Nightmare -- Part 3
“Lois, you don’t remember anything after you got on the elevator?”
“I remember,” she said softly, “waking up in a strange bed. Your bed. I remember remembered finding out you are Superman.” She took a deep breath. “I can go forwards, but not backwards. Of course I remember things that happened a few minutes ago.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Clark asked. He ignored her comment about his being Superman. They had already belabored that point so much.
She tilted her head back and shook her head. “I don’t know. I need to remember on my own. I have to fill that time gap between the elevator doors closing and waling up in your bed.”
"You don't remember going to interview the pest control division?” When she didn't say anything in response, Clark continued, "You really don't remember coming to my apartment last night?"
“Not at all,” she said softly. She almost felt bad for thinking he could hurt her. But how did she truly know he was innocent?
“You don’t remember coming to my apartment?” he asked again. “You don’t remember the Chinese food?”
"Why do you keep asking me the same question over and over? It's like you think repetition is going to do something." She took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
He sighed deeply, and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I'm hoping something will jog your memory. I can't believe you don't remember last night. It was the best night of my life."
"Well, why don't you tell me what happened?" she asked cautiously.
"Okay," he said slowly, deliberately. Clark shook his head. One thing he knew was that it wasn't doing him any good to stare at her. The images of last night floated through his mind as he saw her wrapped in a thin blanket. Only a blanket. His blanket. God, he was an animal. He scrunched his eyes shut and took a deep breath before he said, "Why don't we get dressed first? I'll make some coffee . . ."
Lois interrupted, "Good idea.” Even though he was Superman and could see through anything, she would certainly feel a lot less exposed and vulnerable with real clothing covering her. "Where are my clothes?" she asked softly as she scanned the bedroom, unable to locate anything of hers.
"In the living room, on the floor around the couch," he said softly. .
She practically ran out to the living room, blanket wrapped around her, and gasped at the strewn pile of her clothes. "How they get like this?"
Clark, who had dressed at super speed, stood before her fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He took a deep breath before he said, "I, uh, don't remember. It got kind of, well,” he let his voice trail off, in search of the right word, “passionate."
Lois scrunched her nose distastefully. “Passionate?" She wasn’t sure how to react. Instead of waiting for his response, she quickly gathered all of her clothes and stomped into the bathroom. She wasn't going to give him the pleasure of watching her get dressed! Clark Kent, Superman, whatever, whoever, was so full of it. Passionate? Whatever.
She fastened her bra and pulled on her underwear.
Did he really think repetitively urging her to remember last night would somehow make her pretend to remember something?
She put on her pants and then her shirt, shivering involuntarily as she thought of Clark. What had they done? Clark wouldn’t have taken advantage of her. Superman wouldn’t have taken advantage of her. But why was her mind stuck on the idea?
It had been a passionate night? So intense her clothes had been strewn all around the apartment? And all this had happened voluntarily?
She took a final glance in the mirror and stared at her reflection. Strange. She didn't look any different than she had yesterday morning, but in one short missing day, her life had changed so profoundly.
Lois opened the bathroom door and slowly made her way back out into the living room. When she left the bathroom, her eyes rested on the image of Clark, Superman, slumped dejectedly on the couch, head in his hands. This was an uncharacteristic, vulnerable position for him, especially as Superman.
She sighed deeply and purposefully stepped towards the couch. He was sitting there. The thought made her want to run to the door. But she had to give him a chance to tell his side of the story. Besides, he remembered what happened last night.
But she had to remember that he was a liar. She had to make sure she didn’t believe another one of his lies. However, she owed him a chance. He had done so much for her in the few months she had known him.
She flinched when she realized he was watching her. At the sound of her footsteps, his head had probably jerked up to watch her. Undaunted, Lois stared into his bespectacled eyes. “Amazing,” she whispered.
“What is?”
“The glasses,” she said and reached out to feel them. “I can’t believe a pair of wide-rimmed glasses can make such a difference in your appearance.”
He shrugged self-consciously. “I know.”
“It’s like a metamorphosis.” No wonder he had fooled so many people. No wonder he had fooled her. She took a deep breath. “Before you were some kind of weird Clark/Superman hybrid. It scared me. Now you look like Clark.” And Clark didn’t scare her.
He shrugged. “That was Clark, too, Lois. I am Clark. I’m always Clark.”
“You’re Clark,” she said softly. “You’re Superman, but you’re Clark.” She ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Why would I think to question either one of you?” The only way she could ever see the two meld into one was by seeing him naked. And she was supposed to be the best reporter in the world.
“You weren’t supposed to question me.” He tried to crack a smile, but found it too hard. “My parents and I engineered the disguise so no one would find out that I am Superman.” Before she had a chance to ask any more questions, he asked, "Do you want to sit down?"
"No, I don't want to sit down." She exhaled quickly before she added, "But I will anyway."
He scooted over on the couch to create a space for her to sit, and she reluctantly sat down next to him moving as far away from him as she could, sinking down into the far corner.
They sat in silence staring at each other for what could have been a few seconds or an eternity.
Finally, Lois sighed deeply, and said, "I can't stand this silence! All this quiet is driving me crazy! Look, tell me what happened."
"What?" Clark was taken aback. He was having trouble coping with the whole situation, and he felt like he needed a few moments to collect his thoughts. And that was so hard to do with her sitting so close to him.
"Go ahead; tell me your story. Tell me what happened."
Clark sighed deeply. "Why? You're not going to believe me anyway. Right now, I'm not even sure if I believe myself!"
He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the other, both nervous habits at once. If he had seen himself, he would have marveled at how ridiculously flustered he looked.
Before giving her time to reconsider and subsequently rescind her offer, he decided to suck it up and start from the beginning. It was a long story, but he had to try to tell her. He couldn’t get her to remember any other way; he had no other choice. "I left the newsroom a few minutes after you did yesterday to try to get to the union press conference."
"Mmhm," she muttered. Or he left the newsroom to follow her to the MPCD so he could take her back to his lair and have his way with her. Either way, he probably had left the newsroom shortly after she had. At least that much was the truth.
Clark glanced at her before continuing, "Like I was saying, the union and management were at a complete stalemate, and they were about to enter federal arbitration.” He paused for a moment. “Anyway, that isn't really important."
She nodded, urging him to continue.
"Anyway, I rushed out of the newsroom after you did, still pretty angry about how you had treated me . . ."
**********
Clark walked through the revolving doors and out into the fresh air, reveling in the feel of the cool day's soft breeze against his skin. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly trying to release some of the tension that had encompassed him. Glad to be free of the newsroom and especially of a certain Mad Dog Lane he felt a spring come back into his step.
Mad Dog Lane was right. Lois had really gotten under his skin back in the newsroom. She had been awful to him! Then again, he hadn't exactly been a saint either. He had let his emotions get the better of him, and he had almost lost control. For once he hadn't been able to control himself and he had stooped to her level.
He should have been able to control his emotions. It wasn't her fault he had heard her conversation with Perry. He shouldn’t have been listening in the first place.
Of course she was out of place telling Perry that he needed help on his story. Yes, she was wrong to belittle him in front of the entire newsroom, but that didn't mean he had to stoop to her level. That was the way Lois behaved. Everyone . . . put up with it. She was the paper's best reporter. It wasn't even a contest.
But when she had treated him so poorly . . . Still, that didn't mean he had to treat her equally poorly in return. It was disgraceful!
Right now, his personal problems didn't matter. He needed to focus on the story, especially if he was going to prove Lois wrong! They both knew he could handle this story on his own. She probably even realized how jealous she was, even though she would never admit it.
He quickly glanced at his watch and realized that if he was going to make it to the press conference, he had to hurry! Lois would never let him live it down if he missed an important press conference!
Luckily the press conference was being held only a few blocks away, so he didn't even need to fly. He was able to walk at a leisurely pace, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze against his skin.
By the time he arrived at the press conference, it was very crowded. In fact, he fully expected to see Lois in the front row!
**********
"You're telling me you went to the strike press conference and tried to seduce me there? That is low!" She knew everything she was saying was irrational, but she was starting to regret agreeing to hear Clark’s side of the story.
Clark sighed deeply. "No, Lois. I went to the strike press conference because it was my story! I thought I'd see you there after the way you had treated me yesterday morning. I didn't expect you to let it go and thought for sure you would ignore Perry's assignment entirely and try to butt in on mine again!"
Lois shrugged. "Okay, maybe I believe you there; I actually had considered doing that! I'm sure it probably was more interesting than interviewing a pest control representative." She remembered something else. The thought of blowing off the PCD and butting in on the press conference. Yes, she had had considered it; she remembered those thoughts vividly.
Clark gasped. She remembered something. Could that mean her memory was returning? Clark wasn't sure if he dared to hope. "Do you remember anything about your interview?" he asked, a hint of guarded optimism in his voice. "You remember it being boring?"
Lois shrugged. "No. But if I had gone, I'm sure I would have found it mind-numbingly boring. I mean, come on, the MPCD?" She waved her hand flippantly.
Spirits slightly crushed, Clark argued, "It couldn't have been as boring as my press conference."
"Believe me. You have no idea." She rolled her eyes at him.
"No. Believe me. The union spent over an hour arguing about a 0.05% raise that was the one remaining sticking point. And then the management came out with a detailed budget detailing exactly why they couldn't afford the raise. Now they're going to a federal mediator to straighten it all out. The worst thing is I'm really not sure how to approach the story."
"So what are you trying to say?" She rolled her eyes knowing he wasn't necessarily telling the truth about anything. Aww, poor Clark playing the sympathy card. He wanted her help. What had she said yesterday?
"I was bored silly. After the long press conference, a six-car pile up on the expressway that Superman, uh, I, helped clean up, and then coming back to see that the negotiations were going nowhere, I went home to go through all of my story notes and . . ."
**********
Clark threw his notes for the strike story onto the coffee table in frustration. He leaned back on the couch and rubbed his eyes in frustration. Why was it so hard to finish this stupid story? He had to be giving it more time and energy than it deserved.
He had been trying to make sense of his notes for the last hour or more, but there really wasn't a good story anywhere to be found! Although he wasn't really affiliated with either side, he did sympathize with the dockworkers, so he wasn't sure how he could possibly write a truly fair and unbiased story with so little information to work from. Nothing was conclusive except the little he'd heard at the press conference.
Maybe Lois had been right. He probably would have been happier writing the fruit fly piece. Aah, but he would never give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had, indeed, been right. Never. He couldn't do that to himself!
The strike negotiations had gone on well into the evening, and after the two sides broke for the night, Clark didn't see any point in going back to the newsroom. He had known that he would be able to work on his story from home a lot more readily than from the newsroom. His thoughts tended to flow a lot better and more freely when he was alone. No outside distractions other than the usual ones for Superman.
Distractions? AKA Lois.
Above anything else, he didn't want to have to face Lois again. Not tonight and definitely not until this story was finished and he would finally be able to prove her wrong.
She would undoubtedly take pleasure in the fact that he wouldn't be able to make deadline for this story. He wasn't sure if he would be able to take it without saying something back to her like he had this morning. But she had to learn that he wasn't a doormat that she could stomp over whenever she pleased.
Plus, he was frustrated that the story wasn't all that interesting. When he added the fact that Lois would be pressuring him to let her help him and belittling his skills, he wasn't sure what he would do.
Boy, had he made the wrong choice! Even the story about the fruit fly spraying was sounding better than the dockworkers' strike right now.
He stood up angrily. Why couldn't he make the words flow from his hands onto the computer? Stress. He had wanted to prove Lois wrong so badly that he was trying way too hard.
He needed to look at this story completely objectively. No, it wouldn't be a Kerth-winning story, but it was one of the only bits of hard news out there this week. He had to give it the attention it deserved. No stupid fight with Lois should interfere with the story.
Filled with a new resolve, he picked up a page of notes again, sure that this time he would end up with a story. A good, solid story.
He stared blankly at a page of notes, and realized this newfound resolve wasn't helping him concentrate at all. Declaring strong intensions was far different from actually physically following the declaration. He couldn't write the story if he couldn't even concentrate.
He put the notes back into the stack on the coffee table and stood up. He stretched, trying to loosen his stiff muscles. There had to be something to steer his mind in the right direction so it could totally focus on this story.
A few laps around the world? Nah, he wasn't in the mood tonight. Sure it would burn off some of the excess stress, but it wouldn't help him focus on the story.
A cup of tea? Exactly. Once he had his tea, he would be able to write. Tea really gave his muse a kick in the rear end. He would be able to write an exceptionally inspired story one he finished his tea!
Besides, he needed something else to do. The more he thought about the story, the harder it became to write. He needed to keep his mind occupied.
He went into the kitchen and placed a full tea-kettle on the stove. While he waited for the kettle to whistle, he fleetingly wondered why he had decided to use the stove instead of his heat vision.
Obviously he had chosen the stove because it took longer and it would mean more time away from the story. At least making tea gave him something to do other than sitting on the couch like a bump on a log staring blankly at notes for a story that wasn't cooperating, and certainly wasn't writing itself.
Just as the kettle whistled, there was a strong, insistent knock on the door.
He quickly took the kettle off the stove, and turned off the burner. Then he pulled his glasses down his nose and stared out the door.
Of course. Lois. Who else had he expected? It was only natural that if he hadn't gone to Lois, she would have to come to him. And she was holding a large, brown paper bag. He almost didn't want to find out what it held!
The one thing he knew for sure was that he was in for a very long night.
**********
"You've got to be kidding."
Clark shrugged. "Do you really think I could make something like this up? I’m not that creative."
“Obviously,” she said under her breath.
He sighed deeply. “Obviously.” Why did he deserve this? He was a liar. So maybe he did deserve her doubt.
For the last few months, especially since they had gone to Smallville together, he had thought that they were growing closer. He would have even called them good friends. Now he knew how mistaken he had been. Lois obviously didn't know him at all. And she had no reason to believe he was anything more than a dirty liar.
"You're saying *I* came to see *you* last night when you were innocently working on your story and making tea?" She stared at him incredulously.
"Well, yeah." He wasn't sure what else to say. It was the truth. He couldn't change what had really happened. “I *was* working on my story and I *was* making tea!”
Lois looked at him pointedly, anger raging through her body. She wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or mad at herself. Regardless, she said, "I don't believe you, Clark Kent. Why would I have come to your door voluntarily? To apologize?” Right. Like she would do that. Uh huh. Obviously.
Clark sighed deeply. "I don’t know *why* you came to my door. I know you *did*. I thought you had wanted to take over my story, and at that point, I was almost ready to let you have it." At her stunned look, he added, "The story I mean."
"How can all of this be related to the story?" She was already almost regretting what she had said to him before, but she couldn’t take it back.
"I don't know. After the argument we had yesterday morning, I was pretty sure everything that happened yesterday would have something to do with the story."
"You're really telling me that you were making tea and working on your notes when I came to your door?"
Clark started at the table where his t-shirt covered the notes he had been working with yesterday. If she didn't believe his words, maybe she would believe the evidence right in front of her.
He moved his shirt off of the table and said, "Look, here are my notes, right where I left them last night." He took a stack of papers and handed them to her. "See, notes from the press conference." Then he took another stack of notes and waved them in front of her face. "And these are from the interview with the union rep." He held up a few highlighters and pens, showing her that he had been working
"So what?" She was trapped. The evidence was before her, but she couldn’t admit that she might be wrong.
"Nothing, I guess." He sighed deeply. If she wasn't going to believe the truth, he wasn't sure what to tell her. "And if you look on the stove, you'll see the tea kettle, probably still full of water that never made it into tea."
Lois glanced over her shoulder and into the kitchen. Maybe he was telling the truth. A tea kettle was sitting on the stove. She had no idea if it was full or not, or even if it was actually for tea. Still, through the fact that the notes were still on the table and the kettle was on the stove, he had to be telling at least a partial truth.
"Okay, so you say I came over on my own to try to get your story?" Maybe that was reasonable. It did seem like something she might consider doing. Clark knew her well, maybe too well.
"Well, yeah," Clark said simply. He decided to go on with his story, regardless of whether she believed him or not.
When Lois made no move to say anything, Clark continued, "Like I said, I seriously considered not opening the door. After the way you treated me yesterday morning, I certainly didn't want to see you, and I really didn't want you to see how much I was struggling with the story."
Lois shrugged in response deciding it would be better to remain silent and not start yet another argument over something completely unrelated to the issue at hand. She figured that the more cooperative she was, the sooner she could go home.
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration before he continued, "But you kept knocking, and I knew it was rude to leave you out there . . ."
**********
Clark took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to let her win. Easier said than done. He stood in front of the door, one hand on the doorknob ready to turn the handle. He didn't want to face Lois; not right now. If only he could have a few more hours to work on the story alone . . .
But that wasn’t going to happen. He had to open the door to let her in. It was rude to leave her standing out there. His conscience wouldn't let him do it.
Why was he always so nice to people? He didn't have the heart to be deliberately mean to anyone without being provoked. Stupid Kansas upbringing. Maybe his parents had made a mistake teaching him such wholesome values.
Even if he would have had no qualms about leaving her out there, she had to know he was home. All of the lights in the living room and kitchen were on, and he wasn't being especially quiet. She probably had seen him walking around the apartment.
Before he had a chance to reconsider, he turned the handle and pulled the door open. She was standing right there before him looking as she had when she had left the newsroom that morning: same clothes, same expression, same maniacal look in her eyes, but she was holding a large, brown, paper bag that carried the strong smell of Chinese food.
"Lois?" He paused for a second wondering if he dared ask the obvious question. Did he really want to know the answer, to have his suspicions confirmed? Probably not, but he asked anyway, for lack of anything else to say. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I brought you dinner." She shrugged and then pushed by him to get into the apartment, and stomped into the kitchen.
"Come in," he said softly after she had already brushed by him and was well into the apartment. He shrugged, knowing he couldn’t stop Lois when she had her mind set on something.
He had to ask the other obvious question, although he could probably guess the answer. "Why did you bring me dinner?" He gazed warily at the large bag and asked, "It *is* dinner, isn't it?" It wasn't all that unusual to find Lois standing at his door unannounced, but it was a bit unusual for her to be there bearing food after they'd had such a horrible fight. “It isn’t poisoned,” he asked in a voice too soft for her to hear.
"Yes, silly. Of course it's dinner." She shook her head slowly, deliberately. " What did you think it was, poison?” She laughed softly. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize," she said contritely as she proceeded to take different cartons of Chinese food out of the bag, "for the way I acted this morning. It was completely uncalled for."
Clark's breath caught in his chest, and he stared at her slack-jawed, unable to speak. It seemed impossible. Lois Lane had come to his apartment, bearing food of all things, intending to apologize to him? Was he hallucinating? She was *sorry*?
"Really?" he asked, voice laced with doubt. There had to be an ulterior motive somewhere in her mind. Lois Lane was never nice like this without a reason, and he had a good idea what she was after this time.
She smiled at him coquettishly from the kitchen. "Well, and I was also wondering how your story was going, and if you needed any, you know, help."
Finally. Her true motive. He’d known it was coming, but he had fallen for it. Almost. She was cunning, conniving, and brilliant.
He groaned, "Lois! I told you I don't need any help. Really. I don't need your help." If that sounded as convincing as he thought it did, he would never be able to get rid of her. She had to sense the fact that the story was driving him crazy. He was such a bad liar!
She put the carton she had been holding down onto the counter and took a few steps towards him. "Clark, I know you can handle it on your own. You're a great writer, and I'm sure you'll write a great story, but I wanted to see if you needed any help, any help at all. I'm not here to take over." She put her hand on his arm and smiled at him.
He looked at her hand, then into her eyes, and he wasn’t convinced. Skeptically, he said, "Why don't I believe you?"
She looked down at the ground and then back up into his eyes. "You don't have any reason to believe me," she said softly and shrugged.
Clark took a deep breath. She sounded almost genuinely sincere. Either she was serious or she was an incredible actress. At this point, he was sort of leaning towards amazing dramatic thespian. These couldn't be her true feelings. To her, he was a stupid no-talent hick from a small town in a state she hated. To her, he would never be a great writer; he would never be able to write a good story on his own. If the story was this important to her, he’d give it to her in a second.
"Clark Kent, has anyone ever told you what beautiful eyes you have?" She batted her eyelashes at him and squeezed his arm again.
"What?" he said instantly. Was she flirting with him? Seriously? She had to be trying to brainwash him! Step one, bring him dinner. Check. Step two, compliment him. Check. Step three, steal his story.
It was brilliant. No, she was brilliant. And beautiful. Those eyes. That face. That body. That voice. She had to know exactly what she was doing to him. She was so sexy with an aura that radiated around her and sucked him in. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and right now he was willing to do anything she asked of him. She had to be enjoying every second of this. All he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and kiss her senseless.
He knew exactly what she was doing, yet it was still so hard to resist! He loved her, and a small part of him hoped, prayed, begged that she loved him back in some little way. She would never love him the way he loved her. To her, he would always be her professional rival, her sometimes partner, and her occasional friend.
She probably didn't even realize the depth of his feelings for her. Lois Lane was the first woman to ever sweep him off his feet. Lois didn't return those feelings. Oh, she did, but for Superman, not regular old farmboy Clark Kent. The look he saw in her eyes was genuine when she was with Superman. A part of himself questioned how she could feel one way towards one part of his life, but a completely different way to the man he wanted to be. He didn't want to deal with that question right now. It was hard enough without even bringing the dreaded S-word into the equation.
Her hand moved up his arm, and she squeezed his bicep appreciatively, softly moaning, “I never realized his good you feel.”
Clark sighed. “Thank you,” he responded weakly, for lack of anything else to say. Lois deserved an Oscar or an Emmy -- some kind of award. She was so good at this game, although she had never gone this far before. On several occasions, she had stooped to shameless flirting to get a story before, but always from a source, never to take a story away from another reporter.
She took a step closer and put a hand on his other shoulder. He shuddered at the feel of her warm breath on his skin. Torture. How he longed to take her into his arms and hold her for eternity.
He shivered involuntarily as her other hand lightly brushed against his chest, finally resting on his other shoulder. It was all he could do not to lose it completely when she pressed her body against his and stared up into his eyes with a passion he had never seen.
His breath quickened, and his entire body aroused to her touch. No one would normally act this way for a story. Not even Lois. It wasn't even like the dockworkers' strike was huge news. Could Lois be trying to prove a point with him? But what kind of point could it be? That she would get the story from him in any way possible? That wasn't like Lois. Even though she hated admitting defeat, she would never stoop to this level. Her sense of professionalism would win out in the end.
"What are you doing, Lois?" He wanted to say something mean to her, but he couldn't make the words come out of his mouth; he couldn’t believe this was all about his story.
She blinked, drawing her eyes away from his, and looked at the position of her two hands. Momentarily appearing confused, she said, "Oh, um, apologizing."
"Apologizing?" His jaw practically dropped in shock. “Really?”
"Really, Clark,” she said sweetly, and brushed a hand against his cheek. “I feel bad about what I did this morning, so I brought dinner as a peace offering." She shrugged and said, "Didn't I tell you this already?"
Clark's heart pounded, excited about the feel of her hands on his body, but scared of what it meant. He had so many questions, but he didn’t want to ask for fear the mood being broken. The only words that came to his mouth were, "What did you bring for dinner?"
Luckily, those simple words caused her hands to drop from his shoulders as she turned back to the kitchen. She answered him as she began spooning various foods onto two plates. "Your favorites. Moo goo gai pan, sweet and sour pork, chicken fried rice . . ."
She kept naming the various boxes of his and her favorite Chinese foods, and Clark followed her into the kitchen, still staring at her and shaking his head in shock. He couldn't believe all she wanted was an innocent dinner.
He interrupted, "You're really here for dinner?"
Lois turned her head up with an expression of innocence. When her eyes met his, she said, "Well, yeah." A little hint of doubt crept into her voice. “And maybe a movie? If you’ll have me.”
Maybe he was taking this too seriously. What if she really was trying to apologize? It wasn't like it had ever happened before, so he had no frame of reference. He smiled at her as a gesture of peace. "Okay," he said softly, and grabbed two plates from the cabinet to help her serve dinner. If she was going to be nice to him, he had better enjoy it while it lasted.
**********
to be continued
