As promised, here’s the second part. I promise the next parts will have more action. 😁
If I manage to find some more time later today I’ll post another part today because I’ll have a visitor until Tuesday and I don’t know if I’m able to find time to post during the next days.
Thanks goes again to JadedEvie for her BR, every plot-hole and mistake that is still in the story is completely my fault.
Chapter 2It takes someone as special as you to make saying goodbye this hard.
(source unknown)
Tired and exhausted, I stumble into my bedroom, the burden of another day pressing down on me.
Clad in sleeping shorts and one of your shirts, I grab a big bowl of ice cream from the freezer, my go-to comfort when the world feels too heavy. The couch? I don’t even bother with it. It’s too stiff, too small and now it feels emptier than ever.
Instead, I sink onto my bed, the black and white stuffed bear clutched to my chest, ice cream in the other hand. Like so many nights before you came into my life, I start the VCR to watch a few episodes of ‘Ivory Tower’ for the millionth time. I prefer crying over their silly problems to my own. Their problems seem trivial next to the void I’m drowning in.
The world sees the stoic version of Lois Lane, mourning your passing with grace. But behind closed doors, I crumble. No one sees the late nights spent wrapped in your shirt, the soft fabric a fragile link to a time when you were here. The faint scent of laundry detergent lingers on the worn cotton, a subtle, bittersweet reminder of you, of us, of what we could have been - had I let myself open up.
But I never did.
Not enough, anyway, for us to be more than colleagues and friends.
In the dim glow of the television, I weep, not for the ridiculous melodrama playing out on the screen, but for you. For the empty space you left behind. For the truth, buried so deep I didn’t even realize it, but that now blazes through the haze of my grief: I loved you. I loved you more than I ever let myself admit. And it took losing you, losing the one person who saw past the mask, past Mad Dog Lane, to make me understand.
Now, everything feels off. The mundane rituals that were once second nature – your presence woven into my life in ways I never appreciated – are lost to me. A thousand little things, habits I didn’t even realize I had, were tied to you. You became an integral part of my world, tied so seamlessly that I didn’t notice until you were gone.
The day before I left for Smallville, I went to a café with Jimmy and Perry, your absence became awfully obvious as we sat together.
~~~
Meeting them without you, and with the Planet destroyed, felt surreal. "Thank you for the invitation," I said, my voice thick with sadness. "I don’t know what I’d do without you…”
“I know, Lois. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around too,” Jimmy replied, concern flickering in his eyes, though his words came out in that casual, laid-back tone that was just his way. "How are you holding up?"
"It's been... difficult, Jimmy. With the Planet gone… I miss my work, but…” my voice broke. “With Clark gone… I never appreciated him enough, he knew exactly how to fix my coffee, he was there to hold my coat and held me back when I was heading right into danger.“ At Perrys snort I clarified. “Well he tried to. All the things I never noticed about him.”
I sighed, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "There are moments when I turn, expecting to see Clark standing there. I catch a scent, something that reminds me of his aftershave, or I feel his hand on my shoulder, lingering, an echo of warmth - like a phantom. He’s still here, in so many little ways." I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. "I miss my partner."
Jimmy nodded, his brow furrowing. “Yeah... it’s wild. CK, he never treated me like the 'kid photographer.' That meant a lot. Not many people did." His voice grew quieter, a trace of disbelief creeping in. "I still can’t believe he’s gone… A car accident? He was always such a careful driver, you know? I keep thinking about that day, heading back to Kansas thinking his father had a heart attack… It's just... it doesn't feel real."
Perry leaned forward, his face drawn tight. “Clark was one of the best. I can’t shake how sudden it all was – him deciding to take off to Smallville, just like that. We were all so caught up in the Luthor mess, I barely noticed he’d left. And then… the accident.” He shook his head slowly. "The storm didn’t help. I suppose the roads were dangerous, but… no body? That’s the hardest part to accept.”
Jimmy’s voice turned bitter. “If Superman were still here, I bet he could have saved him. It's like Luthor’s responsible for CK’s death too. Somehow… I just know it.”
Perry’s eyes darkened. “And Superman… what Luthor did to him – what he took from all of us. I don’t think the world’s ever going to recover from that.” His frustration simmered just below the surface. “They’re both gone, and it doesn’t seem fair.”
“And there are the rumors, the hushed comments, adding insult to injury,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “The tabloids label me ‘Lex Luthor’s ex-fiancée,’ still wondering if I had any part in Superman’s downfall. As if those same papers didn’t spend years spinning stories about a Kryptonian invasion, or him trying to create a master race. If they knew him at all - if they cared about the man behind the cape - they’d know how ridiculous that is. But the truth is… I feel responsible for his death, what if Luthor used me to lure Superman into his trap?” My throat tightened as I struggled to hold back the bitterness.
Perry cleared his throat, his voice softening. “Lois don’t think like that, you don’t know how Superman ended up there. And, you know people latch onto whatever story helps them make sense of things. It’s easier for them than facing the truth. You can’t let those lowlifes get to you. You’re stronger than that." He paused, giving me a small, reassuring smile. "Reminds me of when Elvis lost his momma. Folks wrote all kinds of trash about him never being the same, about how he’d fall apart. And maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he kept going. You’ve got that same strength in you, darlin’.”
“I try, Perry. I really do.” A tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away.
Perry shook his head, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I know you do, honey. You’re not alone in this.” He reached over, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Jimmy tried to lighten the mood. “CK would want us to stick together.”
I managed a weak laugh through the tears threatening to spill over. “Thanks, Jimmy. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Perry.”
As much as I wanted to appear strong, all I really wanted was to curl up somewhere and cry. Everything I hadn’t said, everything I’d lost, felt like it was crushing me. “I still need to pack for my trip to Smallville,” I said softly, rising to my feet.
Jimmy stood up, pulling me into a warm hug. “We’re here for you, Lois. Always.”
“Thanks, Jimmy.” I swallowed, my voice breaking. "That means more than you know."
Perry followed, pulling me into a hug of his own, his grip strong but weary, like he understood no words could make any of this better. “I’ll drive you to the airport tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. I didn’t say anything, just nodded against his chest, feeling the intensity of everything between us – of what I’d lost, and what I couldn’t bring myself to say.
~~~
I get up and approach the window, opening it as a silent invitation to the night, still waiting for a silhouette against the fading light, a breath of air moving the curtains, indicating the arrival of my friend. Superman had always appeared out of nowhere, and it is only now I realize how often he lent me some of the hero’s strength by talking to me whenever I wouldn’t listen to the same words from Clark.
The habit of your dropping by means that evenings remain a time of futile hope. But the silence persists, mocking my longing.
I imagine you - playing chess with Herman Steiner, while listening to Elvis, perhaps discussing the cosmic intricacies of existence with Plato. It's a fanciful notion, I admit, but it brings solace.
And then there are the ‘last times’. Each attempt at farewell, a white lie to myself. I can’t let it become real, the finality of your absence. So I linger, caught in the undertow of grief.
The telephone, too, becomes my accomplice in denial. Half-dialed numbers, suspended in uncertainty. I want to call you, to invite you over – beer, pizza and a Mel Gibson movie. For a fleeting moment, I convince myself that you'll answer, that your voice will spill through the receiver. Just one last time, I plead silently.
You won’t answer, you’ll never answer again. Nevertheless, I put the receiver on my ear, just for one last time, I tell myself…
Just this one last time.
“Hi, this is Clark Kent…” Tears burn in my eyes as I listen to your recorded message. Your voice, once warm and loving, is now only available etched into the tape. A fragile thread connecting past and present. Each word bears the feeling of longing, a bridge across the chasm of your absence. I press redial, hoping to rewind fate, to hear you say more, to unravel time.
But the recording always ends and I call again, just one last time.
The sound of your voice echoes in my head. Like a phantom touch to my soul. The tears fall freely now and I am full of craving for what was and for what will never be.
"Hi, this is Clark Kent..."
Your apartment remains mostly untouched, a sanctuary of memories. First Perry, Jimmy and Jack needed a place to crash and now neither me nor your parents can muster the energy to begin the process of sorting through your life’s memories to stow them away in boxes. I fear the day it transforms, when a stranger takes over the space you once inhabited. How can I sever another thread connecting us?
Jack was the last one to leave a few days ago and now the lease is running out. Soon our hands will be forced…
I can’t remember how often there has been a ‘last time’ since your funeral. Although I tried to say goodbye then, part of me couldn’t let it become real. I didn’t really mean it. That was a white lie to myself to help me endure.
Your parents have become my refuge. Their voices guided me through the first weeks of your absence when the façade threatened to crumble. They offered warmth, a familial embrace I never knew. In their laughter, I glimpse your essence - the kindness, the unwavering love.
Often during the previous weeks I found myself standing in the warmth of your childhood home.
~~~
I stood at the counter, my hands kneading dough as Martha quietly shaped cookies beside her.
“You’re getting good at this,” Martha said with a soft smile, her hands moving methodically. “I think you’re learning fast, it’s a secret recipe. They are… were Clark’s favorite.”
With a forced smile I replied. “I think it’s because I can’t mess this up. Life’s… simpler here.”
Martha paused, looking over at me, eyes filled with understanding. “Simple doesn’t mean easy, honey. But sometimes, it’s in the quiet moments we find the strength we didn’t know we had.”
I swallowed, my fingers pressing into the dough a little harder. “I hope you’re right.”
Later that day I just stood in your bedroom, eyes closed and trying to imagine you standing in my place.
From downstairs a delicious smell wafted towards me, your favorite cinnamon cookies inviting me to return to the kitchen. Martha was waiting for me to take them out of the oven and finish the baking lesson.
Through the windows the sun peeked inside, bathing my face into its warm glow.
I could hear Jonathan outside, repairing something.
It felt almost normal, peaceful and perfect, and I wished I could carry the atmosphere within me.
Only here could I hope to find the strength I needed to go on with my life at home, when the dark times ahead seemed ready to crush me.
~~~
The memories are now a comforting tapestry that wraps around me like a well-worn scarf.
But it feels bittersweet because your parents, pillars of strength, now bear the weight of grief. Your death changed something deep inside them. There’s a darkness creeping into them bit by bit. It seems like both have given up hope in their own ways.
Martha talked to me a few days ago, telling me about her worries.
~~~
We sat on the porch swing, the wood creaking in protest as she leaned back. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden. I had settled next to her, a cup of tea cradled in my hands.
"Lois," Martha began, her voice soft, "I'm worried about Jonathan."
I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
"He's changed," Martha said. "Since… since Clark left us." The words caught in her throat and she blinked back tears. "He's given up on everything. His diet, his health… hope."
"It's been a month and a half," Martha whispered. "He's stopped caring about the future, Lois. Cholesterol and blood pressure be damned; he seeks solace in food - his last vestige of joy, he says."
Lois sighed. "And you? How are you holding up?"
Martha traced the rim of her teacup. "I'm trying," she said. "But it's hard. Jonathan won't talk about our son. He will barely even say his name."
~~~
And your mother - the gentle soul who built the foundation of your kind nature - now grapples with sleepless nights. Jonathan has confided to me about his sorrow.
~~~
He sat across from me, his eyes tracing the delicate patterns etched into the teacup. The room felt heavy with memories - the laughter, the warmth and now the gaping void left by his son‘s absence. Our surroundings felt eerily quiet, as if waiting for someone to break the silence.
“Lois,“ Jonathan's voice was a mere whisper, “I've watched Martha change. She's slipping away, bit by bit. Every evening she takes those sleeping pills, says that she can’t sleep without them.” His fingers clenched around the cup. “I've tried talking to her, but she won't listen. She thinks they're her lifeline.” He admitted.
“And you?” Lois asked, her concern etched into every line of her face. “How are you coping?”
He hesitated, then looked directly at her. “I’ve lost my anchor,” he said. “He was our compass, Lois. Without him, I'm adrift.”
~~~
Your parents remain the most wonderful people I've ever known. Their love, once a beacon, now flickers like a candle in a drafty room. The light in their eyes has dimmed, replaced by shadows of sorrow. They navigate each day with a heaviness that only loss can bring.
In my memory, I hold their hands in front of your grave - the rough calluses of your father's, the delicate warmth of your mother's. We stand together, a fragile trio, bound by love and absence.
Yet, Clark, I'd trade it all - a thousand caring moments - for one more heartbeat shared with you. A week, a day, a fleeting second. To hear your laughter, to argue about ethics over stale, lukewarm office-coffee, to feel your hand on my shoulder, the essence of our friendship contained in that touch.
Tears stream freely down my cheeks as I lay down, covering myself with the blanket as I clutch the bear to my chest, wishing it could become a tall and handsome Kryptonian. As I’m seeking solace in the depths of sleep, I hope maybe I can dream of you…
T. B. C.
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