Sorry for the huge delay in getting this up. I had thought I'd have a chance to post again before I went on vacation, but my internet access was not as good as I had hoped and things have been crazy since I returned. I hope to have the next part up sometime later this week, but as I haven't even finished it yet, I can't promise.
Ten Years in the Making (Part 3 of ?)
There was a stunned silence for a moment while Clark and Lois just looked at each other. And then Lois laughed. It was a crazy sound, completely discordant with the tension in the room. But then the entire past few moments had been crazy. Lois had announced her love and then slapped him. Perhaps laughter was the appropriate response.
Clark for his part did nothing, just stared at Lois with confusion clear on his face. He tried for a time to fashion a sentence, but nothing came out. It was hard to decide what to say – “Do you really love me?”, “I'm so sorry I never told you.”, “I love you, too.”, “Why did you slap me?”, “What is so funny?” – all these questions and more were warring in his head trying to get out. It was almost like his mouth stayed silent in protest.
Finally, Lois' laughter stopped. Still smiling she said, “I've never seen Superman look confused before. The look doesn't suit you.”
Taking in her smiling face, Clark knew he had to say something – even if he had no idea what that something was. “Lois,” he began.
But Lois stood up, her voice suddenly firm, and all traces of her smile gone, she spoke over him. “No. Don't talk. I don't want to hear it. There is absolutely nothing you can say to make this right. Nothing. You lied to me about who you were for over a year. You let me think that you were two people. You let me fall in love with both of you knowing you'd never love me back as Superman and then leaving me to think that Clark had died. You let me think you were dead for ten years, Clark. Ten years! There is nothing you can say to make this better.
“If ever I had harbored the notion that you were honest that day in the park before I almost married Lex and your denial later was an attempt to regain some pride, I now know the truth. If you had loved me, you couldn't possibly have done what you did. Honestly, Clark – it's hard to imagine you could have done that if all you felt for me was honest, platonic, affection. So clearly, while I spent the last ten years fantasizing about what would have happened had you lived – that's all they were - fantasies. Because you did live and you let me think you hadn't. You let me think you had died protecting me. You let me think you were a man of honor and clearly you are not.
“The world believes that Clark Kent died that day and until yesterday I believed it, too. It was strangely a less painful belief than the reality that Clark Kent is alive and I wasn't important enough for him to let me know. So, I think it best if we just go back to the way things were.”
Clark, swallowing tears back, whispered, “The way things were?”
“Yes,” Lois clarified. “The way things were – Clark Kent is dead and I haven't been friends with Superman in years. And since I'm not in any danger there is no need for you to be here. You should go.”
Clark gasped. Lois' voice was so calm, she sounded so very serious. He said the first thing that came to mind, “You can't mean that, Lois. You can't.”
“I can and I do,” she told him firmly. “You need to leave.”
Clark stared at a spot just over Lois' head, marveling at the fact that it turned out heartbreak was not just a nice phrase for what he was feeling – it was apt. It really felt like his heart was breaking in pieces. Lois hated him. Despite her declaration of love a few moments ago, that was clear.
Turning around, he walked out of the room, and without a word to Lucy or even Sammy he took off for Kansas.
Somehow as much as the sound of Lois' calm, cold voice had been painful, it was no more consoling when his super-hearing picked up the sounds of Lois' anguished cries as he flew away.
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Clark spent the next several hours floating aimlessly through the sky, desperately trying to erase the memory of his conversation with Lois. When he returned to Smallville, his parents were awake – his father was at work plowing the fields and his mother was in the barn. While he was sure there was a plate of breakfast waiting for him in the refrigerator, he was in no mood to eat, even just to make his mother happy. While he had no idea how he would ever be able to sleep, he headed upstairs. Peeling off the spandex Superman outfit, he stepped into the shower.
He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts and focus on the feel of the warm water cascading over his shoulders. But at some point he could no longer ignore the fact that half the water washing over his cheeks was tears rather than water and he seemed to have no control over the response. So, he shut off the water and dried off, headed for his room.
On automatic pilot, he donned a pair of boxers and slipped between the sheets of his bed. Within moments, the tears had finally stopped, but Clark felt none of the relief that sometimes comes after a long cry. In fact short of feeling out of tears, he thought he might have felt even more miserable. His head turned to the side, he stared at the picture from the Kerths.
He desperately wished he could go back to that night. It was ironic how simple that life seemed to him now when at the time he felt like he was constantly re-evaluating things with Lois – when and if to tell her how he felt, when and if to tell her about Superman…. It had seemed so complicated then. But he would take that complication in a heartbeat over what he was feeling now.
Lois preferred it when he was dead. He wanted to be angry, wanted to blame her for wanting something so awful. But something prevented him from that emotion. Some small part of him was aware that this was his doing – that it was his actions that led her to feel this way.
Of course knowing it was his fault hardly made him feel any better. No, instead he felt guilty on top of the awful weight on his chest knowing that Lois preferred it when she thought he was dead.
Forget going back to the Kerth Awards. He would like to go back to yesterday.
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Coming in the back door, Martha set the dish on the counter. A few years ago, she and Jonathan had taken to keeping food in the barn for stray cats. It encouraged them to stop by and this discouraged the mice from making their home in the hayloft.
Setting the empty cat food dish to the side to be washed later, she went to the refrigerator to pour herself some water. Spotting the plate of food she had left for Clark on the top shelf, she reached over to turn on the radio hoping to hear news of a Superman rescue.
Fifteen minutes later, she had finished her chores in the kitchen and there still had been no news of a recent Superman sighting. Assuming Clark was out doing small rescues which would only make news local to where he was, she turned off the radio on her way into the den.
Setting up the ironing board, she began her next chore turning on a daytime soap opera while she did. Ironing was her least favorite thing to do and while she liked to think she was more high-minded than watching soap operas, it was a guilty pleasure – one she had determined years ago made the time spent ironing pass faster.
She giggled when a half hour later Jonathan came in the backdoor, sweaty and smelling earthy. In an affected voice, he said, “Oh, Martha, I must have you. Even if you are in love with my brother's wife and carrying my priest's child,” as he wrapped an arm around her waist from behind.
“You need a shower,” she replied.
He placed a kiss on her neck as he stepped towards the stairs. “Clark back yet?” he called over his shoulder.
“No,” Martha called back, “His breakfast is still in the fridge.”
Jonathon walked into the master bedroom, idly noticing that Clark's door was closed. He showered and changed, coming downstairs to watch Martha make dinner.
“I think Clark is sleeping,” he said as he came down the stairs.
“He's here?” Martha was surprised. She suspected Clark ate the meals she left for him even when he was not hungry. He had never let one go to waste before.
“Well, his door is closed,” Jonathan said as he snuck a carrot from the salad Martha was making.
She smacked his hand affectionately as she said, “I guess. It's not like him to not eat the food we leave for him.”
Jonathan smiled at the concern he heard in his wife's voice. “Perhaps it was a really tough rescue, honey.”
“I guess,” she replied, not completely convinced.
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The following morning she was still not convinced. The night before, Jonathan had knocked on Clark's door for dinner, but Clark had not answered. He was no where to be found for breakfast.
Again, Martha had turned on the radio, but there were no Superman sightings mentioned since the tidal wave in Indonesia. While she was sure there had been minor rescues since then, Clark would have come home and taken the time to eat unless there was a disaster.
Cleaning up the breakfast dishes, Martha wondered what to do. What if Clark was sick? It was unlikely, but not impossible that he had somehow been exposed to kryptonite.
Her minded decided, she went upstairs and into Clark's room without knocking. Almost instantaneously, her heart constricted at the sight that greeted her.
Clark was lying on his bed, staring straight up at the ceiling. Tear tracks were evident on his cheeks and the picture of him and Lois was clutched tightly to his chest.
As the puzzle pieces fit together, she gasped. Lois was dead – that was the only reason she could imagine her son in this state.
Clark did not respond to her gasp, and she moved toward him taking a seat beside him on the bed. Placing a warm hand on his cheek, she whispered, “I'm so sorry, Clark. So sorry.”
Clark said nothing, just sniffled.
“Clark, how did it happen?” she asked, wondering if it was the right question. But Clark had been holed up in his room for too long – getting him to talk about it seemed the best thing to do.
Clark still said nothing although he did glance at his mother briefly.
“Oh, honey,” Martha whispered, leaning down to embrace her son.
Clark gave a choked sob and the tears started all over again. He sat up, burying his head in his mother's hair the way he had when he was a small child – back when it was still possible for him to scrape his knee.
Martha rubbed small circles on his back, whispering soothing words.
Finally feeling spent, Clark pulled away slightly and again Martha asked, “What happen, honey? Was she in pain?”
Clark looked at his mother quizzically, and then with a nasally voice asked, “Was who in pain, Mom?”
Martha was surprised by the question, but came back with a quick, “Well, Lois, honey.”
Clark continued to look confused and Martha started to question her assumption, “I thought… well, when I saw you in here like this, I thought Lois had died,” she explained.
Clark gave a bitter laugh, but then felt immediately guilty. He knew his parents had cared for Lois, too. Thinking she had died would have been difficult for his mother.
“No, Mom, Lois is fine. Well, healthy, anyway,” he assured her.
Martha smiled brightly, trying to focus on the good news before getting back to the reason her son had closed himself in his room for the past day. “So, you found her then? That's great, Clark.”
Clark nodded slightly. “After the tidal wave a couple of days ago. She is staying at her sister's place in San Diego. There was a fire there yesterday and I went to help out.”
Martha nodded encouragingly, willing Clark to go on.
“I went back there yesterday. I just wanted to see her, make sure she was okay,” Clark's voice broke on the last word and he finished miserably with, “She hates me, Mom.”
“What? You talked to her?” Martha asked, surprised. Clark had not had the nerve to get close enough to Lois to talk to her in years.
Clark nodded, “Yes, and she knew who I was immediately.” He clarified when he saw his mother looking confused. “She somehow saw me as Clark when I was wearing the suit. And she's angry at me. Very angry.”
“Oh, honey, of course she is,” Martha said gently, “but she'll get over it. You just need to give her time.” She tried to be supportive, although it was hard to imagine how she would feel in Lois' situation. She had tried to convince Clark to talk to Lois for years, but he was convinced that silence was the right thing to do. Still, the last thing Clark needed to hear right now was that he had destroyed any hope of Lois forgiving him.
Clark lay back down, staring at the ceiling. He did not say anything for several minutes, and then, his voice sounding firm, he replied, “No, I don't think she will. And can I really blame her?”
Martha placed a hand to Clark's forehead, brushing his hair back, but did not say anything.
“Thanks, Mom, but I think I need to be alone,” Clark finally said.
Martha leaned down to kiss him lightly on the cheek before getting up to leave the room.
