Title: Witness Protection 2
Authors: Lara Moon and Sue S.
Rating: PG
This is the extended ending to
Witness Protection . Lara said she knew how to end it and she was right. Authors' notes at the end.
<><><>
I wake up gasping for air. It takes me a few frantic seconds before I realize that I'm in Clark's apartment and lying on his couch. At some point, he covered me with a blanket that I now toss aside so I can stand up. I tiptoe through his bedroom - fighting the temptation to peek over at him - and into his bathroom. I shut the door before I turn on the light so that I don't wake him up and then splash cold water on my face.
Feeling a little more human, I turn off the light and open the door. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark but, once they do, I stare at Clark's bed in bemusement.
He's not there.
There are no lights on in his apartment. Thanks to the layout of his place, I only have to glance around to establish that he's not in the living room either. Bright moonlight is pouring in through the large window in his bedroom and I can tell that, at some point, he did go to bed. The covers have been tossed aside; proof that his bed was slept in at some point.
According to his alarm clock, it's just past three o'clock in the morning. Clark is forever running off on one weird errand or another - is it possible that he does that in his sleep, too?
Just then there's a soft thud outside and I take a precautionary step back into the shadows of his bathroom when the door to his balcony starts to open. To my amazement, Superman comes inside and shuts the door. Why would Superman visit Clark this late at night? I'm just about to greet him when he turns into a blur and suddenly Clark is standing there instead. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt and holding Superman's suit. I blink and wonder if this is possibly the weirdest dream I've ever had. Clark heads in the direction of his closet and then he freezes.
I'm frozen, too. It's just dawned on me that what I'm seeing isn't a dream. This is for real. Oh my god. Superman just turned into Clark. Clark is Superman. It's so obvious and I wonder how I could have missed that fact for so long.
His head is turned towards the couch and I realize he's just noticed that I'm not there. His shoulders stiffen and then he turns around to face me.
"Lois?" he asks softly.
I don't answer since I have no idea what to say to him. Besides, if he's who I think he is, he should be able to hear me. I put one hand against the door's frame to support myself. Can he hear me? How good is his hearing? Good god, no wonder he was always getting that curious look on his face before running off. He was hearing things on the other side of the city; surely he can hear me breathing on the other side of the room.
"I think we should talk," he says in that same quiet voice.
I still don't say anything. Talk? He wants to talk? What is there to talk about? My partner is Superman. He's hidden that fact from me for months and now he thinks we should talk about it? And, come to think of it,
why has he hidden that fact from me for months? I can understand why he didn't blurt it out when we were introduced, but, surely, after almost two years of working together he could trust me?
Sure. Why wouldn't he trust me? I've put him down time and again while openly lusting after him whenever he took his glasses off. It's horrifying to realize just how horrid I've been to him.
"Please say something." His voice sounds tense.
I clear my throat. "What do you want me to say?"
He sighs and sets the Suit down at the end of his bed. Then he stands there, looking awkward and unsure of himself as he runs one hand through his hair.
For some reason I feel better when I realize that he's just as thrown as I am.
"Where did you go?" I ask. I'll start small and we can work up to the blue and red elephant in the room.
"Warehouse fire," he answers cautiously.
"Did you put it out?"
"Yes." He walks over and sits down on his window seat. "You should know that I, uh, I only left you here alone because there were two men, transients, who were trapped in the warehouse. Otherwise I would have just left it to the fire department."
Something inside me flutters nervously at the thought that he hadn't wanted to leave me here alone. His words earlier tonight come back to me.
<"No one is going to hurt either of us. I promise.">I realize that maybe he really did save my life the night before. I have to ask. "So, uh, the night before, when you pushed me down on the stairs in front of my apartment, you really did save my life, didn't you?" I take a hesitant step towards him and then stop cold. Superman! I actually told him that he wouldn't be my first choice of bodyguards. I would laugh at the irony if it wasn't so painful.
"Finn took a couple of shots at you." Clark's hand pats the cushion next to him in invitation.
"So why didn't you show up as Superman yesterday morning when he tried to strangle me?" I take a couple of steps closer to him, feeling like I'm easing into cold water. I should just take the plunge and sit there but I can't. My god! I kissed him earlier! Kissed Superman and he teased me about safeguarding my virtue. My mind reels at the thought that two years worth of innuendo were coming from Superman and not just Clark.
"There wasn't time to change." He clasps his hands in front of him and I realize that my discomfort is only increasing his.
I nervously skitter a little closer to him. "You said you saw the real Mr. Tracewski leave, right? How long had you been out in front of my building?"
His head ducks. "I spent the night on the bench across the street."
"You did?" I slowly ease down onto the window seat a few feet away from him.
He nods.
Wasn't he cold? It's winter and he's sleeping on the street? But mostly I feel almost dizzy at the realization that Clark - or Superman - would care enough about me to do that.
"Why?"
"Because I knew that you were in danger and I just wanted... to keep you safe."
I think my heart flips over in my chest. "You did. You always have." All the nasty put-downs that I've directed at Clark when comparing him to Superman come back to me and I feel heartily ashamed. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?" He sounds genuinely puzzled.
"I've been... horrible to you."
He turns on the seat to face me more fully. There's a sort of shyness about him that seems odd. Especially if you consider that he can stand unarmed, wearing nothing but a thin layer of spandex, in front of the most dangerous criminals, and still look like he's the most self-assured person in the world.
"Horrible?" he echoes. "You've never been horrible to me, Lois. Why would you think that?"
How is it that I knew he was going to say just that? I told him once that I had him figured out; back when we were working on the Prometheus story. Well, obviously, I had him figured all wrong. But there are still things about this man that I know – probably better than anyone.
"Yes, I have," I tell him, my voice just above a whisper. I don't want him to know how close I am to tears. I don't think I could stand him trying to comfort me, or worse holding me close to him like he did this morning. Because I
will cry if he reaches out to touch me. "I made such a huge fuss when Perry assigned me to work with you."
"Who wouldn't have? Stuck to work with the new guy when you're used to being great – more than great – all on your own."
OK, so maybe he has a point. I hate that he's found a way to turn that into a compliment, though.
"I kept comparing you – negatively – to Superman."
"Being compared to myself isn't so bad. At least there's a part of me you seemed to like."
Like? That's an understatement if I've ever heard one. Besides, there are two parts of him that I like. He does know that, right? I can't think of a way to tell him that without sounding shallow. In the moonlight I can see the tenderness in his features and it only increases the panic I feel deep down inside.
"I stole a story from you," I remind him. Honesty seems like the very best policy from here on out.
If only honesty didn't hurt so much. I swallow a few times as that particular memory comes flooding back. If he knows me at all – and I know he does - he's well aware that this is a very serious offense in my book. Stealing a story is, I believe, the worst possible crime any reporter could ever be accused of. And though I've sworn never to do such a thing – and he even knows why! – I went right ahead and did it to him, the first chance I got.
"And I paid you back for that, didn't I?"
Our eyes meet and I realize that I've never seen him without his glasses before. Not as Clark, anyway. It was Clark - Superman! - who sent me on that wild goose chase at the reclamation facility. OK, so we're even on that one. Maybe.
But one trip through raw sewage can't possibly right all my other wrongs. "I've been condescending and... just plain mean!"
"So, maybe I turned out to be tougher competition than you expected. But you were never mean."
Tougher competition? I almost blurt out that he must be crazy to think he's any kind of competition for me. Then I remember who it is that I'm really talking to and I can't say anything. If I'm honest with myself, he
was more competition than I had expected. He was smarter and more street savvy than any hick should have been. He's even competing with me right now. He's a hick with an excuse for everything.
It occurs to me that I've just about run out of arguments. And he's dismissed every single one. You'd think that would irritate me to death, but it doesn't. I just feel ashamed for being myself, really. Mad Dog Lane at her worst. She's got a mean bite, you know. Yet, bite as she may, Clark always stays there and takes it, never complaining even once. It makes me wonder how he ever put up with me. I'd ask, but I've got a fairly good idea how the answer would come out and I'm not sure I want to hear it. I wish he wasn't so... Clark. I wish he'd just get mad and tell me how terrible I've been. I wish he could hate me as much as I hate myself right now.
"I should go." I stand up quickly and make a beeline for the door. The last thing I want is for him to see me turn into a crying mess.
"Lois, wait," he says and I realize he's gone from sitting behind me to being right in front of me before I could even blink. Of course, that's not surprising: he probably could have gone around the earth a couple of times before I made it to his front door.
I throw my shoulders back in a defiant posture and just stare at him. As if that's going to fool either of us. We eye each other for a moment before I finally make a move to go around him.
"Lois, please."
Something in his soft tone sets off a wave of panic in me and I lash out, hoping to hurt him with words since I can't do it physically. "Or what? You'll force me to stay?" I snap at him.
I regret it immediately. The way he looks at me now, you'd almost think I just ripped his heart out. He's spent the last few minutes trying to convince me that I'm not as horrible as I think and here I go, stabbing him in the chest with proof that I am. Give it up, Clark. Just hate me. It will be easier for everyone.
"I'm sorry," I say, bowing my head in remorse. "I, uh, I didn't mean that. I should... um... I should really go."
"Lois, please. You shouldn't leave. Barbara Trevino could have your place watched, for all we know."
Good point. As much as I'm not sure I want to be here right now, I definitely don't want to be there, either. God, this is such a mess.
"I'd feel better if you stayed here," he adds, a pleading look in his eyes. The one even the Mad Dog part of me finds impossible to resist.
"I, uh..." I begin to say, though my mind has drawn a blank and I'm only trying to avoid an awkward silence. What do you say when it's
Superman begging you to stay? I know what I would have said to
Clark - but that seems like forever ago.
"I'll leave, if you like," he suggests, as an inducement. "I'll hang around outside. Make sure you're OK."
Wait... Hang around outside his own apartment? Because I'm in here and he thinks I'd prefer it if he wasn't? He'd do that?
Of course he would. He spent the previous night on a park bench in front of my apartment building to make sure I was safe. And he'd do it again. And again. Until he was absolutely certain I wasn't in any danger. Who is this man and why is he wasting his time with someone like me?
"All right. I'll stay," I tell him. Feeling guilty at the thought of him standing outside his own window all night, I immediately add, "But you don't have to go anywhere."
I see a shadow of a smile tugging at his lips. Does he think he just won? Doesn't he know how quickly I can change my mind? A little spark of righteous indignation goes off inside me. I should go with that. It's much easier - safer - to be angry with him than to freak out and dissolve into tears.
"Why..." I try to swallow, but there's a stupid lump in my throat and it's just about choking me to death. As much as I don't want to cry in front of him right now, I can't stop myself from asking the question that's haunting me. "Why do you put up with me?"
I'm still not sure I really want him to tell me, though.
"For the same reasons you put up with me," he answers, dodging my question completely.
"Because I have no other choice?" I ask, trying to sound detached, though all I really sound like is some pathetic woman on the verge of tears.
"Admit it, you secretly love being stuck with me, don't you?" His smile widens.
Am I stuck with him? My stomach makes a sharp, delighted drop at the memory of kissing him earlier and his words to me now. Stuck with Clark - it's not the worst thing that could happen.
But I'm mad at both of us right now. At least, I think I'm mad at him. I should be - shouldn't I? I'm certainly angry enough that I'm not going to admit to anything right now.
"So, um, which are you really?" I ask, changing the subject to one that's got less sting. "Clark or Superman?"
"A little bit of both," he says, still smiling warmly.
I try very hard to ignore the fact that he's standing barely two feet away and smiling at me. Because I'm still trying to be mad at him. And failing miserably, it seems. Of course, how can one possibly stay mad at
Superman? Or worse, how do you stay mad at Clark when he keeps insisting that you're a good person even though you've been anything but good to him? You'd think I would hate him for that, but the truth is I can't even stay mad for more than a short second.
"No, I mean... Which is the real one? Is Superman a disguise Clark Kent wears or is it the other way around?"
"Superman is the disguise. I may have been born someone else, but until I came to Metropolis, Clark Kent is the only person I've ever really been. It was only after I got here that things got a little... schizo." He give an embarrassed shrug that speaks volumes for how odd it must feel to have an alter ego.
I wish he would have said that he was really Superman. If he'd told me Superman was his real identity, I could have accused Clark of being a fake – pretending to be a normal human being or something. But now... This only make him look better. This means he's just a regular guy – OK, maybe not
that regular – using his abilities to make a difference. This probably means he hasn't been lying to me completely.
"Everything you know about Clark Kent is true," he adds, as if he's just read my mind. "Everything except that he wasn't born in Kansas, but on Krypton and he happens to have certain abilities. I may have hidden these facts from you, but I've never lied about anything else."
"What you said before – you know, how when you save someone's life that person owes you that life?"
He just nods. I wonder if he knows exactly what I'm getting at.
"How many lifetimes do I owe you?"
He smiles at me again. I wish he'd stop doing that!
"I haven't counted," he admits. "But I owe you a few of my own, you know."
"You do?"
"Lois, you've saved Superman more times than I can count already. From Trask, then during the heat wave, and after Nightfall. There wouldn't even be a Superman if it wasn't for you. Surely you know that. I easily owe you as many lifetimes as you think you owe me."
Dammit. Now why'd he have to go and say that?
"Could you please stop being so perfect?" I ask in a small voice that's cracking on every other word.
"Perfect?" He looks at me with a puzzled expression. "Lois, I'm anything but perfect."
"See, that's exactly what I mean," I complain as tears start stinging my eyes.
I've just now realized that I hate him. I really do.
I hate him because he's the one person I can cry in front of. I hate him for kissing me and for teasing me and for all the countless times that he's brought me coffee fixed exactly right. I hate him because no matter what I do or say, even when I'm being awful to him, he's still my best friend. I hate him because I'm no longer able to even imagine what my life would be like if he wasn't here. I hate him because I need him so much it hurts. I hate him because I've been desperately trying not to fall in love with him for weeks. And I hate him because he probably knows all this just as well as I do.
I couldn't even begin to explain how much I hate it that he's taken the last step that separated us and has put his arms around me. I really do hate when he does that, you know. I mean, what's not to hate? His strong arms holding me tightly against him, the musky scent of his aftershave, the way he whispers sweet nonsense in my ear to soothe me, the fact that he's going to stand there and hold me until I stop crying. Who wants that? Well, not me, that's for sure!
"I hate you," I whisper into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He deserves to know how I feel.
"I know." His breath traces over my ear when he speaks and it sends a shiver through me.
I pull away and look at him, frowning. "No... I mean I
hate you, Clark. I really,
really hate you."
"I know," he says softly as he brushes a kiss on my forehead. "I hate you, too."
And I really do hate him right now. With all my heart.
~ The End ~
So I had this story that I was lazy about writing an ending for. Then Lara mentioned that she knew how to end it. So I wrote to her and told her to go for it. She sent back an amazing ending and I mentally "doh'd" myself that it had never occurred to me. So I made some tweaks to my part and sent it back to her. Then we both started tweaking and this is the result. I plan let her write the endings for all my stories from now on.
I told Lara she could append comments but she's being shy. Maybe a little FDK will tempt her into talking?
