Table of Contents Yes, this is a Christmas story. But it's not part of LabRat's Christmas carol challenge; I had the story already half-written when she posted that. And so I'm posting the story here rather than in the Challenge folder.
And, in case anyone hasn't yet seen the utterly [i]fantastic trailer Pel made for this story, you can find the link to it
here .
Many, many thanks to my terrific BRs on this story, Yvonne and Kaethel, and to Annette and Kathy for their invaluable reassurance and enthusiasm, which really made my day![/i]
In The Bleak Mid-WinterThe sound of carol-singers echoed upwards from the street below his apartment, and Clark Kent gritted his teeth, turning away. No doubt if the world realised how much Superman hated Christmas, he’d be labelled a Scrooge and a humbug, and probably many other names besides.
Well, tough. He absolutely loathed this time of year. Hated the pressure it put on people to act as if everything was absolutely wonderful. Resented the widespread assumption that everyone loved Christmas and that a shout of ‘Merry Christmas!’ would earn the speaker a smile and a return of the - so-called - compliment.
And, most of all, he hated the emphasis on family which was so prevalent at Christmas.
Family. That was all very well if you had a family in the first place.
Clark turned away from the window and jabbed his remote control in the general direction of the TV set; immediately, the sound of a news bulletin from LNN drowned out the final chorus of Joy to the World. Much better, he thought savagely. The last thing he felt like being right now was joyful.
Sometimes, it seemed as if he was the only person in the whole world who hated this time of year. And that made him even lonelier than he was normally.
Of course, it being Christmas Eve, even LNN couldn’t offer him sanctuary for long; within minutes the serious news clip had ended and the anchors had moved to fluff pieces, covering so-called seasonal stories about the throngs of people still shopping for last-minute Christmas presents and the fact that Nieman’s had run out of this year’s must-have toy, the Power-Super-Ranger - the small matter that he had refused to licence any manufacturers to produce Superman toys just didn’t seem to stop some people finding ways around his lack of co-operation.
And, of course, the studio, he now noticed, was bedecked with holly. Both anchors wore stupid Santa Claus hats and the female had a sprig of mistletoe pinned to her blouse.
Bile rose in his throat. Seizing the remote control again, with one press of a button the revolting images vanished.
The carol singers had gone. That was one blessing.
Clark sighed and went over to the window again. The streets below were covered in a dusting of snow, and more flakes had just started to fall. He’d better go out and do another patrol later; this was just the sort of weather for careless driving to result in accidents. Some people - pedestrians as well as drivers - simply appeared to believe that they were untouchable, that nothing bad would ever happen to them. And their actions, fuelled by their false sense of invulnerability, invariably led to danger and disaster.
Christmas. A time of peace and goodwill to all. And for some, a time of grief and pain, because some idiot had had one drink too many, or stupidly got into his or her car in appalling weather conditions.
He corrected his earlier thoughts. He wouldn’t be the only person miserable this Christmas - or any Christmas.
The phone rang, shattering the longed-for silence. For a moment, Clark was tempted not to answer it - but ingrained habit sent him to pick up the receiver. His greeting, however, was curt, and he almost hoped that it was some tabloid sleaze who had somehow managed to find his unlisted number, so that he could blast the piece of scum out of it.
“Kent.”
“Clark! I was hoping that you’d be in.” The voice was that of his former boss, currently Mayor of Metropolis.
“Perry,” he said, less abruptly. He couldn’t find it in himself to be rude to Perry White, despite the fact that he knew very well why the mayor was calling. Perry had been his friend in the dark days after his identity had been first exposed and everyone had wanted a piece of the alien known as Superman. Perry, still editor of the Planet at the time, had immediately given Clark a revised contract, allowing him to work from home - or from wherever he happened to be - so that he wouldn’t get mobbed in the newsroom. And he’d made the Planet’s owner guarantee that Clark would have a job there for as long as he wanted, without any pressure to use his Superman persona for the Planet’s benefit.
Perry had also offered him an oasis of sanity in times when everything had got simply too much for Clark - the adulation, the speculation, the conspiracy theories and the outright mobbing and stalking. He’d always known that he was welcome in the White establishment, at any time of the day or night. He firmly believed that the man had saved his sanity several times - not least after his return from the other universe, where he’d spent several days pretending to be *her* husband.
He’d almost kissed her then.
And in his dreams, almost every night, he relived those moments, which would be etched in his memory for ever.
In his dreams, though, they weren’t interrupted. There was no abrupt return to reality just as their lips were about to touch. There was no realisation that this was wrong, that Lois’s husband was lost somewhere in time and that
he was an interloper from another universe. In his dreams, they were just Lois and Clark, in love and desperately needing the comfort of intimacy from each other.
He frequently awakened suddenly, sweating and with the memory of passionate embraces searing his consciousness.
Lois had told him that what he felt for her was surely only a pale mirror of what he would feel for
his Lois. But that was easy for her to say - too easy. She wasn’t the one who had to live in a world where her soulmate, the one person she would love for the rest of her life, was missing. No. She was dead.
His Lois was dead. He was very sure of that. It was almost a year since HG Wells had promised to find out what had happened to her. He was a time-traveller as well as a dimension-hopper; if he’d found this world’s Lois alive and well - or even if he’d been able to go back in time and save her before she was killed - he could have brought her back at any point in time. Certainly long before now.
His Lois was dead. And he was alone.
“...so, we were wondering... Clark, are you still there?”
Suddenly jerked back to reality by the realisation that Perry had been talking to him and he hadn’t heard a word, Clark grimaced. “Sorry, Perry. I was miles away.”
“That’s okay. Anyway, as I was saying, I know what you told us before, but I just wanted to let you know that you’re still very welcome to join Alice and me for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Neither of the boys can make it home, and I know Alice would really love to have someone she can spoil. So, what about it?”
It was thoughtful of Perry; it really was. But Clark fervently wished that his former boss - and everyone else he knew - would just get the message that he wanted to be left alone. Couldn’t they see that he didn’t
want to celebrate Christmas? That the last thing he felt like doing was pretending a jollity he didn’t feel, or joining in with a myth of peace and goodwill to all when the last thing he felt like was being in charity with his fellow human beings? Or not fellow human beings, he reminded himself savagely. He wasn’t human. He would never be human. He would always be set apart from humanity by his differences, as he was reminded every day of the week, even in his Clark Kent role. After all, given that everyone knew that Clark Kent was Superman, few lost the opportunity to take advantage of the fact that they were in Superman’s company, even if he wasn’t in the Spandex at the time. The concept of ‘off-duty’ seemed lost on most people.
Not on Perry and Alice, that was true. Spending time with them was always good for him, for that precise reason. With them he could relax, could be just Clark Kent if he wanted to - or he could talk about Superman stuff if he needed to. They allowed him to be himself, whoever ‘himself’ happened to be at the time.
But he still wouldn’t inflict himself on them, or them on himself, tomorrow. Not at Christmas. Not when he had a rage burning inside him, anger and bitterness at what had been done to him.
“No, Perry, I haven’t changed my mind, but thanks for asking,” he said quietly, tonelessly; he didn’t dare allow any emotion to creep into his voice, for fear it would be fury - or worse, resentment. Ending the conversation swiftly, he hung up, then crossed to his large window again, staring out unseeing at the snow-covered street below.
Why had he ever been allowed to meet that other Lois Lane?
He didn’t blame Lois - after all, she’d been brought to his world and simply dumped there. But HG Wells could easily have taken her away, back home again, before she’d ever had the chance to make it as far as the Daily Planet.
And then he would never have fallen in love with her.
He’d probably be married to Lana now, with a baby either in the nursery or on the way - as long as Lana could have been persuaded to put up with the effect on her figure and the disruption to her career, he thought cynically.
No, it was a good thing that he hadn’t married Lana. And he wasn’t sure that he would have had the courage to walk away from her without Lois’s intervention.
Even still, he was now left with a bleak, miserable existence in which all the world around him wanted of him was his special powers. He could have any woman he chose, sure - as long as he didn’t mind being coveted for what he could do rather than for who he was. And as long as his heart wasn’t telling him that the only woman he wanted was one he could never have.
Lois Lane.
********
Midnight.
Clark could hear church bells ringing across the city - in fact, for many miles beyond, and once again he cursed his powerful hearing. If there was any way he could shut out the sound of carols and peals being rung, while at the same time still be able to hear calls for help, he would do it in a heartbeat.
At the same time, the ringing told him that there were just twenty-four hours left to endure. Only one more full day, and it would be over for another year. Life would go back to normal; he wouldn’t be assailed everywhere he went by seasonal greetings, aimed at those who had something to celebrate, and someone to celebrate it with.
The other Lois had her Clark. He’d met his counterpart, albeit briefly, and had even helped him to retain his secret identity when Tempus had tried to expose it. Yet another way in which his other-universe counterpart simply didn’t know how lucky he was, Clark thought savagely: not only did he have Lois as his wife, but he actually had a private life. Not for him a life spent dodging people who wanted a piece of Clark Kent, AKA Superman. He didn’t have to cope with complete strangers rummaging through his garbage looking for dirt on him. He didn’t have the downmarket media making up stories about his love-life, or women he’d never set eyes on before in his life claiming to have had his baby. Or, at least, Clark Kent didn’t. If he had that as Superman, it was still not so bad; he could close his front door and shut out the worst of it - and he had Lois to help him cope with it anyway.
He’d like to see that Clark swap places with him even for a couple of days, Clark thought, grimacing in distaste. He’d never take his own life for granted ever again.
But that wasn’t fair, he reminded himself. None of this was the other Clark’s fault.
He should probably go out and do one last patrol - no doubt there would be plenty of incidents of over-enthusiastic Christmas revellers to deal with, Clark reminded himself. If it wasn’t for the fact that he would probably be needed, he’d be sorely tempted to go and spend the next twenty-four hours in the Arctic Circle.
But just as he was about to change into his Suit, a rap at the door claimed his attention. Inclined not to answer it - no-one, to his knowledge, could have any legitimate reason for being at his door in the early hours of Christmas morning - Clark lowered his glasses and scanned the doorstep.
What he saw made him furious. Striding up the steps, he wrenched open the door.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, giving his unwanted visitor a dangerous look.
“Ah. Mr Kent. I do apologise for the intrusion -”
“You’re damn right it’s an intrusion!” Clark snapped at Wells. “I don’t know what you want, and I don’t care. Just get out of my sight!”
“I’m afraid that I can’t do that, Mr Kent,” Wells replied diffidently, angering Clark still further. “You see, I have someone with me who needs your help rather badly.”
About to respond with another irate retort, Clark felt his anger begin to drain away. How was it that this interfering busybody always seemed to know just how to appeal to his better instincts? It simply wasn’t fair. All he wanted was to be left alone, and in particular never to have to see the time-travelling writer ever again.
Clark sighed. “Who is it? And what kind of help does he need?”
“She, Mr Kent,” Wells corrected him. “And as to who...” He stepped back, gesturing to the street below him.
Clark looked down, seeing the man’s time machine apparently parked at the kerb. A woman lay in it, apparently asleep. A woman he recognised.
Lois Lane.
Clark swung around to face Wells, fury filling him once more. “Why have you brought her here again?” He turned away, preparing to slam the door in the writer’s face. “Take her back to her husband.”
“Look more closely, Mr Kent,” Wells said sharply. “This is not the Lois Lane you remember.”
Clark froze. What was Wells up to now? Would this cruelty never stop?
“Are you trying to destroy my life again?” he demanded, refusing to allow himself to look at the woman in the time machine. He couldn’t bear to see her, to know that she was Lois Lane and that he couldn’t be with her.
“Mr Kent, take a closer look,” Wells urged again. “This is not the Lois Lane from the other universe. This Lois belongs here, in your world.”
His world’s Lois?
His limbs felt as if they were frozen to the spot. Clark couldn’t move; he could only stare at the sleeping woman, taking in her beloved features.
She was Lois...
his Lois?
Could it really be true? After all this time, was his world’s Lois really alive?
She was breathing. Asleep, her long lashes formed perfect semi-circles above her cheekbones, and he could see the soft rise and fall of her chest. Oh, she was definitely alive!
And, yes, now that Wells had made him look again, he could see: this wasn’t the Lois he’d met before. Her hair was longer, for one thing, and she was also thinner - quite a lot thinner, in fact. Unhealthily so.
“What happened to her?” he asked abruptly, without shifting his gaze from her.
“She has been through some quite considerable trauma, Mr Kent. She is going to need all the help and support you can give her.”
“Where did you find her? What happened to her?” Frustrated by the lack of information forthcoming from Wells, Clark repeated his question impatiently.
“The real question should perhaps be ‘when’, Mr Kent,” Wells said bafflingly. Then he explained. “I found Ms Lane four years ago, just before her assassin was about to murder her. Having discovered at just what point in time she had been struck down, I was able to pull her into my time machine just before the bullet would have struck her. So here she is - in somewhat poor health, but alive.”
“But why bring her here?” Clark exclaimed. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring her back to Metropolis four years ago?”
“Not exactly,” Wells said, shaking his head. “Four years ago, Mr Kent, what was your life like?”
Clark frowned, then said slowly, “I was engaged to Lana. And we were just planning to move to Metropolis.”
“Precisely. And had this Ms Lane returned to Metropolis at that time, she would not have taken an interest in you in the way her counterpart did. She would not have helped you to become Superman -”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Clark growled.
“I’m sure that, if you search your heart, you will admit that being Superman is by far the best thing you could have done with your life,” Wells said, in a tone which Clark felt was utterly patronising. If the man hadn’t brought *his* Lois back, Clark would have...
But he forced himself to calm down. “Okay. So what makes you think that Lois and I wouldn’t have got together if you’d brought her home four years ago?”
“You never met Lois Lane as she was in 1993, Mr Kent. That Lois Lane pretended that she felt nothing at all for Clark Kent. She only had eyes for Superman - but in your world, or indeed, in any world, without the intervention of Lois Lane there would be no Superman. However, your then fiancee had every intention of making very sure that you never used your powers to help people. It took a Lois Lane who already knew that Clark Kent was Kryptonian to turn you into Superman.
This Lois Lane would not - indeed, could not - have done that. The fact of your engagement would have ensured that she would never have given you a second glance - or, perhaps, we might say that your fiancee would have ensured that she didn’t get the opportunity. And without a Superman to catch her attention, she might well have fallen for someone else.”
“Someone else?” Clark echoed, a hollow feeling inside him at the thought. And then the possible identity of that someone else struck him. “Not... Lex Luthor?”
“That is one possible alternative future,” Wells confirmed. “And so, because it is better for both of you, I have brought Ms Lane here to you now. Can you take her inside, please?”
As if freed suddenly from a kind of limbo, Clark rushed down the steps and lifted Lois into his arms. She weighed almost nothing, and again he wondered just what had happened to her between travelling to the Congo and almost getting shot. And, he asked himself, why couldn’t Wells have rescued her earlier, before she’d got into this state?
But right now he was just too happy to know that she was alive and safe, and in his protection.
He carried his precious burden tenderly back up the steps and into his apartment. As he brought her inside, he was only vaguely aware of Wells saying cheerfully, “Merry Christmas, Mr Kent!”
*********
Taking her straight into his bedroom, Clark laid her on the bed, then stood back to look at her.
Lois Lane.
In his apartment.
He took a deep breath, still metaphorically pinching himself to be sure that he wasn’t dreaming. She was alive - and she was with him.
But she was sleeping still - or was she perhaps unconscious? He sat carefully on the edge of the bed and examined her face. Thin - too thin. There were streaks of dirt across her forehead and cheeks, and some narrow, jagged red lines where she’d been scratched.
Her clothes were shabby and none too clean. He picked up one hand; the fingernails were filthy and ingrained dirt marred her palm; the back of her hand was also covered in scratches and the sting of some poisonous plant. Wherever she’d been, she’d been in rough conditions.
The Congo, he supposed; it was the only possible explanation. She must have been in the jungle for some reason. Knowing the mindset of a Lois Lane, it had to have been in search of a hot lead. Instead, by the look of her, he’d guess that she’d come close to losing her life.
Actually... wasn’t that what Wells had said? That he’d rescued her just as she was about to be murdered?
“Oh, Lois, what had you got yourself into?” he murmured. She didn’t stir.
Her breathing seemed fine, though: regular and even. Perhaps she was just sleeping. He held her wrist, checking her pulse; it was steady and at a rate consistent with relaxed sleep.
He debated with himself for several moments, grimacing as the desperate need to ensure that she was okay warred with the desire to respect her privacy. Then he lowered his glasses slightly and scanned her body.
No broken bones.
No internal injuries that he could see - just a long-healed broken ankle.
Okay. She was okay. Just sleeping, he told himself.
All he had to do was let her sleep. She’d wake up when she was rested.
And he would be right there beside her when that happened.
He was tempted to go and get a sponge and warm water, and clean some of the dirt and dried blood from her face, but then he wondered if doing that might wake her up. It would be better just to let her sleep, he decided. She needed her rest. Sleep, after all, was a great healer.
He shifted, moving to lie beside her on the bed, at a discreet distance. Turning on his side so that he could watch her sleep, he kept her hand in his and prepared himself to wait. After all, he’d waited almost two long years to meet his Lois; another few hours wouldn’t hurt him.
Outside, he could hear more church bells - midnight services coming to an end, he supposed. Inside, all he could hear was her breathing. Lois’s breathing.
“Welcome home, Lois,” he whispered.
*********
...tbc
