Save Me, Superman Part 3
By Lynn McCreadie
Author’s Notes:
I thought to break this down further, but I promised it in three parts. So sorry about the length.
As you most likely know if you’ve read Parts 1 and 2, this fanfic begins with the premise of the “That Old Gang of Mine” episode, however in this story, Clark was not saved by Superman. In part 3, Lois has left Metropolis to go to visit the Kents.
Thanks for reading!
Lynn
Lois turned down the gravel drive, glancing again at the mailbox to make sure she had the right place. How anyone managed to find their way around the countryside was anyone’s guess. Every county road looked the same as another, and the corn grew so high that you couldn’t see anything out of either window but row upon row of green stalks. She’d double checked her directions at the diner in Smallville, but the landmarks the helpful waitress named Maisey had supplied did little good. As far as she was concerned, the Henry farm and the Thomson place looked exactly the same.
Satisfied with the KENT painted carefully on the bright yellow mailbox, she drove slowly the last fifty yards, pulling off to the side of the house where she remembered Clark had parked when they’d been in Smallville over a year earlier. She laughed out loud, realizing that if only she had been a little bit more observant, she might have figured everything out then and saved them all a whole lot of trouble now. What was that old saying, a stitch in time saves nine? Something like that certainly applied.
She took a deep breath as she faced the screened door, reminding herself that once she knocked, there was no going back. If he answered the door himself, she thought there was a very real possibility that she would either drop on the wooden planks in a dead faint or turn and bolt back to the car and never look back. Of course, it could be Martha or Jonathan that answered, but that would only delay the inevitable. Unless Clark’s parents emphatically denounced her theory and could give her a reasonable explanation of why their son had failed to bleed after being shot, Lois was not leaving Kansas until she saw Clark for herself, living and breathing.
Her knock on the wooden door frame echoed across the porch and down into the yard, so loud that she was certain they heard it in town. She stepped back nervously, fighting the urge to run. With a shake of her head, she scolded herself. She was a brave, strong woman who could handle anything. Had handled anything. What could be so bad about confronting a man who was pretending to be dead? The fact that she loved him had nothing to do with it.
Faster that she expected, the cornflower blue front door swung open, the cheerful eucalyptus wreath swaying slightly with the movement. Lois braced herself as the form moved from the shadow of the house to peer at her through the safety of the thin metal screen. She almost gasped with relief when she saw Martha Kent’s dainty person looking at her with no small surprise on her delicately aging face. To the woman’s credit, she quickly recovered and offered Lois a wide smile full of warmth that instantly made Lois feel more relaxed.
“Lois!” Martha exclaimed as she pushed open the screen door. “You said you were coming out, but I didn’t realize it’d be so soon.”
“I’m sorry,” Lois apologized, suddenly feeling awkward. “I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
“Nonsense. We’re glad you’re here. Come in, come in.” She stepped back slightly, making room so that Lois could move past her.
Lois glanced around, smiling as she took in the comfortable house. Her mother’s taste had always been on the highly stylized end of the decorating spectrum, with the perfect piece of art placed at the perfect angle on the perfect table. The Kent home, on the other hand, was a cozy blend of the useful, whimsical and sentimental pieces that invited you to pull up a chair and stay a while. Although clean and tidy, the mixture of country fabrics and worn upholstery, framed photos of Clark at various stages of growth, and knick knacks picked up from years of vacations and antiquing, created a patchwork quilt that told the story of the family that lived there. Once again, Lois could see why Clark was the way he was. He’d been brought up surrounded by a warmth and softness that couldn’t help but make you feel good every time you walked through the front door.
“Would you like some coffee?” Martha was asking, and Lois tore her gaze away from the photos lining the entry hall.
“Uh...yeah. Thanks. That would be nice,” she stammered. Martha continued down the hall to disappear into the kitchen, but Lois lingered, walking slowly as she took in the history of Clark pre Daily Planet, pre Lois.
He’d been a football player, for more than a couple of seasons it appeared from the various uniforms. Little League, too. And there was his prom picture, the date with Sheriff Rachel. A very small Clark posing with a very large cow, holding a blue ribbon and wearing a gap-toothed grin. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth at the thought of the now urban man participating in such a rural tradition as 4H or the county fair. His senior portrait, air brushed so that the rugged hardness of his face was softened to an almost unnatural glow.
As she reached the end of the display, she stopped, a final image holding her. It was Clark, standing next to her after winning the Kerth Award. It was the same picture he’d had on his desk that found its way to her apartment via the infamous coffee cup box. That night she’d tossed it aside with barely a thought. Now, she looked at it carefully. In it, Clark beamed proudly, his crystal trophy clutched in his right hand while she hung onto his left arm. They both wore black, he a tux and she an elegant gown. She’d visited her stylist who’d swept her dark hair back in a chignon, a look a little too severe, she noted critically. But what caught her attention most was how happy the two people staring back at her seemed. He smiled at the camera while she looked at him slightly, for the first time in their professional lives together the spotlight shining away from her.
Was that when it happened, she wondered? Was that the moment when she fell in love with Clark? It had happened so gradually, so unexpectedly that she felt compelled to know the precise moment when her feelings had changed. True, she hadn’t been aware that they had changed until two weeks ago, but once she opened up her eyes and her heart, she saw that she’d felt it for so much longer. Her heart had loved Clark for a long time even if her head hadn’t known it.
She was half way into the kitchen before she remembered that there was a very real possibility that Clark could be standing in it. With a start, she glanced around anxiously. “Where’s…Jonathan?” she faltered, hoping that she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt.
“He’s down the road a ways, helping Bob Richards with a problem tractor.” Martha moved around the kitchen, putting the paper filter into the coffee maker and pulling mugs from the cabinet. “You know, I thought that once we got older, we’d slow down. But I think we’re busier now than we’ve ever been. If it’s not something on our farm it’s something on somebody else’s. I guess it’s the blessing and the curse of a small town. There’s always someone around to help you out and always someone around that needs help.”
“Sounds kind of nice,” Lois remarked, “knowing that there are people around in case you need them.”
“Hmmm, yeah. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Martha turned with a smile.
Lois studied her face, looking for signs of lingering grief, the despair of a mother who’d lost her one and only beloved son. While obviously a wonderful mother, Martha Kent was no actress. She fairly glowed with good health and a relatively peaceful mind. Any lingering doubt that Lois felt about her suspicion was completely erased, and now she only wondered how far Clark’s parents were willing to go to perpetuate the myth of his death.
They’d declined the invitation to the memorial service, but at the time, Lois had thought nothing of it. She’d been too wrapped up in her own grief to care much what anyone else did, and when a few insensitive coworkers had remarked on their absence, she’d assumed that they had simply lacked the ability to pull themselves off the floor and put themselves on a plane. She remembered wondering if their pain was as sharp as her own, guessing that it couldn’t be much worse. If it was, she wouldn’t have blamed them for locking themselves in their house and setting it afire.
Now, as she watched Martha open a cookie jar shaped like a fish and move chocolate chip cookies to a plate, she tried to decide how to broach the subject. Once she’d made up her mind to come to Smallville, she’d given little thought as to what she would actually say to Martha and Jonathan if Clark didn’t easily give himself up. Even on the two hour flight that morning, she’d decided that it would all come to her on the spot and tried to focus on her magazine and the highly informative article about Madonna and her next world tour. The talented pop star would be appearing in Chicago and Houston, with a planned stop at the Metropolis Metrodome sometime next fall. No mention of how much she’d be wearing during the show.
“Sit down, honey. It’s a long trip. You must be tired.” Martha set the plate of cookies in the center of the table and gestured to the chair. Lois pulled it out and sat, inhaling the scent of the coffee as the steam wafted upward. “I’m sorry that we didn’t know when you were coming. Jonathan could’ve picked you up at the airport and saved you the drive…”
“Martha,” Lois stopped her. “I’m guessing you’re wondering why I’m here?”
“You don’t need a reason to come see us, Lois,” Martha protested almost a little too vehemently.
“Even now that Clark’s…gone?” Lois pressed, feeling a sudden, unkind need to punish Martha for her role in Lois’s pain. If Clark hadn’t been willing to come to her, what had kept his parent’s from picking up the phone? Even though she knew that their loyalties lie with their son and it wasn’t their place to divulge his secrets, she still felt a pang of resentment. While she’d been wallowing in her misery, they’d been enjoying his company.
Martha shifted uncomfortably. “We’ve always considered you part of the family. With or without Clark, you’d always be welcome.”
Lois felt instantly contrite. Martha and Jonathan had always been kind to her, and she knew they would never intentionally hurt her. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“Lois, how are you doing?” Martha reached across the table and took Lois’s hand in her own. “I know these past weeks have been hard.”
She nodded, tears gathering at this outward display of concern. She’d received daily calls from Perry, and her own mother had tried to offer her some brand of comfort. But one of the worst things about the past weeks was that she’d had no one to turn to. The one person she most often looked to for comfort and support was the very person who had brought her to such a low state.
With a hard swallow, she tried to keep her voice from wavering. “It’s been very hard. I never knew how much Clark meant to me until he was gone. And then it was too late.”
Martha frowned. “Too late?”
Lois rose out of the chair, walking to the sink where a crisp breeze flowing through the open window ruffled the lace-edged curtains. She looked out over the vast stretch of golden topped corn that rolled away from her, trying to muster up the courage that had gotten her this far. Admitting her feelings to herself was one thing. The prospect of saying them out loud was terrifying. “Clark and I were such good friends. He meant so much to me. I’d never had a best friend until I met him. When I watched him fall to the ground, it was like part of me died that night. A part that I never even knew I had until I met Clark.” She turned back to Martha, tears trickling in a steady stream. “It was the best part of me.”
The older woman stood, walking to Lois and wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. The gesture broke the last threads of her control, and Lois felt the sobs rising from her core. She let them out, allowing Martha to give her the comfort she’d needed for so long.
For a long time they stood like that until Lois felt her strength returning. With big gulps of air, she pulled back, smiling weakly at Martha. To her surprise, Martha had tears running down her cheeks as well, and it almost sent Lois back to sobbing.
She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, laughing slightly when Martha reached for a box of tissues and handed it to her, pulling a few out for herself. Both women returned to the table. Lois waited while Martha added hot coffee to their cups, using the minute to collect herself. It was time, she knew. She had to tell her.
“Martha, when I said that it was too late, I meant that I thought it was too late for me to tell Clark how I feel about him.” She cleared her throat, willing herself to go on. “But I’ve discovered something that makes me think that maybe it’s not too late. That there’s a chance I can let him know how much he means to me.”
“Lois, I…” Martha stammered, her soft eyes widening with a mixture of fear and panic.
Lois rushed on, sparing the woman the torture. “I have a reason to believe that Clark didn’t die the night he was shot. I think that he’s still alive. Here. In Smallville.”
The color drained from Martha’s face, and for a terrifyingly long minute, Lois felt sick, wondering if she’d made the biggest mistake in her life. Then the ghostly white skin turned a bright red, as if Martha had been caught in the most elaborate hoax ever perpetrated by man. “What makes you think that Clark is alive?” she croaked.
“I had a chance to watch the surveillance tape that was made the night Clark was shot.” Martha blanched and Lois nodded. “It was awful. I can’t even tell you how bad…anyway, I noticed that after he was shot, Clark didn’t bleed. There was no blood. At all. I couldn’t understand how that was possible. I tried to think of every reason that a normal man might not bleed after being shot. But I kept coming back to the same thing. It wasn’t possible. Only Superman could have taken those bullets and not bled. I put two and two together and…”
“You figured that Clark must be Superman.” Martha finished softly. What had taken Lois hours to compile, sum, and total, Martha had computed in mere seconds.
“Martha, please,” Lois leaned forward, the center of her world moving to exist only at that specific place and moment. “Tell me. Am I right? Is Clark Superman?”
Martha didn’t answer. She looked at Lois, holding her gaze with an unblinking stare. When at last, Martha pulled her eyes away to look past Lois, the silence was weighted with all of the answers to the questions she hadn’t even asked yet. Somehow, Martha had managed to remain true to her son without lying for him.
Exhaling with a weak whistle, Lois sat back in the chair. It was true. Since her mind had made the giant leap into the truth three nights ago, she’d lived alone with her theory, always aware that she could be wrong. Now that another human being confirmed it, she let the last little bit of hope she’d kept buried dig its way to the surface.
She resisted the urge to pelt Martha with the myriad questions that she wanted to ask, knowing that the woman would neither welcome them nor answer them. One thing she had to know, because it made the difference of whether or not she would remain in the Kent house for another minute or get up immediately, jump in her rental car and back down the driveway. “I need to know. Did he let me think him dead because he wanted to end all contact with Metropolis?” she asked, then blushed. “I mean, did he want to end all contact with me and this was just an unexpected convenience.”
“Oh, heavens, no!” Martha exclaimed. “Lois, you have to believe me. I would never speak for Clark or try to explain why he’s done the things he’s done. But I do know that he loves you. He would never knowingly or willingly hurt you.”
Lois nodded, allowing Clark’s mother to believe that she accepted that. Anything remaining was between her and Clark. “Where is he? He has been staying here, hasn’t he?”
“I’m not sure where he is,” Martha admitted. “The last I saw him was at lunch. He’d been gone for nearly two days taking care of an earthquake in Mexico, so I’d just given him your package. He took it on the porch to open, and when I went out to check on him, he was gone.”
She frowned, staring at her half empty cup. It was possible that he’d gone to find her in Metropolis, assuming he’d understood her letter. When he hadn’t shown up yesterday, after her tracking effort confirmed that the FedEx envelope had been delivered, she wondered if he missed her pointed call. For a while she even thought that maybe he’d read the letter and really didn’t care, choosing to ignore it all together. The thought stung, but not as bad as the gaping wound that she’d received the night she’d thought he died. Determined to put an end to this story one way or the other, she’d boarded the plane headed west. Now that Martha offered him an acceptable alibi, she hoped that he had gone to her place. If that was the case, he’d find that she’d left and eventually turn up back in Smallville.
“Lois, I’m sorry if what Clark’s done has hurt you.” Martha started, offering apologies on her son’s behalf. “I know how I’d feel if I really believed that he’d died. If it’s any consolation to you, he’s been hurting pretty bad, too. I can say in all of his life, I’ve never seen him brought so low as he has been thinking that his life in Metropolis is gone. And it’s not his job or his friends that’s got him so broken up. It was knowing that he’d lost you.”
Lois nodded again. It did help a little, knowing that Clark missed her and felt terrible about what had happened. Still, she needed to hear his explanation, his reasoning for keeping his secret even after everything that had happened.
Suddenly, she felt drained. Two weeks of little sleep topped off with three days of virtually no sleep had finally caught up with her. The relief of seeing Martha acted almost as a sleeping pill, relaxing her enough to allow her body’s own system to kick into overdrive. She stood, stretching her arms in an effort to increase the blood flow. “Would it be OK if I took a little walk? I need to stretch,” she explained. “And think.”
Martha stood as well. “Of course! You can’t get lost. There’s a fence around the property, and if you stay out of the corn fields, you’ll always be within sight of the house.”
Lois moved around the table and in a gesture foreign to a woman raised in a fairly undemonstrative family, she reached for Martha, giving her another tight hug. “Thank you, Martha. No matter what happens, seeing you has been a big help.”
She walked back down the hall, past the photographic representation of Clark’s life and out the screen door. Heading to her left, she meandered to the edge of the vast yard, where a fence punctuated the end of the neatly trimmed grass and the beginning of the corn field. She took a right and followed the fence, walking slowly. The clean air felt wonderful, cool enough that she was glad to have her sweater. She took in deep breaths, letting the sweet smells fill her nose. It was amazing, she observed, how in just three days, the colors of the world had returned.
After that long night, for the first time since Clark’s non-death, she had left her apartment of her own volition. She’d taken a long shower and changed into clean clothes, scrounged around for her car keys and driven the familiar route to the Planet. She slipped in quietly, avoiding all eye contact with curious people who stared at her like she was some sort of tragic widow. After availing the more than willing mail clerk of his services to send her letter via FedEx, she’d taken the back stairs up to Perry’s office. He’d been so glad to see her up and about and was quick to grant her request for some additional time off, assuring her that after years of missed vacations, she more than had it coming to her. She hadn’t told him where she was going or why, just mentioning that she felt that she needed to get a way for a little while.
Even without hard evidence, the simple idea that Clark was still alive had lifted an incredible weight off of her. Knowing that somewhere, he walked and talked and breathed and laughed gave her a reason to get up and make plans. She’d spent the two days before her flight to Smallville cleaning her apartment, throwing open the windows to let fresh air blow away the stale smells of depression. Still feeling incredibly fragile, she didn’t tax her mind or emotions too much, renting a couple of light Marx Brothers movies, reading People magazine and ordering chicken soup from the deli down the street. She bided her time, counting the hours until she would arrive at the Kent farm.
The nights had still been long, the images of Clark’s crumpling body sending her upright in her bed, drenched in a cold sweat every time she would reach a relaxed state. She imagined that even after she saw him for herself, it would be a long time before that nightmare would become a distant, painless memory.
As she trailed along the fence, she thought about what she would say when she saw him. Now that she knew the truth, what did she expect to happen? For the last two weeks, she’d wanted only to see him and touch him and tell him how she felt. She’d accomplished the last goal. It was clear that he’d read her letter, and she could let go of that regret, knowing that she’d been honest about her feelings for him.
The need that had driven her to view the video in the first place was still there. She still wanted to see him and touch him and hear him speak. But the urgency, the desperateness she had felt had lessened. It was the difference between knowing that you could have something at some point versus believing that you could never have it again. She’d never been a smoker, but she now understood why going cold turkey might be pretty unappealing.
The pain of losing Clark had diminished now that she knew he was alive, but it had been replaced by a dull hurt. She loved Clark, and no matter what, that wouldn’t change. But she needed to know if she would be able to forgive him. She wanted to understand why he’d done what he’d done so that she could let all of the hurt go. She needed to know if they had a future, or if like Clark Kent’s life, their relationship had been destroyed that night two weeks ago before it even had a chance to bloom.
With a start, she saw that she’d come to a massive red barn. The large doors were opened a crack, and she pushed them wide to allow light to flood into the massive space. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light, she noticed the hodgepodge of farm equipment, none of it offering any clue as to what it’s intended use might be and all of it looking incredibly dangerous. She moved down the center of the barn, toward a ladder that led somewhere. Glancing upward, she saw a wooden railing overlooking the floor below. She had an image in her mind, maybe from a movie or a lemonade commercial, of a loft where she would find a rope swing.
By the time she reached the top of the ladder, her arms felt like limp noodles. How disgusting it was that missing her workouts for just two weeks would make her so wimpy. Slightly disappointed that there was no rope swing, she surmised that the loft must be used to store hay, most of the floor covered with tightly bound bales piled three to four high. A couple of the bales had been unbound and lay in prickly piles, the Kansas version of the leaves she and Lucy had used to jump in when they were children.
It was warmer at that higher level, and she wondered if the hay was soft or as prickly as it looked. Kicking at it with her booted toe, she fluffed up a pile and added more to it before turning and cautiously lowering herself into the yellow straw. It was surprisingly soft, not at all prickly. She leaned back, enjoying the way the hay conformed to her body to create a cradle. Lazy dustmites and bits of straw floated through the beams of light coming from the open window above the great barn doors, and their slow dance relaxed her like the spinning of a hypnotist's pocket watch.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in over two weeks, she was able to see only darkness behind her eyelids instead of images of Clark falling to the floor.
**
Clark had a flash of déjà vu when he landed on the front porch, whirled his way into comfortable clothes and made his way to the kitchen. Had it only been that morning that he’d returned from the earthquake, so tired that he wanted nothing more than to go to bed? As much energy as he’d expended helping during the quake, the mental and emotional exertion of the past hours had been harder. This time, though, he knew that despite the overwhelming exhaustion, sleep would never come. He wondered absently if he’d ever sleep again, and if Superman was invulnerable, could he actually be killed by lack of sleep?
As he’d flown over the farm, he’d noticed the strange car parked at the end of the long, gravel drive. But he’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Lois that he didn’t give it much thought, assigning the vehicle to one of his parents’ friends. His quick scan assured him that no stranger was in the kitchen, ready to be shocked by Clark’s appearance from the world of the dead, so he entered the room. His mother sat at the round table, a cup of coffee wrapped in her hands. That alone should have alerted him, because in all of his nearly thirty years, he’d only seen Martha Kent sitting still a half a dozen times. And none of those incidents had meant anything good. His eyes darted to a second mug, the chair of its owner empty. Suddenly, it dawned on him.
“She’s here,” he stated, not a question but a confirmation. He could feel her presence, as if she sent out a glow that acted like a beacon drawing him in.
Martha nodded. “She arrived about an hour ago. Said she caught the earliest flight out of Metropolis that she could get.”
Clark licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “Where is she now?” He glanced down the hall leading to the downstairs powder room, the thought that she could be as near as the closed door making his heart beat quicker.
“She took a walk. Down by the northern fence, I think, out past the barn.” Martha looked at her son, her eyes full of concern and love. “Clark, she knows.”
“I know,” he said softly. “Is she very angry?”
His mother studied the remaining coffee in her cup for a long moment before answering. “I think mostly she’s just grateful that you’re alive. But she is hurt.”
“That’s much worse,” he sighed. Anger was a thunderstorm, raging, loud and flashing. But it moved on, leaving behind a cleansing rain. Hurt was like hail, cold and stinging, leaving behind damage, bruises and wounds that scarred.
“Yep, I’m afraid so,” Martha agreed. “Clark, go to her. See her and talk to her. No matter what happens, she deserves to know the truth.”
He left the house, walking in the direction that Lois had taken. Part of him wanted to run, to find her as quickly as possible so that not one single minute more could pass before seeing her. The other part of him, the part that was stronger at this point, pulled his steps back, aware that the impact on his life after seeing Lois would probably be more profound than being shot and killed. As long as they never spoke, they would remain frozen at the perfect moment where he could believe that she loved him as he wanted her to. While speaking to her was his heart’s burning desire, his mind understood the danger and tried to protect the parts of him unwilling to face the truth that Lois’s feelings were most likely much more complex than unconditional love and adoration.
Clark didn’t go any farther than the barn, the sound of her heartbeat calling to him from within its moist darkness. He entered, crossing to the steep ladder leading to the hayloft above. As a young boy and then a teen, the hayloft had offered him escape. First from the problems only monumental to a child, then from the overwhelming confusion and fear generated by his burgeoning powers. Among the bales of sweet hay he could find refuge, pretending for a while that the world outside the barn doors didn’t exist. Even as an adult, the fragrance of hay still gave him an odd comfort.
She lay in a deep golden pile, sound asleep. The sight of her was like an arrow, piercing through him. Her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, which were still unnaturally pale but less so than when he’d last seen her at the memorial service. His eyes traced the familiar curve of her face, the sensuous line of her mouth, relaxed in sleep so that her lips parted just slightly. From where he stood, he could smell the fragrance of her hair, the subtle scent heady to his finely attuned senses. She wore a chocolate brown sweater that he knew exactly matched the color of her eyes. Every image he had brought forth during the past two weeks was a pale comparison to the reality of Lois, alive and real right before him.
He resisted the urge to go to her and gather her into his arms. He wanted to feel her heart beating next to his, to let the warmth of her melt the icy rock that resided in his stomach since the three shots had ended life as he knew it. He wanted to shower her face with kisses so tender that they would erase any pain her heart had ever felt. Mostly, he wanted to hold her so tight that she fused with him, insuring that never again would they be apart.
But he stood away from her, watching her chest as it gently rose and fell. When first she saw him, she needed to be fully alert and prepared, ready for battle. She deserved the chance to be angry, and he would not deny her that by waking her in his arms, confused and groggy. Clark turned, ready to climb down the ladder where he would wait for her, outside in the cooling air while he tried to regain control of his broiling emotions.
As his foot hit the first rung, her voice stopped him cold. “Aren’t you going to save me, Superman?”
The sound paralyzed him, and it took every bit of his strength to turn around. The brown eyes he’d missed so desperately were now wide open, glittering with something he couldn’t discern. Was it anger or unshed tears? Hatred or joy? He couldn’t look away, the power they held over him stronger than any kryptonite. He couldn’t speak, terrified that any choice of words would be the wrong one. He knew how many languages, yet not a single tongue spoken on the Earth contained the words he needed to make sure she would love him forever.
She stood, bits of hay clinging to her silky hair in a way that he found both amusing and arousing. He’d thought that he remembered how beautiful she was, but now he saw how faulty and frail the human memory could be. Her sooty lashes fringed her almond shaped eyes, so dark that they looked almost black. Her creamy skin looked as soft as velvet, and he wanted to run his fingers along the delicate curve of her jaw. Although she seemed thinner, her sweater hanging a little too loosely off her shoulders, every inch of her was exquisite.
As she walked toward him, he tensed, ready to feel her fists pummeling him and her words biting. He would take it. He would take it all and anything else she would give to him. Hatred or love, anger or joy. It only mattered that she was here.
It seemed to take an eternity for her to cross the loft to stand in front of him, only inches between his chest and hers. The heat from her body spanned the space and burned him. She scanned his face, taking in his features as if checking to make sure they were all there as she had left them. She lifted her hand, and he winced inwardly, almost expecting a slap. Instead, she reached up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. Her touch was like a jolt of electricity. When her palm moved down to caress the plain of his cheek, he could barely stand the exquisite sensation of her fingers on his skin, and he grasped her wrist gently, holding it still.
Her finely arched eyebrows lifted and came together poignantly as if she dared not believe what she saw standing before her. Her eyes glistened brighter, and a tear escaped to slide down her perfectly shaped cheek. His heart tore at the naked vulnerability in her eyes, and he moaned, desperate to take the pain away. With a strangled cry, she reached up, placing her free hand behind his neck and pulling him downward. He offered no resistance, and as she lifted her face up to meet him, his lips found hers.
A tidal wave of tenderness and love washed over him, and he was drowning in the sweetness of her. Releasing her wrist, his hands moved to cup her face, holding it gently as he tried to tell her with his whole heart how much he loved her. He felt her sigh raggedly, a sob shudder through her slender body. His lips left hers to kiss her eyes and her cheeks, every inch of her beloved face while she alternated between sobs and laughter. The salty taste of her tears was like the finest champagne.
“You’re alive. You’re alive!” she breathed, seeking out his lips again, more hungrily. “I thought I’d lost you forever. Before I ever even had you, I lost you.”
“You never lost me,” he murmured, his own tears mingling with hers as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’ve always been yours. I’ll always be yours.”
He pulled back, looking once again into the dark depths of her eyes that shone so brightly with life and tears. He’d felt it since the moment he’d met her. He’d even confessed it to her in an attempt to keep her from marrying Luthor. But now, it was imperative that she know how much he meant it. “I love you, Lois. I love you completely. Irrevocably. Endlessly.”
She laughed, crying harder as he repeated her own words back to her. “Taken from an excellent source!”
His own laughter joined hers, the sound of her gentle teasing something he had despaired of ever hearing again. “I’ll memorize every word and repeat them back to you every hour. Every minute.”
He reached for her, encircling his arms around her as tightly as he dared, wanting to draw her inside his chest. How had he ever believed he could live without her? He inhaled deeply, the smell of her skin and hair intoxicating. They stood like that, reveling in the solidness of the real after trying for so long to grasp the elusiveness of dreams.
He felt her palms against his chest, pushing him back and he released her slightly, reluctantly. Afraid that like a butterfly, she’d be gone if he looked away but for a second.
Instead of fleeing, she gazed up at him, again scanning his face with an odd expression, one of wonder and disbelief. He remembered with a start that he wore no glasses. For the first time, she was seeing the union of Clark Kent and Superman into the one face that represented the true man. The feeling of vulnerability rocked him. He didn’t shy away from it, ready to place himself before her, his heart and soul laid completely open. It was a defining moment, he knew, when she would either accept him for what he was or walk away.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, hoarse with emotion and something else. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it. Your eyes and your smile. They’re the same. They’ve always been there, but I never saw it. I guess I never looked close enough.” She offered him a weak smile, an apology that he started to protest, but she placed her fingers on his lips, stilling him. “Clark, why didn’t you tell me?”
It was the question he’d been waiting for. The one question that was both the easiest and the hardest to answer. “I always wanted to tell you. Many times, I even started to tell you. But always something came up that stopped me. First, it was me. I wanted a chance to live a normal life. I wanted to make friends and prove myself, not as Superman, but as Clark. I needed to know that even without my powers, I had something that I could offer the world.”
She listened, her expression a mixture of expectation and acceptance of his reasoning. Encouraged by the fact that she seemed to understand so far, he took a deep breath and pushed forward. “Then my reasons changed. I found myself falling in love with you, and when I thought of telling you, I got scared. I was afraid that you would see me as some sort of freak. An alien trying to pretend that he was human.”
“How could you ever think that?” she exclaimed, a pained look flitting across her eyes. “You know how much I cared for Superman…”
“You accepted Superman as Superman,” he conceded. “But how would you have felt if you knew that he was living another life, trying to be normal? I mean, why would anyone with super powers want to live an ordinary life, going to work every day and trying to make everyone think he was just an average guy? ”
At her confused look, he continued, trying to make her understand. “Your very admiration for Superman gave me another reason to keep my secret. I loved you, and I wanted you to love me. But I wanted you to love Clark, as I am without any special abilities. If I told you who I was, I would never know if your feelings for me were only the reflection off of Superman.”
“Clark, it’s not Superman’s powers that I loved,” she protested. “It was his…your…goodness and integrity. Your bravery. Things that I finally realized weren’t the result of superpowers but of something deeper. Things that you…Clark…had.”
“Lois, you told me yourself that you felt for me only feelings of friendship. Then in almost the same breath, you professed your love to Superman. It killed me to know that only dressed in the suit could I inspire your love. It’s why I rejected you that night, telling you that I saw no future for us. What you claimed to love was only a small part of the person that I am. I needed you to love the whole of me.”
Lois stepped back and turned, returning to the pile of hay. His heart wrenched, not knowing if she understood him or not. Her shoulders shook slightly, and he heard the muffled sob. When she spoke, she kept her back to him. “I feel so ashamed for the way I treated you. I told Superman…you…that I would love him even if he had no special powers, if he was just an ordinary man. I professed all of that after so cruelly telling you that I had no feelings for you in that way. What must you have thought of me, standing there listening and knowing that what I said was a lie.”
“You didn’t intentionally lie, Lois,” he tried to assuage her guilt. It wasn’t his intention to make her feel bad about loving Superman. “You believed what you told me that night. That if I came to you as Superman without his powers, you would love him just the same. How were you to know that you already knew that man? I don’t blame you. In fact, I feel terrible that I put you in that situation.”
Clark walked to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. He couldn’t bear talking to her without looking at her, the need to read her eyes crucial as he asked her the question that had haunted him since reading her letter. “Lois, I have to know. When did you write that letter? Was it before or…after…you figured out who I was?” Her answer would color his view of every interaction they had ever had or might ever have, and he held his breath, waiting for his life sentence.
“I’ve loved you for a long time Clark. I just didn’t see it until I thought you were gone. The pain of thinking of life without you…it was…” she choked, unable to finish. With a small shake, she forced herself to continue. “I realized that without you, I had no life. That I loved you. Was in love with you. I didn’t figure out who you were until three nights ago, and by that time, it didn’t matter if you were Superman or the Pope or…”
He cut her off, bending down to capture her lips as her words penetrated his brain. Lois had loved him before she knew he was Superman. Her feelings were based on the real man, not the superhero. Although neither one had really believed it when she said it, she had been right. She would love him, even if he turned out to be an ordinary man. She had set him free of the doubts that he feared would always taint any relationship they might ever have.
She returned his kiss with a tenderness that made him ache, but soon she pulled away, putting distance between them. He steeled himself, recognizing the stiffness in her posture that always meant she was upset. “Clark, I have so many questions. For the last two days, I’ve done nothing but try to understand why you didn’t come to me. Why you didn’t tell me who you were.” Lois shook her head when he started to interrupt. “No, let me finish. At first, I was so angry. And hurt. I couldn’t believe you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. But after a while, I started to understand…or at least…I tried to understand why you’d be cautious. What I never could figure out was why you didn’t come to me after I thought you’d died. Clark, it really hurt. That you let me think you were dead. Do you know what that did to me?”
He winced, remembering the woman he had watched at his memorial service. Lois had been an empty shell, walking through a living nightmare. But even then, he hadn’t imagined that her pain would be more than temporary. That within a reasonable amount of time, she’d have moved beyond it, of course always retaining loving memories of her good friend, Clark Kent. “God, Lois. I’m so sorry. If I’d ever imagined you had these feelings for me, I’d never have stayed away. I thought that I was the only one hurting.”
“Did you really believe me so cold that I wouldn’t mourn your death?” her voice took on a hard edge and he saw the unmistakable flash of anger in her eyes.
“I knew you’d be sad. We were partners. And friends,” he added quickly at her frown. “But I thought you’d get over it. Move on and be happy. I didn’t know that you had stronger feelings for me. Hell, Lois, you didn’t even know it yourself.
“And even if we had known it, as far as everyone thinks, I’m dead. What could I offer you? What kind of relationship could we have? Even as Superman, I wouldn’t have the same kind of life as I have…had…as Clark. What would we have done? Left Metropolis to start over where no one knows us? I couldn’t expect that from you.”
“Didn’t I deserve the chance to decide? Clark, I love you. I may not have known it until just recently, but all the same, I do. For two weeks, I thought I’d lost you.” She started to pace. “You can’t imagine what I went through. I couldn’t get out of bed. Every day, I would wake up and remember that I wouldn’t see you. I wouldn’t get to talk to you or share things with you. I wanted to die, too.”
She stopped pacing, turning to glare at him. Finally, the anger he’d expected. Her beautiful face was flushed, her eyes snapped. “Do you want to know how I figured out you were Superman?”
“I’ve been wondering…” he started, but she interrupted.
“I found out you were Superman because three nights ago, I was so desperate to see your face again and hear your voice that I resorted to watching the surveillance tape from Georgie Hairdo’s club. I watched the most horrible night of my life play out in front of me just so I could see you again.” Her voice shook, and Clark stared at her, stunned by her admission. “Don’t you see, I was willing to go through hell just to see your face one more time! So don’t tell me that you couldn’t ask anything of me.”
His legs started shaking and he felt the need to sit down. Regret, like an acid, washed through him, eating him up painfully. How could he have been so cruel? How would he ever make it up to her? “Lois, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t know…”
“You didn’t know because you didn’t give me a chance!” she cried, and even without any super eyesight, he could see her trembling with the force of her fury.
Although he’d prepared himself mentally for it, the effect of her hurt and anger on his emotions was devastating. He had to physically restrain himself from approaching her, torn between the urge to pull her close and hold her still until the fury had drained out of her and the need to subject himself to the punishment he felt he deserved. Only a thread thin sliver of pride kept him from throwing himself at her feet and begging for forgiveness.
If Lois had any idea how her words were affecting him, she didn’t let it stop her torrent. “If I hadn’t watched that tape and noticed that for some strange, freakish reason Clark Kent had no blood on his shirt even after being shot by three bullets at point blank range, I would still think you were dead. I would have stayed in bed for God knows how long, until Perry or Jimmy came to haul me back to work. Then I would have spent the rest of my life hating myself because I made you go into that club and because I never had a chance to tell you how I felt about you!”
Her words cut through his heart like a laser, the knowledge that he himself had caused her such pain worse than thinking he’d never see her again. At least before, he’d believed that she would move past the grief to find happiness, and her happiness was some consolation for the loss of his own. As she spoke, he could feel her despair at losing someone so cherished. If it was one tenth the magnitude of what he had felt, he could never forgive himself. “I hurt you so bad. How you must have hated me. Must still hate me,” he choked, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“That’s the problem, Clark. I couldn’t hate you. Believe me, I tried,” she nearly spat. “But it only lasted about twenty minutes. Then I remembered what you did to protect me and what it meant for you. As much as I lost, you lost more when you stepped in front of those bullets.”
A sudden burst of anger tore through him. It was the first time the emotion had been directed at someone other than himself or the dismal luck fate had thrown at him. “Are you telling me that your feelings for me are some bizarre expression of…of…gratitude?” he struggled to find the word. “I’m Superman, remember? I don’t expect any payment. Just a ‘thank you’ would be fine!”
“That’s not fair, Clark. Of course I’m thankful to you. What you did for me could never be repaid,” she threw back at him, not willing to swallow his sarcasm and allow him to use her words against her. “But that’s not why I’m here. I didn’t pull myself out of my bed and fly hundreds of miles just to say ‘Thank You’ and ‘Oh, by the way, I know who you are, you big jerk!’”
“Then why are you here, Lois?” He suddenly felt more tired than he’d ever felt before, alive or dead. Every super muscle and super nerve was depleted. “I’ve misled you. I’ve kept secrets from you. I’ve hurt you. Why would you even want to see me?”
“I was hurt. I still hurt. And at first, I was glad to be rid of you,” she admitted angrily. “But then I remembered how much more it hurt to be without you. I realized that if I was willing to watch you get shot over and over just so I could see you, I would do anything if I had the chance to be with you again. When I figured out you were Superman, it took me while, but I saw that I had been given a second chance. No matter how angry I was or how hurt, nothing could be worse than losing you. That’s when I sat down and wrote that letter.”
The outburst had deflated her anger, and her voice was quieter. “Clark, there’s a lot I still don’t understand, and it’s going to take a lot of time and talking before I’m over all of this. But no matter what it takes, it’s worth it. If I get to see you every day and talk to you, it’s worth it. My love for you is stronger than the hurt.”
Her words hung in the air, a tangible rope pulling them together and binding them with knots no death could ever untie. Lois’s hurt had been debilitating, but she’d overcome it enough to find him because she loved him. He knew in that instant that she possessed a power greater than all of his super abilities combined.
“You know that I’d do anything for you, don’t you?” he whispered, trying to comprehend what he’d ever done to deserve this woman. “I’d die for you.”
“You did die for me. Clark Kent died to protect me.” She closed the distance between them, her voice dropping to a near plea. “But that’s not what I want. I want you to live for me. That’s why I’m here.”
He put his hands on her upper arms, pulling her so that her forehead rested against his chin, his lips brushing the spot where her hair met her silky skin. The answer was so clear, he couldn’t believe he had considered any other option. Being with her was more important than anything else. If he had to live locked in a cage, released for only a minute each day, he would do it if it meant they would be together. “I’ll come back to Metropolis as Superman. It won’t be the same, but we’ll find a way to make it work…”
She shook her head, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Her eyes were shiny, but with the glow of acceptance and love instead of the fire of fury. “I don’t want Superman.” She laughed a little when he raised one brow, confused by her confession. “Well, I want Superman some of the time. But I want Clark all of the time. I want my partner back. But this time, with more…”
“Lois, a hundred people saw me die. It was in the papers.” He felt his frustration growing again. “They even had a memorial service, for crying out loud.”
She looked at him as if he’d just admitted that he didn’t want to go back to Metropolis because he had an unpaid parking ticket. “Is that all that’s keeping you away?”
“Is that all?” he echoed, incredulous. Maybe all of her grief had pushed her over the edge. “I don’t see how…”
She placed her fingers on his lips, silencing him. “There was no body, Clark. In a world where the miracle of Superman exists, surely there’s room for another miracle that would bring Clark Kent back from death. Together, we make a pretty good team. We’ll think of something.”
For the second time that day, he felt a surge of joy and hope that threatened to fill his heart to bursting. Her confidence wiped away any doubt, and he knew that with her help, he’d get his life back. Not a new life, but his old life. All three dimensions of it. He cupped her face in his hands, looking into her eyes where he saw his future.
“Lois, I love you.” He lowered his head, touching her lips with his. As she responded to his gentle massage, in her warmth he felt acceptance. He had a long way to go to help her erase the hurt, but he would do it because she would let him. Standing in that hayloft, he finally felt as if he’d come home.
“I love you, Clark,” she whispered against him. His heart rate quickened and he felt hers increase as well. Together the sound joined to create one rhythm.
“Completely?” he whispered, pausing only a split second to ask before resuming his assault on her lips. Drinking her in.
“Irrevocably,” she replied, becoming breathless as the intensity of their kiss deepened.
“Endlessly,” he agreed, abandoning all speech to lose himself in the promise that was Lois Lane.
The End.
