Finally Clark gets some sleep... Lois doesn't seem too happy though...
I hope you like this part.
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*** Part 6 Breaking Down ***
The blaring alarm shattered Clark's peaceful slumber. Groggily, he swatted the offending clock off his nightstand. It crashed somewhere, but he didn’t care. He had finally gotten some sleep, though not enough to feel rested at all.
The irritating sound persisted, insistent as if mocking his weary state.
"Stupid super-hearing," he muttered, rubbing his temples. He had no desire to rush off to another rescue mission. However, reality suddenly hit him—wide-eyed, he snapped his gaze toward the living room. The noise wasn't an alarm; it was the doorbell.
Lois? What was she doing here? What time was it?
He shot out of bed, eyes darting around. He winced as his eyes fell on the shattered alarm clock. His wristwatch had no good news for him. With a shocked groan he realized; it was already past ten!
Clark Kent never overslept—ever.
The door, his only sentinel, stood between him and his furious best friend and partner. The sounds he heard—the delicate clicks of each pin falling into place—meant it would soon betray him. Normally, he admired the choreography of her lock-picking, but now it was cutting his time to act short.
Realization struck: the shock of having overslept for the first time in his life had him frozen beside his bed for quite some time, still half-dressed as he had slept.
Hastily he stuffed the discarded suit under his mattress.
Almost too late. Lois had already materialized in front of him, her eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and irritation.
"Clark! Where have you been?" The words sliced through the air, each syllable a whip of frustration. Trouble—that's what she was, her face scrunched in anger, eyes sparking like live wires.
Her fingers trembled, the adrenaline of thwarted plans fueled her rage. She'd trusted him, but Clark's repeated absence and propensity for running out on her had shattered that fragile bond.
And now, her body—usually fluid, graceful— was rigid, shoulders squared, spine stiff. She stood there, the late morning’s sunshine basking her features in warm colors, intensifying the passionate glow in her eyes, mirroring her turmoil. She had broken into his apartment, to confront him with fire and accusation. She didn’t leave him room for more evasion.
When the door had swung open, revealing Clark, disheveled and only half dressed, something ignited in her. Anger tangled with frustration, forming a knot in her chest.
"You didn't answer," she hissed, her voice a blade. And in that moment, Lois—fierce, flawed, and unerringly loyal—was more than just a best friend. She was a force of nature, demanding answers, demanding honesty.
And Clark? He'd better have a damn good excuse.
He ran a hand through his hair, unsure how he could explain his absence. "I..." But Lois continued her tirade, ignoring his feeble attempt to explain. Trouble indeed.
Her voice reverberated through the room, each word a pointed accusation. "Leaving me during our dates, in the midst of conversations and on stakeouts is bad enough," she yelled, ticking off her grievances with her fingers. "But could you at least be at work when we expect you? It would be nice, maybe from time to time?" Her hands flailed in exasperation.
Clark watched her outburst. He was familiar with her anger, but this felt like a new level. Was she shaking? Was he? He couldn't tear his gaze away from hers.
Lois's anger, once a distant storm, now thundered overhead. Her words, sharp as shards of glass, pierced him. Her limbs did tremble, lock-picking tools slipping from her grasp. The delicate metal clattered against the floor, each metallic ring a testament to her indignation.
He'd betrayed her trust one time too many, and now the consequences loomed—a tempest of fury and disappointment.
Clark pressed his palms to his temples, as if physically holding himself together. But inside, the fissures widened. His heart raced, erratic as Morse code. Lois stood there, a hurricane of emotions and passion, demanding answers. And he? He was crumbling, a sandcastle of secrets collapsing. His world narrowed, the walls of reality closing in. The air thickened, each breath a struggle.
Panic—an unwelcome guest—crept through his veins, icy tendrils clutching at his chest. His throat tightened, words trapped. He wanted to explain, to beg for understanding. But panic had stolen his voice, leaving only the hollow echo of regret.
"I am supposed to be your partner, not your babysitter, Clark!" Lois's frustration boiled over. "If you want us to work together, then act like it!”
Her voice, once controlled, now broke the silence like a thunderclap, leaving an echo of betrayed trust hanging in the air. She took a moment, her breaths shallow, as if gathering the shattered pieces of her patience before she continued. “I thought I could accept your constant disappearing and the unpredictable tardiness! But I'm sick of it. I'm tired of your bad excuses. I just can't accept the lies anymore. I gave you so many chances to be honest, but you kept deceiving me."
He reached out, capturing her flailing hands in his and she accepted his touch. He hoped to calm her down so that he could decide what cover story he could use, even with the pain coursing through his temples. Blinking, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. If he failed now, he could lose what remained of their relationship. Lois paused, as if gathering her thoughts. Her reddened eyes bore into his. "What is it? Are you taking drugs? Your apartment looks like you threw a party that ended disastrously. I feel like I don't know you anymore, maybe I never did!”
She sighed, silence stretching out between them, paving the way for her next words. “I thought I could trust you. Silly me, I even thought you would never hurt me! But let me tell you, this hurts!" She wrenched her hands away from him. After another pause, she added in a flat, quiet tone, "A lot!" She drew her hands back, rubbing them together as if seeking solace. Tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she angrily scrubbed them away.
What was Lois saying?
His arms recoiled, the furious words she hurled at him sinking into his brain with agonizing slowness.
Then a flash struck him like a kryptonite bullet to the heart.
He had hurt her.
His control had slipped, the one thing that terrified him above all else.
Her wide eyes remained fixed on him, her continued rant a distant echo. He struggled to follow her words, consumed by strange sensations coursing through his body.
Of all the terrible things he might be capable of, his deepest fear had come true.
How could he remain with friends, family, and Lois if he couldn't control himself? The dual existence of Clark Kent and Superman weighed heavily on him. He grappled with the knowledge that he could snuff out any of their lives in an instant.
He should be neither Clark nor Superman.
Her tears, her pain—those were the only thoughts left in his head. Perhaps he should never have come to Metropolis; then he wouldn't have inflicted suffering upon her.
Storm clouds gathered above him, and every fiber of his being released torrents of energy, urging him to flee. Each heartbeat felt like an internal blow.
His trembling hands caught his gaze.
He had hurt her, had lost control!
"Lois," he rasped, stumbling backwards. While gulping desperately for breath, part of him still recognized her presence even through his clouded state. "Stay back. You can't be here right now. You just can't..." Clark tried to calm himself as before, one fist pressed against his chest, the other hand stretched toward her, signaling her to keep her distance. He retreated until something solid halted him as his knees buckled.
Gasping for air, he wondered how the oxygen had been siphoned from the room. Were the walls shifting? They defied their static nature. The scent of oak filled his nostrils, dragging his consciousness back to a darker time, months ago.
The room seemed to shift; instead of his brightly lit apartment, he saw a dimly lit wine cellar, wooden crates lining its walls, heavy, earthy smells surrounded him.
His mind was imprisoned once more, encased by the green, pulsating bars of a cage, constructed from the memories of a very real cage he had experienced not too long ago.
He was trapped, doomed.
But a beam of light shone through his mental haze. Lois didn't back off; she moved through the bars, reaching out for him. She knelt down, her warm hands reaching out, touching him through the shadows of his panic-induced hallucinations.
Fear surged—what if another superpower spiraled out of control? Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from her.
From his only lifeline to reality.
Instinct urged him to withdraw, but he remained where he was. There was nowhere to go. She was too close and his retreat was blocked, unless he did something else that was super.
He couldn't risk that.
She pierced the chaos. Her hands, warm against his clammy skin, anchored him—a wave of comfort battling the icy tendrils of fear that threatened to consume him.
Another sensation broke through his haze—the subtle fragrance of her perfume. A familiar blend of jasmine and vanilla, it was a scent that had accompanied countless late nights at the Daily Planet, shared laughter, and stolen glances. It was Lois’s signature scent, and it wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.
He remained on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. Trying to focus on the sensation of her hands on his skin. Her touch was real, tangible—a lifeline in the storm.
"Please, Lois!" His desperate plea fought against the constriction in his chest. "You don't... understand! I can't... I hurt you."
Slowly the panic receded, Lois's perfume creating a shield against the vile memories, replacing the haunting wooden scent that had reminded him of the wine cellar. She was here with him.
"You're shivering!" Her touch left him for an instant, then something warm enveloped him. His head was gently lifted and placed on something soft. "Better?"
The warmth felt comforting, yet he remained a threat. "Leave me, please," he begged desperately, although a bit calmer.
"I won't leave you! Clark, if you are taking drugs, there’s help. You’re not alone. We’ll get through this." Her calm determination was evident. "I'm here for you. I'll sit down and we‘ll talk. Okay?" she said as she placed herself beside him, gently touching his arm, rubbing it with soft strokes.
Clark clung to her presence, the physical connection grounding him. Lois's unwavering support became his lifeline, slowly pulling him back from the abyss of his fears.
He hesitated before nodding. "If you don't want me to call a hospital, maybe tell me your doctor's name? I can contact them for help."
The mere mention of calling a doctor sent a fresh wave of panic through him, his mind conjuring images of sterile rooms and sharp instruments poised to strip away his secrets. “I don’t have one. Never needed a doctor!” His breath still came in gasps. "I can’t. They'll take me away... dissect me!" He stopped himself from revealing more. "No doctor!"
Her gasp echoed. "Dissect you? Never mind..." She fell silent, then asked, "Should I call your parents?"
"They're here in Metropolis. They stay in a hotel." Silence followed, as he slowly succumbed to exhaustion.
“Get some rest, Clark!” Her soft voice drifted through the thickening haze before he finally lost consciousness.
