Warning: Lots and lots of notes before you get to the story!
PG Note: I began posting this story three weeks ago on the nfanfic board. Since then, I've had a few requests to PGise it, so here it is. My regular posting schedule is weekly, on Mondays, so in order to get this board synchronised with the nfanfic board, I'll be posting daily until Saturday. Sorry if that gives you a lot to read in one hit, but you can always pace yourself throughout next week.
Health Warning: This story contains adult themes which some readers may not enjoy. It is also not without controversy, particularly in respect of altClark’s life choices. Whether or not you believe these to be plausible and/or acceptable, I very much welcome your feedback. However, if you find after reading several chapters that you’re still not enjoying the story because of the choices I’ve made, perhaps this isn’t the story for you.
Author's Intro: It’s a bit of an experiment, this story. The first scene popped into my head out of nowhere, and then, before I knew it, the rest of the set-up had taken up residence in my imagination. Yikes, I thought, where did that come from? It’s outrageous! I can’t write that - people will march on my house brandishing lighted torches. But curiosity took hold and I found that I just couldn’t let go of the idea, so I wrote it down, hoping to satisfy my curiosity as to whether I could make it work or not. Here’s the result.
Clark Kent, This Is Your Life
PART ONE
Waking up in the morning was, these days, a very pleasurable experience for Clark Kent. He’d surface slowly, taking his time to emerge from the cosy depths of sleep into the soft embrace of his new wife, Lois Lane. A dopily content smile would spread over his face. Married for just three weeks and every day life just got better and better. There couldn’t be another man alive who was as happy or content as he.
This morning, however, was different. Waking up was difficult. He had to struggle, to fight against the sinewy grip of a blackness that was neither pleasant nor cosy. His head swam, and even with his eyes closed he was disorientated. He couldn’t focus - couldn’t, for the longest moment ever, remember exactly where he was. And when he did, he was even more confused, because Lois was missing. He knew that even without opening his eyes.
Well, maybe she’d risen before him. Three weeks into their marriage, it was too early to say what was routine and what wasn’t. They were, after all, still figuring out how to be a married couple.
He didn’t understand the sluggishness, though. He was used to waking up fully refreshed and brimming with energy – one of the benefits of being super-powered and super-fit. A probe into his cloudy memory yielded a complete blank on why he might feel so awful.
He forced his way up to the surface. Perhaps he’d been mistaken and Lois was lying right next to him. Opening his eyes, however, proved almost impossible – his eyelids were heavy and refused to move on his command. Anxious now and a little alarmed, he rocked his head to and fro on the pillow in an effort to wake himself up.
“Shhh.”
Cool, feminine fingers brushed his cheek, and he quieted immediately, relieved that Lois was with him after all.
“Wake up, Clark,” she whispered. “Open your eyes.”
Once again, he tried to force his eyes open, and this time was rewarded by the image of a blurry figure leaning over him. Lois. He blinked to clear the image, allowing a warm and rather relieved smile to spread over his face.
A blond woman with blue eyes and a brittle smile hovered over him. “Welcome back, sleepy-head,” she said softly, and bent down to kiss him briefly on the cheek.
His smile died and for a split second, he blanked out completely. Where was Lois? Who was this woman? Why was she kissing him?
Where was he?
He gripped the sheets tightly with his hand. They felt like the sheets he and Lois had chosen a few weeks ago. The pillow felt familiar. Even the bed felt like his bed.
So who was this woman?
She pushed the hair back from his face and smiled down at him. “How do you feel, honey?”
He stared up at her. Gradually, the features stirred a memory from his past. A long, long way back in his past.
“L-Lana?” he ventured querulously.
*************
Lois Lane padded through from the bathroom back into their bedroom, tucking a corner of her towel in around her bust. Today was their day off from the Daily Planet, so she and Clark had slept late. Still, she was a little surprised that she was the first one up. Usually her husband was dressed and making breakfast before she’d even hit the shower.
Her husband.
She still got a little thrill from that. At last, her secret ambition, the furtive dream she’d only ever let herself dwell on through the protective prism of soppy movies and trashy romance novels, had come true. And a mere three weeks of marriage hadn’t dimmed her excitement at all. She was living right in the middle of her very own romance novel.
Over on the bed, the object of her thoughts was lying on his stomach, his strong, broad shoulders uncovered by the sheets. One arm was outstretched towards her pillow, and his dark hair was endearingly tousled. She smiled. He was the world’s most powerful man to those who knew him as Superman, yet to her, he was just Clark, her extremely lovable and currently sleep-befuddled husband.
She walked up to the bed and shook his shoulder gently. “Hey, sleepy-head. Where’s my breakfast?”
He made a small moan of protest, then sighed deeply and rolled over onto his back with his eyes open. “Morning, L-“
Suddenly his eyes went wide with shock and he froze, her name dead on his lips. “What are you doing here?” he hissed anxiously. “Has Lana seen you yet?”
His eyes darted around the room as he scrambled to sit up. “Where are your clothes?” he demanded, swinging his legs around and standing up. “You have to get dressed and out of here!”
Puzzled, she watched as he began to hunt around the room, snatching up clothing from chairs, checking the floor and even, at one point, looking under the bed. “Clark, what are you doing?” she asked. “If this is some kind of joke, then I have to tell you, it’s not one of your better attempts at humour.”
“No joke,” he said grimly, darting back to be bed to rummage amongst the tousled blankets and sheets. “Come on, Lois, you know the deal here.”
“No, I don’t,” she replied, concern beginning to replace puzzlement. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And why would Lana, of all people, see me in my own bedroom?”
“Please, Lois,” he said. “Don’t play games. I hate this sneaking around just as much as you do – you know that.”
Enough was enough. She intercepted him on his way to the closet and stared up into his anxious face. “Clark, what’s wrong?” she demanded. “You’re acting really weird. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine, but I won’t be if Lana finds you here!” he whispered. “You have to go. Now!” He gripped her shoulders and kissed her fiercely. “I love you, sweetheart, and I wish things were different, but they’re not. I’ll come over to your place tonight – she thinks I’m working late.”
***************
“Yes, it’s me,” replied Lana, her smile faltering. “Were you expecting someone else?”
Well, yes, of course he had been, but looking up into her face with its fading smile and cool eyes, he got the feeling that he’d be wise to keep that to himself until he figured things out. “No,” he murmured. “Of course not.”
“Of course not,” she repeated in an acidic parody of his own voice. “How nice of you to say that.”
He frowned. Whether this was a dream or reality, Lana had never spoken to him like that before. What the heck was going on here?
Lying flat out while she loomed over him was making him feel distinctly at a disadvantage. Sitting up, however, proved to be a struggle which made his head spin and awoke a dull ache in his limbs. Wearily, he rested his head back on the headboard and hoped the room would stop swaying sometime soon so he could figure out how to handle this crazy situation.
“Still feeling a little woozy?”
Her manner, all pouting face and sing-song voice, was more like that of a mother quizzing her poorly three year-old than of a mature woman asking after another adult’s health. Under different circumstances, he might have made a sardonic remark about it, but he simply didn’t have the energy.
“Yeah,” he sighed.
She nodded. “That was a nasty turn you took last night,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What do you think caused it? I haven’t seen you look so ill since that time you fainted back home in Smallville.”
“I have no idea,” he replied truthfully. Some of his symptoms, like the aching limbs, felt like kryptonite poisoning, but he didn’t usually feel this thick-headed after exposure.
She placed a hand on his bare chest, making him distinctly uncomfortable. “It scares me when you get sick.” The hand slid up his chest to his shoulder. “What with you being...you know. So different. There’d be no-one to help you if you got really ill.” Her fingers pressed deep into the muscles of his shoulder as she leant forward, her eyes cool despite the upward curve of her lips.
He braced himself for her kiss. Thankfully, her lips touched his for the merest nanosecond. Just a brief, dutiful kiss and a glancing whiff of light floral perfume, and then she was drawing away. “I know you were planning on working late tonight, but maybe you should take things easy today,” she said, removing her hand from his shoulder and withdrawing into a prim, self-contained unit at the side of the bed. “How about I phone Perry and tell him you’re sick?”
“Okay.” Anything to get rid of her for a few minutes so that he could do some thinking.
Had he encountered kryptonite last night? He couldn’t remember clearly, but he didn’t think so. Surely he and Lois had spent the evening working on their latest story...the Star Labs press announcement, wasn’t it?...then tumbled into bed. Made love – he definitely remembered that part – and fallen asleep in each other’s arms. So what was Lana doing in his bedroom acting like she was his wife?
And where was Lois?
***************
“Get off me!”
Lois tore herself out of his grasp and staggered backwards in horror. He wasn’t Clark. He’d just kissed her and was standing half-naked in her bedroom, but he wasn’t her husband.
It was the little things, the minute, tiny things that weren’t right. His hands holding her just a little too tightly. His lips just a fraction too rough. His stance...wrong. Not Clark’s.
She clutched at the towel anchored around her bosom, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Who are you?” she demanded. “And what have you done with my husband?”
His face crinkled up into a frown. “What? Your husband?” He sighed. “I told you, Lois, we don’t have time for this. Please - just get dressed and we’ll talk tonight.”
“It’s Tempus, isn’t it?” she deduced. “He sent you here. Well, you can tell him that whatever trick he’s trying to play on us this time, it won’t work. Just head back to your own dimension and give me my husband back.”
“Who’s Tempus?” he asked. “And why do you keep on about this non-existent husband of yours? Are you sick? Maybe you’re feverish.”
He stepped forward with a hand outstretched towards her forehead but she quickly ducked away. “Stay away from me,” she snapped.
Backing up a few paces, she eyed him warily. Either he was a clone, or he was from another dimension. If he was the latter, then the chances were that he wasn’t particularly dangerous, just really confused. If he was the former, then, in her experience, he was likely to have more in common with a lost little boy than a threatening superhero. Either way, she concluded, she could handle him. Okay...
“How do you feel about eating frogs?” she asked.
“Huh?” He was frowning again.
“Just answer the question – do you eat frogs?”
“No, of course I don’t!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I once tried frogs’ legs in Paris, but there’s all those tiny bones and you don’t get much meat on them...” He shook his head. “Why am I even having this conversation? You need to get out of here before Lana comes back...” His voice trailed off and he gazed around himself slowly. “From wherever she is...”
“Where do you think you are?” she demanded.
“In our bedroom, of course.” But he was clearly beginning to have second thoughts about that. His frown deepened as he took in his surroundings.
“Who shares the bedroom with you?”
“Lana. My wife,” he answered absently, drifting over to the closet and drawing open the door. “What have you done with her clothes?”
His wife? But the Clark she’d met in the other universe had split with Lana! Surely he hadn’t gone back to her?
But no. This Clark was obviously new to the concept of universe hopping, so he must be from a different dimension to the other Clark. Oh, boy. Just how many dimensions were there out there, and just how many Clarks was she destined to meet in her lifetime?
Focus, she instructed herself. Forget all the other Clarks and concentrate on the one who is now closely examining your shoe rack as if he’d like it to magically acquire an entirely new set of footwear.
“I haven’t done anything with them, believe me,” she told him. “And I’m not the Lois Lane you think I am, either. That sounds crazy, I know, but it’s true.”
He snorted. “You’re right – it sounds ridiculous.” He slid open the opposite door of the closet. “Where are my suits?”
“Um...red and blue or charcoal grey?”
“Red and blue?” He swivelled around and laughed nervously. “You are kidding, right? You know what colour all my suits are.”
“Actually, I don’t.” She tightened her grip on her towel. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. One, I am going to get dressed. In the bathroom,” she added, just in case he had any other ideas. “Two, you are going to get dressed. In here. In...whatever you can find in there – “ she pointed at the closet – “which fits you.
“Three, you have to have figured out by now that your wife, Lana, is not going to come storming in here. Scan the entire house if you like with your x-ray thingy and you’ll find she’s not here. So you can relax a bit. And four, after we’re both dressed, we’ll meet back in here and figure out what to do next. Okay?”
His eyes had flickered at her mention of his x-ray powers. Did that mean his Lois didn’t know who he really was? Well, tough – she knew, and she didn’t have time to tip-toe around his sensitivities on the subject. She wanted her husband back. Anything else was secondary.
“No, it’s not okay,” he replied, his fists clenched tight by his sides. “It’s very far from okay. But since I have no idea what’s going on and why you’re behaving as if you don’t know me, I guess I’ll have to go along with this crazy game of yours. For now.”
“Okay, that’s good enough for me,” she said crisply. “See you in five.”
******************
Clark sighed with relief when Lana left to phone Perry and fetch some breakfast. Perhaps he could figure out what was going on now that he didn’t have to play-act with her. Wearily, he let his head roll to one side against the headboard and gazed around.
Everything looked...off. The same but different. For example, he could have sworn their curtains were russet-coloured when he’d climbed into bed last night, but now they were beige. The carpet was a darker brown than he remembered. Lois’s dressing gown was missing from the chair in front of the vanity unit.
This wasn’t his bedroom.
Which meant one of three things. One, he was dreaming or hallucinating. There was no way to test that theory, so it was probably safer to assume that he wasn’t. Two, he’d been hit with some kryptonite, kidnapped and brought here. That was a possibility, although unless these were particularly devious kidnappers, it was difficult to explain away Lana’s weird behaviour. Three, he was in an alternate reality. Now, normal people wouldn’t even consider that option, but given his previous experience of universe-hopping, it wasn’t such a crazy idea.
In fact, all things considered, it was the most likely explanation. Unless he was dreaming. Or hallucinating.
He groaned softly. Going around in circles wasn’t much help. Time to do a little investigating.
But preferably with the minimum of effort. He turned his gaze to the closet and sent the usual instruction from brain to eyes to do their x-ray thing. Nothing. Just solid, opaque wood and a faint throb across his temples.
Definitely kryptonite. Nothing else could rob him of his powers like this. Okay, time to do things the old-fashioned way...
Slowly and carefully, he swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. Not so bad, if you ignored the weird tilting floor and swaying furniture. Hey, some people would pay good money for an effect like that. Standing up was interesting, too. Who knew it was possible to stand perfectly still yet feel like you were dancing a slow waltz around the room without a partner?
All this needed was a little determination and a willingness to accept mobile furniture as a perfectly normal phenomenon.
He made it to the closet with the barest minimum of detours left and right. Gripped tightly onto the side and slid open a door. A rack of business suits, shirts and sweaters greeted him. Nope, not his. He slid open the other door. Feminine things. Nice colours, but far too neatly arranged. Yikes, they were even arranged by colour. Lois would never do that - Lois wasn’t capable of doing that. Thank goodness.
Okay, the alternative universe theory was looking good. What else? Lana seemed to think she was his wife. He lifted up his left hand – yup, the wedding band was still there, although it seemed a bit wider than he remembered. Shame he and Lois had never had it inscribed with their names...or maybe these people had. He twisted it off and studied the inside.
“Till death us do part. Love, Lana.”
A shiver ran down his spine. What a morbid sentiment to choose, especially when there was such a vast difference in their life expectancy. Lois and he usually avoided anything that could remind them of what might happen as they entered old age. Coupled with Lana’s barely-concealed hostility, the inscription even seemed a little threatening
He shook head: now he was getting hysterical. It was perfectly normal to quote from the traditional wedding vows on your wedding band.
Okay, what next? The wooziness appeared to be lessening, so perhaps he ought to figure out how he’d ended up here and how to get back again.
******************
As soon as she’d returned to the bedroom – and found her visitor fully clothed, thankfully - Lois had wasted no time. She hadn’t allowed him to utter a single word while she’d launched into a resume of everything she knew and had experienced of alternate universes. She’d made it clear that he’d arrived in a different universe to his own, and that over here, Clark Kent was not married to Lana Lang, but to Lois Lane.
She was now regarding him warily and awaiting his reaction. His expression was unreadable, which was a bit disconcerting: usually she could tell exactly what Clark was thinking, the poker face not being one of his greatest talents.
He crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. “Prove it.”
She gasped. “You’re kidding, right? Do I look like I’m making this up?”
“No, but I’ve learned the hard way that not everything in life is necessarily what it claims to be,” he said harshly. “Prove it.”
“Just how much proof do you need?” she retorted. “I’m obviously not the Lois you know. Lana, your wife, is nowhere to be seen. You don’t recognise any of the clothes in that closet. This bedroom probably doesn’t look much like your own and I’m willing to bet that if you took a look at the rest of the house it would look different, too.”
The corners of this mouth turned downwards and he shrugged. “You’re an actress made up to look like Lois. Lana is out on an errand. You changed the clothes and the appearance of this room to fool me. I haven’t seen the rest of the house.”
“When?” she exclaimed. “When would I have had time to do all this? Why would I do all this? My God, you sure redefine the meaning of the word ‘paranoid’, you know that?”
“And talking about parallel universes is perfectly normal, is it?” he sneered. “You, lady, redefine the meaning of the word ‘crazy’.”
“Okay, fine!” she retorted. “If you don’t accept my explanation for all these differences, what’s yours?”
Angrily, she crossed her arms and stared up at him, willing him to quit wasting time with his stupid, paranoid objections. Why couldn’t he just accept that she was telling him the truth so that they could move onto the important business of getting Clark back? She was damned if she was going to let this universe-swap last one minute longer than it absolutely had to.
“I don’t have one yet, but I’ll find it,” he said through gritted teeth.
She threw up her hands. “Be my guest! Search the entire house if you like,” she added in exasperation. “Just do me a favour and do it at Superman speed, okay? We’re wasting time.”
“Superman? As in Man and Superman? By George Bernard Shaw?” he asked, his face screwing up into a frown. “What the heck are you talking about now?”
Darn - she’d forgotten he didn’t know about Superman. “Using your...you know. Fast. Really fast. And seeing through things. All of that.”
His expression turned cold. “If you represent who I think you represent, then the last thing I will do on this earth is perform for you like some kind of grotesque circus act.” He swivelled on the balls of his feet and headed for the bedroom door. “Your set-up was good, I’ll give you that – but you just blew it big time.”
***************
Dressed in his counterpart’s work clothes, Clark paused on the threshold to the kitchen. Lana was leaning over the kitchen counter with her back to him, apparently writing something in a notebook. He took the opportunity to compare her with the Lana he’d known back in Smallville. Yep, same build. Same colour hair, although this Lana wore it shorter. She was also perhaps a little thinner than his Lana and didn’t have such nice legs – they weren’t as curvy and smooth as the Lana he remembered. Not that any woman’s legs were as nice as Lois’s.
Which brought him to the task in hand: get back to his own universe as soon as possible. Assuming he really was in another universe and not in the middle of some incredibly devious plot to outwit him. He’d run through all the possibilities again while he’d been dressing, but no theory had seemed any better or worse than this one, so he was sticking to it for now. At least this way he didn’t need to worry where Lois was. She was safe at home in the correct universe.
Yep, safe. No reason to worry. So long as he got himself home soon.
To do that, he needed lots of information and facts, and he wasn’t going to get those lying on his back in bed. The place for information was the Planet, and so he’d decided to tell Lana he was feeling better – which wasn’t entirely untrue – and that he was going to work after all.
“Hey,” he said, walking into the room and heading for a coffee pot he’d spotted near Lana.
She started, then hastily closed her notebook and shoved it to one side under a pile of papers. Clearly flustered, she pushed her hair out of her face and looked over to him with a brittle smile. “Darling,” she said. “What are you doing up?”
Lifting a mug from the drainer, he poured some coffee and glanced surreptitiously around for the fridge. Ah, ha... He strode confidently across the kitchen and opened the door. “I’m feeling a lot better,” he said, pouring milk into his coffee.
“But not so much better that you can face your usual black coffee, I see,” she said. “Upset tummy?” she enquired, back to her mommy-voice again.
Darn. “No,” he replied breezily. “Just felt like a change.” Lifting the mug to his lips, he eyed the pile of papers where she’d shoved her notebook. Why the sudden need to hide it?
He couldn’t even x-ray it to find out – not without drawing his glasses down his nose, and she’d be sure to recognise the gesture immediately and know what he was up to. Besides, he wasn’t too sure he could x-ray anything right now.
She frowned. “Well, I still think you shouldn’t work late tonight,” she said. “In fact, how about I pick you up at five and we’ll drive home together? Save you having to take the subway - and we can collect a take-out from the Chinese on Green Street.”
She seemed very keen to prevent him from staying late at work. Why?
And was this growing sense that something was off-kilter in this household merely because he was in the wrong dimension, or was there really something odd going on?
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”
***************
Lois leaned up against the kitchen counter, pensively watching the coffee machine splutter its way to the end of its cycle. She’d never really understood how it worked. Ground coffee and water went in one end and coffee came out the other – that was all she cared about. How much more complex would it have to be to turn it into a universe-switching machine? And would Star Labs have the answer? They had, after all, recently announced the successful transmission of matter from one side of a lab to the other: she and Clark had covered the recent press announcement and had tickets to the forthcoming demonstration.
A demonstration, she realised with a jolt, which was due to take place this morning. She’d have to take her intruder in place of Clark. Damn. Was he even press trained? Did he know how to behave like a reporter?
And just where the heck was he? Still prowling the house, presumably, looking for evidence of some massive conspiracy plot against him. Idiot.
She glanced at her watch. There wasn’t much time before they were due at Star Labs. Impatiently, she shoved herself away from the counter and went to search for him.
“Clark?” she called. “Where are you?”
She found him in the lounge. He was standing by the mantelpiece, holding one of their framed photos and staring down at it.
“I just remembered I’m due at a press conference,” she told him. “You’ll have to come with me in place of Clark...my husband.”
He didn’t respond.
“I said, I need you to come with me,” she repeated, annoyance lending an edge to her words. “Now.”
Slowly, as if he was wilfully ignoring the urgency in her voice, he set the picture back on the mantelpiece. It was her favourite, she noticed. Christmas at Smallville, with a broadly-grinning Clark standing with his arms around both his parents.
He turned and faced her, his expression set firm and uncompromising. “Why are you doing this to me?” he demanded. “It won’t work, whatever it is. I got over their deaths a long time ago. Lana should have told you that much.”
“Those are my husband’s parents,” she said. “The man in the centre is my husband – their son.”
“Your alternate universe story again.” He turned back to face the mantelpiece and stared as his own image in the mirror above. “I don’t understand,” he said, his face creasing with confusion and anxiety. “I need to get out of here and find some answers.”
Watching his struggle reminded her of the time she’d been dumped into an alternate reality. She’d been frightened – finding your own tombstone wasn’t exactly confidence-inspiring – and very confused, but at least she’d had H G Wells with her to help figure out what was going on. This man had no-one.
She joined him at the mantelpiece and faced the mirror with him. “Look at me, Clark,” she said softly. “Look closely. Do you really believe an actress could be made up to look as similar to your Lois as this? You can see how little make-up I’m wearing.”
His gaze slid to her reflection. Flickered over her face. “You look so much like her,” he murmured. “I wish you were her,” he added in an aching whisper. His gaze lingered on her eyes for a moment then shot away quickly. “But you’re not.”
“And what about that picture-“
“God, what is happening to me?” He leant forward, staring deep into his own reflection. “I don’t even recognise...” His voice trailed off and he brought a hand up to his face to rub at his chin. Tilted his face backwards and studied his image through narrowed eyes. “No scar...”
“Scar?” she asked. “What scar?”
“I fell off my bike when I was three and split my chin open,” he said, his voice distant as he continued to study his own face in the mirror. “The scar never healed, even after I grew up.”
He drew away from the mirror and brought his hands slowly up for study, turning them around and scrutinising every line as if he’d never seen it before. “I...I don’t understand,” he said faintly, the blood draining from his face.
When he rocked slightly on his feet, she grabbed at his elbow. “Here, sit down,” she said, leading him to one of the sofas. He sank down and leant forward with his head in his hands.
“Would you like a glass of water?” she offered, glancing at her watch again. Time was fast running out if she was going to make the press conference in time, but she couldn’t very well leave him alone like this.
“No,” he said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“I already did that, but you wouldn’t believe me.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t get it.” He fell quiet for a moment, his breathing heavy with distress. She began to think he might faint, he was so shaky, and wondered whether she ought to make him put his head between his legs or something. “I need...” he said, “I need you to explain why this isn’t my body.”
