A quick glance over his shoulder told Clark the bullets were headed their way, and he shoved Lois unceremoniously to the ground, placing his body between her and the incoming projectiles. And then without thinking, he was snatching them from the air. One hand and then the other. Back and forth. Four bullets in all. Two in each hand.
Once he was sure they were done, he turned to look for the source, but found nothing. The sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians, none of whom seemed phased by the gunshots. An ancient sedan made its way past, rattling and backfiring, and he could only assume the passersby thought the gunshots had been part of its sputtering.
“What the hell?!” Lois asked, standing and turning to face him.
He was frozen, hands still full of bullets. He turned back to her, still stunned by what had happened. What he had done. He had caught…bullets? He knew he was fast. But he had caught bullets. That was…something new. And he had done this superhuman feat right out in public, on the streets of Metropolis.
He glanced around. No one seemed the least bit curious about the man in a Smallville Tigers t-shirt clutching two fistfulls of bullets.
“Clark!” she said insistently. “What was that? What just happened?”
“Someone just shot at you,” he said finally. “There was…a gun. Gunshots.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Clark, that was a car backfiring. It happens all the time. This neighborhood isn’t exactly riddled with gunfire.”
“I’m not joking, Lois. Someone just tried to kill you. We need to go inside.”
“What’s in your hands?” she asked, brow furrowed.
“Nothing,” he said, automatically hiding them behind his back.
She drew back and cocked her head to the side. “Show me your hands.”
His mind raced. Should he show her? Should he hand her the evidence? If he did, she would believe him about the shooting. She might take the risk more seriously. But she would want to know how it was possible that he was holding those bullets. And he honestly wasn’t sure what to say at this point. How to tell her. How to explain both his secret and the fact that he was planning to tell her – and soon! – but that it hadn’t been the right time until the bullets were fired.
“Clark!” she repeated.
He crushed the bullets. Without thought or debate. Just on instinct. Destroy the evidence. He opened his hands and let the crushed remains flutter to the pavement, then he brought his hands out in front of him, open and bare.
She looked at his hands skeptically and then looked at his face.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go inside.”
They were quiet on the way upstairs and into her apartment. Finally she turned and looked at him. She must have seen the genuine concern on his face and realized that whether or not she believed him, he believed that she was in danger.
“Hey,” she said gently, stroking his cheek. “It was just a car, Clark. It wasn’t a gun.”
“It was a gun, Lois,” he insisted. “It was Luthor. Or one of his henchmen.”
She stiffened and took a step back, and he could see her schooling her face, trying not to roll her eyes at him. “Clark, Luthor has a lot bigger things to worry about right now than getting revenge on me. No one has seen any sign of him in days. You really think he’s hanging around outside my apartment building, just waiting for me to go for a run so he can pick me off?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. “That’s exactly what I think. I think he — or someone on his payroll — has been waiting for their chance. I think the man who spent the last six months burning businesses to the ground to punish business associates who were disloyal to him is not just going to walk away without taking his revenge on the woman who single-handedly toppled his empire and sent him to prison.”
She took a deep breath and turned her back on him, pacing the living room. When she turned back to him, he could see the anger simmering behind her eyes.
“I know you are worried about me. And I’m trying very hard to be patient, because I love you, and I know this is all new for you, but-“
“Come on, Lois! I can’t believe you don’t see this. Why are you underestimating him? You know him better than anyone in the world.”
“Yes! I do! I know him better than anyone. I’ve sacrificed years of my life to studying him and investigating him. I know you think you know him. I know you like helping with my investigation, but this is my story, Clark.”
“This isn’t about a story!” he said incredulously. “This is about your safety!”
He cast about desperately trying to find a way to convince her she was in danger; to make her see that he wasn’t just imagining things.
Those bullets. If he hadn’t been standing there…. If he hadn’t been fast enough….. If he hadn’t heard the click of the safety….
“Honey, listen to me. Please,” he begged. “Someone just tried to shoot you. You need to call the police. You need to stay inside. You need-“
“I need to continue living my life,” she said, eyes flashing. “Newsflash, Clark. There is always someone who wants me dead. This is not the first time a murderer has had a reason to take me out.”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No! It’s supposed to make you see the reality of my life. It’s fun and exciting to date an investigative reporter when I’m sneaking into nightclubs and giving speeches at high school conferences. But this is the reality of my job, Clark. The reality of my life. Sometimes it’s not pretty. Sometimes I get death threats.”
“That’s not fair,” he said bitterly. “I love you. Our relationship has nothing to do with whether or not it’s fun or exciting to date an investigative reporter.”
He saw a flicker of guilt cross her face, and then her face hardened again. He scrubbed a hand across his face, desperately trying to stay calm. He needed to reason with her. He needed to make her understand.
“I love you,” he repeated. “And I haven’t mentioned Luthor in days. I’m not seeing boogeymen where there are none. This isn’t just an idle death threat. Someone just took a shot at you. A bunch of shots. Your life is in danger!”
“You don’t know that!” she said.
“Yes, I do!” he yelled back, feeling like a child. Did not. Did too. Did not.
“How?” she yelled. “How do you know?”
“I just…do,” he said, his mind racing for a way to explain how he knew what he knew.
She threw her hands up in the air. “You’ve got to give me more than that, Clark! You just do? What, your spidey-sense is tingling? Forgive me if I don’t change my whole life based on your feeling.”
“I’m not asking you to change your whole life,” he said, trying to ignore the snark in her voice and keep his own voice level. “I’m just asking you to believe me. I’m asking you to trust me. I just want to keep you safe. I love you!”
He took a few steps away from her, walking over to the window and looking into the distance. He was completely at a loss. This whole conversation was getting away from him. Had gotten away from him. He was frozen with indecision. Should he tell her his secret? She was already so angry. Would it help or just make things worse? Would it damage them beyond repair? Was it worth it to lose her love if he saved her life?
He heard her footsteps approaching and then felt her hand on his back. “I know you’re scared,” she said quietly. “But you can’t just tell me you love me and then expect me to do what you want; expect me to trust your judgment and your experience over my own.”
She was right. But she was wrong. She was right to trust her own judgment. But her judgment was wrong. And he couldn’t explain that without explaining everything.
“Why would I make this up?” he asked softly.
“I don’t think you’re making it up,” she said, slightly calmer. “I just think you’re confused. I know you love me. I know you want to keep me safe. But I’m not in any danger, Clark. No more than I am any other day.”
“You are!” he said, running a hand through his hair, and then taking a deep breath. “Lois, someone just tried to shoot you. If I hadn’t been there to push you down….”
“If you hadn’t pushed me down, I would be perfectly fine!” she shot back. “Because there was no gunshot! It was car backfiring. If it was a gunshot, where are the bullets? If you pushed me out of the way, wouldn’t the bullets have hit the ground beside me? Wouldn’t they have hit you? Think about it, Clark!”
Twenty years of erasing all evidence of his superhuman feats. Twenty years of hiding what he could do. It had become second nature. He had crushed the bullets on instinct. And now he had no evidence to give her.
He should tell her. He should tell her that there was no evidence because he caught it. Caught the bullets. And crushed them. But she would think he was crazy. He would have to give her proof. He would have to show her what he could do. Even then, she might not believe him about the bullets.
Three hours ago, he was scared but excited to tell her his truth. He was imagining a long weekend after Thanksgiving when he could gradually tell her all his secrets and answer all her questions. He was terrified but hopeful that she would still love him. That she would be able to look past his differences and see that he was still the same man who absolutely adored her, who sent her flowers and cooked her dinner and kissed her under the stars.
This was not how he wanted to tell her – in the middle of a fight, as a desperate plea to win the argument. Even if she believed him, she might never forgive him.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know how to prove it to you. But I’m telling you, Lois. Please, you have to believe me. If something happens to you….”
He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even think it. The thought of losing her. Of her being hurt, or killed, because he couldn’t protect her. He would die. He could never live with that knowledge. He could never live without her.
“Nothing is going to happen to me, Clark.”
“Something already did happen to you! If I hadn’t been there-”
“Are you seriously telling me you think you saved my life?”
He faltered, unsure what to say. Because he was absolutely certain he had saved her life, but the tone of her voice told him that was not the right answer.
“I guess…yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” he said tentatively. “If I hadn’t- Lois, please. I’m just asking you to take some extra precautions. Call the police and ask them for protection. Come to Smallville for a few days-”
He broke off mid-sentence, the fury in her eyes warning him not to finish.
“Even if you saved my life,” she said quietly, her voice ice cold with fury, “that does not give you the right to run my life.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Sweetheart, I’m not trying to run your life. I promise. I just…. I love you so much.”
“Don’t do that,” she said quietly. “Do not use your love to manipulate me.”
His stomach dropped. “That’s not what this is, Lois. I swear. I just want to protect you! Someone shot at you today, and I was there. Tomorrow afternoon, I won’t be there. Monday, I won’t be there. What happens then?”
“Clark, no one shot at me,” she repeated slowly. He could see her patience wearing thin.
“It was a car backfiring.”
“Lois, I know the difference between a car backfiring and a gunshot.”
“Do you?” she asked snidely. “You get a lot of drive-by shootings in Smallville? You’re a teacher, Clark.”
Her words hung between them, disdain and pity dripping from them; her emphasis on teacher speaking volumes. It cut right through him, confirming every insecurity he had about the differences between their careers, about not being her equal.
He breathed in and out, trying to rein in his emotions before responding.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said softly. “Not like that-“
“Lois, I know I’m just a teacher,” he began, his voice quiet but hard with anger. “I know I’m not a world-famous, Pulitzer-winning reporter. But I am a farm kid who grew up with guns. I got my first BB gun before I could read. I was spending nights in deer stands by the time I was ten. And as an adult, I’ve traveled all over the world, including dangerous, crime-ridden cities that make Metropolis look like Disney World. I’ve spent time in war zones. I’ve covered tribal skirmishes and civil wars. I’ve seen terrible things. I’ve heard lots of gunshots. I know the difference between a gunshot and a car backfiring.”
He took a ragged breath, his hands shaking. This was getting them nowhere.
He held up both hands in surrender. “I need- We need a break. We need to calm down. I can’t-”
He turned and walked out of the room, down the hallway into the guest room where he sat on the bed and took a few deep breaths.
How had this all gone so wrong? The last twenty-four hours had been the best and then the worst of his entire life. How could he go from being so happy, to absolutely terrified and devastated in a span of minutes?
He took another deep breath. He needed to calm down and refocus. The key was convincing her to take more precautions. It didn’t matter if she believed him about the gunshots. It didn’t matter if she thought he was a naive schoolteacher from the middle of nowhere. The only thing that mattered was her safety. And he was not going to convince her of anything the way this was going.
They were safe for now. She was safe in her apartment with him. He had – he glanced at his watch – twenty hours before he was supposed to leave for the airport. That was plenty of time to convince her to take some extra safety precautions. But she wasn’t going to listen to him if he was fighting with her.
He heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. Good, he thought. Let her shower and calm down. Give her some space.
She was in the shower for longer than he expected, and he could only imagine that she, too, was trying to get a hold of her emotions before facing him again. He knew she was furious with him. And he understood why. From her perspective, he was being completely unreasonable. He thought about her accusation that he was using his love to manipulate her and flinched. He never wanted to do that. Never wanted her to think that.
The shower turned off finally, and after a few minutes, he saw her walk across the hall, wrapped in a bathrobe, and disappear into her bedroom.
He sat for another minute, not sure what to do with himself. Then he decided he might as well shower and change too. Maybe they could watch a movie or read together until it was time to start dinner. He knew it was irrational – that she was perfectly safe in her bedroom – but he just wanted to be near her.
He stood and grabbed his duffle bag, lifting it to the bed and digging through it for clean clothes.
“Hey,” she said quietly from the doorway.
He turned to face her, and his heart jumped. She was wearing loose cotton pants and a fitted gray tank top. Her feet were bare and her hair was still damp from the shower. She was unspeakably beautiful. But her eyes were so sad, and they looked swollen and bloodshot as if she had been crying recently. Suddenly he wondered if that’s why she had been in the shower for so long, and he was struck with a dagger of self-loathing. He never meant to make her cry.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking past him to the duffle bag on the bed.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just…. I just thought I’d take a shower and get changed too. Maybe we can watch a movie or read before dinner?”
She nodded quickly, her face relaxing a little. She hesitated, not moving. He wanted to speak, to comfort her, but he didn’t want to crowd her, so he waited for some sign of what she wanted.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice tight like she was holding back tears. “It was a stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean it. I was upset. I was angry. I lashed out. I do that. I know that’s not okay…. It just…. I don’t…. I’m sorry.”
He stood and opened his arms to her. She hesitated for just a second, and then flew into his arms, burying her head in his chest. He stroked her hair gently. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard,” he said. “It’s okay.”
She pulled back to look at him and shook her head. “It’s not. I hate when I do that. I hate….” She broke off and took a deep breath. “I love that you’re a teacher. I love how much you care about your kids. It was one of the first things I ever loved about you. I love your town. I love your friends and your family. Smallville is a wonderful town. And teaching is an honorable profession. I didn’t mean it, Clark.”
He nodded and swallowed thickly, trying to shove down the little voice that told him he wasn’t good enough for her. That he would never be good enough for her. That she deserved someone better. Someone who was a more appropriate match for her. Someone successful and powerful and influential. Someone cultured and polished.
He saw her study his face and then lean her head back and shake it in frustration. “I’m an idiot, Clark. I’m so sorry.”
He reached and cupped her cheek, waiting for her to look at him again before responding. “You’re not an idiot. I understand the point you were trying to make. I know you have a lot more experience with situations like this. I know you can’t run and hide every time someone gets angry at something you write. I’m not trying to control you or manipulate you. I just want you to be safe. Because I love you.”
He saw the flicker in his eyes when he mentioned manipulating her, and as soon as he was done speaking, that was where she began. “I know you aren’t manipulating me. I shouldn’t have said that either.”
He nodded and stroked her cheek. “It’s okay, Lois. We’re okay.”
“Are we?” she asked tentatively, tears filling her eyes.
“Honey,” he said gently. “Yeah. It was just a fight. We’re okay.”
“Okay,” she said softly, though she didn’t seem convinced.
“I’m going to shower and change,” he said, stroking her cheek once more and then stepping back.
She nodded and tilted her head toward the door. “I’m going to go read. Come sit with me when you’re done?”
He nodded, and she turned and walked back to her room. He grabbed his stuff and headed for the shower. As the water beat down on him, his mind spun fruitlessly trying to decide what to do next. He had to find a way to convince her she was in danger before he left. She needed some sort of protection. She needed to be vigilant about her own safety. He would try to talk to her about it after dinner or maybe in the morning. Once enough time had gone by that they could have the conversation without being emotional. He knew if he brought it up now, it would just devolve back into yelling – or worse, crying.
But it was going to be so hard to avoid talking about it. It was all he could think about. His mind was running a non-stop film reel of all the ways Luthor could get to her: a second attempt at gunning her down, a car bomb, an apartment break in…. The list was endless.
He tried to block out the images, but they just kept coming. He kept seeing those bullets over and over. He could still feel the heat of them in his palms.
He finished his shower and toweled off, changing into cotton shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He laughed mirthlessly as he slid the shirt on. He had packed it because he knew she liked it; knew she liked to look at and touch his arms. He had hoped she would touch him again, like she had the last time he wore a sleeveless shirt. It had all seemed so simple then. Before he was worried a crazed maniac was going to murder his girlfriend, or that he was going to have to confess his deepest secret to her with no time to rehearse or plan in a last-ditch effort to save her.
