It has nothing to do with what I believe--then or now--it's what the hell the reasons could possibly be to justify basically tossing me out on my own with no backup and thinking it was a good idea.
[It's really funny. Just when she thinks that she might be getting to a point when she can calm down, he gives her another reason to flare up.
And why won't he just get angry? It's feels like she's the only one putting any effort into this argument. Or, well, anything lately.]
Don't you say that. Don't you dare say that. Until you started contradicting yourself at every turn, I never once doubted you--and when I begged you to stop, you shoved me away, and you nearly got us all killed.
So don't you ever dare say that I have no faith in your judgment.
[She's right, that's why he never gets angry. And maybe if he just admitted it, not in a self-defeating way, they might not be arguing over it at all. Instead he just looks away.]
It felt right at the time. That's... That's all I can tell you, Lois. And as for contradiction I was contradicting myself long before then. My reasons--they can change in a heartbeat.
I told you who I was, Lois, and then I saw the whole world turn against me. But even so? It didn't make me want to tell you any less. It made the pain of knowing that you would have been there for me that much harder to bear.
Of course you lied. People lie, Clark, and sometimes someone finds out, a lot of the time they don't, and everyone moves on. And you had more reasons than most, and good ones! Hell, I told you not to tell me--did you think I didn't know who I was protecting?
I wanted to be there, to make it easier for you, more than anything, even if-- [Her voice cracks a little]. How do you think I felt when you pushed me away?
--Wait, you lost me around that last bend. What do you mean, you told me and this somehow screwed everything up? [Someone's afraid it was her fault.]
I asked you to tell my story. To tell everyone about Kryptonians and Krypton. At first everything was fine--well, as fine as terrifying celebrity can be. People were throwing themselves off buildings. And then people began to turn against me. The government. Everything crashed and burned, and the only way to fix it was to go back in time--go back and never tell you in the first place.
Okay, whoa there, you just said two entirely different things. Telling me isn't the same as telling me to tell everyone everything! Goddammit, do you think I'd write that story without you telling me explicitly to?
[And then she-- deflates a little, looking away. She hated that day so much. Later breakups or not, that was the day it all fell apart.]
I didn't want to. I was afraid-- I was afraid it'd hurt you, if I knew. I told myself I didn't. But-- god, he barely touched me and I knew he wasn't you. Did you think you could get that close and I wouldn't-- you don't ever seem to believe that I know you.
I know that now, but at the time I felt so selfish. I wanted to share my secret with other people, but I was only reminded of all the reasons I had not to.
[ Shaking his head. She had already told him off for those reasons, and repeating them wasn't going to earn him any points. ]
I thought I... I thought that to you I was just this dumb farm boy; just some guy you found in a corn field who ate apple pie and wasn't at all extraordinary. I didn't expect you to see through me--or anyone else for that matter.
Why is it you can't seem to distinguish between telling the whole world everything and not carrying it all alone?
[ She's having so much trouble articulating that it isn't about the past--it's about him doing now exactly the same thing he did then, just on different subjects.
A handful of responses immediately come to mind ('That was six years ago, you changed, I changed, we-the-pair-of-us changed, the world changed,' 'I thought that when I knew you for five minutes, why do you think I wouldn't get it that you're actually hard to peg after a few years?' 'I was dating you, I don't date guys I think are boring,' 'Forget information, why can't you ever trust my feelings for you?'). They are all superseded by something that makes Lois' eyes narrow slightly. ]
It means I’ve spent my entire life hiding in plain sight and never getting called on it. It means… It means I’ve become used to it, in a way—that I take it for granted that I’m just enough Joe Blow American to cover up for the fact that there might be something special about me.
You’re saying you saw through me—and if you did then who else did? How much of a mess have I been making of this whole secret identity thing, Lois?
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[It's really funny. Just when she thinks that she might be getting to a point when she can calm down, he gives her another reason to flare up.
And why won't he just get angry? It's feels like she's the only one putting any effort into this argument. Or, well, anything lately.]
Don't you say that. Don't you dare say that. Until you started contradicting yourself at every turn, I never once doubted you--and when I begged you to stop, you shoved me away, and you nearly got us all killed.
So don't you ever dare say that I have no faith in your judgment.
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It felt right at the time. That's... That's all I can tell you, Lois. And as for contradiction I was contradicting myself long before then. My reasons--they can change in a heartbeat.
I told you who I was, Lois, and then I saw the whole world turn against me. But even so? It didn't make me want to tell you any less. It made the pain of knowing that you would have been there for me that much harder to bear.
And I should have said something. I lied to you.
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I wanted to be there, to make it easier for you, more than anything, even if-- [Her voice cracks a little]. How do you think I felt when you pushed me away?
--Wait, you lost me around that last bend. What do you mean, you told me and this somehow screwed everything up? [Someone's afraid it was her fault.]
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[He folds his arms.]
I never knew that you knew, Lois.
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Okay, whoa there, you just said two entirely different things. Telling me isn't the same as telling me to tell everyone everything! Goddammit, do you think I'd write that story without you telling me explicitly to?
[And then she-- deflates a little, looking away. She hated that day so much. Later breakups or not, that was the day it all fell apart.]
I didn't want to. I was afraid-- I was afraid it'd hurt you, if I knew. I told myself I didn't. But-- god, he barely touched me and I knew he wasn't you. Did you think you could get that close and I wouldn't-- you don't ever seem to believe that I know you.
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[ Shaking his head. She had already told him off for those reasons, and repeating them wasn't going to earn him any points. ]
I thought I... I thought that to you I was just this dumb farm boy; just some guy you found in a corn field who ate apple pie and wasn't at all extraordinary. I didn't expect you to see through me--or anyone else for that matter.
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[ She's having so much trouble articulating that it isn't about the past--it's about him doing now exactly the same thing he did then, just on different subjects.
A handful of responses immediately come to mind ('That was six years ago, you changed, I changed, we-the-pair-of-us changed, the world changed,' 'I thought that when I knew you for five minutes, why do you think I wouldn't get it that you're actually hard to peg after a few years?' 'I was dating you, I don't date guys I think are boring,' 'Forget information, why can't you ever trust my feelings for you?'). They are all superseded by something that makes Lois' eyes narrow slightly. ]
That last sentence meaning?
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You’re saying you saw through me—and if you did then who else did? How much of a mess have I been making of this whole secret identity thing, Lois?