The urge to take him into her arms was so strong, Lois shivered. "Yes," she promised. "I'll stay with you."
"And you'll take me home?"
"Yes."
"How long will that take?"
"We're going to drive. It will take a few days."
His eyebrow lifted, and his smile rolled out. "A few days?"
"Is that all right?"
Clark nodded as he stood up. He held his hand towards her. Lois stared at it as wave after wave of memories rolled through her. She clasped his hand - dizzying at his touch - and rose to her feet.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Lois pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped her tears away. "Yes."
Clark rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Sure?" he asked, his eyes vivid with unmistakable Clark Kent concern.
"I'm sure," she said. And she was. She was with Clark.
"Let's go," he said. His smile unfurled in all its brilliance. "I'm so glad you're here, Lois. Thank you for coming."
Part 2
Lois reached for the door handle at the same moment as Clark. She was marginally quicker, and his hand encased hers.
He lifted it away and gave her another smile.
Lois fumbled as she opened the door, her dexterity compromised by the pulsing quivers shooting up her arm in wild reaction to his touch.
She gathered her wits and faced Daniel and Menzies as they approached her, their expressions loaded with questions.
"Is everything all right?" Menzies asked.
"Clark and I would like to leave now."
"All right," Menzies said, despite still sounding a little doubtful. "Scardino will arrange for Shadbolt to get your car. I'll call a press conference, and we'll admit anyone carrying a press badge. You can leave via the entrance at the back."
Daniel gave her an uncertain smile. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked, glancing at Clark.
"Yeah," Lois said. "We are going to be fine."
"I think you should stay here awhile," Daniel said.
"No," Lois said. The desire to flee was strong. She needed to take Clark. To go where no one could hurt him. Where no one could threaten to take him away from her.
"Lois," Daniel said. "I'm concerned."
"About what?" she said sharply.
"I'm concerned that you could get into a difficult situation."
"My last job was full of difficult situations," she retorted. "I coped."
"I don't doubt your ability to cope," Daniel said. "But I think that a few hours would make everything easier for you." When she didn't answer, he continued. "You must be tired. And drained. There are rooms on the base. Similar to hotel rooms. Used for guests. You'll be comfortable there."
"I ..." Lois faltered as she recalled their earlier conversation. Yes, it was tempting to run - to get away from Metropolis and its crowds. But outside of the base, the world was full of potential predicaments.
A society voraciously consumed with the near catastrophe and the sensational appearance of a superhero who had flown in - literally - to save them.
An amnesiac alien, unaware of the super-powers he possessed.
And the man she loved - whose memories of her stretched back less than an hour.
But could she trust Menzies? Or Daniel? And even if she could, how much authority did they have at EPRAD? What if the scientists decided that this was their ideal opportunity to experiment on an alien?
The earth had been saved. They no longer needed Clark. What if his display of incredible strength caused any lingering trace of Trask's paranoia to re-surface? "No," Lois said. "I want to go. It can't be any worse than after Linda -"
"Lois," Daniel said. "I think you should stay. It doesn't have to be for long - just long enough to let things settle a bit."
"So you can lo-"
"No," Daniel said quickly, earnestly shaking his head. "No. You can leave whenever you want to. You have my word."
Lois felt a touch to her back. A light touch, settling gently on the waistband of her jeans. She turned to Clark.
"Lois," he said as his hand dropped away from her. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to wait. You look tired. I'm not dressed ... I don't even have shoes. We can get cleaned up ... have something to eat ... rest ... and then leave."
She bit back her protest. Clark was right. And the risks were greater than he could know. His hair was still plastered to his head. What if someone recognised him as the alien who had saved the world? Clark had lost his past; she had to safeguard his future.
"OK," Lois said with a smile to Clark. "If that's what you want."
He thanked her with a return smile.
"I'll get Shadbolt to take you to a room," Daniel said, dialling his cell phone. "And I'll arrange for coffee and food to be delivered."
"I'll talk to Daitch about the press conference," Menzies said. "Excuse me."
He left the room. Daniel began talking into his phone.
Clark's hand contacted Lois's back again. "Are you OK?" he murmured.
Lois nodded, rendered speechless by the combined power of his softly spoken inquiry, his concern-filled eyes, and the tenderness of his touch.
She had been so scared. During the long dark hours of the night, she had thought that she had lost him forever. Then, she had found him - only to discover that, for him, everything had gone.
But not everything. Something remained. Whatever the situation, Clark's foremost concern was for her. Just as it had been at their first meeting - in the cell, when he'd protected her from Moyne's bullet and then brought Neosporin to treat the scratches on her face. Just as it had been after Moyne had broken into her bedroom.
*That* hadn't changed.
"If you want to, we can leave as soon as we've had something to eat and I'm dressed," Clark said.
The door opened, and Evan entered. "Hi," he said, approaching Clark. "I'm Evan Shadbolt."
"I saw you earlier," Clark said. "When they brought me here."
"Yeah," Evan said. "But I don't think we were ever properly introduced."
"I'm Clark," he said. "I don't remember anything before today. Do I know you?"
"Yes," Evan said.
"Are we friends? Colleagues?"
"We both know Lois," Evan said.
Clark gave him a rueful smile. "Sorry," he said. "I don't have any memories of you."
Evan replied with a brief smile as he nodded towards the elevator. "Come this way," he said. "The room is ready for you."
Clark gestured for Lois to go first. She walked forward slowly, wanting to feel his hand on her back again.
It came. Fleeting, but there.
As the elevator slid upwards, Lois realised something. Clark without memories meant Clark without hang-ups. Clark without cruelly imposed inhibitions. Clark with no thought of himself as being less than human.
The future opened up like the flowing curtain of a giant stage, revealing a glitter of possibilities.
They had some time. Time to make new memories without the shadow of the cell. When - if - Clark's memories returned, he would have good memories to stand firm against the horror of his imprisonment.
Lois turned to Clark and gave him a dazzling smile, determining that she was going to cram whatever time they had with good memories. Great memories.
Clark responded with a masterpiece of a smile. If he was going to keep smiling like that ...
... She was going to need emergency bedroom therapy. And a lot more than rubbing each other's backs.
Lois tore her eyes from the enchantment of Clark's smile and stared at the elevator doors, willing them to hurry up and open so she could be alone with Clark.
Patience, she reminded herself sternly. Patience.
Clark was going to feel disoriented for a while. If they were going to have to rebuild their relationship, she had to bear in mind that this would feel like a beginning for him.
But he was smiling. He'd touched her - nothing too personal - just a hand on her back. That was light-years ahead of where they'd started in the cell.
And - as she'd told Menzies - a concussion couldn't change Clark's heart.
The doors slid open and they exited the elevator. Twenty yards along the corridor, they came to an exterior door. Evan led them through it, and as they crossed a small courtyard, Lois glanced anxiously skywards. There were no helicopters hovering, hoping for a glimpse of the alien hero. Perhaps Menzies had already called the press conference.
They arrived at a row of three motel-style rooms, and Evan unlocked the first door. He stood back to allow them to enter. "I'll be back soon with your meals," he said, putting the key in Lois's hand.
She smiled to him as she entered the room. It was a combined living/dining room with basic kitchen facilities, a table with two chairs, and a soft leather sofa.
"Thank you, Evan," Clark said. He closed the door, and they were alone. "I'm sorry if I coerced you into staying here."
"It's OK," Lois said, trying to be discreet about peering past the open door and into what she assumed was the bedroom. How many beds? How long were they staying? "Daniel was probably right; we could both use some time to take stock."
"You said it's going to take us a few days to travel to my home," Clark said. "I figured it would be a good idea to take advantage of their hospitality."
"It is a good idea."
"But it wasn't until after I'd spoken that I realised you probably had reasons for wanting to make a start. You probably have a life to get back to after you've taken me home." He gave a shrug and a small smile. "Sorry."
"There's nothing that can't wait," Lois said. "And anyway, I didn't intend to start right away. I was going to take us to my dad's place so we could shower there."
"Oh," Clark said. "Sorry. I should have -"
"Clark," Lois said with a smile that she hoped would reassure him. "It's OK. We can stay here for a few hours. No problems."
"Why were you going to your father's place? Don't you live around here either?"
"I have an apartment, but it's near the centre of the city. Dad's house is out in the suburbs; it's quieter, and the route to get there is much less crowded."
He nodded. "Would you like to use the bathroom first?"
"No. You go first."
Clark looked down and winced. "I don't think these are my clothes."
"They're not."
"Phew," he said with a bashful smile. "I've been hoping I wasn't that inept at judging my size."
"You usually dress well," Lois said. And you often look positively gorgeous, she added silently. She brushed at her sweater, making a lame attempt to smooth out some of the wrinkles. "We could both stand some cleaning up."
"At least your clothes fit," he said.
"Don't worry," Lois said. "Everything will start to feel more normal soon."
"If my home isn't near here, how will I get my clothes? Did I bring a suitcase? I don't have anything with me. Not a wallet. Not anything."
Lois reached into her bag, but stopped herself, remembering his poem. He couldn't read that. Not yet. "Don't worry about anything," she said, taking her cell phone out of her bag. "Excuse me while I make a call."
"Do you want me to give you some privacy?"
Lois shook her head as she dialled Daniel's number. "Hi, Daniel," she said when he answered. "Do you know the whereabouts of Clark's clothes?"
"They were put into a bag. Shadbolt will bring them."
Lois hung up and smiled at Clark. "Your clothes are coming."
"I left clothes here?"
"Yeah," Lois said. She looked around the room, trying to discourage Clark from asking any further questions - and managing to sneak a peek into the bedroom.
One bed.
"You don't want to answer my questions, do you?" he said.
Lois turned to him and was relieved to see that the legion of questions in his eyes hadn't completely eradicated his smile. "I want you to remember in your own time," she said. "Don't worry about it."
"You keep telling me not to worry," he said as his smile hovered. "You almost have me believing that everything will be all right."
"It will be," Lois said.
"Can you tell me anything?" he said. "If you can't tell me why I'm here or why my clothes are here, can you at least tell me where we are?"
"We're at the EPRAD base - Extra Planetary Research and Development."
"In Metropolis?"
"Yes."
"Why is Eric arranging a press conference?"
"There has been a lot happening the last few hours, and the media is bellowing for information."
"It seemed to have something to do with us leaving."
"The media have blocked the front entrance."
"Why was I brought here?" Clark asked. "I can't work here - you said it's going to take a few days to drive to my home."
"You don't work here."
"Maybe that's why everything is so unfamiliar."
Lois risked a brief touch to Clark's arm - right at the junction where the sleeve of the undersized tee shirt gave way to his warm tight skin.
His other hand brushed lightly across the place she'd touched - as if he, too, had felt the lingering effects of their connection. "Lois?" he said uneasily, his smile gone.
"Yes, Clark?"
"When my memories come back, am I going to discover something really bad? Is it possible that I have amnesia because it was easier than dealing with something traumatic?"
"No," Lois said. "That's not why you have amnesia."
He seemed to accept that, although Lois could imagine the clatter of interrogation that must be bludgeoning the blank spaces of his mind.
"Do you know why I can't remember?" Clark asked.
Lois nodded indistinctly, trying to formulate something that wouldn't be a lie, but wouldn't open the floodgates to a torrent of questions. To her relief, she was saved by a knock on the door. "Come in, Evan," she called.
He came in, carrying a tray loaded with a full coffee pot and a plate of bagels with a slab of butter and a dish of red jelly. He put them on the table. "There are cups and plates in the cupboards," he said. "I'll just get the clothes." When he returned with a large paper bag, he said, "If you need anything, call Daniel on the agency cell phone. If we don't hear from you, we'll leave you alone." He turned and walked out of the door.
Clark pulled out a chair for Lois. "Do you like coffee?" he asked.
She sat down, grateful for his apparent acceptance that answers were going to come slowly. "Yes," she said. "And right now, I need coffee even more than a shower."
He opened the nearest cupboard door and took out two cups and two plates. From the drawer, he added two knives. He grinned as he sat down. "I think I need a shower more than you do," he said lightly. "There's something in my hair - something starchy that has dried to a horrible mess, but I haven't seen a mirror, so I can only guess at what it might be."
His disclosure led to an obvious question. "Do you remember what you look like?" Lois asked as she buttered a warm bagel. "If you were shown ten photos of different people, would you be able to pick out which one is you?"
"Probably not," Clark said, although his tone didn't convey any distress. "I mean, I know I'm male and I have light skin. I assume I have dark hair, and I can feel that it's quite short."
His casual summation drove home to Lois exactly how unsettling this must be for him. He hadn't had access to mirrors in the cell. Did that - in the subconscious depths beyond his memories - make this easier or more difficult? "How do you know you have dark hair?" Lois asked.
He gestured to his forearm with his knife. "I doubt someone with hair that colour on his arms could have blond hair on his head," he said.
Lois felt a smile bud at the thought of Clark with blond hair. She kept it under control, but then she saw that he was smiling, so she allowed her amusement to show. He waited until she had finished with the butter and jelly, and then he spread his own bagel.
"Does it feel really weird not knowing what you look like?" Lois said.
"No more weird than everything else."
"In a really strange way, I can understand," she said. "I can imagine that my hair is a mess. I don't think I've even combed it today - but because I can't see it, it's a bit easier to avoid thinking about what it must look like."
Clark's eyes rested on her, causing her heart to catapult. "It doesn't look bad at all," he said solemnly.
"Neither does your gelled hair."
"Do I usually wear it gelled?" he asked. Before she could reply, he lifted his hand to stall her. "Forget I asked that," he said with a smile.
"Thanks for being so understanding," Lois said. "This must be incredibly frustrating for you. And scary. And disturbing."
"Yeah," he said. "But you're right - stressing about it isn't going to help."
"Do you remember anything?" Lois asked. "Do you know which country we are in?"
"The United States of America," Clark replied. "It's not like my mind is empty. I have knowledge. Obviously, I know a language. I know the meanings of words and how to put them together. I know the names of things. This is strawberry jelly. I know the butter was made from cream. I know that the Detroit Red Wings play hockey and the Dallas Cowboys play football. I know the months of the year ..." He punctuated his speech with a sheepish grin. "... although I had to be told it is October."
"So ... it's only the personal stuff that's gone?" Lois asked, feeling a surge of sympathy for him.
He nodded. "It's like my existence has been erased from the panorama of life. The setting is still there, but all the people have been taken away."
"You don't remember anyone?" Lois said, unable to keep from hoping that there would be some small memory of her that had survived the obliteration.
"No. No one. Nothing." He smiled apologetically. "Sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," she said quickly.
Clark finished his bagel, pushed aside his plate, and picked up his cup of coffee. "If I can't ask questions about me, can I ask about you?" he asked. He grinned suddenly. "I'd rather talk than be stuck with my own thoughts, and I can't think of a nicer subject."
"Thank you," she said, smiling at his compliment.
"You're welcome," he said in a low voice made her want to swoon. He sipped his coffee. Grimaced.
Lois chuckled at his expression and pushed the sugar bowl closer to him. "You take two," she said.
He spooned in two generous heaps and stirred his coffee. "What is your favourite colour?"
"Red."
"Why?"
"Because it's so vibrant," she said. "Because it's bold. Because it makes a statement. Because it's never wishy-washy." And because it's the colour of passion. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at Clark, just in case he got the connection.
But he wasn't looking at her; he was sipping his coffee. "What is your favourite food?" he asked with a little smile of encouragement.
"Chocolate," Lois said, thinking about the candy bar she had given him. That first time when she had left a cup of tea and a candy bar near the door of his cell and then rushed up to her office to catch his reaction.
And the chocolate they had shared as they had worked on the jigsaw puzzle on the floor of the cell.
Lois looked at Clark over the top of her cup of coffee. Was he - even dimly - remembering either of those times?
"Favourite flower?" Clark said.
"Aster."
"Aster?"
She nodded. Ever since you brought me a vase of asters when I was feeling so lost after Moyne came to the farm.
"Asters seem an unusual choice," Clark noted quietly.
She nodded again, staring at him steadily, willing him to remember that asters were just one of the hundreds of small threads that weaved through their shared history.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I'm wondering what you're thinking," Lois said. "I'm wondering if you remember anything. If anything I say elicits even the smallest reaction."
"No," Clark said with a deep sigh. "Nothing."
"But?"
"But I'm trying to read your face ... trying to determine if there's anything significant in your answers ... something you're remembering ... something I should be remembering."
"Clark, if I thought it would be beneficial for you, I would answer every one of your questions," Lois said. "I would tell you everything. I wouldn't care about the advice of the so-called experts; I would tell you anything you wanted to know."
"Why don't you?"
Because some of your memories are like chains, and without them, you have a chance of real freedom.
"Because I think your mind will re-discover your life piece by piece," she said. "And although I realise how incredibly frustrating that is now, I think it will be best for you in the long-term."
"Is it *that* daunting?" he said. He smiled, trying to lighten his words. "Is there something I am going to discover that is earth-shattering?"
Earth-shattering? That was an ironic choice of words. "Clark," Lois said, giving him a smile. "You don't have to be afraid of anything that you don't know."
"Will you answer one question for me?" he asked, smiling in such a way that it was going to require a massive effort to refuse him anything he requested.
"Ask your question," Lois said.
"Did I give you asters?"
Her heart leapt as she searched his face for any sign of recognition. "Yes," she whispered.
His eyes dropped, and he refilled his cup from the coffee pot.
Lois finished the last morsel of her bagel, wondering why her reply had caused him to withdraw. Perhaps it was too close to an acknowledgement that their relationship had been romantic. Perhaps he wasn't ready for that yet.
"Do you remember your favourite anything?" Lois asked.
"No."
Their conversation had run aground, and Lois wasn't sure how to re-float it. "If you're finished eating, would you like to go and have a shower?" she asked.
His hand lifted to run through his plastered hair, and he grimaced. "Do you mind if I don't re-gel my hair?" he said. "It's uncomfortable. I'm not sure why I wore it like this."
"I don't mind at all," Lois said, choosing to respond to his direct question rather than his implied one. "Is your head sore anywhere?"
His fingers spread and dove deeper. "No," he said. "Should it be sore?"
No, Lois thought. "I just wanted to ensure you don't have a head injury."
"Because I can't remember?" Clark said, sounding as if that hadn't occurred to him. He continued running his hand over his head, prodding here and there.
Lois had a sudden inspired idea. "I could check for you," she said. She stood before he could decline her offer and moved behind him. His hand dropped into his lap, which Lois took as consent. She ran her fingers through the stiffly gelled rows of hair, looking for injuries that she was fairly confident she wouldn't find.
She'd covered almost every inch of his scalp when she realised something. Dried gel was not that enticing. Certainly, it didn't feel anywhere near as good as the memory of Clark's soft silky waves flowing through her fingers during their therapy.
But Clark wasn't self-conscious about it. He'd said he didn't like it, but he was comfortable enough to allow her to touch it.
"Any sore spots?" Lois asked, hoping to sway his attention away from the fact that she had stretched out this fact-finding mission as long as she reasonably could.
"No," he said. "Nothing."
Reluctantly, Lois removed her hands from his head. "That's good," she said brightly.
He stood from the chair and turned to face her. "Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Well, if there is no physical reason for the amnesia ... perhaps it's psychological."
"Don't think that," Lois said quickly. "You are the strongest, bravest person I know."
Sadness had pervaded his expression. "I won't be too long in the shower."
"Take your time," Lois said.
He picked up the bag containing his clothes and went through the door into the bathroom.
Lois walked to the window and stared out at the neatly trimmed lawns of the EPRAD base.
Again, she was the bridge between Clark and the world.
Again, she found herself in the position of having to determine what was best for him.
What should she tell him? Nothing? Something? Everything?
No, she decided quickly. Not everything. Not the cell.
He was lost and confused, but already, she had glimpsed a Clark freed from the scourge of torture and abuse and imprisonment.
If he asked about their relationship, she would answer him as honestly as she could, while still being careful not to imply that anything was expected of him.
Just like in the cell, she wanted his love - but she wanted it given freely and not tied with the strings of indebtedness.
If he discovered some of his extra abilities, she would try to make them seem normal. OK ... so that wasn't realistic. But if she were unperturbed, hopefully he would be able to be more accepting of his differences.
And if she needed to use the fact that he had saved the world to bolster his self-confidence, she would.
But the cell. The horror and depravity of the cell ... She would do everything to protect him from that.
It was going to come up. Perhaps Clark would ask how they had met. Should she avoid every reference that could possibly be linked back to the cell? Would that just make him suspicious? Would that inadvertently lead him directly to the place she most wanted to avoid?
Should she pick out the good memories and hope that they would be enough to suppress any need to dig further?
She desperately wanted Clark to remember being with her. She could feel the cords of fear binding her heart. What if he never remembered her? What if - free from the cell - he didn't need her? What if he never remembered that he loved her?
She *had* to encourage memories of them being together. But some of their best memories - the hair washing, their first date, the paper airplanes - had happened in the cell.
And then there was his mother. Clark was going to ask about his parents. What possible explanation could she give for a mother of unknown whereabouts? A mother no one could guarantee was even alive? A mother who might not be found for weeks or even months?
Lois turned away from the window and sank onto the sofa.
What if she'd lost Clark?
He'd been caring. He'd been considerate. He'd been polite.
But there had been nothing in his actions or words to suggest that he felt anything for her at all.
How she wished she could take him into her arms and tell him that although the answers to his questions were astounding in the extreme, everything would be all right. She wished she could run her hands down his cheeks and to his chin and hold him there while her mouth captured his.
They had promised each other that - as soon as they were together again - they would finally kiss.
Now, they were together, but ...
||_||
Clark stared into the mirror in the bathroom.
His heart sank.
And sank further.
He closed his eyes. Opened them. Closed them again. Opened them again.
Nothing had changed.
He dropped his head into his hands and turned away from the mirror in utter despair.
