Trusting Me, Trusting You 3:Trail
~~ Friday (cont) ~~
The world was dark.
And noisy.
And crowded.
And constantly moving.
Other vehicles came at them.
Shot past them.
His shoulder throbbed.
And he was thirsty.
He felt as if every ounce of strength had been wrung from his body, and every morsel of resistance had been pounded from his heart.
Inside, he was numb. Lethargic. Broken.
Outside, movement bombarded him relentlessly.
The lights whizzed by - stabs of piercing brightness in the sea of darkness.
Clark pulled the sleeping bag higher.
This was not his world.
He didn't belong here.
He never would.
||_||
As each mile passed under the hood of the Buick, Lois's uneasiness increased.
They had reached the western fringes of Metropolis, and Clark hadn't said one word.
The traffic light turned to red, and she slowed to a standstill. She looked to her right, taking advantage of the muted illumination from the streetlights.
Clark's eyes were closed, but the rigidity of his posture strongly suggested that he was not asleep.
Was this a typical reaction to having endured hours with the rods?
Or was he worrying about the enormity of what they had done?
They had wagered everything on this roll of the dice.
But, as Lois knew, this was their only chance. Going to Scardino or Menzies and pleading for Clark's life would have achieved nothing - except to get her banished from the compound.
And *not* getting Clark out of the cell would have meant his certain death.
They were together.
For better or worse.
The lights changed, and her eyes shifted forward, but her thoughts stayed with Clark. Tension had chiselled tight ridges through his cheek and jaw. He'd pulled the sleeping bag high on his body. Was he cold? He had finally stopped shivering about half an hour ago. Lois turned the heater to a higher setting.
She wrenched her thoughts from Clark and forced herself to think about what they needed to do now. She wished she had had the time to decide on a destination, plan a route, and research hotels and campgrounds before leaving the compound. But now, she was going to have to plan on the run.
When she became too tired to drive safely, should she simply pull over so they could sleep in the car?
A fleeting glance towards Clark dispelled that idea.
Was he huddled into the sleeping bag for cover, not warmth?
After all the years of being confined, did this feel like being plunged into a gigantic and crowded expanse?
Tonight, Clark needed to stay in a room. He needed a quiet and private place where he could begin to acclimatise to life outside of the cell. She doubted he would be able to sleep if there was a possibility of someone looking through the car window at any moment.
Unable to keep her eyes away, Lois looked at Clark again. He was terribly pale. Anxiety sharpened the dull ache of hunger in her stomach. What if they had left the rods in the cell for too long? Surely Trask and Moyne had exposed him for longer periods. Perhaps the sudden exposure coming after more than a week of respite had compounded the effect.
After another sideways glance that further fuelled her fears, Lois decided to stop at the next motel displaying a vacancy sign. She had hoped to drive for longer tonight, but that wasn't as important as getting Clark settled. She wanted to be able to see him in the light and check his shoulder.
Hopefully, they could be on the road early tomorrow, getting far away from Metropolis before anyone discovered they had left the cell.
He'd said that sunlight helped him to recover. Perhaps that was why he was still looking so pallid. Perhaps tomorrow there would be signs that he was beginning to regain his strength. Normal strength first, then the super-normal stuff.
Her task was to keep them hidden until then.
Once Clark could fly ... once he could move quickly ... once he was strong enough to resist anything that threatened their freedom ... once he was invulnerable enough to catch fired bullets ... once his mind was well enough that he could help her plan ... then they would decide together how they were going to do this.
Where to live?
What role to play?
What story to tell?
It was just like another assignment.
The lights of a motel sign glimmered in the distance. As they passed it, Lois decided it appeared big enough that two late-night travellers wouldn't cause much of a stir and mid-range enough to be comfortable without eating too far into their cash reserves.
Two miles later, they came to an intersection, and Lois turned right. She drove another mile before pulling over.
"Clark?"
His eyes opened, but he didn't turn towards her.
"We're going to stop for the night soon."
"Already?" he asked anxiously.
"We'll start early tomorrow. Right now, we both need food and rest."
His eyes slid shut, and Lois's worries tightened another notch.
She gathered her hair into a ponytail and checked it in the mirror. She stepped into the cold night air and went to the trunk to find the bland sweater that had been a gift from an aunt nearly a decade ago. She put it on - over her current sweater - and then slipped off her pumps and replaced them with sneakers.
Back in the driver's seat, Lois turned the car, and five minutes later, she parked in front of the motel reception. "You stay here," she said to Clark. "I'll get us a room."
She took her purse from her bag and locked the Buick.
The reception area was brightly lit but empty. Lois rang the bell and reviewed her story. A short dumpy woman with grey speckled through her hair appeared at the door behind the counter.
Lois smiled wearily. "Do you have a room, please?"
"Double or twin?"
"Double, please. My husband is in the car."
The woman eyed her questioningly for a few seconds before lowering her attention to the open book on the counter.
"My husband isn't well," Lois said quickly. "I am taking him to Metropolis for an appointment tomorrow."
When the woman looked up from the book, her expression seemed to have softened. "Is he going to be all right?"
"I hope so," Lois said with timorous smile. "He was kicked by a cow, and he ripped some ligaments in his shoulder. Our local doctor sent us to a specialist in the city."
"Room fifteen is available," the woman said. "It's sixty dollars for the night, payment in advance."
"Does it have a microwave?"
"No."
"OK. Thank you." She took the bills from her purse and gave them to the woman.
"I need your names," the woman said. "For the register."
"Charlie and Linda King."
The woman wrote down their names. "You're not wearing a ring," she noted.
Lois sadly rubbed her thumb over the place where a wedding ring would go. "It's been a hard year on the land," she said. "Low prices, poor harvest, bills piling up ... you know how it is."
The woman nodded with genuine sympathy. "And now your husband has hurt his shoulder?"
Lois sighed. "Perhaps tomorrow will bring good news," she said. "Perhaps he won't need surgery."
"Why did you ask about a microwave?"
"Because we haven't eaten yet, and I was hoping to be able to warm up the meal I packed for us."
The woman crossed out something in the book and wrote another number. "Room five is also available," she said. "It's bigger, and it has a microwave oven."
"Does it cost more?" Lois asked.
"No," the woman said. She turned abruptly and went through the door. When she reappeared, she was carrying a carton of milk. "The room has instant coffee and tea bags, but we don't usually supply milk," she said.
Lois reached for the carton. "Thanks."
The woman gave her a key. "Park your vehicle in front of number five."
"Where should I leave the key tomorrow?" Lois inquired. "We have to make an early start."
The woman pointed behind Lois. "There's a key deposit box for use when the reception area isn't open."
Lois turned to leave before the woman could think of more questions.
"I hope your husband is OK," she said.
"Thank you."
In the Buick, Clark's eyes were open. "Is everything all right?" he asked.
Lois took the time to give him a smile. "Everything is fine," she said with a brightness she had to manufacture. She started the motor. "How are you feeling?"
"OK," he said.
"Is your shoulder hurting?"
"A bit."
"Why didn't you tell me? I have painkillers in my bag."
"I've never taken painkillers before."
Lois drove at walking pace towards the row of rooms and parked outside number five. She twisted to reach into the back seat for her bag and said, "If anyone asks, we are Charlie and Linda King, farmers travelling to Metropolis to see a specialist about the ligament damage in your shoulder."
She hooked her bag on her shoulder and stepped from the Buick. After unlocking the door to their room and switching on the light, she returned to the car to help Clark.
"Put your good arm around my shoulder," she said.
As they shuffled forwards, Lois glanced across to the reception building and saw the woman standing at the door, watching them.
The motel room was clean and neat, with a hint of lavender in the air. It wasn't overly spacious, but it contained a double bed, a small round table, two chairs, a tiny stove, and the promised microwave oven. "Do you want to sit on the chair?" Lois asked Clark. "Or lie on the bed?"
"Chair," Clark replied.
When Clark was seated, Lois smiled down at him, trying to penetrate the shroud of despair that hung over him. "You stay here," she said. "I'll bring in the stuff from the car."
He nodded.
Lois brought in the suitcase, Clark's tin box, his jacket and sneakers, and the containers of food. Every time she entered the room, her eyes veered to Clark.
He hadn't moved.
He looked lost.
Disoriented.
Shell-shocked.
Was it physical? From the exposure to the rods? Or from the surgery?
Or was it emotional?
Was it the upheaval of leaving the cell?
She'd given some thought to how hard this would be for him, but seeing his desolation so starkly displayed ripped at her heart. After locking the door, she sat with him at the table.
"Clark?"
His glassy eyes slowly focussed on her.
"Can you tell me how you're feeling?" Lois asked. "Is your shoulder still hurting?"
"It's OK."
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm thirsty."
Lois stood from the table and brought him a glass of water.
"Thanks," he said.
When the glass was empty, Lois refilled it, put it in front of him, and sat down again. Indecision overwhelmed her. In the cell, she had mostly relied on her instincts. She had done whatever had felt right. And even though that meant she had been a little impulsive at times, Clark had responded well.
Unbelievably well.
Now, it felt as if that rapport - that connection - had dissolved away.
Inside Lois, panic threatened. What if it was gone forever? It had flourished in the unnatural environment of the cell. What if that couldn't be transferred to the real world?
She looked to Clark.
He was staring at the table - unmoving. Detached. Withdrawn. Inaccessible.
It was only when she *didn't* receive a response that she realised how much she had come to rely on his swift perception and unstinting support.
Lois mentally transported herself back to the first time she had walked into the cell. Only five days had passed since then, but time was a poor measure of the depth of their relationship.
It was a relationship that *had* to survive. Had to be recovered.
She stood and put one container of food in the microwave. While it heated, she found two plates and the cutlery. She spooned the steaming food onto one of the plates and pushed it across the table to Clark. She put a fork next to his left hand.
"I think it's beef stroganoff," she said.
By the time Lois had heated the rest of the food, Clark had picked up his fork. That gave her some comfort. Her own hunger gripped her stomach, and she realised that she hadn't eaten all day.
The food was good - tasty and hot - and Lois ate eagerly.
Clark had eaten a little of his meal when Lois finished hers. She rose from the table and put the kettle on the little stove. Drinking tea together had gotten them through awkward times in the cell.
Tea ... and chocolate.
Lois rustled through her bag and found two candy bars.
A few minutes later, she brought the cups to the table. Clark pushed away his plate, although more than half of his food still remained.
Lois gave him the cup of tea and a candy bar. His eyes lifted, and she formed a smile.
"Thanks," he said.
Even his voice sounded different. Hoarse. Dry. As if the life had been sucked from it.
As Lois sipped her tea, its warmth began to loosen the apprehension that had coiled through her body. There were things that needed to be done. Perhaps dealing with the practicalities would help her devise a way to reach Clark.
When she'd finished her tea and chocolate, Lois stood to clear away their plates, cups, and Clark's untouched candy bar. She took his tin box into the bathroom. She opened the suitcase and took out a tee shirt and sweatpants for Clark and an old pair of pyjamas for herself.
The practicalities hadn't brought any flashes of inspiration, but they had strengthened her feeling that she needed to try to reach him. It was obvious that Clark had no inclination to talk, but she had to try to stop him sinking further into the quagmire of isolation.
She had to initiate a conversation. She had to be the one to show him the way through this.
Lois sat next to him with renewed purpose. "Is your shoulder still hurting?" she asked without waiting for him to look at her.
"Not as much."
Lois smiled. "That's good. Do you mind if I look at it?"
Clark shook his head. Perhaps touch could begin to rebuild their connection - just as it had in the cell.
She washed her hands, slipped the shirt from his shoulder, untied the sling, and lowered it. She lifted the gauze and gasped.
"What's wrong?" Clark asked quickly.
"Nothing," Lois replied. "It's looking better than I could have hoped. The two sides have begun knitting together already."
"That's good," Clark said dully.
Lois opened a packet and took out a disinfectant wipe. "I'm going to clean it," she said. "Is that OK?"
He nodded.
Lois put her left hand on his neck and edged her fingertips into his hair. With her right hand, she gently dabbed around the wound. When she had finished, she straightened, but didn't remove her left hand. "I'm sorry if that hurt you."
"It didn't."
Lois smiled, trying to recall the brilliance of his best smiles and force herself to respond to that memory. She picked up a clean square of gauze, laid it on the wound, and carefully fixed it in place with tape before refastening the sling.
As she washed her hands, Lois decided that she needed to stop obsessing about what she should do and simply do it.
This wasn't a stranger. This was Clark. The man she loved.
"Clark?"
His head turned towards her.
"I need your help," she said, sitting beside him and leaning forward.
"You are doing great by yourself," he said listlessly.
"I can't even begin to imagine how you must feel," Lois said. "I know that today was traumatic. I know you had no time to prepare properly. I walked into your room this afternoon and announced that everything had changed, you suffered hours of pain, the implant came out, and suddenly I'm whisking you away from the only place you've known for seven years. It must feel like a dream."
He nodded - a tiny movement, but it felt like he was offering the first tenuous fibre of reconnection.
"Can you talk to me?" Lois encouraged. "Tell me how you're feeling? Tell me if there is anything I can do to help you?"
"I'm tired," Clark admitted.
"Then you should go to bed."
He glanced over his shoulder. "There's only one bed."
"I said we were a married couple."
"Why?"
"Because it's less noteworthy if we're married than if we're not married and travelling together."
"You take the bed."
"Clark!"
In other times, her gentle exclamation would have elicited a smile from Clark. Now, it didn't. "I haven't slept in a bed for a long time," he said. "I'm used to sleeping on the floor."
Lois smiled and tried to ignore the fact that he didn't smile back. "Clark," she said, allowing a sprinkling of humour to season her words. "We've both had the day from hell. We're both tired. We're both unsure about what is going to happen tomorrow."
"What are you suggesting?" he asked cautiously.
"I can't see any reason why we can't both sleep in the bed."
He couldn't have looked more startled if she'd suggested they sleep together - in the other sense.
"When this room is cleaned tomorrow, we don't want any signs that someone slept on the couch," Lois reasoned. "Or the floor."
"I ... I ... don't know."
Lois leant back in the chair. "Can you tell me what worries you about sharing a bed with me?" she asked.
"I'm not sure I'll sleep well," Clark said. "My shoulder feels better, but the sling is awkward, and I found sleeping on a thin mattress difficult at first. I don't want to disrupt you."
"We can take off the sling."
Clark said nothing.
"How about we start together ... and if there are any problems, one of us can move to the couch?"
A slight blush had risen into his cheeks, and Lois was reminded again that, in essence, she was talking to a very young man whose life experiences almost certainly hadn't included sharing a motel room with a woman. "I ... I'm not sure," he said. "I'm just not sure."
"You have the bathroom first," she said. "I've put your box in there."
Clark stood from the seat.
"Do you need any help?"
He shot her a look of alarm.
"I meant with things like putting toothpaste on your brush," she said.
"Oh." Clark opened the bathroom door. "I can manage. Thanks."
When he'd closed the door, Lois released a long breath.
It had been totally unrealistic to believe he would simply adapt to life outside after seven years of imprisonment and abuse. He should be getting counselling. He should have a network of support. He should have the assurance that he would be allowed to live a normal life. He should have been given weeks to prepare.
Instead, it had been thrust upon him.
She'd given him very little choice.
But they were here now. And she had to make it work.
Lois noticed that his notebook had fallen on the floor under the chair. She picked it up, and it opened to a page containing a few lines of words.
Before she could stop herself, Lois read them.
Hope blossoms in the blackness, splashing colour on the empty threadbare canvas,
Hope shines in the darkness, bringing light where fear-filled shadows loomed,
Hope cradles promise, birthing life where barrenness reigned unchallenged,
Hope is beautiful,
Lois felt her tightly contained emotions begin to unravel.
She read the words again through the blur of her tears. She had to be that hope for Clark now. She had to shine into his darkness just as clearly as she had when he was in the cell. She returned the notepad to the floor.
The bathroom door opened, and Lois spun away.
"Lois?"
She quickly wiped her eyes and turned, forming a smile.
Clark stared at her, and she saw apprehension spread across his face. "You were crying," he said.
She nodded.
"Why?"
Why? There were a thousand reasons why - and no words to express even one of them.
Clark stepped right up to her and looked down into her eyes. "Are you crying because you've realised that this was a huge mistake?" he demanded harshly.
Lois met his gaze without wavering. "No," she said firmly.
His eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me, Lois."
"I'm not lying to you."
"You must know that this is hopeless."
His words - uttered with such bleakness - provided heartbreaking contrast to the words he had written in the cell. Lois swallowed down the hot ball that wanted to flare into her throat. "It has every hope of working if we stay together," she said. "If we keep believing."
"Believing *what*?"
"Believing that we are meant to be together. Believing that we can do this. Believing in each other. Believing in ourselves."
He stepped back, and disillusionment cloaked him. "We can't, Lois," he said. "It's too much."
"Too much?"
"You have given up *everything*."
"No, I haven't."
"You must know that you can never get your job back," he said. "Your career died the second you walked out of my prison with me in tow. You can't contact your family. You can't tell your father where you are."
"I told him who I'd be with," she fired back.
Clark stared at her in disbelief. "You told him you're running away with an alien fugitive?" he said scornfully.
"No," she said. "I told him I was going away with a man I trusted implicitly." She wanted to add so much more. The man whom she loved. The man who meant more to her than anything else. The man she wanted to be with forever. The man who held her future happiness in the haven of his heart.
"Lois," Clark said, and his voice was quieter now. "Lois, this can't happen. We have nothing. We have nowhere to live. We have no means of gaining an income. We have -"
Lois stormed to her bag and took out the envelope containing the three hundred dollars. She shoved it at him. "This is yours," she said.
He stared at it, dumbfounded. "Mine?"
"Yours," she said. "Take it."
He reached for it and grasped it in his right hand while his left hand opened the envelope. Bewilderment crowded onto his face when he looked inside. "What's this?"
"It's payment," Lois said. "It's for the trays you made."
Comprehension flooded his expression. "How much?"
"Three hundred dollars."
"Minus the cost of the materials."
Lois pulled the receipt from her purse and thrust that at him, too. He read it and then said, "That's one hundred and eighty-four dollars profit."
Lois almost smiled at the amazement in his tone. "It's yours."
Clark held the envelope towards her, and she put it on the table. "I'm out of touch with the prices of things," he said. "But I know that one hundred, eighty-four dollars won't go far when we have nothing."
"How long did it take you to make the trays?"
"An hour."
"How long if you'd been working as fast as you could?"
"Five minutes," he mumbled.
Lois let her smile blossom and tentatively curled her fingers around his left wrist. "Clark," she said. "You see all of your differences as negatives, and I understand that completely. But they can be positives as well. Wonderful positives. If you were a regular guy, this would be so much more precarious. But you're not a regular guy, and -"
"All I've ever wanted was to be a regular guy," he said.
"I was glad you weren't a regular guy when Moyne tried to shoot me," Lois said. She tightened her fingers. "And I thought you were glad, too."
His brown eyes finally settled in hers. His nod was almost imperceptible, but she saw it.
"We work with what we have," Lois said. "We have each other. We have all of my training and experience. We have your powers."
His eyebrow dipped. "Powers?"
She nodded. "That's what they are. Powers. Things you can do that no one else can."
"That doesn't make them powers," he said. "That makes them defects."
Lois didn't reply. Not verbally. She locked her eyes in his and challenged him. He stared right back.
Neither moved for a long moment as they engaged in a silent tussle of wills.
Finally, Clark's head dropped. When it lifted again, the resolve had waned. "It's not fair to you," he grated.
"I am exactly where I want to be," she said.
He scanned the room. "Really?" he said with arrant disbelief.
"The place doesn't matter. I want to be with you."
He slid from her grasp, and Lois thought he was going to back away. Instead, his hand landed on her upper arm. "Lois," he said. "I need some time."
"I know."
"I have a million questions, and I can't find any answers."
"That's OK. We'll find them together."
"Everything ... *everything* is so different. Nothing feels familiar."
"You can have as much time as you need."
"You don't know that."
"I know that I'm going to try *really* hard not to pressure you into anything."
"I've always felt like a misfit," Clark said. "Now ... tonight ... as we left the prison ..." He looked away, and the muscles of his jaw quivered. "... tonight, a part of me wanted to go back ... wanted to flee back to something I knew."
Lois put one hand on his neck. It wasn't a hug, but it did seem to bring them another step closer. "That's exactly how I would expect you to feel," she said.
"You would?"
"Yes," she said. "I don't know what you're going to need, and I don't know how you're going to feel, but the one thing that hasn't changed is you and me. Being together. Working together. Let's start with that. Let's clear away everything else and just concentrate on trying to do this together."
His eyes drifted to the bed. "And getting through the awkward things like where we sleep?"
Lois allowed herself a tiny chuckle. "I've already spent a night with you - when I slept on a mattress in the cell. This doesn't have to be any different."
"It's a *bed*."
"Would you feel more comfortable if we both used the sleeping bags?"
He began to shake his head, but then stopped. "Yeah," he said. "I would."
Lois gently pressed her fingers into the tight ridge of muscle on his neck. "I'll get them," she said.
"I'm sorry."
"You never have to be sorry for needing something that makes this easier for you." She pointed to the sweatpants and tee shirt she had removed from the suitcase. "Perhaps you could change into those while I get the sleeping bags from the car."
"OK."
Lois picked up the keys. Outside, the cold night air dashed against her heated cheeks.
The dark cloud of Clark's despondency seemed to have thinned the tiniest amount.
Perhaps they had taken the first step in their new lives.
It was one step - one step in what was going to be a long and arduous journey.
She had to believe.
She had to believe for both of them.
But when she came back with the sleeping bags, Clark was slumped at the table. Still dressed. Still staring into the nothingness.
Still veiled in his own isolation.
