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That Old Clone of Mine (2/3)
By Lynn S. M.
Rated: PG for "off-screen" violence
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The next few days were relatively uneventful. Lois and C.C. were partnered on more stories, and Lois found it harder and harder to keep C.C. and Clark distinct in her mind -- C.C. was just so much like his progenitor! His smile, his thoughtful gestures -- such as bringing her her coffee just the way she liked it -- even his gentle teasing was so much like Clark’s. She would never forget Clark, but would it really be so wrong to be friends with his “identical twin”? Couldn’t she honor Clark by befriending C.C.?
Those thoughts came to a head when she was called into Perry’s office. She knew at once from his demeanor that something was wrong -- very, very wrong.
“Ahhh, Lois,” he mumbled, “Thank you for coming in. I just got a phone call, and…I thought you should know…The call came from Stryker Island. Dillinger and Capone have died of unknown, but apparently natural, causes. Bonnie and Clyde are very ill and will likely die soon, as well.”
“I’m on it, Chief.”
“Um, Lois. I think you better prepare yourself…”
The penny dropped. Lois paled and staggered to a chair. “My God. C.C.!”
“Probably. I’m sorry, honey. But maybe the clones have just caught an illness at Stryker. It might not affect Clark. In any event, I am keeping him off the story, just in case. And I don’t want you on it, either. You’re too close to it.”
“Chief, I’m a professional! I’ll get the job done.”
“There’s one other reason. You work with Clark. I don’t want you going there and then acting as a carrier and giving it to him. It’s too dangerous. I’m assigning Eduardo to the story; he and Clark almost never work together. And, uh, I wouldn’t say anything about this to Clark until we have more information; no point in worrying him needlessly.”
Lois just swallowed and nodded.
“Have any non-clones become ill?”
Perry’s voice was as sympathetic as his expression. “No, darlin’. I’m afraid not. I’m sorry. If you want to take the day off, you still have plenty of personal leave left.”
“Thanks, Perry.”
Shakily, Lois got up and left Perry's office. As she entered the bullpen, she dazedly thought about the interactions she had had with C.C.. She had just started to come to grips with his presence, to feel that they were developing a bond similar to the one she had had with Clark, and now she might lose him, too, and so soon!
Well, one thing she knew for sure. She was still haunted by the fact that she had never told Clark what she had felt for him. She wouldn't make the same mistake with C.C -- she would make sure that C.C. knew all that Clark had meant to her, and also that she had been starting to think of C.C. as a friend. She would have preferred to play her cards closer to her chest for a while, but she obviously didn't have that luxury of time now.
She decided to invite C.C. over to her place for a nice dinner that evening. Even if she couldn't tell him the reasons for her sudden openness, she could at least make sure that she expressed her sentiments while he was still healthy enough to appreciate them. For his sake, she would somehow manage to share with him her feelings without revealing the impetus behind her expressing them then.
***
Clark had been held up on Super business that morning and consequently came to work slightly late, albeit with a “Superman interview.” He knew as soon as he entered the bullpen that something was amiss; Lois had been looking at the elevator doors when he entered, and her heart rate shot up when she saw him. She looked as though she were struggling to maintain composure. He knew her well enough to know that she would deny that anything were wrong if he were simply to ask; she might have responded well to “Clark’s” asking, but she would just close up if “C.C.” were to ask. The indirect approach would be best; he would pretend not to notice and perhaps she would say something.
Clark decided to make his greeting neutral. “Hey, partner, what’s up?”
“Up? Why should anything be up? There’s absolutely nothing up. No news today. In fact, Perry gave me the day off. I’m going to have the whole day free. I think I’ll even try cooking something today. Want to come over for dinner tonight and taste the results?”
Clark chuckled,” Gee, Lois, I know what your cooking’s like, and I value my life. How about some takeout instead?”
The feisty response he had anticipated was nowhere to be seen; instead, she seemed to be struggling to keep from crying. All she said was, “Yeah. Perhaps you’re right. You deserve to get a good meal. So… Will you come over for takeout dinner tonight?”
Clark was thrilled by the inroads he had apparently made; this was the first time Lois had invited “C.C.” to her apartment, much less to dinner. If only she didn’t look so distraught, he would be on cloud nine. As it was, he couldn’t help but smile when he agreed to come over.
“How ‘bout I bring a movie with me?”
“Sure. Sure. A movie would be good. So, you’ll be at my place at, say, 6:30?”
“6:30 it is.”
***
Perry had given Clark a fairly easy assignment, but one that kept him out of the office most of the day. He still had a couple of hours free before he had to leave for the video store en route to Lois’ apartment. He decided to swing home for a little while and do some laundry while writing up his day’s work. Just as he was sending the finished article to Perry, he heard someone knock at his door. A quick super-glance revealed it to be a postal carrier. Funny -- he hadn’t been expecting any packages.
As he approached the door, he started to feel a bit lightheaded. He became positively dizzy when he opened the door. There had to be kryptonite nearby, and he suspected that he knew where it was. His suspicions were quickly confirmed – As soon as he took hold of the package, his hands felt on fire. He had briefly contemplated refusing delivery, but he figured that it would be better to have the kryptonite in his possession where he could dispose of it. If he were to refuse the package, Lord only knew into whose hands the kryptonite would fall, and under what circumstances it would resurface.
He somehow managed to keep his composure until he could close the door behind him. As soon as he was out of sight of the delivery man, he dropped the package and fell to the floor in agony. His hands burned. The room spun. He felt as if a giant had grabbed his stomach, squeezed and twisted it, and was trying to pull it right out of his body. His head seemed to be reenacting the explosion of Krypton.
He just wanted to stay curled up in a fetal position and whimper. But to do that would to be to give in to death. He had too much to live for. There was his job at the Planet. His job in tights. His parents. And Lois. Always Lois. Lois – his partner, his friend, and he hoped, someday, maybe more.
If he were to give up now, they'd never have a chance to be together. She'd never know of his love for her, never even know of his alter ego. What would his death do to her! As far as she was concerned, Clark was already dead. But then to have "C.C." die and Superman disappear so soon afterwards… That would just be too much for her to bear. Or worse… If she noticed that “C.C.” had died mysteriously while in the presence of Kryptonite and put two and two together, she would learn after his death that he was Superman. “*IF* she put two and two together”? What was he thinking? Of course she would do the math! This was Lois, after all. And the belief that he didn’t trust her enough to share his secret -- that would devastate her.
He simply had to get away from the kryptonite and dispose of it. He always kept a large lead box in his bedroom for this very purpose. But he had to get there first.
He gritted his teeth, extended his legs, and rolled onto his stomach. He didn't have the strength to stand up, but he could soldier-crawl. He dragged himself, ever so slowly, across the floor. A few inches and then a rest. A few more inches and another rest. Over and over. He kept reminding himself that with each inch separating him from the package, its contents would affect him slightly less. But oh – he knew how a marathon runner must feel. He had to reach his bedroom and the lead box. He had to! But the trek across his living room had drained him of every ounce of energy.
For himself, he couldn't go on. But for Lois and his parents, he had to. A few more inches. A rest. And then another few. A little further forward. He finally got to his closet and just stayed still for a while – he had no idea how long, all sense of time having fled. When he had finally recovered his breath, he opened the door and retrieved the box.
But now a new problem arose: How to get the package into the box? If he had had his powers, he could have blown the box through the air until it were over the package and then simply let it drop. Or if he even just had the strength of a normal human, he could have carried the box across the living room and placed it over the package. As it was, he would have to crawl back toward the green poison and push the box ahead of him. The thought of making the return journey -- with a burden, no less, was sheer torture. But perhaps he could use the box to shield at least part of his body from the deadly radiation.
He lay down behind the box and tentatively pushed it forward with his hands. When his arms were fully outstretched, he squirmed forward until his head was inches from the box. He could do this! He repeated the process several times, each time getting closer and closer to the green bane.
Although the pain grew with his increased proximity to the package, it wasn't as bad as it had been before; the lead box was providing him some protection. Even so, he was expending more energy in his trip across his apartment than he usually did in a trip around the world. And his stomach hadn't felt this bad when he had swallowed a bomb.
And yet he had to keep going. He was almost there. Another push of the box, a squirm, and a rest. Again. And again.
He finally got the box near the package. But how was he going to get the package in? He didn't think he had the energy to lift the package. He struggled to a sitting position and put his weight on an edge of the box, overturning it so that its top was facing the package and the lid had dropped open onto the floor. He dragged himself around the box and toward the package. Once he was out of the box' umbra, the pain seared into him in full force.
He was so close to accomplishing his task. He had to focus. Think of Lois. Of their dinner tonight. He had to forget the pain and keep going. He clawed the package into the box and shut the lid.
The pain stopped increasing, but he knew it would be some time before it disappeared. He sat immobilized until the pain ebbed somewhat. He knew he would be weak and achy for his dinner tonight with Lois. A few weeks ago, he would have called her to cancel. But after the recent events, he didn't dare. Her invitation to dinner was such a big breakthrough, he couldn't risk the setback that a cancellation might bring.
And so, when he was finally able, he stood up and wobbled to his closet to change into his dinner clothes – grey slacks and a black shirt.
He glanced at a clock – He had just enough time to catch a taxi to Lois' place. He certainly couldn't walk, much less fly, in his current condition. He would take the box to Henderson tomorrow, in case there was a connection between this mail bomb and the one that had killed Heather Meese. No time now for a trip to the movie rental store. He selected a few videotapes from his collection and went outside to wait for the cab.
***
Darn that Kent! Why wasn’t he answering his pager? Perry had planned to tell Clark about the clone situation when the reporter returned to the office this afternoon. Even though there had been no substantive developments, what they already knew was too newsworthy to hold onto. It had to be published in that evening’s paper. And he had wanted to have the discussion with Clark ASAP; he didn’t want him to have to learn of the situation by reading it in the newspaper. But that blasted reporter never did return to the office, and he must have turned off his pager. Perry had also left a message on Clark’s answer machine, for all the good that did him.
***
Poor C.C.! Poor, poor C.C.! He looked awful. Pale. Weak. Barely able to stand. Could it really be happening so soon?
Lois’ thoughts were interrupted by C.C.’s subdued greeting.
“Hi, Lois. I was running late and couldn’t get to the video store. I’m sorry. But I brought a few of my own tapes.”
C.C. held the tapes up for Lois to inspect. ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame.’ ‘Cyrano de Bergerac.’ ‘La Belle et le Bete.’ Lois noticed a theme; could C.C. have been sending her a message? Did he have feelings for her that he believed to be unrequited? (“Believed to be”? Where did that phrase come from? Of course they were unrequited. He was only C.C., after all, not Clark! Maybe, in time, if they had had any left…) Did he think himself unworthy of her? A monster?
A nagging voice inside her asked her how he could think otherwise, given the way she had been treating him since she first realized he was a clone. She may have been polite enough with him at work, but she had otherwise been making it clear that she considered him to be what he was -- an imitation of the man she loved. (Loved? Yes, loved! She could admit it now, there was no risk in doing so anymore.) But he was a fantastic imitation and he had feelings in his own right -- feelings that she had been trampling on. She renewed her vow to herself that that would change -- starting now. For however much time he had left, she would be nicer to him.
She made a point of being friendly toward him throughout dinner and even sat next to him while they watched Cyrano. The credits started rolling. She suddenly felt a bit shy, but she was determined to say what she had invited him here to say.
“C.C., I guess you must be wondering why I invited you here tonight, and why I have thawed out toward you.”
“Well, Lois, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but now that you mention it…”
Lois couldn’t resist injecting a little levity into a conversation that she knew would prove serious all too soon. “Are you calling me a horse?”
C.C. gave her the look she had seen Clark give her that night they first ate dinner together, when they were working on the EPRAD story. “Lois, the last thing you are is a horse. Compared to you, Marilyn Monroe was a horse.”
“Yes. Well. Um. Thanks.” She paused to regain her composure. “Anyway, C.C. I’ve been thinking. Sometimes you think you're immortal and you start to think the people around you are, too. It can just take a second to realize how wrong you are about everything. What I'm trying to say is, I lost Clark almost before I even realized what was happening.” Lois walked over to the window and gazed out. She knew that if she looked at C.C., she would never have the courage to keep speaking. “I never told him that I loved him. And now I’ll never have that chance. But I do have a chance to start anew with someone who was, quite literally, a part of him -- someone who really is like him in so many ways. So I just wanted to tell you…You’re not so bad. And the more I think about you and Clark, the more I have come to realize that he would have been OK with my being friends with you. So… What do you say? Friends?”
She turned to face him. As discomfited as she had been when speaking, he seemed ten times as flustered now.
“You -- you loved Clark?”
“Yeah.” Then, more firmly, “Yeah, I did. I didn’t admit it, even to myself, until very recently. But I loved him. I still do. He was the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Ever, actually. I just wish I had realized it when I had the chance to do something about it.”
“I know you meant the world to him, Lois. He really did mean what he said on that park bench; when he denied his feelings later -- that was the lie.”
C.C. looked as though he wanted to hug Lois, and Lois had almost decided to let him do so. (After all, she and Clark had hugged as friends lots of times.) But then, abruptly, C.C. backed away.
“Um, Lois. It’s getting late, and I don’t feel too well. I had better go. But thank you. Thank you for a wonderful evening, and thank you for your friendship. Of course, I’ll be your friend. I’ve always thought of myself as your friend. I’m just glad you’re willing to be mine, now, too. See you at work tomorrow.”
“C.C., if you need anything tonight -- if you start feeling worse and want some company -- call me. OK?”
“Sure, Lois. And thanks.”
***
“And then what happened?”
“And then I thanked her for her friendship, made my excuses, and left as quickly as I could.” Although Clark hadn’t recovered enough to fly to Kansas, he had recovered enough to be able to pace the length of his living room while talking on the phone to his parents.
“Oh, honey, you didn’t *tell* her you were Clark?”
“Mom, I couldn’t! If I did, she’d think me a world-class jerk. I’ve let her mourn for a man who is still alive.” He laughed bitterly. “And I guess I’ve gotten what I deserve. She loves me, only she doesn’t know it’s me, and I can’t tell her!”
“The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be. If you love her and you trust her, you have to tell her. And the sooner you do, the better.”
“Your mother’s right, Clark. You’ve told us you trust her not to reveal your secret. She loves you and you claim to love her. But if you truly love someone, you are honest with them. You ‘died’ for her; but are you willing to live for her? Tell her, son. Sure, she’ll be mad at first; but if she really loves you, she’ll come around.”
“Yeah, I know I should tell her. But how? When?”
“You have to decide that yourself. But make it soon!”
“Thanks Mom, Dad. I wish I could be with you now. Love you.”
“You, too.”
“Bye, son.”
“Bye.”
