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Table of Contents From Part 4:
My brain has finally caught up to what’s happening, and it’s screaming one singular thought to me - The Kryptonite made *Clark* sick.
I head for the nearest loveseat and fall onto it before my legs can give way under me; it feels like I’m the one being affected by the Kryptonite. All the strength has left my body.
No! My mind screams at me. No, it isn’t possible. It can’t be. Can it? Then Clark’s words come back to my mind. ‘There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you...’
I look back towards the bathroom. Get up, I tell myself. He’s hurt. You have to check on him.
**********
PART FIVE:
I want to be mad at him, I really do. Mad that he kept this from me. Mad that he pretended to be someone he isn’t... err, well, pretended to be more than one person. The more I think about it, the more irritated I get. In fact... I am mad, really mad.
I stalk back towards the bathroom preparing for a verbal sparing but I hesitate just outside the doorway. I don’t hear any movement coming from inside. What if he’s still hurt? Some of my irritation changes to concern.
I think back to the time that I dug that Kryptonite bullet out of his shoulder after Arianna Carlin shot him. No, surely he’ll be okay, now. I had disposed of the Kryptonite.
I peek my head inside the bathroom. Clark is still on the floor but he has at least pulled himself up into a sitting position. His head is leaning against the wall in an uncomfortable position, and his eyes are closed. I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s true, isn’t it? Clark Kent is Superman, and I just tried to kill him.
Well, that’s not exactly true. I was trying to protect Superman by opening that package for him. If Clark had told me he is Superman I wouldn’t have let the thing near him.
I quickly go to him, kneeling down beside him on the floor. His eyes don’t open. I reach out and touch his face. His eyelids flinch in pain.
“Clark? Can you hear me? What’s wrong?” I know he’s sick from exposure to the Kryptonite, but I removed it; why doesn’t he look any better?
The rest of my anger melts away. I take his face in both of my hands, holding it gently. He flinches again and tries to pull away. “Lois,” he whispers hoarsely, opening one eye to look at me. “Please don’t touch me. Get back.”
I shrink back from him like I’ve burned my hand on a hot stove. Surely he’s not blaming me for what happened? I start to argue with him but he’s whispering again.
“You have Kryptonite on your hands. Please,” he lets out a heart-wrenching groan and flinches away from me.
Oh my god. How is that possible? I look down at my hands. I can’t see anything. I move to the sink and wash my hands – once, twice, three times. Would that be enough?
I turn around to look at Clark and find he’s passed out again on the floor. “Clark! You need to come back to me, tell me what to do.” He doesn’t respond to me. I don’t understand. I’ve removed the Kryptonite; I’ve cleaned my hands. What could it possibly be?
I kneel down beside him again, shaking him, trying to get him to wake up, look at me; but he doesn’t. Then I notice it. There is a film of dust on his glasses and face. I bend over him and take a closer look. The dust has a greenish hue to it.
Kryptonite dust? It must be from the explosion. When the bomb went off, it sent dust into the air; dust that was infused with Kryptonite particles.
I examine him more closely. The dust is caked over his whole body, clothes and everything; and he’s probably inhaled it, too, judging by the soft rasping sound he’s making as he breathes.
Should I call an ambulance? No, what would I tell them? That Clark Kent has inhaled Kryptonite dust and needs emergency help? That would blow his cover for sure.
No, I’ve gotta be the one to help him, and I’m going to have to work fast. I need to get that dust off of him.
What about me though? Do I have the dust on me? Of course I do. I look in the mirror and see the dust caked on my robe and in my hair. Yikes. I’ve gotta get this cleaned off of me before I can help Clark.
Realizing there’s no time to even think about this, I run to my kitchen and grab a trash bag. I shuck my robe, stuffing the contaminated garment down into the bag. I take the bag with me back into the bathroom. Clark still hasn’t moved. I realize that before I clean up, I should probably get his clothes off of him, too.
I kneel beside him and lean down, listening for his breathing. I sigh a breath of relief when my hands feel the rise and fall of his chest. Taking his shirt in my hands, I work as fast as I can to unbutton it. My fingers are shaking so bad that it’s slow going. I get down to the last couple of buttons and find that one of them is hung up in the thread; I can’t get it undone. I finally lose my patience and give the shirt a hard jerk, ripping it open and popping the buttons. He’s not going to be wearing it again anyway.
I can’t help pausing momentarily to look at the yellow and red S shield staring me in the face. I reach out and touch the suit, feeling the slickness of the spandex under my fingers.
Wow... He really is Superman.
Snap out of it, Lois. Move!
I remove his shirt carefully and pull it out from underneath him. I work with precise movements trying not to stir up more of the dust and then stuff it inside the trash bag.
As I turn back to Clark’s motionless form, a lump forms in my throat. Is he going to be okay? Come on, Clark. Wake up. Scold me for opening that package. Tell me I was wrong for not listening to you. Fight with me. Fight, Clark.
I take the glasses off of his face. I examine them briefly before laying them on the bathroom counter. How could a pair of glasses have fooled me for so long?
I roll him on his side, feeling the back of his suit. I find what I’m looking for, a zipper for the suit and clasps for the cape. Thank goodness. I was hoping for an easy way to get it off. I slide the zipper down his back and tug on the clasps, releasing the cape. I pull the cape off and the suit down, undressing him to his waist.
I realize the immediacy of the situation, but my mind balks as I stare down at a bare-chested Superman... err, Clark. Those beautifully sculpted muscles. I’ve seen him without a shirt before – a memory of Clark in nothing but a towel flits through my mind - but it’s different now.
I had laid on this chest just a few short nights ago. I had dreamed of seeing it, feeling the smooth hardness of it under my hands... but never like this. Oh, Clark. I’m sorry. Please stay with me. Hang in there.
I undo the belt on his pants and pull it free. My hands hesitate at the zipper for his pants. Pull yourself together, Lois. He still has his suit on under these. You have to get the Kryptonite-tainted clothes off of him.
I unzip the pants, tugging on them and pulling them down to his shoes. After removing his shoes, I pull his pants and socks off. I stuff them all into the trash bag and run it back into the kitchen away from Clark.
Now to rinse this stuff off.
I don’t even bother taking off my nightie. For one thing, Clark might come to while I’m in the shower, that could be awkward, and for another thing there might be some of the dust on it, too.
I step into my bathtub and turn on the water. I don’t wait for the water to heat up and so I have to stifle a cry as the ice-cold water hits my scalp. “Just do it,” I tell myself through chattering teeth. You have to hurry. He could die.
As soon as I’m thoroughly wetted down and sure that I’m decontaminated, I get out and dry off.
Clark isn’t alert yet, but he is awake. He’s moaning softly and trying to move.
“Clark. It’s Lois, I’m right here. I’m going to help you but you have to work with me. We need to get you into the bathtub so I can rinse you off.”
I bend down sliding my arms underneath him and begin trying to lift him. I manage to get him up into a sitting position, but I can’t get him up off the floor. He’s too heavy for me.
“Clark. I need you to concentrate. I need you to help me. I’m going to stand up and pull on you. But I need you to pull on me, too, pull yourself up. Can you do that?” His head nods ever so slightly, his eyes half-opened but not focusing.
I stand up still holding his hand and grab onto my bathroom sink, bracing myself. “Okay Clark, pull!”
He pulls against my arm and I pull with all my might against him, and we make it. He’s up! I move fast to get behind him and wrap my arms around him before he can fall.
I back up to the counter to brace against it so I can get a better grip on him. I feel his body relax and go limp in my arms. The weight of him pulls on me and I struggle to remain standing. If I hadn’t been against the counter we would have both fallen to the floor. I walk him over to the tub and we work his legs one at a time into the tub.
Once I get him down into the tub, I turn the water on. “I’m sorry the water’s cold. I’ve got it on hot, it’ll warm up shortly.”
While the tub is filling with water, I grab a washcloth. As I come back to the tub, I check his breathing again. It’s still coming short and raspy. “Clark? Stay with me. Do you hear me?” I ask, but I get no response. He’s faded away again.
I kneel down on the floor next to the tub and run the cloth under the gradually warming water. I wring it out and bring it up to his face; it’s going to be invasive, but it has to be done. I open Clark’s mouth and swab the inside of it and the inside of his nose. How much of the dust had he inhaled? I hope very little. I had turned the fan on pretty quickly and it had sucked a lot of it out of the room before it could settle.
“Come on, Clark. Open your eyes. Look at me.” No response. I dip the cloth back into the water and continue bathing him. I wipe the cloth across his chest and through his hair. I wipe down every inch of him, including the suit. I’ve had dreams of bathing a man before, but never like this. Please, Clark, wake up.
He moans again and my breath catches in my chest. The man lying here is Superman, there’s no denying that, but, above all else, he’s Clark; the man I’ve been slowly falling in love with since I met him... and he’s in pain.
I pull the plug on the tub and allow the contaminated water to go down the drain. While it’s draining, I run fresh water to rinse out the washcloth. I bring the cool cloth to his face.
“Please. You have to help me,” I plead with him. “I don’t know what else to do.” I lay my head down on the side of the tub, feeling tears come to my eyes.
“Lois?” His voice sounds raspy, etched in pain.
I raise my head. His eyes are open and searching for me. Grabbing one of his hands I mine, I reach out with my other hand and shut off the water. I lean forward over him and blot his forehead with the damp cloth.
“I’m here,” I assure him. “You had Kryptonite dust on you. I think I got it off, but do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“No... I’m okay... I think,” he rasps. His grip tightens on my hand as he begins coughing violently.
Oh... my heart aches. It did get into his lungs. I lean down into the tub, pulling him to me and I begin softly hitting him on the back, trying to encourage him to cough. Maybe he could cough it out.
After a few agonizing moments of intense spasms and coughing, he relaxes into my arms; his breathing softer and quieter. I hug him to me, cradling his head against my chest. It’s only then that I remember I no longer have my robe on anymore. I pull him away from my still wet, silk-covered chest, embarrassed.
“I really think I should take you to the hospital.”
“What are they going to do with me there? I’d be better off going to S.T.A.R. Labs, but I think I’m feeling better, though, really.” He tries out a weak smile on me.
I pull him in tighter to me again, all modesty forgotten, and just hold him for a few moments. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have tried to open that box if I’d known. I was only opening it to protect Supe... well, you.”
“I know, Lois. It’s not your fault. I was trying to tell you last night when Mayson came and interrupted us; and that’s why I came here just now, to finish the conversation we’d started,” he says softly.
“So, you didn’t come here to chastise me again for trying to chase down Lex on my own?” I ask, trying to infuse some humor into my voice.
“No. But I do wish you’d listen to me, at least some of the time.” I grimace at the implication – that I don’t *ever* listen to him.
“Let’s save that discussion for later,” I tell him and then sigh thoughtfully. Actually we have a lot we need to save till later. We have a lot we need to talk about.
Clark seems like he’s beginning to get uncomfortable. Either he’s finally alert enough to realize the position he’s in or else he’s thinking about what I really want to talk about. Maybe both.
I let him off the hook for now and break the silence. “As much as I’m enjoying having you in my arms, I think we’d better finish getting you cleaned up and make sure this stuff is all off of you.”
His face brightens a little, and his lips stretch into a small smile. “Are you going to give me another bath? Hmm... Nurse Lois. That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he asks, the twinkle back in his eyes.
I blush fiercely. “Ha. In your dreams, Kent.” I smack him lightly on the arm. “I’ll leave you to finish cleaning up and I’ll go change into some dry clothes. Then I can run you home. I think we need to get you out of my contaminated apartment.”
“Um, I don’t think I can go home like this,” he says, indicating his half-naked body and his thoroughly soaked Superman suit.
I find myself blushing again. “Uh, yeah, probably not. Let me see what I can find for you to put on... I may have to just wrap you in a blanket and put a bow on you,” I say, smiling at him. “I think to be safe we should probably dispose of all your clothing, including this suit,” I say, fingering the material of the suit pooled at his waist. “Do you have another one?”
“Yeah, I’ve got others.”
“Others? Really? Well, that’s good. Let’s scrap this one then, just in case it’s contaminated.”
I go into my bedroom and get a pair of oversized sweat pants and a large sweatshirt – for those days when I want to relax, watch a good movie, and eat a whole pint of ice-cream.
A notepad and pen sitting on my dresser catches my attention. I grab them and jot down a note quickly -
- Revelation/secret. Mark Ghent = Spy. Give him cool spy name ? Silver Mane? Ha ha. He's trying to tell Lola who he is. Keep interrupting him. -
I set the pad and pen down and smile. I’m going to have fun with that later.
I bring the clothes into the bathroom. Clark is out of the tub and has a towel tied around his waist.
Oh, there it is again. The image I couldn’t ever strip from my mind. ‘I said nine, I thought you’d be naked...’
“Um, I’ll go in the other room,” I say breathily. “You can change into these. Just leave your suit; I’ll take care of it for you.” I wish I could keep it. Oh, if only it wasn’t contaminated... maybe I could soak it for a few days. He wouldn’t have to know I kept it...
“Thank you,” he says, taking the clothes from me. Our hands touch just briefly and it sends a shiver through my body. He smiles at me and I smile back timidly.
I leave the bathroom to give him some privacy and I try very hard not to peek – okay, not *that* hard.
I’m mostly successful.
**********
As Clark and I walk down the front steps of my apartment building, a uniformed officer comes walking up to meet us.
“Ms. Lane? And this would be Mr. Kent, I presume?”
“Yes,” we both answer.
“Oh, good. I was on my way up to check on you. Did you notice anyone suspicious hanging around outside your apartment earlier, Ms. Lane?”
“Well actually, since you mention it, yes. Someone left a package at my door for Superman, but they ran off before we could see who it was,” I answer.
“We may have apprehended him. My partner and I saw a man come darting out of there a few minutes ago. We yelled at him to stop, that we’d like to ask him some questions, but that just made him run faster. I figured that was as good as a signed confession that he was up to something, so we chased him down. It’s a shame you didn’t see him though. We can’t really hold him without a witness or some proof that he was up to something.”
“I saw him,” Clark says.
“You did?” I ask and he gives me a funny look. Oh, yeah, I guess he probably could have seen him. Right through the walls if he’d wanted to.
“Yeah. I got to the door before you did, *remember*? By the time you got there he was already gone around the corner,” he tells me. Then he addresses the officer, “I could probably ID him for you.”
“That’d be great. We’ve got him in our squad car. I’ll go get him.”
I watch him walk off, and then I turn to Clark and lower my voice to a whisper. “Did you recognize him?”
“No. Probably just some thug Luthor paid to do his dirty work for him. But maybe we can get him to talk. I’m sure Luthor didn’t pay him well enough to go to jail for him.”
Good point. The officer comes back with the dirty, grungy-looking man – well boy actually, probably no more than Jimmy’s age – in tow.
“This him? This the guy you saw?” the officer asks Clark.
“Yeah, that’s him. Did Lex Luthor pay you to drop that package off in front of Ms. Lane’s apartment?” Clark asks the boy.
“I don’t know who it was. I’ve never met Luthor, but this guy looked like he could have been him, except that he was bald.”
It *was* Lex. Could this kid know where he is? “Where did you meet with him?” I ask.
“In an alley not too far from here. If I cooperate with you, will you let me go? I didn’t do nothin’. All I did was make a delivery. I don’t know anything. But, I can take you to the alley where I met him.”
“I’d better call for back-up before you take us there,” the officer says. “Ms. Lane, Mr. Kent, I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to go. It could be dangerous.”
“I agree with you,” Clark says.
He agrees? Well I don’t. The re-capture of Lex Luthor will be front page news, and I intend to be there. I make a motion to follow the police officer and Clark grabs hold of my arm.
“Let go,” I tell him. “If they find Lex, I’m going to be there to cover it.”
“Please,” he says. The appeal has such intensity and emotion that I stop struggling against his grip. “Please, just this once, listen to me. Let it go.”
I don’t want to let it go. I want to be there. I want to see that man go down for what’s he’s done... to me... to Clark. But Clark had made such a point about how I never listen to him. I look up into his face. His eyes are dark with worry, pleading with me not to go.
“Okay,” I finally resign. “I need to get you back to your apartment anyway. As good as you look in my sweats,” I smile at him and tug on his shirt, “we can’t have you walking home in them, especially with no shoes.” I point at his feet.
He had fit into one of my bigger pairs of socks, but there was no hope on the shoes. But we’re driving, not walking to his apartment, so he’ll be okay.
I grab hold of his arm and glance fleetingly in the direction the police drove off.
Clark squeezes my arm lightly. “I promise once we’re back at my apartment and I can get into a suit, I’ll make a quick trip out and check on things,” he says, making a small flying motion with his hand. “I’ll make sure you don’t miss out on your exclusive.”
I smile at him. “Deal.”
**********
To Be Continued...
