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.
Part 5
Lois looked into the large fitting-room mirror and couldn't hold back her smile.
She twisted, swivelled, leant slightly forward, and tried a variety of poses, looking in each of the three mirrors to see herself from every angle.
She couldn't *ever* remember looking this good.
The dress could have been designed specifically for her. It was black in colour. And demurely low-cut in a way that suggested rather than showed. It was close fitting enough to accentuate her curves, but not tight enough to feel like she was being suffocated. The gently angled hemline revealed a splash of skin above her left knee before dropping sedately to the top of her right calf.
What would Clark think?
Lois chuckled. This dress should probably come with a coronary warning.
But ...
Her high spirits dissolved.
She had a date with Clark - a real-dress-up-romantic date with the man who exceeded every one of her dreams.
But there was a brewing storm cloud that doused her excitement.
Clark's desire to shave.
He wanted to kiss her. She revelled in his self-assurance, his plainly spoken intention.
But how did you explain to someone that there was no razor strong enough to shave his whiskers?
How did you tell him that his clean-shaven look is achieved with a mirror?
And that was just the first step in a steep slide of disconcerting discoveries.
How did you inform a man that he had taken on an asteroid the size of a town? And won?
The powers were going to surface eventually. She was a little surprised that they hadn't appeared already.
With that thought, Lois hurriedly unzipped the dress and began to remove it. Clark was waiting for her outside the fitting rooms. He'd promised to stay there - but every moment he was alone was a moment when something could happen that would startle everyone in the vicinity and completely confound Clark.
Timing was imperative. She wanted him to enjoy being 'normal' for as long as possible. Normal, loved, accepted, respected. The more stalwart that foundation, the easier it was going to be for him to assimilate the special abilities into his self-perception.
She'd loved him wholeheartedly before the asteroid. But this ... this *new* Clark - free of inhibitions and released from the effects of the cell - was like having the real Clark emerge boldly from the shadows. This afternoon he had stood there - completely devoid of either arrogance or self-consciousness - and allowed her to ogle his bare chest.
And when he had thrown her bodily onto the sofa ...
This was high-octane unpolluted Clark, and he excited her. His mere existence called to everything female within her. She felt like a volcano tottering of the edge of eruption.
Lois quickly slipped on her jeans, jolting her thoughts back to the practical.
For now, she had to deal with the shaving. Would he just accept that he couldn't shave? Would that fall under his promise to accept what he knew and refuse to be consumed by what he didn't know?
She pulled her sweater over her head, gathered up the five outfits she had brought into the fitting room, and exited.
Clark stood up and smiled. "Were you able to choose something?" he asked, looking remarkably unfazed in what had to be an unfamiliar environment - even before his memories had abandoned him.
"Yes," Lois said. "I found exactly the right dress."
"I'd like to pay," Clark said, removing his wallet from his pocket.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," he said, handing her his wallet. "Take as much as you need."
"OK," Lois said, seeing that a significant portion of the thousand dollars had gone and realising that she was going to have to give him some details about money soon. She removed the necessary bills from his wallet and returned it to him. "Thank you, Clark," she said with a smile.
"You're welcome," he said softly. He gestured towards the front door. "I'll wait there. I won't turn around and peek, I promise."
She smiled and headed to the sales clerk.
||_||
Clark stared out of the store. Like the men's store earlier, this was in a quiet neighbourhood. On either side of the road were other, similarly low-key stores. Lois had said that the men's store was where her dad shopped. He was obviously successful in his job. What did Lois do?
What occupation could he imagine for her? Something requiring her sharp mind. Something varied. Something where her initiative would be an asset.
What did *he* do?
Did they work together?
Was that how they had met?
Could their job be the reason he hadn't acted on his love for Lois?
He felt her brush against his arm and turned with a smile. "Everything OK?" he asked, glancing down to the bag she carried.
"Yes," Lois said, quickly hiding it behind her back. "You'll see in a couple of hours."
He couldn't wait. He could feel the frisson of anticipation. There was just one more thing to do. "Now I need to buy a razor."
"Clark." Lois grasped his arm. "Let's go back to the Jeep."
He sensed tension in her tone and looked around for whatever had alarmed her. There was nothing obvious - just a smattering of people going about their business.
Clark followed her to where they'd parked the Jeep. "What is it, Lois?" he asked as they shut the doors on the outside world. He could see her anxiety. It had risen from the midst of the satisfaction he'd detected over the purchase of her dress.
She took a jittery breath. "Clark ... would you mind not shaving?"
"You like the straggly look that much? It doesn't really suit the clothes I bought."
"Clark," she said urgently. "You said that you would accept things without understanding them. That's what I'm asking here."
He tried to smile to ward off his looming apprehension. "Is this like the tickling? A test of how much I trust you?" he said.
Her smile appeared for a fleeting second. "Not really," she said. "I just ... Please don't try to shave."
Why not? Didn't she want to kiss him? Was there some disfigurement on his face that was hidden by the stubble? Was *that* why he had never kissed her? Because he couldn't shave? Then why didn't he have a long beard?
The questions hammered at his brain ... but he had promised Lois his implicit trust. "OK," he said.
"I want you to kiss me at the end of our date."
"But Lois -"
"This is not about me not wanting you to kiss me," she said earnestly. "But I need some time to work out the practicalities."
The practicalities seemed straightforward to Clark. Buy a razor. Shave. At the end of their date - possibly before that - take her into his arms and kiss her extravagantly.
But apparently, it wasn't that simple.
"I won't shave," he said. "And I won't try to work out why."
Her smile was more than enough reward. And the accompanying touch to his hand made everything else fade to insignificance. "Thank you," Lois said. "I know I'm asking more of you than I could probably give."
"I get the feeling that my amnesia is asking more of you than is fair," Clark replied. "I want to do everything I can to make this easier."
"Thank you," Lois said with a smile imbued with relief and gratitude. She started the motor. "Let's go back to my dad's place. We have a date tonight."
||_||
Clark adjusted his tie so it sat neatly in the apex of his starched collar. He slipped on his jacket and surveyed the result in the full-length mirror. His new clothes looked good. But his face ...
He grimaced.
His stubble had grown progressively longer and thicker since his unsuccessful attempt to shave this morning.
Why was Lois so against him shaving?
Was it because - despite everything she'd said and her evident appreciation of his bare chest - she was nervous about this first kiss? Was she hoping that his stubble would mean the kiss would be limited to a brief touch?
Or was it somehow linked with the lack of scars on his body? If his body couldn't be marked, did that mean his whiskers couldn't be shaved?
Clark stepped away from the mirror, heedful of his promise not to allow himself to be plagued by the unknown. There were more important things to fill his mind.
Regardless of whether they kissed or not, he had a date with Lois.
And that made him the luckiest man on the planet.
He removed his glasses and checked the mirror again.
That was better. He didn't like the glasses - and they certainly didn't improve his vision. He could see just as well without them.
He heard footsteps beyond his closed door. Lois must be finished in the bathroom. The door to her bedroom opened ... and closed. Very soon, she could begin to dress.
He tried to imagine how she would look. What colour would she have chosen? Red? She'd said that was her favourite colour. With her dark hair, she would look sensational in red.
Or perhaps black.
Lois in black would be breath-taking.
Blue? Not pale blue. But vivid blue - dark and just a little bit mysterious.
How long would it take her to dress?
Ten minutes?
Half an hour?
For the hundredth time, Clark checked his watch. Their food was due in forty-five minutes.
Would she need all of that time?
It was too soon to expect her to be ready, but he strained his ears, hoping to hear her door opening.
Da-dub.
What was that?
Da-dub.
Da-dub.
He looked around. The noise was coming from outside the room. Was it a heater? Or perhaps a security system?
He listened again.
Da-dub.
It was a soft, muted noise. Too quiet to be a motor.
Clark opened the door and stopped in the passageway.
Da-dub.
The noise was coming from Lois's room.
He looked at her door.
And *saw* her.
He wheeled around, staggering away and clutching the doorframe to her father's room as the image gouged through his conscience.
He had seen Lois.
He had seen *through* her closed door.
He had intruded on her privacy. He had violated her trust.
He had to tell her.
Now.
Leave it, a voice echoed through his head. Leave it until after your date. Don't risk upsetting her now.
He couldn't leave it. Even if it meant their date didn't happen. He couldn't sit across from her all evening and pretend everything was all right.
It wasn't all right.
Perhaps it would never be all right again.
Clark straightened from where he had been listing against the doorframe, and - in a haze of bewilderment and shame - he took the three steps needed to arrive at Lois's bedroom door, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
He knocked. "Lois?" he said in voice that sounded as if someone had shoved shattered glass down his throat.
"Yes, Clark?"
"I ... I need to talk to you. Now."
"OK."
A few seconds later, the door opened, and Lois stood there, tying the belt on her robe. She smiled at him. "What's -" Her eyes slipped down his body. "Whoa," she said in a voice rich with appreciation. "You look ... wow."
This had to be done quickly. It had to be done before he lost all nerve and went scurrying back to anywhere that might afford him a hiding place. "I saw you," he gulped. "I saw you through the door."
Her initial surprise receded in less than a heartbeat and was replaced by a cautious smile. "I wondered when something like that might happen."
"You ... you knew?"
She nodded.
"I didn't mean to," Clark said quickly. "I was just looking at your door, and suddenly, it was as if a big hole appeared in it and I could see you."
Lois reached for him, her hand a steadying touch to his arm. "It's OK," she said.
"It's *not* OK," he railed, even now unable to believe what he'd done. "You should be safe in your bedroom. You should be safe from someone -"
"You didn't mean to look."
"No!" he exclaimed. "I would *never* do that."
Lois smiled. And chuckled. And looked at him with soft brown eyes that glimmered with love. "I know that," she said. "I know that you would never take advantage of your extra skills."
"Skills?" he gasped. "Those *skills* just turned me into a sleazy -"
"No!" Lois said. "If you don't know for sure that you would *never* do that deliberately, then believe me. You *wouldn't* do that. You never have."
"This ..." He sucked in a breath, trying to calm the crazed commotion jangling inside his skull. "This is the 'something'? This is what you didn't want me to know?"
"Partly."
"And you're OK about being in the same house with me?"
Lois chuckled softly. "Think about it, Clark. Even if I were in a different house, you can see through walls."
"I ... I can see through walls?"
"As far I as I know, you can see through everything except lead." She rubbed her hand up and down his arm. "And before you ask, you can see through clothes as well. Is that what happened? You saw me naked?"
Clark gulped loudly enough that it could have drowned out thunder. "No," he croaked. "No. You were wearing a thin black thing."
"My slip," she said. "I was wearing my slip."
He nodded. "I'm so sorry, Lois."
"I'm sorry, too," she said.
"What do you have to be sorry about?"
"Perhaps I should have told you before you found out like this. Perhaps I should have realised when you were talking about not having any scars." Her hand came to rest on his elbow. "Has anything else happened?"
He was almost too afraid to ask. "Such as?"
"Enhanced hearing?"
He nodded. "When I was in that room, I heard ..." He stopped as the realisation hit him.
"My heartbeat," Lois said.
So she knew about that, too. "I feel like a stalker," Clark said miserably.
"No," she said. "These extra skills are safe with you because you will never use them wrongly."
"You sound very sure."
"I am. I'm more sure about that than anything else."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
She nodded sombrely. "Yes. And it's completely justified."
"What else should I know?" he said as his imagination surged into overdrive. "Am I going to suddenly erupt in flames? Grow horns? Have limbs falling off?"
"Nothing like that," Lois said.
"But there's more?"
"Yes."
He wasn't sure he wanted specifics. Not yet. "So I'm a freak?"
"No. You're the man I love."
"I'm a freak."
"Clark," Lois said. "Do you know why I didn't tell you about this earlier?"
"You figured I was too fragile to be told the truth?"
"No. I wanted you to enjoy being just like everyone else for a while."
"How could I be just like everyone else?" he demanded. "I didn't even remember my own name."
Lois lifted her hand and placed it along his unshaven jaw. "You just asked me if you're a freak," she said. "No, you're not. You're not a freak. You can do some things that no one else can do. But what really sets you apart is your integrity and your strength and your selflessness. Yes, you're different. And in the past, you've agonised over all the downsides of being different. I wanted to give you a chance to break free from that mindset so that when you found out, you could accept it as just a fact of your life."
"It's a whole lot more than -"
"Clark," Lois said, her fingertips gliding across the smooth skin of his upper cheeks. "You asked me for a date. Our food will be here soon. I still have to get dressed. If you want to, we can sit down now and talk this through. I'll answer your questions. But ..." She gave him a little smile. "But I have a new dress, and you look gorgeous."
But he could see through doors.
Lois covered his cheeks with both of her hands and tilted his head forward. She stretched up and placed a balmy kiss on the point of his cheekbone.
Clark leant forward, allowing his forehead to rest on the top of her head.
Whatever was wrong with him would still be there later. Lois knew, and she still wanted this date with him. Clark realigned his mind. Yes, he was weirdly different. But Lois Lane had chosen to be with him.
He lifted his head and gestured over his shoulder. "I'll wait in there."
"If you're alone, are you going to stress about this?"
He didn't know how to answer her truthfully.
"You are, aren't you?" Lois said. She clasped his hand. "Come on in. You can chat to me while I get dressed."
"Lois," Clark gasped. "I *can't* be in there while you are getting dressed."
"You're not going to see anything you haven't already seen," she said pragmatically.
"But ... but ..."
"Wait here a second." She brushed past him and went into her father's room. When she returned, she was holding his glasses. "Put these on," she said. "They help you *not* to see."
He wore glasses to *weaken* his visual abilities? He slipped them on.
"Coming in?" she asked, as nonchalantly as if she were asking him in for a cup of tea.
He shook his head. "I couldn't, Lois. It's just ... It's not right."
"OK. I'll be ready as quickly as possible. But please," she said, levelling her eyes in his. "Please don't worry about this."
"But -"
"Clark, nothing can happen that we can't deal with. Please believe me."
"OK."
Lois put her hand on the doorknob. "Give me five minutes," she said.
"OK." Clark took a step back. "And Lois, I really am sorry."
"You didn't do anything wrong."
She closed the door, and Clark went back into her dad's room. He could see through solid objects. He couldn't shave.
But Lois loved him anyway.
He stopped in front of the mirror and stared at the regular-looking image of a dark-haired young man.
What was he?
What else could he do?
He recalled an earlier conversation with Lois. He had asked her if he had a good heart. Suddenly, that had taken on enormous implications. To have these extra skills ... to be able to see through walls ... the potential for wrong was huge.
But Lois had said that he had a good heart.
She had known that he hadn't meant to look at her. He hadn't even had to tell her. She'd just known.
Behind him, he heard the bedroom door open. He turned. Lois walked towards him.
His breath stopped.
She wore a shiny black dress that subtly hinted at every tantalising curve of her body. The material slanted across her knees, and beyond its hem, her calves emerged, delicately shaped by the raised heels of her black shoes.
Her arms were bare. The shoulders of the dress sat wide on her neck, exposing the soft white skin of her throat and inner collarbones.
His eyes drifted lower.
And he saw them.
Three fading lines.
Marks.
Scars.
Scratches.
Clark stepped up to her, his breath tight for an entirely new reason. "What happened?" he said tautly. "Who did this to you?"
Lois put her hand under his chin and lifted his gaze from her chest. "Do you think you did this?" she asked.
"I hope not," he breathed.
She gave him a smile. "Of course you didn't, Clark," she said. "You would never do something like that."
Despite her hand, his gaze dropped again. The scratches stopped just short of the curve of her breasts. "Who did?"
"Someone tried to hurt me. You came and -"
"Where is he now?"
"He's dead."
Clark's eyes fell shut as horror engulfed him. "I did it," he said weakly. "I killed him. That's why I can't remember."
"No," Lois said, grasping the lapel of his jacket. "No. You didn't kill him. He was arrested for what he had tried to do to me. At -"
"Tried?"
"Yes. *Tried*. He didn't hurt me."
Clark's eyes travelled the length of the three lines. "I can see the scars," he said.
"That's all he did. Nothing else. You came."
"I came? And I saw this? And I *didn't* kill him?"
"No."
Clark released a breathy cocktail of relief and wrath. "I'm glad I didn't kill him," he said. "But I figure I really wanted to."
"He was taken to the sheriff's office. He threatened the sheriff and was shot by two of her deputies."
"I wish I had gotten there earlier," Clark said. "I wish I could have stopped him from doing that."
"You did the next best thing," Lois said.
It hadn't been good enough. "What did I do?"
"You looked after me," she said as she let loose his lapel and stroked it back into place. "You put ointment on the wounds, and you dressed them for me."
His eyes rose from her chest and searched her face. "And you were comfortable with me doing that? You didn't mind me touching you there?"
"Very comfortable. I trust you."
Clark felt a smile stretch the corners of his mouth. "I haven't told you how beautiful you look," he said. "I tried to imagine this ... and you ... " He lifted his hands in frustrated acceptance that he didn't have the right words. "You are so beautiful, Lois."
"It's *your* outfit," she said in a low voice. "I'm glad you like it."
He loved it. He'd thought the compulsion to look at her had been irresistible when she had been dressed in jeans and a sweater. Now ...
Now, he had the whole evening to look at her.
To talk to her.
To rediscover the woman he loved.
"Our food should be here soon," Lois said. "Let's go and set the table."
Clark followed her down the stairs, not failing to appreciate the way her hips shimmied under the black material. He stretched forward and allowed his fingertips to drift across the small of her back. She stopped, turned, smiled.
"I like the little touch on my back." She turned and continued down the steps.
Clark followed her, smiling, his hand maintaining contact.
After the table was prepared, Lois left the dining room for a few moments. When she returned, she was carrying a bottle of red wine. "I got it from my dad's collection," she said with a grin.
"Is he going to mind?"
"No. He likes you."
"I've *met* your father?"
"Yep."
"Does he know about ... the x-ray vision?"
"No."
"Perhaps that's why he likes me," Clark muttered as he eased the cork from the neck of the bottle.
"No," Lois said, grinning in a way that told him she wasn't going to allow him any room to wallow in his differences. "He likes you because you make me happy."
She was right, Clark acknowledged with a returned smile. What were a few little anomalies when a woman like Lois Lane loved him?
He poured the wine into the glasses and gave one to Lois. "A toast?" he suggested.
"To what?"
"To the most beautiful woman in the world?"
She smiled. "How about to the future?"
"Will you be my future?"
"Yes," she promised.
"To our future," Clark said. Their glasses clinked, but his eyes had become so buried in hers that he forgot to sip from the wine. "Lois, will you do something for me?"
"Yes."
"After we've eaten, will you tell me how to shave?"
She grinned and then made him wait while she sipped languidly from the wine. "Why are you so keen to shave?" she asked.
Her breezy innocence ruptured his patience. "Because I may not survive if I don't kiss you tonight."
"You are very forward, Mr Kent," she noted.
"Do you mind?"
"I love it," she said. "And for the record, we had an agreement - that you would kiss me first."
He tried to frown - which wasn't easy when he was so utterly captivated. "Because I was so indecisive?"
"No. Because I wanted you to know that anytime you felt right about kissing me, it was fine with me."
"I feel very right about kissing you," he said huskily. "Now. Please, Lois, I don't want to wait any longer."
"I need you to trust me, Clark," she said. "I need you to trust me with something that will blow your mind."
"Even more than kissing you?" he said.
She chuckled, and all of his apprehension evaporated. "Promise me no questions," Lois said. "No freaking out. No obsessing."
"OK," Clark said, knowing he would willingly promise her anything.
"Come with me." She took his hand, and together, they scampered up the stairs.
In the bathroom, she took out a hand mirror from the cabinet and gave it to him. Then, she slid his glasses from his face. "Ready?"
He was ready, but he couldn't imagine what she was going to ask him to do.
"Look in the mirror," Lois instructed.
He did.
"Stare at the stubble and ... and ... imagine it disappearing."
Clark lowered the mirror. "Excuse me?"
She clasped his hand and raised the mirror again. "Look at your whiskers and imagine burning them off."
"Burning?" he said doubtfully.
"You can do this."
He could? Clark forced his eyes from Lois's half-hopeful, half-nervous expression and stared at his own face in the mirror.
He concentrated on his cheek and ... and what?
He focused harder, feeling his eyebrows draw together in his effort to make something happen.
As he stared, a clear patch of smooth skin emerged - a lop-sided circle in the midst of the forest of black bristles. He slowly moved his eyes - along his upper lip and onto his other cheek.
He heard Lois release a breath, but his eyes didn't waver from his task. He 'shaved' all of one cheek, then his chin, and then completed his other cheek.
He closed his eyes, shook his head a little, and reopened his eyes.
His face was smooth and clean-shaven.
He slowly lowered the mirror and looked at Lois.
She said nothing as she slowly skimmed her fingertips across the newly claimed silkiness of his cheek.
Her touch caused a shiver of reaction to shoot down his spine.
Lois took the mirror from him and returned it to the cabinet. She leant back against the wall and waited.
Waited for him.
Clark stepped so close to her that only a film of air separated their bodies.
"Thank you," he murmured, inching closer.
Her mouth opened a little. Almost to a smile. Almost to a reply.
But it was stilled by the magnitude of the moment.
"I love you, Lois," Clark said. "I will love you forever."
"I love you. Forever."
"May I kiss you?"
"Oh, yes." Her tongue brushed a moist trail along her lower lip.
He traversed the final inch of separation.
His lips touched hers.
Just a touch.
A taste.
But it was enough to set his body ablaze.
Enough that he wanted more.
More of her.
He backed away. Minimally. Not far enough to break their tenuous link.
He leant in again, thrilling as Lois rose to meet him.
His palms flattened against the wall, enclosing her.
Her hands clasped his neck, easing him closer, trapping him.
Although he was trapped already.
By her power.
Her love.
By everything that was Lois.
He grew bolder, opening his mouth a little wider. Contact became exploration. Exploration became interplay. Interplay became connection.
Time ceased.
The edges of his consciousness blurred.
And the world fell away.
