Bruises ringed Clark's wrist.
I know how you meant it, but I just couldn't resist the notion that the bruises are from Lois clamping onto Clark during the night.
Like pieces of darkness torn from our cell to rest beneath his flesh with the appearance of inescapable manacles.
Awwwww
Of course it is. After all, it's always been Clark's fault when he didn't get there in time.
How could Clark not blame me for, if nothing else, at least the duration of his imprisonment? As nice as he was, as much as he liked me, didn't human nature itself *demand* that some part of him--no matter how small and neglected a part--hate me for what had happened to him?
Yes, human nature is such a fickle thing.
Instead, he tried to comfort me. He soothed my fears and chased my nightmares away. He gave and gave and gave, stark contrast to my suspicions and frustration and stubbornness.
He really is the perfect brother. Maybe you should tell him?
But what about me? Would *I* ever be able to heal?
Hmm... for some reason it strikes me as quite self-obsessed.
Almost nervously, he reached up and adjusted his glasses. "I...I wasn't sure I'd be able to."
Michael
