I’ve found some time to do the last minute edits on this, so here’s the next part.
Thanks to Evie for her BR.
If you find a plot-hole or a mistake, then they are all my fault - she did a wonderful job.
Chapter 4Second chances are not given to make things right. But are given to prove that we could be better even after we fall.
(Source unknown)
The darkness slowly ebbs away, and I claw through the emptiness of forgotten moments. Slowly, I blink away the remnants of the void that had claimed me, where nightmares and reality conspired. My head throbs with the echoes of traversing through time. A moment ago I was standing in my living room, and now I’m supine in my bedroom. I shift slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position in bed, trying to make sense of this reality.
H.G. Wells - Was it real or merely a fevered dream? His cryptic warnings, the strange machine, the collision of past and future - all swirl like fractured mirror shards - each edge cutting deeper into my consciousness.
I find myself cradling the teddy bear you won for me. Its soft fur evokes memories from the day you gave it to me at the Corn Festival in Smallville. I remember your earnest smile when I chose it over a Superman doll. Over the next few months, it became even more important, a constant companion through the trials of our future. Now, it carries more weight, knowing the whole backstory of your first encounter with kryptonite mere hours before. Jonathan had told me about it, and I could only assume the amount of guilt he felt for hurting his son.
~~~
I had just stumbled in, wearing the dress I’d bought in Smallville, eyes red-rimmed, hair disheveled. I found your father staring at a photo of us - taken at the corn fest - smiling happily. “Lois,” Jonathan had said, his voice hoarse.
I didn't respond. He crossed the room and sank into the chair next to the one Clark had once sat at. My fingers traced the grain of the wooden table and my breath hitched.
Jonathan's hands trembled as he clutched the edge of the photo. The memory of that fateful day still haunted him - the day he unwittingly introduced kryptonite into their lives. I could see his pain in his eyes.
The farmhouse kitchen, once filled with warmth and laughter, now felt cold and desolate. The creaking floorboards seemed to mourn alongside us, here in the same kitchen where he'd shared countless meals with you, where you’ve laughed and argued, where he'd taught his son the value of hard work and compassion. He glanced at the empty chair where you used to sit, his heart aching.
I lifted my gaze, grief and anger burning in my eyes. “He gave everything to protect the world, all of us… and it was our duty to protect him. But we failed.
I failed. I should have done more,” I whispered, the weight of my words pressing down on me. “I failed him.”
“No! It’s my fault,” Jonathan whispered, his voice raw and trembling. “I brought the one thing into his life that could kill him.”
He paused, the silence heavy with regret. “Wayne Irig came to me with a box, said he’d found a strange, glowing green rock near Shuster’s field. Since we’d found Clark near there, I thought… maybe it was connected to him.” Jonathan’s voice faltered as his eyes filled with tears.
Martha interjected, having just returned from her chores on the farm, her eyes swollen from tears, as she reached out to him, “Jonathan, we couldn't have known. How could you have? Clark had never been ill before, so no one could have imagined it would affect him… kryptonite was just a curiosity - a green rock then…”
"I should have!" His voice rose, desperate. "A father should protect his son, shield him from harm. I thought it was harmless - Martha and I didn’t feel anything. To us it was a green crystal. But for him it was a weapon - a silent killer."
He closed his eyes, obviously remembering the moment when Clark collapsed, writhing in agony, the green glow searing through his veins, sapping his strength. “I forgot the box, prolonging his exposure to that poisonous rock.” Jonathan admitted, tears slipping down his weathered cheeks. “I was too busy calling for help. I didn't realize…” His voice broke.
He seemed to bear the weight of the world at that remembered moment.
“I nearly killed him myself,” Jonathan admitted. “And now he's gone.”
Martha stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him. “We couldn’t have known. He’s always been invulnerable,” she said. “We did everything we could.”
But Jonathan knew that love couldn’t undo the past. My grief mirrored their own - the guilt, the ache, the shattered hope.
~~~
Everything during my first trip to Smallville becomes even more meaningful in hindsight, the so-called allergies, the tiredness you experienced and especially your reaction to an innocuous papercut. They all become profoundly understandable; mundane dangers were never part of your world.
The teddy bear has become my lifeline. Each night, I clung to it, hoping for a connection to what seemed lost. Its fur, soft and perfect, holds the warmth of your gesture in winning it for me. In the beginning, it had taken on the smell of the caramel apples from the neighboring booth; now the smell that remains is more neutral, yet still holds the memory of happier days. I bury my face in its fabric.
Lying in bed, I remember… but the peace of the moment is shattered by the onslaught of memories and the urgency of my task. If I’m really in the past, there is no time to spare.
I glance over at my nightstand, to see my day planner there. Great, this gives me an easy way to confirm if I dreamt the whole thing. The notes in my handwriting and the torn corners marking the exact date. It confirms the end of January. It worked! Time travel is real!
Or at least I think so. The planner would have been hard to fake, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something important, something’s off…
Oh no… The date… I'm supposed to start at LNN today.
But first, I need to hear your voice. I dial your number, my fingers shaking slightly as my heart pounds in sync with the throbbing in my head. The phone rings, each chime echoing through my foggy mind.
“Hi, this is Clark Kent…“ The answering machine clicks on and what used to be a lifeline now feeds my doubts. Is it real? Are you alive, or am I losing my grip on reality? I hesitate, ready to hang up, when the line clicks again.
“Hello?“
It’s you! My heart threatens to burst. Tears blur my vision, making it hard to see the phone. For all the times I imagined talking to you again, I’m now at a loss for words. The lump in my throat feels like it's suffocating me.
“Lois, is it you?“ Your voice, familiar and achingly real, cuts through the shock that silences me.
“Clark,“ I croak, my emotions overwhelming. “It’s you! Are… are you okay?” The words come out laden with unspoken history.
Slowly, I remember another significance to this date. Yesterday you asked me for a private moment to talk and when we went to the park you told me you loved me.
The air is heavy with wounds time hasn’t healed. Your silence stretches and I fear you might hang up.
Then, almost reluctantly, you respond. “Lois, I’m…” There’s a noticeable pause before you add, “I don’t know if I’m okay.” Your voice is flat, restrained, as if holding back a flood of emotion.
I swallow hard, my own wounds aching with the memory of the future. “I never meant to hurt you,” I whisper, but it feels too small. I search for words, but the significance of time, of what lies ahead, leaves me speechless.
“I know.” Your words come out softer than expected, almost distant. There’s a long pause and I sense you're contemplating every word, deciding what to reveal.
Your words catch me off guard. Despite everything, you’ve never let me in this deeply or shown how much this has hurt you. It feels as if I’ve driven kryptonite straight into your soul..
The silence stretches, heavy and fragile. I try to find words, but they elude me. How do I explain the impossible journey, the sacrifices made? How do I bridge the gap between timelines, one where you died and this one, where you're still breathing?
Finally, you speak again, your voice raw and clipped. “Lois, I… I have to go.” The heaviness in your tone cuts deeper than anger. Before I can respond, the line goes dead and a familiar sonic boom fills the silence.
Superman is needed somewhere. Knowing you’re out there and alive is enough for me now, but your vulnerability, the way you cut off, hangs in the air like a shadow.
I close my eyes, focusing on the joy of knowing you are alive to give me the strength I need. In that quiet moment, I sense something new, like a delicate lifeline that binds us. Though fragile, it remains unbroken, as I begin to navigate the space between love and regret, between two hearts no longer in sync.
The greatest obstacle to my mission? Lois Lane.
I need to warn myself, if something happens, if I forget. Maybe a message, something for her to ponder. Perhaps it will guide her decisions, prevent the same mistakes.
The message needs to tell the truth without giving away too much, in case anyone else reads this.
My hand trembles as I write down my intentions, carefully worded as to give clues only to myself.
Some time later I set the pen down and reread my words. I can only hope that if something happens and I fail to alter the events to save you, my past self will uncover the truth. If I fail, she must prevent the horrifying events from my timeline.
Folding the paper in half, I place it between the pages of my planner and turn to get dressed. As I contemplate my next steps, my body moves involuntarily and I realize this may be one of the issues Wells warned me about. Despite my efforts, I can’t regain control.
But I hold onto hope - my chance will come again.
~~~
A few hours later, I step into my new battleground: LNN. Trapped, forced to confront past mistakes, I refuse to let helplessness define me. This is my fight. I will reclaim my life - and succeed.
The newsroom hums with relentless energy - flickering screens, sharp-edged phone calls, voices merging into white noise. A hollow imitation of the Planet, it feels like a stage set mimicking my former life.
It gives me a feeling akin to watching a grainy TV show - with no control to skip the scenes I’d rather avoid. I know the storyline, but I’m a helpless witness, bound to the script I have written myself. Choices I regret but can’t undo.
When I first experienced this day, the novelty of my surroundings masked the unease I felt, leaving the Planet behind. But now, all I crave is escape - to slip through existence’s cracks and reach you.
My past self's voice grates on me, a sharp reminder of my arrogance and its cost.
I’ve tried to break through, to seize control, but my past self resists. My efforts go unnoticed.
Back at my new desk I retreat into the pages of my scrapbook - a fragile bridge to a life slipping through my grasp. The scent of paper and glue pulls me back, to stories that shaped me, to you. Each page is a lifeline, tethering me to what matters most. Beyond the headlines, it reveals a world of memories - the bustling newsroom alive with the scent of paper and stale coffee, Perry’s gruff laughter booming like a bass drum, and Jimmy’s enthusiasm sparking like static electricity. And you, Clark, steady, calm, the lighthouse guiding me through the storm.
As I trace the edges of each article, my fingers linger over the bylines of Lane and Kent. You, in the guise of the Man of Steel, gaze back at me from the newsprint. Your gentle eyes and resolute stance hold secrets I always longed to unravel.
Thinking of you, Clark, of your unwavering belief in me, reminds me of what is at stake. As long as I still have my mind, there’s still a chance.
“Clark,” I murmur, my voice a fragile thread. “I'll find a way. I just need to take control.” The words echo and a second later, I realize I’ve spoken them aloud. But before I can grab the phone, I’ve returned to being a passive onlooker in my own life. A tear runs down my cheek and I wonder: Has it fallen before? Perhaps. Or maybe it’s a new stitch in the fabric of repetition.
Fierce determination settles in me. I urge myself to stand up, to leave this place, or just bring my fingers to move, anything to rebel against the powers controlling me. But even this small act of defiance eludes me. But I’ll keep trying. I’ll find the trigger - the key to unlock my prison. For you, for us, for the future that hangs in the balance.
Outside the chaos increases, reverberating through my bones. The folder retreats into my bag's depths. My body moves, I've danced this déjà vu waltz before.
Ferdig and… Montang, once councilmen, now conspirators - their downfall is imminent. Revelation claws at my throat, but my lips remain sealed, as I am silenced by myself.
Trapped within my own skin, urgency pulses relentlessly. Threads of destiny entwine with your existence. I yearn to break free, unravel the hold of the past that binds me. I linger, a silent observer in the hubbub. The clock ticks and I ache for release.
Tonight, I’ll see you again, Clark. My heart thrums with hope and fear. What if I fail? I can’t dwell on that. For the future, for us, I must find a way.
In my timeline, I haven’t seen you since a few days before your death, about… three no… two months ago. Throughout the day, I've tried to command my limbs, but my body remains unyielding.
At home, I reminisce about what I am going to say to you if I get the chance while watching myself get dressed for Perry‘s retirement party. Anticipation thrums through me; finally I get to see you again. I can only hope I’ll be able to break through long enough to tell you what I know.
While my whole being aches to see you, fear grips me. What if you don’t want to listen?
On our way to the party the limousine glides through the city like a shark circling its prey, collecting Perry, Jimmy, and Jack. Your voice echoes in my mind, Clark, from one of our fights: “Everything from Lex comes with a price.” You were right - so painfully right. This time, though, I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure the cost isn’t you.
Lex probably had bugs installed in here, listening to every word spoken. Lucky for us, our minds are otherwise occupied with subjects that Lex wouldn’t deem important.
As the vehicle stops, I steel myself for the evening ahead. Perry's retirement party is a masquerade of merriment, but for me, it's a battlefield. The grandeur of the venue can't mask the gravity of my mission. I must reach you, Clark, before it's too late.
A part of me fears this is nothing but a dream - a cruel mirage that will shatter, leaving me stranded in a reality without you. But I’m not that person anymore. My past doesn’t define me; my choices do. And when the moment comes, I’ll be ready. I have to be. But…
What if this dream bursts like a soap bubble?
T. B. C.
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