Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Savior (11-12/15)

Her hands had stopped shaking an hour ago, and she’d just now convinced herself to stop pacing. But as the afternoon wore on, the pounding rain turning to a light mist and the hint of sunlight through the cloud layer fading into evening darkness and shadow, there was still no sign of Clark. And she was starting to feel anxious again.

She picked up her phone and began dialing his cell for the tenth time, but hesitated. He’d said he would call if he had any trouble, and she trusted his word. So why was she so worried?

She knew the answer, of course. She knew it was because six hours ago, he’d left her up on top of a mountain in the pouring rain to fly off to talk to his parents about whether he was human. Because he’d suddenly become distant and agitated right before he’d left. And because she desperately missed him.

Staring at the phone in her hand, Lois mentally shook herself. She had to trust him. He told her he’d come back, and she knew he would.

She shoved the phone back in her pocket and moved into the kitchen; she wasn’t hungry, but she should probably eat since she’d skipped lunch. However, a quick look at the contents of her fridge told her that she’d either have to cook—nope, not happening—or order takeout. Briefly, she wondered whether Clark’s flying abilities might give them access to much better takeout options than Ralph’s Pagoda, a Chinese restaurant they’d tried last week that had turned out to be a bit subpar. She laughed as she shut the refrigerator door, and the sound seemed to echo through the room before dissolving back into a chilling silence.

A silence that crept up around her and engulfed her.

Something was wrong.

She exhaled sharply and shook her head as she scanned the empty room. He should be there, sitting on the couch, readying their nightly board game—tonight was supposed to be chess; Clark really loved playing chess. Instead, the couch was empty, like the room. She stumbled over to where he normally sat, collapsed, and buried her head in her hands. She’d gotten so used to him being there. She’d gotten used to his smile and his laugh and his silly jokes and his thoughtfulness…and him.

She raised her eyes and glanced at the clock again. Six hours. That was too long.

Something was wrong.

She stood decisively, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and hit several buttons to dial his number. However, after three rings, his voicemail picked up, and she hung up rather than leaving a message. Her fingers trembling, she quickly dialed the Kents’ number, and she then closed her eyes as the line began, once again, to ring.

“Hello?”

Lois immediately recognized Martha’s voice and heard the strained, tired tone to her single-word greeting. She crossed her free arm over her chest and took a deep breath.

“Martha, hi. It’s Lois.”

“Lois, hi…”

Lois began pacing along the wall, her feet forcing her to move. The hesitation in Martha’s voice and the uncomfortable silence that followed did nothing to alleviate her concerns. She stopped and closed her eyes.

“Is he…Clark, is he still there?”

There was no answer right away, and Lois wondered briefly whether the call might have dropped. She started to pull the phone away from her ear to check when Martha spoke again.

“No, dear… He left hours ago. You mean he didn’t…he’s not with you?”

Lois shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut tightly.

“No, Martha, he never came back. Hours ago? He left hours ago?” Lois’s voice cracked as she spoke, and she forced herself back over to the couch to sit as her knees began wobbling and her heart started racing.

“Yes, dear. He… Well, Jonathan and I, we told him everything we knew about the night we found him, and he became quite…upset. We tried to get him to stay, but he said he needed to get back to Metropolis because he—”

Martha’s words cut off into a sharp sob, and Lois heard Jonathan’s voice in the background, soothing his wife. The older man then cleared his throat and spoke into the phone so Lois could hear him more clearly.

“Lois, it’s Jonathan. Clark, he…well, he got quite upset when we told him about…”

“About what, Jonathan?” The words escaped her mouth as a dry whisper, and she once again stood up on shaky, unsure legs. She moved over to the open window, and her eyes drifted out and up toward the bright Moon lighting up the evening sky.

On the other end of the line, Jonathan Kent’s voice became lower, unsteady, and faltering.

“Lois, the night we found Clark, we—Martha and I—we found him in a small spaceship that had crash landed in a neighbor’s field. There’s a good chance that…”

Jonathan’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his thought. Lois already knew what he was going to say.

Clark may not actually be from Earth. Clark may actually be an alien.

If Clark had come to that same conclusion…

She remembered how distraught he’d looked earlier in the day, when he’d wondered out loud whether he might be an alien. Whether Trask might have been right. She remembered seeing the dark panic in his eyes and the way he’d almost shrunken in on himself.

A tear slid down her cheek.

“I’ll find him,” she stated, her voice now clear and strong. “I’ll find him. Please, Jonathan, tell Martha that I’ll find him, and then I’ll call you, no matter what time it is.”

There was a brief silence, and Jonathan’s voice then rasped, “Thank you, Lois. Please do call us as soon as you know that he’s okay. And please, please tell him that we love him.”

“I will.”

She heard a few more mumbled words, which might have been Martha’s attempt to thank her, and the other end of the line then went silent as the Kents hung up.

She wiped the tear from her cheek, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then, she composed a quick text.

“Clark, I know you are confused right now, and you have every right to be. But please, please respond and let me know you are okay. I’m very worried about you, as are your parents.”

She hesitated and then tagged “Love, Lois” onto the end of the message before hitting ‘Send.’

For several agonizing moments, she stared at the phone, willing it to light back up with any response, no matter how brief. Even just, “I’m okay.” Even, “I’m not okay.” Anything at all.

But it remained stubbornly silent and dark, and when she couldn’t stand to wait anymore, she spun on her heel and grabbed her purse and car keys.

She would find him. She’d found him once, six months prior. And she’d do it again. Even if he could literally be anywhere in the world right now. She would find him.



An hour later, Lois stood up from her desk near the center of the Daily Planet newsroom and hurried to the back copy room, where the printer had just whirred to life. It ejected a single page into the tray and then once again went silent with slumber. She lifted the page up with one hand while cradling her phone against her ear with the other.

“I got it. Thanks, Jimmy. I owe you for this,” Lois said, her eyes already scanning the printout. “I’ll call you back later if I need more help.”

“Sure thing, Lois. Because you know I have nothing better to do at seven o’clock on a Friday night,” Jimmy retorted in a teasing tone. His voice became serious, however, as he quickly added, “I hope you find him. Keep me updated, okay?”

“Me too, and I will. Thanks, Jimmy. I gotta go.”

She turned off her phone and stuffed it back in her pocket as she jogged out of the copy room and toward the elevators, once again silently thanking Jimmy Olsen for his uncanny understanding of how to hack into and interpret cell phone location data.

She glanced back at the paper in her hand as she punched the ‘down’ button and waited for the elevator. Tears threatened to fall, yet again, as she recognized the location information printed at the top of the single page.

Grant Mountain Pass and Route 22. Just north of the city and miles from any civilization. Where she knew there happened to be a huge, nondescript warehouse that had been raided by the police, emptied out, and abandoned about six months ago.

That’s where his cell phone was, and that’s where his cell phone had been for the better part of three hours now.

Her eyes closed tightly as she tried unsuccessfully to push away her memories of that night they’d met six months ago. That whole investigation—culminating in his rescue from the evils that he’d been subjected to for fifteen years—it had changed her. She’d always known that her job as an investigative reporter was important; she’d always known that her work often helped save lives and make the world a better place. But Clark’s rescue…

She remembered how she’d thought there was no way he’d be alive, if they could even find him. She remembered how desperate Martha had been and how she’d chased down lead after lead after lead, always running into dead ends. Then, she remembered seeing Clark for the first time, wearing nothing but a thin blue hospital gown in the freezing cold. She remembered the slow trudge through the woods, hoping she’d be strong enough to keep supporting him if his legs gave out. And she remembered her decision to omit so many of the details of his capture, imprisonment, and rescue from her short article, which she’d requested Perry not place on the front page of the paper.

It had been the first time that the person had truly been more important to her than the story.

It had changed her.

He had changed her.

And now, he needed her again.

Her hands began shaking as she folded up the paper, shoved it into her purse, and boarded the elevator. She only hoped she could get to him fast enough.





White. Plain white. The floor, the walls, the ceiling. Plain white. And cold. And evil. So much evil. It surrounded him, pressed in on him, suffocated him.

He pushed himself back against the hard wall across from the room that had been his prison for fifteen years and slid down to the ground, lowering his head into his hands. The nausea came again, and he nearly choked as his body tried to expel more of the contents of his stomach. But he had nothing left to vomit up, and so he collapsed onto the ground, coughing violently, as pain began to grow behind his eyes. He curled up against the wall, screwed his eyes shut, and sobbed.

Why had he come here? Why had he needed to see it again? And what had he expected?

He should have expected the overwhelming terror, the fear and panic, the dizziness and nausea and inability to breathe. He should have. But he hadn’t. And now, he was paying the price for that.

His body continued to shake as he pressed his palms into his eyes. Memories tugged at him; old memories of a time when he’d clung to an inkling of hope that he’d be found and rescued and brought home to his parents, and then more recent memories filled with the pain and desperation and despair of knowing he was alone and no one would be coming to save him.

Freak. Alien. Abomination.

True. It was all true. He was all of those things. He’d come to Earth as a baby in a spaceship. From where, he didn’t know. And why, he didn’t know. But did it really even matter? He was an alien. He was not human. He was everything Trask had said.

And now, he’d developed these superhuman abilities that made him the most powerful being on Earth, which therefore also made him a threat to all of mankind.

Just like Trask had said.

No crying, or else…

His stomach lurched again as the words haunted him, and he curled up more as his hands scrubbed down his cheeks in a futile attempt to eliminate the evidence of his tears.

No crying. Don’t move.

Freak.

Alien. Dirty alien filth.

His breath came in short gasps, and a hazy red glow began to fill his vision. He shook his head and blinked, but the haze grew and heated up. He again squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his hands as he sat up, his back to the wall. A pain not unlike that he experienced every night when his migraines hit ballooned between his eyes, and he groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He blinked his eyes open again, but the red haze still blurred his vision.

Blindly, he stumbled back toward the entrance to the building, away from the small white room with its plain white walls, his hands once more pressed tightly over his eyes.

Freak.

Alien.

One day…we will kill you. A long, slow, painful death fit for the disgusting abomination you are…

Dirty alien.

Trask was right.

No. He growled angrily. No.

“No!”

Trask was wrong.

“No! I’m not like that! I’m not!”

He reached out ahead of him with one hand, feeling for the door that should be there while keeping his eyes tightly closed. His hand hit smooth glass, which immediately shattered into a cacophony of spilling shards.

Freak.

Not normal.

Abomination.

His chest constricted, and the pain between his eyes grew to an almost unbearable pulse.

“I’m not… I’m… I’m not…”

Heat began pouring out of his eyes, stinging his hands, burning his eyelids, and he instinctively ducked his chin down and turned back around toward the room—toward his prison—as he could no longer keep the heat contained.

Some sort of sound—somewhere between a scream and a growl—erupted from his lips as red beams of intense heat burst from his eyes. Instantly, the ground in front of him cracked and caught fire, flames exploding up several feet. To his horror, the heat beams continued burning a path along the ground as he raised his eyes up. He tried again to close his eyes, to cover them up with his hands, to stop the destructive heat from engulfing everything in its path. But the heat was too concentrated, too powerful, and he screamed as he dropped his hands away from his eyes, a searing pain radiating from his palms.

He backed up against the shattered glass door, shards crunching under his feet. The heat ripped through the building now as his eyes swept sideways and then up toward the ceiling. Fire surrounded him. Walls began crumbling and crashing down, feeding the flames—the orange, yellow, and blue flames, which consumed the white walls.

Orange, yellow, blue, filling up the parts of his vision not tinged red.

No white. Nothing white was left.

Something inside him latched onto that, and the power streaming from his eyes intensified.

Destroy it. Destroy it all.

He backed up more, pushing the door open behind him, and then continued inching back down the hallway, the beams of heat still pouring uncontrolled from his eyes. Uncontrolled…and yet… He turned up the heat more. And more.

Destroy it all.

He turned his head one way and then the other, allowing the heat to wash over the formerly untouched hallway and bathing the white walls in bright orange flames.

His hands balled up into fists, and his jaw set in a tight scowl.

Destroy it all. Nothing left. Nothing of this. Nothing.

He felt sweat pouring down his face now, mixing with his tears. He clenched his fists tighter.

More power. More heat. Destroy it all.

Ahead of him now, the roof began to cave in, chunks of wood and metal toppling down into the flames. The sounds roared in his ears, and he growled in frustration. He wanted it all gone, now. Faster. More heat. The beams coming from his eyes focused from diffuse to razor-sharp, and his next sweep across the room sliced the remaining walls of the structure in half. He backed up to another door—the final door to the building—and pushed it open, stepping backwards out into the warm night air just as the walls of the warehouse all collapsed inward.

Trask was right.

“No! No. I’m not…”

Destroyer. Destroy it all. Alien. Freak.

Trask was right.

He blinked and then forced his eyes closed as he tripped and fell backwards onto the hard cement. His hands cracked the ground as he caught himself, and his chest heaved with effort as he again yelled, “No! I’m not like that! I’m not…”

The red glow began fading as his eyes stayed tightly shut, and when his vision returned to normal, now only bathed in the bright orange glow from the fire, he buried his head into his knees and sobbed.

“I’m not like that… It’s not true. No…”

In the distance, sirens began blaring, but Clark didn’t hear them. His crying drowned out all of that and all the crackling of the flames and all the crashing of support beams and pillars and debris as the fire continued to rage.

He’d caused all this destruction. On accident or on purpose, it didn’t matter. He’d caused it.

Trask was right.

No. Yes. No.

Trask was right.

“Clark?”

Lois.

His heart leapt in his chest. She’d found him. She’d come for him. She’d come to save him. To rescue him. Again. He inhaled deeply and smelled her, sensed her, felt her.

Then, he tensed and covered his eyes with his hands again.

No. Not safe. Can’t hurt her. Need to go.

“Clark, hey, I’m here,” her voice soothed. She was only a few feet away now, just behind him, and inching closer slowly.

No. Trask was right. Not safe.

He shook his head violently and then tried to stand. However, his legs refused to hold his weight, and he collapsed back onto the ground. The pain between his eyes intensified. He shook his head again.

“You can’t be here, Lois. It’s not safe. I’m not safe. Trask was right,” he wept, lowering his head between his knees. “Trask was right. Trask was right. Trask was—”

“Clark!”

Her hand touched his shoulder gently, despite the firm tone of her voice, and he fell silent as she knelt down next to him and spoke again.

“Clark, Trask may have been right about your origins, but he was not right about who you are,” she said.

Her hand shifted from his shoulder and around his back until she embraced him in a careful hug, but he remained as still as a statue, afraid to move, afraid he’d hurt her. So, so very afraid.

“I did all this, Lois,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “This fire. This was me. My eyes—they are dangerous. You have to leave me here. I can’t be near you. It’s not safe. Trask was right.”

But she didn’t let him go. In fact, she tightened her hold on him, and again, he didn’t dare move. Her lips brushed against his cheek.

“No, Clark,” she murmured, resting her forehead against his. “No. The fire was an accident, and you are in control now. You can control it, Clark, just like you control all of your other abilities.”

He felt another kiss, this time on his forehead, and she then shifted to sit down next to him on the hard ground. She pulled him gently toward her, and he allowed himself to lean into her; he didn’t have the strength left to resist. He sucked in a deep breath and then let it back out, shuddering.

“You are not what he said, Clark. You are kind and gentle and compassionate and loving.”

“Lois, but I…I did all this. The fire—it came from my eyes. And I wanted to destroy it all, Lois. I wanted it burned down. I—”

“Shhh, Clark.”

Her hand began rubbing slow, soft circles on his back, and he sighed and leaned into her more as he tried to stifle a sob.

“It’s okay, Clark. You can cry here. You’re safe. I’m safe. He wasn’t right, Clark. Please trust me, and trust yourself, Clark.”

Her words drifted off into a fog that seemed to settle over him, and he found himself nodding as she kissed his cheek again.

He blinked, and then, somehow, they were in her Jeep and driving away from the blaze, passing by a long line of fire trucks and police cars. He couldn’t remember having gotten into the car with her, and a haze still blanketed his thoughts, slowing his thinking and making everything fuzzy.

He blinked again, and they were at her apartment. She unlocked the deadbolts, took his hand, and led him inside and over to the couch. And he sat, his hands in his lap, and collapsed into her as he cried.

Her arms enveloped him, warding off all of the evil of that place and that part of his life, protecting him from it somehow. She pressed her lips against his cheek.

After some time, his sobs quieted into shaky breaths. He buried his head into her hair, and in a low voice, muffled against her, he murmured, “Trask…he wasn’t…”

“He was wrong, Clark,” she soothed, still holding him, still rubbing gentle circles on his back.

He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“He wasn’t right about me.”

“That’s right, Clark.”

“Please, Lois, tell me again.”

“He was wrong, Clark. You are kind and gentle and caring. And you are safe here, Clark. He was wrong.”

And he continued to cling to her as she brushed another kiss on his cheek.





Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she snuck out of Clark’s bedroom, where she’d just gotten him settled into his bed, and tiptoed quietly down the hallway to the living room. Only then did she pull out her phone. She recognized the number and answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Lane, it’s Henderson.”

She sat heavily on the couch and pulled her knees up to her chin.

“Bill, hi,” she sighed. Before he could explain to her why he was calling, she continued. “Yes, Bill, we were out there tonight at the warehouse. And yes, I know it looks suspicious since Clark and I took off before the fire trucks showed up. But I promise you Bill, the fire was an accident, and I just needed to get Clark out of there as quickly as possible. He was… He needed to get far away.”

She hadn’t lied. None of that was untrue, she reasoned. But she still held her breath as she waited for Henderson’s response. The line stayed silent for several agonizing seconds. Then, Henderson cleared his throat and spoke slowly and clearly.

“I was just calling to tell you that there was an electrical fire at that old warehouse tonight. The place burned to the ground. No evidence of arson or foul play or…tire tracks or footprints. Just a good old electrical fire. Thought you should know.”

Lois nearly wept with relief.

“Thank you, Bill. I appreciate the phone call,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice from trembling.

“You’re welcome, Lois. I’d better get back. Take care.”

And the line went silent.

Lois reached up and wiped the tears from her eyes, then dialed the Kents’ number. She should have called them earlier, but her first priority had been ensuring that Clark was safe. The entire drive home from the warehouse, he’d been shaking, mumbling to himself incoherently, and alternately staring out the window with wide, unfocused eyes and pressing his palms into his eyes while sobbing. She hadn’t felt like she could take her focus off of him or off of the road long enough to call the Kents.

The line rang twice before Martha answered, her voice shaky.

“Lois?”

“Martha, hi. Sorry it took me so long to call you back, I—”

“Clark, is he okay? Please Lois, tell me,” the older woman begged. Lois heard rustling, a cough, and then Jonathan’s voice in the background, murmuring something to his wife.

“He’s back home with me. He’s resting now,” Lois started, keeping her voice quiet. She shifted a bit back into the corner of her couch and settled her head on her knees again.

“But how is he, Lois?” Jonathan asked, an urgency to his tone that Lois had never heard from him before.

She hesitated before answering. Not because she wanted to keep anything from them, but rather because she wasn’t sure of how to answer. She didn’t quite know how to put into words what had happened in the last two hours.

She’d shown up at the warehouse, fully expecting to find him in the middle of some panic-induced meltdown somewhere inside the facility. But what she’d found had been an order of magnitude worse. He’d been flailing backwards out of the facility while it burned—the whole thing engulfed in hot orange flames. And red laser beams had been streaming from his eyes.

Igniting.

Burning.

Destroying.

She’d driven her Jeep right through the chain link fence blocking the entrance to the facility and stopped about fifty feet from him. Then, he’d tripped and fallen backwards, and the heat coming from his eyes had slowly faded.

Only then had she approached him.

Only then had she seen the burns on his hands, and the tears streaming from his eyes, and the sheer panic on his face.

And his words… He’d been mumbling about Trask being right and him being a danger to her…

She choked back a sob and closed her eyes.

“He… He wasn’t okay when I found him. He had gone back to…that warehouse. And he…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t possibly tell them about the fire. Not yet. She continued, carefully choosing her words. “He’s resting quietly now. I think he’s okay… I think he’ll be okay.”

The Kents were both quiet for a moment, although Lois heard a few muffled sounds come through the phone’s speaker. She lifted her head and twisted back toward the hallway, where Clark hopefully still slept peacefully. Her stomach lurched as she pictured him again, his head buried in his knees, his blistered hands gripping his legs, words stumbling out of his mouth on repeat. “I’m not like that. It’s not true. Trask was…Trask was right. No. Yes. No. Trask was right.” And then later, sitting here on this very couch, he’d begged her to reassure him again that Trask was wrong. And he’d clung to her.

The urgency, the need, the terror in his voice—it had been painful to see. It had been just like back then, on that very first day.

“He will be okay, Martha, Jonathan,” Lois repeated, and she stood decisively. “He will be. He…he has to be.”

Lois heard Martha murmur an indistinguishable assent, and they shared a few more words, including a promise from Lois to call them or have Clark call them first thing in the morning, before hanging up. She then stuffed the phone back into her pocket and shuffled quietly down the hall toward Clark’s bedroom.

The door remained cracked open a couple inches, just as she’d left it, and when she pushed it open a bit more, the light from the hallway danced into the room, illuminating Clark’s features. His face looked peaceful in sleep, and his chest rose and fell rhythmically. His hair, still damp from the quick shower he’d taken just before collapsing into bed, fell loosely over his forehead, and Lois found herself drawn to him, for the sole purpose of pushing back that errant lock of hair. She crept slowly across the dimly lit room and then lowered herself to sit next to him on the bed. He didn’t wake, but he shifted slightly and mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out. Carefully, she reached out and brushed the hair back off his forehead. Then, she leaned over and kissed him in that same spot.

She sat there for a long time before she allowed herself to leave him again.




Lois didn’t sleep well, which she figured was probably for the better, since she managed to be up, showered, and dressed before Clark even stirred. She’d just stuck two bagels in the toaster when she heard quiet footsteps approaching from down the hall. She turned toward the hallway, and a big part of her expected to see Clark emerge, fully dressed and ready to go to work, with his huge signature smile on his face. She couldn’t say why she expected that; after all, yesterday had probably been the most traumatic day Clark had experienced since being rescued. And unfortunately, her expectations were not reality.

Clark did emerge from the hallway, but he wore the same clothes he’d gone to bed in—a long-sleeved white shirt and black pants. His hair was ruffled and out of place, his chin and jawline were still covered in a growing layer of dark stubble, and his eyes were red and puffy. Although he stepped toward her, he didn’t look at her, and his arms remained stiffly at his sides, his hands balled up into fists.

Lois swallowed and took a tentative step in his direction.

“Hey, you,” she said softly. He still didn’t look up at her. “I’m making bagels. You must be hungry. Honestly, I’m starving, you know, since we didn’t eat last night, and…”

Her voice trailed off as she watched him lift one hand up and wipe a tear from his cheek. He then raised his eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Oh, Clark…”

Haunted.

His eyes had the same haunted look that they’d had the first time she’d seen him six months ago.

Immediately, she forced herself to move around the kitchen table toward him, but he shook his head and moved back a step. His hands tightened more against his sides, and he let out a shaky breath.

“Last night… I-I burned down the w-warehouse…with my eyes,” he stumbled, his eyes not leaving hers. Another tear slipped down his cheek, but he made no move to wipe it away this time.

“It was an accident, Clark,” she murmured, and she hurried to close the rest of the distance between them. Her arms wrapped around him, and she enveloped him in a tight hug. She then buried her head into his shoulder. “It was an accident.”

His large body shuddered against her, but he made no move to reciprocate the embrace right away. He did, however, lower his head onto her and let out another long breath.

“Lois, I…I didn’t… I’m not…” His hands finally slid around her waist and settled on her back, and he shook as he pulled her up against him, tightly but carefully. His voice barely as loud as a whisper, he murmured, “Please tell me again, Lois,” and he buried his head into her hair.

She turned her head and kissed his cheek, then hugged him tighter.

“Clark, you are the kindest and gentlest person I know. You are cherished and loved. And he was wrong, Clark. He was wrong,” she assured him, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“My eyes can shoot heat beams… That—that f-fire… Lois, I…”

“I know, Clark. I know. But it’s just like your other abilities. I promise, you can control it.”

He again shuddered against her, and she felt his breath hot on her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.

“I-I’ll have to control it. I-I have to. It’s…”

He finally pulled away from the embrace, although he didn’t move far, just enough to be able to see her. His jaw trembled as he seemed to study her eyes, and she frowned and reached up to touch his cheek. He screwed his eyes shut, but didn’t move away.

“You will control it, Clark. You—”

“It’s angry, Lois. The heat, it’s…anger and rage and destruction, and I don’t want it. I don’t…I don’t want it. It’s dangerous to you and everyone and—and Trask was right, Lois. I’m an alien, and I’m a threat to the whole world. They should have killed me, not let me escape. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t…”

She shook her head and pulled him back to her. His arms stayed at his sides as she hugged him, and he remained stiff and tense, his body shaking.

“No, Clark. No, you listen to me, now,” she said firmly. “This ability of yours may feel scary, but you will learn to control it, just like you learned to control your other abilities. You are not dangerous, Clark, because you are kind and gentle and strong, and you can control it. He was not right, Clark. You are not dangerous. He was wrong.”

A small sound escaped his lips as he lifted his arms, once again, and wrapped them around her waist. And they stood there for several more minutes, her murmuring quietly into him and repeating her assurances in a soothing voice as he clung to her, listening and nodding.

After a bit longer, when a comfortable silence had grown and Clark’s breathing seemed to have stabilized, he raised his head up off her shoulder and glanced toward the kitchen.

“The bagels are cold now,” he said.

She laughed quietly, squeezed him one more time, and then backed away a step, turning to follow his gaze toward the toaster. She patted his arm.

“Maybe you can heat them up for us then,” she joked, her eyes twinkling as she shifted in his arms to look at him again.

A brief smile flickered on his face, replaced quickly by a thoughtful, tight-lipped frown and narrowed eyes. He swallowed, and she watched with fascination as he straightened up, clenched his jaw, and then stepped over to the counter.

She’d been kidding, of course. He wasn’t really going to try to heat them up with his eyes…was he?

But that’s exactly what he did. Methodically, he removed the bagels from the toaster, placed them on a ceramic plate, and hesitated for a second before he set the plate back on the counter right next to the sink. She watched, curious, as he turned on the water in the sink—just in case, she figured—and then moved back a step and shifted his focus to the bagels.

Her hand shot up to cover her mouth as she watched two weak red beams radiate from his eyes toward the bagels. A second later, tendrils of smoke began rising up from the bagels, and the edges began turning darker brown. And then darker still, and then… He blinked, and the red beams disappeared.

And he let out a huge sigh and slumped down into the nearest chair, burying his head into his hands.

“Clark, you… You did it!”

She moved closer to him, sat in the chair next to his, and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Although he nodded mutely in response to her praise, he remained silent, his body still shaking. She continued to hold him until he no longer shook. Until his breathing was regular, and his heart no longer pounded in his chest.

And then, she kissed his cheek and held him just a bit longer.





Clark stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and wiped the condensation off the mirror. Dark brown eyes stared back at him. They were his eyes, he knew, but he barely recognized them. They held extraordinary, dangerous, incredible power, his eyes. They could see things with great detail miles away. They could look right through solid objects. And…they could heat things up, light things on fire.

They were destructive.

He blinked and shook his head. A big part of him wanted to just turn back the clock to a week ago—before he’d developed any of these weird abilities. Before so much had changed.

Couldn’t he…couldn’t he just be normal?

He clenched his jaw and stared at himself again. His hand reached up and rubbed the dark, rough stubble along his chin. This had all started with a razor blade. A razor blade that had snapped in two as he’d tried to shave off the unwanted hair growing on his face.

At least now, he knew why.

Freak. Alien. Abomination.

But knowing why and understanding how different he was—how not human he was—didn’t change the fact that he really, really needed to shave.

His gaze shifted down to his hands, and he turned them over, remembering the night before. He’d tried to stop the deadly red beams of heat pouring from his eyes; he’d tried to cover his eyes with his hands to stop the heat from destroying everything. However, the intensity of the beams had burned and blistered his palms. They’d already healed. They’d healed almost immediately, actually. And now, there was no evidence of the pain he’d accidentally inflicted on himself. He closed his hands into tight fists.

Fire didn’t hurt him, but the heat from his own eyes could.

He raised his eyes again to the mirror and took a deep breath.

He’d heated up the bagels a bit ago by controlling the heat. Low-intensity, diffuse beams. He’d been able to control it then, despite his fear. He’d been able to start it up and then stop it again, and he’d been able to keep the intensity low. Not like…not like the destructive heat that had escaped him the night before.

So, he wondered now, as he stared at his face in the mirror…he wondered if maybe he could do the same thing, reflecting the light in the mirror and back at himself… Maybe he could create his own “razor.” Maybe he could use this new ability—this ability that he desperately didn’t want and that terrified him.

Maybe.

He took another deep breath, concentrated, and switched on his heat vision.



Clark stared at the ground and followed quietly along behind Lois as they walked down the street. He wasn’t sure how she’d convinced him that it would be a good idea to go to work today. In fact, he wasn’t sure how she’d convinced him that he could and should stay in Metropolis with her rather than head back to Smallville…where he could build himself some sort of a fortress to live in alone, in solitude. Away from anyone he might accidentally injure.

But here they were, approaching the Daily Planet building as though yesterday hadn’t even happened.

He stopped abruptly, still about thirty feet from the building’s entrance, and he raised his eyes up to the landmark globe, which gleamed in the bright morning sunshine.

He wanted to be here. More than anything else, he wanted to stay here with her, work with her at the Planet, see her every day. Bring her coffee in the morning. Find the typos she always somehow seemed to overlook in her copy.

Yes, he wanted to be here. But fear kept him from following her inside.

There were too many people.

Flames flashed in his vision. Bright orange and yellow, leaping up into the sky. Cement and wood and metal crashing down all around him as the flames consumed it all.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, trying to block it all out. But even that was futile, and he staggered back a step and opened his eyes again. From a few feet in front of him, Lois stopped and turned around. Their eyes met, and he quickly blinked and looked back down at the ground.

There were too many people inside.

He’d been able to control it this morning, twice in fact. But reheating bagels and managing to shave the stubble from his chin in the controlled environment of his living space, with Lois there to help keep him calm—that was much different. And if he lost control here, while inside the Daily Planet building…

The fire, the flames, the destruction…

Hundreds of people would be in danger.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t follow her in.

A soft hand grasped his and tugged him forward. And despite his thoughts of only seconds ago, he found himself following obediently. His feet began moving again, and the two reporters soon pushed through the revolving doors that led to the lobby and worked their way through the crowd to the elevators.

He closed his eyes once more as they waited for the elevator to arrive, and he felt Lois lean up against him in a supportive gesture.

“There’s too many—too many people here, Lois,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Too many.”

“Clark, look at me,” she told him, her voice kind and gentle as always.

Again, he couldn’t find it in himself to disobey. And so, he opened his eyes and raised them to meet hers. Immediately, he felt better, more confident, and safe, and he couldn’t stop himself from squeezing her hand gently.

God, she’s so beautiful.

A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding escaped him, and he blinked several times as he held her gaze. She offered him a small smile, and it lit up his whole world…

Sunshine. She was like sunshine to him. Bright and warm and revitalizing and…he loved her so much.

Her other hand slipped into his as she stepped in front of him.

He wanted to be here. He needed to be here.

Most of all, he needed her. He needed her more than he’d ever needed anything ever.

“You’ll be okay. We’ll take it easy and work in the conference room today, where it will be quiet. Okay?”

He needed her. So he nodded and followed her onto the elevator.

She stayed right at his side, even as the small space seemed to close in around him. He sunk back against the wall and again screwed his eyes shut.

Freak.

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Alien.

“Clark?”

Abomination.

“No.”

“Hey, here, come on. The elevator stopped. Follow me.”

Once again, he obeyed, his hand carefully—very carefully—tightening around hers as she led him down the ramp, through the bullpen, and into the smaller of the two conference rooms. She shut the door behind them and helped him over to the table, where he sat and immediately lowered his head into his hands.

“I shouldn’t be here, Lois,” he repeated. “There’s too many people. I—”

“I know it’s scary, Clark. But you’re okay, and you’re in control. Remember that, okay?” she soothed.

Her hand touched his back, and a calming sensation washed over him. He chuckled, despite everything, and then raised his eyes up to hers again. She looked down at him with a relaxed smile.

“I don’t know how you have such faith in me, Lois, when I don’t even—I don’t—I don’t even trust myself.” He shook his head, unhappy with himself for stammering, and then lowered his head into his hands again.

He heard her pull up a chair next to him, and a soft touch brushed against his cheek. Her arms enveloped him, comforting him yet again, and he sighed and leaned into her.

“It’s you, Clark. From the moment your mom showed me your picture and asked me to help find you,” Lois said quietly.

Clark shifted in her embrace and pulled away from her slightly. His eyes met hers, without the barrier of the thick lenses he usually wore, and his breath caught in his throat. Beautiful. God, I love her. Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek, her soft skin touching his, making him feel calmer, stronger, warmer. He tilted his head into her touch, and she smiled.

“It’s you. It’s who you are. You are the kindest, gentlest person I know. And I just…I know it, Clark. I know you.”

He shook his head slightly, disbelievingly, and he let out a shaky breath before scooting his chair closer to hers and moving to wrap his arms around her.

Several minutes later, a soft knock on the door startled both of them. Lois recovered first and pulled back out of the embrace as she cleared her throat.

“Come in,” she called, her voice steady and strong.

Clark kept his head down and stayed perfectly still as he heard the door open behind him.

“Lois, Perry wanted you to check in with him when you can. Let him know what you’re working on.”

Jimmy’s voice was unusually subdued, a notch quieter than normal, Clark thought, but he didn’t turn around or raise his eyes up to greet his colleague. He wasn’t ready yet to face anyone else. His hands shook as he reached up and covered his eyes with his palms.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Lois answered, her voice also low. “Can you tell him I’ll be right there?”

She squeezed Clark’s knee, and he lowered one hand to cover hers. The touch felt so good, so comforting to him, and he had a sudden urge to pull her back into him and kiss her, like they’d kissed yesterday.

Yesterday… It had only been yesterday that they’d shared their first kiss. And it had only been yesterday that he’d felt the joy of realizing he was in love and the joy of flying for the first time. Only yesterday, although it seemed like so long ago now. Everything seemed so far away, so mixed up and unclear and hazy.

“Sure thing, Lois,” he heard Jimmy reply. The door then shut again, cutting them off from the rest of the newsroom, and he frowned as he shook his head.

“I-I’m sorry, Lois,” he mumbled. “I don’t know if…if I can…”

“It’s okay, Clark,” she assured him. “Will you be okay if I go chat with Perry and then grab us coffee?”

He nodded in response, and she patted his shoulder and then disappeared from the room, closing the door behind her.

Alone.

He was alone again.

Part of him sighed in relief, and another part of him shook with fear.

He turned in his chair and blinked for a moment, then focused his vision to look straight through the wall and into Perry’s office. Lois stood, her arms crossed over her chest and a grimace on her face. She nodded at whatever Perry had just said and then spoke. And he heard her as he also focused his keen hearing, tuning out all the other sounds of the newsroom and his colleagues at their desks just outside the door. He heard her sweet voice, telling Perry confidently that they would indeed be able to attend a press conference being held in about an hour at EPRAD and that they’d get their story on the governor’s new proposed tax hikes written up before deadline.

Then, he heard Perry’s quiet, “How is he doing?”

He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a moment, but didn’t shut off his hearing. What had Lois told Perry? How much did he know? And Jimmy, for that matter. Did Jimmy know what had happened yesterday? He felt his hands start to shake again.

“He’ll be okay, Perry. He just wasn’t feeling well yesterday is all. We need to get working, and he’ll be right back to himself. I’m sure of it.”

He found himself nodding, silently thanking Lois. Of course she hadn’t told Perry his secret. She wouldn’t do that. She knew their need to keep it quiet.

He raised his hands up again to rub his eyes in an attempt to keep exhaustion from overwhelming him. The last twenty-four hours had been filled with so much. So many emotions, discoveries, surprises. He’d saved a young boy’s life. He’d had his first kiss. He’d found out he was an alien. He’d flown fast enough to break the sound barrier. He’d burned down the warehouse that was his prison for fifteen years. He’d realized he’d fallen in love. It was all so much.

Now, he had to pick up the pieces and pull himself together. Be an adult and get to work. Pretend like he was okay. Control his emotions.

He could do this. He had to. He needed to.

He needed her.

He stood slowly, gathered himself, and took a deep breath. One thing at a time.

First, coffee. Straight black for her, lots of milk and sugar for him.

He could do this.

And then, they could go about their day. Press conference at EPRAD, article on the governor’s tax hikes. Maybe lunch. Maybe dinner and a board game.

And maybe he could also continue to practice using his abilities, covertly, like he just had watching Lois in Perry’s office. And he’d get better at it. And maybe he’d learn to trust himself like Lois did.

Maybe he could. Maybe he had to. Because he needed to. Because he needed her.

He headed out of the conference room and toward the coffee station.

He would. Because he had to.