Author's Note: I'll do my best to keep this shorter than the story itself, but I will warn you it's going to be long. <g>
I guess I'll start with the basics... This is the sequel to
Wherever You Will Go. It's not strictly necessary to read that first, as this takes place back in the alternate universe, but it'll make a bit more sense.
For those of you who've already read WYWG, thanks for coming back.
You're probably dying to know what happens next... but my muse hopped universes for a bit, so you'll have to wait for the third story. Sorry. But I *do* promise it will be written!
Any and all recognizable lines and characters from the show are not mine, but the rest is. The title was taken from a song of the same name by 3 Doors Down -- a song I listened to hundreds of times during the time I was writing this.
Now, here is where this is going to get lengthy. <g> I have numerous people to thank. So many, in fact, that I'm really hoping I don't leave anyone out. If you're not one of them, this might bore you... so you won't hurt my feelings if you skip ahead to the bolded marker I left for you.
Rachel aka Psychofurball - My on the fly beta reader extraordinaire! You never once complained when I came online and said, "Rach!! I wrote a paragraph! Wanna see??" You don't know how much that helped to hear the encouragement that I was still going in the right direction. Not to mention, you and Mel seem to get along great. The spring is for you. The noodles, too.
Erica Dias - Thank you for always nagging and showing me that at least someone was dying for the sequel.
David - Well, well... I don't know how many parts you and Sam managed to pry out of me before they were even beta-read, but thanks for the instant feedback and the occasional challenge of what I'd done.
And as I got further and further into the story, you became just that much more valuable, especially when you'd stay up all hours with me (though I suppose it was midday for you <g>) writing and plotting. You know all the little parts that are for you in this story.
Sorcha - My partner in cri... in... Well, never mind that part.
TEEEJ - We kind of lost touch a bit, but thank you for all your encouragement.
A special thanks to Rachel and David, who demanded... *ahem*... sorry, encouraged that I trust the characters when they wanted to go in a direction I hadn't planned on. You were right, and it only proved to make the story more... more. Thank you guys.
*Whew* I think I'm done now. <g>
Are you all asleep yet?Posting schedule will be Mondays and Thursdays. I look forward to your comments.
A trailer for this story can be found
here .
Sara
"[Paradigm shifts] take place unevenly, and, therefore, different utopias in any time and place may reflect different stages in the paradigm shift, including reactions against it."
~Claeys and Sargent - The Utopia Reader~Away From the Sunby Sara Kraft
~~~Part 1~~~
Clark Kent closed the door to his apartment with a heavy sigh. The weight of the old suitcase Jonathan had given him on his arm - filled with a handful of extra suits from Martha - did nothing to lighten his mood. It only reminded him that he was probably never going to see any of them again. Not Martha. Not Jonathan. And certainly not Lois.
He looked around his apartment, shrouded in darkness. Just like his heart. He didn't turn the lights on. The dimly lit room suited his mood, and besides, he didn't want anyone to know he was home. Not the reporters who had all but given up on him. Not the public. No one.
He was back. He wished he could say it was good to be home.
As he made his way to his bedroom, he couldn't help but notice everything that was eerily the same as Clark's apartment. So many similarities, but the absence of Lois's presence was keenly felt. He tossed the suitcase onto his bed and opened it slowly. The bright red and blue material staring him in the face was in direct contrast to his mood. It almost seemed to be mocking him, reminding him that he was supposed to be a strong, confident superhero.
Superman.
He felt anything but.
He reached underneath the suit and felt the cool glass of the item he'd carefully stowed away, and pulled it out.
Lois's picture.
He knew he shouldn't have taken it. It wasn't his. *She* wasn't his. But he hadn't wanted to leave *everything* behind. It was too final, and he'd wanted to have something to remember her by. Not that he'd forget her.
He wouldn't.
Ever.
Clark sat down on the floor and rested against the bed, propping his arms up on his knees, the picture in front of him. He was foolish for taking it. He was only torturing himself with the image, but it was all he had. Lois stared back at him - smiling, happy, vibrant, and reminding him of everything he'd never have.
Damn H.G. Wells.
Clark thought he understood the man's obsession with Utopia, but to Clark, the idea was idealistic, *unrealistic*. Yes, maybe everything worked out wonderfully for the *other* Lois and Clark, but what about him? Didn't *his* future matter? Why was Wells so obsessed with *them*? Why didn't Wells strive to ensure a Utopia here?
Clark knew there wasn't one. That was why.
Lois had told him that her Utopia was founded by Lois and Clark's descendants, and there *was* no Lois here. He didn't have a future. He'd never have children. He'd never have a legacy.
He stared back at Lois in the picture and wondered. Had his Lois had the same life, the same joy in her eyes?
<Maybe... you have new information... maybe you'll find her.>
Maybe.
But it would be a long time - if ever - before he'd have the motivation to try looking again. It was a lost cause. She'd died in the Congo. Somehow, he knew it was true. Lois Lane was supposed to be cosmically bound with Clark Kent. In any universe. Right? If his Lois was still alive, he should *feel* it. He'd know. No, his Lois was dead and gone. He wondered what might have happened if he'd known her, or at least known *of* her before she'd died. Would he have been able to save her?
He was better off not knowing. It was useless to play the "what if" game. What if he'd been fast enough, strong enough, could he have saved his parents? He didn't know the answer to that one, and his parents were still dead. Lois was still dead. And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about either of those facts.
Clark reached up to set the picture frame on his nightstand. Face down.
He wished he'd never known about Lois or the other universe. Maybe he'd be happy. Or at least not the miserable, useless wreck he was now. Ignorance was bliss, but thanks to H.G. Wells, he no longer had that. He'd never have that. He'd never have a lot of things.
He might have been able to tolerate living if he hadn't known.
Damn H.G. Wells. Who did he think he was? Who did Wells think *Clark* was? Just some throwaway stand-in to use whenever he pleased? A borrowed action figure to use when he couldn't find his own?
He wasn't a toy, dammit! He was a person. Someone with real emotions. Feelings. Feelings that could be hurt. Badly. Irreparably. Didn't Wells understand that? Hadn't Wells stopped to think how any of this would affect *him*?
To hell with Wells.
And to hell with this life he was stuck in now. A barren, useless existence.
Clark stood hastily and jerked the covers back on his bed. The anger drained from him quickly as he crawled into bed, and it was replaced with a more familiar emotion.
Despair.
He pulled the covers around him tightly as he curled into the fetal position. He couldn't kill himself, but he could go to sleep and pray futilely that he wouldn't wake up.
***
Clark awoke the next morning with the sun screaming in his face. He pulled the blanket over his head to avoid the blaring light. The intense emotions of last night had settled deep within, and now he only felt numb. But the feeling was comforting in a way. Familiar. His body and limbs felt leaden, like the effort to move them would be too much. So he didn't.
He probably should get up and face the world - literally. He was sure they were anxiously awaiting Superman's return, but he didn't feel so super. Not even close. He hadn't said how long he'd be gone anyway - he hadn't known - so Metropolis, the world, could live without him for a while longer. Maybe forever. Maybe he could find a remote little island and just live there by himself. The world had gotten along just fine before he'd shown up - well, mostly - and they could handle things on their own.
He dreaded returning to his normal life.
Normal. Hah! Clark Kent was normal. The *other* Clark Kent. In this world, he was as far from normal as he could get. He was an oddity. His ordinary life was irrevocably gone. Clark Kent was a farce, nothing more than a character that the famed Superman played. People *did* regard him as an ordinary man when he played that part, but that was just an act too. They all *knew* he was different, that he was a freak of nature, an alien. Some people even looked at him with disgust. Those stares weren't the ones that bothered him, though. It was the ones that held more than a hint of ridicule. As if they were thinking, "Who are you kidding, trying to pretend to be something that you're not? Pretending to be normal?"
And really, who *was* he kidding? He was nothing more than a novelty, a side show act. That was who Clark Kent had become.
He'd lost his identity. He'd lost who he was. Superman was a chore, and Clark Kent was a joke.
He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. He stared at the ceiling for a minute, asking it to care, wanting *someone* to care. Clark Kent hadn't always been a joke.
Sure, he hadn't been the happiest of people when he'd been just Clark, but at least he'd been content. Or close to it. Since he'd become Superman, since people had found out about him, Clark Kent had vanished, almost without a trace. The only one to have noticed was him. He was the only one who missed Clark Kent.
That was why he'd done it. That was why he'd agreed to go with Wells to the other universe. Well, most of the reason. He thought he'd be happier if he got to be just Clark again. He thought maybe he'd be able to find himself, find a tiny bit of solace that might help him survive.
But he hadn't.
H.G. Wells had shown him exactly what kind of life he *could* have had, had his Lois lived.
Well... mostly.
He'd still be known as just Superman to the world, but it might have been nice to have someone to endure it with. All the same, it was beyond cruel and he should be furious with the time traveler, but he wasn't. He didn't have the energy to be anything other than miserable.
Even that was draining, so he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
***
Clark had slept the whole day, though he'd managed to get out of bed. At least. He felt lazy, but he didn't really care. He didn't care about anything anymore. The dull numbness still enveloped him. It was a comforting feeling. The one thing he was familiar with.
Coming home had at least been reassuring in that way. He'd immediately slipped back into the darkness. The grief for everything he'd lost was the only thing he knew now. Even the joy he used to get from flying was gone. He'd realized that on his flight over here. It was almost surprising that the weight of his despair didn't drag him down to the earth like gravity pulling on a drowning man.
He hung in the sky above what used to be his parents' farm. His childhood home. Now, it was nothing more than a few derelict buildings and a long dead crop field. The scene below him fit his mood quite aptly.
He sighed heavily and floated down to the ground near the dilapidated porch. He still owned the property, the farm, the house. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn't want anyone else to have it. It was all he had left of his parents. That and his memories, precious few that they were, and his memories were all here. At the same time, he hadn't the heart to visit it often enough to keep it up.
He ran his hand over the old, splintered wood. He and his dad used to come out here and talk - when it was important or just guy stuff. They'd usually come out at night and Clark remembered the peaceful sounds of the Kansas countryside - the crickets chirping, the animals settling in the barn, and the sound of the corn stalks rustling in the breeze. He'd always marveled at those sounds when he was younger, especially when he'd discovered that he could hear them far more keenly than his father could. The stars, too, he'd been able to see those better as well. That had been one of his favorite things about his burgeoning powers when he'd been younger. He loved looking up at the massive expanse of sky on a clear night, when it seemed there were so many stars you'd die before you could count them all.
There were fourteen thousand, three hundred and sixty-four.
At least that was the number he'd gotten last year when he'd tried. Last year, shortly after Lois had left, he'd come out here. The moon had been in its last stages then, and the sky had been clear. It'd seemed there were more stars than he'd ever seen before.
He'd been depressed then like he was now, only tonight he felt far worse than he ever had.
The sky had lost its wonder a long time ago. He used to stare up with the wide eyes of a child - often with his dad by his side - and just be in awe at the beauty of it all, how bright the stars twinkled down at him. Later, after his parents had died, he'd often escape whichever foster home he was in and lie down in an open field to look at the sky, wondering if perhaps his parents were up there looking down on him. He'd used to hope so, but now, he didn't want them to. He didn't want them to see him like this. Broken down and beaten by life.
Back when he'd found the globe, he had come out here and laid in the front yard for hours, wondering where he'd come from. How he fit in. If he'd *ever* fit in.
Now, looking up at the immense expanse of sky, he felt inexorably small. Insignificant.
He'd give anything to be normal. *Be* human. Like his mom and dad. Live... work... meet someone... have a family. But he knew it wasn't possible.
Ironically, he'd always wondered if he could have kids. Were Kryptonians and humans compatible? Now he knew the answer, but the knowledge was far from comforting. The opposite, really.
He deeply regretted his trip to the other universe now. He should have known better. He should have known that seeing her again would be painful. That coming back to a world without her would be far worse. He should have known that it would only depress him more.
Though... he hadn't known she'd be pregnant. He hadn't known he'd learn *exactly* how much he could never have.
And pretending to be her fiancée... he hadn't known how hard that would be. How much he'd long for her... for someone like her... to complete him. He hadn't realized just how much the whole experience would damage him.
Broken.
It wasn't just his heart that was broken.
His soul ached.
He hadn't realized how painfully evident the void in his heart would be once he came back. Once he came home to face his world alone.
Again.
Always alone.
Forever alone.
He couldn't stay here anymore. He was thinking too much. Thinking was not good.
Clark shot into the sky and sped home, not slowing down until he was inside and closing the window behind him.
The lethargy hit him then, as if he'd flown too fast and it had needed a moment to catch up with him. He managed to make it to his bed and under the covers, before the tears hit him too.
***
When Clark woke up again, he faintly remembered the few dozen times he'd woken only to go right back to sleep. This time wasn't any different, except for the fact that he had to go to the bathroom. He laid in bed a while longer, *trying* to go back to sleep, but the feeling soon became uncomfortable. Irritated, Clark threw back the covers and made his way to the bathroom.
He hadn't planned on looking at his reflection on his way back out, but it'd snuck up on him. The man glancing out of the corner of his eye at him had startled him. Clark didn't recognize him. His eyes were drawn and weary. A full assault of hair covered his face. This man was a stranger.
Those eyes haunted him. Stared at him. Like they were judging him, reproaching him for what he'd become.
Worthless.
Empty.
Hopeless.
Clark brushed his hand against the rough hair covering his face, and suddenly he was disgusted with himself. He shaved quickly and stared at the man again. He looked less untoward, but the eyes were still haunted.
Nothing, he knew, would make that disappear.
Clark sighed heavily and returned to his bedroom. The rumpled sheets and disarray of the bed, the entire room agitated him. He turned from the mess and headed for the living room, towards the couch. The couch was a good a place as any to sleep. And here, he wouldn't have to look at the clutter that only served to remind him how indifferent he'd become.
To everything.
If only his Lois had lived. Then maybe his life wouldn't be so hopeless.
TBC...
