Part 10.
Clark frowned, fidgeting. Wha-what did Lois think she was *doing*? Surely she knew that he’d been asked that question over and over again and that he still didn’t know exactly how to answer it? Where were the misty-eyed glances, the hushed greetings, the luminous smiles? Where had all that gone?
He hadn’t expected this. Consumed with acrimony though he was, he realised slowly that a very big part of Superman’s self-esteem depended on Lois. Depended on her support, her faith in him. Depended on her rooting for him in public situations. And yes, depended on her love. The candy-coated, artificially sweet voice that she addressed him with; the soft adoration in her doe eyes when she looked at him; the painful shyness that seemed to overwhelm her when they were talking privately; the luminous, mega-watt smile that lit up her face when she noticed him; he had come to depend on them all without realising it. It was as if with her love, she continually boosted his self-esteem and reinforced his belief that he was as good as any human. He was an alien, but not repulsive. Strange, but not a freak. Interesting. Mysterious. Intriguing. *Attractive*, something he had never really believed. She, born and bred an Earth woman, who could have her pick of men, had chosen him, the strange creature from another planet. As Clark, it made him miserable, engulfing him upon a tidal wave of need; the need to have her turn away from Superman and look at the ordinary man next to her, loving her quietly. As Superman, it formed the reason why he could keep on going; the knowledge that he wasn’t in any way repulsive, or wrong. She was as much Superman as he was.
And he had hurt her.
Clark swallowed the large lump of guilt that had settled in his oesophagus and tore his attention back to the crowd. There had been a question of hers that he was supposed to answer... he at least owed her that much.
“I – I wanted to help –“
“That’s not my concern right now. I asked you where you were.”
“I never wanted him to die...”
“I’m sure you didn’t. After all,” she made a sweeping gesture to the crowd behind her, “we *all* know what a great friend you had in Lex!” A ripple of mocking laughter spread through the crowd. Superman had out shadowed Lex from the first day he took flight over Metropolis. Everybody was aware of how much the once respected philanthropist had liked to win - Superman had taken much attention away from him.
Clark glanced at the crowd uneasily. The mood was against him – he needed to swing it back, and fast.
“Look, he may not have been the nicest human being on the planet, but I...”
“He may not have been the nicest human being on the planet?? Are you saying that Lex Luthor was in some way inferior to the rest of us? That you even - *hated* him? That he *deserved* to die?”
“I –“
“*That’s* why you didn’t save him? Because of your own personal feelings towards him?”
“No!” He was definite now. He couldn’t allow this ugly idea to take root, or it would destroy him. “I may not have *liked* Lu...Lex Luthor, but I didn’t want him to – I didn’t mean... I *tried*...”
The crowd erupted in angry shouts and shaking fists. Clark held both his hands up as a defence barrier against the maelstrom of rioters that was threatening to engulf him. So engrossed was he in the sea of angry faces before him that he didn’t notice Lois slipping away until it was too late.
Backing up helplessly, he took the last resort available to him and leapt into the air, exploding in a spiral of speed and sound. Ignoring the mocking shouts from the crowd below him, he scanned the streets from the air, searching desperately for some sign of Lois, but she had vanished – melted away into the backdrop of dreary buildings and offices that made up that particular part of Metropolis.
What had happened? Why had she tormented him like that, asking questions about Lex and he? Why had she opened the wound that he had been working to heal over; the knowledge that Lex Luthor had brought about his own death, by incapacitating the one person who could save him?
Why had she kept referring to Lex as her ‘fiancé’ and ‘soon-to-be husband’? Surely, with the events which had happened at her wedding, she would have been only too glad to shrink into obscurity, to make the people of Metropolis forget that she had been engaged to the city’s biggest criminal as soon as possible? Surely she would have wanted to salvage her reputation as a reporter, a person who dealt in the murkiest part of people’s lives? Why had she turned up at the protest, giving statements to the press about how hurt she was that her crime-lord almost-husband was dead? Why had she dredged up all those memories? Why had she questioned him like that?
Unless... He halted in mid-air, his hands flying to his face as a new idea occurred to him. She hadn’t actually been in love with Lex Luthor, had she? She hadn’t - *wanted* - to marry him?
He had seen only one thing in her acceptance of Luthor’s proposal: the chance to show Superman what he was missing. A cry for help, perhaps. He had figured that common sense would come back to her maybe a few weeks before the wedding.
As the clock ticked on, he had become increasingly worried. Many sleepless, lonely nights had been spent pacing around his apartment, warring with himself over going to see her. Going to stop her. Going.
He had seriously considered leaving Metropolis. Time and time again, he had strode into his living room determinedly, intent on packing everything up in one easy swoop. And each time, without fail, his eyes zoomed onto his collection of pictures. Endless snapshots of her – laughing, working, talking, eating – just being. His chest would deflate and he would be forced to accept the inevitable. He could never leave the place where she was. It would be the same as taking his body to one place and leaving his heart behind. He would never leave her, married or otherwise. He couldn’t. It went against the core of his being.
He had agonised over many theories, possible explanations for her behaviour, the endless train of them running through his mind as he searched desperately for one which would make sense. One which would stop the aching in his chest, and make him realise that her reasons for accepting Luthor’s proposal was in fact logical, marked in clear, scientific ground. Maybe she wanted financial security, the knowledge that she would never have to worry about paying the rent again. Maybe he was an addiction that she couldn’t get rid of – maybe she got a constant kick out of knowing that the third richest man in the world was in love with her. Maybe she was doing it because she craved a stable home life after her chaotic childhood, and felt that Lex could offer her this. Maybe she viewed him as an avenue of retreat.
He had thought of all of these, but not once had he dreamed that she had actually been in love with the man.
His whole body rebelling against the idea, he levelled off and zoomed off home, frustrated. So many questions left unanswered.
He had to know.
He would talk to her tomorrow. If she let him, that was. After all, she was as angry with Clark as she was with Sup...
She was as angry with Clark as she was with Superman.
Could it be... could she have... could she have possibly guessed the connection? Could she, heaven forbid, have figured out that Clark Kent and Superman were one and the same person? Could she? Was that why she had reacted to him so angrily?
No. No, that was one of the craziest ideas he’d ever had. It was impossible. After all, how *could* she know? He had given her no hints; no indicator as to what was true. He had behaved completely differently in both guises. He had been clever. He had been smart. He had been deceitful. He had been dishonest. He had lied.
And she had been taken in. There was absolutely no question. None. She was behaving like this because she was still scarred from his rejection. From the way he had treated her. Not from any other factor. Not because she had guessed. There was no way possible. It was *absurd*!
So why was he agonising about it?
He wasn’t! He wasn’t, he was just eliminating all areas of doubt, that was all. After all, she couldn’t have known. There was no *way* she could have known.
Right?
The nagging, ill-at-ease feeling in the pit of his stomach just simply wouldn’t go away. Shaking his head and grimacing, he detoured immediately, heading for her apartment. To talk to her. He would force her to talk to him. They had to talk. Yes. It was the right decision.
Talk.
They would talk.
* * * * * * * * *
“So, what’s been going on in your life, sis?”
The words were spoken so cheerily, so brightly, that Lois felt sick. Biting down on a Double Fudge Crunch bar, she considered Lucy’s question. What *had* been going on in her life?
Following Clark’s speech at the Daily Planet that day, she had busied herself and her bursting heart with tying up the loose ends of her new desk. The offices were looking pretty good – not as sentimental to her as the old ones had been, but everything was so new, so modern, so clean... it came as a relief after months of being surrounded by familiarity, wishing she was someplace else.
When she had arrived home, she had taken a long, hot shower, letting the steaming jets of water massage the tension out of her shoulders. Cleansing herself of the day’s pain, the day’s frustration, had been a good thing. Wrapped up in a terry-towel dressing gown with bright yellow smiley faces on it, she was snug here on her couch, sitting on a couple of cushions. She had never noticed how hard the thing was before; she couldn’t imagine what she had been thinking when she had bought it.
A double dose of Ivory Tower and five bars of chocolate later, she was just about to pull the stopper off of her clogged heart and let herself weep when the phone had shrilled in her ear. Picking it up irritably, she had been annoyed and pleased at the same time to discover that it was Lucy.
She had spoken to her sister a few times over the past three months, but not enough. Lucy had a knack for prattling on about all the wonderful things going on in her life when you really didn’t want to know, but she was also a fantastic listener. Growing up, she had been the extrovert, the talker, the social butterfly, even at family gatherings.
Lois had been the silent one.
It was because she was pretty. Her prettiness, which would seem like a bridge onto interesting topics for most people, acted as a barrier to her – a hazard that she couldn’t get around. People made assumptions when you were beautiful. Men were pigs, women were jealous. Lucy, with her big nose, was allowed to be happy.
Lois got to be pretty.
Debating on how best to answer Lucy’s question, she decided for once in her life to be as honest as she could.
“Remember a couple of years back, when I did some research into our family tree and discovered that our great-great-grandmother died from a fatal infection called endocarditis? Inflammation of the heart?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I have it.” Lois wound the phone cord round and round her finger. That was sappy, but it came closest to describing what she felt.
“Well,” said Lucy gently, “I guess I would say that it’s better to have a swollen heart than a shrunken one.”
Hanging up the phone after a few more minutes, Lois mused at her sister’s happiness. She had picked up another sleaze-ball that month, a photographer by the name of Jerry. In the end, he had run off with one of his models, but Lucy didn’t care. She had a date tonight, with a bartender named Kevin.
Lois marvelled at her sister’s capability to keep moving. Fluttering from relationship to relationship, losing her heart at least twelve times a year, and carrying on without a care in the world. Not caring. Lois couldn’t imagine it. Not caring about a man who you were in a relationship with. It was impossible.
Maybe it was right. Look where caring had gotten her. Lucy, wild and free, was getting ready for a night out, while Lois, preoccupied and sad, had a date with her television. Just who was the loser here?
The chocolate from the bar she was holding in her hand oozed between her teeth, and she suddenly felt sick. Binding the remainder of the wrapping around the sticky piece of confection, she shoved it into her fridge, alongside a carton of milk and a furry tomato. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she threw the tomato out, fetching a mug from the cupboard at the same time. Pouring the milk into this, she frowned into it before placing it in the microwave. The lumps would undoubtedly melt... or disappear... or something. She needed a mug of chocolate tonight.
She mused at the silliness of her situation as she ransacked the cupboards in search of the beverage. A grown woman, in a towelling robe, at eleven o’clock in the evening, drinking chocolate? She used to scorn women who did this; how had she turned into one of them?
She wondered if the transgressions of a past life were repaid ten-fold in the next. It would sure explain a whole lot.
She swallowed a lump the size of a small boulder in her throat as her gaze fell upon a small box of Oolong Tea. She didn’t even like the stupid stuff; she kept it around in case Clark was thirsty one evening. Just like he kept a couple of cans of crème soda in his refrigerator. It had become as automatic as breathing, to shove the tea out of the way as she foraged for hot chocolate.
She practically leapt across the room to where her dustbin lay, throwing the little box full tilt into it, and dashing a tear from her eye as she did so. Stupid! It was just a *drink*!
Through the mist that had engulfed her eyes, she made her way back to the kitchen and stared despairingly at the obstinate cupboard. Surely she hadn't shoved the tin that far back? Why, in the name of all that was holy, couldn't she see it?
Peering right in, finally she could make out the shape of the elusive canister, shadowed by a towering container of coffee. No wonder she hadn't been able to see it... it was shoved so far in, and it was only a small can, just enough for a mug every couple of weeks. She didn't drink chocolate except when she was in need of comfort.
She couldn’t quite reach...
Grimacing at her situation, she clambered unsteadily up onto the worktop. It was overlapped by her cupboards so much that she was forced to kneel at the very edge, grasping the edge of the unit for balance. Almost there...
A loud ‘pop’ issued itself from her microwave, just as her fingers grazed the side of the container, and she threw a sharp glance back at it. The milk had bubbled over the rim of the cup, and was now busy coating the microwave in sticky white goop. She let out a sharp yelp, and wobbled, losing her grip on the cupboard.
The tiled floor loomed towards her impossibly quickly as she lost her balance and tumbled off the worktop. Closing her eyes, Lois waited for the impact, steeling her muscles in readiness. This was just... just... just...
She had stopped moving. Cracking open her eyelids, she immediately closed them again as she became aware that she was lying at a diagonal angle. Whatever had broken her fall, it was...
“Lois, are you all right?”
It was Superman.
* * * * * * * * * *
tbc...
* * * * * * * * * *
