From Part 7:
Stepping out of the shower, he reached for a towel and began to rub himself vigorously. As he did so, his gaze fell on some blue cotton fabric lying on the floor. Picking it up, he realised that it was a shirt. Without stopping to think, he pulled it on, doing up the buttons quickly. Anything was better than that Suit he’d arrived in...
Although he needed some underwear. He wrapped the towel around his waist, wondering whether he should just fly back to his cabin and get a change of clothes. Did he dare wear something other than a Suit? Although Superman was now his life, he longed for the feel of fabric other than Spandex.
Not wanting to leave without telling Lois, he stuck his head around the bathroom door, intending to call to her and tell her that he’d be back in a couple of minutes.
She was in the bedroom, which he hadn’t expected. The door opening attracted her attention, and she turned around.
Then her face went white.
“Clark!” she whispered.
*********
Part 8:
He paused at the door. Looked down at himself. Back at her.
Her breath caught in her throat. She felt bile rise in her gut. Her vision clouded. Her ears buzzed loudly. Her knees buckled. She sank onto the bed and tightly gripped the edges of the mattress.
Her thoughts were too jumbled to be processed. She knew where she was. She was aware of the tension in her muscles and of the loud beating of her heart. That was all.
The door to the bathroom closed again.
She looked up.
Nothing.
She’d imagined it, she reasoned. She was going crazy. She was missing Clark so much that she was seeing him everywhere. She was feeling so guilty over her feelings for Clark that she was starting to see him in Kal. It was ridiculous.
She rose from the bed. She walked to the bathroom, uncertain that her legs could support her. She was trembling. She had to be sure.
She opened the door slowly.
Kal was standing there, leaning against the wall, his face buried in his hands, breathing loudly.
He was wearing Clark’s shirt, the same shirt she’d worn earlier and left in the bathroom when she’d had her shower. His hair was still wet, and a stubborn lock was falling over his forehead. She glanced at his face. He was looking at her. She recognised the tightness of his jaw, the strength of his chin, the shape of his lips... and his eyes, devoid of any emotion, of any of the compassion and gentleness she’d noticed about Clark’s eyes. But it was unmistakable. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, but the resemblance was too obvious for it to be just a coincidence.
Clark.
Clark Kent was standing in front of her.
She felt sick, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of showing him how much his betrayal affected her. She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it again. She couldn’t talk to him. She had nothing to say to him.
Turning on her heels, she stormed back to the bedroom. She needed some fresh air. She had to get out of here.
“Lois!”
She grabbed her shoes.
“Lois, we have to talk.”
With trembling hands, she started to tie them, wishing she could already be out of the apartment. Out of his sight. Far from him. Far from the memory of his body so close to her, holding her tight, making sweet love to her, telling her that he loved her...
“Lois, please.”
He was standing in front of her. Her head still lowered, she could only see the towel wrapped around his waist and the hem of the shirt that had revealed the truth to her.
She felt his hand on her shoulder and jerked away. “Don’t touch me!” The words were out of her mouth before she could control her anger. Strangely, even though her eyes were burning, no tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. The knots in her throat made it hard to breathe, but at least she wasn’t taking the risk of crying in front of him.
“Lois, I’m so - ”
“Don’t!” she cut him off, finally looking up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry! Don’t even try to explain!”
“But you have to understand!”
She jumped to her feet and pushed past him to the living-room. “Understand what? That you’re a liar of the worst kind? That you used me? That you manipulated my feelings to get me into bed? Was I worth it at least? Was I good enough for you? Did you have fun with your little deceptive game? How much pleasure did you actually get from seeing me cry over your dead body?”
She should get out of here, but her feet wouldn’t carry her out the door. She fussed about the kitchen, tidying the bowl of fruit she’d acquired in her latest health kick the previous day, moving the mug tree to the other side of the counter even though it was perfectly fine where it was, putting the kettle on without pouring any water into it...
“I never meant to hurt you,” he said hoarsely.
She swivelled towards him. He was looking at her with pleading eyes. Deceptive eyes. She’d fallen for that once. Not any more.
“You’re a jerk of the worst kind,” she spat. “Sure took you long enough to make me fall for you. Over a year to have me at your mercy.”
“I - ”
“No! Don’t even try to say you love me. You never loved me. You never loved anyone but yourself. Heck, Claude probably cared for me more than you do. At least he didn’t pretend he loved me for more than a night. He didn’t make me promises. And he had the decency to leave once he’d got what he wanted. But it wasn’t enough for you, was it? Tell me, how long would it have taken for you to get tired of me?”
He lowered his head. No reply.
“How much time did it take for you to cook up that line about loving me? Did you plan it all from the start? Did you pay Barrow to pull that trigger on you?”
“You know that’s not true!”
She could see his face again. He looked shell-shocked; probably amazed at how easily she was figuring him out now. It had taken her long enough, but the deception was over. He could keep pretending, but she didn’t have to believe him any more. There was nothing more to believe.
“How would I know? You’ve been lying to me from day one! I’ve given you everything I am,” she whispered, sustaining his gaze to see if there was the tiniest sign of remorse in his eyes. “I’ve given you my body. My heart. Every fibre of my being was yours. I actually loved you! The two sides of you. And what did you give me? Nothing but lies. Nothing but deceit.”
“I never lied when I said I loved you.”
“Oh yes, you did.” She shook her head. “You let me talk about Clark and my feelings for him. You let me cry over him. And you let me make love to a complete stranger.”
“I’m Clark!”
She snorted. “No, you’re not. The Clark Kent I knew wouldn’t have done that. But then Clark never really existed, did he? He was just pretence, like everything you are! Tell me, how many human identities did you invent? Are you also Joe Black from the New York Post? Michael Wiesman from the Daily Star? Do you have partners in those papers, too? Did you fake your death with them, too? How did they take it? Did I cry more than they did? Was it easier to get them into your bed?”
“Don’t be unfair!”
“Unfair? Unfair?! Who’s being unfair? You were manipulative. Deceptive. I never lied to you about my feelings. I never pretended to feel something I didn’t feel. I was very honest with you, right from the start. And you... you just waited for me to... oh god, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you!” She sighed and turned back to the counter. “Go. Just go.”
“I can’t leave you like this.” He took a step forward, and she winced. If he touched her now...
“You think you haven’t destroyed me enough? You need more tears? You had me at your feet. Congratulations! You’re actually the first man I really fell in love with. The first man I truly believed when he said he loved me! Yes, you can be proud of yourself. Lois Lane, award-winning reporter, was utterly fooled by a so-called Kansas hick. Oh, no, don’t tell me. The Midwestern accent faked, too. Where were you born? Illinois? Minnesota? California? Oh! What was I thinking? Of course not. You come from Krypton.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re the alien from outer space, the guy who flies and fights for truth and justice. Or so he says.”
“Lois, please... Don’t do this...” He was ghostly-white.
Not that she cared.
“Just get out of here. Just leave. I don’t want to know where you’re going. I don’t want you to call me or check on me. Heck, if I get in trouble, I don’t want you to fly in to the rescue. I don’t want to see you again.”
“Please, Lois...”
“Don’t plead with me. Don’t be pathetic. It’s over. You can do whatever you want. I don’t give a damn now. And you know what? You could have really died the other night and I wouldn’t care right now.”
He blanched. “You don’t mean that.”
“You bet I do. Unlike you, my feelings are real. I don’t pretend. I meant it when I said I loved you, and right now I mean it when I say I hate you.” She pursed her lips and glared at him for a moment. He stayed silent. He didn’t move. “I despise you. I want you out of my life.”
Reflex made her point to the door. He could leave through the window as well for all she cared. All that mattered was that he was out of her sight as soon as possible. Facing him was unbearable. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, he was gone. She walked to the window on auto-pilot and closed it. He was gone. She released a shaky breath. Gone. Out of her life. And this time he wouldn’t come back.
*********
It was raining when he reached the cabin; a steady, relentless downpour which was churning the ground to mud and making the trees sodden and gloomy. The weather suited his mood.
Kal - Clark - went inside and let the soaked towel and shirt fall to the floor. Opening a closet, he pulled out an old pair of jeans and a faded sweatshirt, clothing from his Smallville days rather than his time in Metropolis. And, careless of the weather, he headed back outside and started walking.
He wanted to walk for hours. For as long as he could stay standing - which, for him, was likely to be a very long time, he accepted miserably. If only he were really the human male he’d claimed for so long to be - then a few hours of walking really would wear him out. He could drop from exhaustion and succumb to a few blissful hours’ oblivion.
If only there was some way to stop thinking. To wipe away the memories. To forget that it had ever happened. To forget the hours spent touching her, caressing her, kissing her... loving her. To forget her face when she’d talked about Clark and how she loved him. To forget the way she’d looked at him when she’d turned and seen him in that shirt.
To forget the hatred in her voice when she’d told him to get out of her life forever.
Not that he didn’t deserve it, he told himself bleakly as he tramped through endless acres of wet, dank forest. How could he have been so careless? He’d known that was his shirt. Hadn’t he? He must have. It clearly hadn’t been Lois’s. Why hadn’t he recognised it? He’d just picked it up and put it on... and then gone in search of Lois.
What the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn’t. That was the problem.
Or... had he for some reason subconsciously wanted Lois to know the truth - that her lover, Kal, and her lost love, Clark, were one and the same?
If he had, it had been a bloody stupid way to go about it!
He’d always known - had to have known - that if Lois ever found out the truth about him she’d be mad. After all, no matter how loose her own relationship with the truth might be on occasion, she hated being lied to. That was something he’d worked out about her very early in their relationship. She didn’t give her trust easily and, once given, she had high standards for those she trusted. Once she’d discovered that he’d been hiding a secret of this magnitude from her, she would naturally hit the roof: he’d always known that.
But that hadn’t really worried him too much; he’d always felt that he had legitimate reasons for not telling her. It was a dangerous secret. He had to protect his parents. He had to protect her. And, for a long time, he hadn’t been sure that he could trust her with the knowledge. All good reasons; all reasons he’d felt confident about putting to her once the appropriate time came.
But he’d always assumed that he would be able to choose the time and circumstances in which to confess. And his ideal circumstances had never included being considered dead, much less being in an intimate relationship with Lois as his alter ego.
How could he ever expect Lois to forgive him when he’d made her mourn his loss while all the time he’d been there, spending time with her, comforting her under false pretences as she cried for him? When he’d taken her body while she’d been helpless with grief?
She’d accused him of taking advantage of her, of using the fact that she believed he was dead to seduce his way into her bed. He hadn’t, but he could hardly blame her for thinking that way. Could he?
Didn’t she understand what being shot had done to him? That he’d had no choice but to play dead? That he’d been devastated at having his life, the life he loved, ripped away from him, leaving him only a part of the man he’d once been, and having lost just about everything which meant anything to him?
Didn’t she care that he couldn’t be Clark Kent any more?
Of course, Lois being Lois, she wouldn’t even have listened to his explanations anyway. That was why he’d barely tried, wasn’t it? Oh, he’d made a few token attempts to get a word in edgeways, but Tornado Lois had been blowing a hurricane and had ridden roughshod over anything he’d wanted to say in his defence. As usual.
He didn’t even know why he’d bothered. Why he cared even now. She didn’t love him - had never loved him. Had she? If she really did love him, she would have listened. She wouldn’t have condemned him unheard. She would never have believed that kind of... of cr... of garbage about him in the first place.
Friends didn’t do that to each other. Friends trusted each other. Friends didn’t refuse to give other friends a chance to explain. Friends didn’t...
...didn’t lie to each other, didn’t deceive each other, didn’t let each other think they were dead, didn’t make love to each other in disguise... didn’t let each other find out painful truths in the most horrible way imaginable...
Oh, he was the lowest form of existence imaginable.
Clark halted, uncaring that he was getting drenched by the downpour, uncaring that the autumn leaves beneath his feet were soaked and turning to mulch. Leaning against a tree, he slid down until he was in a crouched position, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed.
*********
She’d cried until there were no more tears. Finally, Lois dragged herself off the sofa, where she’d collapsed after Cl - Kal - he had left, and tried to dredge up the enthusiasm to get on with her life.
What life? What was there left when all her dreams had been torn apart? When the men - the man - she’d trusted most in the whole world had betrayed her so completely?
“Damn you, Clark Kent!” she muttered aloud. “As if you didn’t make me suffer enough when I had to watch you die - you then had to destroy me a second time!”
No! She was not going to let that happen. She wouldn’t let him tear her apart. She’d allowed that to happen once. Lois Lane was not going to shed any more tears over Clark Superman Kent. Not ever.
From now on, she’d had it with friends. Or lovers. She’d been right, after Claude, when she’d made the decision never to trust a man again - especially not a man she worked with. Her big mistake had been forgetting that and letting Kent get underneath her guard. That would never happen again. Never again would she allow any man to get close enough to hurt her.
From now on, the only thing that mattered to her was her career. Being the best reporter Metropolis - no, the entire country - had ever known. Winning that Pulitzer, and sooner rather than later. She deserved it, and finding a Pulitzer-winning story was going to be her entire focus now.
A Pulitzer-winning story...
But didn’t she have one right within her grasp?
“SUPERMAN EXPOSED! THE SECRET LIFE OF CLARK KENT”
But, even as the thought hit her, Lois knew that she couldn’t do it. Getting back at Kent was one thing, but revealing his secret would affect more than just him. She knew from personal experience how criminals and others used anyone they thought was close to Superman to try to control him. The thought of Martha and Jonathan Kent at the mercy of anyone wanting to get at Superman sent chills through her.
Besides, she conceded reluctantly as she padded into the bathroom to repair some of the damage from her crying jag, whatever her personal feelings about Kent, Superman did an invaluable job. Some people still needed him. Even if she didn’t. Even if she never would ever again.
No; she wouldn’t expose him. What she would do, however, was behave as she should have done long ago where he and his exploits were concerned. No more hero-worship. She would report him properly. Critically. Questioningly. The only thing which would escape her probing would be his secret identity; everything else about him would be subject to the same harsh scrutiny that she gave to anyone else she wrote about.
This was the new Lois Lane, she reminded herself grimly. One who cared about nothing and nobody but herself and her career. One who had learned from bitter experience that that was the only way to survive.
*********
tbc...
