Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic The Forgotten - - Chapter 1

Hi readers,

It's been quite a while since I've posted a story to the MBs, and I have to say I'm a little nervous of how it will be received.

This story begins with a major wham, though no one has died or will die. However, I did feel I should give some warning of trouble ahead for our favourite couple. I do believe in happy endings, though, as I'm sure anyone who has read my earlier stories will know. If you like an angsty A-plot, then perhaps you'll enjoy reading this story.

The Forgotten will stand alone, but it follows the fortunes of Lois and Clark as they appeared in my last story, This Child Belongs To You, though a few years in the future.

I do not own the main characters, but a few are my own creations.


The Forgotten

Chapter One
Lost

The man awoke to nothingness, then a growing sense of confusion. He thought he remembered pain, terrible pain, but he couldn't be sure. He couldn't grab hold of what pain actually felt like; couldn't grab hold of where he was or even who he was. He had no sense of self.

He lifted his head experimentally and looked around the room. That was good, because apart from a slight sensation of disorientation and cold, he felt nothing. He knew nothing.

The white concrete walls that surrounded him were unrecognizable, and the thin pallet beneath his body was similarly unfamiliar.

He ventured moving a little further, levering his body onto his elbows. For a moment his head swam alarmingly and he had to fight the craving to drop back into unconsciousness. Refusing to succumb, he allowed his senses to regain their balance and once again took note of his environment. The half-seated position gave him a new perspective of his cell.

Cell? Why would he think of a cell, and yet he knew without a shadow of doubt that he was in a prison. There might not be manacles round his wrists or ankles, but imprisonment was the one thing he was sure of. Only he had no idea what he had done or what crime he had committed to deserve such punishment.

His gaze at last began to register the confines of his dungeon. High overhead, a large neon light bathed the room in stark whiteness. There was no window, no outlook onto the world outside. A steel door was situated a quarter-way up the far wall, reached by an open stairway, also in shining, polished metal. The brightness hurt his eyes, and he closed them for a few seconds until his faculties reclaimed some stability and he was ready for some further investigation.

Letting his glance continue to roam, he found in the corner of the room a utilitarian toilet bowl and hand-basin, which he had some vague recollection of using in the past... but how far in the past, he had simply no idea. He had absolutely no concept of how long he had been here; of how he had reached here.

Did he dare stand? Somehow he thought that might be a 'bridge too far' and yet he couldn't deny the unmistakable call of nature. Thank goodness his jailers had the forethought to provide him with basic facilities. Yet somehow he believed it wasn't done out of decency or consideration for his comfort.

He allowed himself a moment, before hoisting himself to his feet. Without a doubt, he hadn't yet acquired his sea legs, or whatever the saying was, but, at least, he was able to take a few tentative steps in the direction of the 'men's room'. Actually, he felt he should hurry and he completed his journey rather like a drunken man... and derived the same pleasure from that fundamental release.

But his actions had brought another mystery to mind. His hands had sought the normal zip, only to find one didn't exist... not in the showy red underpants, and he'd been afraid of succumbing to a humiliating accident before he'd found the desired opening, under the briefs. He couldn't be sure, but wasn't the normal fashion to wear briefs underneath a suit?

And just exactly what kind of suit was he wearing... or not wearing as the case might be? The remnants of a skin tight shirt adorned his shoulders and arms, but most of his torso was unclothed. The matching trousers, with their over-underpants, seemed mainly to be intact, though his feet were bare. Added to that puzzle was the notion that shiny electric blue with red accessories didn't seem likely to be the in color for today's modern man?

Pain started throbbing deep within his skull, and he raised his hand to his temple, his fingers massaging the soft skin there. That was strange; as his fingertips extended into his hairline, he discovered a patch where the hair was rough and stubbly and he could feel the traces of a small, ridged scar, as if the wound was recent. He searched further over his head and found a similar spot near the base of his skull. What had caused those injuries?

He frowned in concentration, but sadly, nothing came to mind. He had no more answers to that question than he had to any of the others that nagged at his conscious. And somehow his fashion sense seemed far less important to the very big issue of what was he doing here... and, more importantly, who was he?

* * * * *

In the townhouse in Metropolis, Lois answered the interminable questions with as much forbearance as she could muster. She really shouldn't lose patience with the woman on the other end of the line; after all, this was her mother-in-law, and Martha was just as anxious and scared with the situation.

“Sorry, Martha, I have no fresh news. Superman was last seen heading to help the inhabitants of a small village in North Korea who'd been near the epicenter of the earthquake. All the infrastructure was wiped out in the quake and no one could reach them. Apparently Superman went out to reconnoiter the state of the countryside before he carried in the other rescue services.”

“What about the Koreans' own military personnel? Don't they have helicopters and such things?” Martha's voice was edged with worry. It had been many days since anyone had heard from her boy.

“They're on the ground now, Martha, but when Clark flew out, the weather wasn't suitable for flying. Thanks to global warming or climate change, the area was hit by typhoons, or monsoons, or whatever they call them in that part of the world, right after the quake. Superman was the only person who was airborne.”

“Honey, how are you holding up? Jonathan and I have booked a flight out tonight and we'll be with you first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Martha, you shouldn't. I know it's harvest time coming up and you really are needed on the farm....”

“The farm be damned! This is my son, your husband we're talking about. Not to mention ourgrandchildren. Our place is with all of you.”

Lois was on the verge of protesting, but to be honest, she'd love the support of the woman she thought of as her mother and closest friend.

“OK, Martha, I really could use your and Jonathan's help. Matthew is trying to be strong for me and his sisters, though he really is missing Clark. There is only so much a twelve year old can do, and he relies on Clark to help with all these new powers he's developing. Do you know, he's actually beginning to float in a controlled way. Clark thinks it won't be long before he can actually fly.” Pride and worry warred in Lois' soul. “I just pray Clark is here to see Matthew's first flight. Martha, what will we do if Clark doesn't come home? How will we go on?”

“It's far too early to be thinking like that!” Martha's voice was determined. For the sake of her much loved daughter-in-law she buried her own fear. “How are the girls holding up?”

Lois and Clark's family had expanded over the years since the New Kryptonians had brought them Matthew. Two years after their son's arrival, the couple had decided to avail themselves of Doctor Klein's borrowed knowledge to give Matthew a sibling.

The whole family had been over the moon when, after a fairly normal pregnancy, Lois had given birth to a baby girl. Sara Kent was a happy, healthy baby who had given her parents very little trouble throughout her formative years. Even today, she was a quiet child, with a gentle sense of humor, causing Lois to wonder if Bernard had included any of the Lane gene pool in her creation. However, the question of Sara's mother was never really in doubt, since physically she resembled Lois very much.

Then, long after Lois and Clark had thought their family complete and Lois felt her child-bearing days were receding into the past, she surprisingly found herself pregnant once more. Only this time, the couple had conceived in the natural way. They were somewhat astounded when they'd first become aware of the fact, yet Bernard had run a number of tests and reached the conclusion that Lois' earlier pregnancy had somehow altered her hormonal and chemical balance - - Lois and Clark had finally become reproductively compatible.

Whatever the reason, neither Lois nor Clark were prepared to denigrate the gift of their special baby and they were thrilled to welcome another daughter into their loving family circle. A daughter, Victoria, who looked like Clark, but was in every other way Lois' child, even at the tender age of four.

“Lois, Lois, talk to me?” Martha's anxious demand broke into Lois' reverie. “Vicky and Sara must be breaking their little hearts.”

“I'm sorry, Martha, my mind is wool-gathering again.”

“That's not surprising under the circumstances, sweetie.”

“Sara is quieter than normal, if that's possible. She crept into bed with me last night and we cried each other to sleep. Vicky's different. I don't think she really understands what's happening though. She keeps asking when Daddy's coming back, and she's starting to fret when I tell her he's off covering a story. Clark just hasn't been away from home for so long since we've had Vicky.”

A lump formed in Lois' throat and she jammed her fist against her mouth to silence a sob, but she didn't fool Martha.

“Lois, honey, don't you give into despair. Clark's gotten himself out of a lot of bad situations before....”

“But maybe, not this time, Martha.” Tears were beginning to well up in Lois' eyes. “We've always had this connection, you know. In my heart, I always knew it, long before my head would accept it... but it's always been there. And now....” The tears were coursing down her cheeks, impossible to stop.

“And now?” Martha's question was whispered, realizing she didn't want to hear the answer.

“Nothing, Martha.” Though they were far apart, the silence in both homes was palpable. “I've tried and tried to reach him, but there's nothing there. Not in my my head or my heart. Martha, Clark is just... gone!”

*****

Another day, or was it night? The man had no way of knowing. He only knew he felt utterly spent. Sleep came to him in snatches and gave him no release from his weariness. There were no dreams to disturb his sleep... no nightmares either. Strangely, he would have welcomed even bad dreams; they would have been a connection to something.

Above his head he heard the swish of the sliding door, followed by the dual whirring of the cameras which scanned every inch of his cell. A cell which was also a fish bowl, allowing every one of his actions to be monitored.

At first he'd been uncomfortable, knowing he was being watched, but why fight what he could not change? Better to conserve his strength for a time when resistance would make a difference.

Footsteps sounded on the stairway heralding the arrival of his guard and his breakfast, so probably morning! His turnkey was of Asian descent, as were most of the other personnel of this facility with whom he'd come in contact - - except for the doctors.

Reaching the table, which had lately appeared in the cell along with a single chair, the guard placed the tray down and waited. He never spoke; probably that was against the rules, yet he always stayed to see that the prisoner ate all his meals.

Now whether that was because the guard was ordered by his superiors to take care of their specimen or the soldier's own kindness, the man without an identity couldn't tell. Though he thought he detected a hint of sympathy in the young soldier's eyes.

Dragging himself to the table, he forced himself to eat the unpalatable food. According to habit, they would come for him soon, and he would be injected with some unknown yellowish colored substance that made his head swim and his stomach queasy.

Then they would manhandle him from his cell to the only other room he was aware of in this whole complex, which he'd deduced was fairly large. Though the laboratory was only next door to his room, the corridor seemed to stretch on to infinity. A passageway with the same brash lighting and no windows. Just like the lab where they did whatever it was they did to him once they'd strapped him to that stainless steel table; where the woman in the white coat would watch carefully as they administered the final drugs.

He'd retain some sort of vague consciousness at the start of their procedures, but thankfully his awareness faded into blackness until he woke up back in his cell. Awoke again to the feeling of numbness, with just a faint recollection of being dissected like a frog. Yet that couldn't be the case because physically he was still in one piece. Even the hair had grown back over the scars, which were now healed.

That was a frightening fact in itself. It meant he'd been here for some time for that to happen. Even the memory of the clothes he'd been wearing when he'd first regained some sort of sensibility was eroding from his mind. They'd been made of a strange fabric and color, but it hurt too much to try to recall. He couldn't explain it, but he understood that soon that memory would be gone.

He was alone - - the way he'd always been afraid of, at least that thought hovered somewhere in the vestiges of his mind - - in someplace which was akin to a tomb. Perhaps he was dead.

*****

The black banner headline detailing the memorial service screamed at Lois Lane - - no Lois Kent! She had never taken Clark's name while he lived, so why should it seem so important to her to claim it in his... death? And yet, she would cling on to everything she had of him. If only she could cling to hope.

There was no proof of his actual death. No body of either Superman or Clark had been found, but he'd been missing for too long. Nearly a year had passed since Superman had left to help out with the Earthquake in Korea and there had been not one single sighting of him anywhere in the world since.

For a time, Lois had convinced herself that he'd been lying hurt somewhere... perhaps had amnesia from a head trauma. Most people considered The Man of Steel to be invulnerable, but Lois knew differently. Who knew, maybe some kryptonite had dropped on Earth in some remote part of Korea. What if Clark had stumbled across the rock and hadn't been able to escape its deadly radiation?

She'd prayed that the multi-national search teams would find him. Rescue missions had continued for months; missions to which even the isolated North Koreans had opened their borders, but no sign of Superman had ever been traced. When the operations had been scaled down and finally closed, Lois had slowly lost faith that Clark would be coming home.

If there was a very minute silver lining on the edge of Lois' gray sky it was the fact that Clark's secret identity had never been discovered by the public, thanks to Perry White's quick thinking. Their old editor and friend had made it known within days of Superman's, and thus Clark Kent's, absence that he had given Kent permission to accompany Superman to the devastated region to report first hand on one of the biggest and most unexpected earthquakes the world had experienced in modern times. The accepted conclusion was that both men had somehow perished together - - human and Kryptonian, which was in a strange way the truth.

Now, one year since the date of Superman's disappearance, Metropolis's citizens were holding a memorial service for the hero who had chosen to make his home among them. The ceremony would take place in Centennial Park to accommodate the large crowds, and where a statue of the Man of Steel would be unveiled by no less personage than the President.

When the city's plans to honour their most famous citizen had first been broadcast, Lois had been so afraid that she might be asked to unveil the sculpture; after all she had been one of Superman's closest friends. Somehow she hadn't felt strong enough to carry out that final act of appreciation, even for Superman.

But Lois' fears had been groundless. Either the Mayor had thought to reserve the honor for herself, or the city father's had shown more sensitivity than was normal in this case. Lois had just decided it was the former when the President's intervention had put paid to all other considerations.

So now there was to be an official closure to add to the smaller, though more intimate and loving commemorative service that Clark's family and friends had held for him just a few months before. A time where Lois had said goodbye in public to her husband, but never would she say farewell within her heart.

Clark would always be with her, and though she missed his physical presence achingly every day, his love for her would continue to be her shelter and her strength. She took comfort from the knowledge that one day they would find each other again, if not in this lifetime.

Often in the dark of night she would remember Clark's sadly prophetic words. That it wasn't the years that mattered, but the moments... and Clark and she had shared more moments of enchantment, passion and tender care than she'd ever dreamed existed in this world. Though to the outer-world Lois Lane would continue on alone with her children, Lois Kent would forever be linked to her partner, her friend and her dearest husband, Clark.

*****

tbc