As I said in the last part of the Christmas stories: this is another story I have been working on. It is a rewrite from an earlier story but it has grown and changed very much. The story has been done for months but still needed BR and some editing… and then I felt I needed to change even more to improve the flow.
So the most important things first: a heartfelt thanks to Jaded Evie my wonderful beta - if there are any mistakes or plot holes left, they are completely on me.
And I already mentioned that earlier: a serious WHAM warning. You will probably need tissues for most of the story- and maybe a shower at the end of this part. 🙈
The story begins at the end of season one with Luthor having succeeded with at least one thing - he got rid of Superman/Clark. Lois doesn’t know that at the beginning.
If you need to know if there will be a happy ending or not before you read.
Yes, I like to put the toys back into the box unharmed at the end.
So here’s the story, I hope you enjoy - feedback is always very appreciated.
Chapter 1
“I've always thought that when they say ignorance is bliss, the converse to that is that knowledge is hell. The more you know, the bleaker things can get.” (Terence Winter)
Morning arrives like an unwelcome intruder - relentless and merciless. The digits 5:00 AM glow on the clock, mocking me in silence. I groan, kneading my swollen eyes. Sleep had been a distant stranger last night, instead anxiety kept me tossing and turning until a nightmare wrenched me awake, screaming.
Yesterday, I refused to become Lois Luthor. Society may have painted Lex as a dream, but it turned out he was my nightmare. His charm was a mask and yesterday, it finally slipped.
The man I almost married revealed himself, not with words, but with the icy coldness in his eyes and the cruel indifference in his touch. When I said no, he didn’t flinch. No anger, no disbelief - just a casual, chilling response: “I’ll have to take a raincheck.”
That was when I understood. To Lex, people weren’t equals - they were possessions. And I was just another acquisition waiting to be rescheduled. Lex wanted to own me and my refusal was nothing more than a hiccup in his plans.
But you, Clark... You’ve always treated me like an equal, even when I’ve been too stubborn to deserve it. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about you, why your warnings echoed in my mind.
I didn’t listen.
Not because you were wrong, but because admitting you were right meant admitting
I was wrong. I didn’t want to see the cracks in Lex’s perfection. I clung to the illusion because it was easier than facing the truth.
Yesterday, I let go of that illusion. I remain Lois Lane, free of the Luthor name.
For once, I’ll admit my fallibility. If only you were here, Clark, I’d apologize and perhaps you’d find it in your heart to forgive me. But you’re not here to say ‘I told you so,’ even though I deserve it.
As I lie here, contemplating the ruins of my life, the Daily Planet, once my sanctuary, lies shattered. The remnants of the wedding chaos cling to my psyche, draining me.
Lois Lane-Luthor… how absurd!
Why did I refuse?
I don’t know what made me think of it - ‘Lois Lane-
Kent.’ It sounds strange, doesn’t it? Yet, for a moment, it felt... right. Like a future I didn’t know I wanted. But how can I even think about that now, when I’ve barely escaped one disaster?
Your presence haunted me in ways I couldn’t explain. I don’t love you - not in the way you wanted. But then why does even your absence weigh more than Lex’s presence ever did? Why is it your voice I hear, steady and reassuring, even as everything around me crumbles?
After the ceremony, I expected to see you outside Lex-Tower. Waiting for me. I don’t know why - maybe because you were always there, no matter how much I pushed you away. But you weren’t. No one waited for me. Selfish, maybe, but the ache lingers all the same. And now, I can’t help wondering…
Did I push you too far this time?
The events after the wedding replay in my mind - a bittersweet symphony of what-ifs and regrets.
~~~
Perry’s voice called me as he cut through the storm of the aborted wedding. His presence was steady and grounding. I clung to it like a lifeline. “Where is Clark?” I cried when he encircled me in his arms, my heart racing, desperate for you to appear as you always did - materializing out of nowhere, my steadfast friend.
But you didn’t.
“Honey, Clark is missing!” Perry’s concern was palpable, cutting through the noise. A commotion rose near Lex-Tower, but I couldn’t summon the strength to look. One question pulsed through my mind:
Where are you?I needed one of your hugs. They had a magic - a superpower - that could dispel any darkness. But in this void, that magic was gone.
Perry guided me to his car, his words a distant hum. The drive blurred into a haze of confusion and sorrow. By the time we reached my apartment, I had convinced him to let me stay alone.
When he suggested calling my mother, I shook my head. “No,” I murmured, my voice brittle. “I’d rather be alone. I’ll manage.” My mother, fragile under stress, wouldn’t understand.
There was only one person I would have let into my refuge. You - Clark - you would know when to hold me close and when to let me breathe.
Perry followed me into the apartment, insisting he wouldn’t sleep well unless he knew I was safe. He lingered, reluctant to leave, until I assured him I’d go straight to bed.
“Okay, honey.” His hand rested on my shoulder - paternal, comforting, but strained. “Jimmy, Jack and I will be at Clark’s apartment. I’m sure he’ll call soon.” After a pause, he added, “Probably chasing leads or meeting a source. He’s been working non-stop to bring Luthor down.” Perry’s words were meant to reassure, but the worry underneath was clear.
“I’ll handle everything,” he told me before leaving. “Get some rest, honey. Call us if you need anything.”
As Perry’s footsteps faded, I sank onto the bed. The chaos, the shattered illusions, the gaping void - I wondered if you were out there somewhere, feeling it too.
~~~
Lois Lane-Kent.
The name still echoes in my mind, while the walls whisper tales of my missteps. The air hangs heavy and cold, mourning alongside my fractured spirit. Around me, the remnants of yesterday’s unraveling lie scattered: packed boxes, fragments of the choice I made at the altar.
It will take time to feel at home again.
In the living room lies a stark reminder of my folly - the wedding dress. Its delicate lace once whispered promises I foolishly clung to, while its staggering price mocked the simplicity of my life. Now, its brilliance has dimmed, its worth reduced to a shallow echo of deceit. Beside it sits a florist’s bouquet, the blooms wilting and bruised, their fading beauty a reflection of the dreams I let crumble.
My life - fractured like the hollow promises Lex made. He vowed to show me the world, but his grand pledges crumbled, revealing the truth: behind the polished façade of a tycoon lurked a criminal mastermind.
Now his empire is crumbling under the weight of his sins, exposed for what it truly was beneath the carefully crafted lies.
This time, your absence cuts deeper, leaving an ache that no one else can ease. The silence between us feels like a living thing, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. If you were here, you’d steady me with your quiet wisdom, reminding me that truth is our greatest currency - our duty as reporters. You worked tirelessly to expose Lex and now I can’t help but wonder:
Did you fight for me, or was it always for the truth?
I pull the covers tighter, trying to ward off the cold that refuses to fade. Why does this disappearance leave me so unsettled?
The blanket’s warmth offers no comfort. The chill seeps into my thoughts, winding its way through me, heavy and unshakable. Desperation stirs, and I rise, hoping movement might loosen its grip. I need something - anything - to quiet the ache.
My gaze falls on your sweater in the closet, left behind after our last stakeout. That night, we laughed, argued, and chased a story to the front page.
I meant to return it, but now I’m glad I didn’t. It’s my last connection to you, a fragile tether of warmth. Its soft texture wraps around me, and its scent - pine forests, lavender, and a faint citrus - still lingers.
Memories flood back, bittersweet and vivid: the late nights at the Daily Planet, the safety of your presence, the weight of shared ambitions. The sweater carries it all, grounding me even as the world feels like it’s slipping away.
I cling to it, my tears blurring my vision. Once warmed by you, it now presses against me like a lifeline. I hold it close, willing it to guide me back to you - a faint light in my darkness.
As I wander aimlessly around my apartment, a restless energy churns inside me. I feel like I’m waiting for something - answers that once came so effortlessly, miracles that always arrived in the shape of my
real hero, my best friend. A friend who might be more than just that, though the thought sends my heart spiraling in ways I can’t afford to examine right now.
But waiting feels unbearable, the silence pressing down on me like a weight. I need to do something but my stomach twists at the thought of food, even coffee lost its usual appeal. The walls feel closer with every breath, and I need to escape. Maybe fresh air will help - a trip outside for a newspaper, anything to distract me from this nagging sense of waiting.
Reluctantly, I pull on pants and shoes. When I glance outside, sunlight slices through the windows, harsh and unyielding. Shielding my eyes, I notice a crowd - at least twenty people - gathered outside the building. Perry must have disabled the doorbell yesterday. I also notice a police car near the entrance.
Keys in hand, I step outside, only to be consumed by a frenzy of reporters - vultures in human form. Microphones thrust at me like weapons, cameras firing with ruthless precision. The air reeks of bloodlust, thick with their hunger for the scandal of my aborted wedding to Lex Luthor.
Leo Nunk, the self-styled ringleader, sidles closer, his breath a nauseating blend of stale coffee and the acidic tang of self-satisfaction. “Lex Luthor, left standing at the altar - what a headline!” he begins, his voice dripping with mockery. “Was it cold feet, or did you finally catch a glimpse of the skeletons in his closet? Tell me, Lois, how does it feel to be the woman who almost married the next Al Capone?”
He pauses, his gaze narrowing like a predator savoring its prey. “And the money,” he continues, lowering his voice just enough to make his words feel like a dagger meant only for me. “How much of that blood-stained fortune did you pocket before you walked away? A few million? Or was there a little something tucked into the prenup for you? Don’t leave me in suspense, darling. The devil’s in the details and I do love the nitty-gritty.”
Lamont, his photographer, circles me like a vulture scenting carrion, his camera hungry for my vulnerability. The lens zeroes in on my trembling hands - bare, ringless, a glaring symbol of shattered dreams, no matter that I was the one to refuse it. With a sneer curling his lips, he jeers, “Smile, Mrs. Luthor. The world craves the spectacle of a fallen bride.”
Other tabloid scavengers close in, harpies with poisoned arrows, their questions aimed to pierce my defenses. An LNN correspondent, a viper cloaked in tailored arrogance, slithers closer: “Did you marry Mr. Luthor for his wealth, Lois? Was it the luxury, the power, the empire that drew you in? Or was it all just a calculated move to secure your place in high society?” His voice drips with venom, as though reducing my heart to a mere ledger of transactions - picking apart every emotion, every choice, with calculating ease.
“And what about Superman? Rumor has it he was nearby. Is there a connection? More than just friends?” My heart tightens, each word suffocating me beneath judgment’s weight. “Was he hiding in your apartment before the wedding? Give us the scoop, Lois!”
Another tabloid predator slithers into view, his hungry eyes raking over me like a scavenger circling a carcass. His voice oozes mockery, each word crafted to wound: “Was it Superman’s jealousy you were after? We’ve all seen you two together. Did you take your fling sky-high, perhaps? The whispers say you had a moonlit rendezvous - sparks flying, capes fluttering,” he sneers, his grin baring teeth like a wolf savoring its prey. “Did the alien reject you after a sordid tryst in the moonlight? Tell me, how does a creature like that even perform? Or did you run screaming once you saw what was under the suit?”
His vile insinuations slice through my defenses. He steps closer, his breath reeking of stale coffee and cigarettes, his presence a toxic cloud. “Does he even have the same anatomy as a human?” he murmurs, his tone conspiratorial, as if inviting me into his depraved imagination. “Care for a little comparison? I could help you figure it out,” he adds with a lecherous smirk, his gaze sliding lower with sickening intent.
My jaw tightens, the taste of fury sharp on my tongue. Every instinct screams to strike, to shatter his smug expression, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Let him choke on his own filth - his words will die in the emptiness they deserve.
And then, a meddlesome stranger - a sinister murmur in the tempest: “Did you know about Luthor’s plans for Superman? Did you participate?” The question looms, casting a sinister pall over my fragile façade, unraveling secrets I dared not face.
My jaw clenches. I’ve faced bullets, corruption and even an asteroid threatening all life on earth, but this? This emotional assault cuts deeper, yet I manage to avoid giving their accusations any credibility by refusing to answer.
Resolute, I push forward, shielding myself from their invasive questions. As a journalist, I know any reaction would only feed their insatiable hunger. My ragged breaths drive me through the chaos, each step a silent defiance.
At last, the tide of reporters ebbs - broken by the police, leaving me gasping for air. Frustration churns inside me, a storm begging to be unleashed.
Still cocooned in the warmth of your sweater, I weave through the concrete maze, my feet carrying me to a weathered newsstand far from the craziness at my apartment.
