His humour dispersed. "Is this what you want?" he said gravely. "Is this really what you want?"
"Clark," Lois said. "I can honestly say that I have wanted this almost from the time I first met you."
"I can honestly say that, too," he said. "In fact, it probably happened twice."
She smiled. "Have you finished eating?"
"Yes." He stood, wiping his hands on the napkin. He held out his hand. "My past is gone," he said. "But my future is yours, and I would be honoured if you would share it with me, Lois."
She took his hand, smiling and swallowing down her tears. "Forever," she said.
"Let's go. Let's get out of here and begin making these memories."
Lois picked up her cell phone and dialled Scardino.
Clark watched her - smiling, happy, relaxed.
Free.
Part 4
The leafy residential streets of Metropolis evoked no memories at all for Clark. Although, as he reflected wryly, their chance of having an impact would have been greater if he'd been able to wrest his eyes from Lois for more than a few seconds at a time.
He was intoxicated with her.
He wanted to touch her. If that wasn't possible, he wanted to watch her.
In some ways, he felt as if he had lost everything - but it was his shared history with Lois that he mourned most deeply.
Perhaps those memories had vanished forever.
But they had the chance now to make more memories, and Clark felt a burning compulsion to ensure that nothing mar their time together.
Lois hadn't actually said that she loved him.
But then, he hadn't actually said that he loved her.
He did.
Beneath the bubble and fizz of feelings that were exhilarating in their newness, he was conscious of the steadfast and enduring resonance of lifelong love. Love that was independent of his memories.
His mind had forgotten. His heart had not.
Lois looked across at him, and Clark smiled. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
"That even if I could remember every day of my life, this would still be the best," he said.
Her smile came easily, enchanting him. "Your confidence staggers me," she said. "Aren't you concerned ... just a bit ... that this might be a reflexive reaction? That once things settle and become clearer, you could have second thoughts?"
"No," he said with conviction. "How I feel about you withstood losing my memories. Remembering isn't going to change anything important."
"And if you don't remember?"
"Then my life will be an empty canvas. We'll start again."
Her smile carried such sweet promise.
She *wanted* to be with him. As much as he wanted to be with her.
That insight gave him the impetus to speak out. "Lois?" he said, finally taking an interest in the passing scenery. "Is there somewhere we could stop and talk? Have coffee, perhaps? Do we do that?"
"We do," she said cautiously.
"But you don't want to now?"
"I'm still wearing the clothes I slept in," she said.
Clark hadn't noticed. In fact, she looked perfect to him. "Oh," he said. "Sorry."
She swung him another smile. "We'll be at my dad's place in about five minutes. We can talk then. Is that all right?"
"That's fine," he said. Her attention shifted forward again, and Clark returned to his still-scattered thoughts.
Lois hadn't confirmed it, but Clark was sure that he had been the one to stall the progress of their relationship. Inwardly, he shook his head, unable to fathom any plausible reason for his reticence.
He hadn't even kissed her.
Clark rubbed the roughness of his chin.
He had to shave.
If he kissed Lois ... If she kissed him back ... It wasn't going to be a light peck.
His stubble was going to scratch her skin.
He *had* to buy a razor. He had to shave. Before this evening.
They pulled into the driveway of a large and stately house. It gave Clark an immediate impression of wealth - although it was far from ostentatious. He remembered the bulky feel of the wallet Lois had given him and hoped there would be enough money to buy clothes and pay for their meal tonight.
Did he have a bank account? Was he a spender? Or a saver?
He couldn't shake the feeling of having been handed someone else's life. And with that came the unsettling notion that he might one day have to return something that wasn't really his.
Rationally, he knew his reservations were unfounded, but that didn't diminish his need to make every moment count.
Lois unlocked the door and led him into an entrance foyer. "You don't live here anymore?" he asked, looking up the lofty staircase.
"No," Lois replied. "My parents split up when I was twelve. My dad moved here, and I have a bedroom upstairs where I stayed when I was with him."
"I'm sorry about your parents," Clark said, checking her for signs of lingering trauma. "Are you close to them?"
"Close to my dad. Not so much my mom."
"Do you have some spare clothes here?"
"A few." She smiled. "I'll probably look like something that escaped from the eighties, but at least I'll be clean."
"Do you have anything to wear for our date?"
"No. But you mentioned wanting to buy some clothes."
Clark laughed to cover his awkwardness. "You're probably more aware of my financial situation than I am," he said. "But I'd really like to buy you an outfit to wear tonight."
"You would?"
"Most definitely."
"Thank you," she said. "And your financial situation is such that you don't have to worry about money."
That was ... *probably* good news.
Lois grinned. "You didn't rob a bank," she said. "Nor are you involved in any crime. Nor did you cheat anyone. The money you have was honestly gained."
Clark mirrored her grin. "The obvious comment is how adept you are at reading my mind," he said. "But considering how little is left in there, you must be getting your information from somewhere else."
"Maybe I'm reading your heart," she said. "Which is easy because it hasn't changed a bit."
There was a question that had nagged him incessantly since he'd regained consciousness. He thought he could accurately predict Lois's reply, but he needed to hear her say it. "Do I have a good heart?" Clark asked.
"The best," she said. "The very best."
"That's good," he said quietly. "Because you deserve the best."
"I have it," Lois said with another smile that had Clark marvelling again at his good fortune. She moved into an adjacent room, dumped her bag on the coffee table, and sat on the sofa. "What do you want to talk about?"
Clark sat beside her. "I've been thinking," he said.
"Oh?"
"I know you're guarded about revealing details of my life, and I understand your reasons."
"Thanks," she said.
"Is it all right if I tell you what I'm thinking?" he continued. "You don't have to confirm or deny anything."
"All right," Lois agreed after a moment's deliberation.
Clark began with a smile, hoping he didn't look too much like a nervous teenager about to bare his heart. "I think there are specific reasons for your caution."
"That was the advice from the counsellor."
He nodded. "But I think that if my life had been straightforward, there would be very little reason not to tell me."
Lois's gaze dropped to where her hand was lying on her thigh. So, his hunch was correct. There was *something*. She shuffled closer to him. "Clark, I would do anything to help you through this."
He looked into the brown wells of her eyes and saw the fragments of pain that she couldn't conceal. Something in their past had hurt her. He hadn't been the one to hurt her, but he had been ineffective in alleviating her anguish. Now - despite not knowing what had entangled them - he could claim freedom. For both of them.
"Lois," Clark said, covering her hand with his. "It's OK. This isn't about trying to change your mind. Quite the opposite, in fact."
"I just want to do what is best for you."
"I know that," Clark hurried to assure her. "That's why I wanted to tell you that I trust your judgement. I don't know enough to be able to decide what is best. You do. That's enough for me."
"You are showing incredible faith in someone you met this morning."
He lifted her hand from her thigh and placed it in the middle of his chest. "This part of me has known you for a lot longer than a few hours."
"Aww, Clark," she said with a tremulous smile.
"I do have one question," he said. "Whatever this thing is ... Can it stop us being together?"
"No," she said.
That was all he needed. "I don't want us to be consumed by what I don't remember," he said. "I don't want to worry about what I'm missing."
"Do you really think you can do that?"
"If I don't, I think it could become a barrier between us," Clark said. "Perhaps it has been already. Perhaps that is why I've never kissed you."
"Clark ..."
So much responsibility had been placed on her petite shoulders. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll be all right."
She gave him a halting smile. "That's my line," she said.
Clark raised her hand to his mouth and touched a feather-light kiss to it. "I'm not promising I won't ask questions," he said. "But I want to enjoy being with you, and I think stressing over how we got to this point will only tarnish our time together now."
Lois jumped to her feet and held her hand towards him. He took it and stood. "First test," she announced brightly.
"A test?" Clark said, grinning because she was.
"To see if you can do what I say without asking questions," she said.
"I didn't say I wouldn't -"
"Arms wide."
Clark spread his arms out from his shoulders. "Like this?"
Lois nodded her approval. "Do you remember if you're ticklish?"
"No."
"Let's find out, shall we?" she said.
"You mean, you don't know?"
"You threatened to tickle me once."
The thought of it drove his smile wider. His hands ... her ribs ... "Are you going to tickle me?" he asked, trying desperately to keep his voice steady.
Suddenly, her hands dived for his sides. Her fingers probed through the thickness of his sweater and shirt.
In an instant, Clark realised two things. He wasn't remotely ticklish. And her hands on his body was exquisite torture.
His arms dropped, sandwiching her hands against his sides. Her fingers stopped their feverish commotion and fell still, clasping his ribcage.
He had to do something. If he didn't, he was going to kiss her. Her mouth was right there, waiting ...
He wanted to.
So much.
But he hadn't shaved.
Clark lifted his arms and tried to encircle her. Anticipating his counterattack, she ducked. He bent his knees, tightened his hold, lifted her feet from the ground, and tossed her gently onto the sofa.
As she landed, his knees thudded to the floor, and he took possession of her lower arms. "D... don't ... don't tickle me," Lois said, her words punctuated with peals of laughter.
Clark kept his grip loose enough that she could easily break away if she wanted to. Her pseudo-struggles caused her elbow to press into his chest - a touch that burned straight through his clothing to scorch his skin.
Perhaps she felt it, too, because all of her playfulness drained away and her giggles faded. He had to get out while he still could. He released her wrists and held his hands aloft in surrender.
Her serrated breaths lifted her chest. Her smile returned, softly this time. "You," she said sternly, pointing at him. "You are way too hot for tickling to be a game."
He was? Her words entered his ears, made a mush of his brain, and radiated through his entire body like a slow-burning fire. Even if his mind had been capable of forming coherent words, his tongue being cleaved to the roof of his mouth was incompatible with speech.
He attempted a smile and stood - a little unsteadily - to his feet.
"I should have that shower," Lois said as she rocked off the sofa. "Is there anything you would like to do?"
Her words were casual and her tone even, but there was enough of a gleam in her eye for Clark to suspect that her question was not entirely innocuous. He pried his tongue free and determinedly chose the safe path. "Does your dad have a television?" he inquired nonchalantly. "I should probably try to catch up with what's been happening in the world."
"Do you like to read?" Lois said. "Dad has a huge collection of books in his study."
"OK," Clark said, hoping that his internal conflict between disappointment and relief was not noticeable. "That sounds good."
"Come this way." Lois led him up the stairs. At the top, she walked along the short corridor. "That's my dad's room," she said, indicating a room with an open door. "My room, the spare room, the bathroom. And this is my dad's study." They walked in. Two walls were lined from floor to ceiling with books. In the corner was a stand, which appeared as if it should have something on it. "Do you think you'll be able to find anything interesting here?"
"Sure," Clark said, gazing at the rows and rows of books.
Lois brushed her hand across his arm. "See you soon."
Clark watched her leave, wondering if the fascination of simply watching her would ever diminish. He tried to wrest his mind from Lois, which wasn't made any easier by the sounds of her sorting through her closet and drawers.
He picked up a book at random and opened it.
His eyes drifted from the meaningless strings of letters and to the stand.
It looked as if something had once hung from it, but it was too short to be a hatstand. He shrugged, accepting that he wasn't going to determine its purpose. Perhaps he could ask Lois.
Her footsteps emerged from her bedroom and crossed to the bathroom. Clark returned the book and walked out of the study. The bathroom door was shut. He crossed the corridor and hesitantly went through the open door into her dad's bedroom.
Feeling as if he were invading another man's territory, Clark made straight for the full-length mirror he had noticed as he'd walked past the room.
He slipped off his sweater, unbuttoned his shirt, and inhaled as he caught a whiff of a pleasantly woody aroma. It seemed too masculine to be Lois's perfume. Perhaps - despite his plethora of shortfalls - his former self had actually managed to choose a nice after-shave.
Clark slipped the shirt from his shoulders and stared into the mirror. He turned sideways and then strained his neck to see his back.
It confirmed what he had surmised from the much smaller mirror in the bathroom at the base.
He had no scars.
His skin had no blemishes. As he had dried his legs, he had checked every inch of them. Even his knees were unmarked.
So - unless there was something on his butt - his body was without a scar.
How did a man get to his ... Clark took a guess ... late twenties without incurring even one scar on his body? His first suspicion had been that he must have been some sort of scared-of-his-own-shadow wimp who hadn't done anything reckless enough to risk injury.
But his body told a vastly different story. His shoulders were broad with swollen cords of muscle. His chest was defined, his stomach taut. This was not the body of someone who sat around all day.
So why were there no scars?
How had he avoided all injuries?
A noise sounded from the door, and Clark jumped.
Lois was there, still fully dressed.
He felt the heat of mortification flare into his cheeks, spread down his throat and onto his chest.
"Everything OK?" Lois asked, as if it were customary for her male guests to preen in front of the mirror.
"Ah ..." Clark stepped away from the mirror. "This looks *really* bad, doesn't it?" he said.
"No," she said.
"Yes, it does. It looks like I was checking out my own body."
"It's OK to be curious," Lois said.
That made it worse. Clark diffidently approached her. "I ... I should try to explain."
"If you want to. But it's OK if you don't."
"I ... In the bathroom at the base, I noticed that I don't seem to have many scars on my body. I looked for them, thinking that it might help me remember some incident from the past. The mirror was too small to see my back and sides properly. I noticed this mirror as we walked past ..." He shrugged. "Sorry if I intruded. I know it's your father's room."
"You didn't intrude," she said quickly.
Clark didn't know what else to say. He'd given Lois a truthful explanation, but he wasn't sure if she was buying it.
He checked her face, hoping to be able to discern if she believed him.
But she wasn't looking at him. Not at his face, anyway. Her eyes were cast lower; they were affixed to his bare chest.
Clark felt his mouth stretch to a grin. He walked right up to her, keeping his hands by his sides. If she wanted to look at him, he was more than happy to stand here and let her look.
"You ... are ... stunning," she said.
Her assessment was gratifying, but it was her breathy tone that detonated a few million explosions through his body.
Clark waited, basking in her open admiration.
"I ... ah ... I probably should put on my shirt," he said eventually.
"You won't get any complaints from me if you don't," Lois said. She laughed, releasing some of the tension that had syphoned the oxygen from the room.
He turned around and walked away from her, bending low to pick up his discarded shirt and sweater.
Her quick intake of breath sizzled through the silence.
When he turned, she was gone.
Clark put on his shirt and buttoned it as he walked back to the study. He put his sweater on the desk and surveyed the books again.
He wouldn't think about Lois. He wouldn't think about her expression as she had gazed at his chest. He wouldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss her. He would find a book that stood some chance of holding his attention.
What interested him?
One title caught his attention - it was called 'The Workings of the Human Mind'.
He skimmed through a few chapters. It was dry and lingo-driven, but he found enough passages that seemed to bear some relevance to his situation to keep his mind from dwelling on Lois.
Finally, footsteps sounded, and she appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in another pair of jeans and a light green sweater. Her hair shone glossy black, and her cheeks bore a tinge of subtle pink. "Do you still want to go out shopping for clothes?" she asked.
He nodded, realising he'd forgotten to check his wallet.
"I'll just get my bag."
She turned, and Clark took out his wallet and opened it. The large bundle of notes shocked him. He quickly skimmed his thumb over them and estimated there was at least eight hundred dollars. That would be more than enough for clothes for himself, an outfit for Lois, and their meal tonight.
Lois had said that his financial position was good, but he hadn't expected to be carrying around so much cash.
It was just one more thing about Clark Kent that seemed to have no rational explanation.
"Let's go," Lois said, appearing again.
"Do you have somewhere in mind?"
"Yes," she replied. "There's a store where my father has bought clothes for many years. Good quality, reasonable prices, and a quiet, dignified atmosphere with helpful but not pushy assistants."
"Have you been there before? Will they recognise you?"
"I haven't been there. Dad often spoke about them."
"Do they cater to people my age?"
"Yes. And they stock everything, including shoes."
"Do they sell women's clothing?"
"No, but there's a store nearby that should have something suitable."
"OK," Clark said. He picked up his sweater from the desk and followed Lois down the stairs.
||_||
"Lois?"
"Yes?"
Clark paused before continuing, even though he'd spent the last ten minutes trying to decide if he should pursue this conversation.
"What is it?" Lois asked.
"Remember what we talked about earlier? How there is *something* that I've forgotten?"
"Yeah," she said hesitantly.
"Did it hurt you, too?"
Her response was limited to a slight nod, but it was enough for him to know that she had suffered, too.
"Would you pull over, please?" Clark said.
She did.
When the Jeep had come to stop, Clark reached for her chin and gently positioned her at exactly the right angle so her beautiful eyes slotted straight into his. "Is it going to make this more difficult for you - not being able to share it with me?"
"No," she said. She paused a moment and then seemed to reach a decision. "You asked why our relationship had stalled. Partly it was because I was grieving for a friend who was brutally murdered. But also -"
"Aw, Lois," Clark said, feeling his heart begin to weep for her. "I'm so sorry."
"But partly it was because you needed time as well." She smiled through the sheen of gathering tears. "You could say we were two damaged souls trying to help each other."
"And now ... with me not remembering ... that leaves you to deal with this on your own?"
"I'm not on my own," Lois said. "I have you."
He *had* to tell her. He couldn't keep it to himself any longer. He risked sounding shallow and too eager, but he had to tell her. "I love you, Lois," he said. "My love for you survived when my memories didn't. *Nothing* will ever change how I feel about you."
She began a quivery smile, but before it reached maturity, one precious tear escaped from between her fluttering eyelids and tumbled slowly down her cheek. "You sound so sure."
"I have no doubts," Clark said earnestly. "None at all. From the very first moment I saw you, I knew."
"Clark," she said. "I love you. And I am in awe of how you are dealing with this."
She loved him. Lois loved him. "It's only possible because I have you," he said. "Because I trust you."
"Thank you for that trust."
"I'm guessing ... that with both of us hurting ... trust was really important in our relationship?"
"Yes," she said. "It was."
"Maybe that survived, too. Knowing that I can trust you. No matter what."
She smiled and lifted her hand towards the traces of the tear on her cheek.
Clark caught her wrist. "May I?" he asked.
She nodded.
He leant forward and touched a kiss to the path of her tear.
When he backed away, Lois was smiling. "What was that?" she asked.
"That was the prelude," he said.
"There's more to come?"
Clark grinned. "Tonight. Our date. After I've shaved."
"I really don't mind the stubble."
"I am not going to scratch you."
"You seem very sure of your intentions."
"I'm going to kiss you," he declared. "Unless you ask me not to."
"I won't."
"And it will be something that neither of us will *ever* forget."
He saw her swallow. He saw the blaze of passion light her eyes, and it roared through him like a ball of fire. He let go of her chin and sat back in his seat. "You need to keep driving, Ms Lane," he said.
"Or?"
He looked at her, managing a grin. "Or ... Just drive."
She chuckled shakily, but to his relief, she started the motor and pulled back onto the road.
||_||
Lois had never had the inclination to attend a fashion show.
However, as Clark tried on various clothes and emerged from the fitting room seeking her opinion, she realised that she'd possibly undervalued the concept.
Of course, the level of enjoyment was probably directly proportional to the sexiness of the model.
Which explained precisely why her level of enjoyment was sky-high.
She remembered her shock when she had walked into the cell for their 'date' and encountered a clean-shaven, well-dressed man with neatly cut hair - and been staggered by his youth. But it was more than that.
He wasn't just young. He was breath-stranglingly, muscle-meltingly gorgeous.
And now ... now, his steadily growing confidence dramatically intensified his natural magnetism.
He'd treated her to half an hour of different outfits - most of them enhanced simply because he was wearing them.
As she waited for him to change into his clothes, she reflected that he had gravitated towards garments similar to those she had found in his closet when she'd gone to Smallville the first time.
His taste had matured a little - but he still basically favoured a classic, not-too-extreme look.
His stash included a pair of well-fitting jeans that curved enticingly around his butt, a pair of black slacks, two crisp shirts - one white, one pale blue - a dark grey jacket, two black tee shirts, a checked shirt, a navy blue sweater, a pair of sleep shorts, three pairs of briefs, a pair of black leather shoes, and a purple-and-gold striped tie.
Unfortunately, his penchant for wild ties seemed to have survived the amnesia.
But everything else was perfect.
And Lois felt just as excited as she would have if the new clothes had been hers. It was going to be fun watching him wear them.
It was going to be even more fun if she got to watch him take them off.
He appeared at the door of the fitting room, and Lois cleared her throat as she dusted those thoughts from her mind.
Clark smiled. "Thanks for all of your help," he said.
"You're welcome."
"Now we need to find something for you to wear tonight. Do you have any ideas?"
"Yes," Lois said. "I want to surprise you."
"You don't want me to come into the store?"
"You can come in. And you can give your opinion. But I'd like to keep my final choice a secret."
"Until tonight?" Clark said huskily.
"Until tonight," Lois echoed.
||_||
Eric Menzies tapped on his wife's door and entered.
She rose from her chair and approached him. "Phoebe?" he said.
"You did it," she said. "I saw you on the television. You saved the world."
"It wasn't really -"
She timidly put her hand on his arm. "I'm ... I'm very proud of you, Eric."
Eric stared at her, speechless.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
All he could do was nod.
She reached up and brushed a kiss to his cheek. "Take me home, Eric," she said. "Please take me home."
"I will, Phoebe," he said. "I will."
