Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Anchor: Part II -- Kal-El (16-19/49)

Note: The nfic version for these chapters can be found here.





The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Spending time with my parents feels healing in a way, but is also draining as I continue to project my ‘act’ of being okay. Lois seems to have resigned herself to my pretense, and much of the day, she remains quiet, distracting herself by cleaning the house, checking work emails, organizing her desk drawers, and other unimportant tasks. My mom notices, of course, but she says nothing.

At around 6 p.m., Lois excuses herself to the bedroom to get ready for dinner with Perry, Jimmy, and Clark. As she disappears down the hallway, absently rubbing her wrist, Mom moves into the kitchen and starts rifling through the refrigerator and cupboards, looking for ingredients to make dinner. Dad switches on the television to a football game and settles back onto the couch.

My eyes wander longingly toward the bedroom, where Lois is probably showering. I feel my heart rate increase as a memory tugs at me. Lois stepping into the hot stream of water, the droplets cascading down her naked body, and then her hands running through her hair, over her breasts, and down to her hips. I close my eyes and push the images out of my mind. But they stubbornly refuse to leave. I see myself reaching out and touching her, and her hands, guiding mine to her breasts and then lower. God, I want to touch her now. I stand abruptly and mumble, just loud enough for my parents to hear, “I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”

I’m almost in a daze as I make my way slowly down the hall. I knock gently on the bedroom door, and, hearing no response, I let myself in, shutting the door behind me. Sure enough, the shower is on, and the bathroom door is propped open slightly, steam wafting out. I move toward the bathroom, fully intending to join her in the shower. I don’t know where I got this sudden urge, but the image of my hands caressing her, accompanied by the feeling of her clinging to me, the sound of her moaning my name—it drives me to reach for the door handle. As I grasp the cold metal, however, a sound from inside the bathroom causes me to freeze. My stomach lurches, and I feel a heavy weight press on my chest.

Lois is crying. Sobbing, actually. She’s trying to keep quiet, but her sharp intakes of breath and sniffling are easy to make out, even over the sound of the shower running.

I pull my hand back from the door handle and back up a step. This is all my fault. God, I hate when she cries. I feel myself start to shake, and I turn and stumble over to the bed, my vision turning blurry. Sitting heavily, I bury my head in my hands. What have I done to her? And how callous could I be to consider being intimate with her when I’ve hurt her so badly? She doesn’t deserve this. The pain I’ve caused her is both physical and emotional.

God, I don’t deserve her.

From the bathroom, the water shuts off, and I hear the shower door open and then close. Minutes later, warm air hits me as the bathroom door opens.

“Oh, Clark, I didn’t know you were here,” she exclaims. Her voice sounds…normal. Distinctly not distressed. I look up at her, but her back is to me now as she sifts through the clothes in her closet. A gray towel is wrapped snugly around her body, but her bare shoulders are visible, only partly hidden by long dark locks of wet hair. “Are you okay? Need to rest again?”

“I’m okay. Thought I should rest a bit, yeah,” I reply, my voice low. I don’t trust myself to say anything more.

Lois finds what she is looking for in the closet and then turns around toward me. The troubled darkness in her eyes is hidden by a weak smile. She approaches me, sets her outfit—a sleeveless navy-blue dress that I recall her wearing to one of our first dates—next to me on the bed, and then turns back to the dresser. A minute later, she returns to the bed, black lacy panties and a matching bra in her hand. I gulp audibly as an image of her wearing the scant undergarments floods my mind.

“I’ll just go—I mean, I should…”

I trail off as she drops the towel on the floor in front of me, revealing her beautiful, perfect body. I hold my breath as my fingers tingle, remembering the feel of her smooth skin, her taut abdominal muscles, her soft lips. I desperately want to reach out and touch her, but I don’t move. She proceeds to tug on the panties, slip on the bra, and pull the dress over her head. She then pauses, her hands lingering just above her hips and her eyes shifting to meet mine. I see my desire reflected in her gaze, but only briefly. She blinks, and her expression changes to something more unreadable.

“Can you help me zip this?” she asks innocently, turning around so her back is to me. She holds her hair out of the way.

“Sure, yes,” I respond. I reach out and fumble with the small metallic zipper, my fingers trembling. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” she says, spinning back around to face me. She smiles at me almost shyly and adjusts the thin sheer material around her shoulders. “I should…finish up.” Her gaze lingers on me for another second before she turns back to the bathroom. A moment later, I hear the hair dryer. And I finally remember that I need to breathe.

I flop down onto my back on the bed, willing myself to forget the soft curves of her figure as she’d stood before me naked a moment before. But, as usual, my resolve is ineffective. As my eyes close, I see her again. This time, the image, the memory is of our first time together, the night we became engaged over seven months ago. Neither of us had had much experience with intimacy at the time; she’d had only a few previous lovers, while I’d had none. Yep. Clark Kent, the twenty-eight-year-old virgin. I don’t recall having ever been more nervous about something as I was that night. However, she was incredible; she’d made me feel loved and needed, more than I’d ever felt before. Although it is a long-standing joke that I have quite a poor memory, my recollection of that night is crystal clear. I see her in front of me, undressing herself slowly, a teasing smile on her face. She’d been wearing pink lace that night, and her hair fell in soft curls, framing her face. She’d shed the panties first and then the bra, letting both undergarments drop to the floor next to the bed. Then, she’d stepped up to me, taken my hands in hers, and shown me how she liked to be touched.

I groan as my body begins to react to my memory, and I curl up on the bed and tug the comforter up and over myself.

From the bathroom, the hair dryer shuts off. Lois emerges a few minutes later, her hair and makeup done. She glances at me briefly, and my breath catches in my throat. I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed.

“You look stunning.” The smile that grows on her face when I tell her this only serves to make her more beautiful.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, ducking her head almost shyly. She moves toward the closet as she finishes doing the clasp on her necklace and then slips on a pair of low black heels. She smiles at me again. “I’ve got to get going. Are you going to be okay here?”

I nod in response. “Yeah, I think I’ll—” I stop abruptly as I notice her absently rubbing her injured wrist. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, I think, until she sees me staring at her. She lowers both her hands to her sides and shakes her head.

“It doesn’t hurt. Really.”

She starts to move toward me, to close the distance between us, but I find myself inching away. Dizziness and nausea force me to close my eyes, and I let out a long breath and pull the comforter back over myself as I lie down again on the bed. I feel the bed compress next to me, and a gentle hand touches my forehead. I flinch involuntarily, and the movement seems to startle her, causing her to inhale sharply. My eyes fly open as she jumps to her feet and moves toward the door.

“I should go, I guess. Don’t want to be late,” she says, her voice almost inaudible. Her back is to me now, and I can see the tension in her shoulders. I push myself up again into a sitting position, and pain shoots through my chest.

“Lois, I—”

“Sorry, Clark, I really do need to go,” she interrupts, her voice steady. She seems to straighten up, but she doesn’t turn around to look at me. Instead, she clears her throat and takes a step toward the door. “Rest, and I’ll see you when I get home.”

She wraps her arms around herself, betraying her true feelings. She is hurting. I can feel it.

“Okay,” I reply feebly.

“Okay,” she repeats.

And she walks out the door.





“Did he do this to you?”

I hear his angry words clearly in my mind, and a mix of his strong emotions—most notably concern—hits me as I lie in bed, curled up on my side on top of the comforter. About twenty-five minutes have passed since she left, and I’ve been alternately trying to force myself to fall asleep and pacing the room, replaying our last conversation over and over.

Now, I sit upright, ignoring the sharp pain in my chest, and I focus on the telepathic connection the other Clark and I share. Immediately, I see what he sees and feel his thoughts. They are sitting in the Jeep outside my old apartment—his apartment now. Lois pulls her hand away from his, and his thoughts shift, cycling rapidly from anger at me to concern for her to guilt over his initial judgmental reaction. His tone is much softer as he compels her, “Sorry, Lois, I just—please tell me what happened.”

I close my eyes and force myself to stop eavesdropping. She is going to tell him how I hurt her, and, being the coward that I am, I don’t want to hear her recount the events of the previous night. Despite trying to block out his thoughts, small glimpses of the conversation they have continue to flicker in my mind. Mostly, I see her crying, feel her leaning into him, hear him pleading with her to let him help her, and see her crying more. Though he’s trying to block our telepathic connection, as am I, I hear him tell her, “Shhh, it will be okay.” And then I shrink in on myself as her response shakes me to my core. “I’m not sure if it will, Clark. I-I don’t know anymore.”

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed to stand, but I can’t seem to muster up that much energy. My stomach lurches as I hear her words again. She doesn’t know if things will be okay. She doesn’t know. Of course. Because I physically injured her. What would have happened if I’d had my powers back? I cringe as another snippet of their conversation worms its way into my head, echoing my own thoughts. She mumbles to him quietly, “I couldn’t calm him down. I found myself thinking it was a—a g-good thing he didn’t have his superpowers, because I would have had to call you to help contain him.”

I shake my head vehemently. She is scared of me. What have I done? I lower my head into my hands and again try to block out their conversation. I don’t hear any more words or see any more visions, but I sense his emotions. He is determined to help her—to help both of us, actually. And God, I feel the strong love he has for her. It rivals my own. He wants to act on it, but he knows he will not. He knows he cannot. He respects me too much.

I am unworthy of that respect, Clark.

And then I feel a disconnection; she is no longer with him. I redirect my focus and see through his eyes as her Jeep drives away and he is left walking toward his front door, keys in hand. He sent her home. Back to me. Why back to me? She’s not safe with me. Frantically, I reach out to him.

Is she okay?

He doesn’t respond right away, and with alarm, I realize he’s not sure whether she is actually okay. He’s as worried about her as I am. I shudder as I hear his response.

“She is very worried about you. The best thing you can do is to talk to her,” he thinks pointedly. He’s flying now, on his way to dinner with Perry and Jimmy.

His words unsettle me, and several emotions fizzle up to the surface. Talk to her. He says I should talk to her. I know what he means, but… No. No, I can’t. I can’t tell her about the monster I’ve become. Kal-El, the killing machine. The hundreds of dead soldiers I left in my path in my attempt to bring “peace” to New Krypton. The disregard for life. The violence I wrought so skillfully.

An overwhelming fear grips me as my heart starts racing with a deep-seated rage, which I’d also felt last night during my dream, right before she’d woken me up. I’m a monster. I can’t tell her about all of that. No.

I stand and start pacing again, my hands trembling.

I can’t tell her everything. I can’t do that to her, I insist. I knit my fingers together behind my head and grimace. I can’t.

He responds almost immediately, conceding somewhat to my assertion. “Maybe not everything. Maybe not yet. But she wants to understand you and she wants to help you. She loves you so much. You have to trust her.”

I hear his words, but I shake my head. No, that’s not it. She only loves me still because she doesn’t know what I’ve done, who I’ve become. She won’t love me once she knows. She can’t. I’m not the same man. And trust her? It’s not about trusting her… Is it?

I do trust her, I tell him emphatically. But I stop my pacing and screw my eyes shut. Of course I trust her. She is my life. My love. The most important thing to me. My knees give out, and I collapse with my back against the wall. No, that’s not it. I don’t trust myself. You saw what I did to her. The words are communicated to him in a haze. I see her wide, scared eyes again, pain filling her expression as I grip her wrist. I shake my head; I don’t want to see it.

A strong sense of conviction from him pulls me out of my daze.

“Let me tell you what I saw just now,” he starts. And an image of her is projected into my mind. She is beautiful, he thinks; but her eyes—she’s been crying. They are puffy and red, and she blinks back tears as she speaks quietly to him. He feels her love for me.

He tells me, “I saw the strongest woman that I know brought to tears over how much she loves you. I saw the evidence of an accident, yes.” I swallow hard as he shows me an image of her injured wrist, held gently in his hand. His thumb brushes against the red discoloration. I can barely suppress a sob. God, I did that to her. The stabbing pain in my chest grows as he continues.

“But I saw her brush it off, because that’s what it was—an accident.” It was an accident, of course. I didn’t intentionally hurt her. I would never intentionally hurt her. God. But that doesn’t excuse it. And that doesn’t mean I can prevent it from happening again.

His thoughts continue as I bury my head between my knees. His words are clear and steady and calculated. And they reflect his deep love and admiration of her.

“Clark, I’ve spent the last month watching her grieve your death. I’ve watched her smile and cry and laugh and crumble, all within the span of a few minutes. I’ve listened to her tell me about you with such adoration and respect. She truly is the strongest woman I know. And right now, all she wants is to understand enough about what happened to you, what you had to do, what you were forced to do—so that she can help you heal from it all, because she loves you that much. She is not scared that you will physically hurt her. But if you don’t open up to her, it will hurt her so much worse.”

I try to hear his words—to really hear them. He’s contending that the best way to avoid hurting her is to talk to her and tell her what I went through. And then she will be able to help me. Otherwise, he says, my holding back that part of myself will only hurt her more. My breath begins to come in short, shallow gulps as I sob into my hands.

I don’t want to hurt her. That is the last thing I want. God, I don’t want to hurt her.

I can’t stop the memory of the previous night from replaying in my mind. The terrifying dream, ending with my sword slicing through the final enemy in my path and then spinning around, my bloody blade raised up over my head, only to wake and find her wrist in my grasp. The pain in her eyes as she pulls her hand away from me. The terror in my voice as I tell her I’m sorry. Over and over. And then the pure, unchecked panic.

I jump to my feet as I realize I’d shared that memory with him just now. So now he knows. He sees exactly how it happened. He sees that I hurt her. A brief thought from him repeats that the incident was just an accident, but I barely hear it.

Sorry. God, I can’t believe I hurt her.

I turn to face the wall, slamming my balled-up fists into the hard surface. A piercing pain shoots through my hands and up into my shoulders, and I groan and twist back around to rest my back against the wall.

A small knock at the door is accompanied by Lois’s tentative voice. “Clark? Is everything okay?”

Immediately, I block the connection with Clark and stand up straighter. When did she get home? The door creaks slightly as she inches it open, and I swallow hard as I wipe the tears from my cheeks and raise my eyes toward the sound. Light from the hallway filters into the room, and for the first time, I realize how dark it has become. She flips on the light switch and steps inside the room, closing the door behind her.

“Your mom is still making dinner. That Chinese tofu dish you like—Mapo Tofu, I think. I…” She purses her lips together and then drops her eyes to the floor as her voice trails off. Her hands wring together fretfully, and she shuffles across the room toward me, refusing to make eye contact. Stopping a couple feet in front of me, she stammers, “I-I had to come back. I don’t like where we left things, and…”

I step over to her, closing the distance between us, and I very carefully take her hands in mine. We stand there almost awkwardly for a moment before she moves to embrace me. I initially stiffen up at her touch as the pervading fear of physically hurting her grips me. But then, I hear a gentle whisper of a thought in my mind. “It will be okay.” And the same words echo on her lips, which brush against my cheek.

“Clark, sweetheart, I love you. It will be okay. We will be okay. Please trust me, Clark.” Her head buries into my shoulder as I wrap my arms around her.

“I do, Lois,” I murmur into her ear. “I do trust you. I’m just—I’m scared, Lois.”

Her arms tighten around me. “Scared of what, sweetheart?”

I feel the love in her touch. She holds me tightly, one hand rubbing gentle, reassuring circles on my back. But a deep pain in my gut warns me not to confide my fears to her as the meaning of Clark’s words finally hits me.

It is about lack of trust. A lack of trust in myself, yes. But also, deep down, I don’t trust that her love is as unconditional as she contends it is. How can it be? She cannot be in love with the monster I’ve become. She cannot love a killer. A murderer. And as long as she doesn’t know, she can’t reject me.

God, I’m so scared of losing her. I couldn’t live without her. But I suppose I owe it to her to give her the chance to decide.

I owe it to her to trust her.

I screw my eyes shut and rest my head on top of hers as my mind races, trying to figure out how to respond. She pulls away slightly and looks up at me, and as our eyes meet, I suddenly remember the first moment I saw her, when she burst into Perry’s office during my interview at the Daily Planet nearly three years ago. I’d fallen in love right then and there. It was a feeling like no other I’d ever had. And in the coming year, as we were frequently partnered up to work together on various stories, that love had grown as I’d come to recognize, respect, and admire her passion, intelligence, kindness, and tenacity.

I raise my hand to cup her cheek and then lean down to kiss her. She meets me halfway. Her lips are soft and pliant, and as she deepens the kiss, her tongue tentatively exploring my mouth, a calming warmth spreads through my body.

This. I’m scared to lose this.

Actually, scared is too tame of a word. No, I’m terrified.

Her hands shift from my back to my chest, her fingers splaying out as she presses them into me through the thin cotton of my shirt. She unintentionally brushes the scar centered over my sternum, and I pull away and suppress a groan as pain radiates outward, into my arms, shoulders, and abdomen. She immediately realizes her mistake, and she backs away a step.

“Clark, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, hon,” I interject, wrapping my arms back around her. The loss of contact is almost as painful to me as her accidental touch, and so I tug her back into my embrace and close my eyes as I rest my head against hers. “It doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday,” I add.

“Good, that’s—that’s good,” she murmurs against me.

After a moment, I feel her shift carefully in my embrace, and her fingers reach for the hem of my shirt. I inch back to give her room as she lifts the shirt up and over my head. The cool air of the bedroom breathes over my chest and back, and I swallow almost nervously as she runs a gentle hand up toward the four-inch-long blemish. I follow her gaze as she stares apprehensively at the angry red scar, her fingers only inches away, and I inhale shakily as I see Nor’s sharp black blade pressing into my flesh. The pain flares again, but I manage to avoid reacting.

“This is where he—Lord Nor—where he…” Her voice trails off as she raises her eyes to meet mine.

My lack of reaction is my response, I suppose, and she doesn’t wait for me to speak before she leans into me and kisses my chest, just above the topmost edge of the scar. I close my eyes.

“Do you remember it?”

The unexpected question surprises me, and I open my eyes to see her dark gaze staring up at me. Her expression is curious but concerned. I swallow hard.

“Do I remember…dying?” She nods hesitantly, and I lower my eyes to the ground. “Yes. I mean, well, I remember all of the events leading up to…it.”

I rub the back of my neck as I carefully measure my next words. What does she want to know? That the pain was worse than anything I’d ever felt before? That my death had been only one of hundreds on that oppressively hot, long afternoon? That I’d died alone at the top of that desolate hill, the wind blowing dust over my worn, injured body? Or that my last thoughts were of her and how I’d failed to keep the promise I’d made to return home to her? Her fingers distract me as they run back down and along my side, which would probably also have a deep, painful scar if not for the protective effects of the special dagger Ching had given to me. Both of her hands come to rest on my hips, and she again kisses me just above the scar.

“Zara and Ching, they didn’t tell me much. I-I didn’t really want to know then anyways,” she admits weakly. “It was—I was too upset, and when I saw you—your body, lying there so still, so pale…I just…” Her arms slip around my back, and she leans against my chest, careful to not put pressure on the scar.

“Lois—”

“It was my worst fear, come true,” she interrupts. I feel her tears wet my chest, and I hold her tighter. “I always knew it was a possibility, that you wouldn’t come back to me. But I really thought it wouldn’t happen. I really thought you would be okay.”

“I know,” I say quietly, my voice muffled in her hair. “I thought so too.”

We stand there and hold each other for a few more minutes, neither of us wanting to let the other go. Finally, she shifts in my embrace to look up at me and asks gently, “So, what is it that you’re scared of?”

Right. The question I’d managed to sidestep at the beginning of our conversation. I drop my gaze and close my eyes. And just as I open my mouth to respond—to tell her the truth about how scared I am to lose her—a soft knock comes at the door, followed by my mom’s voice.

“Sorry to bother you two, but dinner is ready,” Mom announces through the closed door.

I grimace and pull out of Lois’s embrace. “Thanks, Mom. We’ll be right out,” I reply, raising my voice enough so she can hear through the door. Lois bends down and picks up my shirt, which she’d dropped onto the floor next to us several minutes prior. She stares at the shirt a moment before handing it to me, her eyes filled with a sort of disappointed resignation. I shake my head. “Lois, I—”

“I should get changed out of this dress,” she states, cutting me off.

“Lois—” I reach for her as she begins to move toward the dresser to grab a change of clothes. My hand grips her arm lightly, and she stops, her back to me. “After dinner. I promise, we’ll talk.”

She seems to take several deep breaths to steady herself. I close the gap between us, slipping my arms around her waist, and I bend down to graze her shoulder with my lips. I feel her sigh and lean back into me.

“I love you,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her again. She tilts her head back toward me, and I kiss her cheek and then her lips.

“I love you, too.”

She gives me an unconvincing smile and heads to get changed while I pull my shirt back on and gather myself to face my parents again. And as I walk down the hallway, my hands stuffed into the pockets of my pants, I absently hope I haven’t just made her another promise that I can’t keep.





The door shuts quietly behind us, and I stumble over to the bed and collapse, my eyes fluttering closed. It is late, after 10 p.m., I think, and my body is beginning to retaliate.

Dinner was excellent, as expected; my mom is a wonderful cook, and she made my favorite Chinese dish. Conversation during and after dinner was also light and unobtrusive. Lois steered the discussion away from my doppelganger whenever his name came up to avoid putting my dad on edge. Instead, my mom told us about some work she is doing with local revitalization efforts on Main Street in Smallville. Lois also discussed her plans going forward with the Metropolis Women’s and Children’s Center, where she had been serving as a founding board member; she’d taken a leave of absence after I left and had recently decided that she would return to her position within the next few weeks.

And then, amidst the conversation, my eyelids had started to droop. Lois had immediately noticed and suggested that we head to bed. My parents had agreed, and we had all shuffled down the hallway to our respective bedrooms.

I feel Lois sit on the bed next to me, her hand closing over mine, and I force my eyes open. We’re supposed to talk now. I promised her. Her expression is unreadable, or I’m just too tired to interpret it. But I can’t let her down now. Groaning, I push myself up into a sitting position, and she immediately pulls me into her and hugs me gently.

“You must be tired, sweetheart,” she murmurs in a low voice.

“Mmhm.” My thoughts wander as I allow my eyes to close again. Fragments of memories drift in and out of my mind. I grab onto one memory in particular, and a dumb smile grows on my lips. “Remember Paris?” I ask, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her down onto the bed with me. My lips find her jawline, and I press lazy kisses against her.

“Mmm, yes, of course,” she says, tilting her head back to give me better access to the sensitive spot at the base of her neck. My kisses trail down to her collar bone, and a low moan escapes her lips.

“The boat ride on the Seine…You knew I was planning to propose there, didn’t you?” My hand ventures underneath her T-shirt, my fingertips grazing against her smooth skin, and I feel her shiver.

“I did,” she admits. Her hands grasp my chin and pull me up to kiss her fully on the lips. She deepens the kiss, and her fingers thread into my hair.

“Ah, but you still acted surprised.”

I prop myself up on one elbow, lifting myself off of her long enough to meet her eyes. A small smile grows on her lips as her hands slide down my arms and to the hem of my shirt.

“I was surprised,” she contends.

Her hands tug at the T-shirt, and I pull my free hand away from where it explores the sensitive underside of her lace-clad breast and quickly remove the shirt, tossing it off the bed onto the floor. The movement is taxing, however, and I’m reminded of how tired I am. Lois takes that moment to push me over onto my back, and she pulls her own shirt off over her head, revealing her black lace bra, as she straddles my thighs. A bright smile grows on her face, and my breath catches in my throat.

God, she is so beautiful.

She leans over, careful to not put pressure on my chest, and begins to string a trail of open-mouthed kisses along my collar bone. She pauses briefly to adjust herself over me, and then explains, “Your words, they were what surprised me.” Her voice softens as she recounts the memory. “You said that the two of us together was stronger than you alone and that you loved me more than you ever thought possible. And your conviction, your honesty—it amazed me. I felt incredibly honored to be loved by you. I’ll never forget it.”

Our eyes meet, and an overwhelming guilt forces me to look away. Her hands cup my face.

“Clark,” she whispers, my name rolling off her tongue sweetly.

Clark. Clark Kent. Not Kal-El. Not My Lord. Not Lord Kal-El, son of Jor-El of the House of El. No, I’m just Clark again. I slide my arms up around her back, the tantalizing feel of her bare skin under my fingertips, and press gently, pulling her down on top of me. Her body fits perfectly against mine, and the pressure comforts me.

“Clark, sweetheart, whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. We always do. We always will.”

I hold her to me tighter as my guilt continues to build. She believes in the man I used to be. What will she think of the man I had to become? And will she understand that I had to become that man in order to get back to her? Did I? Was there a different, better way? I kiss her temple and then her cheek, my lips lingering against her skin, and I remember my earlier thought that I owe it to her to tell her the truth and let her make her own decision.

“I love you so much,” I breath into her, trembling. “I missed you, Lois. I missed you every day.” I pause to kiss her again, this time gently on her warm, full lips. “The only thing keeping me going most of the time was knowing that I needed to get back home to you.” She deepens the kiss and then shifts off of me, cuddling into the crook of my shoulder and hooking one leg up over my thighs.

“I knew you would come home to me, my love.”

I shake my head as tension grows in my jaw and shoulders. “No, Lois, I failed,” I say in a low voice, turning my head away from her. “If not for you asking Zara and Ching to take my body to the Sun and Clark flying up there and bringing me home…” I trail off as her hand caresses my cheek.

“Sweetheart, you still came home to me. Regardless of how you got here.”

I feel her breath on my neck, and her soft lips brush against my skin, sending a jolt through my body. She continues to kiss my neck, and her fingers trace a path down my chest, coming to a stop on my abdomen. She pauses and settles into me.

“You brought me home too, Lois,” I murmur into her ear, turning my head to plant a gentle kiss on her hair. “When I was…in the Sun…” I hesitate, tightening my arm around her as I think of what I want to say. She shifts to look up at me. “I—my memories are jumbled and fuzzy, but I felt your presence so strongly, and I—”

My voice breaks, and I feel my hands begin to tingle as my breath comes in short gulps and the room seems to swim around me. God, I’m so tired. My eyelids suddenly feel heavy.

“Shh,” she says, caressing my cheek again. Her body feels warm next to me, her skin soft and smooth. “It must have been scary, not knowing what was happening. Is that what…?”

I force my eyes open to meet hers, the effort making me dizzy. “What?”

“Earlier, you said you were scared, but you never said what you were scared of,” she explains.

Her expression is full of concern and love, and I have trouble holding her gaze as I think again of how I don’t deserve her.

“Oh,” I manage, closing my eyes again. Exhaustion begins to overtake my willpower. “No…I—that’s not it. No, it’s that…th…”

Darkness suddenly envelops me, and a shroud of silence shuts me off from her. I feel her hand on my stomach now, and then sliding up my side, touching my neck and my cheek. But I can’t seem to move or speak. A whisper of a breath drifts across my shoulder—is she trying to say something to me? Silence blankets me still, and I feel myself start to panic as I continue drifting off, away from her. Again, her breath flutters against my cheek, and her lips brush lightly along my jaw. She is speaking to me, but I cannot hear her.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I try to force my eyes open. Still, all I see is darkness, empty nothing. I try to talk, then cry out, then yell. Nothing. No sound.

I’m lost, Lois. Help me.

Still nothing.

I’m lost to her.

And this is what I’m scared of.





She doesn’t leave me. I remain trapped inside my body, unable to hear, speak, or move, but I feel her next to me. Her gentle hands caress the bare skin of my chest and abdomen, and her mouth places delicate kisses on my jaw, neck, cheek, and lips.

It is cold and dark, however, and my body seems to be shaking uncontrollably. The silence turns into a deafening roar of wind, and the darkness begins to take on a red tint. No, no, no, please don’t send me back there, I beg to myself. I don’t want to go. Lois. She can’t hear me, and she can’t hear my thoughts. But she doesn’t leave me. And I hang on to her—her touch, her presence, her love—and somehow manage to bring myself back from the brink.

Slowly, pain grows in my chest, the howling wind turns into a quiet murmuring next to my ear, and warmth begins to return to my limbs. I suck in a deep gulp of air as my eyelids flutter open. The light on the nightstand next to the bed illuminates the room, and I see Lois’s concerned eyes staring back at me.

“Lois?” My voice rasps hoarsely, my throat dry and sore. “Wha-what happened?” I try to sit up, but her hands press into my shoulders, and I’m too weak to object.

“Shhh, sweetheart, just rest,” she whispers.

“No, I—Ugh.”

I screw my eyes shut again as pain erupts in my head. Lois seems to sense my discomfort, and she leans over me and kisses my forehead. How can she be so good to me?

She stretches out again next to me, and I notice she is now fully dressed, a light purple tank top covering her upper body.

“How long was I…?” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. Was I sleeping? I don’t think so. I felt awake and conscious. And it felt like only a few minutes. I try to turn my head to glance at the clock, but the movement only serves to increase my nausea.

Lois presses another kiss to my temple. “About thirty minutes, I think.”

“I-I d-don’t know what happened,” I stammer, once again trying to push myself up to sit. This time, Lois doesn’t try to stop me; however, I’m still unable to muster up enough strength, and I soon sink back down into the bed, closing my eyes as small dots of bright colors dance around in my vision.

“We were talking,” she explains patiently, one hand now cradling my cheek. “And then you sort of stiffened up and stopped responding. I had a…feeling…that you needed me to be here, even though you couldn’t communicate with me.” Quietly, she adds, “So I stayed here with you.”

“I did need you. You saved me from going back there,” I mumble, my voice shaky. “Thank you, hon.”

I see confusion flicker across her face briefly, but it quickly disappears. She scoots away from me momentarily and sits up. “I’m going to go brush my teeth and get changed. I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

I nod weakly and shift on the bed to try to get more comfortable. My chest aches worse than it has all day, and no matter how I position myself—on my back, on my side, half sitting up—the pain does not fade.

Lois returns from the bathroom a few minutes later, now clad in light blue cotton pajamas, her hair falling loosely down around her shoulders. She moves to the other side of the bed and crawls under the covers, then snuggles up next to me, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder.

“Are you feeling any better now?” she asks quietly.

I don’t want to tell her the truth; the pain in my chest is growing more now, and I feel a heavy weight centered over my sternum, preventing me from taking a deep breath. I close my eyes to try to stave off the anxiety I feel as the sensation reminds me of the moment right before my death on New Krypton, when I’d been unable to breathe. But the thought of lying to her, keeping the truth from her again, only exacerbates my headache.

“I, uh, don’t—I don’t know,” I admit. “I can’t breathe right.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

One of her small hands settles over my larger hand resting on my stomach. I shift my hand to grip hers, and she squeezes gently.

“Probably not. Probably, just stay here with me, please.” I hear the fear in my own voice, and I grit my teeth as another wave of dizziness hits me.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” she promises.

And we sit in silence for several minutes. Gradually, my breathing seems to stabilize as the immense weight on my chest lessens. Lois’s breathing becomes more regular as well, and I briefly wonder whether she’s fallen asleep. Then she wiggles around a bit and releases my hand for just a second while she straightens her nightshirt. Her hand finds mine again, and she lets out a deep sigh.

“It’s been a really long day, and I know how tired you are, sweetheart,” she says.

I hear her unspoken words. She’s again giving me an out—allowing me to put off our talk another day. But I also hear the disappointment in her tone. And I immediately am overcome with guilt. I clear my throat.

“I know we need to talk, but I just don’t know what to say,” I confess. My thumb absently rubs the back of her hand, and she seems to stiffen up for just a moment before relaxing into me again. “Except that I love you. And I-I’m scared…to lose you.”

There, I at least started the conversation.

She tenses up in my arms and shifts to prop herself up on one elbow. Her hand releases mine and moves to cup my cheek.

“Clark, I’m not going anywhere. I already told you—there’s nothing you can tell me that will change how I feel about you,” she implores. Her hand on my cheek applies a gentle pressure, and I turn to face her. “Please, sweetheart, tell me why you’re scared?”

I don’t respond right away. Instead, I turn onto my side and wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer to me. My head still aches, but the pain in my chest has faded to a dull throb. Her hands now rest on my chest, on either side of the angry red scar, and her fingers trace random patterns on my skin. I kiss the top of her head.

“If I tell you about…” I shake my head.

“Clark, please.”

“You won’t love me anymore, Lois. You can’t. I’m not who I used to be.”

My voice is muffled in her hair, and I wonder if she was even able to understand me. I don’t have to wonder very long, however. She pushes back gently on my chest and raises her chin so she can look at me. Tears threaten to fall at the edges of her eyes, and she frowns sadly at me.

“You really believe that?”

Her voice is so filled with hurt. God, what have I done? I lean my forehead into hers and close my eyes. I’m so sorry, Lois. I swallow hard and pull her closer to me. To my dismay, she resists and pushes back against me.

She repeats herself, a bit more insistently this time. “You really believe that I could stop loving you, Clark?”

“Lois, you don’t know—”

“Because you won’t tell me!” she interjects. Though her words are strong, her tone also holds a note of empathy. “Because you won’t trust me enough, Clark. Let me ask you this—if the tables were turned, would you still love me?”

“Lois, I could never stop loving you,” I answer immediately.

Ah, right. I guess I see her point.

She nods into me. “And I know that, Clark, and you have to know that I feel that strongly about you. You have to know that I will always love you. Always, Clark.”

I close my eyes again as my headache returns with a vengeance, waves of pain pulsating in my forehead. With a shaky hand, I reach up and rub the bridge of my nose.

“I-I’m s-sorry, hon.”

My body seems to be spinning, a disorienting feeling that I can’t shake, and I shift onto my back again, breaking contact with her. A chill hits me as she moves away and settles on her own side of the bed, a clear distance separating us. Maybe it’s better this way. Sure, the darkness…the darkness may overtake me. But at least I can’t hurt her physically if I’m not touching her. Still, the distance between us feels immense.

In a low voice, filled with sadness, she says, “Please don’t apologize, sweetheart. Please just talk to me. Tell me about your experiences. Tell me about your dreams or nightmares. Tell me about your hopes and your fears. Just talk to me.”

If only it were that easy, Lois. I turn onto my other side, reach over to the lamp next to the bed, and switch the light off. Then, I pull the comforter up to my chin, trying to keep myself warm as coldness seeps into me again. Next to me, Lois lets out a shaky breath and curls up on her side, facing me. Underneath the blanket, her hand moves to rest on my arm. I swallow hard and screw my eyes shut.

“Lois, I want to talk to you, but right now…right now, I just can’t.”

And I know it’s the truth. I can already feel my fractured mind pulling me away from her, away from reality—back to the dry, hot, dusty warzone on the barren rock known as New Krypton. Right now—even if I wanted to, even if I somehow convinced myself that she could still love me after knowing about what I’ve done—if I tried to talk about it, I have no doubt I’d be pushed into another full-blown panic attack like the previous night. And I can’t stand the thought of that.

More importantly, I can’t risk physically hurting her again.

She shifts over toward me for just a moment, brushing her lips against mine. Her hand lingers on my arm, and she whispers, “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s both get some rest and see what tomorrow brings.”

Relief washes over me.

“I love you.” My voice cracks with emotion, and I blink my eyes open, ignoring the stabbing pain now at the base of my skull.

She gives me a weak smile and gently squeezes my arm.

“I love you, too.” Her eyes study mine for a moment, then she adds, “Always.”