From Part 11 ...
Lois glanced up, wondering what was taking Clark so long. He was standing – on one foot - at the bottom of the stairs, dressed and leaning nonchalantly against the wall, arms folded across his chest.
Staring at her.
She met his eyes and smiled. “What are you looking at, farmboy?” she asked.
“My world,” he said softly.
Part 12
Actually, Clark had been watching Lois for at least a couple of minutes, indulging, absorbing, relishing.
On the warehouse floor, his ability to conjure her image had dwindled until he could no longer retrieve her from his pain-ravaged mind. That had been the most agonising aspect of his ordeal.
Lois rose from her chair and came to him. She stopped, mere inches from him, and contemplated him with twinkling eyes. “You’re looking better,” she observed.
“I probably wouldn’t fall over if you were to …”
“Touch you?”
Clark nodded.
“Hold you?”
He nodded again.
“Kiss you?”
He smiled an invitation.
Lois put her hands on his chest, slid them up to his shoulders and rounded his neck. Clark closed his eyes, savouring the feel of her against his body. Then her lips plied his and for the first time, he was able to shut down the lurking spectre of his memories and simply inhabit the present. His arms came around her. His hand cupped her head and he kissed her. Longingly. And lengthily.
When they broke contact, Lois leant her forehead against his, her hands wrapped around his head. It was so incredibly good to hold her ... feel her ... kiss her ... taste her.
“Is that lunch I smell?” he murmured eventually.
“Yep. We didn’t eat our breakfast so I put Sarah’s lasagne in the oven. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” he said.
Lois moved away from him and took the lasagne from the oven. When their food was served, she sat next to him and said, “Clark, there is something I need to tell you. Actually, two things.”
Something in her tone caused the fear to again pound on the door of his heart. Was this it? Was she about to tell him everything had changed?
But she’d kissed him. Surely she wouldn’t have kissed him like that if ... “OK,” he managed.
“Hodge told me Trask had you and the only way for you to get out alive was for Superman to confront Trask.” Her hand stretched across the table and covered his. “I knew that wasn’t possible, so I needed a way to convince Trask that Superman was no longer a threat.”
Clark looked at their joined hands. She wasn’t backing away. Not this time. “What did you do?”
“I told Hodge that Superman had been contacted by his own people and his mother died and he had to go with them and would never come back to Earth again.”
Clark looked at her, feeling dazed. “So ... no more Superman,” he concluded.
“I’m sorry, Clark,” Lois said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“All things considered, it’s not going to make a lot of difference,” he said with a shrug.
Lois passed him the Daily Planet and Clark read her story as they ate. It was convincing – so convincing, he had to keep reminding himself that this world ... his mother ... these people ... didn’t exist outside of Lois’s imagination. “Superman *emailed* you?” he asked.
“Trask had my computer bugged, so I used Jimmy’s computer to send an email to myself from your account – and said Superman had used Kryptonian technology to access it.”
Clark’s mind latched onto that word again. “I’m Kryptonian?” he said tentatively, feeling absolutely no connection ... no flash of familiarity.
“It seems so,” Lois said as her hand found his again. Her voice, her touch, her eyes all conveyed how clearly she understood his wonder at finally discovering something of his origins. Understood too, that it had been little more than a morsel when he craved so much more.
“If the green rock ... the kryptonite ... is from my planet, why does it have such a debilitating effect on me?” Clark asked.
“I don’t know.” She smiled. “But I do know why your parents sent you to Earth.”
He did too. “To save me,” he said in hushed awe.
Her hand caressed his. “To save you,” she repeated. “They wanted you, they loved you, they did what they could to give you a chance at life.”
He wished ... for so much more. Yearned to have something ... anything ... of them. If only he could tell them they had saved their son.
“I’ll think of a way to clear the kryptonite from the museum and we’ll go and see your spaceship,” Lois promised.
He smiled sadly. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “How did you find me?” he asked.
Lois gestured to the newspaper. “You should read Perry’s story.”
Clark did, trying to extract the answers he needed as he skimmed over that which he already knew ... and never wanted to revisit again.
“And here’s my follow-up story,” she said, offering him a sheet of paper.
He read that too. He still had questions. How had Hodge communicated with Lois despite Trask bugging her phones and computer? Why had she been at the circus when Henderson had had her arrested?
And he still didn’t know why she was no longer wearing his ring.
“Are you going to phone it in to Perry?” he asked.
“If you’re OK with it.”
“It’s fine,” he said, deliberately avoiding her eyes.
“Do you want to add anything? Have I missed anything?”
“No.”
She considered him for a long moment, her face a bevy of silent questions. “Would you prefer neither of us said anything else?” she offered. “Perry’s story covers the main points. We could just leave it there.”
That’s exactly what he wanted. But rationally, there was nothing remotely objectionable in Lois’s story. She’d mentioned little about his injuries ... hadn’t even hinted he’d been reduced to such a level of degradation. “It’s fine,” he repeated tightly.
Lois picked up her story, crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the fire. “Want some coffee?” she said.
“Thanks,” he said. But he wasn’t thanking her for the coffee, but for somehow understanding what he needed when he couldn’t even begin to put it into words.
She stood and cleared away their empty plates.
“Lois?”
“Uhm?” She got out the cups and removed the lid from the coffee jar.
“What was the other thing you wanted to tell me?”
Her cheeks deepened to a pretty pink. And he was sure it wasn’t from the fire. “I have a confession,” she said.
“OK,” he said, as his foreboding pressed again.
“The first night you were missing, I went to your apartment and I was so lonesome for you and so worried about you, I couldn’t leave, so I ate your food and used your shower ... and your toothbrush ... and slept in your bed.”
Clark pushed his chair back from the table. “Come here,” he said softly.
She did and he pulled her down onto his lap. “Honey, you’re welcome to everything I have ... even my toothbrush.”
But she still looked a little uneasy. “What about your journal?” she said.
He gulped. His journal? “You read it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Not at first, but I ached for you so much ... and it was all I had.”
He didn’t mind ... exactly. Though he had written it assuming it was for his eyes only. “It was a bit sappy,” he said self-consciously.
“It wasn’t sappy at all,” Lois said. Her hand curled around his neck. “It was *so* beautiful.”
“It’s the truth,” Clark declared. “I *did* love you from the beginning.”
She leant forward and kissed him. So sweetly.
“What I want hasn’t changed,” he murmured into their kiss.
“What I want hasn’t changed either,” she replied.
He had to ask. Even if the answer was ‘no’, he had to know. He backed away so he could see her face. “So,” he said hesitantly. “Do you still want to marry me?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. “*Of course* I still want to marry you, Clark,” she exclaimed. “How could you possibly think otherwise?”
“Things have changed,” he said bleakly.
“Not the important things.”
“Then why aren’t you wearing your ring?”
“Because I didn’t know if there was a tracking device in it. I took off all my jewellery. And ...”
“And?”
“And wearing an engagement ring when my fiancé had disappeared invited questions that had no answers.”
He hadn’t thought of that. “So you’ll put it on again?”
“The moment I get home.”
Clark closed his eyes and leant into her neck as he again pushed his fears to the recesses of his mind.
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Lois relaxed into the comfortable chair in the cottage garden, gleaning what warmth she could from the waning afternoon sun.
Her right hand rested in Clark’s as he reclined next to her.
Periodically, she lazily opened her eyes, just to look at him, just to assure herself he was still there.
Lois had suggested they come out here, hoping the serenity of their surroundings would afford them the perfect opportunity to talk. Certainly, she still had questions. However, her motivation had not been her questions, but her desire to alleviate the hunted look that still clung to Clark’s troubled brown eyes. She believed he needed to talk ... even more than she needed answers.
But talking seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.
She’d asked a few questions - questions deliberately worded such that he could choose the direction of their conversation.
But his answers had been vague ... evasive even. Then his eyes had closed and his grip on her hand had loosened a little.
He was, understandably, exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. His body was healing. His mind needed to heal too.
The jangle of her cell phone cut through the air. Lois answered. It was Clark’s mom.
“Hi honey,” Martha greeted. “Is everything OK? I tried Clark’s cell and there was no answer.”
“Everything’s fine,” Lois said, noticing Clark’s eyes had opened. “Here’s Clark.”
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Clark could not remember ever not wanting to speak with his mom. Maybe when he was a kid ... on one of the rare occasions when he’d done something that had displeased her.
But in the last ten years, he’d always welcomed her presence, her voice on the phone.
But right now, he dreaded it. He *really* didn’t want to speak with her.
“Hi, Mom,” he said with what he knew was a pathetic attempt at normalcy.
“Clark,” she said. She was concerned; he could tell that from one word. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You haven’t been answering your cell.”
“I’ve been busy for a few days,” he said. “There’s a big story breaking.”
“We read it,” his mom said, her words heavy with so much more.
Clark’s sigh escaped before he could shackle it. “Mom, I’ll come home in a few days. We’ll talk then.”
“OK.” She sounded hurt. Mostly confused, but there was hurt there too.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “I can’t talk now. Lois and I are fine and we’ll see you and Dad in a few days.”
There was a pause, then she said, “I love you, son.”
“I love you too, Mom,” he said. “Please don’t worry.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
He heard the click of disconnection and put the cell on the table, ashamed that he felt such overwhelming relief.
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Lois had watched Clark as he talked with his mom.
Yes, they would go to his parents. But it would take hours to get there, not minutes. They would have to plan, book and be subject to the vagaries of an airline schedule.
Clark’s life had changed. And she was only just beginning to realise how much.
Maybe she needed to accentuate Clark. And Clark was clean-shaven. She leant over to him and ran her fingers through his bristles. “I noticed there’s a razor in the things Sarah brought. Do you feel like shaving?”
“I thought you liked the stubble.”
“I do,” she agreed. “But I’m hankering to see your face.” They went into the cottage and Lois sorted through the bag and found the razor, still in its packaging. Perhaps it had been intended for David Crawford and he’d never had the chance to use it. She offered it to Clark.
He took it, examined it at length and then looked up with an inexplicable expression. “I’ve never used a razor before,” he admitted.
“Then how … ?”
He gestured to his eyes. “Mirror, plus heat vision.”
Lois refused to be thwarted. “Well, I’ve used a razor before,” she said, lightly. “Come on, we’ll do it in the bathroom.”
She headed towards the stairs, but Clark’s hand reached out and caught her. “You’re going to shave me?” he asked with disbelief.
She nodded, completely unfazed. “Of course. As soon as you can stand properly, you’ll have to do it for yourself. But today …” She grinned at him. “Meet you upstairs, farmboy.”
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Being shaved with a razor was a totally new experience for Clark.
Being shaved by Lois was something else again.
From the moment she’d finished smothering him in shaving cream - then cheekily kissed him such that a fair portion of it transferred to her - to the moment she carefully dried every inch of his face and neck, it was nerve-jangling enjoyment.
With two outcomes.
His face was clean-shaven.
And his body had suddenly caught up with exactly how extensively Lois’s hands had tended him lately.
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Lois just couldn’t keep her gaze from continually drifting to Clark.
It was true, she did like the stubble, but clean-shaven, he was definitively Clark – and it was so wonderful to have him back, to be able to look at him whenever she wanted.
“I’m going to have a shower,” he said, breaking into her reverie that had centred completely on him.
“Can you manage without help?” she asked, trying to sound willing but not eager.
“Yeah ... thanks.”
She felt a cloak of disappointment settle in her gut. “OK,” she said casually. “But before you do, can I check your injuries?”
Clark slid the polo shirt over his head and sat on the bed. Lois stole a peek at his chest before sitting behind him and carefully removing the bandage she had put on his back. What she saw caused a quick in-breath of surprise.
“What?” Clark said anxiously.
“Does it hurt when I touch here?” She gently prodded along his back.
“Not much. Why?”
“Because I can’t believe how quickly it has healed.”
“Really?”
Lois gently cleaned around the laceration. It had closed up, the fiery redness had faded and it looked – for a wound – clean and healthy.
She applied a little antiseptic cream and examined the rest of his back, shaking her head. The more minor grazes had gone – she could see an occasional pink line here and there, but nothing that really needed her attention. She checked his ribs and discovered that the bruising had faded to splotches of gold and pale burgundy.
Clark may not need much medical attention, but she decided they could both use some touch therapy. She started along the ridges of his shoulders, gently massaging.
A low, throaty murmur escaped from Clark.
“Good?” she asked.
“Better than good,” he replied languidly.
“Does your shoulder still hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
Slowly, carefully, she worked down the centre of his back, luxuriating in his warm sleekness. Then she separated her hands and sidled towards his ribs.
He lurched and her hands leapt from him. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, horrified. “I’m sorry.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Remember when you were trying to get me to divulge the details of our big date?”
“Yeah.”
“Remember how you figured tickling me was such a great strategy?”
“Yeah.”
“I neglected to mention I wasn’t ticklish.”
“So you faked it?” she said, pretending indignation.
He nodded, with a grin that was so close to classic Clark, a lump rose into her throat.
“Why?” she demanded, a little thickly, but smiling.
His grin widened. “I’m sure you don’t need me to explain why,” he said.
Her mouth opened, but he just grinned and turned around in an overt invitation for her to continue. “So you’re ticklish now?” she said.
She saw his shoulders lift with a little sigh. “Yeah,” he said soberly.
“Good,” she declared. “Because as soon as those ribs are healed, I’ll be taking advantage of that.”
He didn’t respond and she couldn’t see his face, so she clamped her arms around his waist and rested her head on slope of his shoulder.
This skin-on-skin interplay was becoming addictive.
With regret, she straightened and skittered a kiss along his shoulder. “Time to do your front,” she said.
He turned and her eyes lingered on his chest. It was the same story as his back - it had healed significantly. And it was still a breathtaking tableau of male perfection. She wanted to comment, but decided against it. Last night, her appreciation had only served to remind him of what he’d lost.
She gave the necessary attention to his remaining wounds, then knelt on the floor and took his foot onto her thighs. It was almost back to its normal size and shape. Lois looked up to him, dumbfounded. “You have an amazing capacity to heal,” she said.
“It’s you,” he said, smiling down at her. “Your touch, your love, everything that is you. I couldn’t help but get better.” He reached down, took her hand and pulled her to her feet, then continued backwards so he was lying on the bed and she was on top of him.
Lois’s breath jammed in her throat and every receptor in her body responded to the stimuli of Clark underneath her. “This is very nice,” she said, not quite steadily. “But if we are going to survive the three weeks until our wedding, I need to go.” She kissed him fleetingly and headed for the stairs.
Before descending, she turned for one final look. He’d turned onto his side, head balanced on his hand, watching her, grinning roguishly.
She pointed at him, not even trying to hide her amusement. “Behave yourself, farmboy.”
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
But he didn’t stop grinning.
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Lois leant snugly against Clark on the sofa, his arm across her shoulders. It was getting late, but she was too comfortable to move.
They’d spent their evening in quiet togetherness. Saying little. Savouring much.
She felt Clark try to stifle a yawn and gave up fighting her own sleepiness. “You’re tired,” she said.
“Lois?”
“Uhmm?”
“I think I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.”
She shot from her haven and faced him. “Why?”
He shrugged and seemed to be having a hard time meeting her eyes. “Because last night I wasn’t ... capable of appreciating your closeness and tonight ... I am.”
Lois grinned. “So you’re going to sleep on this sofa – which is half your length – when there’s a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs?”
He nodded.
She shook her head. “If anyone sleeps on the sofa, it’s going to be me.”
“Lois, I couldn’t sleep in the bed knowing you were on the sofa.”
“Then we share the bed.”
He did meet her eyes then. “You sure?”
She nodded. “What we both need is *sleep*,” she said decisively.
He wasn’t convinced.
Lois stood, took his hand and pulled him up. “Come on, farmboy,” she said. “You can have the bathroom first. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“OK.” He walked to the stairs, his limp barely noticeable.
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The hard, cold floor thrust mercilessly into his back. The heavy blackness bore down on him, choking him, suffocating him. He was in pain – his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his head.
From the blackness he sensed the lurking shadow of a presence. Something ... someone.
Coming closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Ever closer.
Then he heard a terrified scream.
His eyes screeched open.
His heart thumped.
His body tingled with cold sweat.
He felt Lois’s hand on his arm as she shuffled closer to him. “Clark,” she said, softly. “Are you OK?”
His mouth felt like sandpaper. He swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
She kissed his back, just down from his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. G’night.”
Her hand lifted from him and he felt the icy stream of self-condemnation. She deserved better. So much better.
But he could no more have explained what had happened than he could have flown out of the window.
He felt the bed wobble slightly as she turned over. Away from him. “I love you,” he heard indistinctly from the other side of the bed.
He couldn’t reply.
His mind was still wrestling the sinister reality of his dream.
He stared into the darkness, unwilling to close his eyes again.
He listened to Lois breathe.
She wasn’t asleep either.
He couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t turn to her.
Couldn’t share this with her.
Couldn’t expose his vulnerability.
So he stared ahead.
And waited for first light.
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When Lois woke the next morning, Clark was already dressed. “Good morning,” she said, a little sleepily.
“We should get back to work,” Clark said, continuing to tidy the room as he spoke. “I haven’t been there all week; you’ve missed a couple of days. Perry’ll be wondering where we are.”
Lois sat up in the bed, trying to get a better look at him. “Are you well enough?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Have a shower. I’ll make us breakfast.”
