Hi,
Back to Mondays. Thank you all for being patient. Hope you enjoy.
Yours Jenni
Previously in My Wife The Boss :
“Mr. Kent, I hope you're not leaving.” Karl the medic returned and blocked the couple's path to the door. “That cheek really needs medical attention, even if there are no other injuries.”
“Are you sure?” Clark asked. “Lois seems to have stopped the bleeding.”
Karl looked a little skeptical, but he reached over and eased the pad away from the wound. “Good, that's good. But if you don't plan on going to the ER, at least let me put some butterfly stitches over that cut.”
Lois nodded in firm agreement. “That's a good idea. Go ahead,” she said, while pushing Clark back down onto the chair. “And if it would make you feel better, Karl, Clark can go see his own doctor this evening.”
“I'd recommend that he does, Mrs. Kent. And if he feels dizzy or sick, you should get him to the emergency room immediately.”
“Oh, I'll make sure of it.” Lois set her mouth in a tight line and folded her arms as she watched her husband being taken care of. Clark was going to visit Bernie, even if she had to drive him there herself.
*****
continued:
Chapter Five
Problems, Problems
The atmosphere inside the elevator was tight with unspoken frustrations as Lois and Clark rode up to the newsroom. They both stared rigidly ahead, while the floor numbers slowly lit up, their entrapment seemingly endless. They'd had to break off their heated discussion, which they'd embarked upon in the Jeep, as other members of staff shared the elevator car, neither wanting another of their arguments to be the subject of office gossip.
The elevator stopped on the third floor and the two women from accounting exited. Lois was immediately on the case.
“You shouldn't be here,” she ground out from between clenched teeth.
“Why?” Clark's stare shifted to his wife as the doors slid shut. “I disag ...”
“Hold on there!”
A shout interrupted Clark's impending diatribe and he stuck his hand between the sliding doors, purely out of habit. Seconds later, James Olsen boarded the car.
“Thanks, CK.” James immediately took in Clark's disheveled appearance and his eyebrows rose in shock. “Hey, my man, what happened to you?”
Clark fingered the bandage which Karl had used to cover his cut. “I had a small accident.”
“Accident!” Lois barked, her eyes flashing dangerously. “He threw himself in front of a bomb.”
“A bomb?” Jim tried to shrink a little inside his jacket. This was one time when Lois' bite might actually be worse than her bark. “I heard there'd been another one. Didn't know you were involved though, CK. Do you want me to get in touch with Jed?”
“No need,” Lois said tersely, brandishing her briefcase in front of her like a battering ram, ready to fight her way out of the elevator. “Clark's on top of things.”
“Great. Jed's a good guy. He'll see you right.”
James' words dropped into a stony silence. Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise, but he wasn't about to play referee to the Kents -- again. He'd been cast in that role once too often recently.
“Well, would you believe it! Accounting has got my expenses wrong for the third month in a row.” James mentioned airily, feeling that a change in subject was in order. “What's wrong with these bean counters? Don't they know that a reporter has to keep his sources sweet?”
“Over-claiming on your expense form again, James?” Lois asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Hey, Lois, you signed it, so you can fight with the accountants. It's not like we're talking major fraud here. Just a few dollars to buy a source a hot meal. Do we have a bunch of Scrooges working for us?”
As fate would have it, James never discovered who worked out his wages, as the elevator arrived at their floor. “Gonna' give them a call for me, Chief?” He slung his request over his shoulder. “Gotta run. Deadline to meet.”
“Don't we all,” Clark mumbled as he gestured for Lois to exit the elevator first. He might be angry with his wife, but that didn't mean he wasn't a gentleman.
“Clark, can I see you in my office?” Her words were more of a command than a question.
“Lois, I have a story to write.” Clark tried to keep his voice low, but heads began to turn as the couple made their way down the ramp. It was almost as if their colleagues had radar which sounded a warning whenever he and Lois were having a ... debate.
“We have time to finish this.” Lois never looked back at him, but her voice made it plain that her request was not up for argument.
There was little Clark could do but grit his teeth and follow in Lois' wake, while curious, surreptitious gazes watched their progress. He put his head down to hide his face, feeling exposed without the shield of his glasses.
The various noises of the busy bullpen ebbed with every step Clark took until silence reigned ... and he was certain that the gossip-mongers would have a field day with this latest situation. Living out their working lives within the confines of this fishbowl was making him touchy, and his most disturbing thought was that it didn't used to bother him. Was the difference due to Lois' change of status, or was it he who was ... damaged?
Whatever it was, he wished Lois would cede a little control. Just this once.
*****
The minute she heard Clark close her office door, Lois turned, ready to do battle, but her harsh words died in her throat at the site of his slumped shoulders, his battered face and his guarded stare. Normally, Clark's eyes sparkled with a love of life, even from behind his glasses. Now, he wasn't wearing them; they were in the hands of the police, but it wasn't only the lack of glasses that made him look more like the lost soul Letour she'd found
in China's mountainous vastness.
Well, there was one thing she could do about that. She opened her top drawer and fished a spare pair from behind her pens and personal stationary. Without a word, she handed them to him and her breath caught as she waited to see if he would accept the olive branch.
“You still keep a spare pair in your desk?” he asked, not looking at her, but fingering the frames as if they were a precious gem.
“I never got out of the habit.” Lois' smile was wistful and she fought to hold back her tears. “Not even after four years. Somehow, it made me think you were still with me.”
At last, Clark met her gaze. “I'm sorry for the pain you went through ... and I wish to God those four years had never happened.”
By the sound of the harsh edge to his voice, Lois could tell Clark wasn't only regretting her past pain. He'd come to realize those lost years were still stealing part of his life, and she wasn't sure how to help him. And he looked so tired and hurt.
Tentatively, she rested her hands on his arm. When he didn't resist, she let her arms snake around his waist, pulling him in for a hug, and was happy to feel Clark's arms tighten about her shoulders.
“You really shouldn't be here,” she whispered against his chest. “Please, Clark. Go see Bernie.”
But Clark wasn't ready to be persuaded, and he drew back from her embrace. She watched him place the glasses back on his face, as if he was assuming the personality of Clark Kent, investigative reporter.
“I have a story to write, Lois. As my editor, I thought you'd be happy.”
“As your wife, I don't want you to make yourself sick,” she countered, more sharply than she'd intended.
“Ah, but you reminded me that in here,” his hands waved around her office and the newsroom beyond, “you're the chief, not my wife.”
“OK, Clark, if you want to play games, then your editor doesn't like her staff bleeding all over the office, either. It's bad for morale.”
“I'm bleeding again?” Clark looked startled.
“OK, I meant figuratively speaking. Clark, no one expects you to be superhuman.” His eyes hardened at her remark. Why did she keep making these mistakes? She worked in the newspaper business, surely she should have a bigger repertoire of words. “You're hurt, so go get some help. Chris was still at the scene when we left. He can write the story.”
Clark's face seemed to turn even paler beneath the stained dressing. “Chris was outside. I was the one inside the bank. I'm pretty sure you've never turned down an eye-witness report before. Unless you believe that a sports writer can do a better job ... and that's no disrespect for Chris, but maybe it shows how you feel about my abilities.”
Lois felt like she'd been slapped. “That's nonsense, and you know it.” She was on the defensive immediately.
“Is it really, Lois?”
“You know damn well it is. I would never have suggested you come back if I hadn't believed you were capable. The Daily Planet doesn't carry reporters who can't hack it.”
“Perhaps I haven't lived up to expectations.”
“That's not true!” she cried, reassurance and exasperation vying for supremacy in her voice.
“Then why do you keep hovering over my shoulder?” The fight had gone out of Clark and he leaned against the armchair, as if he already knew her answer.
But she answered his question with one of her own. “Is that what you think I'm doing?”
“Yes, I do! Lois, we've been here before and I'm tired of rehashing your motives.” Straightening up, he looked directly into her eyes. “Now, I'm going to go write my story ... which you can use or not, as you see fit, then I'll head over to Bernie's.”
She took a couple of steps toward him, halting his retreat from her office. “I'd like to come with you.”
His eyebrows rose again. “I don't need a baby-sitter. I promise I will get this checked out.” He touched his cheek with his hand. “You have a job to do, and so do I. I think I'd like it better if we just let each other get on with it. I'll see you at home.”
With those final words, he left, leaving Lois stunned. They were almost as far apart now as they had been when he was in Jilin and she was here in Metropolis. At least then she'd been sure of their love for one another ... now it was difficult to find common ground, and she was willing to admit that she was partly to blame. But Clark was acting like a stubborn, self-centred lunkhead, not letting his family and friends help him get his life back on track.
Maybe this is something he needs to do alone, a tiny voice in her head reminded her. If he doesn't learn to have confidence in all that he is now, then he'll always be just half the man he was.
If she loved him, she had to let him find his own way back. However, realizing that and acting on it was more difficult to do. She felt she was walking a narrow line in her relationship with Clark, and she was straying too far from that line in one direction or another, more often than not.
Clark was being oversensitive, but she'd be the first to admit he had the right. He'd been through so much ... and it didn't really matter which one of them was to blame. What was the point in playing the 'what if' game? They were still colleagues, still married, still in love, but more than anything Lois wanted to feel comfortable with Clark again, and she'd do whatever it took to bring that about ... even if it meant doing nothing.
******
The ceiling lights in Bernard Klein's lab glared relentlessly into Clark's glasses-free face, hurting his eyes, so he allowed his lids to close, with just the faintest of pained flickers. The result wasn't much of an improvement; the stark light was still imprinted on his inner eyes, but he felt too weary to take a great deal of interest in yet another medical examination. He sank lower into the chair.
Bernie had run all the usual tests, practically in silence, and was now studying the cut on Clark's cheek intently. With some effort, Clark forced his eyes open, feeling that he could, at least, be polite.
“So, what do you think, Bernie?”
Carefully touching gloved fingers to the reddened skin around the wound, Bernard gave a minute shrug of his shoulders. “Judging by the news reports about the bomb, I'd say you're a very lucky man.”
“That's pretty much what Lois thinks.” There was a second of silence while Clark contemplated the rather unpleasant notion that his wife had recruited Bernie to warn him to take more care. “Lois didn't call you, did she?”
“Not lately. No. Why would she call?” Bernie asked, straightening to his full height, looking startled and more than a little worried.
“No reason,” Clark admitted, guessing he'd misjudged the situation. The doctor wasn't good at subterfuge. “Ignore me, Bernie. I'm just being surly, but, please, spare me the lecture. I've already heard it from Lois.”
“We are a little touchy today,” Bernie tutted, frowning in concentration, wondering if perhaps he'd missed a concussion. “You sure you don't have a headache?” He placed a finger under Clark's chin, turning his head to check out the other grazes and bruising. “She's just got you back. You can't blame her for being a little concerned.”
“No! I'm fine.” Clark sighed loudly. If he repeated it often enough, maybe someone would believe him ... even himself. “And I don't blame her, but I can't spend the rest of my life not trying to help when I can. You know what they say ... old habits die hard,” he ended with a half-hearted attempt at humor.
“But you're not super anymore,” Bernie said gently. His examination complete, he took a couple of steps backwards, giving his prickly patient more space. “You have to be more careful.”
“I only did what any normal man would have done,” Clark countered. His hands clasped together to keep them still. Why did no one understand his ... need?
“But that's the problem, Clark, and it's why you have to be careful. You might not be super, but you're not exactly normal either. You keep helping out as Clark and, eventually, someone is bound to notice.”
“What?” Taken unawares, Clark's head shook from side to side in confusion. “Notice what?”
“Take this cut of yours ... it's a good thing these are butterfly stitches, 'cause real ones might start popping out in the next day or two, and I suspect these bruises will fade more quickly than normal too.”
Clark sat up straighter and there was a hint of eagerness in his eyes and voice. “Are you saying my powers could come back?”
Bernie gulped and backed further away from his patient, picking up Clark's medical file and holding it before him like a shield. “I don't think I can say that ... exactly.”
“Then what can you say ... exactly?”
Very deliberately, Bernie placed the clipboard down on his desk. He stared at nothing in particular for a long moment, before crossing and switching off the overhead lights. Only the desk lamp and the softer light behind the examination table remained. Suddenly, the ambiance in the lab seemed less formal. Bernie pulled a stool toward Clark and perched atop it. His hands rested on his knees, as if they needed an anchor.
“Clark, when you came back from Jilin, I ran every test, every examination I could think of ... and some I didn't. Adrienne and Stephan suggested a few. But when the tests were completed, I reached the conclusion that the lengthy exposure to the kryptonite in your brain destroyed your ability to process yellow sunlight into super-energy.” Once more, Bernie paused, and Clark felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in anticipation. “With everything that's happened to you in the past few months, I feel I should reassess my diagnosis ...”
“And?” Clark was sitting on the edge of his seat, his expression animated.
“And, I don't think you should get too excited ... not yet. I now think that the exposure damaged your ability, but couldn't destroy it completely.”
“Are you saying I could recover?”
Bernie was up on his feet, his hands pulling nervously at his shirt collar. “I can't say just how much you could recover. You're not completely without the powers now. The healing progress of your wounds today proves that ... but you were still injured. Logically, the more the affected gene is repaired the more chance there is ...”
The doctor paused again, which had Clark resisting the need to bite his nails, a habit he wasn't prone to. Finally, after some consideration, Bernie continued, his gaze earnest and true.
“The more the gene heals the more chance there is of a recovery. However, medically speaking, we were always in uncharted territory with you. I can't say, with any certainty, that Superman will ever be back as he was before. Meanwhile, we have to take this a day at a time.”
Now Clark too was on his feet. “I can do that, Bernie.”
“That's just it, Clark. I'm not sure you can. Any more stunts like today, and you're putting your secret identity at risk ... and that of your family. As it is, you're going to have to disguise these wounds. People can't see that you're healing this fast.”
There was a small thump as Clark sat down again, appreciating, for the first time, what Bernie was trying to warn him about. “I should be in the hospital, shouldn't I?”
“Probably. I take it the others you saved were hurt?” When Clark nodded, Bernie went on in a lighter vein. “Don't worry, I'm sure everyone just thinks you got lucky this time. After all, truth is stranger than fiction, only you can't push your luck too far. I'm not so worried about your being hurt ... but about how little you would be hurt.”
Clark looked up to the darkened ceiling, seeking for divine help which, of course, didn't come. Just wait until Lois hears this.
*****
tbc ...
