Sorry for being late again, RL is going absolutely insane at the moment, so I assume the next part will be up on the weekend.
Chapter 7
It is not only what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable.
(Molière)
Standing in front of the LexCorp building, feeling drained and in need of fresh air I try to leave the suffocating opulence of Lex’s penthouse behind.
I notice that even my past counterpart ignores the waiting limousine and instead prefers to walk home.
After the busy day, I enjoy the quiet atmosphere of the darkened streets of my hometown, but I don’t know if I should feel elated or defeated.
I couldn’t talk to you, couldn’t tell you what I know, but somehow I influenced myself. I didn’t walk home in my timeline, I rejected Lex’ limousine… and although I couldn’t get myself to say no to Lex, it also wasn’t the clear yes I gave him.
If Lex keeps his schedule for his plans with Superman that means I have two to three weeks left.
A conversation comes to my mind. When I accepted Lex’ proposal, I met him the next day to plan our future together. Actually, it was more like him planning and graciously informing me while acting as if I could give input.
Mrs. Cox came in and they briefly talked about something named ‘Series K’. It might be unrelated but it feels important to me now. Maybe I can find a clue in this conversation. It might be a stretch but - could “K” stand for Kryptonite?
~~~
I sat with Lex in his spacious office, blueprints and plans scattered across the big table. My fingers traced the edge of the mahogany desk as we discussed the future of our lives. As his fiancée, I was privy to the inner workings of his empire - or so I thought until I discovered the many secrets that he had kept from me.
A confident knock interrupted our conversation and Mrs. Cox stuck her head in, her long brown hair flowing elegantly down to her shoulders. “Lex, could we run through your schedule for tomorrow?” Her voice was cool, professional. She held out a leather bound calendar and Luthor gestured for her to take a seat. His expression barely shifted, neutral, almost bored, as if this was just another meeting in a long series of unremarkable encounters.
He waved her in and replied. “Of course. Come in, Mrs. Cox.” His tone was equally composed, but I detected an undercurrent of familiarity. I observed Mrs. Cox as she approached Luthor. Moving with a grace that made me feel like a clumsy fool, she took the seat next to him. Our polite smiles exchanged, but an unspoken tension lingered between us.
I watched her, closely noting the way her tailored suit clung to her frame, the confidence in her stride.
It made me acutely aware of every insecurity, every imperfection I ever noted about myself - and I suspected there was a history between them, from the subtle glances and unspoken tension that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. They were more than employer and employee; there was a shared understanding, a silent language that excluded me. I tried to play it down as mere jealousy, not wanting to burden my relationship with Lex, even before our marriage.
I shifted in my chair, trying to make sense of the notes she showed him. I listened to their conversation; ine bit seemed especially important, although I couldn’t put a finger on the reason of this hunch, maybe it was my reporter’s instinct.
“You'll notice the Series K field test is set for 3:45 p.m.,” Mrs. Cox said cryptically, her eyes flickering toward me. Her body language deliberately telling me that she knew more than I do.
Luthor's humorless grin split his face. “Excellent.”
The phone rang. Mrs. Cox answered it with practiced ease, listened, then put the caller on hold, her gaze never leaving Luthor. “Bagdonis in Chicago.”
He stood abruptly. “I'll take it in the library.” And just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone with Mrs. Cox and the feeling of being the fifth wheel.
The silence thickened quickly, a quiet battle of wills, until I could no longer resist. “What’s Series K?”
Mrs. Cox’s lips curled into a subtle smile, a trace of amusement dancing in her eyes. “A project we’ve been developing,” she said, her voice laced with an air of deliberate mystery. “The details are, of course, confidential.” Her entire demeanor radiated a quiet, self-assured superiority that only heightened my unease.
My hands tightened into fists, torn between a gnawing curiosity and a creeping sense of insecurity. I was engaged to a man who seemed to have layers of secrets - even from me - and Mrs. Cox was an enigma I couldn’t crack. I knew she was playing a game and yet I couldn’t help but take the bait, hook, line and sinker. “Lex doesn’t keep secrets from me.”
Her smile widened, genuinely amused now, as if she were privy to some unspoken truth. “Is that so?”
The way she said it made me more determined. There was something else about her that nagged at me, something I couldn’t shake. I decided to ask the question I’d been holding back. “Tell me, Mrs. Cox, is there a Mr. Cox?”
I expected a smirk, a clever deflection. Instead, her expression changed - something flickered in her eyes before she masked it. “He passed away.”
The bluntness of her reply caught me off guard. I felt a stab of sympathy, though I quickly buried it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged off my apology like it was an unwanted coat. “Don’t be. I’m not.”
Before I could respond, Lex reentered the room. Mrs. Cox rose smoothly to her feet, her professional mask firmly in place. “Anything else?” Lex asked her.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she answered herself, a trace of irony in her voice.
„Thank you Mrs Cox, that’ll be all for now. He dismissed her smoothly. Again I couldn’t help but suspect another layer of meaning I wasn’t privy to, when I kept watching her.
She took the calendar with her as she exited the room.
As the door closed behind her, I turned to Lex, the tension I’d been holding in finally escaping. “I don’t like her.”
Lex looked at me, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. “She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. But if you have concerns about her…”
“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “It’s fine, really.” I swallowed the unease rising in my throat, wrestling with my own insecurities. Deep down, I feared she might become what others had been in the past, someone who slipped between the cracks of trust, just as my father’s ‘other women’ had. If only I’d known then how much worse it was than that.
~~~
If only I could get control over my body, I could investigate the meaning of ‘Series K’ considering the timing and her reaction, it had to mean something.
I completely forgot about it after the aborted wedding and everything that happened. But it is the second half of the conversation, that hits even closer to home, as I think about it afterwards.
There was more… I got up and walked over to the balcony, mumbling something about wedding preparations and my mom coming in. Lex followed me, reading me like a book. I was missing my friends, especially Clark.
~~~
He leaned against the balcony railing, his eyes following mine as we gazed out over the sprawling cityscape. The sun dipped below the horizon, bathing Metropolis in a warm, amber glow. I wondered if he could read my thoughts, the way he seemed to always know more than he let on.
“You miss them, don’t you?” His voice was low, intimate, almost as if he were sharing a secret with me.
I hesitated, my fingers absently tracing the cool surface of the railing. “My friends? Yeah. It feels strange being here without them. They’ve become like a second family - Perry, Jimmy, Jack, even Cat...”
He nodded, as if he understood more than I expected. “Especially Clark.”
I froze, a chill creeping up my spine. How did he know? I’d been so careful, deliberately keeping Clark’s name out of our conversations. But Lex was nothing if not perceptive, always attuned to the smallest of details. It was that sharpness, that ability to see through people, that had propelled him to the top, a master of manipulation and hidden agendas.
“He’s the one,” Lex continued, his voice soft, almost gentle. “The one you miss the most.”
I didn’t deny it, but I didn’t confirm it either. Silence was safer, for now.
Lex turned to face me fully, his expression unreadable, a mask that betrayed nothing of what lay beneath. “Then call him.” I should have seen the danger lying hidden in his reaction.
His words caught me off guard and for a moment, I wondered if I’d misheard. But no, he was serious. The suggestion seemed so simple, so benign and yet, coming from Lex, it was anything but.
A flicker of suspicion stirred within me. Lex had secrets, deep, dark ones. His obsession with power, his clandestine experiments, the whispered rumors. What if this was part of his plan, a subtle push to see how far I’d go, how close I’d come to playing into his hands?
I turned back to the city lights, the endless glow of Metropolis stretching out before us. Would you even answer if I called? And if you did, what would I say?
“Maybe you’re right,” I murmured, more to myself than to Lex. “Maybe I will.”
But as Lex stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder, a surge of unease washed over me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was standing on the edge of something dangerous, teetering on the brink.
~~~
Lex Luthor, the man who would destroy everything I held dear, had been right beside me. And I couldn’t help but wonder if I had been unwittingly dancing to the tune he’d set, playing a part in a game I didn’t fully understand.
A noise rips me from my musings and a second later I find myself at the hands of a thug who tries to drag me into the dark alley.
My body tenses under the influence of adrenaline, ready to release the culmination of countless taekwondo lessons on the criminal when I hear two more approaching, their crude comments make one thing clear: they are not here to rob me. My resolve to fight increases as I feel a smelly hand over my mouth.
“Hey Missy, wanna come with us for a bit, we’ll show you a good time…” I let myself go slack suddenly to get out of his grip and aim my elbow at his private area at the same time.
My heart races as the situation escalates. The dimly lit alley feels like a trap and my instincts kick into high gear. I’m no damsel in distress - I’m a fighter!
The second thug lunges at me, but I sidestep, using his momentum against him. I deliver a swift roundhouse kick to his chest. He stumbles backward, gasping for air.
The third thug hesitates, sizing me up. I narrow my eyes, ready for whatever he throws at me. He lunges, aiming for my throat, but I duck and counter with a knee strike to his abdomen. He doubles over, wheezing.
The adrenaline surges through my veins, drowning out the fear. I glance toward the alley's entrance, hoping for a way out. But then I hear the cavalry, the unmistakable whoosh of someone descending from the sky.
Superman lands gracefully, his cape billowing. Your eyes lock onto me and I detect a hint of coldness in your gaze.
It tears at my heart to see you like this.
"Need a hand?" Superman's question is curt, businesslike. I nod, grateful for the backup. You take down the thugs. And I can't help but admire the way you move.
As the last thug has been delivered to the police, you turn to me. "You're lucky I arrived in time."
I meet your gaze, my brown eyes steady. "Luck had nothing to do with it. I can handle myself."
Your lips twitch, almost a smile. "I noticed."
“Thanks, Superman.”
“You’re welcome,” you say, but the warmth in your voice is gone. The syllables are clipped, hollow, each one carving a deeper trench between us.
I swallow the guilt, though it lodges thick in my throat, heavy and bitter.
“Can I take you home?” You ask, your voice tentative, as if the words themselves are an offering you’re hesitant to make.
I nod, “I’d like that.”
When you gather me into your arms, I feel the familiar gentle strength in your embrace, but there’s a stiffness now, a tension that wasn’t there before. Your muscles, usually so sure, feel coiled, as if holding back an avalanche of hurt I’ve caused.
As we lift into the sky, the city below blurs into a sea of glimmering lights, each one a pinprick against the dark. The wind brushes my skin, cool and biting, but it’s nothing compared to the coldness I feel radiating from you. Your warmth is there - physically - but it’s distant, unreachable, wrapped in layers of hurt and betrayal. The familiar exhilaration of flying with you feels muted, tainted by the silence that fills the space between us.
I can feel the tension in your grip, in the way your hands hold me close, yet keep me at arm’s length. The wind roars past us, but the quiet between us is deafening, louder than anything around us. My heart hammers in my chest and I want to tell you everything, why I’m here, how I’ve seen the future, how I’ve risked everything to be with you again. But I can’t. I’m shackled by my past self, the Lois who doesn’t know the impact of what’s to come, who hasn’t seen you… dead.
The Lois in your arms hasn’t lived through the future I’ve witnessed, hasn’t faced the pain and loss that’s marked every step I’ve taken to get here. She’s blind to what’s coming. But I’m not. I know what’s at stake and yet I’m helpless, bound by the version of myself that still exists in this timeline.
I glance up at you, hoping for a flicker of understanding, for something to tell me that you see the turmoil I’m hiding. For a moment, your eyes meet mine and there’s something there - a flash of hurt, anger, maybe even love - but it vanishes before I can hold onto it.
Carter Ave comes into view and my heart sinks. This flight, this fragile connection between us, is nearly over. Soon, I’ll be alone again, with nothing but my thoughts and the weight of my failures pressing down on me. I don’t know how to fix this, how to repair what’s broken when I can’t even tell you the truth.
As we descend, my past self clings to you a little tighter. She seems to sense my darkening thoughts. Maybe I am closer ti break through to her, maybe she can give you the apology I can’t voice, maybe the touch will say what my words can’t. But the stiffness in your body remains, the gulf between us widening with each passing second.
The moment my feet touch the ground, I know it’s over. You’ll leave, silent and distant and I’ll be left standing in the shadow of everything I didn’t say. As you pull away, a familiar scent lingers in the air - the crisp, clean scent of your hair gel, mixed with the night wind. It’s a scent I’ve come to associate with safety, with you.
And for a split second, I feel something shift inside me. I can push through the fog, clawing my way to the surface.
I blink and the words spill out before I can stop them. “Wait,” I whisper, my voice more desperate than I intended. “We need to talk. Please… don’t go.”
You hesitate, the conflict flickering in your eyes for just a moment. And in that heartbeat, I think I’ve reached you. But just as quickly as I surfaced, the grip of my past self tightens, pulling me back under. The words I need to say, the truths I need to share, slip away, lost in the current of time that separates us.
You shake your head, your jaw set with that familiar, stubborn resolve. “It’s late, Lois. You should get some rest.” Your tone is distant, a wall between us that I can’t break through.
I thrash against the barriers of my prison, desperate to make you stay, but you’re already turning away. The wind swirls around us, cold and biting. In the space between heartbeats, you’re gone, leaving me standing alone with only the faint scent of your hair gel and the echo of words I’ll never be able to say.
T. B. C.
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