Lois smiled again - and this time Clark was able to overcome his shock enough to analyse it. It lacked the bubbly warmth of her smiles yesterday. It looked like a smile she would give to a colleague - someone she liked. Not someone she loved.
Again, Clark was submerged with questions, and regrets, and uncertainties. If only he'd just let things be this morning.
But then ... they *couldn't* continue the way they had been. It had been a castle built on a foundation of cotton candy.
Eventually, it would have dissolved.
He knew that.
He wasn't sure about anything else.
But he knew that.
Part 10
From the safety of Clark's arms, Lois peered down at the orderly grid of tiny rectangles that was the city of Metropolis. "Anything happening with Scardino?"
"Nothing. He's at his desk, writing a report. I skimmed it, and it has nothing to do with us."
"No tap on his phone?" Lois asked, taking advantage of her close range to gaze at Clark's face while he concentrated on what was happening far below.
"No."
He grimaced suddenly. "What is it?" Lois gasped.
"Two o'clock this afternoon," Clark replied. "He has a meeting with Menzies. It's in his diary."
"We need to be there," Lois said. "Not *there*," she amended. "But *here*."
"Yeah," he agreed. "Two o'clock, Metropolis time. Do you want to check out Menzies' office now?"
"Yes. That will save time this afternoon." Lois smiled to try to ease the worry lines from Clark's face. "We'll know something concrete," she said, trying to sound upbeat. "That's better than relying on guesswork."
Clark nodded, but she could see the anxiety shrouding his eyes. "Where is Menzies' office?" he asked.
"Go south about five miles from Scardino's office, then west about one. There's a drab concrete building that looks like a factory."
There was a small pause, and then Clark said, "Got it."
"Look for the biggest office in the building."
Clark peered down again. "OK, I can see his name on the door."
"Menzies is a tall man. He has a small bald patch on the back of his head."
"He's not there," Clark said. "His desk calendar is still set to Friday, so perhaps he hasn't been in yet today."
"You'd think that if he were coordinating a big search, he'd be at his desk," Lois mused. "I would have expected him to be there most of the weekend."
"Yeah."
There was such despair in Clark's tone. Lois turned to him, undecided as to whether she should give in to her strong inclination to reach for his upper arm. She wanted to - but perhaps all the touching had contributed to the confrontation this morning. Perhaps, instead of helping Clark, it had seemed as if she were driving them forward at an ever-increasing speed. "Clark?" she said, keeping her hand to herself. "Would you be all right with checking the compound? Scardino said Menzies had ordered that it be demolished."
"Where is it?"
"About eight miles due west of Menzies's office. Behind a big brown warehouse."
His head turned. His eyes fixed. His mouth opened a little. "I think I've found the warehouse," he said. "But there's nothing behind it."
"Any signs of demolition?"
"Yeah."
"So it's gone?"
"Yup. Completely gone." He looked across to her, his face carefully deadpan.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm OK. Where's your apartment?"
She gave him directions. "It's on the fifth floor," Lois said when Clark had located the building. "First room on the western side."
"There are some half-unpacked boxes in the corner of the living room."
"That's it. Is everything all right?"
Clark's gaze seemed to intensify.
"What is it?" Lois asked, trying to convince herself that her rising apprehension was unfounded.
"I think someone has been there."
"You do?" she squeaked.
"It's hard to tell, even with my enhanced vision. I can see very faint footprints through the thin layer of dust."
"Could they be my footprints?"
Clark hesitated. "They could be - they don't look big enough for a man." His eyes glanced to her feet before panning to focus on her face. "Does anyone else have a key? Your mother? Do you have a sister?"
"I have a sister - she lives in California. My mother has never been to my apartment. No one except me has a key."
Clark looked down again. "I'm not sure," he said after a few moments, looking crestfallen that he couldn't give her definite answers.
"It doesn't matter," Lois said quickly. "Even if someone did go into my apartment, there's nothing there to indicate my current whereabouts."
His gaze rose. "Back to the car?"
She nodded. "Thanks."
Clark rotated and propelled them forward.
Lois settled back to enjoy the sensation of flying, enjoy the strength of his arms, enjoy his closeness.
And plan how she was going to get him out of *this* prison.
||_||
Clark's stomach was cramping with ever-tightening knots.
He felt like he was awaiting a verdict. The verdict brought down by those who ruled this planet - those who could sentence him to captivity.
He stared at the oncoming road as it was swallowed up by the hood of the Buick - although he wasn't so engrossed in his thoughts that he was unaware of how often Lois glanced sideways at him. He could *feel* her empathy rolling over him in waves.
Whatever the verdict - whatever passed between Scardino and Menzies - Lois's support would be unwavering.
Which elevated the significance to almost intolerable levels.
This wasn't just about him.
This was her future, too.
Looking back now, he realised that his actions this morning had been a gauche and clumsy attempt to test Lois's commitment to him. To demonstrate that he was OK. That he didn't need Lois.
Which was so diametrically opposed to the truth, it was almost laughable.
Almost.
If it *had* been a test - subconsciously formulated and poorly executed - she had passed with distinction.
She wasn't going to leave him.
She had been telling him that for days. She had told him that before they had even left the cell, and she had never wavered.
And now, finally, he had heard her.
*Really* heard her.
Lois wasn't going to leave him.
But his relief was spiked with fear.
The same unquenchable fear he had battled since Lois Lane had walked into his life.
He couldn't be what she needed.
Her determination to stay meant there was no escape.
For either of them.
||_||
Daniel Scardino walked into Menzies' office feeling less intimidated than he ever had when approaching a higher-up - particularly one with the reputation of Eric Menzies.
He set the urn on the desk.
"What's that?" Menzies asked.
Scardino hoped he managed to conceal his surprise at the inanity of the question. There was nothing to be gained from provoking a bad-tempered dog. "The ashes," Scardino said. "The buildings have been -"
"Who killed him?"
Scardino had prepared himself for that question. "I did," he said steadily. He waited for Menzies to demand detail.
"The building is gone?"
"Yes," Scardino replied, wondering if it could possibly be this easy.
"Have you made it clear to Shadbolt and Longford that nothing of this operation is ever to be mentioned again?"
"Yes. They understand."
"Have you heard from Moyne?"
"No."
Menzies dropped heavily into his seat. "Thank you for your proficiency in concluding this unfortunate episode," he said. "With Trask dead, it can finally truly be over."
Scardino nodded, sure that his shock at being *thanked* by Eric Menzies was plastered across his face.
"That's all," Menzies barked as he picked up the phone.
Scardino turned and walked to the door, feeling as if a sad and shameful chapter had closed.
Could there be any sort of positive outcome for the man who had endured the horrific consequences of Trask's paranoia?
Scardino didn't know.
But the former prisoner had Lois Lane in his corner.
And that just might be enough.
||_||
Her excitement and relief erupted, and Lois threw her arms around Clark's neck. "It's over," she whispered, her mouth against his ear. "It's over."
They were high above Metropolis. Clark had watched and listened as the meeting had played out below them, relating the conversation to Lois word for word.
They were free!
She backed away before she wanted to and perused Clark's face.
He looked more lost than he ever had in the cell. More stranded. More startled. More disoriented. "Lois ..."
She spread her hands over his cheeks. "Clark Kent," she said, connecting with his brown eyes. "Clark Kent - that's who you are. Just a regular guy. Free to live and work and play and be whoever you want to be."
"I'm still an alien. Still different."
"But you've been given a chance. *We've* been given a chance. A chance to build new lives. To start again."
"Is that what you want?"
"More than anything."
"Lois," he said. "I still need ..."
"Time."
He nodded. "I can't believe that they will just leave me alone. Perhaps Scardino will, but there might be someone else. I can't just snap my fingers and wipe away the past seven years."
"I know," Lois said, honing deep into his eyes and trying to soothe his uncertainty. "I know that some of the scars will be there for a long time. But we can do it. We can do it together."
He looked unsure. As if he didn't know what to do now.
"Let's go home," she suggested.
"Back to the car?"
"Back to Kansas," she said. "You need to go home."
||_||
The countryside slowly became more familiar, calling to him, awakening the person he had once been.
Even after darkness had fallen, he could feel it. There was something about the sounds, the smells, the stars - the very atmosphere - that reached inside him and found affinity there.
An hour ago, he'd put the map away. Slowly at first, and then with greater frequency, individual landmarks spoke memories to him.
There was the little town where his parents had brought him to a carnival to celebrate his ninth birthday.
And later ... they passed through the town where he'd come with his dad to sell some yearling bullocks.
Later still ... he'd driven his mom here so she could buy art supplies - and they'd had lunch together in the park.
From a distance, he'd planned to skirt around Smallville, but as it loomed ever nearer, the yearning to see the once-so-familiar streetscape grew stronger.
"Lois?"
She turned to him with a tired smile. "Uhm?"
"Would it be best if we didn't go through Smallville?"
Her reply took long enough in coming that it was possible she understood his dilemma. "I think so," she said gently. "Your return is going to be big news. If someone recognised you, people might come to the farm tonight." She smiled slightly. "We're both tired. Tomorrow will be soon enough to start getting reacquainted with our neighbours."
She was right. "OK," Clark said, trying not to sound disappointed.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
Lois gave him a little smile that confirmed it - she understood the turmoil of emotions that were swirling through him.
"Turn left just up here by the big fir tree," Clark said, glad for the need to give her directions.
Lois put on the indicator, slowed the Buick, and rounded the corner.
It had been a long day. A day of impossible-to-grasp hope. A day of trying to glimpse a future that stubbornly refused to take shape in his mind. A day when Lois had said very little, giving him the space to try to come to terms with the enormity of the changes in his life.
Many times, Clark's mind had gone back to the closeness of yesterday. Was there any chance they could ever recover that?
Everything had happened too quickly. If it was going to be real, and solid, and sustainable, it needed time.
And now, it seemed, they had time.
Clark stared out of the window. He was almost home.
What should he be feeling?
Joy?
Hope?
Gratitude?
Relief?
Sorrow for his parents who wouldn't be there?
Grief for the lost years that could never be recovered?
It felt like a dream. A dream too inconceivable to grasp.
"Turn right," he said in a voice that cracked.
Lois turned, and they carved a winding path through the darkness towards his parents' farm. Time slowed. Stalled. Stopped.
Never before had it taken so long to travel the mile from the junction to the gate.
Clark stared, his eyes fixed and ready for what he knew would be the first fleeting glimpse of the farmhouse roof as it peeked above the grove of maples.
He waited.
Waited.
Then it came - and was gone.
Half a minute later, Lois pulled into the driveway. "This is it, right?" she asked.
He'd forgotten he was supposed to be giving her directions. He nodded mutely.
"Would you like me to open the gate?" she asked.
Clark shook his head. Moving in what seemed like slow motion, he reached for the handle and opened the door. He slid from the car and stood as a hundred different tiny scents filled his nostrils - and every one of them carried a memory.
The gate ... the white paint he and his dad had brushed on nearly ten years ago had lost its lustre and was peeling in a few places.
Clark stepped up to the catch and released the chain. The gate swung open automatically. He moved back to let Lois drive forward.
He closed the gate. Once the clasp was driven home, he stopped. He scanned, beginning with the house. It was covered in darkness and empty. He turned slowly. Watching. Listening. Feeling. Remembering.
There was no one close. No one lurking. No one hiding, waiting to pounce.
Clark walked slowly to the Buick and settled into the seat. Lois turned to him. "Are you OK?" she asked with a smile that covered him like a soft blanket.
"Y ..." He swallowed and tried again. "Yeah."
Her hand left the steering wheel and landed briefly on his arm. "It's natural that you would feel overwhelmed," she said. "It will get easier."
Would it?
Lois took back her hand and drove slowly up the driveway. Every bump, every dip, every turn was like a dance routine that he'd done a thousand times before.
In essence, it hadn't changed.
He had changed beyond recognition. But this place still felt like home.
Lois parked the Buick behind the eastern red cedar. Suddenly, Clark felt the restraints snap, and his eagerness burst free. He wanted to see his bedroom. He wanted to see the kitchen where he had eaten so many meals. He pushed open the door and leapt from the car.
Lois was right there with him. She opened the trunk, and he picked up the suitcase.
They stood together and looked beyond the dappled moonlit shape of the maples. Lois's hand pushed into his, and he clasped it gratefully.
She waited. Not moving forward. Not hurrying him. Just waiting for him to choose the timing.
Suddenly, just as he'd been sure that he wanted to go into the house, he was now sure that he didn't want to go in alone. He looked down to Lois and met the soft eyes that were trained on him.
"Lois," he said. "I'm so sorry about this morning."
Her hand gripped his. "I'm sorry, too."
"You didn't do -"
"It doesn't matter now."
She waited again. Waited for him to move them forward. He took a tentative step.
Then, suddenly, Clark was walking with Lois through the maples as the branches seemed to open in welcome.
They reached the house, and though Clark wanted to stare at the front, he kept walking - past the side wall and to the back door. When they arrived there, he heard Lois rustle through her bag. She withdrew a small screwdriver and an Allen key, and less than thirty seconds later, the door swung open.
He took one step - into the only real home he had known.
Mustiness had replaced the aromas of his mom's cooking.
Staleness had replaced the clean country air.
Neglect had replaced the loving maintenance.
Coldness had replaced the warmth.
Silence had replaced the sound of family.
Abandonment had replaced the love.
But it was still home.
Clark reached for the light switch and turned it on. Nothing happened. "We don't have power," he said.
His voice echoed strangely in the silence.
Lois brought out a small flashlight from her bag. She pushed it into his hand. He flicked it on, and a small beam of light cut into the dimness.
"Would you like something?" Clark asked. "I can get you anything you'd like. A cup of tea, perhaps?"
"No, thank you," Lois said. "I'm not hungry."
"You didn't eat much today."
"I didn't move much either," she said. She turned to him with a smile. "I really feel like going to bed."
Here - unlike in the motel rooms - there were two beds. Two bedrooms. "Would you like a shower first?" Clark asked, wanting to forestall the moment when he would have to leave her in one room and go to the other. "I can heat the water for you."
He saw the refusal spring to her lips, but then her smile broke free. "That would be *wonderful*," she said.
"Come upstairs." Clark gave her the flashlight and took her hand.
"Can you see?" Lois asked as he led her through the kitchen.
"Yes."
He went to the stairs he had climbed every day for so many years. They smelled different, but on a deeper level, they *felt* the same. Clark stopped for a moment, put down the suitcase, and ran his hand along the wall. He felt the large shallow indentation. He'd been thirteen and still trying to come to terms with a body that was burgeoning with escalating strength. He'd rushed out of his bedroom, tripped, and banged his head into the wall. The damage had been extensive. To the wall. He'd helped Dad fix it, but the slight dip remained.
It was there still.
Clark picked up the suitcase and climbed the rest of the stairs. On the landing, he pointed to the door directly ahead. "That's the bathroom," he said. Turning to the right, "This was my parents' room." And left, "This was my room."
"Which room would you like?" Lois asked.
Clark's heart sank like stone. It felt like a parting of ways. "I ..."
"Think about it while I have a shower."
"OK." Clark pushed open the middle door. The bathroom was grimy and dusty. The faucet dripped a mournful rhythm onto the stain it had caused in the bottom of the bath. He turned back to Lois. "Could you wait here a minute, please?" he asked.
He sped to where his mother had kept the cleaning products, zoomed past Lois and into the bathroom. Half a minute later, it looked almost like Martha Kent still lived here. Clark took out two towels, flew downstairs to the laundry, washed and dried them, and returned to Lois.
He offered her the towels. "The soap is in reasonable condition," he said with a small shrug. "I took off the hardened edges. And I ran the water until all the build-up had gone."
She lifted the towels to her nose and inhaled appreciatively. "It will be fine. Thank you."
"I'll have the water heated by the time you need it. Then I'll make the bed for you."
"Thanks." She gave him a weary smile. "Clark?"
"Yes?"
"Would you mind ..." She paused as if unsure.
"I'll do anything for you, Lois," Clark said earnestly.
"I don't want to embarrass you."
He didn't want that either. "What would you like?"
"Would you mind washing my pyjamas?" she said.
Clark almost smiled with relief. "Not at all," he said. "I am going to wash the bedding anyway."
Lois crouched beside the suitcase and brought out her pyjamas. "Thanks," she said as he took them. Then she went into the bathroom and shut the door.
Clark flew downstairs and outside to the water tank that fed the bathroom. He shot heat into it with his eyes. That done, he returned to the landing. His bedroom door was closed.
He turned the knob and pushed gently. It swung open, and Clark entered.
Other than the dust, it was the same.
Except ...
He inhaled deeply. Was it his imagination? Or could he really detect the faintest whiff of Lois's perfume? She had been in his room five days ago.
Suddenly, he knew that he wanted Lois to have his room. He wouldn't be with her, but in a strange, illogical way, it seemed like the separation wouldn't be complete if Lois slept here.
Clark quickly stripped his bed and left the linen in the landing. Then he faced the closed door to his parents' room. His most vivid memories of this room went back further - to when he'd been a small boy. This room had been his first port of call every morning for years. Usually, both of his parents were already up.
He remembered the first morning he had awoken early enough that they had still been in bed when he had slipped into their room. His dad had made a joke about how good it would be to have his best farmhand on duty right from the start of the day, and Clark had hurried back to his room to get dressed.
That morning, he had arrived in the kitchen *before* his mom had filled the air with the aromas of breakfast. She'd smiled at him and commented that farmhands needed to start the day with a big meal.
Clark took a deep breath and opened the door to his parents' room. The quilt his mom had made had a stain in the middle of it, but other than that, the room didn't look dramatically different from the image imprinted on his mind. It *felt* different, though. It felt as if its soul had been ripped out.
He didn't have time to reflect. He removed all the bedding, scooped up the pile on the landing, and went back to the laundry.
It was good to have something to do.
Lois was his guest, and he was going to do everything he could to ensure she was comfortable.
In his home.
||_||
The water was wonderfully warm as it landed on Lois's shoulders, massaging away the tension and tiredness. The muted glow of the flashlight eased her body from the hectic pace she had set in her determination to get Clark home.
As she'd driven, she had analysed the events of the morning and more fully realised that her unstinting support was not enough. She could love Clark, but she couldn't be his entire network. He needed more. He needed purpose. Just like with the jigsaw puzzle trays, he needed the satisfaction of achieving something. He needed other friends. He needed to belong to a community. He needed to feel settled - and driving across the United States with no aim other than to hide could not give him that.
The meeting between Scardino and Menzies replayed in her mind.
Scardino had *lied* for them. Blatantly. He'd given them freedom.
She wasn't sure if Clark fully comprehended it yet. She guessed that many of his silent hours in the car had been spent trying to accept the knowledge that he wasn't being hunted.
She remembered the too-good-to-be-true relief of arriving at the American embassy. It had seemed like a dream - and that was after a month of the *threat* of captivity. Clark had experienced the ghastly reality of being cruelly caged for *seven* years.
She loved him so much.
She loved his strength. She loved his gentleness. She loved his concern for her.
She had dreamed of her perfect man. Who would have thought she would find him in a cell?
Lois sobered as images filled her mind. Clark - bruised and battered after Moyne had beaten him. Clark - dirty and -
She closed down the images. She knew Clark wouldn't want her to dwell on them.
Lois turned off the faucet and folded the soft, sweet-smelling towel around her body. Even with so much crowding into Clark's mind, his first thought had been for her.
He was incredible.
If only he could see himself the way she saw him.
Lois sighed. It was going to take a long time. She knew it was going to take a long, long time.
And in a moment of brutal clarity, she realised something. Time might not be enough. Time and love might not be enough.
There were no guarantees that Clark would ever totally overcome the emotional wounds inflicted by Trask and Moyne.
But she couldn't control that.
All she could do was love him ... support him ... be there for him.
Forever.
||_||
Lois emerged from the bathroom with one towel wrapped under her arms and another curled around her head.
Clark quickly averted his eyes. He lifted his left arm and gestured into his room. "If you need anything, please ask."
"Are you sure you want me to have your room?"
"Yes."
"OK." She stepped past him. "Goodnight, Clark."
Clark felt as if he was being cut from his mooring place in the midst of a raging storm. "Goodnight, Lois."
She went into his room and shut the door.
"Thank you," he muttered, knowing he'd left it too late and she wouldn't hear. "Thank you for bringing me home."
||_||
Her room was clean and dust-free. The bed was neatly made. Her clean pyjamas were folded on the end of her bed. Lois picked them up and chuckled.
Clark had *ironed* them.
The suitcase was next to the bed. She lifted the lid and discovered that Clark had taken out his belongings.
She opened the closet - it was empty other than a row of coat hangers awaiting her clothes.
He was a perfect host.
Lois dried herself and put on her clean, *ironed* pyjamas.
Was it fanciful to believe that they were imbued with his love?
It was fanciful.
But it was comforting, too. She missed him already.
And it was going to be a long, lonely night.
||_||
Clark climbed uneasily into his parents' bed.
It felt intrusive. This was *their* place. He didn't belong here.
He didn't know where he belonged.
But here ... in this little farmhouse in Smallville ... here, there were a few grains of familiarity that gave him hope that, perhaps with time, he could belong here again.
But belonging wasn't about a place.
It was about a person.
Clark reached for the wallet that Lois had given him. He unfolded it and took out the piece of notepaper on which he had written the poem.
Hope.
Lois was his hope.
Without her, he was utterly lost.
She was here. In Smallville. With him.
Yet he was alone.
And it was going to be a long night.
||_||
~~ Tuesday ~~
The next morning, Clark was ripped from sleep by a loud bang. He leapt from the bed as the sound continued, thundering through the quiet house.
He pulled his jeans over his sleep shorts and yanked a tee shirt over his head. He rushed onto the landing - and ran straight into Lois.
"Sorry," he muttered, as his hand reached to steady her. "You OK?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Just a bit startled."
"Police!" a harsh male voice shouted from below. "Open up."
