WARNING: There be SALVATION CLIFFHANGER SPECULATION SPOILERS AHEAD! PROCEED WITH DUE CAUTION!

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In Revelation's Wake
By Bren Ren
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Summary: Concluding the Epic Season Nine Finale Cliffhanger from which we've been dangling at the end of "Salvation."
Rating: All Audiences -- suitable for all ages.
Disclaimer: How else are we supposed to survive the summer hiatus? Just another obsessed-fan-derived speculation fic which you know only helps whet the appetites already salivating in anticipation of the fall Season Ten Premiere. Enjoy it with us!

Author's Note: Might I recommend my companion vid to go with this afternoon delight? ~ The Ultimate Kiss of Revelation!~ Follow the bouncing stars to: h*t*t*p*:// video*yahoo*com/watch/7505189/19883393

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I'm just rounding the corner at the end of the block when I see someone falling, plunging fast and furious toward the unforgiving concrete. I break out into a dead run as I just make out the tell-tale insignia of the Blur on his tattered shirt, and I can see a glowing blue dagger protruding from his gut.

"Clark!" I scream his name without thought as he slams into the pavement, creating a deep crater around the point of impact. Dropping to my knees, I gather his lifeless body into my arms, tears streaming down my face and panic consuming every last molecule of my being. "Please don't be dead… please, please don't be dead," I beg shamelessly. "You can't leave me now, Clark! I need you! We all need you… please. Please… come back to me…"

Some vague memory pricks my conscious hauntingly for a moment, and my eyes drift down to that glowing blade piercing his once flawless body. I wrap my hand around the hilt, yank it out and throw it as far as I can chuck it in one fluid motion. The moment the shank leaves my grasp, I feel Clark's whole body tense in my arms as he jerks upright sucking in a large, noisy gasp deep into his lungs.

"Clark!" I throw my arms back around his neck and cling for dear life even tighter than ever. "You're alive!" My words rush out in a choking sob, barely even intelligible to my own ears. "I saw you fall… I thought you were…"

"I'm alright, Lois," he assures me. His lips nuzzle just below my ear, and I don't know if it's just the physical sensations from my heightened senses as his warm, moist breath grazes my flesh, or perhaps it's the words I had being praying so hard for I could scarcely believe I was really hearing them; maybe it's all that and more than I can even comprehend, let alone name sending tingling shivers coursing through my veins. I cling tighter as he continue murmuring so soothingly, so reassuringly in my ear that I can't stop weeping. I'd be lost in hysterics were it not for the balming influence of his voice. "I'm here now, Lois. You're safe." Those words seem somehow shockingly familiar; I gasp in recognition. "Everything's going to be okay now."

I draw in another terribly trembling breath as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, reveling in the feel of his skin, so warm, so solid and firm and real. "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you," I whisper against his throat. My mind literally blanches at the very idea.

"That's not going to happen, Lois." His voice is low and deep, with such firm resonance it totally catches me off-guard—though somewhere in the back of my overactive intellect, I realize that really isn't all that hard to do right now. "I'll always be here for you whenever you need me. No matter what. I promise."

I finally manage the strength to pull back, but only just far enough to get a good look at that face I've come to love so dearly. Deeper love than I knew I was capable of, the strength of that emotion that I've only ever felt for him, fills my heart to bursting.

To my astonishment, all the cuts and bruises are gone, and only the blood he'd spilt earlier mars those beautiful features. My eyes continue growing wider as my gaze drops down to the rip in his t-shirt through which the dagger had been buried. There is no sign of the laceration; not a single trace of his wounds remains on any part of his body. His amazing, idyllic form is once again the epitome of physical perfection that has never failed to catch my eye from the moment I first saw him in all his starkly majestic glory. I disentangle one arm from about his neck and lower my hand down to his torn shirt.

Clark sits completely, utterly still as I lightly trace the remains of his crest on the soft cotton fabric with my fingertips; along every millimeter of my trail, every sensation, every thread, the slight raised impressions from the ink, even the dampness of his blood spattering the material are being indelibly burned into my brain as I complete the circuit. Then I slip my hand through one of the slits in his shredded shirt to touch his smooth, flat stomach where he'd suffered that intended-mortal blow and the circuit of connection between us closes with a jolt of positively electrical energy surging between us. As I slide my hand up those impressively well-defined pecs to rest above his heart, Clark covers my hand beneath his much larger one. His heart is pounding so hard, and its rhythm is in perfect synch with my own as I bring my other hand down the length of his neck, then inside his shirt to lay atop his hand. My eyes drift shut as I delicately trace the lines and ridges along the back of that hand so familiar I would know it anywhere, even with my eyes closed. In the dark.

Just as I knew when it was not his hand I was touching. My eyes fly open and I pin him in a wide-eyed panicky stare. "Zod?" I blurt out in horror.

"He's gone, Lois." His hands come up to frame my face and his dark eyes bore into mine. "He's with his own people; they're in another world now, and they will make sure he can't hurt anyone ever again."

The panic finally begins to fade, from my mind, my face, and eventually my eyes, but they remain wide as full comprehension begins dawning. "His people. They're yours, too, aren't they?" At his nod, I draw in a slow breath, hoping for some semblance of the steadying effects of fresh oxygen. "You're not just meteor-infected… you… you're from—"

When I break off, not quite yet able to say the words out loud, he does so for me. "Another planet. And for the record," he adds with a hint of a teasing twinkle in his eyes, "I prefer 'interstellar traveler' over 'alien'." That faintly shy, sweet smile almost makes me laugh.

"Clark Kent's tour of the galaxy," I murmur, the words from that early date echoing in my mind's ear. Now a hint of embarrassment flits into his eyes, and I grace him with my kindest, gentlest, most accepting smile. His thumb slides across my cheek and his fingers move to tickle the hairline at my temple as he slowly draws me forward. I can sense his hesitation, like he's unsure of his welcome and giving me every opportunity to pull away. But that's the last thing on my mind, and I reach up with both hands, clasp his face between them and pull him toward me, closing that last bit of distance between us in less than a heartbeat as our lips finally meet.

In a way, this is truly our first real kiss. The first with absolutely nothing standing between us, nothing hidden or held back. Not on either of our parts. I give myself into his caresses fully and openly, and he responds with no lingering hint of restraint as his mouth moves over mine. His touch is so beautiful, so intimately familiar, that as cheesy as the thought sounds even to my own inner-ears, I swear my heart truly is singing for joy. I hope he can't really read my mind, because that would just be too embarrassing on top of everything else.

Somewhere after midnight, in my wildest fantasy...

He may have been able to deflect and distract me from the truth for the better part of the last five years, but I can't imagine that he'd have thought for even a second after that kiss that I would not know it's him.

It was Clark Kent all along.

My rival, my friend, my hero. My love and my heart.

He had to know that I would recognize his kiss, even in the dark, when he granted me that last embrace before he left to put an end to Zod's bid for tyranny over the Earth. For whatever the many very good and valid reasons I'm sure he's had for being unable to simply show me his face, to tell me in his own voice and his own words the truth of everything he really is, he would not, could not leave me forever without ever telling me; he could not let me go, couldn't leave me never understanding why, when he loves me so very much, as he clearly does, why he felt he had to push me away. The lunkhead probably thought he had himself convinced it would hurt less. But deep down, he knew. Just as I have known, deep, deep down.

I knew you were the one I've always needed. And I needed you to know that.

So he told me the only way he felt he had left. The one thing he knew I would understand completely.

And I do.

He's the one.

It's him, it's always been him. All along, the farmboy who sits across from me every day, who brings me maple donuts and coffee just the way I like it and is absolutely the nicest guy I know really is a super-powered Super-Hero—truly my ultimate fantasy dream-come-true knight in shining armor. At least I don't have that hero-complex for nothing, I suppose.

After what feels like a good two or three lifetimes, we finally draw back, although it takes us a few more tries to actually end the kiss. My eyes slowly flutter open, and after our last kiss, I'm almost surprised to see he's still here. Relief washes through me, and I think the sparkle in my eyes just might blind us both. "It's you."

He smiles back, and the brightness in that purely smitten look of complete devotion, one I've come to know and dearly love, pretty well matches the intensity lighting my own gaze. "It's me," he confirms.

"I knew," I tell him with a hint of smugness seeping into my tone. "Somehow… I think I've always known." He nods with no hint of surprise. "I think… it was just easier not to believe. So I didn't. I refused to see… and I leaped over tall buildings to grab every last lame excuse you've ever lobbed my way. It was just…"

"Safer," he finishes for me. "For both of us," he adds, and now I am surprised. I know we've both had our own issues, fears, even, holding us back. But for him to understand so perfectly, to completely empathize because he's shared the very exact same feelings as me is not quite what I expected. I'm not sure what I did expect, but it wasn't that.

I nod in acknowledgment, but before either of us can add to the conversation, the sharp voice of my cousin rings out from behind us. Clark and I pull apart to see Chloe running towards us from the main entrance. She skids to a halt before us, her eyes widening in shock and confusion as she takes in the sight of Clark and I practically pooled on the ground together—especially as she takes in the state of Clark's attire, or what remains of it. I bring my gaze back around to Clark's face as he gives a conceding smile to the best friend he has undoubtedly had covering for him, and probably from the very beginning—at least the beginning of his acquaintance with me. Dear Cousin Chloe's going to have some serious butt-kissing to do later. I can't really hold it against her for covering for Clark, but the fact is that she has been doing so by lying to me, likely for years. That doesn't come without consequences, not when you're dealing with Lois Lane.

But that has to wait for later, because suddenly Chloe starts sputtering through a briefing as to what has apparently happened to Oliver Queen. Ollie, my ex and dear friend and Chloe's new nonlove-interest, is MIA under very mysterious circumstance. This is a job for a super-powered Super-Hero. Clark and I pick ourselves up off the ground with a look of shared understanding. He has to go, and he has to go alone.

As much as I hate it, as badly as I want to help, I know that it will be safer for all of us if Clark isn't distracted with worry for my well-being. I offer him a little more reassurance in my smile, and I can see the relief flicker through his eyes just before he disappears in a gust of wind right in front of me, and I swear I can still feel the whisper-soft tickle of his lips brushing mine as he seems to fairly vanish into thin air.

"Wow," I breathe out heavily. I'm only vaguely aware of an amused chuckle slipping past Chloe's lips behind me as I stare after the empty space Clark just vacated so… superhumanly. "In every way," I whisper reverently and mostly to myself, "he really is a Super-man."

"Looks like you finally found your Super-stud after all," Chloe teases darkly as she ushers me back towards the entrance to her little club-house above the city.

"What was it that fortune-teller said about a guy who flies a lot and wears tights?" I huff back.

"No-go on the lift-off yet, I'm afraid. And good luck getting him into the tights," Chloe answered knowingly. "If anyone could do it, though… it figures that it would just have to be you, Lois Lane."

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Fin~