Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Me, Myself, And You 3/4

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You don't remember me.

Not Clark.

Not Superman.

Or rather...you remember Clark, your partner. And you remember Superman, your hero. But you don't remember *me*--the mixture of both those things and so much more. How can you claim to remember Clark if you can't recall the moment I knelt and proposed or the night when you did the same? How can you claim to remember Superman if you can't recall the way I trembled with terror the first time I rescued you after you knew my secret?

You don't remember me.

Even after I risked my entire future by acting as if my intimate knowledge of you trumped science's rules about amnesia--even after I told you I loved you and kissed you--you didn't remember. How can you not remember? How could that kiss not have burned through you, reestablishing vital connections and reawakening slumbering memories? How could that kiss have affected only me?

And it *did* affect me, Lois. I hadn't kissed you in so long, hadn't held you in my arms, hadn't been free to voice the words that mean the most to me. Being given that so-brief opportunity to do all three was too much of a temptation. So I took it.

And now you're leaving me.

I let you leave with Luthor once--watched you drive off with him because I couldn't think or reason past the terrible, awful pain filling every cell in my body. But I can't let you leave this time. I know you'll hate me and blame me for taking you from this man you claim to love...but don't you see, Lois? You don't love him and he'll never make you happy. He'll control you just like Luthor tried to do, and he'll want you to change--he's already started changing you, though I don't know how in the world he ever managed to convince you to give up the Daily Planet. Even when you didn't remember me at all, you still remembered investigating.

You *need* to investigate. You *need* to search out clues and uncover secrets and write stories--it's what you do. It's part of who you are. Anyone who tries to take that away from you doesn't really love you. Though you don't remember me, I remember you, everything about you, and I know that reporting is half of you, just as Superman is half of me. I would no more ask you to give up the Daily Planet than you would ask me to give up my alter ego's activities.

But as much as I keep telling myself that you don't really love Deter--just like you didn't really love Luthor--just like you didn't really love Scardino--I know *I'm* not the one who needs to be convinced.

I failed you, Lois. I failed you so badly.

I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to you at our wedding...yet it did. I promised I would never betray you with another woman...but I kissed your clone. I promised I would protect you from anyone trying to harm you...yet Luthor managed to harm you so much more badly than you know. I promised I would put your needs above my own...but I couldn't resist kissing you, couldn't resist telling you that I love you. That I need you.

I can't fail you again, and that's why I'm racing toward the sound of your cry for help as quickly as Superman can move. You called me...that has to mean something. Because, complicated or not, Superman does love you just as much as Clark does.

The feel of rocks falling away beneath my feet barely registers as I crash into the basement of Roweena Johnson's house. How you came to be here is a mystery to me, but it's immediately apparent that you're in danger. Deter is as helpful as always in the background; Roweena and a man I don't know are standing near each other, smoke issuing from the man's unusual helmet. And you...you're sitting near the wall, staring into space, unable to see me.

Oh, Lois, I miss having you see me. I don't want to go back to being two people. I don't want to be just a friend and partner and hero. I want to be all of those together and more.

*How can I love you?* you asked, and I had no answer. You loved both of me so intensely and so thoroughly--I don't know why. I just want you to do so again.

The plug seems the easiest option to turning off the electro-magnetic field. When I tear it from both the wall and the machine, sparks fly, but the field is successfully erased. Employing a quick burst of superspeed, I use the cord to bind Roweena and her companion together.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," I tell them forcefully, reminded once again of how much easier it is being just Superman than being Clark or Clark and Superman together. "To the police," I add lest they start talking and delay me seeing to you. To be on the safe side, I take what looks to be a remote from the man's hand and throw it to the side.

Besides a cursory glance to make sure Deter is unharmed, I ignore him, sweeping past him to bend over you. You don't look to be harmed, not on the outside. On the inside, however...I wish I knew how to heal you. I want *my* Lois back, not this woman who looks at me as if she's never seen me before.

"Clark?"

The Kryptonite-poisoned dagger of your word knifes through me, but I try to conceal it. "N-no," I say. I hate lying to you. I hate it even more after those wonderful months when I didn't have to. "Lois, it's Superman."

I hate the distinction. I hate it because it's a symbol of everything I've lost, mark of just how far we've fallen apart. You used to know me more intimately than anyone else, even my parents. You saw every part of me--the investigator, the writer, the hero, the man who wept after rescues gone bad, the alien terrified of his own feelings of isolation. Now...now we're strangers.

I hate the distinction because it's one more thing keeping us apart. As if Luthor, clones, and memory loss aren't enough, now I have to lie all over again. I can't confide in you, can't hold you when all the cries for help I can't answer become overwhelming, can't ask you to cover for me when I need to make a quick exit.

I hate the distinction because when you saw both of me as one man...I could do the same. I could become one man that took Superman and Clark and combined them into a unified whole. Without you there to bind them together, though, I'm once more split apart, divided, weak.

I hate the distinction because the longer I have to make it, the more it becomes real.

For some reason, you're smiling at me. No matter that I'm bleeding pain inside, I can't help but notice once again how beautiful your smile is. I can't help but fall in love with you all over again, even this strange, different version of you. How could Luthor have ever thought I'd be satisfied with a poor, misguided, ill-fated imitation of you?

Your hand tightens over mine. "No...Clark. I *know*."

For an instant, I cannot comprehend the full meaning of your claim. I cannot allow hope to grow and fester within me, not if it will once more be revealed as a torturous wound of disappointment.

But...if you *do* remember...Longing fills every particle of my being.

"A-are you sa--" I can't even finish the question, not with so much riding on the answer.

Your smile is more confident, but your eyes have moved past me. To Deter.

"Hold that thought," you direct, and then you're gone.

I knew it. To stop myself from curling up in a ball of anguish, I fold my arms tightly across my chest. I wish I could fly away to avoid the sight of you with Deter yet again, but I can't. Something within me makes me turn and watch you approach the man who has stolen everything from me in the name of science, controlling me with his threats to your well-being.

"Doctor?" Something about your stance catches my attention--something beyond the usual, I mean. "I think our time is just about up."

My arms slip to my sides when you rear back a fist and punch the doctor between the eyes. As satisfying as it would be to watch him fall to the ground, I can't look away from you as you turn back to me.

You're looking at me, Lois. You're seeing me. You recognize me.

"I'm back," you declare with a grin.

The villains of the week are tied up, Deter is out like a light, the machine is off, and the police are on their way. There's no reason to stick around any longer, not when the questions I want to ask you should only be asked privately.

So, with a smile and a giddy laugh I can't quite contain, I walk forward and scoop you into my arms, then take to the air. I'm desperate to reconnect with you on every level--I've never missed you so much in my life, not even when you were engaged to Luthor or when my Clark-self was dead--so I take you high up in the night sky. The same place I took you after you rejected my wedding proposal and we needed to reconnect and reassure each other that our love hadn't faded away.

For a moment, I don't even dare speak, as if the sound of my voice would break the spell that leaves you willingly in my embrace. But I can't hold the question back any longer. I need to know the answer. "Do you really remember? Everything?"

My Suit is no protection against the delicate way you stroke your hands along my shoulders. "I remember my life before you, when being alone was what I thought I wanted. And I remember my life after you, when I learned loving you was what I *really* wanted."

Amazing, the way those words can make me feel alive again. And yet...I'm still in the Superman Suit. You said you remembered Superman. You asked if he, too, loved you. You did say Clark's name, but your memory has been returning so sketchily...could it be possible that you think you're talking only to the superhero? Have you really remembered that Clark is--

"Oh, Clark, I can't believe I almost lost you."

The tension slides from my body, pulled back to the earth by relief and gravity. My eyes slide closed when you lean your forehead against mine, and for a long moment, I can't move. I simply float there and luxuriate in the sensation of being one, whole man in your arms.

There is, however, one final question that I can't hold back. One more answer to restore the whole of my world.

"And..." I slowly pull out the engagement ring I haven't let out of my possession since it was returned to me. "Do you remember this?"

You don't say anything.

The breath freezes in my lungs.

You slide the ring easily onto your left ring-finger. The emotion so blatantly exposed on your face begins to thaw out the frozen air within me. "I do," you whisper with a heart-stopping smile.

The breath melts so quickly that it slips from me in a tiny sigh of relief. Forcibly, I banish the memory those two words stir up--the memory of my wedding with the clone. I had thought that was the happiest day of my life until I forced myself to accept the fact that the woman I had married was an imposter. Less than a day, and bliss turned to horror, a dream to a nightmare.

A nightmare that is banished by the feel of you in my arms and the sound of you saying you love me and the sight of you tilting your head to kiss me.

When I kiss you, the pain and the terror and the awful, awful weeks since you were kidnapped fades and dims. They are wounds that haven't yet healed, I know, but at least now, they're beginning to.

The kisses we exchange are slow and sweet and searching. We are looking for and finding one another, reaffirming that we are who we thought and we feel as we did before. Kisses that reintroduce us to one another and dispel the remnants of the strangers we had become to each other.

Your lips lingeringly part from mine and you lay your head against my chest. I know that I should let you rest. You're still recovering from the trauma you've undergone in the past few weeks; I'm not sure how much it took out of you to have your memories restored in this unconventional way. At that thought, I can't help but chuckle.

"What is it?" you ask quietly, not lifting your head. I'm glad since I don't want to stop weaving my fingers through your hair, reassuring myself that this is real.

"I was just thinking that you never do anything the conventional way."

"Lucky you," you murmur. "Since you're not exactly conventional yourself."

"Are you tired?" I ask carefully. You're my Lois again, but there is a hint of hesitation in my manner toward you. I hate it, but I can't change it. I'm so afraid that I'll lose you again. What if I leave you for the night and you forget me again? What if you really *haven't* remembered everything?

"A little," you admit. "But I don't feel like sleeping. I don't want to let go of you."

The tiny hitch in your next breath alerts me to the fact that you're crying.

"Lois?" Gently, I tilt your head up so I can see the pearly droplets gleaming against your skin. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Your only response is to shake your head and hold me tighter. I willingly return the intensified embrace, but dread crystallizes in my mind.

"Chocolate," you murmur against my neck. "Definitely chocolate."

My brow wrinkles at the cryptic remark before I remember how I had told you chocolate always calms you down. "Yes," I say, desperate enough to try anything that will stop your crying. "That's a good idea. The Fudge Castle is still open. We'll get you some ice cream."

I relax a bit when you pull back to dazzle me with a wide grin. "Chocolate ice cream?"

"Yes, if that's what you want."

"It definitely is." The words sound like a caress, and your eyes tenderly sweep past every one of my features. I can't help but kiss you again, my stomach tensing with nervousness until you freely return the kiss.

I land us in an unoccupied alley and regretfully release you, gratified by the matching slowness of your step back. An instant later, Superman has disappeared, leaving Clark standing before you. Immediately, you take my arm and fit yourself against my side in your customary place. As if there's no difference between the super-powered alien in a flashy Suit and the ordinary-looking man in a wrinkled business suit and tie.

Another piece of my heart is restored, sliding back into place next to the other pieces healed by your returning memory.

We walk together to the Fudge Castle and enter. I feel a momentary flash of panic when you don't order your usual mountain of ice cream buried by every type of chocolate known to man; instead, you ask for chocolate ice cream with hot fudge, whipped cream, nuts, and bananas. You seem more than happy with your selection, though, so I push down my worry and absentmindedly order the same.

You dive right into the dessert, but I can't look away from you. The bowl of ice cream in front of me is nothing compared to the sight of you--the real, whole you--sitting next to me.

The clone had looked exactly like you, but she hadn't acted like you at all. Guilt sears through me as I remember how easily I had thought she was you. No matter that somewhere deep inside me, I knew she wasn't you, I hadn't been able to admit it to myself until someone else said it aloud. I kissed her, Lois; I would have done more if she had allowed it. For so long, I've been concerned about you--finding you, rescuing you, reawakening your memory--but now that you're returned to me, I wonder if you can ever forgive me for my betrayal.

"The last time I had ice cream was the night before our wedding," you say conversationally.

I swallow and am finally able to look away, unable to meet your gaze.

"Oh, Clark." Your hand on mine destroys what is left of my composure.

"Lois, I'm so, so sorry." I meet your gaze, silently pleading for the forgiveness I don't deserve. "I kissed her--but that's all! I didn't know she wasn't you. I should have--"

You bestow a tiny, lingering kiss on my cheek, and all my words dry up. "Clark, I know you would never betray me."

Your words feel like a slap--worse, since a slap wouldn't hurt me at all. "But I did," I whisper. "If she hadn't gone to sleep, I would have..."

"You thought she was me," you say matter-of-factly. "I would have been insulted if you hadn't wanted to do more. But you didn't push the issue, did you?" Sadness suddenly clouds your beautiful features, and I know that despite your words, it does hurt you.

I take your delicate hands in mine, rubbing my thumb against the engagement ring. "Lois, I wish I could go back and--"

"I wasn't crying because of you." You withdraw your hands from mine and place them on my face as if to ensure that I don't look away. "Clark, I'm the one who's sorry. I've been remembering some of the things I said and did while...while I wasn't myself. And I wish *I* could go back and redo so many things. I do love you, no matter what Luthor made me say. I do want to marry you. And I know why I love you--there are a million reasons."

"None of that matters now," I assure you softly. "Come on. Let's go somewhere where we can talk a bit more freely."

Only when we emerge out into the night air do I realize that the only place to go is my apartment--the apartment that was supposed to be *ours*. "Lois," I say tentatively. "You don't have your apartment anymore. You're more than welcome to stay at my place. I'll sleep on the couch or maybe I can stay at Perry's if you're uncomf--"

You turn to me and slip your arms around my neck. "I don't want to leave you, Clark. I don't want to forget you again or make you think that I won't be there for you. Please, please don't make me leave you."

It's not quite the plea you've made before, but it's so similar that my breath catches in my throat. "I would never leave you," I vow yet again.

You smile and kiss me. Your strength and beauty amaze me now just as much as--if not more than--the moment I first met you. "I know, Clark. But I want you to know that *I* would never leave *you* either. And all the reasons for loving you are wrapped up in who you are--partner, friend, hero...husband. *You* are the man I love."

Before I can caution myself to take things slowly, I have already pulled you into my arms and lowered my mouth to meet yours. Clark...Superman...the name doesn't matter. What matters is that I love you. And, no matter how impossible it seems, you love all of me. Despite a failed wedding and amnesia, that simple fact makes everything...perfect.

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Disclaimer: Portions of dialogue and plot points were taken from "Oedipus Wrecks," written by David Simkins. No copyright infringement is intended.