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Chapter 2

Chapter Content Warning:

Chapter 3

Lois sat at the table, absently flipping through the newspaper and poking at her eggs, which had grown cold several minutes prior. She glanced toward the stairs and wondered whether she should go check on Clark again. He’d been pretty distraught when she’d gone up earlier, but he’d promised to be down quickly. And for him, that usually meant less than a minute. Not—she peeked at the clock on the wall—thirteen minutes.

She stood abruptly, her decision made, and hurried out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. As soon as she entered the room, she knew something was horribly wrong.

Clark sat on the far side of the bed with his back to the door and his shoulders hunched. The light-gray material of his T-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders as his body shook. He held something, but from her position in the doorway, she couldn’t see exactly what it was. Slowly edging around the end of the bed toward him, she saw the remote control cradled tightly in his trembling hands. She looked sharply up to the TV and cursed silently as she read the captions on the bottom of the screen.

“Five more victims were found after Superman left the scene. Rescuers say the deceased died only moments ago when the part of the building they were in collapsed after the superhero had already flown off. It is currently unclear why or how Superman missed this large group since he had been working to clear the building less than an hour ago. Mitch, back to you in the studio.”

Lois reached out and shut off the TV, her own hands now shaking. There would be no talking him out of blaming himself for this, she knew. All she could do was comfort him. She sat next to him on the bed and reached her arms out to him. He instantly melted into her and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into the crook of her shoulder. The remote control fell out of his hands and clattered to the floor.

“I didn’t see—I couldn’t—I . . . God, Lois . . .” he mumbled into her, his voice filled with anguish. His body shook violently as he cried.

As she had earlier in the bathroom, she rubbed his back gently, her hands tracing slow circles. She closed her eyes and rested her head next to his.

“Shhh, Clark. You didn’t know,” she soothed. She kissed the top of his head and continued rubbing his back as her mind raced. “You didn’t know.”

“That’s not an excuse,” he argued, his voice catching in his throat. “That’s not—I can’t . . . God, all those people.”

She tightened her arms around him and moved one hand up to stroke his hair, which was still damp from his shower.

“I should go back. Maybe I missed more,” he realized, pulling away from her abruptly. She reached out to try to stop him, but before she could really react, he stood suddenly and took a step toward the window. Then she just watched, frozen in surprise and horror and confusion, as he stumbled and fell face first to the floor. He caught himself with his hands but then groaned sharply as his right arm seemed to collapse under his weight, and he crashed into the ground, turning over onto his back.

“Oh my god . . . Clark . . .” Lois couldn’t move for half a second, confusion gripping her. He never tripped like that, even when he was distressed or unfocused. Never.

She hastily wiped her tears off her cheeks and slid off the bed to kneel next to him. Carefully, she reached out and gently pressed her hands against the sides of his face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks now. “Clark, sweetheart, are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he sat up slowly, grimacing, and pulled his knees up to his chest. He then wrapped his arms around his knees and closed his eyes. Lois sat next to him again and enveloped him in an embrace.

“Please, honey, you can’t go back now, you’re exhausted. Please, let’s just go downstairs and have breakfast,” she begged, her thumbs brushing along his cheeks. She held her breath as she waited for him to pull away again or argue with her and take off out the window. But he didn’t. He just sat there, his body shaking.

“Come on,” she urged, taking his hand.

She stood and tugged gently. Thankfully, he obliged, pulling himself silently to his feet, and she then led him out of the bedroom and downstairs. Wordlessly, she helped him settle into his seat at the table and then lightly brushed his cheeks with her thumbs again to wipe away the remaining wetness from his tears. His stomach grumbled like it had earlier, but he made no attempt to eat. Lois moved to her side of the table and sat down as she continued to watch him. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, and his jaw trembled as he stared at the table.

She couldn’t remember ever having seen him quite like this before. Distraught, yes, but not this extreme. She knew he always felt some level of guilt when he was unable to rescue everyone; even just one life lost was too many in his eyes. The mass casualties suffered from this earthquake were hard enough for him to bear, she was sure, without adding on this layer of additional victims he’d somehow missed.

That in itself was also hard to swallow—he was always excessively thorough.

Her eyes drifted to the TV in the living room, which was visible from her seat but not his, and she squinted as she tried to read the text on the screen. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Clark, look!” she exclaimed, and she jumped up and hurried into the living room, where she quickly found the remote control and turned up the volume on the TV. She glanced back to see that Clark had followed her and stopped stiffly in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the images on the screen. A reporter stood in front of one of the collapsed buildings with the police chief, whom Lois recognized as one of the emergency workers Clark had been interacting with earlier. The police chief nodded at whatever question the reporter had just asked.

“Yes, that’s right Maria. While any loss of life is devastating, it’s a relief to have more information and all the facts. I worked with Superman for several hours earlier today, and I can tell you that he was thorough, diligent, and very careful. His efforts were considerable and helped us all tremendously.”

The reporter nodded at the police chief and then turned back to face the camera.

“If you are just joining us, we’re standing here in front of the ruins of what used to be Lucky Strike Hollywood. As Police Chief Edwards just explained, the five victims killed by the building collapsing after Superman had already left the scene had been having a late-night meeting in a lower-level room of the bowling alley. According to the police chief, the room was a bunker of sorts—a relic from the Cold War era—and was both lead-lined and sound-proof. This explains why Superman had not been able to locate and rescue the victims during his extensive searches.”

Lois turned back to her husband, who still stood motionless in the doorway. He tore his eyes away from the TV and met her gaze. She stepped toward him and enveloped him in a hug, pulling him tightly to her. To her relief, he buried his head in her hair and let out a ragged breath.

“I . . . I thought—”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” she soothed, once again rubbing his back. His muscles felt tense under her hands, and he still trembled slightly.

“Lois, I thought—”

“Shhh,” she repeated. She pulled away slightly and moved her hands to cup his cheeks. She studied his eyes, which were still puffy and red from crying, and then gave him a half-hearted smile. He wasn’t ready to sit and talk about all of this, she knew. Instead, he needed something to do. A distraction. “Now that breakfast is cold, and you’re still hungry . . . How do you feel about just grabbing a bite to eat after we get to St. Lucia?”

He blinked a few times and lowered his eyes. Sensing that her plan to try to redirect his attention required a bit more legwork, she quickly reached over and shut off the television and then took his hands again in hers and placed them on her hips. She wrapped her arms up around his neck and then leaned in to brush a light kiss on his lips, threading her fingers through his dark, damp hair. For a moment, he stood rigidly, his hands gripping her hips and his mouth unmoving. She traced her tongue along his lips, requesting access, and his lips then parted, his tongue slowly reaching out to meet hers. She moaned into the kiss and deepened it, pressing her body up against his. A shiver ran through her as one of his hands left her hip and trailed a path up her side. His other hand moved to the small of her back and pulled her into him as he groaned.

Distraction accomplished.

Her hands slid down his chest as he lowered his mouth to kiss a spot at the base of her neck. He seemed to grudgingly step away, and she smiled up at him and leaned in for another kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered. She kissed him again and took his hand.

“I love you, so much,” he murmured in response.

Clark lowered his eyes again, and his jaw tightened. Lois held his hand tightly and turned back to the kitchen, leading him with her. He followed obediently, but she sensed his mind was starting to wander again.

“How about I clean up here, and you go finish getting dressed so we can leave? Superman Express should get us there—” she glanced at the clock, “just about 10 a.m. Then we can drop off our luggage and grab a bite to eat and . . .” She trailed off as she stopped and pressed her body back into him.

One of his arms looped around her abdomen and pulled her hips against him. Then he turned her around to face him and lowered his mouth to hers for another kiss—this time gentle and slow, with a promise of more. “Mmm, yeah, that sounds good,” he said when they parted, obviously trying for a smile.

She smiled back at him, and a flicker of his normal self seemed to reemerge as he winked at her before zipping off at super speed around the house—first into the kitchen and then upstairs. Less than fifteen seconds later, he reappeared in a blur of blue, red, and yellow front of her, holding their two luggage bags up with a brilliant smile on his face.

“Ready?” he asked enthusiastically, setting the luggage down. She squealed as he reached out and pulled her back to him. “Superman Express is departing shortly.” His voice had lowered an octave, and his hand reached up to brush an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

“I’m ready,” she responded, looping her arms up around his neck. He lifted her gently, almost reverently, his eyes not leaving hers, and she leaned into him, resting her head lightly on his shoulder.

If she hadn’t been so in tune with him—her body so comfortable and familiar with his and so accustomed to every detail that defined him—she might have missed the trace of tension that ran through him and the almost imperceptible intake of breath as her head touched his shoulder. If she hadn’t already seen him wince when he’d uncharacteristically stumbled and fell to the floor earlier, she might even have dismissed these little details as exhaustion or as an attempt to control his obvious desire in preparation for their flight. But she was observant and aware. And she knew something else was bothering him, beyond his “normal” distress and guilt from the casualties suffered in the earthquake. Something physical. She carefully relaxed into him and tightened her hold around his neck as he kissed the top of her head and flew them upstairs and then out the window, heading south to the island of St. Lucia.


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Next chapter: Chapter 4