FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE
By Sara
Rated PG
Submitted 2005
Thanks to Mere, who read the first draft of this about a year ago, came up with a fantastic idea that I ended up hooking the entire story on, and then re-read it for me and was just incredible
Thanks to Sas for her encouragement and help. Thanks to everybody who read this before I posted it and who nit-picked, nagged and giggled in all the right places.
This is dedicated to the starry Sara Kraft, fellow musketeer, comrade-in-arms and beta-reader-nagger-friend-extraordinaire. Thank you for everything, Eviller One!
Standard disclaimers apply.
~&~
"Did we like each other right away?"
I have absolutely no idea why, but the question suddenly means forever to me. Like it's the most important thing I've ever said in my life before. Like the answer's important - a key, a whisper of the past, a reminder of something essential to me.
For a few short seconds, the bustling newsroom behind melts away as I struggle, trying desperately to swim past the murky blackness in my brain - the thing that chokes me, cuts off my air supply when it proves impenetrable.
Maybe it *is* the most important thing I've ever said in my life. I have no real way of knowing. From the blundering lack of eloquence that colours my tongue whenever I try to express something, I'm guessing I'm not the best with words. I'm guessing I never was.
I'm nothing anymore. I'm a shell, left on a shore of broken memories and half-remembered dreams, like a worthless piece of flotsam from the storm of my mind. How is it to be alone? Let me tell you - nobody knows. Nobody knows what it's like to be alone until they've lost themselves.
She's confused. I can tell. If nothing else, I can tell when somebody's confused - the expression I feel twisting my face every time I'm confronted with something I inexplicably know I should recognise is there in her features. In the line of her mouth and the hook of her eyebrow.
I really don't blame her. It's obviously not a common thing for me to ask.
Then again, for a man with amnesia... *nothing* is a common thing to ask.
"We didn't... *not* like each other," she replies, looking at me strangely. Shrugging her shoulders as if to brush a bad feeling or memory off, she goes back to pouring her coffee into her mug.
Didn't not. Which means did. Like. Did like each other.
<...hack from Nowheresville...>"You're sure?" I ask, anxiously. "I have this really niggling feeling that I didn't like you..." I pause, frown and shake my head. Impossible. "...or more likely, that you didn't like me, or..."
I see her worried expression, falter for a moment, then fumble and slip - that oh-so-apparent Kent eloquence playing up again.
"Lois, relax." I give her a weak smile. "For all I know, we could have fallen in love at first sight, or something crazy like that."
I grit my teeth. No! No, *bad* sentence! I see the withdrawal in her immediately - her face tightening as she stares shocked at me, her knuckles turning white, the corner of her mouth going slack.
I hasten to apologise, eager to alleviate the errant, disobedient thought.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, that was dumb."
I watch her swallow in agony. I have no idea why, but it hurts that she should be so shocked at the thought of us in -
//Of course she's shocked, you absolute idiot. You've just basically told her you fell in love with her the second you saw her...//
I shake my head, viciously. Not possible. Not. Possible. I'm insane, but not that much.
Lois. We're concentrating on Lois, here. Lois, who's still looking at me like I'm sprouting scaly purple wings and breathing smoke through my nostrils...
"I have absolutely no idea what I'm saying," I hurry to say, with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm.. lost, I guess."
Great comeback, Kent. Not only do you have to make her hideously uncomfortable, but now you're making her feel sorry for you.
A sad expression crosses her face, and I feel an inexorable tightness in my stomach as she lays one hand - one slender, delicate, womanly hand - on my shoulder and takes a seat beside me.
"I never really thought about it," she admits, staring into my face, her eyes dark and troubled. For a second, my heart skips a beat, until I remember what statement she must be referring to. "What you must be going through right now... I never realised, or if I did, I never really dwelt on it.
"Oh, but you shouldn't!" I blurt, before I can stop myself. "You shouldn't dwell on me. Not when... this stuff is happening." I gesture to the ceiling, as if it will suddenly melt away and expose the darkness that's threatening all our lives. "You have enough to worry about without adding a confounded working partner to the list."
Her hand darts across the little table that separates us. Before I can breathe, before I can even think, her fingers are squeezing mine. Hard.
"You're a lot more than a partner to me, Clark," she says softly.
I can only stare. My jaw hinged open, the colour rising in my cheeks, my heart pounding.
Does she mean... is she hinting that... that...
The tidal wave that rises in my chest every time I think of her.
That's okay?
I'm... supposed to feel like that?
It's allowed?
I deflate as she notices my expression, as she hurries to explain, even before I've finished my tiny, hopeful, idiotic thought.
"You're a very great friend of mine, Clark," she admits shyly. "My best friend. I don't know what I would do if I lost you."
I can only wonder.
She looks at me from under her eyelashes, in an expression that makes my heart skip a beat. "I'm afraid I don't exactly express my feelings clearly," she says, an undertone of guilt threading through her voice. "Not even when you're... normal."
"I'm not normal, Lois." The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them, but unlike similar declarations, this time they make sense.
Even though they don't.
She looks at me, and something in my face makes her inhale sharply. Her lip trembles, her fingers constricting again in mine before releasing fully.
I want to weep for the loss of her touch. I want to stand up and pull her to me. I want to hold her and never let her go. I want to kiss her until the world stops turning.
I'm an idiot.
Just good friends, Clark. *Just good friends*. Nothing more. Nothing less.
"I suppose you're right, Clark," she says flippantly. "I don't accept normal people. Only the best get to work with me!"
She smiles brightly at me and I can't help but twitch the corner of my mouth up in response, wondering, marvelling. How does she *do* that? How does she ignite warm embers in the pit of my stomach by just smiling?
I might be an idiot, but I'm a pretty high standard of idiot. Even I know that this isn't normal - nobody else affects me like this.
This woman is special to me. In some intangible, feather-light, teasing way, she's special to me - almost unbearably so. Even if she doesn't know it.
But this is an impossibility. Because how could she mean so much to me, how could I l... like her so much, without her knowing?
Surely, surely I wasn't as dumb in the past, *surely* I've told her? Surely I've let her know, every single day, just how much I... just how much she means to me?
Because if I haven't... if I haven't...
How could I have existed alongside her for a year without telling her how completely I...
My mind reels down through a list of verbs. How much I like, respect, admire, revere...
...love...
I swallow hard, my eyes focusing on her face, suddenly intent. I scan every inch of it, taking in her dusky eyes, her nose, her lips, the perfect curve of her neck, her creamy skin, tinged with a delicate flush of rose along a high, elegant cheekbone...
I close my eyes, then snap them open again and meet her gaze as I do so. Her eyes are somehow darker than normal - my *idea* of normal - and more fathomless. She looks fascinated, in a shocked kind of ways, and I let myself fall - mesmerised. Caught like a fly in amber, like a bee in honey - struck dumb in the face of her beauty.
The moment passes, and suddenly it's back to familiarity. Warm with friendship - camaraderie and absolutely nothing more.
"I guess... we should get back to work," she reminds me softly. I exhale unhappily, watching as she smiles in farewell and starts to turn.
I don't know what it is, but I've grasped something in the last five minutes - a silken whisper of familiarity, a lingering echo of a feeling I once had - and I'm darned if I'm going to sit here and let it slip away.
I stand hurriedly. "Do we have to?"
Her backward swing and the tilt of her eyebrows indicate that she's listening, if not fully comprehending. I smile nervously, gesturing at the milling newsroom.
"Everybody's busy with this asteroid, and with looking for Superman, and look -" I hold out my left hand, ornamented with my watch "- it's already quarter past five. Surely Perry won't mind if we leave a little early?"
She purses her lips, clearly trying to figure out whether or not I'm joking.
"I know you don't remember much, Clark, but surely some basic common sense would tell you that Perry..."
"Lois!" I interrupt her, holding my hands out to her. "There's what - twenty-four hours left until impact?"
Something fixes her face into rigidity. "Something like that."
I sigh, hating myself for using the impending doom as an excuse. "We have so little time left... I just want to make the most of it. Perry's not going to mind if we get out of here now."
Those eyebrows jump again. God, she's so full of life. She uses every single feature when she's talking. Full of passion, and so easily read when somebody knows her well enough.
And I do. Did. Have. Have known her well enough. Obviously.
I've lost my whole identity, everything that I was, am or hope to be - but somehow I still know her well enough to read her thoughts by the look on her face.
"I thought you'd want to be doing Clark stuff. What about your parents?"
I shake my head. "They... wanted to come," I tell her haltingly. "Wichita couldn't manage two seats for them on such short notice. Mrs... Mart... uhm... Mom... left a message on my machine telling me they'd call later to discuss another mode of transport, but I really can't see how they'll manage to be here."
I swallow. I regret that I'll never meet... see my parents again. But the feeling pales in comparison to the ones I have for the woman standing in front of me.
"Oh, Clark, I'm sorry," she says softly, putting her hand on my arm. "That must be really tough."
I look at her. "No regrets, Lois. I don't want to have any regrets. I don't want to waste any time. Not a minute, not a second."
She's hesitating, and I push harder.
"Please. Come back to my place. I'll make dinner... I just want to get some sense of... *being*. Before everything goes."
She looks unsure for a few minutes more, and I almost lose hope, but then her brow smoothens.
"I'll see what I can do."
I grin at her, fighting the urge to punch the air and whoop.
"Don't go getting your hopes up, farmboy!" she warns, before striding down the ramp into the bullpen.
<Don’t fall for me, farmboy. I don' t have time for it.>I shake my head, putting one hand up to my forehead. Where the heck did *that* come from? And why does it sound so... ironic?
Biting my lip, I follow her trail down through the bullpen, stopping to collect my coat and hers. She's barely with Perry five minutes before sashaying out, a smug expression on her face. I smile, something inside of me recognising and responding to it.
"Well?"
"What's the use of having strings to pull if you don't give 'em a tug now and then?" she asks haughtily as I help her on with her coat.
"I have this deep, gut feeling that it's less of 'strings to pull' and more of 'chains to rattle', Lois." I duck to avoid the teasing swipe of her hand.
"Your memory is coming back way too quickly for my liking, Kent," she grumbles as we head up the ramp. "I'm going to go shower and change first, okay? Will your rampant lust to spend time with me drive you to distraction, or can you live without me for an hour or two?" She bumps my hip with hers playfully, not noticing the wry smile I can feel twisting my lips.
I make some casual response as I step into the elevator. My heart thudding along at the irony.
//If only you knew, Lois. If only you knew...//
~&~
"So... when did we become partners?" I ask, after a satisfying meal, taking a swig of my wine. She looks up at me, the spoon from her slice of pecan pie falling limp in her hand. She's done that an awful lot tonight - given me the deer-in-the-headlights look, paused, looked at me like I was nuts.
She looks as if she's pondering it - and now she's shrugging. Obviously she's decided the question is harmless enough.
"Well... Perry sent you along with me to get you some experience, way back when. I guess we just... clicked. After some mild protesting on my part -"
She grins and looks at me here, like I'm supposed to fill in the blanks, and then she frowns and looks discomfited when I don't.
"- he kind of threw us together, and, well... the rest is history." She spears another piece of pie, apparently deciding that the question was over and done with.
"So... we're friends as well as partners?" I watch her, intent to gauge her reaction.
She shrugs. "I get thrown out of the airplane, you correct the spellings, we write the story. You've saved my life a couple of times. After going through things like that, you kind of can't help but to become friends."
"But you've saved me, too - right?" Seeing her confused expression, I elaborate a little. "I have this hazy memory of you... saving my job? Definitely giving me grief about something, anyway." And I flash an uneasy grin at her.
<You're not a quitter!>No need to tell her I also remember leaning over and taking her lips softly with mine, my heart aching to see the glisten of tears in her eyes... no need to scare her with what's surely just another fantasy.
I'm no stranger to fantasies where Lois is concerned. That one - the one where my heart aches as I kiss her, and then do the unthinkable by *leaving her behind* - pales in comparison to the one with the blue chiffon and the golden bangles, or the one with the long, tanned, toned leg stretched ever-so-casually along my desk...
Her voice takes me back to the present.
"Oh, that must have been around the time of the heat-wave - when everybody thought that Superman's powers were drawing the rays of the sun to Metropolis. I didn't believe it, though, and eventually we proved them wrong. You had some kind of crazy impulse thing and quit, but as soon as you found out that he was innocent, you came back." She takes a bite of pie. "Figured if I could forgive Superman for giving up, I could do the same for you."
"Superman - he sounds like he means a lot to you." A thin blanket of unease creeps over my chest. She shrugs, suddenly leaving down her spoon - like she isn't hungry anymore.
"He does, Clark," she admits softly. "He means the world to me - to everybody. I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't come back."
I reach over to lay a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he's doing his best," I murmur quietly.
Now, why in the world did I say that? I know less than nothing. False sympathy is just going to annoy her... besides, I have an irrational, nagging feeling that I should get off this subject as quickly as I can.
But she doesn't look annoyed. On the contrary, before I can retreat and switch the conversation to a lighter subject, she reaches up quickly and covers my hand with hers.
"Always making me feel better, Kent," she scolds lightly, with a tiny, barely-there catch in her voice. "I should be the one looking after you!"
I don't even think about my reply. "I love looking after you, Lois."
She stares at me, seemingly spellbound. I'm trapped again in those eyes, in the strange intimacy spun around us - not friends, not lovers, something inexplicably in-between.
"Why does it feel like I've said that before?" I whisper finally.
She clears her throat, releasing her hand and blinking quickly. "Maybe because you have?" She ducks her head and looks at the tablecloth, reaching her hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear - in a gesture that tugs at my heart, because I recognise it.
"Lois..." My voice, faltering. "Lois, I..."
Her head shoots up, and suddenly she's meeting my gaze firmly. "You what, Clark?" *Daring* me to shock her. I plunge ahead.
"I... love you?" It comes out like a question, but she smiles anyway.
"Like a sister. Yes, I know."
I frown and shake my head infinitesimally, feeling as if I'm on the cusp of an epiphany - something fleeting but pivotal.
"I asked you if we were friends," I say carefully, "and you told me that we were."
She nods, looking unsure.
"Are we... more than friends?"
She looks dumbstruck. Mother of Pearl, what am I saying?!
"Lois! I'm sorry, that was entirely out of order. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, and I should never have..."
"Clark, I..."
"It's just that I've been having these really strange dreams..."
<Minute's up, Clark. Come to Mama!>"...well, maybe you could call them fantasies, nothing X-rated but fairly... ahm... vivid, all the same, something about you in a harem costume..."
She reels back, as if she's been slapped, white and shocked. I jump, horrified at the change in her, and reach out my hand, desperately trying to bring her back. I'm sure if somebody had the time and interest, it would be quite possible to fry an egg on my cheeks.
"...but it doesn't make any difference, I should never..."
"Clark..."
"I don’t know anything about... *anything*, and I just..."
"Clark!"
I blink at her, startled by her outburst. "What?"
"Stop. You're babbling worse than me!"
"You babble?"
At her nod, my shoulders slump. "See, I don't know anything," I exclaim dismally.
"Oh, of course you do," she snaps at me. "What's the capital of France?"
I wave my hands in the air, irritated. "I don't mean things like *that*, Lois, I mean... me. Us."
She moves her shoulders in an agitated fashion. "You probably know as much about us now as you did before you got amnesia, Clark," she mumbles. "Our relationship has always been... hard to define."
"Suppose I asked you to do just that?"
At her look, I push my chair back and stand up, pushing my hand through my hair as I pace around.
"Lois, I honestly don't know what's happening. I can barely remember my own name, but the one thing that I'm definite about - well, as definite as I can be about anything - is that every time I look at you, I get this kind of... ache..."
I look at her, take a deep breath. I need this. I know I need this. I need to put this woman where she belongs in my heart before the earth collapses.
"I have nothing to lose, Lois. We have so little time left. I... can't keep on this way - not knowing. No regrets, remember?"
She looks up at me, and I see her struggling. Wanting so desperately to get the conversation back on to safe ground, and we can discuss the subject later - in a few months, or years, when she feels ready.
But oh, Lois, tomorrow never comes... please.
"No regrets," she whispers finally, and my heart clenches.
Clearing her throat softly, she looks down at her hands, focuses on them. She gets up. Runs her hands through her hair. Paces. Looks at me. Paces. Looks at me again. Finally, she groans.
"This is so stupid, Clark," she says, her eyes darting with pain. "I keep wondering... I keep shying away from this, because I think... I don’t know what you'll think, and that... that kills me. I don't want to... I don't know if I can..."
"Lois, you can tell me anything," I murmur.
"But I can't," she whispers back, her face bleached of all colour. "No matter what I say right now, it changes everything."
I reach out a hand to her, and stop halfway. She doesn't need that. She doesn't need me to crowd her.
I look at her there, so beautiful, so lost, and I know that whatever she says, she won't drive me away. Not if she tells me she loves me. Not if she tells me she doesn't.
"Say what you feel, Lois," I say quietly. "That's all I'm asking."
She takes a breath. Exhales. Takes another one. Opens her mouth, struggling to get past the blockage of tears in her throat. Closes it again. Like a fish out of water, trying to gasp for air.
"I don't know if I can do this," she says miserably, finally. "I *want* to, Clark - I want to tell you how I feel, I want to be strong enough for both of us and to tell you what I think, but... I'm not. I'm not strong enough. I'm not used to it." She swallows, looking away from me for a split second. "I'm not," she whispers, quietly this time.
"Lois..." Unable to resist, I battle through the wall of thorns surrounding her and pull her into my arms, rubbing her back in a circular motion and cradling her head in my hands. Her arms, in turn, wrap themselves around my waist, and she leans against me, her body shuddering.
<It would just make me feel... so much better if I could...>
<Stay here tonight?>
<Yes.>"Lois," I whisper intently, "You are the bravest woman I know. Please... this is all my fault. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Just forget about it... it's not important... just forget it..."
She chokes, suddenly clenching a fistful of my shirt in her hand.
"Don't let me forget about it, Clark! Don't let me run... don't let me hide... please, don't let me push you away ever again... I need you to make me see you... make me see us..."
And suddenly her hands are on my head, pulling me towards her - caught by surprise and not entirely unwilling, I succumb readily, and then her lips are on mine and it suddenly doesn't matter that I barely know who I am. My mind and body dissolves into an amazing rush of bubbling emotions and sensations, and I close my eyes, lost in her...
I groan, crushing her to my chest, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair while the other drags her closer than close, pulling her so deeply into me that it feels like we're one form. Two halves of the same whole.
I let my last shred of consciousness go, losing myself in her - her hands, her mouth, her kiss. Moaning softly into my mouth, she tugs my shirt out of my jeans, running her hand lightly along the sensitive skin of my back. I grow dizzy, light-headed - drunk on the woman in my arms. Finally, I break the kiss off, preferring instead to run a blazing trail of whisper-light caresses down her neck.
"Clark..." she whispers breathily, her hand fisting in my hair. I groan quietly in response, intent on my task.
"Clark..." Her fingers are moving, now, running through my hair and down my back...
"Clark!"
I jump back in shock at the changed tone in her voice, releasing her in a hurry...
And I watch as she falls through the air, landing with a surprised squawk on my couch.
I watch. As she falls. Onto my couch. In my apartment. Five feet from where we started kissing.
Not from. *Above*. Five feet *above* where we started kissing.
~&~
Tbc... on Monday, as I'll be away all weekend 
