By Wendy Richards <firstname.lastname@example.org> and Kaethel <email@example.com>
Submitted: June 2004
Summary: It's Lois's turn again — will she forgive Clark? Story 3 in the Yesterday Series.
Author's note: All rights in the characters belong to DC Comics and Warner Bros; no infringement is intended by their use in this work of fiction.
Clark, you lying fink,
Clark. My Clark…
Oh god, I don't even know how to start. The pile of crumpled paper at the foot of the table is evidence of how many times I've tried over the past hour, but I don't have the courage to start yet again. Working for the press and being unable to put my own feelings into words. Who'd have thought?
I don't know where to start. I don't know where you stand any more. I don't know where *I* stand. Part of me wishes you'd never found my letter. Part of me wishes you'd never replied. But I'm not going to listen to that part. Not this time.
I should hate you. I should despise you. I should refuse ever to speak to you again.
How could you do that to me? How could you tell me you love me when all I want to do is yell at you? Tear you limb from limb?
Not that I could do that anyway… Superman!
Truth and justice. *Truth* and justice! Some hoax that is. Were you ever honest with me? Did you ever tell the full truth to me? About anything? And I'm not talking about how you take your coffee or what you had for lunch. I'm talking about the stuff that really matters. About your feelings for me.
When did you lie? When did you tell the truth? When you told me you loved me? When you took it back? Right now, when you claim once more to love me and make it so hard for me not to believe you?
And it's so hard, so very hard not to love you when I've gone through your death. I thought you were *dead*, Clark. Gone for good. Out of my life before I took the chance to realise how important you were to me. How much I loved you.
How could you let me cry over your dead body when you were lying there, *alive* and knowing everything that was going on? How could you leave me there? How could you let me think you were gone forever? How could you *not* know how much that hurt? I was crying my eyes out over you. I couldn't even function without you.
And where were you? Hiding out in Smallville?
How could you do that to me?
I suppose this is where I'm supposed to say that I read your explanation and I understand and I forgive you. That'd be nice and easy for you, Clark Superman Kent, wouldn't it? To have me roll over and fall at your feet and tell you that all is forgiven?
Yes, I'm more glad than I can say that you're alive. Yes, I went through hell when I thought you were dead. But do you know what, Clark Kent?
PART OF THE REASON I WENT THROUGH HELL WAS THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS MY FAULT!!!!!!!!!!
Yes! I thought it was my fault that you were dead!
Think about it, Kent! Whose idea was it to go to that gambling den? Who insisted and wouldn't let it drop? And who was it who drew attention to herself by fighting with that little old lady over my bucket of nickels?
I forgot the first rule of undercover journalism: never attract unwanted attention. Never get noticed unless you want to be noticed.
Because I insisted on going there, because I was stupid and made Dillinger notice me, you got killed. That's what was going through my head the entire time after you were… after I thought you were murdered.
And now… and now I'm so *mad* at you I can barely hear myself think!
You know what? I've just figured out that we never even would have got inside that den if you hadn't come up with the password. Some lucky guess! You heard someone else say it, didn't you, Superman? So *you* got us in there. It wasn't all my fault. Have you any idea what thinking it was all my fault did to me?
And then you were never dead at all.
Hey presto, it's a miracle, I'm alive! Did you know that I'd throw myself into your arms? Did you think I'd be so delighted that I hadn't killed my best friend after all that I'd forgive you everything?
Well, you've got another think coming, SuperFink!
I hate you. Did you think I'd say that? Well, I've said it! I hate you for what you did to me!
I'd feel better if it were true. If I really did hate you.
But… You jerk! How can I hate you, when the reason all this hurts so much is that I love you?
There. I've said it. I've said it knowing that you're going to read it this time. I love you.
I love you.
For all you've made me go through, for the hell that has been my life for twenty-four hours *because* of you, I still love you. I'm a fool. I've always been a fool where men were concerned, and you're no exception to that rule, Clark Kent. You're just the same as every man in my life. A rotten, lying fink who can only think about *himself*. A selfish bastard of the worst kind who confesses his lies and wraps them in the sweetest declaration of love a man has ever written to me.
I want to hate you. I want to tear your letter to shreds. I want to close those curtains for good and send you back to outer space.
Every time I look at your letter, I feel my hands shaking; my eyes fill with tears. And then I start to look towards the window and stop myself for fear you're going to be there, watching me. Waiting for me.
Did you know your letter made me cry *again*? As if I haven't cried enough because of you over the past twenty-four hours. I have *never* cried as much over a man in my life before. Not over Paul. Not over Claude. Not even over Lex Luthor, and you know I cried over what he did to me. You, Clark Kent. You, Superman. You made me cry more than I ever have before. And I'm still crying.
I'm scared, Clark. I'm scared because I can't hate you. Despite everything you've done to me, I can't stop loving you. I'm fighting to stay in this chair and keep writing when I know you're so close.
But the risk is so great if I open the window. You've got the power to hurt me. You *have* hurt me. Deeper than you can ever imagine. But what hurts most is to know that if I miss this second chance I'm given, if I turn my back on you now, I will feel miserable for the rest of my life.
You're essential to me. It took your — fake — death for me to see it, but I can't live without you. Not any more. I want to spend every day of my life with you. I want to feel your arms around me. I want you to protect me. I want you to trust me with everything that you are. I want you to tell me your fears so I can soothe them. I want you to love me the way I love you. I want you. All of you.
Oh yes, I'm a fool. I guess that seeing you confess your biggest secret to me helps, in a way. You trusted me with that. And I'm humbled by that.
Don't get your hopes up; I'm still angry with you!
But… when you said that you were scared to tell me, I can't help but relate. After all, I was scared too, and for so long. I told you that. That was the real reason I never told you that I love you. Even when I thought you might actually want to hear it, I couldn't bring myself to say the words. And I so nearly lost it all — I nearly lost you to Mayson Drake, and I could strangle you now that you tell me there was never anything between you! You never loved her? Well, it sure looked as if you did!
And then I nearly lost you when I thought you were dead. You'd think that would teach me not to hesitate now, wouldn't you? Well, I guess you would think that. I guess you're hoping that I'll think that. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Clark Superman Kent?
Well… I would too… if I wasn't so scared. And I'm guessing — no, I know — that you're still scared too.
We both know what's at stake. We both know what we've got to lose. And until last Tuesday, I would have told you that we should be happy with what we had, with our friendship. Who knew what the future had in store for us if we tried romance and it didn't work?
I'd forgotten how fickle life can be. How much our very existence hangs on a thread. Oh yes, now I know that you can't die — not through ordinary bullets anyway. But I can. I flirt with death so many times a week that I forget how lucky I am to still be alive. Well I'm done forgetting that. I'm done wasting my time on silly fears. I'm done being afraid of what I feel for you.
Yes, you made a mistake, Clark. You hid something important from me.
But I guess that, in a way, I did the same thing to you. I hid my feelings from you for so long. It's a wonder you didn't walk away sooner. When you started dating Mayson, I was sure that this time I'd lost you. And in a way I was relieved. The decision had been made for me. I didn't have to struggle with my terror of commitment. Because you were off limits, it became harder to deny that I was in love. It became impossible to lie to myself any more. And soon, it became very hard to hide my jealousy towards Mayson and the attention you gave her.
After what we went through, I can't lie to you any more than you can lie to me. I need you every bit as much as you need me, and I have to make sure neither of us miss our second chance.
I've avoided even looking at the window all the time I've been writing this. But I can't avoid it any more. It's time. I'm going to open the window in a minute. I'm going to give you this letter, and then we can talk about where we go from here.
I love you, Clark.
I'll open the window.
And if you kept your promise, you'll be there, waiting for me.
Wendy Richards and Kaethel 2004 firstname.lastname@example.org and email@example.com