The aftermath...
*** Part 7 - Break The News***
As Clark stirred from the abyss of unconsciousness, he found himself tangled in the blanket. His mind, a tempest of fractured memories and half-formed thoughts, churned relentlessly.
A voice drifted into his ears as he slowly began to wake up. The room spun around him, disorienting and chaotic. His chest still felt tight and his breath went shallow. The remnants of the panic attack clung to him like a persistent shadow. The memories flooded back—the rapid heartbeat, the suffocating fear, and the desperate struggle for control. He had faced countless foes, but this internal battle was unlike any other. It wasn’t Lex Luthor or Bill Church threatening him; it was his own mind, a labyrinth of doubts and vulnerabilities.
Slowly his mind began to connect the voice he was hearing to Lois, who had stood by him during his darkest moments. As Clark steadied himself, he drew strength from the deep friendship he had with Lois, his partner, the one who always offered support to him in either guise.
Pushing himself up, Clark’s muscles protested, as if Kryptonite had seeped into his veins. The man of steel, the invincible hero, now grappled with an adversary that couldn’t be punched or outsmarted.
Suddenly he heard his partner's voice near him.
“Can I help you get to your bed? You look so uncomfortable on the ground.” He nodded weakly and forced his aching body up. Slowly they moved him to the mattress, then she got his blanket and pillow from the ground to get him comfortable.
Lois, ever the relentless reporter, was quick to take charge, her voice softening as she eased him back. “I spoke with your parents. They’re okay but got stuck on Shuster’s Island and couldn’t get through to you. They were really worried. I’ve got their contact details and the address where they’re staying in the kitchen.”
Despite the persistent throbbing in his head and the weight in his limbs he made a move to rise again, a flicker of urgency in his eyes. “I need to… call them,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, driven by a son's worry.
She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, easing him back. “We can call them once you’re feeling up to it.”
“Clark, lay back now. You need to rest, you are safe. I’ll look after you and we’ll talk when you are up to it.” Lois' voice urged, gentle yet firm. She pushed him down, her eyes conveying both concern and determination. “If you want, you can sit up and drink something.” She offered a glass of water, its coolness another lifeline in the storm of his emotions.
He doubted that he could even rescue a kitten from a tree in his current state. The aftermath of the attack weighed on him like a leaden cape, each muscle protesting. Superman was reduced to a mere mortal, nursing an invisible wound. But perhaps vulnerability was its own kind of strength—a reminder that even heroes needed respite.
As the room blurred again, Clark closed his eyes and let himself be calmed by the comforting sound of the woman he cared about the most. Her calm and steady heartbeat a lifeline.
The room, once familiar, now felt foreign. Beyond this fragile moment, Clark wondered what awaited him. Was it salvation or damnation?
Her presence, like a protective cocoon, shielded him from the world’s demands. For now, he would rest, knowing that even the man of steel had limits, and that healing required more than physical prowess.
Lois sat down next to him.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked, her voice softer than he'd heard in days. Her hand took one of his in her own, a silent apology for her earlier fury.
Clark blinked; the room's edges still blurred. He managed a weak smile. "Better than a kitten stuck in a tree," he rasped, remembering his earlier thoughts, the attempt at humor a stark contrast to the gravity of his condition. His throat felt raw, as if he'd swallowed gravel. She handed him the water, her touch a balm to his frayed nerves.
Lois's eyes softened, the fierceness that had driven her anger now fueling her care. "You scared me, you know." she admitted, her fingers tracing a pattern on his hand, her anger forgotten in the face of his vulnerability. "But it's okay. We’ll get through this together."
He wanted to protest, to insist that he was fine, when she resumed talking.
Lois leaned closer, her scent again caressing his nose. "You're not alone," she said, her voice a blend of her usual tenacity and newfound gentleness. "You don't have to be strong all the time.”
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of her words. "Thanks, Lois," he murmured. "For being here."
She squeezed his hand, her grip firm yet comforting. "Always. Now rest. Talking can wait, I called Perry earlier, don't worry."
And as Clark drifted back into sleep, he wondered if healing would mean more than physical recovery. Perhaps it meant accepting that even Superman needed saving sometimes.
He noticed Lois’ hand was still there, resting securely in his, lending him strength—a testament to their unspoken truce and the depth of their bond.
***
The room held a hushed intimacy—the soft rhythm of Lois's breath against his chest, her warmth seeping through the fabric. Her hand still wrapped around his.
Clark Kent, the man who could withstand bullets and earthquakes, now grappled with a different kind of vulnerability. He fought the urge to shift away, not wanting to disturb her. But discovering Lois was unharmed, her presence a balm to his fractured soul.
Her touch had been a lifeline during the panic attack—an anchor in the storm. Even now, as he inhaled the delicate blend of jasmine and vanilla that clung to her skin, he felt a surge of strength. Superman had faced countless threats, but this internal battle was more insidious. It gnawed at his core, threatening to unravel him.
Panic attacks—they weren't deadly, he knew that. But they felt like dying and he had experienced that now. Each heartbeat was a sledgehammer against his ribs, each gasp for air a desperate plea. He wondered if Lois had sensed it—the tremors beneath his invulnerable facade.
And then clarity settled like dust in a sunbeam. The right path, he decided, lay in honesty. The truth had been his fortress, but it was also his prison. Torn between Clark Kent and Superman, he'd spun a web of lies. And Lois—the woman who saw beyond the suit—deserved more.
He'd tell her–about the red cape, his struggles and the role she played in his world. About the weight of saving the world and the ache of keeping secrets. Because love wasn't built on half-truths; it thrived in vulnerability.
Clark vowed to reveal his secret today, to let Lois in, even if it meant risking everything. For in her touch, he found solace—a reminder that even the man of steel needed saving sometimes.
And loving her also meant that he had to accept it if she chose another man. It meant he couldn’t keep taking her openness and vulnerability for granted and not offer her the same gifts in return.
Her presence, a delicate stir in the quiet room, sent ripples through Clark's resolve. The truth loomed, a mountain he'd climbed countless times as Superman–yet this ascent felt different. His heart raced, not from fear, but from anticipation. Soon, Lois Lane—the woman who'd seen him both as the bumbling reporter and the godlike hero—would know the secret he'd guarded like a precious gem.
He watched her, discovering that she hadn’t been asleep as he had thought. She had been watching over him, acting as his protector.
A beam of sunlight wove through the curtains to kiss her cheek. How many times had she stood by him, unwavering in her pursuit of truth? Now it was his turn—to reveal the hidden chambers of his heart, the caverns where Clark Kent and Superman collided.
The promise of what was to come hung in the air, its gravity palpable. Clark's fingers sought hers, weaving together. "Lois," he murmured, "There's something I have to confess." He began, then stopped. His bed might not be the right place for *this* intimate confession. “But can we go to the sofa first?”
She nodded. “If you feel up to it. You were sleeping for a while.”
“I think I can manage.” He felt strange. He knew that his powers were still there because he could hear his neighbor’s TV. But at the same time he was exhausted in a way that he had never experienced before.
Lois’ gaze never left him, clearly not sure if he could manage the distance.
"You've likely deduced that what you witnessed was a panic attack." He swallowed, his mouth dry. He reached for the glass Lois had placed in front of him, downing water to buy time. “At least I think it was. But it wasn’t drug induced.” He indicated the smashed phone and clock. “These things happened because I lost control over my strength and control for a second. Moments like that scare me to death and when I thought I hurt you, when I put my hand on yours, it sent my panic out of control.”
He paused again, searching for the right words. But honesty prevailed. There were no perfect phrases, no eloquent words to ease the weight. He'd face it head-on, taking her hand in his, he resumed his confession.
“Over the past weeks, I’ve been under relentless pressure. I wanted to be everything to everyone: your partner, a loyal friend, the dutiful son and more than that, the hero the world demanded. As you stand here with me, I realize it’s time to lift the weight of this secret off my shoulders.” She gasped, her eyes widening with the dawning realization. He took a deep breath, “The truth is, I am Superman. The very hero I mentioned, the one the world looks up to for hope and salvation.” Her hand trembled in his, but she didn’t let go. “I’ve been torn, pulled between my dual lives, torn between staying with you and answering those desperate pleas, torn even within myself. But I can’t hide any longer—not from you.”
He hesitated, then continued, voice raw. "I lied about Superman because I feared he'd eclipse the real me, but the longer we knew each other, the more I wanted you to know." His gaze bore into hers, vulnerability laid bare. "Lois, I'm not just a hero in a cape. I'm Clark Kent—the man who loves you, flaws and all. I saw you with Dan yesterday and I know it is your choice. I won’t interfere in your relationship with him."
Clark's heart raced, his pulse echoing in his ears. Lois's eyes bore into his, a tempest of emotions swirling within.
Her hand, warm and steady, covered his. "Clark," she said softly, "you've carried this burden for too long." Her thumb traced circles on his skin. “This must have torn you apart.” Her voice was trembling with emotion.
He exhaled, relief flooding through him. "Lois, I—" But she silenced him with a gentle squeeze of his hand.
"Dan," she began, her voice measured, "he's a good man. But he's not you." Her gaze held his, unwavering. "I won't pretend I'm not hurt by your secrecy, but I understand why you did it." Her voice steady despite the storm of emotions, “I’ve been angry, more than you know. And that anger, it’s not something we can just ignore.” Her eyes, usually so full of warmth, were now searching for an anchor in the tumult. “But right now, that anger doesn’t matter. What matters is us, here, together, facing this revelation.” She took a breath, her resolve clear. “We will talk about it, about everything—the hurt, the secrecy, the reasons behind it. We have to, if we’re going to move forward. But for this moment, let’s just be here, with the truth between us.”
Clark's throat tightened. "Lois, I—"
"No," she interrupted, her grip firm. "Let me finish." She took a deep breath. "I've seen glimpses of the real you—the one who cares, who struggles, who loves." Her lips curved into a half-smile. "And I've fallen for that man."
His heart swelled. "Lois—"
"But," she continued, "I won't be sidelined." Her eyes bore into his, fierce and resolute. "If you want us to have a chance, you need to be honest with me. This panic attack didn’t come out of the blue and I want you to talk to me, if you ever feel the pressure start to overwhelm you again."
The room held its breath once more, waiting for his answer. Clark's mind raced, torn between identities, torn between love and duty. But as he looked into Lois's eyes, he knew he couldn't keep hiding.
"I promise," he whispered.
Lois leaned closer. "Then show me," she murmured, "the man behind the cape and the hero without the glasses. "
And in that fragile moment, Clark felt a big weight fall from his chest. The truth hung heavy, but so did hope—a fragile bridge between two hearts.
TBC
