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Last night, he had looked at me with the same approving gaze he had given me since my first glimpse of him he had spoken to me with the same level of openness and trust as when he had assured me I would always be special to him he had shown me a new side of himself in a way that I had, quite honestly, never really expected.īut I didn't deserve that level of consideration from either of them.Īnd with that dark realization, the joy of the day before disappeared, leaving bleak resolve in its place. I don't know what I had done to deserve it-he had seemed to feel the same toward me even before I had introduced myself to him just before our flight to the Daily Planet-and I don't know why he had never seemed to revise it. And Superman…įor whatever reason, Superman seemed to hold me in high regard. Yet even Henderson had recognized the fact that Clark didn't seem to have changed his opinion of me at all. Two men in my life-one a hero, the other a friend-and I had failed them both. I only wished that bitter failure was as easy to wash away as the taste of vomit. When I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, the dark circles under my eyes looked too much like Clark's bruises, and I was abruptly, violently, ill.
Sndtrak and then there was light free#
But what about me? Would Iever be able to heal?Īs smoothly as haste allowed, I slid free of Clark's arms-cringing when he stirred in his sleep and whispered my name, relaxing fractionally when he calmed-and ran to the bathroom. His bruises would fade and disappear, banished by the light mine might fester and grow in shadows.Įveryone was so concerned that Clark wouldn't get over his captivity, but I hadn't, frankly, seen that the forced imprisonment had changed Clark's basic character all that drastically. And I wondered if the darkness of that cell was actually encased in my heart even more so than in Clark's flesh. He gave and gave and gave, stark contrast to my suspicions and frustration and stubbornness. He soothed my fears and chased my nightmares away. He didn't breathe a word about the fact that I could have started a search for him weeks ago. He didn't say anything about how I had fought-no matter how uselessly-to keep Superman in Metropolis and yet refused to raise a finger to stop him from leaving. How could Clark not blame me for, if nothing else, at least the duration of his imprisonment? As nice as he was, as much as he liked me, didn't human nature itself demand that some part of him-no matter how small and neglected a part-hate me for what had happened to him?Īnd yet, just as Superman said nothing about the heat-wave or my belated article proving his innocence, Clark had said nothing to indicate that he blamed me for anything that had happened to him. I didn't, as I had halfway expected, feel embarrassed to wake up in the arms of my colleague and friend. One phone call that had never happened, and now the sunlight Clark so craved fell in a wide swathe across the bedroom to shine a spotlight on what he had suffered as a result. And when I found out they were gone…well, wouldn't that have jumpstarted me on a road that might have led to that tiny cell? What would it have taken to realize Clark was in trouble? Surely after not receiving a call from him after Nightfall's destruction-to make sure I was all right, to hear me rave about Superman's astonishing heroism-surely then I could have called his parents. But I had let pride and work and anger stop me from doing what I was best at-investigating. No, I hadn't been the one to beat him or menace him with a green drug or gloat over him. Like pieces of darkness torn from our cell to rest beneath his flesh with the appearance of inescapable manacles. Today, I woke with my head pillowed on Clark's chest, my hand resting near my face, his hand lying reverently over mine, and the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the black bruise adorning-scarring-his sharp wrist. I had had my resolve to see Luthor put away for good and my confusion over Clark's altered behavior. Yesterday, I had had my elation over Superman's return from the grave. But yesterday, I had had the relief of our freedom to counter the effects of the bruises. Certainly, they had been there yesterday-in fact, I had even noted the fact that he was bruised over a significant portion of his visible body. They had probably been there the entire time I was in the cell with him.
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And Then There Was Light A Lois & Clark Storyīy Anti-Kryptonite Part 8 of 23 > Untitled Document