***
Four more months passed before Clark had both the time and the heart to take Jimmy up on his offer to share a meal and friendly conversation. He was both nervous and looking forward to seeing the last remaining person on the planet that he actually cared for, and who still wanted to speak to him. He nearly chickened out of going. After all, Jimmy would never know if he lost his nerve - it wasn't like he'd called in advance to say that he was going to stop by. But he knew Lois would have wanted him to do everything and anything that might give him a modicum of happiness. So he left the pauper's shelter he'd built for himself and flew to Jimmy's apartment. He stopped outside the window, though it was open and waiting for him to step inside, just as Jimmy had promised him. He knocked gently on the window frame.
Jimmy immediately looked up from his plate of baked ziti and his laptop. Clark saw the way the man's face instantly flashed an entire pantheon of emotions - happiness, gratitude, relief, concern for Clark, even a little uncertainty about how to proceed, openness, welcoming friendship, and complete attention to the friend who hovered outside his sixth floor apartment window.
"Hi," Clark said quietly.
"Hi, CK."
"Can I come in?"
"Of course. I've always hoped you'd take me up on my invitation."
Clark nodded once in acknowledgement. Then he gently stepped into Jimmy's home.
"It's kind of brisk out tonight. Would you like me to close the window?" Clark offered.
"Yeah, thanks. That'd be great."
Clark closed the window, but didn't lock it, as he was planning on leaving Jimmy's place the same way he'd come in. When he was done, he gestured to Jimmy's laptop.
"Working on anything interesting?" he asked.
"Not really," Jimmy said, moving into the kitchen. "Just a wedding I shot last weekend and two maternity shoots from the week before. You want some ziti, CK?"
Clark nodded. "Sure, thanks."
"When was the last time you ate?" Jimmy asked knowingly.
"The night before Lois was murdered," Clark admitted, his voice barely audible.
"Then I'll give you an extra large serving," Jimmy replied, trying to lighten the mood, and trying to hide his shock. Clark didn't blame him for his shock. After all, how many people really thought about Superman's need for food - of the lack thereof. "I think you'll like this. It's my mom's recipe."
"I didn't know you cooked," Clark said, breathing in deeply all the wonderful scents hanging in the air. "But if it tastes half as good as it smells, you may have missed your calling as a chef."
Jimmy chuckled. "Mom always insisted that I learn how to fend for myself, as she put it. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing."
"I think Lois would have argued the cleaning thing," Clark lightly joked, remembering the complaints Lois had had when she'd stayed with Jimmy for a couple of days, not long after Clark had started at the Planet.
This time, Jimmy laughed deeply. "Yeah...well...as you can see, I've turned things around quite a bit since then."
Clark glanced around at the mostly neat apartment. "Yeah," he agreed.
"Here, CK," Jimmy said, handing him a plate piled high with ziti and melted mozzarella. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Sure," Clark said, moving toward the small wooden table in the corner of the living room, where Jimmy had been sitting. "What do you have?"
"Beer, Pepsi, Mountain Dew, lemonade, ginger ale, coffee, tea, ice water..."
"A Pepsi would be great," Clark said as he sat down, stopping Jimmy in his tracks.
"You got it," Jimmy replied with a smile. He brought the can of soda to the table and sat down across from Clark. "I have to admit, CK, at first...I wasn't sure you'd really ever come."
"I wasn't sure I would either," Clark confessed, biting into a forkful of pasta. His eyes opened wide. "Wow! Jimmy! This is fantastic!"
Jimmy blushed. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."
"Like it? Maybe you should become a chef," Clark said with genuine praise in his voice.
"Nah. I have a handful of recipes I do well, but other than those, well...I'm a much better photographer than I am a cook."
"How is the photography going?"
"It's going well," Jimmy said, nodding to himself. "I've been working pretty steadily. Weddings, engagement shoots, maternity shoots, some magazine work, birthday parties and the like. I'd like to go on safari in African at some point to shoot the wildlife."
"I bet you'd get some amazing shots," Clark encouraged. "Let me know when, and I'll fly you out myself."
"Let you know? So I'll be seeing you a lot more?" his friend asked hopefully.
Clark chuckled. "You keep making food like this and you won't be able to get rid of me."
Jimmy laughed a little. "Deal."
A comfortable silence fell between them as they ate. Neither one spoke again until their plates were empty and their stomach were contentedly full.
"So...how are you doing, CK?" Hesitation and concern suffused Jimmy's words.
"I don't know," Clark said after a moment. "I'm a mess, Jimmy."
"I'm here, if you want to talk about it," Jimmy offered.
Clark nodded his appreciation and sighed heavily. "Since I was a kid, I knew I was different. I knew I'd never fit in. I could try, I could pretend, I could hide everything that sets me apart from everyone else, but I would never be like everyone else. Not really. As I grew up, I had friends, but I was always lonely. Always felt like the outsider I am. Always yearned for a normal life. Then I met Lois and, for the first time in my life, I felt...like I was a part of the world, not just some...some visitor just here to...I don't know. Observe the world? Lois gave me a sense of home. Once she learned my secret...for the first time in my life, I felt...safe. She was my heart, Jimmy. My soul. My reason for being."
"She was a good woman."
"The best," Clark agreed. "Without her, I'm lost. Part of me misses being Clark. Part of me feels free, that I don't have to pretend to be normal anymore. It's almost a relief, not having to keep that delicate tightrope walk of appearing human every second of every day. Part of me hates being Superman."
"You...really?" Jimmy asked, scrambling for words. "I always got the impression that you enjoyed being Superman."
Clark sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's complicated. I love helping people, Jimmy. I always have. It gives me this...this rush, you know? To save a life. To catch a criminal. To do what I can to make this world safer. But now? Now, I catch these criminals and feel like I'm wasting my time. One gets locked up in jail, seven more pop up. I see all these evil people doing these horrific deeds. I see all this suffering. And so many times, I see those criminals getting these ridiculously light sentences. The man who framed and murdered my wife is serving the lightest possible sentence, and has the option for early parole if he behaves himself in prison. All because he used to be a big-shot, and because he knows too many people who have strings they were able to pull for him. Another case in point - three months ago, a seventeen year old murdered his grandmother in cold blood and, because he was six days shy of eighteen, stood he trial as a juvenile and got what amounts to a slap on the wrist, compared to what he probably would have gotten had he been charged as an adult." Clark shook his head in disgust. "I never saw it before, but let's face it. Justice doesn't exist. This is a land of vanishing liberties and injustice for all."
"You do so much good though, CK," Jimmy reminded him. "So many people would be dead now, if not for you. Hell, our entire world would be extinct, if not for you."
"Nightfall," Clark muttered.
"Yeah, Nightfall," Jimmy said with a serious nod. "Not a single person would be alive if not for you."
"And I almost failed," Clark pointed out.
"But you didn't."
"No, I didn't. But I came too close to it for comfort." He sighed and took a last, long sip of his drink. "Some nights, I lay awake and wonder if I'm even making a difference anymore. Would the world really miss Superman? It doesn't miss Clark Kent, that's for sure. Do I even want to be missed by people who only care about one half of the whole man? Or...well...the only half of the whole that's left."
"The world loves you, CK," Jimmy tried to reassure him.
"Only because I'm the alien freak with powers who flies around doing his best to help. They care only about what I can do for them, Jimmy. Not for who I am."
"I care," Jimmy said softly. "You're my best friend, CK. It kills me inside that you...well...aren't living your life as CK anymore. It's like...I don't know. I guess it feels like you're punishing yourself for something that isn't your fault."
"I'm not punishing myself, Jimmy. I just...I have no reason to continue on as Clark. Lois was my reason for being."
"I'm not sure that's the healthiest line of thinking, if I can be honest here," Jimmy said gently, reaching across the small table and briefly touching Clark's shoulder.
"Maybe not, but I can't help how I feel," Clark said, hanging his head.
"I know," Jimmy sympathized. "Look, I don't mean to pry or tell you how to grieve or anything but...have you...thought about talking to someone?"
"Like a therapist?"
Jimmy nodded. "Yeah."
Clark bit his lower lip in thought and shook his head. "No. I tried that once, the first time I was exposed to red Kryptonite and it caused me to feel apathetic. Dr. Friskin was nice enough, and I did talk to her, hoping to find an answer to my sudden change in attitude. But I was never comfortable with the process." He shook his head as he made a firm decision. "No, I don't want to talk to a doctor."
"Okay," Jimmy said with understanding and a single nod of his head.
"This...all of this," Clark said, gesturing vaguely, "is something I need to figure out - or not - on my own."
"Not on your own, CK. I'll always be here. I may not know exactly what you're going through, but I do know that you are my friend and that you're hurting."
"Thank you, Jimmy. It's nice to have one person I can rely on."
***
Clark did not make dinner with Jimmy a regular thing, though not through a conscious decision, at least at first. He did it when he could, but more often than not, he was tending to a rescue during those Thursday nights. And when he could make them, he found things slowly changing. As the years passed by, Jimmy fell in love with a woman named Leila and before long they were married. Shortly after the honeymoon, they became pregnant with their first child, a daughter named Samantha. More children followed - twin boys, Logan and Thomas, another boy, Anthony, and finally one more girl, Elizabeth.
Each time, Clark's heart nearly burst with happiness for his friend. Each time, Clark's heart nearly stopped beating under the weight of sadness it bore. It wasn't that he begrudged Jimmy his happiness. He truly loved the fact that Jimmy had found his soul mate and had the family he'd always hoped for. But that didn't cancel out the fact that Clark knew he would never have these things for himself, despite how much he might wish and pray to wake from the nightmare that was his life since Lois' death. All he'd ever wanted in life was a wife and children of his own. And that had been stolen from him.
It wasn't that he didn't want to find love again. It was the knowledge, deep down at the very core of his being, that Lois had been the one woman he'd been meant to love. No one else could ever compare to her. Everyone else seemed like pale imitations of the perfection that had been Lois. Besides, he'd given up on the idea of a normal life. There was only Superman left, and Superman wasn't a normal guy with a normal life. Superman didn't date, didn't marry, didn't raise children.
Superman was a perpetual loner.
To his credit, Jimmy begged, pleaded, and did his utmost to try to make Clark spend time with the family and to feel included, but all it did was to make Clark feel like an intrusive third wheel. All it did was drive the knife in Clark's heart in a little deeper, every time he saw Leila smile at Jimmy the way Lois used to smile at him. All it did was kill him a little inside, every time one of the kids called him "Uncle Clark," knowing that no tiny voice would ever call him "Daddy."
For a long time after his bombshell announcement that Clark Kent and Superman had been one and the same, Clark avoided going to Lois' grave. It seemed like the media set up camp at the headstone, waiting for the grieving widower to show up, to document the flowers he wanted to lay on his wife's grave and capture images of the tears in the broken hero's eyes. But, eventually, even those vultures, as Clark came to view them, gave up, and he was finally able to visit Lois' final resting place in peace, without having to sneak in like a thief in the middle of the night.
He made it a point, once a year on their wedding anniversary, to go out for a nice dinner, and silently toast the wife who'd been torn from his side. After only a couple of years, the pattern became apparent and offers for free meals came pouring in from various restaurant owners. Clark was thankful, but gently declined the offers. It didn't feel right to him, to be given something for free, just because of his superhero work and maybe some genuine pity for him. He paid for each of those meals with the money from his cashed out bank accounts and left generous tips as well.
And each day, he found himself using his voice less and less until even the public started calling him the Silent Hero. That wasn't to say he never spoke at all, but it did become quite rare for him to give public statements of any kind. Amongst the masses, Superman speaking to a person - even in the throes of a crisis - became a bragging right and something to covet. But even those words were few and carefully selected.
The only time he spoke freely, and at length, was when he was alone and talking to Lois, hoping her spirit could still somehow hear him, even if she couldn't respond.
***
Life eventually became unbearable for Clark. He hated being with people. He hated being a recluse. He had no desire to attempt to go back to living a civilian life. He'd long since had any kind of joy in living exclusively as Superman. He grew listless and depressed. His thoughts grew ever darker.
Oh, he still empathized with all the innocent people he helped on a daily basis. He still felt the same heartache and guilt any time he wasn't able to save someone. But when it came to criminals, his tolerance was gone. He didn't intentionally hurt anyone, and he never put anyone in any kind of danger, but he couldn't muster up the energy to care if something did happen to a criminal. He'd been to a number of emergency situations where the local law enforcement had been forced to discharge their weapons against a suspect. Most had gotten away with moderate to severe injuries. A handful had been killed. None of those situations had moved Clark at all. His disdain for the criminals hadn't softened into concern because they'd been injured, as it once had. He felt nothing as he gazed upon their dead bodies laying on the ground in pools of their own blood.
And then, one night, the unthinkable happened.
A cry for help cut through the wind and rain as Clark patrolled Metropolis. Instinctively, he altered his flight path and sped to the source of the call. Within ten seconds, he was at the scene - a desolate, single lane road just on the outskirts of the city. He found a single car crash, the sporty red vehicle smashed into a massive maple tree. Clark swiftly dropped from the sky, slowing only once he was close to the ground. He landed whisper-lightly on the rain-slicked roadway. Cautiously, he approached the destroyed car. Pained moaning came from within.
"Hello?" he called out, as he reached the side of the vehicle. The door was hanging on by a thread and creaked in the wind. "Can you hear me?"
"Su...Su...Superman," came the acknowledgement from within.
Clark's blood froze in his veins.
"D.A. Clemmons," he spat out.
"Help me," the disgraced, former D.A. replied. "Please."
"Give me one good reason why I should," Clark replied coldly, his eyes narrowing.
It should have scared him, how easy it was for him to simply stand there and not offer his assistance. But the years without Lois had changed him. He felt neither satisfaction nor horror over the man's current situation. He made no move to help. He simply stood with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to hide how much it hurt his heart to see his wife's killer.
"I'll die if you don't!" the man pleaded desperately.
"So?"
"Please! I don't want to die!"
"Are you afraid to die?" Clark asked harshly.
"Yes," Michael Clemmons admitted after an excruciatingly long pause.
"Well, so was my wife when you had her murdered to advance your own pathetic career."
"I was wrong about that!" Michael quickly added. "I regret what my actions caused."
But Clark wasn't convinced about the former D.A.'s sudden and convenient change of heart. He kept his arms crossed and shook his head.
"Too little, too late," he said in a voice devoid of any compassion.
"You're supposed to help people," Michael grunted through gritted teeth. "You've sworn to protect people!"
"So did you," Clark reminded him.
"You can't leave me like this!" Michael's voice was growing more strained. His breathing had turned ragged. His time was short now. "You're not the Superman the world once knew."
"You're right, I'm not. And you have yourself to thank for that," Clark countered. "You murdered my wife for your own gain. You got what amounted to a slap on the wrist for it. And then you got yourself out on parole way ahead of when you should have been eligible, by pulling every string and exploiting every loophole in what passes for a justice system in this broken country. Goodbye, Mr. Clemmons."
With a mock salute, Clark rose from the pavement and slowly flew up into the sky. Behind him, he heard it as the former D.A.'s condition worsened by the heartbeat, until Clark could no longer hear anything at all - not a gasp, not a cough, not the man's thready heartbeat as it slowed into nonexistence. But it wasn't until the next morning, when the news broke of how, hours after Clark had left the scene of the accident, another driver had come across the wreckage and dead body, that it finally hit Clark.
He'd allowed a man to die.
He could have at least tried to save him, even though the official police statement had made it clear that the man's injuries had been far too grievous to survive. Even if Clark had flown him to the hospital, Clemmons wouldn't have made it.
Instantly, Clark felt the weight of Clemmons' blood on his hands.
He reasoned with himself. Or, rather, he tried to.
He wasn't responsible for the accident that had claimed Clemmons' life. He hadn't caused the rain. He hadn't been the one to lose control over the car. He hadn't had a hand in the tree growing where it did, in a perfect path for the car to hit it. And, he told himself, over and over again, Clemmons had been too injured to save. Moving him could have even caused him to die faster.
It didn't work. The guilt tore him apart. And yet, in a twist that Clark couldn't understand, he was immensely glad that justice, such as it was, had been served. He'd never before believed in the concept of "a life for a life." But in this one circumstance, he could think of no more appropriate punishment for the man who'd murdered Lois Lane and, by extension, Clark Kent.
It was unnerving, to feel such a conflict of emotions raging so strongly inside of him. And to feel any degree of relief or happiness over another man's death, no matter how evil that man had been, scared Clark down to the very marrow of his bones. Sure, he'd felt a sense of relief when Lex Luthor had died - both times - but not like this. With Luthor, the relief had been born out of a knowledge that his loved ones were now safe. It was different with Clemmons. His death didn't protect anyone. Lois was already dead. Any relief brought about by Clemmons' departure from life was born out of a desire for vengeance.
For half a year, Clark wrestled with these demons. He barely slept, thanks to recurring nightmares that took place on the night of the accident. He shied away from the rest of the world, only tending to the worst disasters. He hated the sunlight, though it nourished his body, because he felt as though it exposed his great sin to the world.
Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore.
A plan formed in his mind.
It would be risky, he knew, but if he did it right, he would never have to suffer from such guilt again. So he carefully plotted every minute detail, and waited as patiently for his opportunity. Then, finally, on the anniversary of Lois' murder, he set everything into motion. To have his chance on such a night felt almost poetic to him.
He flew to his destination at breakneck speed. He didn't care to take in all of the sights and sounds of the world. He hadn't for a very long time. There was no beauty, no magic, no wonderment left to touch the place where his heart and soul had once resided. He only wanted to do what needed to be done.
He arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs in the cold, dark, dead hours of the night. A skeleton crew of security were the only souls around. It was easy to avoid them, making his moves when they turned their backs. Likewise, once he was inside the building, it was easy to avoid the detection of the security cameras. All he had to do was move at top speed. Oh, he knew that, eventually, his actions would be noticed - he had to pause at each door to swipe the security key card he'd stolen from a dozing guard - but he hoped, by that time, his mission would be complete.
It was funny. He'd thought he'd be nervous, breaking into S.T.A.R. Labs like this. He'd imagined shaking hands, rapid breathing, his heart beating so fiercely it would nearly burst out of his chest. But he wasn't. He was calm and collected. He felt surer of himself and steadier than he'd had in a long time.
At last, he reached his second to last goal, all without incident. Dr. Klein's office. For a moment, Clark had to admire that the older man had opted not to retire, though he was well beyond when most men gave up working to pursue a more leisurely lifestyle. He quietly slipped inside the man's private office and quickly retrieved the specialized keys he kept there - and those, too, were kept safely under their own lock and key. Gripping them tightly, he moved on, striding purposefully to his final destination. In mere moments he was there.
The vault.
Swiftly, Clark applied the keys to the series of locks that kept the vault sealed shut and as secure as possible. He let the computer scan his handprint and retinas, knowing that only he and Dr. Klein's biometrics had been programmed into the machine. It recognized him and the door swung open. Clark took a moment to simply stand there and gaze in at the rows of lead boxes lining the vault's shelves.
"And now it ends," he whispered to himself as he entered the cramped room. "I'm coming, Lois."
He flicked open the locks on two of the largest boxes, which sat side by side. In one motion, he pushed the heavy lids open. Immediately, the Kryptonite's poisonous effects began to ravage his body. In agony, he fell to his knees. He doubled over, grunting against the rock's assault. In another moment, his muscles had turned to jelly and he collapsed fully, laying curled in a fetal position on the cold tile floor.
For long minutes he lay there, feeling his life bleeding out of him. Thoughts were obliterated by the searing, white hot pain tearing through his body and brain. Breathing became an exercise in torture. Nothing existed but the pain. Cleansing pain, as Clark had called it to himself, when he'd first had the idea to end things. Internal fire to burn away his sins. Poison to purge his body of the toxic thoughts and feelings he'd developed toward the world. A green death to spirit him away from life, for his will to live had long since withered away, turned to ash, and been carried away by the wind.
Darkness enveloped him. His vision faded, faltered, then died away. His ears heard nothing but the frantic pumping of his blood in his veins. At some point, he passed out, while the radioactive pieces of his home-world slowly killed him.
*** More Below ***
