Hi,
Some excitement but some romance in this final part.
I hope you enjoy.
Yours Jenni
Previously on Lois and Clark ...
Yet Jonathan still stared at the empty doorway. "Martha, Clark wants Lois safe."
"I'm certain Lois wanted that for Clark too," Martha explained with just a hint of impatience, "yet her husband, the one she thought she'd lost for four long years, is risking his life for the greater good, again ..."
"But Clark stands a better chance of surviving an explosion," Jonathan argued.
"We don't know that. He's been hurt any number of times in these past few weeks. He's most likely no safer than Lois." Martha touched Jonathan's face, in much the same way Clark had touched Lois moments before. "Jonathan, Lois and Clark are a team, stronger together than alone. Lois has as much right as Clark to risk everything to help the other."
Jonathan sighed, but nodded slowly. Martha was right. "I guess we should go do our part, then."
With fear, faith and pride in equal measures filling their hearts, the two older Kents went to do what they could.
*****
Part 32 ...
Chapter Sixteen
A Leap of Faith
A cold blast of wind hit Timmons hard as he stumbled through the door onto the roof, snatching his breath away. Stern Studios might be dwarfed by the surrounding sky-scrapers, but it stood nine floors tall and the climb had exhausted Timmons.
He'd considered going down the back stairs, but Kent had said the MPD had arrived, and they probably had covered every exit. Thomas expected to die today, but not at the hands of the police. Chances were that not every floor of the building had been cleared yet, and if he could only find some private space to fix the problem with the detonator, he could still go out in a blaze of glory. He might not kill quite so many people as he'd intended, but there was a chance he'd take some with him.
With that objective, Timmons had started to climb, hoping to find a hiding place on one of the upper floors to make his repairs. Only, he hadn't taken into account just how unfit he was; within four flights, he was breathing hard, and on the next floor he'd had to stop to catch his breath. Believing this floor might be far enough away from the police search, he carefully opened the door, but had to close it quickly. Obviously, the evacuation was well underway, because the staff were already emptying from their offices. He had to go higher.
He'd only climbed one more flight when he heard a door opening beneath him. Fright drove caution from his mind, and he looked over the banister. Kent was staring up at him!
"Thomas. There's no way out. Give yourself up," Kent called out to him.
But Thomas couldn't do that. Today was his day to die ... and if he killed no one else, he would at least go to join Mary. And, if Kent followed him to the roof, he might be able to kill the interfering reporter.
Once on the roof, Timmons slammed the door shut, resting against it as he took in a few gulps of air. He was disappointed there was no way to lock the door from the outside, but he couldn't let that distract him from his mission. He raised his head and looked around.
The roof of the Stern building was a barren place with a few metal vents, a tall mast and satellites protruding from the surface, steely gray against a lowering sky. The only building was a concrete block house which probably housed the various pieces of machinery which kept the studios running smoothly.
He ran to the door, but discovered it locked. Nevertheless, in the lee of the square structure, he gained a certain amount of shelter from the icy wind. Opening his coat, his frozen fingers fumbled with the smaller buttons of his shirt. He just needed a few minutes to close the contact and the bomb would go off.
The roof door banged open again and Kent stood framed in the opening.
Timmons' hands stilled and his mouth fell open. How had the reporter reached the roof so soon?
"Thomas, don't!" Kent called out, his words almost snatched away on the wind. He moved closer. "Don't do this."
Eying the bigger, stronger, clearly fitter Kent, Thomas started to edge away from the side of the blockhouse. There was no way he could take Kent on and win. Instead he continued to struggle with his clothes.
"Stay away from me, or I'll blow us both up," Thomas shouted with bravado, hoping Kent wouldn't notice that he hadn't yet fixed the detonator. But Kent was either very brave or very foolish, because he kept coming nearer. "I'll kill you," he warned, but even he heard the tremor in his voice.
"No, Thomas. Please, don't do that." During his research, Clark had learned this guy had been mentally damaged at a very young age, yet he believed Thomas had truly loved his wife. Perhaps the way to reach him was through Mary. "Mary wouldn't want you to kill anyone."
"How would you know what my Mary wanted?" Thomas' voice rose hysterically, while his hands worked desperately to get to the explosives around his waist. "You never knew her."
Clark stood still for a second, weighing up the chance of Thomas rearming the bomb. Though what did it matter? He couldn't risk the bomb going off, killing some innocent bystanders who might still be in the building. He couldn't even leave Timmons to kill himself. That wasn't the way he worked.
"You're right." Clark nodded his head sadly. "I didn't know her personally, but I think I would have liked to. I'm a reporter and I've been checking out your story." Clark took two more steps forward. Timmons didn't move. "I discovered that Mary was a good person ... a special person. Someone who died far too young, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't the type of woman who would agree to people being killed in her name." He paused, allowing Timmons a moment to consider. "You know that too, Thomas."
Timmons stabbed a finger in Clark's direction, his expression sour. "Those people killed my Mary!"
"No, they didn't, and I'll bet Mary didn't blame them either." Thomas jerked, almost as if he'd been hit physically, and Clark guessed he'd touched on the truth. "The unfair health system might have contributed to Mary's death, Thomas, but it was the cancer that killed her. You've been taking your revenge on all the wrong people. Most of the audience in that studio today are ordinary, hard working people with families who rely on them ... just like Mary relied on you. She ..."
"I let that little girl go," Timmons interrupted, sullenly. His hands no longer tugged at his clothes, but they were shaking, and his eyes studied the ground.
"You did. That was a very good thing." Clark inched forward, keeping his voice steady. "Can I ask you why?"
"Mary would have wanted me to," Timmons answered so quietly Clark had to strain to hear.
"I agree. Mary wasn't the kind of person to want innocent lives destroyed. I'm sure she would be very happy no one died today." Since Thomas was still staring at the ground, Clark moved to within a few paces of him. "I think she'd be even happier if you got rid of the explosives and came down with me."
Kent's words whirled through Timmons' brain, confusing him. He'd been angry and alone almost as long as he could remember; even escaping Aunt Ina's clutches hadn't improved his situation. Bad luck seemed to follow him around like a dark shadow. Then he'd met Mary, and for the first time in his life he felt normal. He'd dared to be happy. He had found someone who believed in him. Being with Mary made him feel good about himself. She kept the nightmares at bay.
When she died, his anchor was snatched away, plunging him back into his tormented life. Only this time it was harder to take; he'd had a taste of what most people take for granted. Someone had to pay!
But Kent was right. Mary wouldn't like what he'd been doing.
Timmons glanced up to find the reporter just an arm's length away. No! He wasn't ready to surrender. He turned and ran for the wall surrounding the roof. "Keep back," he warned, his chest heaving as he reached his goal. "I've still got the bomb." Actually, Kent could be right about the explosives too. Unless he could find a way to complete the circuit, the bomb was just a mixture of inert substances.
Clark recognized desperation when he saw it. He took another step forward. "Thomas, I don't believe you can detonate the explosives ... and we've already decided Mary wouldn't want you to. There's no where else for you to go." Stretching out a hand, he repeated. "Please, come down with me."
For a few minutes there was a stalemate -- Clark with his hand outstretched, calm and encouraging; Timmons standing, panting by the wall. He had to face facts; his bomb was useless. Kent could overpower him long before he had a chance to rewire it. He contemplated the reporter's offer, but that way led to a trial and conviction. He couldn't live his life in a cage, despised by the guards, bullied by the inmates. He'd already experienced too much of that ... and there was one other option.
He could go to be with Mary. She might be angry with him for the things he'd done, but in the end, she'd understand ... she'd forgive him.
Clark noticed the moment Timmon's expression changed. Immediately he was moving, as Thomas threw himself backward from the roof. Clark clutched at the falling man, managing to grasp Timmons' clothes. He started dragging Thomas upwards, hoping to gain a better hold, but his powers were almost spent. He was no stronger than an average man, but even an ordinary man could save a life.
Straining hard, Clark was unaware of the door opening behind him, or of Lois poised, frozen in the doorway. His concentration was totally on Timmons. Inch by painful inch, he was succeeding, but suddenly, his burden lightened as he was left holding an empty coat. Determined to die, Thomas had twisted out of the over large garment.
Timmons glanced once at the man who had attempted to save him, before closing his eyes as he plunged toward the ground, a welcoming smile on his face.
"No," Clark shouted. "No!" Life was precious, even this man's life.
Without hesitating, Clark launched himself over the wall after Timmons.
"No!" Lois' shout merged with her husband's, as she rushed toward the wall. She was almost afraid to look. Could Clark fly? She knew he'd been practicing with Matt, but so far the best Clark had achieved had been a brief hover. Rescuing someone from falling was probably beyond his capabilities.
Steeling herself, she glanced downward to see Clark make another abortive grab for the bomber, but he was already out of reach. A sickening, flat thud reached her as Thomas Timmons hit the concrete floor of the alley. Lois held her breath, waiting for the subsequent explosion, but none came, thank goodness.
Lois' relief lasted less than a second. Dear God, Clark would be next!
She prayed. She couldn't live without him again. She wouldn't live without him again!
Wait. Clark's rate of descent was surely slower than Timmons' had been ...
<Clark, fly!> she screamed out to him using their special link. <Up. Fly up.>
Clark twisted to face Lois, his arms flailing to retain his balance.
<Lois! I'm trying, but I don't have any more power. I don't think I can even maintain a slow fall.> His eyes were wide with fear. <I'm sorry, Lois.>
<Don't you dare, Clark Kent.> Lois' hands gripped the wall, her knuckles showing white against the brickwork. <Don't you dare leave us again. The kids need you. I need you. Try harder!>
The fear on Clark's face was replaced by a single-minded frown as he used every ounce of his inner will. But he wasn't alone, Lois' spirit seemed to have linked with his and gradually he rose a floor higher.
Only some things were beyond even their dual strength.
Knowing he was weakening, Lois frantically searched right and left, catching sight of a row of open dumpsters next to a doorway. Perhaps the staff had left them open in their hurry to evacuate the building. If Clark had to fall, at least, she could find him a soft landing.
<Honey, don't waste your strength on flying. Look to your right. Can you control your fall in that direction?>
Clark's gaze followed where Lois pointed. He groaned aloud, but beggars can't be choosers, and anything was better than hitting the ground.
<Yeah.> he replied shortly, feeling Lois' hysteria come through the link. <I believe so.>
Staying silent, Clark gave up his quest for the safety and the comparative cleanliness of the roof, heading instead toward the dumpsters, standing outside what must be the studio's kitchen door.
Now that he was no longer fighting gravity, he found he could guide his fall with a small amount of effort. For a fraction of a second, he contemplated trying for a soft landing in the alley, but it wasn't an option. He might not be killed, but without his invulnerability, he would probably do himself some serious damage.
No, Lois was about to get her long-awaited revenge. Maybe the nearest dumpster was filled with cardboard and packaging, but the smell wafting toward him from its open maw told a different story. His wife was going to get her full measure of retribution. Of course, he could try for the second trash bin, but that was also out of the question. His energy was spent. Grimacing with anticipation, he allowed himself to drop the final two floors into the smelly, rotting, left-over vegetables.
Immediately Lois was sure Clark was safe, she left the roof, running down the stairs as fast as her legs could take her, her steps echoing in the hollow stairwell. She was certainly getting more exercise now that Clark was back!
Amazingly, the staircase was empty and quiet. The evacuation must be complete. Yet, she didn't doubt the bomb squad would soon begin a sweep of the building, searching for the bomber. A slow, diligent search, she hoped. Truth be told, she was somewhat surprised there had been no sign of any SWAT teams surrounding the studios, which was good. As far as she could tell, there had been no witnesses to Clark's erratic plunge from the roof. Timmons, she was sure, wasn't in a position to report what he'd seen.
Panting only a little after her breakneck trip, Lois pushed open the fire-exit door and stepped into the shaded alleyway, the light of the winter afternoon barely penetrating the narrow gap between the buildings. Gazing up and down to get her bearings, she was disappointed that neither Clark, nor the dumpsters, were in sight.
For a few seconds, she was disorientated, then she heard the sounds of sirens and frantic activity coming from her right. Clearly, the main street led in that direction, and the cavalry had arrived. Knowing they only had a short time of privacy left, Lois took off speedily in the opposite direction.
She rounded the corner, to see Clark bending over what looked very much like a bundle of rags, lying on the ground -- the pathetic remains of the guy who had singlehandedly brought terror to the streets of Metropolis.
Slowing her steps, she approached her husband. "Is he dead?" she asked quietly. Though she and Clark were in the heart of the city, she felt isolated ... disconnected from reality. "Silly question. Of course, he's dead," she added, forcing the words passed the lump which had formed in her throat. She didn't regret Timmons' passing, though she did regret its manner, and the fact that Clark had cared enough to try to save the man ... and might have fallen to his death in the attempt.
"Yes," Clark replied, his tone dejected, his shoulders hunched, and Lois didn't need superhearing to pick up his groan.
"Don't, Clark. Please don't obsess," she said softly but resolutely, placing her hand on his back and rubbing gently. "You did everything you could ... and more. You risked your life to save a man who was probably beyond saving."
"And didn't want to be saved," Clark added, glancing up at Lois with a wry quirk to his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, honey. What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time."
Lois' lips curved in a tiny grin. "And now?"
Tiredness was beginning to seep into Clark's bones and he accepted Lois' hand to help him stand, before replying. "I think I ought to learn to live within my limitations." He tenderly brushed a wayward strand of her hair off her face. "Putting myself in jeopardy like that isn't fair to you or the kids. I know I've said that before and yet I keep on doing it, but this time was too close a call, even for me."
Lois closed the small gap between them and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm glad you see that, sweetheart ... and it's not like it will be for long."
Leaning back to look at her, he asked, "You think?"
"I do." She leaned in and whispered huskily, "You almost flew."
"Almost being the operative word!" Clark snorted.
"Clark, you went four years with those kryptonite chips inside your brain. Bernie's prognosis was that you'd never be super again, but your powers are on their way back, otherwise you'd be lying on the ground next to Timmons." She gestured with her chin toward the body lying at their feet.
Leaving his arm about her shoulder, Clark turned his attention back to the guy he had failed to rescue, yet he didn't feel guilty ... just sad. "Poor man. I can't ever condone what he did, but it seems he never stood much of a chance of living a normal life ... and the one chance he had, he lost through no fault of his own."
"That's true," Lois whispered, nodding, then rested her head on her husband's chest. "But life is like that, Clark. Sometimes bad stuff happens, and people learn to deal with it or they don't, but they do have a choice." She let her fingers run down his chest. "No matter what they tried to do to you in North Korea, you never lost your innate goodness."
"Maybe. But I grew up surrounded by the love of my parents, and later, I met you. I don't know how or why I got so lucky, but being allowed to love you ... and having you love me back gives me the strength to be who I am ... even when I didn't know who I was," Clark finished with a poignant smile as he lowered his cheek to touch her hair. "Thomas wasn't so fortunate as a child, or an adult. When you think of it, he lost the only two women who ever loved him."
They stood together in silent grief for the young Thomas who had grown up in an atmosphere of grudging duty and cruel ridicule ... a square peg in a round hole for most of his life. A man whose soul had become so warped by his experiences he had exacted a terrible revenge on his fellow human beings.
Suddenly, Clark stiffened and his head straightened up. "I think we're about to be joined by Metropolis' finest."
Lois swiveled to look behind her as the police in their flak jackets came around the corner of the building. "I wondered how long it would take them to find us. I guess they'll be wanting our statements."
Clark slipped his hand through Lois' arm to lead her toward the policemen, but she held him back. "Wait!"
She quickly went to work brushing him down, and it was only then he realized that a few remains of mushy vegetables were still sticking to his clothes.
"And can I suggest that we get out of here as soon as possible." Lois leaned in and sniffed her husband's coat. "Sweetie, I can't say I approve of your new cologne. What is it? Eau de Zucchini?"
"Lo-is! That dumpster saved my life. Thank goodness it was open."
"You won't hear me complaining to city hall this time," she hissed in his ear, trying to hide a smile. A piece of wilted green salad sticking in his hair had attracted her attention and she plucked it away, thankful that this time the color green was harmless. "But we can't say anything about your falling into the dumpster, because I'm not totally sure that a bed of kitchen waste would actually save a normal person's life. We ran down the fire escape together, after we saw Thomas throw himself from the roof."
Clark nodded, though he looked doubtful. "Don't you think they might smell me?"
"Hopefully, the police won't get as close to you as I am. But look around you Clark, the ground is filthy. You can always say you knelt down to check if Timmons was dead and got dirt on your clothes ... and that's the truth." She patted his hand that was linked through her arm. "Are you ready for this?"
He sighed deeply, nodding once more, his voice firmer when he spoke. "As ready as I'll ever be when someone dies unnecessarily. I guess Thomas couldn't face spending the rest of his life in jail ..."
"Or execution, Clark. There's every chance he would have gotten a death sentence. At least this way he chose the manner of his death," she said, reminding him.
"You're probably right, Lois." He squeezed her arm. "Come on. Lets get this over with then go find Tory and Mom and Dad. I just want to go home and hug our kids. I wonder if Matt has finished in Switzerland."
"Maybe you should take a shower before the hugging part," Lois suggested helpfully.
"I couldn't agree more." Clark's smile morphed into a grimace and a shudder coursed through his body. "I feel filthy. I dread to think what might have been crawling around in that trash. Maybe a long soak would be better, and you could help clean me up ... just in case I miss something."
"Oh, no. This time you're on your own!" Lois smiled up into his face, knowing that her husband was going to be just fine. Her eyes began to sparkle teasingly. "You know, I've waited a long, long time to get my own back on you for throwing me in that dumpster. I intend to savor every moment."
"Lo-is, that's cruel ..."
But the police had arrived and Lois walked forward to meet them with a quick sashay, giving Clark a suggestion of what he might share tonight with Lois ... if he was lucky.
****
Lois' finger hovered over her mouse for a fraction of a second before clicking on the word send with a flourish. Satisfied, she closed the laptop and placed it on the bedside table. A recent picture of Clark held pride of place by her bedside, replacing the older one which had served her for four lonely years. Lovingly, she traced his face, before plumping up her pillows and relaxing back in the bed. A sparkling smile lit up her face. There was no doubt; reporter Clark Kent was back at the top of his game.
Some editors might have considered Clark to be too closely involved with the standoff at Stern Studios to allow him to write up the story, but this was the culmination of Clark's hard work, and she wasn't about to rob him of his triumph.
From the very first explosion, Clark had investigated, researched and followed his gut instinct till he had discovered the identity of the bomber. He hadn't allowed himself to be duped after the bombing outside Metropolis General, as had City Hall, a number of the MPD and most of the media. No, Clark had stuck with it until he had uncovered the truth, and saved a great many people in the process.
Now he had turned in a first class article, which was neither prejudicial nor judgmental. He'd written the facts, yet in his distinctive style, he had drawn his readers into the story, making the events come alive. She'd been in that studio this afternoon, but she'd still felt on the edge of her seat as she'd read his prose.
That would have been enough to win Clark a Kerth, but her husband had gone further. In a sidebar, he'd given not just a name but a face and a personality to the bogeyman the people of Metropolis had come to fear. Without excusing Timmons or being overly sympathetic, he had stated Thomas' case with fairness and understanding, hopefully prompting people, particularly those in a position of authority, to ask themselves why Timmons had become a monster before condemning him out of hand.
The sounds of water draining from the tub and movement from the bathroom next door attracted Lois' attention, changing her smile of contentment to one of anticipation. She had toyed with the notion of joining Clark in the tub, but in contrast to what she'd told him earlier in the day, she'd decided not to out of consideration. After all, he had partly floated, but mostly crashed from a nine storey building this afternoon. Notwithstanding his landing in the squelchy trash, he must be feeling a little achy; she had noticed him moving with less than his easy grace since his fall.
The family had decided to order pizza for dinner and, thankfully, the girls had offered to clean away the aftermath. Martha and Jonathan had been taken home by Matt, who had shown up midway through the meal, wolfing down his share and some of his grandparents' leftovers. Judging from Matt's voracious appetite and relaxed demeanor, her son had, obviously, helped with a very successful rescue in Switzerland.
However, Lois had to face the fact that her in-laws were getting older, and probably less able to handle the trauma of dealing with superpowered saves. Not that they hadn't done a terrific job this afternoon. Martha was a trooper, and Jonathan would always backup whatever his wife chose to take on. It was just that, these days, they seemed to need a longer time out to recover. They had both been very grateful when Matt had offered to drive them home soon after dinner.
This time, not only did Martha and Jonathan need time to decompress, their son did too ... and their daughter-in-law!
The sounds from the bathroom warned Lois that Clark had almost finished his bathing, causing Lois to check her hair quickly in the vanity mirror and smooth down her new silk nightgown which clung seductively to her body; a body that had acquired a few lines and the odd stretch mark over the years, but one Clark still loved and desired.
His love was evident in every glowing glance he gave her, in the soft cadence of his voice when he spoke her name. She knew he loved her by the way he took care of her, often risking his own life. Yet he never stifled her spirit. Almost from the day they met, he had respected her independence, encouraging her to be all that she could be ... and more.
Today he had shown his love for her in a way she had never expected. For her sake and that of their children, he had promised not to risk sacrificing himself, despite his inborn commitment to help those in trouble ... and this time she knew he meant to keep his word. Of course, she would set him free of that obligation. Just as Clark would never seek to diminish her, so she could never expect him to be less than Superman.
But that was for tomorrow, tonight was for reaffirming their need for each other in a more fundamental way. Another smile, slow and sensual, spread across Lois' face as she settled back in bed to wait for her husband.
*****
Clark rubbed the liquid into his palms before patting briskly at his face, his breath catching at the sharp sting of the aftershave. Definitely not invulnerable! Over time, he'd become adept at shaving with a normal razor, so he'd caused no cuts nor abrasions, but like any ordinary man, his skin was sensitive after the scrape of the blade. If his hair and stubble toughened in the near future, and his laser vision ever came back with any reliability, he or the bathroom might well suffer a few burns before he mastered the skill to shave and cut his hair using superpowers.
A self-deprecatory grin hovered around his mouth as he thought of asking Matt to give him a refresher course. Earlier, he had talked with Matt about the rescue in Switzerland. Regrettably, there had been a few fatalities, but those had happened before Matt's arrival. Like his father, the young super hero would never be happy at any loss of life, but he was starting to accept that he couldn't do everything. Besides, there were many more people who'd been pulled alive from their icy tombs who were extremely grateful for Jor-El's presence.
Actually, Matt had seemed more interested in hearing about the events at Stern Studios, and unlike his father, on this occasion, Matt was not surprised that Clark had saved the day. It appeared Jor-El had more faith in Superman's ability, if not to fly, to reach the ground semi-safely.
Clark's worries for his son assuming the role of a hero too soon were receding, but both his daughters were causing him some concern. In a very short time, Tory had been involved in two very traumatic situations. She'd coped amazingly well this afternoon, though both he and Lois had decided to keep a close watch over her, in case of delayed shock. Somehow, he didn't expect too many problems. Tory might be unusually healthy, never suffering from knocks or bruises, but she had not yet started to develop superpowers. Clark believed that when she did, she would take them in her stride.
Most of all, Clark was anxious about Sara, his wise, caring daughter, who continually thought of others before herself. Sara, who never courted the limelight, except in the auditorium, where she tried so hard to rely strictly on her human side to perform her gymnastics. Of his three children, he felt that Sara would be happier if her kryptonian powers remained dormant. He needed to be there for her, to let her know it was all right not to be a hero, if she so chose.
And this afternoon, regardless of Matt's confidence in him, he had to admit he had practically thrown his life away.
Wandering slowly around the bathroom, favoring his aching joints, Clark cleared away his wet towels, but as he bent to pick up the clothes he'd discarded when he'd first arrived home, a rotting smell wafted toward his nostrils, more pungent now that time had passed. He'd meant to put them in the wash immediately, but his desire to get clean had taken precedence.
He lifted them to his face and sniffed gingerly, then grimaced. Having floundered around in that dumpster before managing to climb out, his clothes really were beyond rescuing. Quickly fishing a plastic sack from the cupboard beneath the vanity bar, he rammed the offending clothing inside and tied the sack tightly.
If only he could get rid of his feeling of guilt as easily.
He'd hoped that Lois might change her mind and join him in the tub, but his little tornado had stuck to her guns, and he couldn't blame her. The stunt he'd pulled this afternoon had been crazy.
His eyes closed as he relived those seemingly never-ending moments when he had plunged to the ground. He'd always heard that your life flashed before your eyes when you were about to die, but Clark had fixated on the face of his wife, as she stared over the parapet.
Lois' expression, a melting pot of terror, pain and dreadful sadness would remain imprinted in his mind forever. Her look had been fleeting, and immediately replaced with one of determination not to let him die. It was Lois' strength of will that had saved him today. For her sake, he had found the effort to slow his fall. He owed his life to Lois ... and an open dumpster.
Beyond all doubt, he loved her in every way known to man and Kryptonian, and yet he had been responsible for putting that dreadful look of fear upon her face ... but never again. With a vow to spend the rest of his life making Lois' happiness his main priority, Clark finished tidying the bathroom, steadied his breathing, and walked into the bedroom.
*****
Prepared to apologize for his lack of judgment, Clark was taken aback by the atmosphere in the bedroom. The lamps were turned low, while scented candles burned on the dresser, but his eyes were drawn to the woman on the bed. His breath caught and his heart took up a steady, pounding beat.
Thought escaped him. It was all he could do to remember to breathe as he moved toward Lois like a moth to a flame.
"Lois," he said her name with awe. "You are so beautiful." He sank down on the bed, stretching out his hand to caress the ivory skin of her arm. "You never cease to amaze me. This afternoon you were the target of a madman; Tory was in danger, and Mom and Dad ... and all those other people ... but you didn't panic." Clark's fingers moved on, reverently stroking the graceful curve of her neck. "I almost threw my life away, yet now you're so serene ... so lovely." In the soft light, moisture glistened in his brown eyes. "You've grown so much since I've been gone ... I have no words."
"Hush!" Her fingers pressed against Clark's lips. "That's good, because I didn't plan on talking," she said, sending him a sultry smile and patting the bed by her side.
Clark turned and scooted up the bed, but he couldn't halt the groan which escaped his lips.
Immediately, Lois' focus changed. "Clark, are you all right?"
Catching Lois' hands that were intent on examining his body, he replied. "I'm fine, honey. Just a few aches and pains is all. I'm lucky I got off so lightly."
But Lois wasn't about to be put off. "No cuts or bruises? Let me see?" she demanded, trying to extract herself from Clark's grasp.
"Honey, I promise. There are no cuts, no grazes." A teasing smile hovered around his mouth. "But I am very tired ..." he added, sliding down to lie flat on the bed.
Disappointment darkened Lois' eyes and settled like a damp blanket on her shoulders. "I guess that's only to be expected ..."
"Honey, don't!" Clark twisted to face her, brushing his fingers through the wisps of hair which curled on her cheek. "Believe, after all the trouble you've gone to ..." He waved an arm about the room. "I'm not that tired, and if you want to look over my body, I'm all for it ... just not in a medical way," he said, finishing with a sparkling grin.
"Oh, you!" Lois pouted, but she did refrain from punching him, just in case. She settled down beside him, resting her head on his chest. "Did you enjoy your soak?"
"I did, but I was lonely, having that big tub all to myself."
This time it was Lois who laughed tantalizingly, her warm breath tickling Clark's skin. "I told you I wanted pay back. You didn't help me when ..."
"Hah, sweetheart! I can imagine the sort of reception I'd have gotten if I'd tried back then. You'd have skinned me alive. And don't tell me I was invulnerable, because I've never been that when it comes to you."
"More powerful than kryptonite?" Lois asked, enjoying this playful mood.
"Always," he said, dropping a kiss on her hair.
She snuggled closer. "It wasn't just revenge, you know. I was working. I edited your story and sent it to The Planet. The timing is tight, but I want it on the front page of The Planet on every newstand in the morning. It will definitely make the online edition. There's no way the rest of the media can beat us." Lois' smile beamed with satisfaction, while her fingers drew circles on Clark's chest. "They might have the general facts, but we have the inside scoop. It's a great article, Clark. The best. You're as good a reporter as ever."
"I sure hope so."
At the faint note of doubt in her husband's tone, Lois sat up, shocked. She stared into his face, but he avoided her gaze. "Clark! Look at me." Clark hesitantly raised his eyes. "Have faith in yourself, honey. You totally nailed that story ... apart from withholding an infinitesimal part for reasons which I completely agree with. Clark, I'm not the only one who has grown in the last four years. I'd bet my life you'll win next year's Kerth for investigative journalism. And I'm talking as your editor not your wife, though your wife is also very proud of what you've achieved."
Lois smiled again, leaning in to demonstrate just how proud she was, and for some moments there was silence in the room as they shared a lingering kiss.
When finally she broke away, she spoke rather breathlessly. "You know, this cologne is a big improvement on the one you were wearing earlier."
"You think?" Clark joined in his wife's banter. "I kinda liked the way you showed me how much you appreciate my writing ... so much better than a Kerth, but I might need a lot more convincing."
"That could be arranged ... Oh ... oh!"
Lois shrieked when Clark's arms enveloped her, yet her moan died completely as she was drawn down onto his body and he covered her mouth with his own. Now there was only the whispered sounds of two people communing in ways more ancient than language.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, the trident ring of a phone broke the heated spell in the room.
For seconds the couple ignored the interruption, before Lois reluctantly pulled back. Clark, however, wasn't quite so prepared to let her go.
"Let it ring. It's probably Jim!"
The shrill noise continued while Lois glanced between her husband and the phone. She was clearly ambivalent.
"Clark, we can't. We both have elderly parents, and it could be an emergency."
Instantly contrite, Clark released Lois and sat up, stretching over to pick up the phone. "Clark Kent here," he said, sending his wife an apologetic look. "Hi, Perry." His expression lightened as he realized the identity of the caller. "What can I do for you?" he asked, switching to speaker mode so Lois could listen in.
"Nothing, son. I just wanted to congratulate you on a brilliant piece of writing. You're the best reporter in Metropolis. Heck, the best in the country, and you've made an old man very happy," Perry concluded, his voice gruff with emotion.
A Cheshire Cat like grin covered Lois' face. "I couldn't agree more, Perry, but what are you doing in the newsroom?" she inquired, changing the direction of the conversation.
"I'm acting night editor," he explained. "You know Anita's on vacation -- a Caribbean cruise I'm told. Tonight her stand-in was involved in an automobile accident. Now before you start worrying your pretty head, Lois, it's nothing serious. He'll be in the hospital for a couple of days, so they asked the old war horse to take over while he's incapacitated, and ..."
"And I guess you were only too happy to oblige," Lois finished the sentence for him.
"You bet your blue suede shoes I am. This retirement milarky is fine, but printers' ink still runs in my veins. Alice says I'll die with my boots firmly planted under the editor's desk. Not that I want to step on your toes, Lois."
"You could never do that," she hurriedly assured him.
"Look, kids, I know it's late, so I won't keep you. I'm sure you've better things to do with your time than jaw with your old Chief." There was a pause as Perry's chuckle wafted over the line. "Clark, I'm more excited now than I was the night I saw The King play Vegas ... and that sure takes some doing. Clark Kent's byline will be on every newstand and in every home first thing tomorrow, exactly as it should be!"
"Chief, I've already told Lois that byline should read Lane and Kent," Clark stated adamantly. "She was with me every step of the way today, and if she hadn't believed in me, I doubt I would have had the courage to persevere with the investigation. In fact, if it hadn't been for Lois, I wouldn't have been around to write that story ..."
Perry cut in, saying seriously, "I don't think I want to know what you're getting at, Clark, but if a shared byline is what you want, that's what you'll get. It'll be just like old times ... Lane and Kent, the hottest team in town."
Lois looked over at Clark, her eyes glowing. "I agree, with one provision; make that Lane-Kent and Kent, the hottest team in town."
This time, Perry gave a loud guffaw. "Sure thing, kids. Whatever you want. Now why don't you get back to doing whatever it was you were doing before I called."
"I think we can manage that, Chief," Clark said, his lips twitching in a grin as he glanced at Lois. "But thanks for letting me know how you feel. It's much appreciated."
"I'm only telling it like it is, son," Perry answered before concluding. "But some people have work to do. Goodnight to you both."
"Night, Perry," Lois and Clark answered in unison, as the receiver was replaced on its cradle.
Clark turned back to his wife. "Just where were we when we were interrupted?" He lifted his hand to gently trace the contours of Lois' features. "Oh, yes, I remember." His other hand tangled in her silky hair as he lowered his face to hers. "Lois Lane-Kent, did I ever tell you just how much I love you?" he asked, his lips close to hers.
"Once or twice," she murmured softly. "But actions speak so much louder than words.
And Clark didn't disappoint. This was the moment when their love blazed into desire. When his burning gaze seared her soul and his husky voice sent shivers through the core of her being.
"My wife the boss," he whispered against her lips. "My best friend, my partner ... my soulmate. I will love you in every way for all of my life ... and beyond."
The End
Author's note ...
If you have reached this far, I would like to thank you for your patience and understanding. I don't think I've ever taken quite so long to write a story, and I'm not exactly sure why this one has been so difficult.
I know that real life has been particularly trying this past year or so, both in small annoyances and very difficult situations. My energy and enthusiasm was worn down to the bone.
But I promised you all and myself that I would finish this epic journey of Lois and Clark, and I feel very relieved and quite proud of myself that I have brought them home safely.
Of course, this might not be the end, but I have no storylines in my head, or even in my dreams for our favourite couple and their family. I think I need a short break from writing, but I can never stay away from the keyboard for too long.
Once again, thank you, and please let me know if you think this story was worth the wait.
