “I’m okay, too.”
“No ill effects from last night at all?” he asked. “I mean, what that guard said to you...it must have brought back memories...”
“Yes, it did.” Terrible, violent memories – but she carefully side-stepped around those for now, and chewed on some more pancake. “But...it felt different. You were there, for a start.” She flashed him a smile. “And...I fought back. That was the thing in the Congo, you see,” she said. “I stopped fighting. One day I woke up and realised I’d given up; lost everything that was Lois Lane. That scared me - more than anything else they’d done to me, because I knew then that they had total power over me.”
She paused to draw in a deep breath, because that had been the day she’d stopped talking altogether. Silence had been the only defence, however tiny, left open to her, and she remembered that final retreat within herself as if it were yesterday.
“We don’t have to talk about this now,” he offered quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset-“
“No, I’m fine,” she said, carefully filing away those memories also. They went into the box marked “Brazzaville miscellaneous” – rather a crowded box, and one she had to lug around with her wherever she went, but these days, was learning better how to keep from dragging her down back into hell. “I need to figure this out,” she continued. “So, like I said, last night, I think I finally got to reverse all that. Beat that guy almost to death as a result, but this morning, I think...does it sound terrible if I say I’m glad I did it? Not that I nearly killed him, but that I fought back?”
He shook his head. “No, it sounds totally understandable, and I, for one, am grateful that you beat him up and got us out of there. By the way, do you still have those papers I found in the office?”
She smiled ruefully. “Would you believe I still had them stuffed under my sweater when I went for my shower this morning? I totally forgot they were there last night.”
He laughed. “Just goes to show how tired you were.” A flicker of discomfort diluted his grin momentarily but was quickly replaced by a smile. “I hope they’re not too crumpled.”
“They’re still readable, which is the most important thing.“ She studied him across the table. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little less...bouncy than usual.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Bouncy?”
“Okay, so maybe you’re not exactly Tigger personified,” she defended, “but you’re usually a bit livelier than you are this morning. Care to explain that?” She forked up her last piece of pancake and popped it into her mouth.
“I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” He shrugged. “It takes a while for the effects of the green kryptonite to work its way out of my system. Give me a few more hours and I’ll be just as bouncy as you like.”
She pointed her fork at him sternly. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He grinned and pushed up from the table, but he’d barely straightened when his grin was wiped off his face by another wince.
Enough was enough. “Let me see,” she ordered, moving swiftly in front of him and lifting up his t-shirt. Underneath, she found a mottled mass of purple and yellowish bruising. “Clark,” she breathed. “This looks terrible.”
“It looks worse than it is,” he said, tugging his t-shirt back down. “Bruising always does.”
“I don’t understand why you won’t go to a doctor and at least get yourself checked out,” she said, reaching up to touch her fingertips to his forehead. She was no expert, but she thought he still felt a little warm.
“Because in a few hours, I’ll be fine,” he replied, ducking away from her. “I told you this last night.”
“That was before I saw that,” she said, pointing at his stomach. “And you can tell me I’m reaching here, but I’m guessing you didn’t really eat any of those pancakes this morning. Do you feel sick?”
He shrugged. “It’s one of the side effects of exposure.”
“Clark!” she exclaimed. “It could also be one of the side effects of internal bleeding.”
“Then, “ he said, gathering up her dirty plate and cutlery, “I promise you’ll be the first to know if I’m about to bleed to death.”
His flippancy was beginning to annoy her. “Excuse me for caring,” she snapped.
That earned her a placatory touch on her arm from him. “Lois, I love it that you care,” he replied. “But really, I’ll be fine.”
She whirled angrily away towards the kitchen counter. “You really don’t get it, do you?” she threw over her shoulder at him.
“Get what?”
“You’re so intent on this macho, there’s-nothing-wrong-with-me routine, you forget what effect it has on me,” she told him. “I don’t just care, Clark, I hurt. When you’re in pain, so am I.”
She blinked, almost as surprised with her confession as she imagined he would be. The words had just tumbled out of their own accord. Did she actually mean them?
Examining her feelings about him more closely, she discovered that she did: she’d felt his winces of pain almost as keenly as he had. What did that mean?
That she cared about him, of course!
“Lois, I’m sorry,” he said, at last sounding more penitent. “I never realised.”
“Well, now you do,” she shot back. “So if you could take the trouble to take better care of yourself, I’d appreciate it, okay?”
She sensed him come behind her, felt his hands on her shoulders. “I will, I promise,” he murmured. “I’ll do anything to avoid hurting you.”
“Good,” she replied huffily. “So you’ll see a doctor?”
“No,” he said quietly.
“Clark!” She whirled around, ready to lay into him again. “I thought you just said-“
“I did, but in return, I need you to trust me,” he said. “I know that this isn’t serious, Lois, it’s just some uncomfortable bruising that’s going to fade in a few hours when I get my powers back.”
“You can’t possibly know that for certain.”
“You forget that I’ve got experience with this kind of thing. I’ve dealt with enough muggings and beatings up to know the difference between a few bruises and a serious injury,” he insisted. “Besides, where should I go for treatment? I don’t have a regular doctor, so I’d have to go to the ER - which would take hours and hours, by which time I’d be fine anyway.”
“What about Frank at the clinic?” she pointed out. “He’s treated you before.”
“Yes, he has, but I just don’t think it’s fair to use him like my regular doctor,” he said. “He’s already got a clinic full of patients.” He sighed. “Can’t we just drop this? You’re probably going to be with me most of today, so you’ll be able to raise the alarm if I look like I’m getting sick.”
“I’d rather not wait for that to happen.” She glared up at him, remembering something George telling her weeks ago. “This is your hospital phobia, isn’t it? What are you so scared of?”
His mouth twisted. “I don’t have a phobia. That’s just George being George.”
“Oh? Well, tell me what he thinks you’re scared of, then.”
He turned and sank back down onto the kitchen chair with a big sigh. “We should be looking at those documents or going to the police or something. Not this. However...” He closed his eyes and bowed his head forward onto his hands, seeming to need a few moments to gather himself together.
“Mom and Dad,” he began in a low voice, “never told anyone how they found me. They were scared someone would take me away from them if anyone found out I wasn’t really theirs. Not being able to have kids of their own sharpened their fear of losing me, so that as soon I learned to speak, they made sure I understood how important it was not to tell anyone. How did they do that? How do you persuade a little boy to keep the family secret?” He looked up at her, his eyes boring straight into hers. “You tell him that if anyone finds out, bad people will come and take him away from his Mommy and Daddy. You tell him that the bad people would strap him to a table and cut him open to find out how he works.”
She gasped. “My God, Clark-“
“They didn’t mean to frighten me.” He shrugged. “It was a real fear of theirs, and they thought it was important that I understand the dangers.”
“But a little kid...you must have been terrified.”
“A bit.” He gave a lop-sided smile. “But then I developed all these amazing powers and I realised that no-one could ever cut me up. So George is wrong about the phobia thing.”
No, she thought. George was spot-on about Clark’s phobia, which would kick in whenever Clark felt vulnerable. Like right now. She sank down opposite him, realising that she’d have to accept that, for now, there was no way she was going to drag him to a doctor. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You are going to take it easy. That means no rushing around and lots of sitting down. I, meanwhile, will watch you like a hawk. If you look like you’re getting even the smallest bit worse than you are right now, then we head straight to the hospital, no arguments. Deal?”
He sighed. “Deal, I guess. But I will get better, you’ll see.”
She harrumphed. “I hope so.”
“So, can we now discuss what we’re going to do about what we found last night?” he asked plaintively. “I think there’s enough in those papers to give the police grounds to search Pirelli’s office.”
“I agree, so it’s just as well you replaced those inventory lists in his desk,” said Lois. Clark had copied the lists and snuck back into Pirelli’s office to replace the originals while she’d been working out at the clinic’s gym the day before yesterday.
“So that the police can find them?” asked Clark, his eyes twinkling.
“Exactly,” she said. “And I think we need to get moving on that pretty soon, because if that guard reports our break-in to Pirelli, then Pirelli’s going to know someone’s investigating him.”
“And he’ll start covering his tracks more carefully,” said Clark.
“Yep.” She paused. Met Clark’s eyes across the table. “The police will want to search Pirelli’s house.”
His gaze dropped. “I know.”
“And you also know that if Lana is in on her husband’s art thefts,” she added gently, “you can’t afford to give her any kind of advance warning that the police are on their way.”
“I don’t believe she knows,” he muttered. “Lana’s not a criminal.”
“But what if she didn’t know until she married him?” said Lois. “Do you think she’d have the strength to leave him in that situation?”
Clark nodded slowly. “Yes, I think she would. But she’s still with him, so far as I know, which means she doesn’t know what he does.”
“What if he threatened her?” she pressed. “Told her if she left him he’d kill her?”
He lifted his gaze to her again. “You weren’t there when she boasted to me about him. She was totally convinced she was married to the perfect man. I could see it in her eyes.”
“Clark...” She shook her head sadly. “You want to believe that, but you can’t know for certain.”
“Trust me, I know,” he said bitterly. “She relished every moment she spent telling me how pathetic I was in comparison to perfect Steve. Ask Alice – she was there.”
“But if Lana hates you so much, and she’s so vindictive, what’s to say she isn’t also a liar?” said Lois.
“She’s not!” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “I’ve known Lana since we were kids together at school, and I’m telling you, she is neither a liar nor a criminal, okay?”
Lois flinched at his raised voice. “Don’t yell at me just because you’re upset about your ex’s involvement in all of this,” she threw back at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you still have feelings for her, the way you’re defending her.”
His lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes grew even darker. “Of course I have feelings for her,” he fumed. “I nearly married her, dammit. You don’t just switch off emotions like that.”
