From part 30:
In the silence weighing heavily in the air around him, Lex glanced at the glass display case housing his most treasured artifacts. Every space was filled...except the shelf that he had reserved for his treasured mask.
His teeth hurt as he clenched his jaw even tighter. The bare spot only served to remind him of everything he'd lost--the artifacts, as well as the shipment of guns he'd promised to supply. And the money that came with the whole deal.
Fury bubbled up inside him, taking him to his breaking point. In a fit of uncontrolled rage, Lex picked up the vase on his desk and hurtled it across the room. The glass vase hit the wall and shattered into hundreds of tiny shards onto the floor.
"Millions," he growled through clenched teeth, the muscle dancing up and down in his tense jaw. "Nobody does this to me and lives to regret it."
**********
Now on to part 31...
**********
As Lois and Clark stood on the sidewalk in front of the Daily Planet that evening waiting for a cab, Lois stared down at the evening edition in her hand and smiled at the joint byline--'by Clark Kent and Lois Lane.' It surprised her when she realized that nothing had ever looked so good.
She felt a twinge of guilt that she'd managed to obtain some national acclaim with Clark during the time her boss had given her to spend recovering, but he had been very understanding when she'd phoned him that afternoon to fill him in. She'd explained that she'd flown to Metropolis at the encouragement of a friend so he could look after her while she recovered, and then they'd fallen into the story unexpectedly. To her own ears it sounded bad, but Jim was just thrilled his star reporter had managed to share a byline on this story, which was also running on the front page of that evening's edition of the Chronicle. She knew her paper's circulation was also going to be through the roof.
Lois felt an arm slip around her shoulder, jarring her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Clark smiling at her, his gaze flickering to the byline. His words echoed her thoughts exactly.
"I love the way that looks--a byline with both our names."
She smiled broader and nodded. "You know, I never wanted to be partnered with somebody, but we make a great team, don't we?"
"The best." His arm tightened around her, pulling her close.
Finally a cab pulled up to the curb and Clark held the door open for Lois as she slid inside. They had just closed the door and pulled away from the building when Clark's cell phone rang. He fished the phone out of his suit jacket pocket and flipped it open, pressing it to his ear.
"Clark Kent." He listened for a minute, then glanced at Lois.
She furrowed her brows. "What?" she mouthed.
He held up a hand, signaling her to wait, then frowned at whatever it was the other person on the line was saying. "I understand. I'll try to get the message to him." Then he said goodbye and hung up.
"What was all that about?" Lois asked.
Clark lowered his voice so he wouldn't be overheard by the cab driver. "That was one of the Customs agents handling the Metropolis Shipping case. He wanted to know if I could get a message to Superman."
Lois's eyebrows lifted. "What message?"
"He said they think they've found something linking the shipment back to the person behind all this, and they want to organize a sting operation--with Superman's help. They want to meet with him in an hour."
"Clark, this is great! Did he say what they found that links the shipment to the person?"
"No, just that they wanted to discuss it with Superman." He glanced discreetly at the cab driver, indicating to Lois she should be careful about what she said.
She caught his message, but the interest never left her eyes. They rode the next few blocks to Clark's apartment in silence, but as soon as they were out of the cab and walking up the steps to Clark's front door, she spoke back up.
"So, where are we meeting him? You didn't say."
Clark's hand paused in the middle of the task of unlocking the door. Turning to her, he raised his eyebrows in question. "We?"
"Well, yeah." Lois nodded, a slight frown marring her features. "I'm going with you."
He made a scoffing noise and pushed the apartment door open. "No, you're not. Clark's not even going. He asked to meet with Superman, not Lane and Kent."
"Clark!" she whined in protest as she followed him inside. She shut the door behind her, then rushed after him down the steps into the living room. "You can't leave me here while you go! That's not fair!"
Clark stopped and whirled around, causing her to nearly collide with him in her haste to catch up. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her, his expression stern. "Lois, give it up. This is one argument you are *not* going to win. The man said 'Superman.' And that's the only person who is going."
"But that's not fair, because Superman is you! That means you're going and I'm not!"
His jaw tightened, and the look of determination in his eyes told her in no uncertain terms he was dead serious. "Lois, no. And this time, I mean it. This could be dangerous. They're talking about a sting operation, here. This is not something I want you in the middle of. You'll just have to sit this one out."
When she saw he was standing there waiting for her response, she crossed her arms and sighed. "Fine," she agreed with a roll of her eyes. "But when you get home, you'd better give me all the details."
Clark breathed a sigh of relief and drew her into his embrace. "Thank you," he breathed, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, especially when I've brought you here to watch over you for a few days. And I promise I'll tell you everything."
Lois nodded. Glad that he'd won this argument, Clark stepped back and spun into his Superman costume in a colorful blur. Then he leaned down to give her one more kiss. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise."
He was gone in a rush of wind, and Lois sighed as her gaze lingered on the window he'd departed through. She hated being left behind, but she guessed this once was okay. It wasn't like they were doing the sting tonight, so Clark could fill her in when he got back, and then she'd insist she go with him when the operation took place. That one she wouldn't back away from.
Turning to look around her, Lois spotted the remote on the arm of the couch. With another sigh, she went to sit down on the couch, resigning herself to an evening of channel surfing.
~*~*~*~*~
Clark touched down on the dock next to warehouse eighteen where he'd been told to meet the Customs officials. The docks were deserted. That fact didn't surprise him, since darkness was falling and work was over for the day. His gaze shifted to the large boat they'd investigated earlier that day. It was still docked a short distance away, with crime scene tape blocking off the area around its entrance.
There was no sign of the officials there, so Clark moved off toward the warehouse where the Customs official told him they were housing some of the larger crates offloaded from the ship.
"Hello?" he called out as he approached the warehouse, noting that the large bay doors along the side of the building were open. "Is anybody here?"
Looking around for any sign of the officials he was supposed to meet, he stepped inside the doors. The warehouse had indeed been filled with miscellaneous crates, likely containing the legal goods unloaded from the ship. But there was no sign of anyone amidst the freight.
His brow furrowed. This was where they told him to meet them, wasn't it? No, there was no reason to doubt his memory. He was certain of it. But then where was everybody?
"Hello?" he called again, taking one more step into the building.
Just then a pop only his super hearing could pick up sounded. He was just beginning to turn to investigate when something slammed into his lower left side, catching him just below the rib cage. A searing, stinging sensation immediately overwhelmed him, sending him into a crumpled heap on the cement floor.
The burning quickly intensified, and he heard a strangled cry of pain. It was then that he realized that the sound had come from him. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and gasped for breath, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar sensation. Wrapping his arm across his mid-section, he groaned again and rolled onto his side in an effort to alleviate the pain. It only made it worse.
Writhing on the floor and gasping for breath, he felt himself weaken by the second. He opened his eyes only to see that the room was spinning crazily around him. The dipping and swaying motion made the nausea worse, and he gritted his teeth in an effort to keep himself from throwing up.
'What's happening?' he thought frantically, trying to make sense of his pained state.
Through the fog in his brain, he remembered the only time previous he'd felt pain, and he was able to make a connection. The bomb scare in the city office building. He'd felt a much less violent version of the pain he was experiencing now just after he'd left the scene of the bomb scare, but the feeling, the weakness, the sting--it was the much the same.
With great effort, he lifted his head off the cement floor and opened his heavy-lidded eyes to look down at himself. He lifted the arm he held tightly against his middle, letting out a strangled cry as the release of pressure sent white-hot pain stabbing through his body. There was a small hole in the blue of his suit just above his stomach, and a dark red pool of blood forming on the fabric around it.
He'd been shot.
The realization hit him almost as hard as the bullet had. With a moan, he let his head fall back onto the hard, cement floor.
He'd been shot. And because only one thing had ever penetrated his invulnerability before, he knew he had to have been shot by a piece of the meteorite Bureau 39's scientists had been testing.
By the same meteorite he feared Lex Luthor had managed to obtain.
He gave another strangled cry, pressing his arm back across his mid-section in an effort to stop the bleeding. Visions of the scene earlier that day began to funnel through the spider webs of fogginess in his mind. If that shipment he and Lois had led the police and Customs officials to had indeed belong to Luthor, it wasn't beyond reasoning to assume he'd pissed off the would-be benefactor of the artifacts by having his collection confiscated and his gun-running operation revealed.
This had to be payback.
Everything was starting to spin violently once again, and the nausea started to work itself back up into his throat. A fresh wave of pain encompassed him, causing him to gasp for breath. But even the simple motion of breathing made his muscles constrict painfully, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut once again.
He lay there for several long moments, feeling his body burn and numb alternately. His powers seemed to be ebbing away as the seconds ticked by, and he suspected within minutes, he would be completely powerless. He had to do something. He knew that. Whoever had fired the shot could be on his way to him now, to make sure the bullet had done its job.
He had to get out of there. Now.
Gathering his waning strength, he rolled to his side and made a valiant effort to get his knees. But when the stabbing, searing pain suddenly roared back to life, yanking him back into submission, he cried out in agony, letting his body slump back to the ground. He gasped and whimpered as a myriad of colorful lights flashed into pinpoint brilliance behind his tightly closed eyelids, scolding him for his efforts. Knowing he was losing the battle, he gave in and closed his eyes.
Tears coursed down his cheeks, and for the first time in his life, he worried about dying. And the realization that it scared him made his body tingle. Never before had he thought about his death. Invulnerability served to push such thoughts out of one's mind. But as blackness loomed and edged closer, promising a relief of pain, he felt himself torn between fighting it and giving into it.
Just then an image flashed across his clouded mind. Lois.
She was waiting for him. In Metropolis. In his apartment. A surge of memories nearly threatened to overwhelm his senses, momentarily blocking out the pain. He loved her; always had loved her, from the moment he saw her. Did he really want to give in to the pain? To the looming darkness behind his subconscious?
His eyes flew open. They were on the brink of something special. A lifetime of love. Was he willing to let all that go?
No, he wasn't. Their love was worth fighting for. Even worth fighting through the pain for.
With renewed determination, he glanced around him and spotted a phone on the wall a few feet from him, next to the warehouse doors. Steeling himself, he drew a breath and held it as he pushed himself up on one elbow and half-scooted, half-crawled over to the wall.
The renewed rush of pain threatened to consume him, but still he pressed forward, gasping for breath. It seemed like hours instead of seconds before he was beneath the phone, staring up at it helplessly. The very idea of standing up to reach it seemed insurmountable. But realizing it was his only hope, he clenched his arm tightly to his body and scrambled to his feet.
The pain and dizziness that accompanied the movement caused a muted sob to escape his throat. Doubling over, he closed his eyes and reached out for the support beam beside him to steady himself as the world spun crazily around him.
When the searing pain finally subsided a bit, he opened his eyes and straightened only slightly, afraid to invite the pain once again. He lifted a hand and blindly fumbled for the receiver. It took great effort to hold the phone while he dialed the number, then press it to his ear.
He waited, forbidding himself to try to decide what he would have to do if she didn't answer. When she picked up on the second ring, he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Lois," he managed in a hoarse, pained whisper.
"Clark? Is that you?"
"Yeah." He opened his mouth to say more, but once again the searing pain shot through him, causing him to double back over. He figured Lois must have heard his gasp because an alarmed tone crept into her voice.
"Clark? What's wrong? What happened?"
He swallowed and tried again. "Lois, I n--need help. I've been shot. I think it's the meteorite...."
Lois's voice became frantic. "Where are you, Clark? Tell me so I can come help you."
"The docks. Warehouse...eigh--eighteen," he stammered, having a hard time forcing the words out, with each attempt sending stabbing, burning sensations through his body.
"I'll be right there! Don't move!" she cried, then slammed down the phone.
Realizing that the connection had been severed, he released the phone without bothering to try to hang it back up. Just then a fresh wave of pain swept over him, and he felt his knees go weak. He sank back down to the floor.
Pressing his cheek to the cool, cement floor, he began to weep. For a moment, the darkness loomed invitingly, offering once again to take him away from the pain. The only thing that stopped him from giving in to it was the encouragement that Lois was on her way.
But as hard as he struggled to hold on, he could feel the life beginning to ebb from him. He could only pray that Lois would hurry.
~*~*~*~*~
As Lois ran for the front door, everything around her seemed to blur and dim. Clark was hurt.
Memories of one horrible night many years ago came flooding back, making her throat and chest constrict so tightly she could hardly breathe.
She barely managed to slam the apartment door shut behind her and fly down the stairs to the sidewalk before she realized what she was doing. She lifted her arm the second she spotted an approaching cab, grateful for once that the Friday night traffic bustling around her meant accessibility to cabs.
The second the cab pulled over to the curb, she jumped in and barked the destination to the man, telling him there was an extra fifty in it for him if he got her there in a matter of minutes. She breathed a sigh of relief as the cab driver sped off, careening through traffic at the extra incentive.
Minutes later, they were at the docks, and Lois threw the handful of bills into the front seat and leaped from the car. The cab drove off, and Lois set off toward the docks at a run. The overhead lights lining the docks guided her steps, and she continued pounding down the wooden planks toward the water.
Warehouse eighteen turned out to be down the first row and around the corner, and she found it without trouble. With her heart in her throat, she ran breathlessly through the open doors of the warehouse, stopping to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Only a dim light burned along the back wall, and she squinted into the inky blackness for signs of movement.
A strangled cry caught her attention, and she whirled. To her left, not far from where she was standing, she saw a crumpled form. Her chest tightened.
Clark.
She could barely make out the flowing cape draped like a blanket over Clark's still form as he lay on his side. With fear in her throat, she rushed over to him.
"Clark!" she gasped breathlessly, still winded from her run. She dropped to her knees beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, then moved her hand to brush back to hair from his forehead.
She startled as her hand met with his feverishly hot skin soaked with perspiration. When he didn't move, she shook him slightly. "Clark!"
He stirred, and hope rose up within her. "Lois?" he mumbled thickly, his eyes flickering open.
"Yes, Clark, it's me." She kneeled up straighter and gave his crumpled body a cursory glance. "Where were you shot?"
He didn't speak, but merely lowered his left arm from his side. Lois gasped when she saw the large pool of blood forming just below his rib cage. Tears sprang into her eyes. She struggled to fight off the feelings of desperation and desolation as she stared down helplessly at the man she loved.
A chill rushed through her, sending goosebumps prickling at her skin. The sight she was witnessing now seemed horribly familiar. Too familiar. Bile rose in her throat.
It was happening. Happening all over again.
Clark moaned suddenly, dragging her thoughts back to the present. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to pull herself together and think.
He'd been shot. What was the first thing she should do? She couldn't call an ambulance. It would take too long. He already looked like he didn't have many minutes left before he slipped away. No, she had to do something herself. Now. But what?
Her mind cleared a little, and she found herself able to think. Judging by his deteriorating condition, she could only assume the bullet was still in him. If she could get rid of the poisonous piece of meteorite, he'd stand a better chance of recovering. Wouldn't he? She didn't know for sure, but she knew she had to do something. And this was the only thing she could think of to do.
"Clark, I need you to listen to me," she began, surprised at the strength and determination she was able to muster into her voice. "Did you feel the bullet go straight through, or is it still lodged inside?"
His eyes flickered back open again at her words, and he opened his mouth to speak. "Don't...know," was all he was able to muster.
She nodded. "Okay, then I'm going to look at your back and see if there's an exit wound. Don't move."
She scrambled to her feet and stepped over him carefully. Sliding his cape from his side, she searched for any signs of a hole in his Suit or the telltale sign of blood. There was nothing. She knew that could only mean one thing. The bullet was still in him.
Knowing what she had to do, she went back to his other side and kneeled in front of him once more. She put a hand lightly on his shoulder to get his attention.
"Clark, I need to get the bullet out, but I need to find something to get it out with. Just lie still for a minute and I'll be right back."
His eyes were glazed, but he nodded slightly, telling her he understood. Wasting no time, Lois got to her feet and started searching the area around them. A toolbox near the far side of the warehouse door caught her eye, and she hurried over to it. She flipped the latches frantically and let the case fall open.
A rather large flat-head screwdriver caught her attention, and she pulled it from its housing. She considered the tool. The flat metal on the end was about the same size as the bullet hole, and she figured it was as good as anything to accomplish her task. It was hardly sanitary, but she could only hope that once she pried out the bullet, Clark's healing abilities would take over and overcome any infection the tool or the bullet would have caused.
The decision made, she rushed back to Clark and grasped his hand. His groggy gaze met her determined one. Then his gaze shifted to the tool in her hand.
"I'm going to try to get the bullet out," she told him, the slight shake in her voice betraying her calm exterior.
Clark nodded, then let her guide him onto his back, a groan of pain escaping his lips at the movement. Lois faltered. Could she really do this? she asked herself as she eyed the red spot on his Suit and then the tool in her hand. She'd never had the stomach for this sort of thing, and trying to perform a crude medical procedure on the man she loved made the queasiness in her stomach even worse.
Suddenly she felt a hand grasp her free one, and she looked down to see Clark staring at her intently. He nodded. "You have to get it out, Lois. Now."
She took in the drips of perspiration trailing down Clark's face and the pallor to his cheeks, and knew he was right. If it didn't come out now....
She swallowed and tried not to think about what could happen if she didn't succeed. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Clark one more time for strength. The faith shining clearly in his eyes gave her what she needed, and she turned to the task at hand.
Pulling away the red-stained cloth from the wound, she pressed the tip of the screwdriver into the bleeding wound. Clark's hand nearly crushed hers as he cried out in pain, and it was all she could do to keep going, knowing she was inflicting so much pain on the man she loved. But she knew it was the only way.
She slipped her hand out of Clark's and used it to steady her movements as she used the tip of the screwdriver to feel for the bullet. A moment later she felt it press against something hard. A surge of hope flooded through her.
She'd been anxious that the bullet might be far enough in that she wouldn't be able to reach it, but the object seemed to be lodged just beneath the skin. She slid the screwdriver in a little deeper, trying to get beneath it to pry it out.
Her movements elicited another agonizing cry from Clark, but she forced herself to block it out and keep going. Her steel blade met with no resistance as she angled it and lifted, and she realized she must have succeeded in coming up underneath the bullet. She angled a little harder and pushed. The use of leverage worked, and a moment later she saw a green, glowing object appear through the blood and torn skin. She reached for it and managed to pull it the rest of the way from his body.
Dropping the screwdriver with a clank to the hard, cement floor, she studied the crudely-made object between her fingers. It had been shaped to a point at one end, with the back of it flat. The indentation of a firing pin marred the otherwise smooth surface.
Clark lifted his head slightly off the ground, his breathing seeming to come a little easier. He looked at the green, glowing object in her hand for a moment. Then his eyes, still clouded with pain, met hers. "Please. Get that thing away from me."
Nodding, Lois rose as quickly as she could on shaking legs and hurried out of the warehouse. She looked around, noting she seemed to be alone. Whoever had done this to Clark seemed to be long gone.
In the darkness, she surveyed her surroundings. What should she do with it? She didn't dare just drop it in a garbage can. She had to put it where nobody was likely to find it. She glanced out at the ships, bobbing on the gentle evening current. The water. It may not be the best option, but it was the best she could think of right at that moment.
Running to the edge of the dock, she brought her arm back, then flung it forward, throwing the glowing piece of meteorite into the water. A soft 'plunk' sounded a few seconds later, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was gone. Hopefully, for good, though she didn't know that for sure. But she had the sinking suspicion that there was more of that rock where it had come from.
Deciding to consider that later, she turned and rushed back to Clark inside the warehouse. He still lay motionless on the hard floor, but his breathing seemed less labored.
She knelt down beside him and reached for his hand. "Clark?"
He opened his eyes and nodded imperceptibly. "Thanks," he murmured.
Surveying his condition, she decided he still looked pale, but at least he was no longer writhing in pain. "How do you feel? Any better?"
"I think so," he whispered. "I still feel so weak."
"Is the pain lessening?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
He nodded again. "It's not as bad. I think I'll okay."
She released a slow breath, but the fear in her heart refused to let her relax just yet. Her eyes were earnest as she squeezed his hand lightly. "What else can I do?"
"I just want to lie here for a while," he murmured, closing his eyes once again.
He shifted uncomfortable on the floor, and she saw a tremor overtake him. Suddenly concerned about after effects of possible shock, she glanced around the room and spotted a large, canvas covering probably used to protect the more breakable items. She quickly ran over and grabbed it, then returned and covered Clark's shivering body.
As soon as he felt the heavy drape, he grasped it and drew a handful of the material up to his chin. "Thanks."
Lois sat back down behind Clark, then carefully pulled his head and shoulders into her lap. With gentle hands, she stroked her fingers through his hair, hoping to comfort him with her touch. He seemed to draw strength from her closeness, and his body relaxed in her arms. At one point, she wondered if he'd fallen asleep. She hoped he had. More than anything, he needed to let his body do everything it could to heal himself.
As the minutes dragged on agonizingly, Lois felt her own body start to shake. She didn't know if it was an after-effect of the adrenaline rush, or if she was a chill brought on from sitting on the cement warehouse floor with the late-fall night air dropping the air temperature around her. She felt increasingly numb with every passing minute, and her movements to soothe Clark began to feel stiff and forced to her.
Luckily Clark didn't seem to notice, and when he stirred in her lap a while later, she was able to refocus her disjointed thoughts on him.
He lifted himself slightly on his elbows, and she looked at him closely. His color was returning a little to his cheeks, and his eyes didn't seem as pained. "Clark? Are you okay?"
"I'm starting to feel a little better," he murmured, his voice still hoarse, but sounding a bit stronger. "I must have really ticked off the owner of those guns and artifacts if he arranged to have me killed."
Lois's eyes widened. "Do you think that's what happened? That Luthor, or whatever person might be behind the shipment, put out a hit on you?"
Clark nodded grimly. "That's my guess. At this point I think it's likely that only Bureau 39 and Luthor have pieces of the Meteorite. And if it was indeed Luthor behind that shipment, what better way to get rid of the nemesis who just cost him millions of dollar than having him killed?" He shook his head. "It's the only explanation. What did you end up doing with the meteorite?"
"I threw it into the harbor. I hope nobody ever finds it there, but I can't be sure. It was the only thing I could think of."
Clark nodded and grasped her hand. "Thank you. At least I seem to be regaining my strength now that I'm away from it. I wasn't sure if I'd recover with it gone or not."
"You seem to be," she told him, hoping she was right. "Can you remember what this felt like last time? I mean, do you think your powers are returning?"
"I don't know." Clark shook his head slowly. "I was exposed to it a lot longer this time, plus it was inside of me. I hope my powers will return like they gradually did last time, but I just don't know."
Lois felt another tremor rack her own body, and this time Clark noticed. He managed to sit up the rest of the way and turned, putting a hand on her arm. His eyes widened as he touched her. "Lois, you're freezing. Don't you have a coat?"
She shook her head and pressed her quivering lips together tightly. How was she supposed to explain that right now, all she felt was numb? Her body, her senses, her emotions.... It was all she could do to stay focused on helping Clark to get better.
"I was in such a hurry to get here I just rushed out of the apartment," she finally offered. "I'll be fine."
"You're not going to be fine if we don't get you out of here," he told her, the familiar strength and protectiveness for her beginning to return to his voice. He shifted the blanket and held a corner of it open for her. "Come under here and get warm while I sit here for just another minute. Then I think I'll be strong enough to get us out of here."
Lois felt tears spring to her eyes, and she stood up abruptly. "Clark, will you stop it?" she said, her voice rising in frustration. "You're the one hurt, okay? Stop pretending that everything's okay with you and pretending I'm the one who needs to be taken care of! You were shot, Clark! Lying here in a pool of blood when I got here!" She started to shiver as the memory resurfaced, and she hugged herself tightly in an effort to quell the shakes. "You were so close to dying that I didn't know if digging that bullet out of you would even help!"
Clark furrowed an eyebrow in confusion as she finished. "Lois, I'm going to be okay. I just need some time to recover, that's all. And I can't tell you how grateful I am you came when you did. You saved my life."
"So now you have to save mine?" she lashed out, her emotions starting to overtake her. "Watch out for the little woman as she shivers in the cold of this awful warehouse? Clark, I'm worried about *you*, okay? Will you just stop and let me do that for once?"
A couple of tears slid down her cheeks, and she lifted a hand to brush them away angrily. She was uncomfortably aware that Clark was studying her intently, as if trying to understand the root of her anger. But she didn't want him to know. It wasn't something she wanted to share.
Finally, Clark nodded. "Okay," he said uncertainly, his brow still deepened in confusion. He let the canvas fall from his shoulders, and he slid his legs underneath his experimentally.
Lois was at his side instantly, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. "Are you sure you feel well enough to try this? It's only been a short time since...." Her voice trailed off, but they both understood her meaning.
Clark teetered for a moment, but was able to support himself with his arm around her shoulders. A couple minutes later, he felt steady enough to take a step. Then two. Then he was able to walk unsupported by Lois.
Lois felt herself breath a sigh of relief as his strength grew with every moment. It did, indeed, look as if he was going to be okay. The numbness started to leave her, an aching hurt replacing it and bringing more tears to her eyes. She'd almost lost him. Lost another person she loved....
She choked back a sob, then turned away before Clark could notice her tears. For the first time, she was glad he didn't have powers, or superhearing to clue himself in to her emotions. With her back still turned to Clark, she spotted a dock worker's uniform hanging a short distance from her.
Managing to quickly compose herself, she turned back to Clark and cleared the thickness from her throat. "Clark, do you feel strong enough to get out of here?"
He nodded. "I think so."
"Good." She pulled out the cell phone she still had in her pants pocket from work and called Information for a local cab company's phone number.
"What are you doing?" Clark asked when she told the cab company to send a cab to pick them up at the street in front of the docks. He glanced down at his blood-stained Superman costume. "I can't get into a cab looking like this."
"You won't be." She walked over and took the dock worker's uniform. She handed it to him. "Let's get this on you."
In a matter of minutes, Clark was dressed in the dirty grey jumpsuit and they were climbing into the newly arrived cab. It was only a few more minutes before they were back at Clark's apartment.
Lois managed to keep her tender emotions in check as she paid the cab driver, then helped a weary Clark up the steps and into his apartment. She led him into the bedroom and ordered him to sit on the bed while she helped him out of the clothes, then out of the ruined Superman uniform. Ordering him to lay back and relax, she hurried into the bathroom for a wet washcloth, then returned and began to clean the area around the wound.
She was relieved when her gentle pressure didn't seem to hurt Clark, causing him only a minimal amount of discomfort. When the blood was cleaned away, she fingered the skin around where she'd removed the bullet. A gasp escaped her lips.
"Clark, it's gone!"
Clark sat up and tried to see what she was looking at. "What is?"
"The bullet wound!" she exclaimed. "It's gone. The skin has closed up around it already. It's as if it were never there."
He fingered the spot, as curious as she. The skin had healed over, and there was not so much as a scar to show for the night's events.
It was quiet for a long minute as they both contemplated everything that had happened. Finally, Lois spoke, her voice low and soft. "You're pretty lucky, you know that? You could have died out there tonight."
He looked up at her and reached for his hand, concerned for the haunting sadness he saw deep within her eyes. "But I didn't," he reassured her, pulling her down onto the bed beside him. "I'll be fine, thanks to you." He leaned in to kiss her, but her lips were surprisingly unyielding beneath his. He pulled back and looked at her in surprise. "Lois? Are you okay?"
For an instant, some unreadable emotion flickered across her face. But just as quickly, it was gone. She stood up and reached for his blankets. "Yeah, I'm fine," she told him, keeping her face conspicuously turned away for his gaze. "But let's get you settled into bed. You need your sleep. Hopefully by tomorrow, you'll be feeling a lot better."
He moved slightly so she could pull down the blankets from beneath him, then slid obediently between the sheets as she covered him up. When she straightened and turned to go, he reached for her arm. "Lois, are you sure you're okay?"
She turned back to him, and a glimmer of defiance flickered into her eyes. "Clark, I told you I'm fine, so stop asking, okay? Let's just concentrate on getting you better."
When he nodded wordlessly, she offered a tight-lipped smile. "I'll be out on the couch if you need me, okay?"
"On the couch?" Clark frowned. "You're not sleeping here with me? There's plenty of room..."
"You need your rest, and I don't want to accidentally hurt you or something," she interrupted, her face a mask of efficiency. "Besides, I'm not really tired yet. Maybe I'll just watch some TV for a while."
Clark opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a hasty, "Goodnight," then flicked off the lights.
~*~*~*~*~
Lois eased Clark's door shut behind her, then lifted her fingertips to her shaking lips. She managed to silence the sob before it escaped from her throat, but still the ache of what could have been a heartbreaking loss tonight racked her body.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she made her way into the front room. The chill she felt earlier at the warehouse stayed with her, and she fought to keep herself from shaking. Grabbing the afghan from off the back of the couch, she wrapped herself up in it, then sank onto the couch cushions. She picked up the remote and clicked on the TV--if only as a guise for Clark to think she'd been telling him the truth earlier about wanting to watch some TV.
She stared numbly at the images flickering across the screen for what seemed like hours, unable to get warm in spite of the thick afghan draped around her shoulders. She felt cold clear to the core, and she wondered if she was ever going to feel warm again.
When the last news program ended, she tightened the blanket around her and stood up to go check on Clark. She opened the door slowly, and only enough to spot Clark's form lying peacefully beneath the blankets. His breathing was slow and steady, and she knew he was asleep.
Even the reassurance that he was going to be fine didn't seem to soothe the stinging pain rising up from deep within her soul. She felt suffocated by the realization of what she'd almost lost--*had* lost once before.
Tears pooled in her eyes as she crossed the living room to the overstuffed recliner in the corner and sank down into it. Quiet sobs rose in her throat once more, and this time she didn't stop them.
~*~*~*~*~
When Clark awoke some time later, he knew his powers were starting to return when his super hearing picked up a sound from the living room. He concentrated. Finally he was able to isolate the noise and discern what it was. It was the sound of someone crying. He listened for another moment and realized it was coming from his living room.
An invisible hand clenched around his heart.
Lois.
His brow deepening in concern, he righted himself in bed and swung his legs over the side. He concentrated on his body for a moment, waiting for the unwelcome sensation of pain. There was none. He let his breath out in a rush when he realized the pain was gone. He felt a little stiff and achy, but other than that, he felt like he was on his way to recovery.
With a little bit of effort, he managed to stand up and shuffle out his bedroom door. When he reached the living room, he noticed a single lamp was on, but the room otherwise gave no appearance of occupancy. He glanced around. She had to be there.
Finally he spotted her. She was curled up in the recliner in the far corner, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in them. Stunned, he watched as her shoulders shook as quiet sobs wracked her body.
His chest tightened as he eased his way across the living room toward her. "Lois?" he asked softly as he approached. "What's wrong?"
The sound of his voice startled her and she jerked her head up. Her mascara was smudged beneath both eyes, and tears coursed down her pale cheeks. She saw him and sat up straighter, quickly swiping away the tears on her cheeks.
"Oh, umm, Clark." Her voice was thick and she had to clear it before she continued. "I thought you were asleep."
He nodded as he closed the distance between them, then sat down at the foot of the chair. His eyes were filled with concern as he placed a comforting hand on her knee. "I was, but I heard you crying. What's the matter?"
Lois's lower lip trembled and she looked away, fighting a fresh round of threatening tears. She shook her head, clearly trying to compose herself. "It's nothing, Clark. I'm okay. Sorry I woke you."
"You're not okay, Lois," Clark argued, his voice sympathetic but confused. "You're obviously really upset about something."
Several tears escaped and slid down her cheek in spite of her valiant efforts to contain them. "Seeing you on that warehouse floor, bleeding like you were," she began emotionally. "When I saw you there, I immediately expected the worst. I kept thinking that here I'd gone and opened up my heart to someone after all these years, only to have that person taken away from me again..." A sob escaped Lois's lips, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth. "It was like losing my parents and my sister all over again..." She broke off, and sobs once again overtook her.
Clark's eyes widened in horror as everything suddenly became clear. She'd lost the three most important people in her life all those years ago, and when she'd seen him on the ground in that warehouse, her worst fears must have been realized. It had been so long since she'd opened up her heart to someone in fear that she'd only lose them as she had her parents. And that was almost exactly what had happened.
"Oh, Lois, I'm so sorry," he soothed. "I didn't realize..." He quickly moved to his knees and reached out to gather her into his arms. "Come here." She fell forward into his arms and burrowed her face into his shoulder, wetting his shirt with her tears. He pulled her into his lap and tightened his arms around her, resorting to the age-old comfort of rocking. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair soothingly.
After several minutes, Lois pulled away and gulped back a sob. "Clark, I can't do this. I can't go through this all over again."
Clark brushed the curtain of hair back from her face. "Can't do what, sweetheart?"
"Us, Clark! I can't do 'us.' Do you know how terrified I was back there, thinking I was going to lose you?" She paused and tried to control the shake in her voice. "I can't help thinking that somewhere in the back of my mind, part of what made me open up my heart to you was realizing you were special. You couldn't be hurt, couldn't be taken away from me. Maybe that's part of what made me feel like we were so solid. But now, after seeing you so close to dying earlier..."
Clark shook his head and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Lois, I am so sorry I had to put you through that. I didn't even consider how this would bring back so many bad memories for you. I am so, so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," she managed, falling forward against him once again. "I know that. But I still can't help thinking about..."
"I know, Lois," he murmured. "I know."
He continued to hold and rock her as she cried until finally her tears were spent. When they were, Lois continued to sit quietly in his arms, gaining strength from his closeness.
Finally Clark pressed a kiss into her hair and leaned back, forcing her to look at him. "Lois, I've never come across anything that could hurt me until now. I don't know what to say. I'd like to promise you it will never happen again, but I don't know that I can."
Lois shuddered in his arms. "That's what scares me."
After a minute, Lois got to her feet and moved a few paces away from Clark. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively and met his concerned gaze. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with underlying fear. "Clark, I don't know that I can risk losing you again. Maybe this was all just a very bad idea."
Clark's stomach tightened. He had a sinking suspicion where this was going. "What's a bad idea?" he asked, hoping his instincts where wrong. "What are you saying, Lois?"
"Us." Lois met Clark's alarmed gaze with her scared one. "Maybe this was just a bad idea right from the start."
His face paled and the room started to spin around him. When the initial shock wore off and he felt a little steadier, he rose slowly to his feet and closed the distance between them. "Lois, you can't mean that. Please tell me you don't mean that."
She fought back a sob and shrugged. "I don't know, Clark. I'm just...I'm so scared. I remember how horrible it was to lose not just one person I loved, but three of them in one awful night. I was devastated. It took me years to get back on my feet, Clark. I don't ever want to go through that again."
"So, you get scared and immediately turn and run?" Clark's eyes flashed as he stepped closer to her. "That doesn't sound like the Lois Lane I know."
"This is *not* the Lois Lane you know, Clark!" she yelled, the panic she'd kept in check all night suddenly bubbling to the surface. "This is the scared little girl who watched her mother, father, and sister all buried on the same day! I can't pretend she doesn't exist--that none of it happened. It did, Clark! And I'm sorry if it scarred me in ways you can't even begin to imagine, but I don't want to lose another person that I love! I couldn't take it. I just couldn't take it." Her voice broke, and the quiet sobs caused her last words to fade away to a whisper.
Clark's heart constricted as he closed the remaining distance between them and took her hands in his. With tears in his own eyes, he spoke, his voice soft and gentle. "Lois, I lost my birth parents, too, but I know that's nothing compared to watching your parents and sister die right before your eyes. I can't tell you that I understand how that feels, but I do know how devastated I would be if I lost my own parents...my Earth parents. They're the only mother and father I've ever known. I know how much it would hurt to lose them as you did yours."
He paused, tightening his fingers around hers. At length, he continued. "People are taken out of your life, and others are brought into it. I don't think that's chance. I think it's some divine being's way of helping us deal with our grief and helping us along in life. Did you ever stop to think that maybe we were brought together for a reason, Lois? To help us both, to help us find our way together? Don't be so hasty to throw away what we have together. We have something special--something I've never felt before with anybody, and I'm certain you feel the same way. Please don't throw it away. Please."
Lois sighed. For a moment, Clark thought he'd managed to convince her. But then she pulled her hands from his and folded them across her chest.
"I don't know, Clark, I'm so confused," she admitted, her face a mixture of conflicting emotions. "I know I love you and want to be with you, but then I think about how I would feel if I lost you, and all those memories of everything I went through after my family died come back to torment me."
Clark shook his head in frustration. "But Lois, you can't suffer with your memories forever. I can't bear to watch you do it, and I know your parents and your sister wouldn't want you to do it. Like you told me, you've got to let yourself grieve and somehow find some closure."
Lois paled. "Don't lecture me, Clark," she muttered as she turned to walk a few steps away. "I don't need to be psychoanalyzed about how I manage the death of my parents."
Surprised by her angry reaction, Clark studied her intensely, his eyes narrowing. The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. "You've never let yourself grieve, have you?" he accused, taking a step toward her. "Every time we've talked about your parents--or even that night at your apartment after your visit to the ER--you've only allowed yourself brief moments of grief. You told me that night after we learned of my parents' death that letting yourself go through the grieving process is the only way to get through something like the loss of your parents. But you've never let yourself do that. Am I right?"
One look at her face and he knew he was right. His jaw tightened in anger as he watched her drop her gaze to the floor. "Lois, I can't believe you're such a hypocrite about this! Your family died over ten years ago, but you've never allowed yourself to grieve your loss and move on, have you? How are you ever going to get over this survivor guilt if you don't let yourself do that? It was your parents' and sister's time, Lois. It wasn't yours. They wouldn't want you going on living like this, keeping your grief all bottled up inside. Why didn't you grieve and move on all those years ago?"
Something erupted inside Lois. "I didn't have time to grieve, Clark!" she yelled. "I was a scared, lost little girl, who was just trying to survive. I didn't have anyone to pick me up and comfort me. My aunt took me in, but not to love; I was a convenience to her, someone to care for her when she was sick. She didn't give me the love and comfort I needed. She simply put a roof over my head and expected me to care for her in return. I didn't get blessed with loving parents after I was orphaned like you did. You got dropped into the laps of two people who love you more than anything. Consider yourself lucky, Clark! Nobody loved me. I was all I had. Grieving wasn't exactly a luxury I could afford myself. So sue me if I buried a lot of those feelings deep...so deep that I never fully faced them. It was what I had to do! And you have no idea how hard it was for me. You don't! So don't act all high and mighty and pretend you know what's best for me, because just maybe you don't."
Clark didn't say anything for a long time. When he did, his voice was filled with emotion and his eyes were full of sympathy. "Lois," he said softly, taking a hesitant step toward her. "I--I had no idea. You're right. I can't say that I know how it was for you. I did happen to get parents who loved me, and I never had to face the emotions of knowing I was an orphan like you did."
He swallowed hard to get his voice under control as he closed the distance between them. When he was only a step away, he reached tentatively for her hand. He was relieved when she didn't pull back. "But I do know how it feels to be alone...to wonder what your life would have been like 'if.' You can't keep living your life that way. You'll kill yourself from all this bottled up grief. You need to find some closure and make some peace with your loss, then move on, the same way I'll have to. Maybe together we can do that."
Lois's eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as she looked up to meet Clark's gaze. Clark held his breath, hardly daring to hope.
Finally she nodded. "I'll try, Clark," she whispered. "That's all I can do."
He let out the breath he'd been holding and closed his eyes, pulling her into his embrace. "That's all I ask," he said as he held her tightly. "That's all I ask."
When they pulled apart, Clark gazed down at the emotionally exhausted woman before him. "Come to bed, Lois. You need some sleep as much as I do."
Lois nodded, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. With a great sense of relief that she was still here beside him, he led her into the bedroom. He was sure everything would look brighter in the morning--for her as well as for him.
~*~*~*~*~
to be continued in part 32...
