(THE “S” STANDS FOR HOPE) CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX: NOELLE

Noelle surfaced slowly.

Warmth greeted her first. The feel of the mattress beneath her, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, and the distinct antiseptic smell of a hospital room. She frowned. Her prison wasn't supposed to be comfortable.

Then the memories came rushing back.

The machine. Superman. The trial.

Her eyes flew open.

A white ceiling stretched above her. After several long seconds, she turned her head. Soft light spilled through a nearby window, illuminating an unfamiliar room. Medical equipment stood beside the bed, its monitors displaying steady lines instead of frantic warnings. There were no alarms, no reinforced walls, and no containment chamber around her.

Her stomach tightened.

No. That wasn’t right.

Why was she here? She should still be inside the machine.

She sat upright before she had time to think it through, though she stopped almost immediately.

The movement had been effortless. There was no impossible weight dragging behind her, no familiar ache pulling at her back, no crushing pressure that had become so constant she’d forgotten what life felt like without it.

Her pulse quickened as she looked down.

A pale hospital gown covered her body. Beneath it were two ordinary legs.

She stared at them, her eyes drifting from her knees to her calves, then to a pair of bare feet resting against the mattress. For a long moment she couldn’t bring herself to move. Then, almost cautiously, she curled her toes.

They moved.

She did it again.

And again.

A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It caught halfway out, breaking apart almost immediately into something that sounded dangerously close to a sob as her hands wandered over herself. She searched for the familiar wrongness, finding only smooth skin and the gentle curve of a waist where there should have been monstrous bulk and protrusions.

Just her.

“…No,” she whispered, though whether she meant disbelief or relief, she couldn’t have said.

She eased herself over the side of the bed and lowered her feet to the floor. Cold tiles met her bare soles, and the sensation stole the breath from her lungs.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed something so ordinary.

Carefully, she shifted her weight forward. Her knees buckled almost at once, forcing her to grab the bedrail before she fell. A breathless laugh escaped her anyway.

“Come on,” she murmured.

She was able to stay on her feet on the second attempt. On the third, she managed a step.

One uncertain step became another, each a little easier than the last, until she found herself crossing the room. Her legs still trembled, her balance still wavered, and more than once she thought she was going to fall, but she kept going, breathing hard, and smiling despite every stumble. By the time she reached the door, one hand was braced against the wall while the other reached toward the handle.

Before her fingers could touch it, it turned.

The door swung open, and Clark leaned into the room.

“I thought I heard—”

He stopped.

For a second, they simply stared at each other, neither of them speaking.

His gaze shifted from the empty bed to Noelle standing barefoot in the middle of the room, one hand still braced against the wall. Relief spread across his face, followed by a smile so wide she couldn’t help returning it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Noelle opened her mouth to answer.

Nothing came out.

Instead, she crossed the distance between them as quickly as her unsteady legs would allow. It wasn’t graceful. Halfway there she stumbled, and Clark barely had time to catch her before she threw her arms around him.

He laughed as the impact nearly knocked them both backwards.

She buried her face against his shoulder.

For another few seconds, neither of them spoke. Then the laughter came.

It spilled out of her until tears blurred her vision again, but she didn't care. She laughed because she could stand. Because she could feel the floor beneath her feet. Because she could wrap both arms around another person without consuming them.

Because she was Noelle Meinhardt again, and not… not the monster.

Just Noelle.

The laughter refused to stop, same with the tears that soaked Clark’s shoulder as he held her steady, laughing along with her.

Outside, the hallway remained silent. But inside the room, for the first time in years, Noelle laughed without forcing it.