Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Whisper From the Dying - 2/?

Previous parts available here .

From Part 1:

The distance between them was narrowing; she had no idea whether it was her doing or his. But, suddenly, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to raise her lips to his. And for him to dip his head to meet her.

And then they were kissing. Deeply, madly, passionately, as their tears mingled and they shared their grief for the loss of their friend.


********

Part 2

If Lois still felt any of the bitterness she had displayed for him earlier, it didn’t show in the way she kissed him, in the way her body pushed into his, in the way she leaned onto him until he knelt on the floor, taking her with him as he lay on his back. Her lips never leaving his, she levered herself on her hands to settle fully onto him.

Trembling hands reached down to unfasten the belt at his waist while his fingers clumsily tugged at the straps of her dress. Time. They’d wasted enough time. There was no time. No time to think. No time to get undressed. He needed her. Now. He needed to feel the love she claimed to have for him, to feel the comfort of the woman who meant the world to him.

He needed her to remind him that he was still alive. He needed to wipe the tears from her face and give her everything he owned. Everything he was. Everything he used to be.

Everything he still was.

He buried his face in her neck, stroking her skin with his lips and tongue, seeking oblivion. He found it in her kiss and moans of pleasure.

Her movements were getting more and more desperate against him, and he rolled them over until he was pushing her onto the soft carpet of her living-room floor.

There was no hesitation as they kissed and stroked and reached beyond all the boundaries that had kept them apart until that night.


*********

Breathless and covered in sweat, Lois sat up to straighten her dress and cover her half-naked body. The hand of her lover, warm and comforting, reached up to her shoulder. She felt a shiver run down her spine. Self-consciousness and horror assailed her, and she shrugged away from his touch. She knew he was looking at her. She knew her rejection must hurt him...

She’d made love to Superman. No... no, there had been no love involved. She’d had sex with Superman. Nothing more to it. Their coupling had been fast, without much in the way of foreplay or finesse. Neither had wanted to linger. Neither had wanted to wait. But they hadn’t made love. There was only one man she could ever make love with, and that man was gone. Gone forever. Dead.

Superman tugged her back to lie against him, and she didn’t find the strength to resist. Her energy spent, her hope gone, she laid her head against his shoulder and tried to get her breathing under control.

Thoughts and emotions cascaded in her mind. She had fantasised about this moment for so long. Ever since she had met Superman, she had believed that he was the one man she had always waited for, that if he ever felt about her the way she felt about him, she would touch happiness, grab it with both hands and never let it go.

She’d had what she wanted, hadn’t she? She’d had exactly what she had always dreamt of. But none of her expectations had found an answer in his lovemaking. Oh, it had been passionate all right. Passionate, but frantic and mingling with the regrets, grief and sorrow they both felt tonight.

She had made love to Superman, but she couldn’t shake Clark out of her mind. Every kiss, every touch had reminded her that she should have been with the man she truly loved. With the man she would always love. With the man she could never have.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Superman hugged her tighter against him. He was so perceptive, so attuned to her needs... That was one thing he had in common with Clark. Clark had always known when she needed comfort; he had always known when to offer a hug or a mug or coffee, or when to stay away because she needed her space. He had known her better than anyone else. He had been her best friend.

He could have been so much more.

Making love with Clark would have been... different. Oh yes, so very different. He would have told her how much he loved her. He would have kissed her, his hands framing her face and caressing her. He would have driven her wild with desire and the magic of being with the man you love. He would have been the one.

Clark had loved her. Quietly. Unselfishly. He had put her needs before his, going as far as taking back his declaration of love when he felt his feelings weren’t welcome. He had salvaged their friendship even if it meant he had to suffer from her indifference. And when death had come to claim him, his last thought had been for her and the love he felt for her. His feelings had been pure and unselfish, exactly like him.

There couldn’t be two men like Clark Kent. He was one of a kind. He was a man she had learned to trust and rely on. She hadn’t been afraid of being dependent on him, because she had known that he would never take advantage of her.

And she loved him. She loved him so very much. It had taken his death for her to realise how deep her feelings for him were. She had buried them for too long. She had waited until it was too late to admit to herself that she felt a lot more than friendship for Clark.

Now that she couldn’t have him any more, she loved him without restraint and without fear.

And she’d just betrayed his memory by giving herself to Superman...

Why had she done it?

It was her own fault. She couldn’t blame Superman - he was a man, after all, like any other, as he’d told her once upon a time. She’d handed herself to him on a plate. She’d done that once before, and he’d rejected her. This time, he hadn’t - but then, as she’d recognised, he’d been grieving too.

She was the one who’d initiated the kiss. She had pushed him for more. She had given him no choice but to slide to the floor and take her with him.

She had wanted him.

No; she had wanted Clark. But Clark hadn’t been there. Wasn’t there. Would never be there any more.

And in that moment, for some reason, Superman had seemed like the closest thing she could have to the man she loved. The next best thing. Even his voice sounded like Clark’s sometimes.

And so she’d grasped at something which, even in a little way, reminded her of Clark. And, in doing so, she’d made a huge mistake. She’d had sex with Superman, and now she felt...

Empty. Ashamed. And even more grief-stricken than she’d been before.

She loved Clark. And even having Superman could never make up for what she’d lost.

She pulled away from her lover’s embrace and got to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself. And, as she did so, she realised that the embrace was a mockery, a memory of the way Clark used to hold her when she cried. The way Clark would never hold her again.

Lois was aware of Superman sitting up and straightening his own clothing, of his gaze on her. But she didn’t turn around. All she wanted now was for him to go. She needed to be alone.


*********

Clark stood, securing the remaining fastenings on his Suit as he did so. The Suit - a reminder, if he needed any, that he was here with Lois as Superman. Not as Clark.

He would never be with her as Clark again.

And that was something he needed to remember. Starting now.

Making love with her, wonderful as it had been, had been a terrible mistake. He’d taken advantage of a distressed woman, clearly out of her mind with grief. It was no excuse to say that she’d started it, she’d reached for him first, that she’d been the one to start tugging at his clothing. He could have stopped her. He hadn’t had to cooperate. But he had, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

Including Lois - who was now looking as if the last place she wanted to be was here, with him.

Oh well. As much as he’d dreamed so often of making love with Lois, and in his dreams it had always been amazing, the best experience of his life, there’d been times when, in his dreams, she’d laughed at his inexperience or just awkwardly told him that he had a lot to learn before he could give her the sort of pleasure that she expected - needed - from lovemaking. And perhaps that was what she was thinking; perhaps it really hadn’t been that wonderful for her.

Perhaps making love with him had done nothing to take away the pain, after all.

Her pain. Because she thought Clark was dead, and because - as she’d told him - she loved him. Loved Clark.

The thought came to him suddenly, causing joy to course through him. He could tell her. Let her know that Clark wasn’t dead at all. That he was here, with her, and he loved her too.

But, as abruptly as it had come, the impulse vanished. What could he offer her? Clark had to be dead. He’d been gunned down in front of witnesses, at point-blank range. The most Clark Kent could now offer Lois was a relationship behind closed doors, or a new life away from everything she loved and held dear, even her own identity and profession.

He couldn’t do that to her.

And the alternative - a relationship with her as Superman - was impossible to contemplate. Assuming, of course, that she would even consider it. It would put her at too much risk. And anyway, how could he possibly be that close to her and not tell her the truth? Or let something slip?

The kindest thing to do was to let her continue to believe that Clark was dead.

He crossed to her, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. “Lois?”

There was a lengthy pause before she finally said, “Yes, Superman?”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I never should have allowed that to happen. I... feel I took advantage of you.”

She didn’t turn around. “You didn’t take advantage of me. You could just as easily say I took advantage of you.”

The lack of emotion in her voice worried him. She wasn’t okay. He knew that. And yet she wasn’t letting him see how she really was.

“I feel responsible, Lois,” he persisted, unable to allow her to absolve him of blame.

“Nobody’s responsible,” she said immediately. “If you want to blame somebody, blame Clyde Barrow. And, by the way, Superman,” she added tightly, “if you really want to help me, you’d help the police find those gangsters. I want Clark’s murderer behind bars. It won’t bring him back, but at least I’ll know that the bastard can’t hurt anyone else!”

She was right. That was something he definitely should be doing. But he still felt unsure about leaving her alone in her current state. He hesitated.

“Look, Superman.” She swung abruptly around to face him. Her expression was shuttered, her eyes devoid of emotion. “It was a one-time thing, okay? From the way you sound, you regret it as much as I do. Don’t worry - I don’t want an affair with you. I’d rather we both just forgot all about this. I... I still consider you a friend. I still want to be your friend, but...”

“But nothing more,” Clark finished, the lump of ice in his stomach swelling. “I understand, Lois. And you know you’ll always be my friend. Okay, if you’re sure I can’t do anything else for you...”

“Just go, Superman,” she said quietly, bleakly. “I... there are things I need to do anyway. Thank you for... for being there for me.”

He longed to take her in his arms again - to hug her, hold her against him until the tears came again and he could kiss them away. He longed to tell her how much he loved her, and would always love her. Most of all, he longed to tell her the truth - that he was Clark.

But it was too late for the truth, and so all that he could do was follow her wishes. With a soft “Goodbye, Lois. Call me if you need me,” he left.


***********

Walking into the Daily Planet newsroom was a lot harder than Lois had bargained when she’d got ready for work this morning. Her daily routine had allowed her to keep her thoughts away from the previous evening... and the previous night. But as soon as she stepped off the elevator, Clark’s death assailed her through the silence of her co-workers and the void at his desk.

His nameplate was still there... the picture of his parents... his notepad. From the moment he’d been hired here, Clark had brought personal stuff to work. She’d once made fun of the useless knick-knacks on his desk. She’d made fun of lots of things that made him the man he was. The man she’d come to love...

She resolutely turned her gaze away from his desk and sank onto her chair. She booted her computer and pulled up the notes that she and Clark had taken the previous day. Notes on their story. Notes on the story that had got her partner killed.

Her finger traced his neat handwriting and she smiled, remembering her annoyance at his interference when she’d been trying to concentrate on their investigation - who cared if robbery was spelled with one or two ‘b’s? That kind of thing had been part of their partnership, something they were both used to; something that had become a game between them.

“Lois?”

She looked up to see Perry approach her carefully. His expression betrayed his state of mind. He was grieving, too. Probably just as he would be grieving if she’d been shot. She should have been shot. She should have been Barrow’s target. Clark had done nothing but protect her. He had died for her. He had -

“You didn’t have to come in today.”

“I couldn’t stay home,” she whispered through her tears. “I just kept thinking about Clark... lying there.” And Superman... and herself... lying there, in the middle of her living-room, losing themselves in each other’s arms and trampling on Clark’s memory. “I feel like it’s all my fault that he was killed.”

“Oh, honey, you can’t blame yourself. You had no way of knowing what was gonna happen.”

“No. He died trying to protect me.” She looked up at Perry’s concerned face. “In one... lousy second, I lost my partner... and my best friend.”

She’d lost him. Forever. Clark was dead, and he wouldn’t come back. Oh god, he wouldn’t come back! And... and she’d been too stupid, too blind to tell him how she really felt.

“He died without ever knowing... I never told him...”

“Lane?”

Henderson stood across from her desk, looking ill-at-ease. She nodded to him, trying to reassure him that it was okay, that she was a professional, that she could handle this.

“You think you could give me a statement now?”

She nodded, and gestured to the detective to pull up a chair beside her desk. Slowly, haltingly, she went through the events again, and then another time while Henderson asked her questions to jog her memory and to ensure that she wasn’t leaving anything out. Wanting it over with as quickly as possible, she then called Jimmy over to take Henderson to a computer he could use to type it up - amazingly, the detective made no objection to being expected to play the typist.

When he returned, she grabbed the printed sheet he was handing out to her and wrote her name with trembling fingers. She tried her hardest not to re-read what she’d said - she didn’t need the reminder. The previous night was still too vivid in her mind, every second playing out over and over and screaming at her that she could have prevented it, that she could have saved Clark’s life.

If only she’d listened to him when he’d warned her that it was dangerous!

If only she hadn’t wasted time playing on a slot machine when they had entered the club to work!

If only she hadn’t stayed rooted to the spot when Dillinger tried to make a pass at her. A few tae-kwon-do moves would have taken care of him in no time. Instead, she’d let Clark get involved. She’d let him protect her. And now he was dead.

And even though it was her fault, even though he had to know that he’d given her life for her, his last thoughts, his last words had been for her.

<I love you, Lois>

Those words, whispered as he was dying in her arms, would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“Henderson?” The voice of Steven, assistant-editor, broke through her thoughts. “There’s a call for you on line two.”

Henderson grabbed her phone and started jotting down notes on her day planner. He left almost immediately, having torn half a page and... and left a mark on the next one. She could make out the address he’d written.

Capone’s address.

Barrow’s address...


*********

tbc...