Brief authors' note:
And here's one we prepared earlier. 
I say that in case anyone thinks Wendy has written yet another new L&C fic in the past couple of weeks! A few weeks ago, Wendy asked Dave if he'd be willing to write a story with her and, as a sort of inducement, sent him a couple of opening pages. It snowballed from there, and it's been a fantastic experience for both of us. We only hope you all enjoy it too... sort of... 
As regards the dedication, we know that a lot of FoLCs have birthdays in December and that, because of Christmas/Winter holidays, they often get forgotten. We're posting part 1 today because it's Karen's birthday and Karen loves Christmas stories, but consider this whole story a present for any FoLC with a December birthday.
Wendy and Dave 
~ The Ghost of Christmas Past ~“We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry - ”
“Oh, get lost!”
Furious, Lois pushed her way past the annoying group of carol-singers congregated outside her apartment. What gave them the right to block the sidewalk and pollute the air with their off-key singing, anyway? Why the
hell did they assume that everyone wanted to listen to Christmas music?
Did it never occur to them that some people
hated Christmas?
Christmas. Always the time of year she loathed most.
People spouting crap about peace and goodwill and loving their neighbour and so on- but never meaning a word of it. Rushing around buying presents that would be taken back to the stores as soon as they opened again after Christmas. Pretending to like family members they hated.
There was nothing good about Christmas.
There could have been...
If only...
She hurried into her apartment building, trying to force back the hot tears springing to her eyes. She wouldn’t cry again. She would
not cry again...
Shaking fingers fumbled with keys, struggled to push them into locks, turned them, finally opened the door. Once inside, she slammed the door shut and whirled around to fasten the deadbolts.
Shutting out the world.
That was okay. The world held no appeal for her. Not any more.
She got up every day, got dressed, went to work, did assignments - sometimes dangerous ones, but what did that matter? She wrote news articles, got bylines, front page stories. And then she went home again. Always late. Today was the earliest she’d made it home in a month. And then only because Perry had practically thrown her out of the newsroom.
“Lois, go home. You’re exhausted. That’s the second time you’ve sent me the wrong story. You’re close to cracking up! And you’re no good to me like this. If you keep this up, I’m going to have to consider suspending you.”
The harsh words had hurt, but they’d had their effect, unlike the times he’d tried persuasion and kindness. She’d picked up her bag and coat and left.
Much earlier than usual, she’d been walking through the downtown area. As luck would have it, the stores were open late for last-minute holiday shoppers, Christmas being only a couple of days away. She’d walked too close to the entrance of one department store. “Merry Christmas!” the doorman had called to her as she’d passed. She’d glared at him and hurried on.
There was no such thing as a merry Christmas. If there ever had been, there would never be again. Not now.
She dragged herself towards the kitchen. She wasn’t hungry, but making coffee would give her something to do.
The photograph stared tauntingly at her from its position on her dresser.
No. She wouldn’t look at it. She wouldn’t pick it up. No.
She had to stop torturing herself like this...
She should have put it away, shut it in a drawer, long ago.
She walked over and picked it up.
They looked so happy there, the two of them. Smiling at each other, eyes shining, affection for each other evident in the way they gazed at each other. Secure in their friendship and in the knowledge that nothing could ever happen to change what they were to each other.
So they’d thought.
Believing that they had all the time in the world to explore what the future could hold for them. Professionally - and personally.
How foolish they’d been. And what a waste.
They’d had no time at all.
Her stupidity, a lunatic scientist’s irresponsibility and three fragments of hot lead had ripped him away from her.
Ripped out her heart and left it carved into pieces, bleeding to death on a gambling-den floor.
Four weeks ago today, she’d lost the best thing that had ever happened to her. Four weeks ago today, her partner, her best friend, the person who’d taught her how to trust again, the only man she would ever love, had been murdered in front of her.
Clark was gone, and he’d taken her heart, her soul, every shred of meaning in her life, with him.
Oh, she’d carried on. Turned up to work as normal, even found his killers. Gained a cold satisfaction out of seeing them charged and held in custody pending trial. She was still turning in front-page stories, too. But the thrill had gone out of it.
Reporting was no longer her life. It was a job. It paid the bills.
And every time she walked into the newsroom she saw his face. Heard his voice. Imagined him sitting at that desk, so close to her own. Or coming to lean on the edge of her desk to talk to her, tease her, edit her copy.
It was torture. Expecting at every moment to see him, to hear him, to feel his strong but gentle hand on her shoulder or at her elbow.
In the last week, she’d begun to consider the unthinkable and discovered that it seemed appealing. Quit the Planet. Maybe even leave Metropolis. A new start, somewhere else, where she wouldn’t see Clark Kent’s ghost on every street corner or in every familiar place they’d been together.
Maybe that was the right thing to do.
Maybe...
A tapping sound at the window. Hastily, she put the photo down. He wouldn’t like to see her looking at it again. He kept telling her that she needed to move on with her life, that Clark wouldn’t want her to grieve for him for ever. It was time to move on, he’d told her the last time she’d mentioned Clark to him. Time to accept that he was gone, to remember him fondly but put him in the past.
As if Clark didn’t deserve to be remembered. As if he hadn’t been important.
As if he hadn’t been the most precious thing in her life.
As if she could ever do that anyway.
Forget Clark? Never. Not as long as she was still existing.
She hurried to open the window, to let Superman in.
Superman. The only person she allowed to get close to her now.
It was strange; ever since Clark’s death she and Superman had spent a lot more time together than ever before. At first, he’d come to check on her, to make sure that she was okay, to apologise for not being able to save Clark and to assure himself that she didn’t blame him. He’d stayed to comfort her - and, she’d actually suspected, to be comforted himself in return.
He’d come back time after time, sometimes staying for as much as a couple of hours.
They talked about all sorts of things. He’d tell her about rescues, both good and bad. She’d talk about her work, investigations she was in the middle of, clues that just didn’t seem to piece together into anything concrete, sources who clammed up when she tried to get information. He’d listen, and as time went by he started to offer suggestions, discuss the stories with her, even come up with ideas of his own.
Actually, there were times when it almost felt like working with Clark.
But it wasn’t. He didn’t interact with her the way Clark had. No intense discussions, no finishing each other’s sentences, no pushing each other to leaps of logic which deserved the description ‘brilliant’. No casual touching, whether for encouragement, chastisement or just because. No... teamwork.
Superman was a good friend. A caring, loyal and honourable man who seemed to need her as much as she needed him. He wasn’t Clark. But he was all she had.
“Hi, Lois.” He jumped down to the floor and immediately leaned in to brush a kiss against her cheek.
********
He shouldn’t have come. Even as he made small talk about their respective days, he knew he shouldn’t have come. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t able to stay away... it was Christmas. And, if he was honest with himself, he’d needed to see her. He’d been looking forward to this Christmas so much. Before.
What was it they said?
It was always hardest around the holidays...
“Make yourself comfortable, Superman.” Her voice was welcoming, as usual, but she couldn’t quite mask that sad note that crept through and coloured her words. As usual. “Would you like some coffee? I was just about to put on a pot.”
“Sure, that sounds great.” He deliberately ignored the lack of decorations as he followed her further into the living room. The apartment was sparsely lit. Which either meant she’d just gotten home or she’d been brooding. Again. Apparently, it wasn’t Christmas everywhere.
He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he was sure he knew the answer.
Clark. It was always Clark.
He let his eyes wander over to her dresser. The photo was still there. The only thing not covered in the finely-layered dust of neglect. He didn’t expect her to put it away, but, oh... how he wished she would.
It was his fault, really. The whole mess was his fault. He’d been torturing himself since the shooting, playing it over and over in his mind. Analysed it from every angle... looked at it from every perspective... and he always came to the same conclusion.
It was his fault.
He should have known better than to become too close to anyone. To start a life with friends and hopes and dreams. To stop being that anonymous nobody who bounced from one place to the next and start an actual life. He should have known that it’d all be ripped away from him. He wasn’t meant to have a normal life, and it was past time he accepted that.
He should just move on, start anew in a place far from here, be that nobody again, but... he couldn’t. He’d started a life... he’d made friends, and now he was trapped by it. Trapped by the life Clark Kent created but achingly apart from it. That photograph... was a painful reminder of everything he’d lost. Of everything he’d never have. And... why he could never leave.
Lois. It was always Lois.
He was bound to her. To the city, because of her. He’d been fond of the life he’d led. His friends, his job, his apartment... he’d been attached to them, but he was bound to her.
“Do you ever feel like you’re just existing?” He wasn’t sure how it got there, but he found the photo in his hand. He ran his thumb over their faces. Everything he’d lost.
“What?”
“I feel like I stopped living a long time ago.”
“Superman?” Her hand was soft against his arm, warm and close to his skin under the thin barrier of the Spandex. Too close. “Is something wrong?”
Before he had a chance to respond, she’d reached out and snatched the photo from his hand. “Don’t. Just don’t say it.”
She’d expected him to... “No. I wasn’t going to. I... do know how hard it is, Lois.”
He heard the tiny hitch in her breath that would have been inaudible to anyone without Super-hearing. “I never asked... You miss him too, don’t you?”
More than he could ever tell her. “Yeah. I do.”
“Is that why it bothers you to see the photo?”
It was, but explaining precisely why wasn’t... well, it just wasn’t a good idea. “Something like that.” He was being evasive, but at least Lois would never expect otherwise from Superman. Clark, of course, had rarely got away with evasion. Only when it had suited his too-sharp, observant-only-some-of-the-time partner.
He watched her, unable to tear his gaze from her, as she carefully, with what seemed like minute precision, replaced the photo on the dresser.
There, frozen in time, were Lois and himself. Together. Smiling. Happy. Cocooned, safe from any hint of disaster. Completely unaware of what fate had in store for them.
Mere weeks ago, that picture had been taken. The happiest night of his life, in fact. He’d won his first Kerth. Had been to the ceremony with the most beautiful woman in the world as his date. She’d hung on his arm, smiled adoringly, clapped loudest of anyone in the room when his name had been announced as the winner. Walking her home afterwards, her hand hugging his arm, he’d almost floated the whole way.
She turned. Caught him staring. He flushed and looked away.
“Superman? You don’t seem... yourself tonight.” Now she was frowning, looking concerned. “What you just said...” She seemed to be searching for the words. “Why would you feel like you stopped living? You? You’re always so...
alive.”
The word hit him like a slap to the face.
Alive. If only she knew.
He wasn’t alive. Hadn’t been since that night four weeks ago. Oh, he was still there. Still standing. Still breathing. Still flying around and rescuing people. But he was dead, all the same. Inside, where it counted. And outside, where people mentioned Clark Kent’s name with the sort of hushed, guilty tone reserved for the dead. So as not to add to the grief of those left alive, bereaved.
Why had he said it? It’d been a stupid thing to say. How could he ever explain to Lois how he felt? Besides, to even begin to tell her why he felt that way would involve truths he had no intention of ever allowing her to know.
It was better that way.
He’d made that decision in the painful aftermath of his shooting, as he’d allowed his body to bounce over the wet, smelly pavement in the Slum where he’d been dumped. His first thought, in the moments after that split-second realisation that he had to fall to the floor, play dead, had been that as soon as he could get away safely he’d come to Lois. Make sure that she knew as soon as possible that her best friend wasn’t dead. Make sure that she didn’t have to grieve.
And then the truth had dawned. He couldn’t tell her.
Clark, alive? How? She’d seen him gunned down at point-blank range. Not one bullet but three. No-one - no
human - could survive that. Not unscathed.
Okay, he could have told her the truth, metaphorically stripped himself bare in front of her, revealed the Spandex to her. That wasn’t such a big step, not considering how long he’d known her, how close they’d become... how much he loved her. But what then? Once she’d accepted that Clark wasn’t dead because he was actually from Krypton, where could they have gone from there?
Absolutely nowhere.
That had been the cold, hard reality that had sunk in as he’d allowed the dark night sky to swallow him up. Where did a Clark Kent go who was dead in every way except for his living body? Miraculous resurrections just didn’t happen. Not outside fairy-tales or Bible stories.
Lois could never know the truth. There was simply no point.
Just as there was no point to his visits here, other than self-indulgence.
The best thing he could have done for her, for both of them, was to stay away from her. Okay, he’d had to go to see her, in the beginning, just to be sure that she was okay. That she wasn’t going to destroy herself utterly from grief and guilt.
After that, he should have left her alone.
Yet he’d come, time and time again. And stayed, when he should have kept his visits brief. He’d allowed himself to be pulled into her warmth, the welcome embrace of her presence, her soft voice, her kindness, her need for company.
Her need for
him.
But it was dangerous. Their conversations inevitably led to the details of their daily lives. He could talk about his rescues, but never about the boredom of being Superman full-time. Never about the gaping hole in his life, left by the absence of all that was Clark. Never about the longing that was constantly with him for some semblance of a normal life.
So they talked about Lois. Her life. Her job. And - god, it was so achingly familiar. To hear her explain the convoluted details of her current investigation, the leads that went nowhere, the minor successes and the dead ends. So tempting, too, to fall back into the habit of bouncing ideas off her, making suggestions, pushing her to see whether her incredible intuition would make the right jumps.
So tempting... but far too dangerous.
Stilted, unsatisfying conversations, as a result, though Lois noticed nothing. Obviously she didn’t expect the same kind of intellectual stimulation with Superman as with Clark. That, too, was just as well.
Having to resist, too, the urge to touch. Unlearning the habit of stolen caresses, brushes of hand against shoulder, fingers against arm.
That was hardest of all. And it was all the more reason why he shouldn’t be doing this.
Yet he just couldn’t stay away. He was addicted to her, even more than ever before. She was his one link to reality, to a life he’d been forced to leave behind. Even more so than his parents - they tried, but they couldn’t really understand the magnitude of what he’d lost.
If it weren’t for Lois, he’d probably have done something desperate by now.
“Superman?”
He blinked and refocused. Lois was still watching him, waiting for an answer to a question she’d asked some time ago. Wondering why he’d spaced out like an idiot.
“I’m sorry... I... I shouldn’t have come, Lois.” He began to back away, towards the window.
“Superman!” She grabbed at his hand, stopping his escape. He could shake her off, pull his hand away from hers, but... Somehow, the gentle grasp of one small woman was enough to halt even a Superpowered male in his flight.
“Lois.” Sadness infused his voice; he was powerless to stop it. “I... this isn’t helping either of us. I shouldn’t be here.”
“Please.” Her fingers tightened around his. “I... need you.” Her voice cracked, and his heart twisted.
When had Lois Lane ever needed anyone?
When had she ever
admitted that she needed anyone?
“Oh, Lois...” He closed his eyes briefly, then turned back to face her. Tears shimmered in her dark eyes. Slowly, almost without his conscious realisation, his hand lifted, and then his palm was resting against her cheek.
She turned her head and her lips pressed against his skin. “Please don’t go. I... I don’t want to be alone, Superman.”
He couldn’t do this. His heart was shattering into tiny pieces as it was. How could he stay, loving her as he did? Hurting as he did, knowing how much he’d lost, that he could never be with her?
“I’m not the person you should be with.” He tried to draw away, and this time tugged his hand from hers.
She just stepped closer, and this time caught his hand in both of hers. “You’re exactly the person I should be with.”
And, outside the window, carollers started singing Silent Night.
She froze for a second, an unreadable emotion flitting across her face before she stepped past him and closed the window. He knew, on some level, that he should be trying to leave but, as the dull thud rang in his ears, he knew he wasn’t going to.
Not tonight. She’d sealed him in and the rest of the world out. And she needed him. Even if he was just Superman.
“I’m sorry. I just... I’ve never been fond of Christmas.” Her arms wrapped themselves around her small frame in a pitiful imitation of comfort. “And Clark was.”
********
She’d pushed him too far with that last comment. She hadn’t meant for him to hear it, but he had. Of course he had. He heard everything. He’d seemed... not willing, exactly, but he’d seemed to be able to... tolerate talking about Clark.
He’d even admitted that he missed Clark.
Which was big for him. Huge. Superman, as honest and straightforward as he appeared, had more walls up than anyone she’d ever met, herself included. He’d seemed
almost willing to talk, but she’d obviously pushed him too far. His face had fallen, and he looked... absolutely devastated.
It’d become obvious fairly quickly after... after, that Superman and Clark had been close. She could see just how badly he was hurting over the loss of his friend. He probably had as few friends as she did... and Clark... was such a special person. He’d been able to break through her walls and reach her, and he’d never known... she’d never let him know...
Lois sighed and shook her head. As much as she missed Clark, as much as she... loved Clark, and as much as she wanted to... needed to talk about him and remember him, she had to focus on the friend who was still with her. Who’d come to her tonight. She wasn’t lying when she said she needed him.
She needed him to help her remember, and she needed him to help her forget.
Most of all she just needed him. Someone who’d cared about Clark too. Someone who’d felt as responsible for failing Clark as she did. She needed him because, despite what she’d thought, she couldn’t stand to be alone with her memories... and her guilt.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” She let her voice trail off.
“No, Lois. I shouldn’t have...” Superman ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I know you’re in mo... I know you miss Clark. It’s not fair of me to ask you to forget him. It’s just... difficult. Clark wouldn’t -”
“Want me to grieve for him.” She finished for him. She expected that slight grin he’d give her sometimes, but he dropped his eyes to the floor and ran his hand through his hair.
It was difficult for him. Of course it was. She’d seen the way he’d reacted every time she’d brought up Clark. It wasn’t just that he was worried for her. He was hurting too. And she’d just been foisting her grief on top of him, making his own worse.
He hadn’t said it, but he was hurting too. He hadn’t admitted it, but... he needed a chance to grieve as well.
And he hadn’t told her, but she knew... she was probably all he had. She had to put her grief aside, for him.
“Why don’t you tell me about you and Clark?”
“What?” His head shot up. She noted the almost panicked expression on his face, but it was the hint of relief in his eyes that gave her the courage to continue.
“I know you two were close,” she said, moving closer to him. “He was your friend too. I think you should talk about him. I think... you need to.”
His head dropped again and he looked so... broken. She ached to reach up and brush away the curl that wasn’t there. To comfort him in the way she’d never allowed herself to comfort Clark.
He nodded his head and raised his eyes to meet hers. “Okay.”
Her breath hitched at his agreement. Clark. He was going to talk about Clark.
No-one wanted to talk to her about Clark any more. Everyone seemed to think that either his name should never be mentioned at all or that it was time to move on and leave him in the past. Clark was like the ghost in the corner: the more no-one mentioned him, the more she was conscious of his unseen presence.
Clark had never talked about his relationship with Superman. He’d rarely mentioned the other man at all other than in the context of ‘Superman told me...’ when passing on a tip or an interview. He’d never talked about their personal relationship, what they did when they spent time together. Had Superman taken him flying? Watched sports at Clark’s apartment? Or had their friendship simply been one of occasional meetings, brief conversations and casual ‘see you arounds’?
“Clark...” Superman began. She waited, but he didn’t continue. Her gaze shot to his face. His expression was anguished, pain and despair written all over.
“Oh, Superman!” she exclaimed, and she reached up to touch his face with her fingertips. “It’s just too painful, isn’t it? He’s gone and...”
“And nothing will ever be the same,” he whispered. “Everything’s changed. I’m just... existing...”
Her eyes widened. He’d cared about Clark far more than she’d ever imagined. Far more than anyone would have who wasn’t a parent or spouse or...
... Or lover.
That would explain why he was so devastated.
She swallowed. It was none of her business, and yet... She had to know. Needed to know if Clark... if she’d been foolish to imagine that he could really love her, that the only thing that had stopped them becoming a couple had been her insecurities and her stupid belief that they had all the time in the world.
Hesitantly, she began, “Superman, were you... you and Clark...”
But, before she could finish her question, his arms had come around her, tightly but not painfully, dragging her against him in a needy embrace. His eyes, a deep brown so like Clark’s, shimmered brightly as they gazed into hers.
And then his head descended and he took her breath away in a powerful, desperate kiss.
*********
What was he doing?
He was kissing her. Kissing her like his life depended on it.
And really... it did.
He was kissing her and she was kissing him back. Her lips were fierce against his. There was no love, no tenderness, just need. Passion. Fire. And a deep, deep-seated need. The need for comfort, for reassurance.
He was still alive.
She tore her lips from his and drew in a shuddering breath, turning her back to him. When she spoke, her voice was shaky. “I love Clark.”
His heart clenched painfully. She loved Clark. But he knew that - he’d seen it in the way she’d mourned him. She’d loved him, even if she’d realised it too late. And now... now she needed him and all he could offer her was Superman.
“Clark’s gone, Lois,” he murmured. His own words tore at him. Clark was gone.
“Is that why you kissed me?” She turned to face him slowly.
He shook his head. He’d never planned to, but he’d crossed a line... and he had no intention of going back. It was all or nothing now. He couldn’t go on existing like this. Pretending to be a cardboard cut-out and trudging through his days in a superficial haze where the only time he could truly be himself was behind locked doors. The decision had been made.
He needed to be more than Superman.
“No, Lois. It wasn’t.” He caught her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I kissed you because I needed to and...” He sucked in a steadying breath. “Lois, I want you to come away with me.”
Her brow crinkled in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to start again somewhere new...” He dropped her hand and moved towards the window, staring out into the night from the shadows of her apartment. “I can’t stand to be in Metropolis anymore.”
“Oh.” He could hear the hesitation in her voice. “Because you lo... because you miss Clark?”
He pressed his forehead against the wall. His voice was quiet when he answered. “No, not exactly.”
“Why, then?” He almost jumped when her hand found his shoulder.
“Because I was Clark.”
**********
tbc
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know... it's TOGOM again! :rolleyes: - Wendy
