***************
Chapter 2: Fury
***************
Anger was not a foreign emotion to Lois. Everyone who knew her knew she could lose her temper over a dozen things a day, and they had learned that unless Clark was nearby it was safest to stay away when her anger flared up. Of course, even Clark had earned her ire on quite a few occasions--some deserved, some not--though thankfully he took it in stride.
But contrary to what most people thought, Lois rarely got *furious*.
Fury was worse than anger. Anger was volatile, exploding quickly, passing quickly. Fury was cold and quiet and so overpowering that it hid beneath her skin until she could release it, usually by way of scathing articles that exposed corruption and resulted in more occupied cells at the Metropolis Prison. Fury was ice, and right now, Lois was trembling with the force of it. Her hands shook with the rage that filled her body and crystallized her thoughts. It threatened to overwhelm her, yet it could not be released until she had a clear target and a clearer, deadly plan.
She knew her target.
Her plan was slowly developing, plot by scheme by trap, in her mind. Usually when she brainstormed, she jotted down rapid thoughts and her jumble of ideas. Tonight, she didn't need to write them down; they were etched into her mind with tracings of hot rage and frozen in place with icy fury.
It had been hard to hide that fury from Clark, hard to pretend everything was fine, hard to conceal the shuddering of her tense breaths and the implacability of her purpose. She had almost lost it when holding his face in her hands and looking into his tortured eyes; she had almost broken then and there and screamed out her fury and desolation. That was why she had let him go off by himself even though she knew the last thing he needed was to be alone. She had needed time to compose herself, time to force her fury to rest more comfortably within the confines of her body and the mold of her resolve.
It had been two hours since Clark had left, and Lois still hadn't managed to regain her apparent calm.
In an effort to expend some of her energy, she had begun tidying up the mess left within their house. Clark had started to clean up a bit; the beginning and end of his efforts were marked by a small patch of pulverized dust and crumpled objects. Lois closed her eyes against the memory of finding her husband slumped in a defeated huddle against the wall, his eyes empty pits of loss and guilt.
The television was shattered, a bookend crumpled on the ground where it had bounced off the glass screen.
Lois's hands clenched into painful fists. Quickly, she uncurled them, knowing that the last thing Clark needed was to see any blood on her, even if it did come from her own nails puncturing her skin. Resolutely, Lois turned on her heel, leaving the mess, and strode upstairs to the guest bedroom. With quick, sharp movements, she stripped the bed and threw the sheets and blankets into the washing machine. That wouldn't stop Clark if he was really determined to avoid her tonight, but she had faith that her determination would overpower his pain.
It had to.
Retrieving clean bedding from the closet, Lois went into their bedroom and remade the bed, wanting--needing--to cleanse the room of everything that reminded her of the red Kryptonite. The blankets didn't have shards of Kryptonite in them, she knew, but they were too painful a reminder of the night she had spent alone, keeping her sobs silent yet knowing Clark would hear them anyway. Just as she had heard his, feeling them like quakes within her soul.
The trembling grew so bad that Lois had to pause for a moment and regain her composure. Fury was different from anger, she reminded herself; it wasn't yet time to act on it. When she did release it, she had to be certain the target of her rage was present to feel her wrath.
A single tear slipped down Lois's cheek as she smoothed Clark's pillow in just the way he liked it. She wiped it away and washed her hands so Clark wouldn't smell the salt of it when she touched him.
Once the bed was made, Lois returned to the living room, righting the table where they had played cards just two nights ago and returning the couches to their proper positions. She cleared the floor space around them, unable to resist throwing a glance to the fire Clark could light with a simple glance. She wanted that night back. She wanted that sense of peace and contentment back. She wanted her faith in what was good and fair and right back.
But it was gone, destroyed in a single instant by Kryptonite.
Clark didn't understand. He didn't see what she saw so clearly. He saw only his own guilt, his own part in the travesty that had occurred. Blinded by his enormous sense of responsibility, he wasn't able to realize that he had been betrayed. And so he blamed himself, and he refused to touch her, and he spent hours out in the cold night because he couldn't bring himself to look in her eyes. He wouldn't allow himself to be forgiven because he could not forgive himself.
"Come home, Clark," Lois whispered out the window he always used as his super entrance, and a few seconds later, he did, unable to refuse her anything. The slump of his shoulders told her that he had heard the same news that had prompted her to throw the bookend at the TV.
His spin back into his Clark clothes was slower and more precise than Lois had ever seen it. Every move he made was cautious; every gesture was kept tiny and small; every breath was carefully taken and even more carefully released. He did not meet her eyes.
Blind fury engulfed Lois, but she calmed it, controlled it, commanded it to silent patience.
"I found the cards," she said in a normal voice. "Sit down, Clark."
Neither of them was in the mood to play cards, but Lois needed more time to calm the tempest that had surged within her at the sight of Clark's self-castigation. And Clark needed time to ready himself for the moment when she would lead him to their bedroom.
Keeping up a happy chatter, Lois dealt the cards and arranged her hand. Clark did the same, the cards held so loosely in his hands that he almost dropped them several times. He was careful never to touch the table, careful to keep the table between himself and Lois.
Lois pretended not to notice, pretended to focus on the poker game, pretended she was not so terribly furious that a haze clouded her vision.
"Lois."
At Clark's strained utterance of her name, Lois looked up and finally met his eyes. If she hadn't been sitting, the pure emotion in them would have knocked her back a step. "What is it, Clark?" she asked.
"Have...have you looked at your fish?"
Prompted by his words, she glanced over her shoulder to the corner where the shattered remains of her tank lay and where Clark had collected the jars, bowls, and cups of water in which he had put her rescued fish. "Why?" she asked, turning back to look at him.
He dropped his eyes, his voice little more than a whisper, so broken that Lois's breath caught in her throat. "I couldn't find one. I tried to get them all--you love those fish. But...when I tried to find the last one, I...I could only see...fifty feet under the ground or two blocks away. I couldn't...I couldn't find it. I'm sorry."
Lois abandoned the cards and moved to Clark's side, ignoring his flinch away from her hand on his cheek. "I like my fish, Clark, but it's hardly the end of the world."
"But you love those fish."
"I love you more." Time had ran out, Lois decided, not at all sorry for it. She stood abruptly and held out her hand toward her husband. "Come on, Clark. It's been a long day, and we both need some sleep."
His face paled as he stared at her hand. On his knees, his own hands clenched into loose fists.
"You're not going to hurt me," Lois said, softly to disguise the note of steel threading her voice.
"What if I do?" he whispered, his eyes haunted. "I won't even know, Lois. I won't even notice if I hurt you."
"Yes, you will." Lois swallowed the lump in her throat and extended her hand closer to him. "Please, Clark."
His hand trembled when he slowly reached out and took hers, his grip so light her hand might have been held by a feather. Lois tightened her own grip on him and tugged, the movement causing him to rise to his feet. Not allowing herself to show even a hint of her doubt, she led him upstairs and into their bedroom.
Gently, he disengaged his hand from hers. "Lois, I think I should--"
"Clark." Lois faced him, her eyes flashing determination. She was not about to let him walk away from her, not when she needed him to still the shivers of fury abounding within her. "Look at me."
He did, almost fearfully.
"I know what you're thinking," she told him bluntly. "You think you're going to hurt me again."
At the word 'again,' he flinched. "Don't you?" he asked in a small voice.
"No." Lois stepped close enough to rest her hands on his shoulders. "I miss you, Clark. I don't want to sleep alone again."
He opened his mouth, but she put her finger over his lips.
"Hold me," she commanded, looping her arms around his neck. "Put your arms around me and hold me."
"But what if the red Kryptonite hasn't worn off completely?" he blurted, making a move to step away from her before he realized her hands were holding him still. Not that she could hold him there through mere strength, but Lois knew he wouldn't risk hurting her by stepping away too quickly. "What if--"
Lois smiled at him. "That's why we're practicing. Now, put your arms around me. Sheesh, I never thought I'd have to ask you twice!"
The hint of a smile crossed his lips, but it fell far short of his eyes. "I'm afraid, Lois," he whispered so softly she read his lips more than heard him. "I can't bear to hurt you again."
"You won't." She slid one hand down his arm and positioned it on her waist, did the same with the other, and returned her hands to his neck. Then, finding some comfort in his loose embrace, she rested her head against his chest. For a long moment, they simply stood there, positioned like dolls in the semblance of a hug. Finally, an eternity later, Clark's arms tightened a fraction around her, and his head dropped slowly to rest atop hers. As soft as the caress of his hand on her cheek, he dropped a kiss into her hair.
An image of him lying on the ground, an ugly wound seared into his neck, flashed behind Lois's closed eyes, and her body shuddered with the force of her emotional reaction.
Instantly, Clark was standing by the door.
"Clark, wait!" The only reason she managed to say it in time was because he hesitated before touching the place where the doorknob had once been.
"I can't!" he cried, his expression anguished. "You're afraid of me, Lois! I can't make you stay with me when you're afraid of me."
"I am not afraid of you!" she stated defiantly.
"Then why did you--"
"It's cold," she lied. "I shivered because I'm cold."
Clark wavered.
"I need you," Lois said softly, feeling the truth of those words in the fury reawakening within her, stirred by the absence of his calming embrace. Her body trembled again with her next words--not out of fear, but out of that rage. "They shot you with a Kryptonite bullet, Clark. You could have died. I need to see you, to feel you, to hear you. I need to know you're alive and you're with me."
His eyes softened as he heard the plea in her voice, and of his own accord, he stepped up next to her. "I'm sorry, Lois."
"You have nothing to apologize for!" she snapped harshly, then instantly regretted it when he flinched back. "Just...please, hold me."
"But..." He took a deep breath, then nodded. "All right."
They readied for bed in silence, both wrestling with their own inner demons. But they were at least together, Lois thought with relief. And for tonight, that would be enough. Tomorrow would be the time to begin enacting her retribution.
Clark eased into the bed so slowly, Lois was tempted to laugh. But she couldn't, not when his pain was so real. Unable to tear her eyes from him, Lois slipped into the bed, lying on her side so she could see him. She was wearing her most casual pair of pajamas, a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts; it would be easier for him to sleep next to her if he couldn't see the bruise on her arm.
She didn't try to cuddle up next to him, not yet. For now, she was content to simply let the sight of him ease the residual fear still flooding through her system, keeping her fury ice-cold.
Once convinced Lois would stay on her side of the bed, Clark visibly relaxed. Lois knew the Kryptonite--both the red and the green--had taken their toll on him physically, the energy expended from the former and the pain inflicted by the latter leaving him exhausted. Tomorrow, if she woke up before he did, she would call Perry and tell him they'd be in a little late.
After several moments, Clark's eyes slid closed and his breaths grew deep in slumber. The features of his face relaxed and slipped into more familiar lines. Some cultures believed that the true character of an individual was revealed only in sleep; if such was true, Lois thought, it was only more proof that Clark was innocent. He looked young and vulnerable without either the glasses or the Superman mask of sternness to inadequately disguise his heart.
Lois's body suddenly seemed far too small to contain the fury welling up within her, as if a quake had torn up an additional geyser of rage and sent it exploding outward.
Gradually, she eased closer to Clark and reached out a none-too-steady hand to caress his brow and trace his cheeks and touch the thick softness of his hair. He was handsome, of course, the best looking man Lois had ever seen, and yet his appeal was so much more than that, less physical, more abstract, and bound up in integrity and conscience and strength of heart. He was the kindest, gentlest man she had ever met, the hurt of anyone else felt keenly in his own soul. He was utterly unable to harm anyone, even those criminals who struck the most deeply.
And they had shot him.
Metropolis was Lois's home, the city she had always staunchly insisted was the best in the world. And it had ordered the death of its savior, pulling the trigger despite the fact that he had valiantly kept control of his powers. It had sent a bolt of deadly green Kryptonite to strike her husband down.
Metropolis had betrayed her.
And Lois did not intend to let the city get away with its attempted murder.
"I won't let them hurt you," she breathed to Clark, speaking aloud the vow she had made the instant Dr. Klein had told her what the mayor had planned for the man she loved. Unable to stop herself, not particularly caring to try, she leaned over and kissed Clark, just to assure herself he was alive and well. A tear slipped down her cheek to alight on his skin.
"Don't say anything," she begged him when he woke at her touch. She burrowed into his side, desperately needing to feel his arm around her and hear his heartbeat beneath her ear. "Just hold me."
Clark hesitated, then reached over and picked up something from the bedside table. Lois couldn't see what it was, but she didn't care because he slipped his arm beneath her head and pulled her close to his side. His touch was as gentle as ever, and Lois wished she could convince him that he could trust himself not to hurt her.
Finally, warmed by his hold, soothed by his heartbeat, protected by his embrace, Lois felt herself completely calmed.
"I love you, Lois." The words themselves were a caress.
A smile curved her lips, and Lois slept.
***************
When she stirred the next morning, she smiled again.
Clark's arms were wrapped around her from behind, his breaths soft and reassuring in her hair.
Gently, Lois ran her fingers down his hands, savoring the sensation of being enveloped in his embrace, grateful that he hadn't pulled away during the night. When her fingers caught on something held in his hand, she felt Clark stir behind her.
"Good morning," he murmured.
"You're awake," she said before a suspicion snuck into her mind. "You didn't sleep at all, did you?"
His lack of a reply was answer enough.
"You didn't have to do that," she said, caught between guilt at keeping him from resting and the certainty that she had been right to confront his new lack of self-confidence. "But thank you." She played with the object held in his hands a moment more before asking, "Why are you holding your glasses?"
Clark hesitated. "I wasn't sure the red Kryptonite was completely neutralized. And last time, I didn't notice when I hurt you. So...I figured if the glasses shattered, I would know I was holding you too tight."
"But you need these." Lois's voice emerged shaken. The glasses symbolized his secret identity, his deep longing for a normal life, his chance to be ordinary--or to pretend to himself that he was, though Lois knew that powers or not, he was extraordinary.
"I have extra pairs," he said wryly, but he didn't fool Lois.
"You didn't have to do that," she said again. "But thank you."
Gingerly, Lois slipped the glasses from his hand, grateful when he stifled his protest, glad he stopped his immediate impulse to withdraw his arms from around her. She carefully placed the glasses on the bedside table, then turned within the shelter of his embrace to stretch herself full-length against him. He needed her, she knew, maybe more now than ever before. She knew him better than she knew anyone, and she was certain that he was heaping all sorts of blame and guilt on his shoulders. In fact, she was surprised he had let her talk him into touching her at all.
One look into his shadowed eyes, however, and Lois knew why he had come back. Why he had allowed her to pull him into that loose hug. Why he had held her all night even though it meant he didn't sleep. Why he was still touching her even though she had taken away his safety measure.
He was afraid.
Of himself.
On impulse, Lois reached up and kissed him on the cheek, flattening her hands against his chest so he'd know he wasn't alone. So he'd know she wasn't afraid of him. She trusted him.
"What do you say you get dressed so we can make breakfast?" she proposed with a grin.
"But Perry--"
"While I call Perry and tell him we'll be in to work a bit late."
"Oh, well if *you* call him." The hint of an amused grin on his beloved features was worth a thousand front page bylines. It was erased an instant later, however, when he soberly added, "You're like a daughter to him."
"That's why *I'm* the one calling him," she teased, though inwardly she wanted to weep at how quickly his smile had been taken from him. No, not weep--she wanted to throw things and cause a lot of damage. For all his powers, Clark was deeply vulnerable. This incident with the red Kryptonite had preyed upon that weakness. Metropolis's betrayal had struck right to the heart of his deepest insecurity.
As if sensing that his somberness had disappointed her, Clark quirked his lips in the semblance of a smile. "So, when you say 'we'll' be making breakfast, you really mean *I'll* be making it, don't you?"
Her heart tightened as Lois fell in love with him all over again. "Just for that, I might make you do it all by yourself," she said lightly, sliding from the bed to her feet. "But I've learned a bit more about cooking since we met, particularly breakfast foods, and it has been a while since we've eaten breakfast together. Come on--I'll bet you I can call Perry and be downstairs before you're showered and dressed, even if you cheat."
Then, not waiting and making him admit aloud what she already knew--that he wasn't ready to use his superpowers yet--she dashed from the bedroom toward the downstairs phone.
For the next hour, Lois was able to forget what her city had tried to do to her. Though Clark was careful to never use his superpowers, he made an effort to conceal that he avoided touching her, and he tried his best to appear lighthearted in response to her determined teasing. If his smile was a bit forced, if her jokes were a bit comprised, if his hands shook when she touched him, if her mouth tightened whenever she looked at the spot on his neck where the Kryptonite bullet had razed a bloody trail of destruction...well, who could blame them? But this brief interlude of laughter and spilt flour and burnt toast was more than Lois had dared hope for the night before.
No matter how hard they were both trying, however, they couldn't shut out the rest of the world forever.
Clark was the first to broach the subject. He looked at his near-empty plate for a long moment while Lois tried to think of something to say that didn't involve a scathing condemnation of a city that shot their savior in the back. Finally, he spoke, quietly, "I visited my parents last night, after I left Henderson."
"I'll bet they were relieved to hear everything's fine now." Lois was proud of how calmly she spoke. She even managed to take another bite of her eggs without giving away how much the effort cost her.
"Yeah." Clark's eyes darted to her and away again. In different circumstances, Lois might have laughed. Her husband was an exceptionally bad liar, and he was terrible at hiding things. If he had really wanted her to think he was all right, he should have finished his breakfast. Clark never left food uneaten.
Lois took a deep breath and set down her toast. "They told you about the man pressing charges against Superman, didn't they?"
His short nod was eloquent for all it conveyed of his pain and grief and guilt.
"The entire thing is utterly ridiculous!" Lois exclaimed sharply. "You didn't hurt him!"
Clark's eyes rested on her left arm. "You should know better than anyone that we can't be sure about that."
"I should know better than anyone that you'd *never* hurt anyone!" she retorted angrily.
"Lois, you yourself said that I would never *knowingly* hurt anyone. Well, I didn't *know* that I hurt him...but I did."
Staring at Clark, Lois had to fold her arms across her chest to stop herself from pulling him into a tight embrace. "The charges will never stick. You're protected under the Good Samaritan laws. The man's just out for his five minutes of glory, that's all. This whole thing will blow over by tomorrow."
But she knew she lied even as she uttered the words. Whatever Dorian's motives were, the very fact that he was willing to press charges meant that the city was more than likely to at least listen to his demands that Superman's actions be limited. Clark's downcast eyes told her he had recognized that same fact.
"So..." She swallowed. "What are you planning on doing about it?"
"I'm going to apologize to Orville Dorian."
"What?" Lois stared at him, aghast. "No, Clark, you shouldn't have to--"
"Yes, I do." Inconveniently, he chose now to finally meet her eyes, firm in his conviction. "I was scared, Lois, and I was trying to deny that my powers were affected. Because of that, people could have gotten hurt. Whether what happened to him was my fault or not, I did endanger people. And I need to apologize for that."
Lois bit down on her automatic protest, then waited a beat longer to make sure her voice would sound passably civil. "And what else? Are you going to turn yourself in? Ask them to arrest you?"
"No. As you said, I'm protected by the Good Samaritan laws. I am going to offer to pay Dorian's medical bills, though, as well as repair all the structural damage I caused."
And what about all the damage he stopped from happening? she wanted to ask. Who would thank him for that? Who would tell him that he had saved far more than he had broken?
"And what about the city?" she asked tightly. "If the mayor's actions over the last few days have been any indication, Metropolis will seriously consider hampering your ability to help."
Clark's hands tightened into fists before he noticed and instantly uncurled them, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. "I...I thought about it all night, and I think I've decided on a course of action. If you agree."
"It better not involve any handcuffs, cells, or Kryptonite," she remarked acidly. At Clark's infinitesimal wince, Lois softened. "I'm sorry, Clark." She reached across the small table and rested her hand on top of his. "What is your plan?"
The tiny smile that reshaped his mouth was reward enough for her constraint. "I'm going to call a press conference and ask the city not to limit what I can do. But if that is their decision..." He swallowed and turned his hand palm-up beneath hers so it seemed more as if he were holding her. "I'm going to offer to leave Metropolis."
Lois made an inarticulate sound of distress.
"I'm going to ask them not to," Clark added quickly, as if that made everything better. "But I won't stay where I'm not wanted, Lois."
"And what will you do?" she asked. "Where will Superman go?"
"There are always other cities." He shrugged, but it didn't hide the pain Lois knew he was feeling. His greatest fear had always been rejection, and now it was playing out right in front of him. "Or maybe Superman shouldn't tie himself to a single city. Maybe I can just respond to large crises. After all, I am married now, and I can't be spending all my time flying around."
"You shouldn't have to leave!" The words erupted from her harshly, unable to be contained any longer. "You *saved* Metropolis for the thousandth time! How dare they demand that you--"
"Lois." Gently, Clark curled his fingers around her hand. "If they want me to leave, I can't stay. I won't force myself on anyone, not you, not a stranger, and not a city. I can't force them to accept me--and I won't make them any more afraid of me than they already are."
Lois blinked rapidly. This decision was hard enough on Clark already; he didn't need her tears added to the mix. "And if Superman leaves...what happens to Clark?"
"Lois..." Clark moved from the seat to kneel before her. "Clark is married to Lois Lane, who lives in Metropolis. This is my home."
Shaking her head, Lois reached out her free hand to caress his face. "If they don't want you, we can both leave. I'll move with you. We'll go to another city, one that appreciates you the way I do."
He tried a smile. "No one appreciates Superman the way you do, honey." He sobered. "But I would never ask you to leave. The Daily Planet is here, your friends are here, even Lucy's moved back. Everything you love is here."
"I love *you*," she whispered. "And if you leave--"
"Clark will stay," he promised. "I love it here too, Lois. I don't want to leave. Superman can get around in a hurry. Clark can live here."
"But you said you couldn't do that. You said you couldn't hear people calling for help and not answer them. How will you ignore them while you're here?"
"I won't ignore them. Clark will answer them, or an anonymous stranger will."
Lois's heart sank to her stomach. "But you hated doing that. And it didn't work--you always had to move on. Besides, if an anonymous stranger starts helping out, everyone will automatically assume it's Superman."
Silent, Clark withdrew his hand from hers and moved to sit at the table once more. His eyes were fixed on the remains of his breakfast; though he picked up his fork, he didn't take another bite. "I don't want to leave," he said softly, as if he were admitting a flaw.
"And you don't have to!" Lois stated firmly. "Metropolis will never ask you to leave! They'd be embarrassed in front of the entire world--the only city with a superhero on hand and they demand he leave? They'd never live it down."
Clark drew patterns in his egg-yolk with the fork. "I don't want them to accept me just because they don't want to be laughed at."
The emotions that swelled up within Lois were too large to be contained, and she moved around the table to throw herself into Clark's arms, opened to receive her despite the startled expression on his face. "Even if they are stupid enough to ask you to leave," she whispered in his ear, "*I* want you, Clark! Don't ever forget that!"
He leaned his head against hers, the tension draining from his body. "I won't," he murmured.
"So..." Lois drew back and looked up at his desolate expression. Her fury crystallized within her into a solid force so great it could no longer be dissolved by anything other than strong action. "When are you going to hold this press conference?"
"I don't know." His brow creased. "I guess...this afternoon?"
"No." She shook her head. "Do it tomorrow. Give the citizens of Metropolis a day to see that you're fully in control of yourself. Give them a day to remember everything you've done for them. Have it tomorrow, late afternoon."
"Okay," he agreed quietly.
"And don't you dare talk to Dorian alone," she commanded him. "Always have witnesses with you."
"Okay."
She pointed a stern finger at him. "And don't try to shut me out just because you think you hurt me."
A shadow flickered across Clark's features. "I won't, Lois. I...need you. I don't think I can do this without you."
"Of course not," she said flippantly. "That's why I'm the senior partner, remember?"
Suddenly, Clark's head snapped up in the way it always did when he heard a call for Superman.
"What is it?" Lois questioned.
His eyes locked on hers almost desperately. "There's a fire in one of the hospitals."
Lois stared at him expectantly. "Well, go!" she exclaimed when he didn't move.
Still, he hesitated, and Lois almost thought she saw utter terror flood his eyes.
"Go!" she commanded.
"But what if--" He cut himself off and squared his shoulders. "I'll meet you at the Planet."
Then, with a determined expression replacing his earlier despair, he leaned down and kissed Lois softly on the cheek. "I love you," he murmured, and he was gone.
But he hadn't touched her with his hand, nor had he changed into his Suit until he left her.
Lois stood, breakfast forgotten in light of her cold purpose. Metropolis would pay for what they had done to her husband.
