***
Clark's eyes gradually creaked open, then immediately shut again as pain exploded in his head and against the brightness of the sunlight. He groaned, his entire body seeming to throb with every beat of his heart. He briefly wondered if this was hell, but it hurt too much to think and he abandoned his train of thought. He tried to sleep again, to dull the pain, and was successful. He must have slept for hours. When he awoke, the sunlight in his room had shifted position and changed colors.
This time, as he came into full wakefulness, he felt no pain. He experimentally moved his fingers and toes, then, finding that well within his ability, he tried moving his arms and legs. He lolled his head to one side, toward the light coming in from the large windows in the room. Beyond the glass, the sky was ablaze with reds and oranges, heralding the sun's departure.
But where was he?
The room he was in was completely foreign to him. He tried to take in all of the details, hoping it would give him a clue. Pristine white walls. A large fireplace of white and gray marble to his right, with a comfortable blaze dancing inside the hearth. Furniture of dark wood, possibly mahogany. Colorful paintings on the walls by an artist Clark didn't recognize. Bookshelves, each one without a single open space to spare on his left. The softest bed, pillow, and sheets he'd ever felt in his life. No, this couldn't be hell, he realized. Where were the raging fires and brimstone and pitchfork wielding demons he'd always heard tell of?
"Damn," he swore under his breath in a nearly inaudible voice. His attempt to join Lois on the other side had failed.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," a deep, familiar voice came from behind him.
Clark sat up with a start and whipped his head around toward the voice. A man dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt was entering the room, looking relieved to see Clark finally awake.
"Bruce," Clark growled. "I should have known."
"Are you feeling okay?" the billionaire asked.
Clark shook his head. "I'm alive. So, no."
Bruce's eyes narrowed and his relief instantly turned to a scowl. "You mean, the Kryptonite..."
"It was intentional," Diana supplied as she sauntered into the room and leaned against the doorframe, no trace of a question in her voice. Clark was surprised to see her out of her usual Wonder Woman attire, wearing instead a pair of dark blue jeans and a salmon colored turtleneck sweater.
Damn! Clark swore in his mind. He'd been so successful at avoiding the other superheroes in the world for so long.
"Yes," Clark admitted instead, no shame at all tainting the word.
"You moron," Bruce said, shaking his head. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"What Bruce means," Diana interrupted, trying to soothe over Bruce's angry accusation, "is that, when Lantern found you, barely clinging to life at S.T.A.R. Labs, and brought you here, we'd hoped that it had been some kind of accident."
"It wasn't an accident," Clark snapped. "Maybe next time John should mind his own business."
"Why?" Diana asked. "You've always been the one who talks people down from suicide. Something like this...it just isn't you." She moved in closer as she spoke. She pulled a chair over to the bedside, close enough to be friendly, but far enough to give Clark some personal space.
"I did it because I'm tired," Clark said, watching as she sat down. "I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of life."
"Clark..."
"No, Bruce. This isn't some knee-jerk, spur of the moment decision. I've been thinking about this for a while now. It's what I wanted," Clark said firmly. "What I still want."
"Then you're a bigger idiot than I thought," Bruce countered, following Diana's lead and pulling up a second chair. "Killing yourself isn't the answer."
"Then what is?" Clark fairly roared.
"You aren't the only one with problems," Bruce calmly replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "I should know. But not everyone chooses to run from their problems."
Clark chuckled in a manner that let them know he wasn't actually amused. "Running? You think I'm running? You have no idea of what's been going on in my life."
"Then tell us," Diana said in a hard tone.
Clark fell silent, thinking. Was it better not to say a word? Or should he unburden his heart to these two former colleagues and risk their scorn? No, he had to tell someone about the crushing depression and guilt he felt, or he would go crazy.
"Clark?" Diana prompted after a couple of minutes had passed.
He sighed. "Okay," he said at last. He had to look away from them, or he'd be too embarrassed to continue. He looked down, instead, at the navy blue comforter on the bed. "I guess...I should start by saying...I....I haven't been the same since...since Lois died," he managed to get out in halting tones.
"No kidding," Bruce deadpanned from the armchair he was sitting in.
Clark nodded once. "Her death...it's changed me. Aside from being severely depressed, I'm finding myself becoming more and more cynical about, well, everything."
"We've noticed that Superman has grown...harder, more distant," Diana said, almost to herself.
"Then, about six months ago, I...I did something I never thought I'd do. I...I purposefully let a man die."
Bruce's already frowning face instantly deepened in concern, or maybe judgment, Clark wasn't sure.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice nearly slipping into the commanding tone of Batman.
"I came across a car wreck one night," Clark clarified. "When I landed, I realized it was the D.A. responsible for setting up and murdering Lois. He was hurt badly, and I know he would have died even if I'd done something to try to help, but...I didn't even try. I looked him in the eyes and refused to help him. I...I acted on vengeance. That's something I've never really done before. Not like this."
"And now you have the guilt of your actions," Bruce supplied.
Clark sighed again, heavily. "Yes. But it's more than that. Part of me is appalled that I did what I did. And part of me is happy that he's dead."
"So...you feel guilt for being glad to see him dead. And that's eating you alive," Diana said, as though looking for confirmation.
"Yes." Clark hung his head in shame. "My head...my heart...everything is a complete mess. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't even know who I am anymore."
"Well, killing yourself isn't the answer," Bruce repeated with certainty.
"And what is?" Clark asked, bitterness mingling with utter hopelessness in those words.
"Join us," Bruce said. "Come back to Justice League. After all, it was you who first had the idea to create an allied network of heroes."
"Bruce is right. We need you," Diana added. "The two of us are doing our best but," she said with a shrug, "you were the glue holding things together. Everyone looked up to you. Respected you. Everyone was ready to follow you into whatever battles or situations or...whatever might come our way. How we've lasted these years without you...I don't even know."
"No."
"You could at least think it over," Bruce argued.
Clark shook his head. "I don't need to. Look, I'll admit it, I still think the League is a good idea. But I just don't have the heart to pretend that there's such a thing as 'justice' to fight for. Not anymore."
"Everyone loses people they love," Bruce said in a hard tone.
"It's not just about Lois," Clark argued back. "Look, I've put a lot of people behind bars. Everyone from your local, run of the mill mugger, to your drug lords, to corrupt politicians, to serial killers. I've followed their stories as they've been put on trial and been sentenced. And you know what I've seen? Murderers that get less jail time than drug dealers. Rapists who get away with it because of some stupid technicality. Thieves that barely get a slap on the wrist and then are turned loose on the streets again just to become repeat offenders."
He shook his head after a moment. "I'm starting to think it just isn't worth it, to keep fighting."
"Of course it is!" Diana said, leaning forward in her seat just a little. "Okay, sure, I agree that sometimes the justice system fails. And it is frustrating. But that doesn't mean we should give up on the idea of making the world a better place. Just think of how many lives you've saved! Planes that were crashing, until you got to the scene. Hostage situations that you ended. Mudslides. Earthquakes. Fires of every kind that you rescued people from."
"Nightfall," Bruce added.
"I know," Clark said with a shake of his head. "I know it's not just about putting criminals away in jail. I know there are far more innocent lives that are directly - or indirectly - saved by the things I do. But...even that...it wears on me. All the people I can't save. All of the senseless death and destruction. All of the ways my powers - limitless as they may seem to everyone else - are limited. Every time I get to a crisis five seconds too late. Every decision I have to make, knowing that whoever I choose to help will live and the one I don't choose will die. Every natural disaster that I can't get to because I'm assisting at some other natural disaster, or police standoff, or apartment fire, or sinking cruise ship, or peace negotiation, or what have you."
He took a breath, hung his head, and sighed softly. "Lois was the light in all of that darkness. She was the one who healed my soul, more effectively than the sun heals my body. Without her...all of that darkness is crushing down on me. I'm not even sure how I've made it this long without her. I just can't do it anymore."
"The Clark I used to know would have reminded you that there are plenty of wonderful, beautiful things about that world to marvel at and draw strength and inspiration from," Diana said quietly, looking down at her hands in her lap.
"The Clark you used to know was a fool," Clark countered.
"Come back to the League," Diana offered again. "We're your friends. Not a single one of us hasn't felt like you do at least once. That our efforts are in vain. That we can't possibly ever do enough. We can support you."
"Look, I appreciate the offer, but I'm definitely not in the right headspace for that."
"Just...keep it in mind. The offer stands for as long as the League does," Diana said, giving him an encouraging, albeit small, smile. "You have our word on that." She looked to Bruce, who nodded his agreement.
"Thanks," Clark said gently, careful not to get her hopes up. He knew he would never return to the League. "I should probably go," he said after a minute of awkward silence. He made ready to get out of bed when Bruce's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"You're not going anywhere."
"You can't stop me, Bruce," Clark challenged.
"Less than twenty-four hours ago, you were a hairsbreadth away from death," Bruce said flatly, his voice brooking no argument. "You aren't going anywhere until you've had a chance to fully heal."
"I'm fine," Clark said.
"No, you aren't. Go ahead, try to float up out of the bed," Bruce challenged as he sat back.
Clark tried, and found, much to his chagrin, that the billionaire was right. His powers, despite the fact that his body had laid in sunlight all day, had not yet fully returned. He'd come too close to dying. His body was far too drained. He would need more time before he was back to what passed for normal for him.
"Fine," he huffed when it became apparent that his friends were waiting for a response. "But only until I can fly. Then I'm out of here."
"Fair enough," Bruce said diplomatically. "Come on, Diana. Let's let him rest. Alfred will be along shortly with something for you to eat."
"No, wait," Clark said, sitting up a little straighter. "I've been asleep the entire day. I don't mind if you stay for a bit." As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, it was nice to have people - other superheroes, in particular - to talk to, instead of the suffocating silence of isolation.
Bruce nodded once. "Sure. I'll ring for Alfred to come up now, with dinner for all of us."
***
By the next evening, Clark was back to his old self. All of his powers had been restored. He'd even felt well enough to leave his bed and walk about Wayne Manor. He'd been careful to stay indoors in areas with large windows, which allowed the sunlight to work its magic in his body. He dared not step outdoors. If it was known that Superman was hanging around Bruce Wayne's mansion, the rumor mill would spark. People might suspect that the billionaire playboy was more than what he seemed. People might even connect the dots between Bruce and Batman, if they thought about things long and hard enough.
Clark didn't want that.
It was bad enough that he'd stirred up public curiosity in general when he'd come clean to the public about his dual identities. It had created a bit of trouble for the other "supers" out there. He wasn't about to risk it again. So, instead, he had had to content himself to wandering about indoors. And, though he wasn't particularly interested in food, he did share his meals with his friends. He had to admit, the food was exquisite, and it was nice to eat. When was the last time he'd eaten? he'd wondered to himself as he'd finished the last bite of his breakfast. Since well before he'd allowed Mr. Clemmons to die, that was for certain. Probably on his and Lois' wedding anniversary.
Fifteen years.
He and Lois would have been married for fifteen years now. They could have had one or more teenaged children by now. They definitely - he was certain - would have had a few more journalism awards under their belts. Maybe even the coveted Pulitzer. He wondered if they would have still been living in their townhouse, or if their family would have needed a larger place by now. He wondered how different his entire outlook on life would have been, had Lois lived.
"Where will you go now?" Bruce asked that night, as Clark prepared to leave the mansion. He'd purposefully waited until the cold, dark, post-midnight hours, to help keep prying eyes blind to the fact that Superman was in Wayne Manor.
"I don't know," Clark admitted. "Maybe back to where I was living before. Maybe someplace new. I don't really belong anywhere."
"And you'll be all right?" Diana asked, concerned.
Clark shrugged as he put his back to them. "I'll never be all right. Not really."
"Promise me that you won't do...what you did...ever again," Diana pleaded.
"He won't," Bruce said confidently.
Clark spun back around. "You can't stop me, Bruce," he said, letting defiance ring in his voice.
"I already have." Was Clark imagining the sense of arrogance and pride in Bruce's words?
"Bruce?" Diana asked, confused.
"The stash of Kryptonite that S.T.A.R. Labs had? I've taken great pains to see that you'll never find so much as one radioactive atom of it, let alone enough for you to commit suicide with."
Clark could have punched Batman's smug face as he stood there, leaning against the wall, his entire body posture relaxed.
"That's not your decision!" he said instead, his anger and indignation erupting.
"It's not yours either," Bruce shot back. "The world needs Superman."
"The world was getting along just fine, well before I ever put on the suit," Clark argued, crossing his arms over his chest. "It will find a way to be just fine without me."
"That's not true," Bruce said, shaking his head, his voice calm but intense, like always. "The world has become a better place with Superman in it."
"Clark Kent too," Diana put in. "You've done so much good in both of your identities."
"An illusion," Clark said. "Yeah, sure, I can do something like put the head of Intergang behind bars. But all it does is make way for someone worse, someone far more evil, to move into that role."
"Clark, you aren't thinking straight," Bruce said.
Clark shook his head. "No. For the first time in my life, I am thinking straight. Seeing the world for how it really is, not through the rose-colored lenses of a dreamer."
"We've been talking," Diana interrupted, taking two steps forward and drawing Clark's attention from his self loathing. "Maybe you should take some time off. Bruce is willing to put you up here, in the manor. You'd have the run of the place, a roof over your head, food, and, most importantly, company. Or, if you'd prefer, you can stay in one of the rooms at the Hall. There's at least one of us around more often than not, so you'd have company but more than enough privacy too. What do you think?"
"It's a generous offer, but, if I stay here, I draw attention to the fact that Superman and Bruce Wayne are friends. That's not something we can afford - for people to suspect that maybe there's more to the billionaire," Clark said, once more putting his back to his fellow superheroes. "And I have no right to anything about the Hall. Not one of the rooms, not one of the candy bars we've got stocked away for meetings, not a glass of water from the kitchen sink. So, thank you, but I'm fine on my own."
"You aren't fine!" Bruce growled. "You need help. The world cannot afford to have a suicidal superhero flying about."
Clark paused a moment before answering. He moved his head to the side, not quite looking back over his shoulder.
"You're right," he said quietly. "A suicidal superhero would be a disaster. So...I quit."
And with that, he took off through the open window, never to look back.
***
Years passed. The world went from bad to worse. Crime rates rose. New terrorist groups sprouted up like weeds. Drug lords grew bolder. Once "safe" areas became dangerous. Wars broke out - a few times, to the point where most of the world's population believed the end was near. Oh, there were still those who fought for truth and justice. Some groups even wore attire that bore Superman's S, to show both unity and an adherence to the ideals the former hero had once embodied.
Speculation about Superman ran rampant in the beginning. Had he died? Had he abandoned Earth again, as he had when the survivors of Krypton had come begging for his help? Had he retired? Had something else happened to him? Had his powers somehow vanished? Had he mentally snapped - from the unjust execution of his wife, from the stress of being the hero around the clock, from something else altogether? Had he gotten ill, somehow?
So Clark was forced to break his silence once again. He called another press conference and made it official that he had quit the hero business, though he made it clear that his retirement didn't mean the world was on its own. After all, the Justice League still survived - however tenuous that survival really was, behind the scenes. And, even if it did collapse, Clark had faith that the individual members would still fight for justice in their own ways.
In retrospect, as the world deteriorated, Clark often wondered if he'd done the right thing in announcing his retirement. Had it made the world's villains bolder? Had those who might have otherwise been too afraid of being caught by the Man of Steel grown more confident in his absence? But what was done was done and he couldn't change it.
At first, it was hard to ignore the cries for help. Each one of them cut Clark's heart. But, eventually, apathy took the place of his once tender, compassionate spirit. He learned to tune out the cries for help. He stopped checking on the news. He stopped caring about everything and anything. He felt himself wasting away as he hid himself from the world and everyone in it. He felt himself growing a little less "super" with each passing year. And still he hid in his icy cell of solitude.
All the while, he searched for any hint of where Bruce might have hidden the world's stash of Kryptonite, but his efforts remained in vain.
Then, one day, the unexpected happened. He became keenly aware of how cold he was. Up until then, not even the most extreme temperatures had bothered him. Oh, he could feel coldness or heat, but it was little more than an awareness. The cold couldn't penetrate his flesh to chill him down to his bones. He didn't shiver. He didn't experience coldness in the way that it could numb one's fingers and toes. Heat couldn't burn him. His skin never reddened in painful sunburns before peeling to give way to toasted tanned flesh. He didn't sweat.
But now he felt the cold seeping into deepest parts of his body. The tips of his fingers, his toes, even his nose were tingling with numbness. His body shook involuntarily as it struggled to get warm. His teeth chattered so hard he thought that surely they would chip against each other and break. He stood in the middle of his little cave, taking stock of his meager possessions. He picked up the framed photo of Lois.
"Looks like it's time to move on," he told the lifeless image, his voice creaking with the effort of speaking.
He picked up a spare cape and used it to carry his belongings, rather like a hobo's pack. Without looking back, he sped away from the frozen, desolate hell that had been his home in his self-imposed exile. He didn't even have to pause to plan where he'd go next. He knew just the place, and angled his flight path directly to the uninhabited speck of an island that he'd often used as a getaway back in his old life, before he'd even known Lois. It was perfect. The weather was pleasant all year long. Coconut trees, taro plants, even banana trees were in abundant supply, if he felt like eating - now a long distant memory for him. And he could easily fish or dive for things like lobsters, crabs, and shrimp.
Clark had to admit it, but he still loved that island, despite the sadness that had always accompanied it. It had forever been a place he'd retreated to when his loneliness had threatened to suffocate him. He'd never gotten the chance to share it with Lois, though he'd planned on bringing her there as soon as her trial was over. What a fool he'd been! He'd assumed that it would be an easy enough thing to prove her innocence. He'd seriously underestimated his and Lois' opponents.
Moments after leaving the world of ice and snow behind, he landed on the sandy shore of the island. He put his makeshift pack on the sand and stood for a moment, hands on his hips, contemplating his new home. There was a cave in the stone cliff side to his right, at ground level, well above the high tide line, right where the trees all began to grow cheek by jowl. It was the perfect spot, facing west, and giving him an uninterrupted view of the sunset. All his life, he'd had a special fondness for sunsets - the colors had always seemed sort of magical to him.
He immediately claimed the cave as his new residence.
"Well, Lois," he said, later that night, by the light of a simple campfire he'd made on the beach, looking up at the stars glistening above, "how do you like our new home? I really wish I'd gotten a chance to show you this place in person. Just one happy memory of being here with you would have obliterated all of the sadness this place has always embodied for me."
He paused for a few minutes, just studying those heavenly points of light.
"I haven't been the same since you died. But, I think...I might be seeing you again soon. That is, if God or the universe or whatever can forgive me for all the hideous mistakes I've made in my life. I've turned my back on the world for a long time now. I've let my powers waste away, unused, where I'd once sworn to myself that I would use them to better the world. It's just been so hard to care about anything with you gone. It's not your fault. It's totally mine. I'm not strong enough to be without you. But now...I can feel my time growing short. It used to scare me, the idea of death. But I've been ready for death for many years now. I want to be with you, Lois. I only hope that you can forgive this pathetic shell of a man that I've become. Because I know I'm not the same man that you married."
Three months later, at the age of eighty-seven, Clark Kent, once known as Superman, quietly passed away in his sleep.
***
Lois woke up, tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting the pillow beneath her head. She blindly reached over to her husband's side of the bed, only to find it empty. Her eyes shot open, instantly jarring her into full wakefulness. She almost called out for Clark, but then she saw something in the glow of the streetlights that filtered in through the slats of the Venetian blinds on their bedroom windows. A sheet of paper, laying on Clark's pillow. She reached for it and then rolled onto her back before switching on the lamp on her night stand.
Lois,
Mass shooting in Arizona at a street fair. I might be a while. I didn't want you to worry. Be home as soon as I can. Love you!
Clark
The note, she knew, would have been fired off in a second or less as he raced to get to the scene. But Clark had still managed to retain the obsessively neat handwriting that was distinctly his. It made her smile, despite the lingering fear and sadness that was clouding her thoughts. In fact, she was so worked up that she thrust aside the bed sheets and got up. She threw on her winter bathrobe to ward off the chilliness of the night and the residual chill her dream had injected her body with.
She padded downstairs and into the kitchen. Normally, she would have gone straight for the carton of chocolate ice cream in the freezer. But not tonight. She didn't want anything cold. Instead, she fixed herself a hot cup of oolong tea - Clark had converted her into becoming a tea lover - and heated up one of the brownies Clark had made the night before in the microwave, just enough to make it warm, not hot.
She took her snack into the living room and settled on the couch. But before she could do so much as reach for the television remote, the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock. Twenty after twelve.
"Who the hell could that be?" she muttered to herself, debating whether or not to she should answer the door at this hour.
Whoever it was out there was insistent though. The bell rang three more times before Lois finally abandoned what remained of her snack and answered the door.
"Who the hell..." she managed as she pulled the door open. She didn't get the rest of the question out.
"Sorry to bother you, Miss Lane...or, should I say, Mrs. Kent." A grin accompanied the words.
"H.G. Wells!" Lois said in surprise. "What are you doing here? Please, don't tell me there's another curse or something that we have to play Back to the Future to stop."
"Nothing like that. But...I do need to talk to you. May I come in?"
Lois moved aside and gestured for the older gentleman to come in. "Of course. Make yourself at home. The tea kettle should still be warm. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"No, thank you," he said politely as he stepped into her living room, while she hung his coat and hat up on a peg by the door.
"Here," Lois said, joining him in living room and leading the way to the couch. "Have a seat."
"Thank you, Lois," he said with a soft smile that lasted only a moment before it fled again.
"What can I do for you? Clark's not home, otherwise I'd wake him up to come and chat as well."
Herb shook his head. "It's not Clark I need to speak with. It's you."
"Me?"
He nodded slightly. "I wanted to talk to you about the dream you just had. The one so terrible it froze the marrow in your bones and exiled you from your bed to seek comfort in a midnight snack," he said, nodding toward the remnants of her tea and brownie.
"How did you...?"
"I'm the one who gave you that dream."
"You...what? I'm afraid I don't understand," Lois said, confused.
"It's a bit complicated to explain, but what it boils down to is that I have a device that can implant memories into a person's mind. I borrowed it from another dimension and the far distant future," he said, anticipating her questions.
"Memories? But that was just a dream," Lois said.
Herb shook his head again. "Was it really just a dream? Didn't it have a certain feel of reality to it? Did it not invoke particular emotions, as you watched the events play out?"
Lois hesitated for several long heartbeats before answering. "Yes," she admitted. "Throughout the dream, I could feel Clark's depression. His loneliness. His rage. His hopelessness. His cynicism and eventual apathy toward the world. It felt so real, like it was actually happening to me...even now, I can't completely shake the feelings from my heart."
"That's because it wasn't a dream. All of what you saw will come to pass. Unless, of course, you listen carefully to what I have to tell you," Herb warned her.
Lois leaned forward in her seat just an inch or two. "I'm listening."
"Good. Now then, in two days' time, one of your old sources, a man by the name of Sykes, is going to contact you and ask to meet with you privately. He's an unwitting pawn in a larger plot. He'll hand you a gun that, unbeknownst to him, will be rigged to shoot on its own, regardless of the fact that your fingers will be nowhere near the trigger. You will be arrested, tried, found guilty, and executed. And Clark will lose his way. The promised utopia of the future will become, instead, a desolate, dangerous, terrifying dystopia, ruled by ruthless people like our old friend Tempus."
"No," Lois breathed, horrified. "Clark's too good a man to let that happen."
But Herb shook his head sadly. "In other universes, that might be the case. In this one, however, once the light in Clark's world is gone - that is to say, you are gone - the darkness will take hold. His spirit will die alongside you. And the world will be doomed."
"What can I do to stop this?" Lois asked, afraid for Clark.
"Don't meet with Sykes," Herb told her in earnest. "At least, not alone. Take your husband with you, in the guise of the superhero, should you choose to go to that meeting. Do not, under any circumstances, take that gun."
"Clark will destroy it before it can hurt anyone," Lois vowed. "We'll nail Mr. Clemmons and Jefferson Cole."
Herb smiled. "I'm glad to see you remembered who's behind the plot," he said approvingly.
"How could I possibly forget?" Lois asked.
"Well, that's the trouble with the device. Memories can be fickle things. Some people remember every last detail of what they've been shown. Others can barely remember the vaguest details, once they awaken. Most fall somewhere in between, remembering select pieces of the information."
"Just...why? Why would anyone go to such a disgusting low to frame me for murder?" She feared the answer, but she had to know.
"Power, Lois. At least, the promise of power. Mr. Clemmons thought to use the trial as a public relations stunt. He'd capture a monstrous killer and the people would rally behind him when he ran for political office. It was never about you, per se. You were just..." he paused and shrugged, "a convenient target."
"Well, that makes me feel great," Lois muttered.
"Don't take it personally," Herb said, trying to make her feel better.
"Can I ask a question? About Clark?"
Herb nodded. "If I can answer it, I will."
Lois nodded in turn. "After my...passing...he really put his back to the world?"
"I'm afraid so," Herb said with a sigh. "As you know, there are many, many universes out there. Some are grossly different from this one - ones where Lex Luthor is a hero and Superman is less than noble. Some where Clark Kent is the cover for Superman. Even ones where you are the Kryptonian hero and Clark Kent is no more than your average Joe. And some very closely resemble this one. In some of those universes, your name is cleared and you and Clark go on to live long, happy lives together. In others, you die, and it only commits Clark more firmly to his personal vow to help the world. It depends on so many variables. It seems that your Clark, however, is particularly prone to his emotions. His heart is especially...not quite fragile, but...let us say, tender."
"Is he the only one who...?" She couldn't finish. The thought of Clark becoming so depressed that he'd actually quit being a hero and had tried to take his life was just too horrible to give voice to.
"No," Herb said with a shake of his head. "This isn't the only universe where your death has triggered such a downfall for both your husband and the world."
Inexplicably, that lifted some of the burden from Lois' shoulders.
"In that dream...vision...memory...thing," Lois continued, her mind whirring, "Clark lived to be eighty-seven."
Herb nodded. "That's right."
"Is that...?" She gulped, trying to force the words to come. "Is that...set in stone?" She couldn't even look the time-traveler in the eyes. She kept her gaze trained on her lap.
Herb smiled fondly. "No, it isn't. At least, I don't believe it is. In most other universes, when those Clarks have been allowed to live out their natural life spans, they have lived long past the age of eighty-seven. On average, it's been about one hundred and three. I think your Clark just...gave up. He lost his will to live. And it killed him well before his time."
"And those other Clarks?" Lois asked, pulling her gaze from her fingernails and looking Herb straight in the eye. "The ones with a Lois who survived? How did they take her eventual death? I mean, one hundred and three is a long time for a regular person to live. You can't tell me all of them got so lucky as to celebrate that many years with their husband."
"Ah," Herb said, smiling and with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "But most of them have!"
"How?" Intrigue dueled with Lois' disbelief.
"Pregnancy."
"Beg pardon?"
"Did you know, Lois, that when a woman becomes pregnant, some of the baby's shed cells stay within the mother? Yes, it's true," he said in response to her surprised look. "Those cells can migrate all over the mother's body and become part of her other organs...brain, blood, heart, et cetera. In your case...at least in that of your otherworldly counterparts, those cells, and the DNA they contained, changed you. You never developed the ability to fly or see through walls, but you seem to have gained the aura that protects Kryptonians exposed to a yellow sun."
"So...what? The others became...immortal?" Lois replied, half joking, half confused.
Herb chuckled. "No, not quite. Everyone dies eventually, Lois. Even Superman. But that aura did extend their lives past what it probably would have been."
Lois fell silent as she frantically tried to process this new revelation. After a minute or two, she spoke again.
"So...this means we can have children together? I know Clark's worried that we might be too different to be able to successfully bring a child into this world."
She let the hope in her heart shine through. Truth be told, Clark's concerns scared her too. Though she'd never thought it possible in her past, she now very much wanted to be a mother. The idea that she might never be able to conceive a child with her husband hurt her heart in ways she couldn't properly express, and they hadn't even discussed when they might start trying.
Herb paused, sending Lois in silent panic.
"I don't know," he admitted somberly, after what felt like a year. "Most of the other Lois and Clarks I've studied are able to have children. Some, for various reasons, can't for relatively mundane reasons like ovulation issues, egg quality, sperm counts, and the like. Some can't because of unique variations in their particular DNA."
"But most can?" Lois asked, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.
"Most can," the time traveler confirmed for her. "Some have only one child, some have six. Most have one baby at a time, some of them have twins, even triplets, and, in one case I know of, quadruplets. There's really no way I can guarantee anything for you, you see. In this universe, the only story that's been written is the one you saw in your dreams. There's no telling what might happen when we rewrite that story."
Lois nodded, swallowing around a lump in her throat. "I guess I didn't think about it that way," she confessed.
Herb nodded. "I wish I could put your mind more at ease."
"No, no. You've done more than enough. I owe you more than I can say. Thank you, for coming to warn me about the future."
"If my visit helps you and Clark both to live, it is enough," Herb said soberly. "And now, I really must be on my way. It's getting late and I'm sure you'd much rather get some sleep than to sit here with a meddling old man." He grinned as he stood. "Goodnight, Lois. Thank you for hearing me out tonight."
"No, thank you. Clark means everything to me. I'll do whatever I can to protect him." She stood and walked with Herb as he made his way to the door. "Thanks, again, for the heads-up," she said as they reached the front door. She helped him into his coat.
"I have every confidence that, when I next check in on this universe, all will be right," he said with a smile as he adorned his hat.
Lois couldn't help but smile in return. "Thanks."
"Goodbye, Lois. I'm sure we'll see one another again," Herb said as he stepped out into the night. With a flash of light, he was gone.
"I'm sure we will," Lois whispered into the dark before shutting the door and securing the locks.
She padded back to the living room, picked up her now cold cup of tea and brought it to the kitchen. Deciding that she wasn't going to fall asleep any time soon, she made herself a second cup and brought it back to the living room. She flicked on the television. One of the stations was rerunning old episodes of The Ivory Tower, but Lois soon found that she wasn't really paying attention to the images on screen. Her mind was on Clark, and all the things H.G. Wells had shown her.
Clark arrived home less than an hour later. He must have flown directly into their bedroom window. When he entered the living room, he was already back in his bedclothes - no more than a pair of silky black boxers and his bathrobe, which was loosely tied, giving Lois a glimpse of his muscled chest beneath.
"Lois, honey?" he asked softly as he approached. "Is everything okay?"
Lois nodded. "How bad was the rescue?" she said instead as he sat next to her on the couch.
"Bad. But not as bad as it could have been. Thankfully, it was mostly injuries and very few deaths. Still, some of the people I helped...not all of them are going to survive."
"And the shooter?" Lois asked quietly.
"Killed himself as soon as he realized I was on the scene. I hadn't even landed yet."
Lois reached out to him and touched his shoulder in a comforting manner. His entire posture screamed his exhaustion - both mentally and physically. He was slumped forward, elbows on his knees, his shoulders drooping, dark circles beneath his eyes. Defeated, was the word that came to Lois' mind.
"I'm sorry, Clark. I know you did what you could. There are people who are going to live because you were there to help tonight."
"I know. It's just...I wonder, you know? What made the guy do it? What was he trying to accomplish? What drives a man to turn his back on his fellow man and inflict such pain and suffering? I saw children tonight that I had to try and comfort because their parents were dead or too injured for them to see. The youngest one was...I don't know. Maybe five? Six?" He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm so thankful to have you, Lois. Without you, seeing things like what I did tonight...it would break me. Having you to come home to makes it all bearable. You are the light in the darkness for me. You always have, even when we were just tentative colleagues at the Planet, not even friends yet. Thank you."
She smiled tenderly at him. "And you've always been the same for me. I might not fly around the world saving people, but you saved me from myself. You are my safe haven. My source of strength. My home."
Clark sat back, leaning against the couch cushions and took Lois into his arms. "So...why are you awake anyway? You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"
Lois shook her head. "No. I had a bad dream, then decided to get a snack. And...well...we had a visitor, while you were gone."
"A visitor?" he asked, sounding worried. "At this hour of the night? Who in their right mind...?"
He didn't get to finish before Lois interrupted. "H.G. Wells."
Clark's face went ashen and he groaned. "Do I even dare ask what he wanted?" he asked in a resigned, tired manner.
"Oh...it's nothing that the two of us can't handle. Come on, let's go on up to bed and I'll fill you in," Lois said, leaning in and kissing him chastely before standing.
Clark stood and with a gentle, practiced motion, scooped up Lois in his arms. "You're right," he said, gazing down on her with a loving smile. "There's nothing we can't handle together."
The End.
