Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic You Need to Have Dinner (1/1)

Summary: Being a hero sometimes has a bitter taste, especially when dealing with problems that are bigger than anyone could expect to solve alone – even if that someone is Superman.

Author's Notes: When the days start to taste like I want Latin America to be free + seriously, am I the only one who can see the misogyny in this situation? + hunger is profitable for the big billionaires and that's why it perpetuates itself + we should be able to protect all our children, seasoning them with a little writing can help with digestion. So welcome to a story born from the reflections of someone who probably has OCD (I'm not sure, since I haven't been able to consult with a professional in the field yet for a few reasons). And last but actually most important: this fanfic takes place at the end-not-so-end of season 1. Probably before Vatman. I should warn that there are no explicit scenes of violence here, but there is a paragraph with some dark accounts right at the beginning.





Funny how being Superman was, simultaneously, the best and the worst experience of his life.

It was so rewarding to save lives, to use his powers that had once been a source of anxiety for good, to make the world a better place. But it was also so agonizing to think about why so many lives had to be saved.

The girl who committed a heinous crime and who in the past had been sexually, emotionally, and physically abused several times. The other girl, who got pregnant due to a rape and was prevented by her father from having an abortion – and then sought an illegal clinic, knowing she couldn't bear to carry the fruit of that violence, and died during the procedure. The man who killed himself due to exhaustion and loneliness and whose fatality was acknowledged as just a corpse delaying the subway. The family stricken by cholera, living in a polluted area with no basic sanitation. The city that was almost entirely destroyed by the flood because it hadn't been well planned. The young Black man whose body was found hanged from a tree. The gay young man who was beaten in the street and left quadriplegic. The recovering drug addict who volunteered with animals and always helped his neighbors, shot multiple times by police officers. Children who hadn’t had anything to eat for months, whose bones were almost all visible beneath their wounded skin.

"Son, you need to have dinner."

And he had. He had everything. He had loving parents, a good job, a good boss, good friends, food, clothes, buying power, exceptional powers – the pleasure of rising from the ground and flying whenever he wanted, feeling completely free, or at least pretending to feel that way. Because as much as he could save people and raise funds for those in need and give talks to raise awareness about social causes and speak with world leaders to ask for peace, there was so much that was beyond his reach.

"Son?"

Clark looked at his mother, clearly worried, leaning over him with one affectionate hand on his shoulder. He almost flinched, but he held back. A little further away, leaning against the window of the cozy farm kitchen, was his father, also watching him attentively. Clark looked at the dinner. Chicken stew with potatoes. And for dessert, there would still be apple pie.

The smell was the most wonderful and nauseating thing in the world. In Somalia, in Haiti and in Sudan many people had nothing to eat. His parents' worry about him was the most comforting and unfair thing in the world. How many people, if they had been truly loved as every human being deserves, would not have become criminals or suicides?

Who he could have been, without their constant love, far from the warmth of that farm, that life, and that name they had given him? Could he have become an all-powerful dictator, without empathy or responsibility, guided only by his own desires and by the ease of fulfilling them?

"Clark, we know what you're thinking," said Jonathan, his voice firm and gentle. "And it doesn't make any sense. Refusing to eat won't solve the hunger in the Gaza Strip."

"I don't need to eat. Maybe I'm just wasting resources," Clark shot back, without thinking.

"You can be sure, son, none of this planet's problems started because Superman decided to eat a piece of chicken," Jonathan insisted.

Clark looked from his father to his mother, who now, besides worried, stared at him with a glint of tears in her eyes. His heart tightened at the possibility of having hurt her.

"Mom..."

Martha pressed her lips into a pacifying smile and shook her head, turning to grab something from the oven.

He sighed and ate a potato. Splendid. Potatoes were, along with tomatoes and onions, the most wonderful vegetables nature had ever invented.

"... God, son."

Clark swallowed the piece he was chewing. "What?"

"I meant that it's understandable for you to feel this way," Martha repeated. "You see so much suffering on so many different levels, and you feel you need to remember these people, to carry their pain in your memory. But Clark, not even Superman can do that. You couldn't be an archive of every injustice you witness. That job belongs to God. He is the witness of those who suffer, and also the advocate and the judge."

How many times had he not repeated this to himself? He had lost count. But why did God allow so much suffering? What was the purpose of all of it? How would He judge those who never knew love and therefore could never act in accordance with it? Or did He, as the final and perfect representation of love, always make sure to find everyone, beyond what reports and stories could fathom?

Please, find them all.

"So you're asking how we can deal with the guilt of having a good life while others can barely survive?" paraphrased Jimmy, when Clark approached him the following morning, at the Daily Planet. "Is this some new angle for a story?"

"Uh, more or less," he answered. "And I didn't say 'guilt,' that's not what it's about."

"To me, it's the same thing. The way you put it, it sounds like you want to punish yourself."

"Clark wants to punish himself?" Lois, who had just come over to hand Jimmy a file, asked. "If you need help, I'm right here at the desk next to yours." She gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm happy to be useful."

And she was indeed very good at punishing him, better than she could ever imagine. Sometimes, because of the way she treated him compared to Superman. Of course, Clark understood that she didn't want to hurt him, especially since she wasn't aware of the whole truth, and that was consolation enough. Most days, at least. But he wondered if the reason he kept using Superman to complicate Clark Kent's situation with her was a subconscious impulse of self-sabotage, since in the vast majority of aspects, his life was wonderful. His mother had mentioned something of the sort a few weeks ago, when she told him she was starting to take an interest in psychology.

Beyond that, there was the fact that Lois always escaped death at the last minute – whether due to her own luck or his desperate efforts, as he couldn't even imagine going on if he lost her. At the same time that he was grateful for all of it and for the instinct that helped him save her, he recognized, deep down, how unfair it was that other people didn't have the same opportunities he did. After all, as long as Superman's secret identity remained intact, his loved ones would be the most protected human beings in the world. How many others had already lost people they cared about for far less than Lois's risky investigations? She had become an integral part of the happiness he lived every day. Was it fair for him to be happy, even against the odds? And what if the day came when he failed to save her? If he had to choose between Lois, his parents, Jimmy, and Perry against the safety of the rest of the world, what would he do?

"You have to stop thinking so much, C.K., or you'll go crazy," Jimmy advised. "Look, I think sinking into that kind of sadness is surrendering to the system, it's doing exactly what they want. They manipulate us to weaken and control us. The best way to rebel against that is by being happy." Then he stopped and raised an eyebrow at Clark. "Did you sleep last night? You don't look so good."

Superman didn't need six hours of sleep. And he could take advantage of that extra time to save more lives.

"If I were one of those people who suffer so much, I would feel very sorry for anyone who wasted their life mourning me," answered Cat, stroking his collar with a long fingernail, after Clark repeated the question to her. "I would be outraged by the waste of time. We should be happy on their behalf... Even to honor them, don't you think? Isn't that what every human being was born for, Clark, to find joy and pleasure?"

He muttered something and hurried off to finish a bland article so he could get a chance to ask Perry. When he finally did, the editor stared at him as if he were a little crazy.

"Look, son, things are as they are." Perry gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Everything that happens was supposed to happen, and that's that. There's no point in getting lost in those paths that will never be walked, unless you want to leave the paper to write a novel. Or to check yourself into a psychiatric clinic. That kind of thing, besides being a waste of time, is dangerous for your mind. Take care of yourself, and then you can keep doing your work with excellence to contribute to society. Try to think that way."

His partner, who would usually be the first person Clark would turn to when discussing that kind of issue, was very excited and busy with a solo piece she was working on, so he could only catch her at the end of the workday.

"What is that thing cows do?" she answered him with another question.

"What do you mean?"

"That thing they do with food. They swallow it, then it comes back..." She made a face.

"Oh, right. Ruminating."

"Yes. That's what you're doing, walking around all day obsessing over this. What good does that do?"

He thought for a few moments. "I guess I can't help it. It's not an easy question, and there's no right answer."

"I think most people would say everything is God's work, or fate's," Lois opined, glancing at him as she organized the mess of papers on her desk. "It's more comfortable to think that way."

Clark furrowed his brow, reflecting in silence as he listened to the almost hypnotic sound of the paper. "No, it's not more comfortable."

Lois studied him, pressing her lips together, and her verdict on his state seemed to come along with her sigh. "You're really not okay, are you?" Without waiting for an answer, she took a step toward him and put her hands on his shoulders. For one embarrassing and confusing second, Clark thought she was going to massage him, but then she gave him a pat and withdrew her hands. It was already the third pat on the shoulder of the day and he was starting to feel kind of like an idiot. "Have you... um... talked to your parents about this? You guys talk about everything, don't you? Maybe they can help you."

Clark nodded. "I have. It was my mother who said that role belongs to God – to be the memory of all suffering and of all people, and to do justice and vengeance, that kind of thing. And that not even Superman could expect to have part of that role. But I'm tired of never seeing any change happen, you know, Lois?" He raised his voice and opened his arms with all the helplessness he felt. "We watch the news, complain, and then go back to our rose-colored world. We buy, we eat, we forget. Nobody does anything."

"Whoa, that's an unexpected change! Usually, I'm the pessimist and you're the optimist, remember?"

Clark sighed, tired, and looked away toward the large newsroom window, which showed a lilac sky and its orange rays like a painting by an artist who repainted the same canvas every day. If God was so attentive to the details of the sky, He was also attentive to all people, wasn't He?

"Clark, you're not going to give up, are you?" Lois's hand was on his shoulder again. He tensed up, annoyed at the thought that she would give him another pat, but her hand remained firm, heavy, and warm. Clark looked into his partner's brown eyes, so sweet that he could barely meet them. "Your mother is right. Not even Superman could do that. Do you remember what I told you about him a few months ago? That whatever he could do was enough."

"I do." Again, how many times had he not repeated this to himself? He had lost count of that too.

"It's not his fault if humanity has problems with roots so deep that sometimes all he can do is prune the branches. And he needs to be okay if he wants to have the strength to keep saving people."

Great, Clark thought. One more obligation Superman has to fulfill.

"And that's something we have to do too, Clark," Lois went on. "Even though we're in a different position. We're the ones who expose the truth behind the tragedies, who try to actually solve the roots of the problems. That takes longer, and it's very complicated. Maybe we'll never see concrete results from our attempts, or maybe it'll take a while – and that's frustrating, I know it well – but we can't give up. Someone has to do this work, to shoulder this responsibility."

"I don't know if I can–"

"Oh, Clark, of course you can!" She squeezed his shoulder. "Otherwise, you would have fled Metropolis in the first week. Instead, you're asking advice from the worst advisor in the world because you're desperate to convince yourself that all of this is worth it. And it is, Clark. In our own way, we change the world, and we'll never be satisfied with it because... because there's always something to improve. And we need to take care of ourselves if we want to keep working well. That's why, you see, the Kerths exist. We have to turn a part of that struggle into something that deserves applause and recognition. And that's why I need to win every one I can, and also chocolate, and to watch The Ivory Tower, and you need your horribly sweet coffee and–"

"Wait, you watch The Ivory Tower?"

"No! That was just an example." She withdrew her hand from his shoulder and Clark felt cold instantly.

"I mean, it doesn't seem like your style..."

"I already said I don't watch it. Well, I'm glad you're already better, from what I can see."

Recognizing that she would turn to leave, he stopped her, touching her elbow. "Lois, just so you know, I don't think you're the worst advisor in the world. You really helped me. Thank you."

She seemed a little uncomfortable. "But seriously, think about what I said, Clark. We owe it to the people who depend on us to keep our sanity so we can fight for them. And you're so hard on yourself. It's almost like you're living in a perpetual 'Superman Complex.'"

He smiled slightly at the irony. "You too."

She let out a laugh and raised her eyebrows. "Not me. I'm too pragmatic to fall into that kind of trap, thank you very much."

"As long as you're being honest with yourself, Lois."

"Oh, I always am. Well, you're welcome. I'm glad I could help. I just hope you don't pull one over on me and use all of this as encouragement to steal the next Ke– I mean, my next Kerth."

"I promise I'll be honest too and I won't steal it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course. I should have known the farm boy would eventually stab me in the back." He laughed, shaking his head, and she continued, "So... I think you should get me more of that mysterious Chinese food to make up for it. It's the least you can do, don't you think?"

Clark stared at her, feeling his heart beat calm with a sense of certainty, but also energized by the warm brown of her eyes and the orange glow of the sunset coming through the window. A breeze also came in through there, bringing a new freshness he didn't even know he needed.

He thought of God's last creation, man and woman, to whom He had given His breath of life. Both standing in the Garden of Eden, not knowing they would be the parents of an entire humanity that would eternally long to go back to paradise. A divided humanity, which would make mistakes and commit atrocities, and yet one day might manage to return.

Instead of the Garden of Eden, however, they were standing in the newsroom, more than aware of what good and evil were. They weren't in any perfect place, but how many positive changes could their work together bring about? Just like so many other warriors who contributed to making the world better, the Lane and Kent byline could somehow help humanity to one day return to paradise.

And using his undeserved powers and privileges just to buy food in China and thereby make them both happy maybe wasn't so wrong after all.

"Yes," Clark finally answered. "We should have dinner."





Well, well, well. Look at me referencing Utopia even though I don't like the way that concept was introduced in the show at all. But who says we can't make the most of the things that displease us, right?

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