Part 11 is here

Since last time...I got a couple of puppies, worked a lot of 100 hour weeks, spent a lot of time in hotels, got a new job in a new profession, and moved to a new city. In the event anyone wants to know what happens next is this seemingly never ending saga, here it is...

Part 12

“Judas priest, son, you are a sight for sore eyes!” Perry exclaimed as he pulled Clark into an enthusiastic bear hug. He clapped the younger man heartily on the back.

“It’s good to see you, too, chief,” Clark replied, hugging his editor and friend. “Come on in.” He gestured toward the screen door and the two men walked into the farmhouse from the porch.

“So, I uh, take it Superman isn’t back yet?” Perry drawled.

Clark gave him a wry grin as he shook his head. It was so odd to have Perry in on the secret, but the other man behaved so naturally and casually about the whole thing. He must have had plenty of time and experience getting used to knowing about him and Lois. “I can float and even fly a short distance, but my powers aren’t completely back yet,” Clark explained.

Perry nodded knowingly. “Well, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” Clark felt his body tense as he bristled involuntarily. Off what must have been Clark’s very defensive posture, the older man continued, “I just mean that this is a mandatory vacation – a chance to spend some time with your family before going back to the craziness of both of your jobs.” Perry’s gentle explanation mollified him. He shouldn’t have immediately assumed that his editor had meant that Lois had done such a good job replacing him that the world didn’t need him anymore. Why did it always seem like he was jumping to the wrong conclusions? It was like the wiring in his brain had been completely short-circuited and he didn’t think like Clark Kent anymore.

He heard footsteps on the porch. “Lois is back with Jimmy,” he announced. No sooner had the screen door opened than his young friend was hugging him fiercely.

“Clark!” Jimmy shouted joyfully. “I can’t believe you’re back! I mean, I knew you were coming back but…oh man, it’s good to see you!”

Clark released his friend and smiled. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said. His second night back, Lois had explained that she’d told Jimmy as well as Perry. He’d been a bit surprised at first, but it made perfect sense; she’d needed help with Clark’s cover and Jimmy deserved to know the truth. Lois walked in through the doorway, dressed casually in a t shirt and jeans. She smiled at the assembled group.

“The press conference is in a few hours,” she said. “Clark’s been working on the rough outline of what he wants to tell everyone, but the press is going to have a ton of questions.” He avoided his wife’s gaze. He’d read the story that she and Perry and Jimmy had come up with about him being kidnapped by one of the factions of Kryptonians and last night, he’d refused her help in fleshing out the details. In the past, this was exactly the sort of thing they would have done together. Protecting his secret had been infinitely easier once she was in on it and he no longer had to lie to her.

“Take only a few questions,” Perry instructed. “And limit the subjects to only things you’re comfortable discussing. You can flesh out more in the Planet interview later.”

Clark bit his lip. “About the Planet interview,” he began. “I don’t plan to give a tell-all. It’ll be too hard to keep Kal El and Clark separate without inventing some elaborate story out of whole cloth. It’s not like what happened on New Krypton is publicly known and needs to be explained. I’ll just tell everyone I’d rather not discuss the details.” His sudden attack of conscience about misleading the press was very convenient. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the worried look on Lois’s face. Dammit, couldn’t she see that the over-protectiveness was suffocating him?

“We won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give,” Perry assured him. “I’ll do the interview and write up personally so you don’t have to worry about slipping up.”

Clark nodded. “Thanks, chief.” He forced himself to smile as he looked at Perry, Lois, and Jimmy. “Well, let’s figure out where the holes in my story are.”

********

From the doorway, she watched as Clark straightened his tie. He’d picked out the most subdued tie he owned – yellow with diagonal blue stripes. It wasn’t his style at all. In fact, Lois thought the tie was a present from Ellen the last Christmas he’d been home; it was perfectly elegant and tasteful, but it was boring. It wasn’t Clark. The collar of his white dress shirt was a touch too loose, yet he still stuck his finger under the collar, as though it was too constricting around his neck. In the last week or so, he’d regained most of the lost weight, but he was still about ten pounds lighter than she’d remembered. His body was still well muscled and incredibly defined, just a bit leaner, especially at the waist, where his pants sat too loosely. He was physically beautiful, but scarred, and she was more and more certain the same was true mentally and emotionally. He pulled on his pinstriped, navy blue suit jacket and turned toward her.

“Do I look okay?” he asked.

She walked toward him. “Gorgeous,” she replied as she kissed him. He placed his hands on her arms, keeping her from getting too close, from pulling him into her embrace.

“We need to get going,” he explained softly.

“Right,” she agreed, making a point of checking her watch. She picked up her gray suit jacket and her purse. His parents and Jon had already left in the older pickup, planning to beat the media frenzy. Rachel Harris was on her way to the farm; with all the press that had descended on the sleepy town, Clark was being provided a police escort.

On their way out the door, Lois grabbed the keys to the truck and handed them to Clark. In the past, she might have done all the driving, but these days, she was trying to ensure that Clark felt as in control as possible. Her husband was strong and she wanted him to realize that she knew that.

They rode in silence behind Rachel’s cruiser toward Smallville High School. The gymnasium was the only place in town big enough to accommodate the gathered press. He parked the truck not far from the gym’s entrance and walked around to open the door for her. “Thanks,” she murmured. Lois stepped down onto the loose gravel of the parking lot and offered her hand to her husband. He took her hand and smiled down at her.

Together, they looked at the throng of reporters waiting for them. A loud cacophony of shutters going off assailed tem. “You’re going to be amazing,” she whispered so softly only he would be able to hear her. He squeezed her hand gently and they followed Rachel into the gymnasium that suddenly seemed like a lion’s den.

Half the town was present, along with hundreds of reporters from both world renowned and obscure outlets. Camera flashes continued to go off as the audience murmured in waves. She could pick out the voices of people who’d known Clark his whole life, wondering and whispering in disbelief – as though they were coming face to face with a ghost. They made their way to the podium that had been set up for him. A group of folding chairs had been set up beside the stand, facing out into the wooden bleachers. They stopped next to the empty chairs beside the mayor’s. Clark turned to kiss her cheek. “Tell me I can do this,” he whispered.

“I know you can,” she replied confidently.

Lois and Rachel sat down as Clark stepped up to the bank of microphones. Trying to look over the irritating camera flashes, her gaze fell on the panels of achievements painted on the gym wall above the bleachers. Among the league championships and state tournament appearances, she found his name:

Clark J. Kent – Scholar Athlete of the Year, 1984 – Football & Baseball

She smiled wistfully, wishing she’d had the chance to known him when he was that young – when he was still just an innocent farmboy, who’d yet to see the wonders and the perils of the world.

“Thank you all for coming,” he began and she turned to face him, captivated by the sober, earnest expression on his face. “Let me begin by saying how good it is to be home among friends and family. There were times during the last four years and three months when I despaired of ever seeing the places and the people I love again.” The emotions resonated strongly in his voice, but at no point did he stumble or falter, even as he brought tears to her eyes in the brief, muted allusion to his fears.

********

It was twilight when they returned to the farmhouse. Clark parked the newer truck and walked over to where his father had stopped the old pickup. He eased his dozing son out of his car seat and carried him into the house. Jon felt so small in his arms – innocent and helpless, he needed his parents’ guidance, protection, and love. They were halfway up the stairs when Jon started to mumble softly.

“We’re home, buddy,” Clark said softly.

Jon opened his eyes and looked up at Clark. “Daddy, can we play catch?” the little boy asked plaintively.

Clark smiled. “Sure,” he replied. “But we have to change out of our good clothes or Grandma will get mad at us for getting them all dirty.” He put Jon back down on his feet in his room and helped his son change into something he could get dirty.

Clark loosened his tie as he made his way back to his room. He suddenly felt lighthearted, despite the grueling press conference he’d endured that afternoon. He’d been firm with the lines he wouldn’t cross and questions he wouldn’t entertain. It was almost like being the First Minister again – controlling the questioners and the flow of the conversation. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it in the laundry hamper and changed into an old pair of basketball shorts. He was rummaging around in the drawers for a t shirt when he heard the sound of the doorknob turning and Jon’s voice calling for him. “Daddy?”

“Jon, no!” Clark said more forcefully than he intended to. Jon looked up at him from the doorway, tears welling up in his big brown eyes.

Clark shook his head, heartbroken. “Oh, no, buddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” ‘Idiot,’ he cursed himself mentally. He’d been so preoccupied with worrying about how the scars on his chest and back would frighten Jon that he hadn’t bothered to think about how being bellowed at by a large man would terrify him. He knelt in front of his crying son and pulled the little boy into his arms. Jon buried his head against his father’s bare chest and continued to cry. Clark stroked his son’s hair. “Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “Daddy’s sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. You didn’t do anything wrong, buddy.”

Jon eventually stopped crying. He looked up at his father with tear filled eyes. Clark kissed the top of his son’s head. “That’s my boy,” he said with a smile.

Silently Jon looked back down at Clark’s chest and put his small hand against the scar that cut across his body. Mercifully, Clark did a much better job of not flinching than he typically did when Lois touched him. “What’s that?” Jon asked innocently. He pushed on the scar with his tiny index finger. Clark placed his much larger hand over Jon’s, but didn’t move his son’s hand away.

“I got hurt when I was away,” he explained simply.

“You got an owie?” Jon asked, frowning.

Clark nodded. “Yes, I got an owie,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t hurt anymore, so why don’t we go play catch?”

“Okay,” Jon replied.

Clark sighed with relief as he grabbed the t shirt he’d been looking for and pulled it on before following his son downstairs. He had to stop screwing up, he thought to himself. Kids needed stability. They needed parents they could count on – not basket cases constantly set on edge.

*********

She was still half asleep, but she felt Clark start to struggle and immediately let him go. She figured that in his nightmares, he felt trapped and confined. Though he hadn’t said word one about his injuries, she had to assume he’d been held captive when he received them.

“No! No! Let me go!” he cried out. Clark started to say something she couldn’t understand and she figured it had to be Kryptonian. There was a strangled pitch to his voice.

“Clark, it’s okay, you’re home,” she whispered soothingly. Some nights, it was enough to settle him back to sleep. Tonight was not one of those nights. He moved fitfully and continued to speak in harsh, anxious tones. Hesitating for a moment, she decided to wake him. She sat up and touched his shoulder, shaking it gently. “Honey, wake…”

Before she could finish the thought, he spun around, swinging a clenched fist that connected hard with her jaw. She barely heard the ‘pop’ as she stilled, completely shocked. Clark sat up immediately, a look of sheer horror frozen on his face and etched in his wide eyes. His mouth hung slack open. She lifted a hand to her jaw, unhurt, but stunned.

“Oh god,” he croaked as he scrambled off the bed. Stumbling, he backed up against the wall and huddled there, crouching low to the floor. “Oh god, no,” he muttered, drawing his knees up against his chest. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he repeated, his head down, his body rocking back and forth slightly. Lois stood up swiftly and was beside him in an instant. She looked down at where he gripped his knees tightly. The knuckles on his right hand were a dark purple. She x rayed his hand and watched as the broken bones quickly began to heal.

Lois reached out slowly to place her hand on his arm. “Don’t touch me!” he yelled, burying his head against his knees. “Please, Lois, stay away from me,” he whispered. “It’s not safe.”

“Honey, I’m fine,” she soothed. “I’m not hurt, I promise. But you are. Please let me look at your hand.” He didn’t resist as she gingerly took his hand in both of hers and x rayed it. The broken knuckles had healed completely and even the bruise began to fade. She breathed a sigh a relief that her invulnerable jaw hadn’t done permanent damage to his hand. Tentatively, she reached out to run her fingers through his soft, dark hair.

“I’m fine,” she whispered again. “Please, let’s just go back to bed.”

His body went rigid before he stood up and walked away from her. She bit back a sigh. Whatever she’d done, it was the exact wrong thing. Again. There was a soft knock at the door.

“Lois? Clark? Is everything all right?” her father-in-law asked through the door. Finding her robe, she covered up before opening the door a crack.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured a concerned-looking Jonathan. “I’m sorry we woke you.”

Jonathan didn’t seem mollified. “You’re sure?”

“We’ll be fine,” Lois said. Jonathan nodded, somewhat grim-faced, before withdrawing. She closed the door and turned back toward her husband. At some point, he’d found his sleep shorts and pulled them on. He stood in the corner, staring out the window, his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“What kind of man hits a woman?” he demanded. Clark turned to look at her, his expression stormy. “What kind of man hits the woman he loves?”

“Clark you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. He shot her a look that warned her not to patronize him. “You were completely asleep. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“So what? If you hadn’t been invulnerable you would have been just as dead, regardless of whether it was intentional,” he said harshly.

“Please don’t do this to yourself,” she whispered tearfully. “I’m fine, I swear to you. You didn’t hurt me.”

Without bothering to respond, he grabbed his pillow off the bed and started for the door. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To sleep in the den,” he replied, still not looking at her.

“I won’t sleep here without you,” she said stubbornly, but her voice and her bravado both failed her. “I can’t sleep without you,” she admitted, choking back a sob.

“I guess that means neither one of us will be sleeping tonight, then,” he said, his tone almost cold. The door closed with a soft ‘click’ behind him.

With tears streaming down her face, she spun into the suit and flew out the window. She couldn’t stay there; their fight hung thickly in the air, consuming all the oxygen, leaving her unable to breathe.

********

He dropped the pillow in the den but couldn’t even stand the thought to trying to sleep. When Lois wasn’t there, when she was out on a patrol and she wasn’t there to wake him or soothe him into a more peaceful sleep, the nightmares would progress – spiraling into the bleakest oblivion. Dressed in only his sleep shorts, he went out to the porch, but didn’t stop there. He walked out into the freshly mowed field. The dew felt cool on his bare feet and the cut blades of Kentucky bluegrass stuck to his skin as he walked toward the stream on the edge of the Kent property.

Despondent, he sat down in the grass at the bank of the small stream and listened to the gurgle of the slow moving water, swirling in the creek’s currents and eddies. Clark looked up at the brilliant canopy of stars overhead and sought out New Krypton for the first time since he’d returned home. There were so many things he hated about that planet. He hated what it had cost him, what it had taken away from him. But when he’d been there, he’d had a purpose, clear as day. He knew what he had to do and he knew what was at stake. Most of all, he knew what he wanted most—what he needed so desperately—depended on him doing his job. Now, he had to relearn how to be a good man—if that was even possible—and he was also supposed to figure out how to be a good husband and father when he wasn’t even sure how to be a good person.

On all fronts, he was failing miserably. A good father wouldn’t have yelled at his toddler son for no reason. And no decent man would ever lay a hand on a woman in anger. Even though he’d probably been more physically injured by the incident than she had, he mused wryly, it didn’t matter. He’d introduced violence into their marriage, something he’d never even been afraid of doing.

He’d become everything he hated.

Every day, the darkness seemed to take more and more of him, until it seemed like there was nothing good left. Tears welled up in his eyes and he savagely rubbed them away. He looked down at his now completely healed hand. It probably should have hurt terribly at the time. Half asleep, he’d heard the crack of bones, but he hadn’t felt a thing in his hand because the pain of having his still thundering heart torn from his chest had been overpowering. In his mind, he could still see the stunned look on her face, her slender hand slowly seeking out the spot where she’d been hit by the clenched and angry fist of her husband – the man who was supposed to protect and take care of her. Instead, she now had to worry about what sort of brutal, vicious animal was lying beside her in the bed they shared. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what would have happened if she’d been vulnerable. The blow would have killed her; there was not doubt of it in his mind. He might not have been at full strength yet, but that was only a day or so off and he was already far more powerful than an ordinary man. The punch would have pulverized vulnerable flesh and bone. It didn’t matter that in his mind, it had been a feverish, dehydrated, hundred and forty five pound husk of a man throwing a pathetically weak punch at Nor before collapsing in a pitiful, boneless heap on the dirty basement floor of some anonymous prison. In reality, he’d hit his wife – the woman he loved more than anything in the universe, whose love had kept him alive when he was that weak and frightened prisoner.

Fresh tears flooded his eyes and slipped down his cheeks. How could he have done that to her? He fought the shuddering sob that built up inside him as he sat alone in the damp grass.

She landed so softly that he didn’t hear her. “Clark?” she whispered as she dropped to her knees beside him. He looked up, his vision still blurred by tears. Despite the mask, he could tell she’d been crying, too. Slowly, with shaking hands, she took the mask off. “Please don’t be mad at me for coming here,” she whispered.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as he stroked her hair. He shouldn’t have done it. He couldn’t be trusted with her. But he couldn’t help himself, either. Clark closed his eyes and breathed deeply the smell of her skin, as warm and fragrant as the summer night’s breeze. “I was never mad at you,” he whispered. “You have to know that. I’m mad at myself, at what I did to you.”

“Oh Clark,” she murmured against his neck, but he couldn’t let her forgive him. Not yet.

“I let that place turn me into a monster,” he confessed. “And if I were a decent man, I’d just walk away before I hurt you. But I’m weak. I don’t know how to live without you and I’m too afraid to try.”

She withdrew from his embrace to frame his face with her hands. For a long moment, she seemed to study him. “When I look at you, I see all of this pain and anger that I’ve never seen before. But more than any of that, I see you. I see a good man. I see the man I love. I see a man who’s so strong that he makes the people around him stronger. I see the man who loved me so much he gave me all the courage I needed. I love you, Clark Jerome Kent. And I love you, Superman. And I love you, Kal El. I love all of you. Everything you are. Everything you ever were. Everything you will ever be.” She closed the distance between them and kissed him. He gave in to her. He gave in to his overwhelming need for her. He held her so tightly, not sure he’d ever be able to let her go.

It was wrong. Not more than an hour ago, he’d hit her. If he’d been a sane man, he’d be half a world away by now. Or at least turning himself over to the police. How could she forgive him? How could she stand to be so close to him? He couldn’t understand it. She sighed softly and he just about fell to pieces in her arms. He needed her so badly. Her hands buried themselves in his hair and he shivered at the pleasant sensation. Deftly, he detached her cape, his hands moving without the conscious consent of his mind. He spread the cape out on the soft grass before laying her down on it.

She looked up at him, her arms still looped around his neck. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” she whispered softly.

God, he hoped so. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “We’re going to be okay.”

********

Before dawn, she let him fly them back into the house. He hated to admit it, but it took all of his power and concentration to make the short trip. It didn’t matter, though. He needed to do it. To prove to himself that he could still be the man who loved Lois Lane and would take care of her. She looked at him like she trusted him. Like she wasn’t afraid of him. He needed that. More than anything in the world, he needed her faith in him.

He laid her down on the bed, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “God, I am so in love with you,” he whispered. He lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms. They’d already made love twice that night. And just hours before, he’d swore he’d never touch her again, afraid that he would do something terrible.

“I love you,” she said softly as she leaned in to kiss him. He groaned as he rolled onto his back, feeling her slight weight settle on top of him. His hands wandered her smooth, warm skin, settling at the small of her back. Her body seemed so little, and he could almost span her waist with just his two hands. It felt so good to hold her. Just having her near was a balm to his wounded soul. He hoped that he could convey, with his hands and lips and body worshipping hers, just how much he loved and cherished her. She was everything to him.

********

Slowly, she opened her eyes to find him propped up on his elbow, watching her. He smiled slightly, seemingly embarrassed about having gotten caught, but she understood the impulse. Every night since he’d returned home, she’d stayed awake to do the same.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked earnestly, looking deeply in her eyes.

“I do,” she replied.

Clark frowned slightly. “Why?” he asked. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

She reached up to touch his face. “If I’d thought you did it on purpose, I wouldn’t have,” she admitted. “But you didn’t mean to hit me, Clark. You were still asleep. I know you. I know you would never, ever lay a hand on me.”

“But I did,” he insisted. “Even though I didn’t mean to, I still hurt you.”

“I think my jaw did more damage to your hand than the other way around,” she replied.

“I saw the look on you face,” he said. “I saw the way you reached up to touch the spot where I hit you.”

“You caught me by surprise. I was startled, but I promise you, you didn’t hurt me.” As strange as it may have seemed, she needed to assure him that the normal rules didn’t apply to them. But how would she have reacted, what would she have done if they were just two ordinary people and he’d hit her in the throes of a nightmare? A man Clark’s size swinging the way he had could have done serious damage to an ordinary woman. She didn’t want to think about it any more. Her husband wasn’t a violent man, even though he didn’t seem so sure. God, what had happened to him on that damn planet? What had the Kryptonians done to her gentle, sweet, loving partner? She wrapped her arm around him, placing her head against his chest.

His words from earlier still rung in her ears. He’d called himself a monster. What had he meant by that? It wasn’t just what was done to him that plagued him. It was what he had done. And she knew that that could be so much worse. A thousand terrible thoughts flashed through her mind – of terrible choices he might have had to make and the awful consequences of each of them. She bit her lip, trying to summon all of her courage. “You have to do something for me,” Lois began. “You have to talk to someone. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t me. Please. There’s something that’s tearing you apart inside; you can’t hide that. The longer you keep something that awful, that hurtful, locked up, the worse it’s going to get.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he whispered.

“Think about it, please?” she pleaded with him.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “I’ll think about it.”

Looking up at him, she could see the grim, almost stormy expression on his face. His body was stiff, almost frozen, as though her touching him was making him uncomfortable. “Tell me what to do,” she said in a soft whisper. “I want to be what you need me to be, but I don’t know what that is, and I feel like I keep getting it wrong.”

His arm came around her, his posture easing only the tiniest fraction. “Sometimes, the dreams seem so vivid, it’s hard to believe they’re not real. Sometimes, it seems like I’m still there. When I wake up and you’re not here, it throws me. I need you,” he whispered. “So badly.”

“I’m here,” she said softly. “I’ll always be here.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, his voice thin. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Lois soothed.

“Don’t give up on me,” he whispered. “Please.”

“Never,” she said, holding him just a little bit tighter.

*********

“Everything okay, son?” his father asked, looking up from the tea kettle.

“I don’t know,” Clark confessed as he sat down at the kitchen table.

“So what happened?” Jonathan asked as he placed a cup of tea in front of Clark and sat down at the table. The older man took a sip from his mug as he patiently waited for his son to respond.

“It was just a dream,” he demurred. But he started to feel that annoying, nagging sensation he used to get as a kid when he lied to his parents. The holding back was making him anxious, uneasy. Lies of omission were still lies, after all. Clark bit back a sigh, still weighing whether to tell his father the truth. He opened his mouth and started to speak before he could second guess himself. “I hit Lois,” he said flatly. Concern flitted across his father’s face, but the older man said nothing. “I was still asleep…”

“And you hit her, in the middle of the nightmare?” Jonathan asked gently.

“Yeah,” Clark admitted. He waited for condemnation from his father. For the reprobation he truly deserved.

“Clark, it was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.” Jonathan’s tone was sincere, but how could Clark interpret his words as anything other than meaningless and empty platitudes?

“Dad, she could have been killed!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“She seemed perfectly all right to me,” Jonathan replied matter of factly.

Clark pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, too anxious to remain in his seat. “That’s not the point,” he said. “If she wasn’t invulnerable…”

“But she is. That makes everything different.”

Clark stood behind the chair and gripped its wooden back tightly with both hands. “No it doesn’t. I hit my wife,” he bit the words out angrily. He heard the wood groan under his fingers and eased his grip a fraction. “I’m no better than the low life scumbags I used to haul off to the police.”

“Did you mean to hit her?” his father asked. Clark knew exactly where he was going with this.

“No, but…”

“Did you do it because you were mad at her? Did you do it to try to control her?”

“Of course not, Dad,” he replied, exasperated.

“Then you’re nothing like those other men. You were asleep, son. I’m guessing you were having a pretty bad nightmare and you reacted to it.”

“That doesn’t excuse what I did,” Clark insisted.

“It does,” his father said, just as stubbornly. “You’re not a violent man, or a controlling man. You don’t have a mean streak or a bad temper. You did something, accidentally and unintentionally, in your sleep. No one was hurt and Lois isn’t in any danger from you.”

Letting his chin fall until it touched his chest, Clark looked downward, avoiding the understanding and patient look on the older man’s face. “I just can’t stop thinking about what could have happened. I could have killed her,” he choked out, barely fighting off a sob. “I can see it in my mind, this hideous image that won’t go away. It just keeps replaying over and over, like I’m stuck in this loop in my own head and I can’t get out of it. I can’t make it stop. Dad, what’s happening to me?” he whispered the question, the admission of helplessness. Clark found himself being hugged tightly by his father. He wanted so desperately to be a little boy again, when his dad’s powerful arms and strong embrace made him feel like nothing could ever harm him, no matter how frightening the world seemed. No matter how much Clark’s strange and sometimes awful abilities managed to terrify him.

Now, his father could offer love and support; but Clark knew the man who’d taught him so much, who’d showed Clark what it meant to be a good man, could not lead him out of the darkness. He couldn’t fight off Clark’s demons. “We are all here for you,” Jonathan said. “And we always will be. But maybe, we can’t offer you everything you need. Maybe you should talk to someone who’ll understand better than we can.”

Clark’s body went tense as he stepped back. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Lois said the same thing.”

“Well, you married a pretty smart girl,” Jonathan replied.

“Dad, this isn’t a joke,” Clark said gravely.

“Of course, it isn’t,” Jonathan agreed. “But Lois isn’t offering you some thoughtless advice. I have watched that young woman wrestle with troubles that would have beaten any ordinary person. That certainly would have been too much for me. And I know how hard it was for her to realize that sometimes being strong means knowing when you can’t do something on your own. It took a lot of really awful things before she finally went to a therapist, but it helped. It helped in a way Martha and I couldn’t. She faced the things that scared her the most and the memories she wanted to forget the most. She became a better reporter, a better hero, and a better mother for it. That strength was always inside her. She just needed some help finding it.”

“I don’t know, Dad,” Clark replied wearily. He knew exactly what it was that scared him about talking to someone else – that when the floodgates opened up, he wouldn’t be able to close them again. That he’d get swept up by his anger, his helplessness, his frustrations, regrets, and his rage. That the good he could still cling to would get washed away and only the bitterness and fear would remain. But how could those concerns outweigh what he felt at that moment? How could they compare to the desperate and penetrating fear that if something didn’t change, he could seriously hurt someone he loved?

********

He was so engrossed in it he didn’t notice her enter the room, superhearing notwithstanding. “What do you think?” she asked from just inside the doorway to the den.

He looked up and smiled faintly. “It’s amazing,” he said. “Everything you saw, everything you must have gone through. I wish I could have been here for you.” There was a sadness in his eyes as he spoke, a regret she knew he felt deeply.

She sat down beside him on the couch and took his hand. “Just like I wish I could have been there for you, on New Krypton. I haven’t exactly been fair,” she started with trepidation. “I keep pestering you to talk to someone and I haven’t told you the whole of what happened in Kinwara. The things that I couldn’t write about. I never told you what sent me running to Dr. Friskin.”

“It was right after that doctor died, wasn’t it?” he asked.

She hadn’t told him that, but he managed to glean it from the timing of her columns and the few things she’d said about therapy. “I see those investigating skills aren’t rusty,” she said with a ghost of a smile. “It was right after Ingrid died. I blamed myself. She was killed after I left her to rescue Dr. Arnault. She didn’t just die. She suffered. And I hadn’t been able to stop it. I caught her killers and I almost murdered them, Clark.” He tried not to wince. “I wanted to. So badly. And it wasn’t the first time. There was something ugly and dark inside of me and I couldn’t live with it anymore.” Lois held his gaze as she spoke, trying to be brave enough not to turn away. “I was so afraid of what I was becoming, I couldn’t even hold our son. So I finally got help. It was hard and it was painful to admit that I couldn’t handle things on my own. But I had to do it, because Jon needed me to be there for him. And because I made a promise to you to take care of this world while you were gone. I wasn’t going to break that promise. Even if it meant having to get someone else’s help to keep it.”

He shook his head. “And what if that isn’t how it works for me? I spent years not talking about this stuff. I don’t see how talking about it now will make any difference.”

He was suddenly startled by the sound of one of the trucks coming up the long drive. It had to be his mother. The sound of the truck itself wasn’t surprising, it was all the attendant noise – camera shutters, unfamiliar voices, running footsteps. His jaw was grimly set as he crossed the room and headed out toward the porch. He made his way down the steps just as his mother pulled the truck up to the house. The reporters that had been swarming the pick up quickly turned their attention on him. Still frowning, he took the grocery bags from the truck, throwing a few mumbled ‘no comments’ over his shoulder. He held his free hand up to block the camera lenses.

“I’m not giving any interviews and you’re trespassing on private property,” he grumbled.

“Come on, Kent, give us something,” one of the reporters yelled.

“You’re the most famous man in the world, everyone wants to hear your story!”

He said nothing as he followed his mother into the farmhouse. Barely stopping to put down the shopping bags, he picked up the phone and plugged it back in. They’d left the phone off the hook all day, knowing the press would be hounding him otherwise. Clark dialed the sheriff’s office. “Rachel, I thought there was supposed to be an officer here keeping people off the property,” he bit out harshly. “Yeah, well there are reporters swarming the farmhouse.”

“Clark, it’s okay,” his mother said.

Clark hung up the phone. “No, it isn’t,” he replied. “I made it perfectly clear that I’m not giving any interviews and they’re here like…a plague of locusts or something. And don’t start with the whole ‘you were a reporter once, too,’ thing. It’s not the same.”

“I know it isn’t,” she replied.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I just don’t know how things are supposed to go back to normal when I feel like I’m living in a fishbowl,” he said in frustration.

“It’ll pass,” Martha assured him. “Just give it time.”

“Patience isn’t really one of my virtues any more,” he said humorlessly.

In the background, his wife had started putting the groceries away. “Lois, just leave them, I’ll get them in a minute,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.

“The ice cream will melt,” she said flatly. It struck him that he’d run out on what should have been an important conversation with his wife in order to yell at some journalists. He closed his eyes, trying to fight off a headache. It wasn’t working.

Nothing these days was.