I wake up to warm sunshine on my face. I reach across the bed, but Clark isn’t there. Panic hits me a moment until I open my eyes fully and see him by the window looking out at the canal. The sun is shining on his perfect bare chest, and I relive a delicious memory of pillowing myself on that bit of perfection last night.
I suddenly sneeze and shiver a bit, realizing I must have caught a cold during our watery excursion.
My sneeze catches Clark’s attention. “Bless you,” he says, handing me a tissue.
“Thanks,” I say, taking it.
I lay back in the bed, my head starting to pound. I feel a bit miserable actually… which makes me ask, “How do you feel?”
He looks at me with a boyish smile, his hands on his hips. “Actually, I feel—super.”
“Does that mean you have your powers back?”
He nods. “Yeah, I do… But Lois, you—you don’t look so well,” he says in some sympathy.
“I’m freezing,” I say, secretly hoping he’ll come back to bed and warm me up.
“I can help with that,” he answers with a grin that tells me he gets my drift.
But instead of crawling into bed with me as I expect, he stands over me and asks me to lie still. Puzzled, but game to whatever he has planned, I wait a moment, watching him. He seems a little hesitant, embarrassed even, when suddenly, the comforter feels warm and toasty. I look questioningly at him.
He points to his eyes, giving me a shy smile. “Heat vision.”
“Really,” I say in awe, naughtily thinking of how that little trick could be used in other ways…
He brushes it off with a shrug before I can question it further. I’m glad he feels like he can trust me with showing me his special skill, yet I can tell he’s not ready to explain it all to me yet. “Look, you need to rest… But we can’t stay here in Venice. Luthor is looking for you. I thought we might go to the Mediterranean for a bit.”
“I really don’t want another train ride, Clark. And getting on a plane when you’re sick—“ I complain, already even dreading moving from this lovely toasted comforter.
He looks at me like he’s cooking up a plot and I’m suddenly intrigued. “What is it?” I ask, loving that he looks so playful.
“Well, how would you feel… about flying-- with me?”
*L**L*
Clark and I stand in the tiny alley behind the hotel. The roofs are so dense in this part of Venice that it would be highly unlikely that anyone will see us taking off. Our bags are packed and he tells me to wait a moment. In a swoosh of air the bags are gone and so is Clark. I look up in the sky, but all I see is the glare of the sun, and maybe a speck of something that could be Clark, but anyone just looking up would think it’s a very large bird… or a very tiny plane. I’m not left to wait for him for long, though, and within moments, Clark is back by my side.
I feel my heart beat with anticipation. I don’t care if I have a slight cold. All I can focus on is being seconds away from flying in the arms of the man of my dreams. The man of my most impossible, improbable, out there dreams!
He scoops me up in his arms, my legs dangling over his left arm, as his right cradles my back. I wrap my arms around his neck, breathing in his clean shirt and his own particular scent that makes my toes curl.
He whispers, “Ready?” I nod, excitement pouring through my veins. We suddenly move straight up and above Venice, the rooftops looking like a patchwork quilt of browns below us. I hold on tighter to Clark as we sweep towards the Mediterranean, my heart in my throat at the view and the amazing man who has stolen my heart.
We fly over the Tuscan hills of Italy, rolling green hills peppered with tall spiky trees, peculiar to the area. It’s not long before we see the Mediterranean Sea itself, spread out in all of its glory below us. This far north, the sea is a crystalline aquamarine that changes in the light between green and cobalt blue. We sweep past Nice and Monte Carlo, shimmering jewel-like cities on the coast.
But the scenery only holds my attention part of the time. Because flying with Clark Kent is… wow. I thought I loved flying before, but this trip is spoiling me for any future travels in an airplane. Give me CK-Express, all the way!
Soon we slow down and I ask Clark where we are.
“Marseilles. It’s the oldest port town in France.”
As we come into land on a hillside, the afternoon sun shines golden on the mauve, pink, and sandstone city. The hundreds of sailboats in the harbor are surrounded by the city itself, a haven for sailors for centuries.
When we finally touch ground, I’m reluctant to leave Clark’s arms. I cling to his neck. Wanting to show him in some way what he just shared means to me, I smile and kiss him chastely on the cheek. “That was…wow,” I say stupidly, hearing how lame it sounds even to my ears. But the wordsmith in me is simply too gob-smacked to come out with anything more coherent.
He smiles charmingly in return and gently sets my feet on the earth. I’m a little unsteady and I hold on to his arm a moment longer.
“It’s all right, Lois. You can lean on me,” he says gallantly, and I take his arm as we turn towards the city.
*L**L*
We wander aimlessly through Marseilles for the rest of the afternoon, trying to put both my mistake and Clark’s secret out of our minds. I think we both realize that we need some time just getting to know each other. As much as I don’t want to jump into a relationship and while I’m sure Clark is trying to figure out just how much he can trust me, there is definitely something between us that can’t be ignored. But nothing is going to move forward until we can be completely honest with each other. Even I--the queen of federal disaster relationships—can admit that. As for Clark, I think he’s been alone for such a long time, that he has no idea how to open up about himself—or at least open up about his super side.
Throughout the afternoon, he avoids any reference to what happened at Luthor’s party or with my article, and instead regales me with stories of growing up on a farm. Before meeting Clark, I would have chalked up this topic to being an automatic snooze fest. However, I find his quaint life in Smallville surprisingly endearing. He tells me about his parents, who sound kind and supportive—the very opposite of my dysfunctional family. And although his parents seemed to be the ones to instill in him a sense of responsibility about his powers, they also raised him with an underlying fear. And while I give the Kents kudos for raising such an amazing son, I want more than anything to take the fear about sharing his powers away from him. I wish I knew what the key was to getting him to step out of the shadows and into the light. The world needs a hero like Clark Kent.
“Tell me about yourself, Lois,” he asks me now, having told me everything fit to print about the Kents and his life in Smallville.
“Well, I grew up in Metropolis… I have a younger sister, Lucy… and I went to Met U for journalism. As for all the details in between—“I hesitate. Not because I don’t want him to know more about me, but I’m afraid that he just won’t understand. That compared to his perfect childhood in Smallville, I’ll look sad and pathetic, and I don’t wear those attributes well.
“Lois, you can tell me. No judgment. Honest,” he smiles and squeezes my hand gently.
“Well, my ‘home’--if you can call it that—was not full of farm chores and home cooked meals around the dinner table, talking about your day,” I begin, the coziness of the Kent farm still fresh in my mind from Clark’s description. “At my house, Mother would often be sitting in the lounge chair getting drunk, while Daddy burned steaks on the barbeque, trying to explain why he was kissing Mrs. Belcanto in the church parking lot…” I say in a painful rush, thinking back to those strained years of my youth before my parents finally gave up the pretense and got a divorce.
“Oh, Lois… I’m so sorry,” Clark responds, his tone sincere. Usually when I admit to guys about my family’s sordid past, they are either turned off entirely or full of pity. I don’t sense that Clark pities me, just that he understands and accepts me.
His open heart prompts me to go on, telling Clark more about myself than I have ever told anyone. “’Trust’ was never in my family’s vocabulary. So I sort of grew up assuming everyone had a secret, which is what lead me to journalism. I wanted to uncover the truth and deliver justice in a way that had always been denied to me,” I admit bluntly.
But seeing the look of almost horror on Clark’s face I try to explain why it’s different with him. “But Clark, since I’ve met you, I’ve realized that sometimes a secret can be a necessary thing, even if it doesn’t make sense,” my tone softens as I stop in the street and turn to face him. “You know, you were right before. I had been only after your story, your secret because I thought as a journalist, the world has a right to know—but the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I realize that sometimes it’s not uncovering the hidden secret that matters. It’s getting to know who a person is because you like that person, even when they have a secret. Clark, there’s something about you that just makes sense to me. So I’m willing to trust that you have a secret for a reason, and I promise I won’t pry,” I finish, looking up at him earnestly.
Clark cups my cheek in his hand, his soft brown eyes searching mine. I feel so vulnerable and yet entirely safe when he looks at me like that.
“Thanks, Lois,” he says softly. “I promise, when I’m ready—you’ll know all of my secrets,” he assures me as we resume our walk.
I ruminate over this a moment, still frustrated that he won’t fill me in on details about himself just yet, so I try another tactic. “Why did you leave, though? If Smallville was so wonderful, why get a job with the faraway Borneo Gazette?” I can’t help probing. “Call it the reporter in me, but I really want to know,” I jab his arm playfully.
He lets out a big puff of air as if preparing himself for something and pulls us off the main street so we can talk in semi-privacy. “Lois, you know some of the things I can do—“
Some? What else can he do? “People in small towns talk. I left before people could get suspicious of me or my parents. And besides, I do feel it’s my obligation to help where I can. Only it gets complicated—especially when I get nosy reporters on my trail,” he says crossing his arms, though his playful tone belies the sharp words.
“I guess I deserved that,” I mutter.
He punctuates his statements with hand gestures. “But you do see my point? Lois, I’m willing to forgive you because I do know what it’s like to be a reporter and to feel the need to chase down a story.” He looks at me earnestly, moving closer to me. “But, can you understand why I don’t want mine splashed all over the news?”
“But Clark, that’s my point! It doesn’t have to be Clark Kent’s name in the headline. I keep telling you that you need a disguise—then you could have a private life and maybe---“ I stop myself, unable to say what I really want to say.
“And maybe what, Lois?” he asks softly, and I wonder if mind reading is one of his super skills.
I glance away from him, totally undone by the look of encouragement in his soft brown eyes. “And maybe you could settle down… in Metropolis. Look, I’m sure Perry would hire you,” I assure him, meanwhile mentally backpedaling on how I could introduce Clark to Perry without raising my editor’s suspicions about what Clark really can do.
“It sounds like a dream, Lois. But I need to be out there, helping people where and when I can. And trust me, it’s better if I’m in many different places than just one. Even if that is where I’d rather be…”
He looks so sad and lonely when he says this, yet I don’t see why he won’t give my idea a try. I’m so sure Clark could pull off a costume and keep his personal life… Besides, with that body in spandex, who would be looking at his face?
*L**L*
“How about a trip over to Chateau D’If?” Clark suggests a little later after walking around the harbor.
“Okay… what is it exactly?” I ask, as usual, completely oblivious to many of the historical landmarks in the cities I visit.
“It used to be a prison. It was also the inspiration for ‘The Count of Monte Cristo,’ after an infamous prison break,” he says, but I look at him blankly.
“Is that like the Three Musketeers?” I ask, trying to catch the reference.
He nods with an indulgent smile in my direction. “Close. At least written by the same guy.”
Clark must see my slightly lost expression because he quickly adds, “But I also hear there are great views of the Mediterranean from there.”
“Better than from above it?” I half-whisper with a giggle. “I don’t think anything will top that, Clark. Ever.”
He looks at me with a pleased smile and then leads us over to the ticket counter for the boat trip to the chateau.
The hum of the motor makes it difficult to talk as we cross the inlet, but I enjoy the trek all the same. I love the wind in my hair and the crisp smell of the sea, as it reminds me of my earlier flight in Clark’s arms. Speaking of Clark, he comes up behind me, wrapping his arm loosely around my waist. We look out at across the horizon, admiring the deep blue of the water and the contrasting jagged sandstone cliffs that make up the island where the chateau is located.
At last, we are let off the boat onto the tiny island. Clark and I walk hand in hand up a hill to the chateau itself. We wander around the outer wall, admiring the view of the sea, and Clark points out various landmarks across the way sprinkled around Marseilles. He then rambles on about more of the history and lore surrounding Chateau D’If, but I ignore most of what he says and just take in the beauty around us, wishing I had my camera.
We wander back into what Clark tells me is the main ‘keep,’ which to me seems just to mean the main building. It’s about four stories tall, square in shape, with an open roof. Each level has several prison cells, and the open format makes it possible to see all the levels above and below.
As we walk back in at the top level, a boy about six or seven is playing on the railing. His parents have their backs turned to him and I roll my eyes at the carelessness of parents on vacation. But suddenly, the boy pulls himself up to nearly stand on top of the railing. I glance at Clark, and almost in the same moment, I see the boy slip and tumble over the side.
“Clark!” My call comes strangled out of my mouth, as I know he’s the only one who can do anything to save the boy in time. Sure enough, quicker than I can blink, the boy is in Clark’s arms as he sets him gently back onto the ground.
The parents turn around just then, and the boy, though flabbergasted at having been rescued by a man who can fly, immediately begins telling his parents what happened.
“I just pulled you back from the rail, son,” Clark explains, giving the boy’s parents an expression that says
you know how kids exaggerate.The British tourists look puzzled, especially as their son continues to babble on about the man who can fly. Clark plasters on a smile and then looks at me helplessly. He quickly says his good-byes and comes to my side, taking my arm.
“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbles, and he ushers us away before any more questions can be asked.
*L**L*
“Clark, look, that was a perfect example why you need a disguise!” I say when we get back to the hotel room.
“No, that’s exactly why I need to stay hidden. Don’t you see? If people start realizing that there exists a man who can fly and is invulnerable, has super speed, and can hear long distances---“ he shakes his head in frustration. “I’ll never be left alone!”
My mouth drops at the list of powers he just names, but I quickly cover my shock and move to sit next to him, hoping he’ll see my point.
“Clark, that’s exactly why you should become a public hero! And if what you say about superspeed is true, then you should have no trouble getting in and out of a disguise lickety-split!”
He looks at me helplessly and then shakes his head, burying it in his hands. “Lois, it will never work…”
“Will you at least think about it?”
His eyes turn to me, incredulous, like he can’t believe how pushy I’m being. But I can’t and I won’t relent. First, for him—so he doesn’t have to hide what he can do… and maybe, for me as well. Because if he had a secret persona, then maybe he would be inclined to stay in one place. Maybe—he could work at the Planet with me… and we’d see where things go.
“Lois… I think you mean well, but you just don’t understand. My parents raised me to hide these abilities. Otherwise, I could end up in a lab somewhere, being dissected like a frog. If they knew---“ he says ominously.
I cross my arms in exasperation, not understanding why when he has all these abilities he’s so terrified of showing them to the world. “Knew what, Clark? What is so horrible about being able to help people that you feel the need to hide?”
His brown eyes bore into mine, full of doubt and fear. But then he suddenly looks resigned and he lets out a long sigh. “I think the only way I can convince you that this is just foolish is to take you to meet my parents. Maybe they can talk some sense into you.”
*L**L*
After a long flight in Clark’s arms, we finally land at the Kent farm. I’m a little sleepy, having dozed off several times during the long if rather comfortable flight. Clark sets me on my feet and I stumble a bit. I grab onto his shoulder as I smile up at him, “It will take me a second to get my land legs back.”
He smiles in return and gently rubs my shoulder. “Take your time.”
After a moment, I finally turn to take in the scenery around us. We’re definitely back in America, as I notice the rambling old farmhouse set amid a golden field of wheat in front of us. As we walk up the porch, there is an immediate sense of hominess here that makes me understand a little bit about why Clark feels so strongly about protecting it.
“Mom?” he calls as we enter.
A petite blonde woman comes rushing over to us, a grin on her face. “Clark! I’m so glad to see you! I didn’t think we’d get a visit for another month!”
He hides it quickly, but I see a trace of guilt on Clark’s face. He’s been busy traveling the world… and trying to save it.
“Mom, I’d like you to meet---“
“Lois Lane,” I jump in, reaching to shake her hand.
Mrs. Kent looks back at Clark and then at me again with a puzzled expression, and Clark looks a little embarrassed.
“We met in Paris,” Clark sort of explains.
Mrs. Kent’s smile widens and she gives Clark a little wink. He rolls his eyes and then quickly changes the subject.
“Is it all right if Lois and I stay for supper? There’s something we’d like to talk to you and Dad about.”
“Of course, honey,” Clark’s mom answers, though she gives me a curious look. “Your father will be back in about an hour. Dinner will be ready shortly after.”
*L**L*
The Kent farmhouse is a far cry from the cute cafes and restaurants in Europe, but part of me likes it here better as I’m quickly charmed by the cozy atmosphere. I watch in awe as Mrs. Kent cooks up dinner, and though I try to help, she promptly sees that I have no skill in the kitchen and sends me to help Clark set the table.
“It’s a really nice home here,” I say, coming up next to him as he lays out the forks and knives.
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it,” he responds with an easy smile.
Just then, the front door opens and whom I assume is Clark’s father enters the house. Mrs. Kent comes marching in and helps her husband with his coat.
“Jonathan, I told you to leave those boots on the porch. They track too much mud in here,” she admonishes, though she reaches up to give her husband a kiss.
“Oh, I forgot, Martha,” Clark’s dad says as he steps back on the porch to shed his boots.
When he comes back in, Martha gives him a beaming smile. “Dinner’s almost ready… And Clark’s brought a girlfriend,” she stage whispers with a grin, but both Clark and I hear her clearly.
“Clark? It’s been a while, son. That Borneo newspaper keeping you busy?” Mr. Kent says, coming over to give Clark a hug.
Clark brushes off the light reproach and turns to me. “Dad, I’d like you to meet Lois Lane. She’s also a reporter. For the Daily Planet.”
I shake Jonathan’s hand and can’t help but feel happy if not surprised at the note of admiration in Clark’s voice.
“Dinner’s ready!” Martha calls and we all head to our respective seats.
*L**L*
After dallying with small talk for the first half of dinner, Martha and Jonathan can’t contain their curiosity any longer and ask us how we met. Clark and I exchange glances and give them a watered-down version that does not include me chasing him down for a story or my near printing of said story.
I, however, casually mention flying to Marseilles and Clark’s parents exchange looks of worry.
Clark jumps in, “I’ve told her about my abilities, Mom and Dad. It’s okay.”
They don’t look convinced, so I chime in, “Honestly, I think it’s wonderful what Clark can do.”
“Just please, don’t print anything in the Daily Planet about our son,” says Jonathan fearfully.
I feel my cheeks flush with shame thinking of the near miss, but Clark covers my hand in his, encouraging me.
“I’m not planning to, not without his permission,” I clarify. “But—I do have an idea that I think would bring Clark back to the States on a more permanent basis and make it much easier for him to help people.”
I hear Clark sigh in resignation, knowing I’m determined to bring up the costume idea, but his parents lean in with curious looks on their faces. They obviously would love to have their son closer to home.
I take a deep breath, knowing this is my big sell. I have to get them persuaded to my side, so perhaps they’ll persuade Clark. “I think that if Clark had a disguise of some kind, he could rescue people in another persona, meanwhile retaining a personal life as Clark Kent.”
All three Kents exchange looks of uncertainty, but I push ahead. “All I’m saying is that Clark will help people no matter what he’s wearing because that’s who he is. But if he could do it in a disguise, I think he could be so much more.” I glance at Clark, who I notice has found another pair of glasses at some point since we arrived at the farmhouse. “I think Clark could be a symbol for goodness, for hope. People need him… And meanwhile, he could also live as normal a life as possible as himself…”
The dinner table was quiet a moment. I look down at my plate, certain I’ve lost my case. But then I hear Martha clasp her hands together and when I look up, she’s beaming.
“I think it’s a great idea, Lois. I’ve believed for years that Clark had his abilities for a reason. And I could certainly sew something for him…”
“Mom—“ Clark groans.
“We should at least try, honey,” Martha says, glancing between me and Clark as she gives me a reassuring smile.
“But won’t people recognize our boy? Won’t they wonder who and
what he is?” asks Jonathan a bit pessimistically.
I wonder about the ‘what’ in his question but Martha quickly answers with a laugh. “Jonathan, I think Lois has a point. And besides, if we put Clark in some brightly colored spandex suit, I hardly think people are going to be looking at his face!”
I smile back at her, happy that she sees my point. The men at the table groan with uncertainty, but I think with Martha Kent on my side, I have won the battle.
*L**L*
Venice from the air Marseilles Chateau D\'If Inside Chateau D\'If, where the boy fell
