Posting Schedule will be roughly once a week.
From Part One...“Now, how you feeling?” Mr. White asked, his eyes riveted to their clasped hands. “You feel up to doing a news conference?”
Clark looked at Lois who was nodding her head encouragingly. He opened his mouth to assure Mr. White that he was but no sound came out. He wanted to say yes but he felt uncomfortable lying to the man. He was still trying to wrap his head around everything and he didn’t think he could handle anymore without the fragile shards crashing around him. His thoughts were swimming, his mind working on overload, and he was dangerously close to shutting down completely.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “This is... there’s just so much to take in.”
He saw Mr. White’s eyes flicker between Lois, himself, and their clasped hands.
“That’s understandable, son.” Mr. White said. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off? Both of you.”
--
Part Two--
The drive to the apartment had been tense. Though she might not have said anything, he could tell Lois was upset. He’d had a lot of time to think about Cat’s allegation in the silence of the Jeep’s cabin, and no matter which way his mind twisted it... he just refused to believe it. Clark had tossed around the fragments of memory a hundred times, the pieces melded together to create a whole scene. He was trying to find the clue he’d missed. The one that would tell him it wasn’t true... the drums... the grapes... her hand... he’d felt... uncomfortable. Awkward. Embarrassed. But not guilty... He and Lois were happy and... the baby, and... he loved her. He loved her *so* much. He simply couldn’t fathom sleeping with another woman. He just... he was... he couldn’t be that kind of man.
“Clark? Come in, this is your place.” Lois said, her voice drifting through the open door in front of him.
He hid a frown. ‘Your place’. Not ‘our place’. The apartment certainly didn’t look like newlyweds lived there. But they lived busy lives. It *was* possible they hadn’t moved into a place of their own yet...
“Does it look familiar?”
He let his gaze roam through the room, taking in the earthy colours, moving over the worn furniture... It didn’t feel like home.
“Not yet,” Clark said in response to her hopeful look.
She patted his arm affectionately and moved further into the room. “I’m just going to turn on LNN and try to catch the news conference. Why don’t you have a look around?”
Clark nodded, even though her back was turned, and moved slowly into the room. He trailed his hand down the banister, ridiculously disappointed when the fixture on the end didn’t fall off. He made his way further into the room, stopping at the bureau to let his fingers run over the leather of the football displayed proudly. He brought it to his nose, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, hoping to capture a beam of light, but... nothing. The bullets continued to fly by. With a frustrated sigh, he opened his eyes and let them wander over the photo frames, skipping over faces he didn’t recognise... there were no pictures of them together. Not even their wedding photo...
“Damn it!” Lois exclaimed. “They aren’t even looking for him!”
“Who?” Clark asked, startled.
“Superman!” she huffed. “He’s our only hope and they’re not even looking for him.”
“Oh.” Clark tried to temper the sudden burst of jealousy burning a hole in his stomach. He refused to think about how familiar it felt. “This Superman, he sounds like he means a lot to you.”
“Superman means a lot to everybody, Clark.”
Her words did little to reassure him. He wondered, briefly, if that was where she turned after he’d... but he quashed the thought violently.
“And as much as I’d like to sit here and twiddle my thumbs like Perry suggested, *someone* has got to start looking for him. He needs our help.” She reached for her purse. “Will you be all right?”
“Is work all our lives are about?” He knew he shouldn’t have raised his voice, but his frustration was starting to overshadow his common sense. Clark bit his lip against the emptiness tearing through him. He didn’t know anything about himself beyond what he felt for the small woman before him and the only thread of sanity tethering him to the world was about to leave so she could chase after a man in a bright blue suit.
“What do you mean?” she asked carefully, her eyes narrowing.
“I know you’d prefer to have been at the news conference. To be there for *him*...” He let his voice trail off, his eyes carefully avoiding her face. His heart was aching as he started to accept the evidence. His marriage... his life was falling apart because he’d been a bastard of the worse kind.
"Work is... a huge part of my life, Clark. Maybe... I've let it dictate too much of my time." He could hear the sadness in her voice. The poorly-disguised regret. "But I'm a reporter. It's too late to change that. It's who I am, and if this is the last great story to cover for the last edition of the Daily Planet... what else could I do? Where else *could* I be?"
Her words sent a painful stab through him, and his shoulders slumped as the resentment drained away. He wasn't angry with her; he was angry with himself.
"How about here... with me?" he asked softly. It might be too late for him to fix the mistakes of his past. He might never understand why their life had turned out the way it had or what had driven him to make the choices he’d made, but if nothing else was clear to him, one simple truth held. He didn't want to live his life, however long he had left of it, without her in it.
He could see the war raging behind her eyes. She wanted to stay, but...
"Please, Lois," he begged. "I need you."
He could see her start to waver. “But Superma-”
Clark moved closer, squashed the strange feeling of relief when she didn't back away, and cupped her cheek with his palm. Familiar. It felt so familiar. The warmth of her cheek beneath his palm, her scent rising up around him... "I need you here. I *want* you here... please, Lois."
She didn't answer him. A small, confused frown crossed her face as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. He drew his thumb across her cheekbone, and she looked up, meeting his eyes.
Her face softened and she let out a long breath. "I'll stay if you need me, Clark."
Clark smiled as he leaned down slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. He brushed his lips against hers gently, softly, barely a whisper of a touch. Their first kiss. Their thousandth kiss. He let it linger... the feel of her lips, the softness... the warmth was so familiar, so comforting, and yet so new and exciting. Intoxicating. He pulled back, and she followed him. Her hand wound into his hair, pulling him back to her, her lips fierce against his. He could taste her desperation, feel her need. Clark let the fire that was building in him take control, let his hands slip around the back of her head, let himself meet his wife's passion and let the world melt away.
--
Their cups of tea had long since gone cold, content as they were to lean further into the back of his couch and forget the rest of the world for a while.
His side was tingling where she rested against him, tiny sparks of sensation, of electricity, jumping between them. He revelled in the familiar sound of her voice, the heavy warmth of her head against his shoulder, the smooth skin on the back of the hand he was playing with... She’d tensed, at first, as he’d slipped his arm along the back of the couch, but once she’d started talking she’d drifted towards him, nestling comfortably against his still tingling side.
He’d remembered kissing her. In an explosion of light and colour and sound... he’d remembered. Her lips beneath his, the cool smoothness of the red silk sheets, the warm smell of... Lois.... He’d remembered his urgency... dragging her to him as the wind whipped through their hair... her hand fisting in the hair on the back of his head... the whisper of the blue chiffon around his neck. The soft look in her eyes as he’d said... goodbye?
“I think you were surprised when I picked him...” The soft sound of her voice drew his attention back to the woman beside him. “You know, I still have that teddy bear... somewhere.”
Her hesitation went unnoticed as he leaned back and let her flow of words wash over him. As she told him about his life... let him share in her memories of their time together. A corn festival. Of all things...
“I’m sure your parents hated me after that trip.”
“My mother loves you,” he blurted out, squeezing the hand in his lap.
He felt bereft of her warmth before he'd noticed she'd sat up. Realisation started to dawn as he took in the almost surprised look on her face as she turned to look at him.
“She does?”
He nodded his head silently and a grin slowly spread across his face. He closed his eyes, focusing on the flickering beam... he remembered... a cosy house that smelt of baking treats and a small, smiling woman, mouthing her praise for his wife. His mother. He remembered his mother. “She told me.”
“You remember?” Lois asked, her excitement seeping through into her voice. “What else do you remember?”
“I remember... pie,” he announced, his eyes twinkling.
“Pie?”
“Yep,” he said, tugging her back to him. “The kitchen always smelt like apple pie.”
“Of course you’d remember that.” He could sense her grin as she settled back against him easily.
“Of course,” he agreed.
“Your parents really are wonderful...” she murmured as she shifted against him, taking his hand in hers. “It’s no wonder you turned out to be such a great guy.”
She must have noticed the change in him. Must have noticed the way he tensed. He felt her slide away, her shoulder rubbing against his chest as she turned to face him and leaned back against the crook of his elbow. He felt her eyes watching him but he didn’t look up.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles and down, over the smooth skin of her fingers.
After a long moment of silence, she squeezed his hand gently. “Clark?”
“Am I, really?” he asked softly, his eyes still glued to their joined hands.
She didn’t answer him and he looked up, finally meeting her confused gaze. Her free hand moved to the side of his face, her fingers caressing his slightly stubbled cheek. Her voice was soft. “Of course you are.”
“Lois...” He paused, unsure how to continue. He closed his eyes and he was back in the field of lights. Suffocating.
“What is it?” Soft. Her voice was soft, caressing his senses like the hand that had moved up to thread through his hair.
“Why don’t you wear your ring?” he asked, opening his eyes and dropping his gaze to watch his thumb continue its motion over the smooth, uninterrupted skin on her ring finger.
The hand in his hair stopped moving and he looked up to meet her eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
He could see the confusion in her eyes being slowly replaced with suspicion as she pulled away from him.
Clark sucked in a deep breath. He was determined to see this through. She’d kissed him back. She’d *kissed* him. She must... want this to work too. She must want to work out what was between them as much as he did.
She had to understand how much he loved her... no matter what he might have done in the past. The way he felt about her... was all he had to offer the world. The only mark he had left to make.
There was no turning back now.
“Your wedding ring, Lois. Is it because of Cat?” He saw her mouth open and continued quickly. “Is it because of what... she said we’d done? Or is it... is it because of Superman?”
“What wedding ring?” She stiffened as a flame of colour burned her cheeks. “And what the hell does Superman have to do with anything?”
He frowned, uncertain. Was she trying to deny it? Did she not... did she not *want* him to remember? Or... had he misread the situation? Did she... oh, God... did she not know about Cat? And... what about the hole burning in his stomach when he thought of the caped hero... the suffocating emptiness that consumed him. The... *panic*.
“I know I lost mine some time before they found me in that ditch, but...” He trailed off when he saw something flicker across her face. A moment of longing... a shadow of regret... the light of dawning realisation... and then she was on her feet, pacing a hole in his floor.
“Clark... you and me... we’re not...” She paused, swallowing. “Clark, we’re *not* married.”
He opened his mouth, ready to... *needing* to deny her words, but his breath caught in his throat...
Not married.
The echo of the quiet words was deafening. He stood up, shaking his head, even as his heart was shattering. “But I *remember*.”
“You can’t remember it,” Lois replied. He could hear the almost sad note in her voice through the thundering in his ears. “Because it never happened.”
“But I *remember*, Lois.” His voice cracked on her name. “It’s... it was the first thing I remembered. I remember the way you make me...”
He trailed off as he watched her eyes widen. He could see the wheels turning in her head, her thoughts playing out across her face. Her mouth opened, as if she were about to speak, but she closed it and shook her head. Her teeth found her lower lip as her gaze caught his. She looked... she was... and then she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.
“What do you remember, Clark?” she asked, her voice soft as she moved closer to him. Her hand found his chest, supporting him as the world he’d been rebuilding started to crumble around him. “Describe it to me.”
"I remember you... I remember us... our wedding.” Clark sucked in a steadying breath. “You... you took my breath away when I saw you, standing at the other end of the aisle in a white dress. You were so beautiful, Lois. We were so happy... *I* was so happy. And... I... the baby. Our baby, Lois." His eyes stung as they dropped down to her flat stomach. "What about our baby?"
Clark looked up as she inhaled sharply. Silent tears were sliding down her cheeks... He’d made her cry. He dropped his eyes to the hand still covering his chest, unable to face her tears.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms. “Please, don’t cry.”
The pain was... unbearable, even as she returned his embrace. Even as her arms snaked around his waist, it was killing him. Not married. Not his wife. Everything he’d thought he knew... shattered memories... that weren’t his.
He held her anyway, desperate for the pain to go away, but unable to help himself.
He loved her... he loved her so much. He could *feel* it. And... it was killing him.
Not married.
His arms tightened around her. He couldn’t believe it. He *refused* to believe it. If it wasn’t true... if it was a lie... then all of it... How could he trust anything he’d remembered?
The weightless feeling he’d gotten when he’d spotted Lois across the crowded room in that blue dress... the small, blonde-haired woman in the big old farm house... the way Lois had looked when he’d slipped her ring on her finger...
He’d give anything... to wake up, in his bed, next to his wife. For the nightmare to end.
He closed his eyes as her hesitant whisper reached his ears. “Were you happy about the baby, Clark?”
He nodded his head. His son. Their son. The son... who’d never be born.
He didn’t want to believe it.
“You were nervous,” Clark began. He ignored the hole in his gut that the need to deny her words that was burning. “But we were so excited... a little boy with your eyes - a little person with your smile... Yeah, I was very happy.”
She pulled back, moving out of the circle of his arms and he let them drop to his sides limply. The darkness swallowed him every time he closed his eyes, the pin pricks of light blurring as he soared pa... as he...
“We’re not married?”
“No,” she said softly.
“And you’re not... we’re not...” He paused, unable to continue past the lump in his throat. He swallowed roughly. “There’s no baby?”
She shook her head, her eyes downcast.
Clark’s limbs felt heavy, as if something were weighing him down. Hands reaching up through the blackness, grabbing onto him, and pulling him down.
He didn’t want to believe it, but...
Why would she lie to him?
He slid his palm around her cheek and tilted her face upwards, hoping to see the truth in her eyes, but they were closed. She couldn’t look at him. He’d lost her... she was standing right in front of him, but he’d lost her... apparently, he’d never had her.
She wasn’t his - was never his.
His wife, the mother of his child, the love of his...
Clark shook his head roughly and turned away. That wasn’t something... His love for her was like a physical ache in his chest... a wonderfully warm ache, pulsing through him. Overwhelming him. It... it was very *real*.
They might not have been married, but the emotion he felt for this woman... was real.
The air rushed out of his lungs and his shoulders slumped as the memory of her voice echoed through his head.
‘Don’t fall for me, farm boy.’
They were never married.
‘Don’t fall for me.’
But he had.
The image of her standing before him in a flowing white dress was getting harder to hold onto. The details blurring until it was almost dream-like...
Her whispered words drew his attention but he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t face her. Not while he was still... mourning...
“No, we’re not married, and we’re... there’s no baby, but... it’s a beautiful dream, Clark. I... I almost wish it were true.”
--
TBC...
