Over the ensuing days, Clark discovered an unexpected benefit of his confessions that night. The heavy cloud of despair, which had become part of his daily existence for so long he couldn't remember living without it, actually lifted a little. It didn't take him long to realise why - at last, there were two people; three, counting Alice, whom he gave Perry permission to let into the secret, who knew exactly what had happened to him. Even when he wasn't actually talking directly about his experiences, it felt good to know that there were people close to him who really understood what he'd been through.
He still had a long way to travel, though. Now that George understood more fully the causes of Clark's addiction, he began strenuous work on addressing those causes. He explored areas of Clark's psyche that Clark found intensely uncomfortable, such as the loss of his parents and his break-up with Lana. He delved deep into Clark's loneliness, bringing him to tears on more than one occasion, and spent a lot of time on his Superman persona.
In particular, he wanted to know how Clark dealt with trauma – if someone was badly injured, how did that make him feel? If he witnessed a death, or had to bring dead bodies out from a disaster scene, did he talk to anyone about it? Mostly, the answer was no, although now and then he did talk to Perry or Alice about his work – it depended whether one of their dinners happened to coincide with a recent event or not. George made him realise how dangerous this was – that he was bottling up a lot of strong emotions which had undoubtedly contributed to his present illness.
Clark's social life was also picked to pieces, particularly his recent run of short-term girlfriends. His attitude to sex within a relationship was analysed, and it wasn't very long before George discovered just how recently Clark had lost his virginity. Clark's confession of tears after sex then came as no surprise to George, who merely pointed out what Clark already knew in his heart of hearts – that, for him, sex wasn't something that could exist outside a loving relationship. He wept because he wanted to be making love with Lois Lane, not having sex with a woman he barely knew.
Bringing these issues out into the open helped Clark understand them better, but didn't really cure the root cause. He still longed to have his Lois Lane by his side.
*************
“Clark, do you want to be Superman?” asked George one day.
“Yes,” he replied, slightly surprised that George thought it a question worth asking. “Of course I do.”
“Why "of course'?”
“Well, because it allows me to use my abilities to help people,” he said. “Before I was Superman, I'd do what I could, but I was never able to do as much as I wanted because I had to hide what I was up to. Now I can help whenever I want.”
“Do you ever help when you don't want to?”
“Not really.”
“It's never inconvenient for you?” George said. “What if you're in the middle of a date and you hear something? Do you want to be Superman then?”
Clark pulled a face. “Okay, so sometimes it's not convenient. But I have to go.”
“Why do you have to go?”
“Because people might get hurt if I don't,” he replied a little impatiently. This seemed like a pointless line of questioning to Clark – he did what he could, when he could.
“So does Clark Kent control Superman, or does Superman control Clark Kent?”
He frowned. “It doesn't work like that. I do what I have to.”
“It's just that you're now saying "I have to', when you started out by telling me that Superman was a good thing because you could help "whenever I want',” pointed out George. “Which is it?”
This was becoming irritating. George seemed to be acting deliberately obtusely – but then, that was what George excelled at. “George, you can't do what I do half-heartedly,” he said. “You either do it to the best of your abilities or you may as well not bother at all.”
“Okay, I'll accept that,” said George. “But tell me this – are you satisfied with what you do? Or could you do more?”
“There's always more to be done,” he muttered.
“I see,” said George. “So - ever thought of becoming Superman full time? If there's always more to be done, it would seem like the next logical step, wouldn't it? I'm sure you could persuade the city to pay you some sort of a salary if money was a problem.”
“Yes, but...”
“But what?”
He'd never actually considered doing anything so drastic, but now that George was forcing him to consider it, he knew immediately why it had never occurred to him before. “If I was Superman all the time, I wouldn't be me.”
George tutted. “Sounds like a pretty selfish point of view, Clark. Think of all those extra people you could save if you did it full time.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “George, did anyone ever tell you how obnoxious you are?”
“Oh, yeah. Now answer the question, buddy.”
“What question?” said Clark. “You made a statement.”
“Smart-ass,” shot back George. “Okay, why don't you want to save even more people by becoming Superman full time? Why isn't that selfish?”
Clark smiled. “Now you've asked me two questions. A good reporter only asks one question at a time.”
“Well, lucky for you, I'm a psychiatrist and not a reporter. Answer the damn question, Clark.”
Game over. He sighed. “Because I have to be me some of the time in order to be Superman the rest of the time.”
“Wow, that's very noble of you,” said George. “You spend time as Clark Kent only so that you can be as good a Superman as you possibly can? I didn't know I was psychoanalysing a saint.”
Clark snorted. “Far from it, my friend. Okay, the truth - I'd hate to be that all-good, too-perfect cartoon cut-out all the time. It would drive me crazy.”
George laughed. “I hate to tell you, buddy, but you already are.”
“Very funny, George.”
“So, tell me,” said George, sobering quickly. “How do you square this selfish attitude of yours with your conscience? You're not willing to be Superman full time, yet you know you ought to do more. How does that work?”
Clark bit his bottom lip. As usual, George had boxed him into a corner and was asking him the unanswerable. “It doesn't,” he said quietly. That was the big problem – he lived with a constant guilty conscience. Whatever he did wasn't enough, and he berated himself for not doing more. But even when he pushed himself hard, to the point of exhaustion, it still wasn't enough, because people still died.
No matter what he did, people died.
“Hey, buddy, talk to me. What are you thinking?”
He raised his hands to his face, hid behind the double safety of his closed eyes and palms. “People die and I can't stop them.”
“And you think you ought to save them all? That pretty much puts you up there with God, doesn't it?”
“George, I'm not that naïve,” he murmured from behind his hands. “I know I can't save everyone. Intellectually, anyway. Emotionally...well, sometimes I forget.”
“Which brings me to this – do you think you're emotionally well-equipped to be Superman?”
Clark knew the answer to this one. It was obvious – why else was he here, in a mental health clinic, receiving treatment for addiction? He sighed and pulled his hands away from his face. “No.”
“Why not?”
He knew the answer to this one, too – had known it for over a year. “Because I don't have anyone to talk to at the end of the day. The other Clark had his parents, and then Lois, to talk stuff over with. I have to do it all on my own.” He sighed, his voice catching on his next words. “Which is why I need my Lois.”
Everything always came back to Lois. No matter what George said, what clever questions he asked, Lois was always the answer.
He knew he shouldn't pin all his hopes, his whole reason for living, on a woman he'd never met and was most probably dead, but he couldn't stop himself. Maybe it was because he couldn't actually believe that she was dead.
Missing.
It was such an ambiguous word. Missing from what? Missing from life? Missing from friends and family? Missing the way back to her old life?
She could be anywhere.
Maybe if he could just have some closure – be shown a dead body, or something.
His eyes smarted with unshed tears which had suddenly sprung up from nowhere. That was all he did these days – fight back tears and an absolute devotion to a stupid red rock he'd found in a field.
He felt George's hand on his shoulder. “You want to take five?”
“Yeah.”
“Tissues are in the usual place.”
He almost laughed. George could read him like a book.
*********************
He decided to pay Lana a return visit. She'd battered him to pieces the last time he'd seen her, but he was feeling a little stronger now that he had friends around him who understood him. The green kryptonite incident, too, had strengthened him in a strange way – he'd hit rock bottom that day, and now that it was over, the only way to travel was up.
It wasn't that he sought retribution with Lana; he just wanted to redress the balance between them a little. Show her that he wasn't quite as pathetic as she made out.
He didn't tell George he intended to visit her. George might not have approved – told him he wasn't ready to take on his waspish ex-fiancee. But Clark felt he could cope.
It probably helped that he'd got himself down to a day and a half between hits. That had just happened spontaneously – he'd made a spur of the moment decision on his way to the treatment room at the clinic where he was usually given his hits to simply not go there. He went for a flight around the city instead. Then he'd told the clinic he'd like to change his treatment schedule and they'd agreed immediately. Just like that.
Of course, he timed the visit to Lana very, very carefully. He made sure he was roughly half-way between hits – not too high that he didn't care what he said, but not so low that he was totally vulnerable.
“So, they let you out, did they?”
“Amazing, isn't it?” he replied. “Do I get to come in, or are we going to trade insults on your doorstep?”
She moved aside to let him in and closed the door behind him. Lana and Steve lived in a very nice house right in the centre of the smart end of Metropolis – all white paint, gold chandeliers and stripped wooden floors. Stylish and totally impersonal, in Clark's opinion. He preferred something with a little more character.
She led him into the lounge. More stylish features, such as an over-designed beige sofa that looked sleek and elegant but was totally uncomfortable to sit on, and brushed aluminium light fittings that wouldn't have looked out of place in an operating theatre. Clark wondered how all this chic smartness would fare once Lana started producing the brood of children she and Steve had apparently scheduled for next year.
“What can I do for you, Clark?” she asked, perching on the edge of the uncomfortable sofa.
“I thought I should return this,” he said, holding up a lumpy old sweatshirt she'd borrowed from him many times. “I mean, you practically made it your own when we were dating, so I'm just returning it to its rightful owner.”
She eyed it with distaste. He'd known full well that shabby sweatshirts certainly didn't fit with her new lifestyle when he'd unearthed it from the back of his wardrobe at home. This moment was to be savoured.
“Thanks,” she said, making no move to take it from him.
He stood up and held it out to her. “Here, why don't you put it on for old times sake?”
“Clark, don't be ridiculous,” she snapped, snatching the garment from him and dumping it on the sofa. “Is this some pathetic attempt to remind me about us? I'm married, Clark. You can't have me back.”
“Lana, I wouldn't take you back if you paid me.”
She bristled. “You wouldn't talk to me like that if Steve were here.”
“No?” He drew himself up to his full height and looked down at her with his arms crossed over his chest, Superman style. “I'd be afraid of him, would I?”
She shot up from her seat and faced him defiantly, her arms crossed exactly the same as his. “At least he'll be able to give me children, which is more than you'd ever have been able to do.”
The words hit him like a slap across the face, but he stood his ground. “Is that all a husband is to you, Lana? Someone to put food on the table, buy you a nice house, and give you kids? Oh, and join Daddy's company,” he added. “Mustn't forget Daddy.”
“Get out,” she said. “Get out of my life and never come back.”
“Gladly, Lana. Just remember that you were the one who brought us together again, though. You were the one who came to hurt me when I was down,” he said. “I'm just here to show my gratitude, Lana – you made me a lot stronger that day, so I thank you for that.”
“Any time,” she replied sarcastically. “Now go, before I throw you out.”
“Already on my way,” he said, lifting slowly off the floor and gliding through the lounge door to the entrance. He particularly enjoyed the blatant use of powers in front of her – she hated that. “Don't bother to see me out,” he threw over his shoulder.
He opened the front door and flew up into the sky, free as a bird.
******************
Okay, so it had been a little immature of him to make that visit, but it had felt great. For once in what seemed like months, he'd been calling the shots. He'd been the one in control.
George had asked whether he controlled Superman, or vice versa. In the beginning, he'd definitely been in control. It had all been so new that he hadn't automatically heard every cry for help or every incident requiring the help of a superhero, so he hadn't been that busy and consequently the job hadn't been so hard to slot into his life. People even helped – they accommodated his abrupt departures and late arrivals. For a while, he'd even thought he had a better deal than the other Clark, who always needed to create some sort of smokescreen to cover his disappearances. There came a time when he felt pretty good about this new life of his – by breaking up with Lana, he'd regained control of his private life, and by becoming Superman, he'd got control of his powers. Plus he was helping people – what could be better?
Later, though, he'd become more skilled at hearing all the important sounds of distress and, as a result, his response had become more immediate. Anything he heard required his attention. Control had begun to slip from Clark Kent to Superman. Superman wanted to do everything, and it was Clark who had to hold back, to keep a part of himself alive as just another guy in the street.
Just another guy in the street.
That was the other problem. At first, this new celebrity status had been novel and exciting. As Superman, he found it fairly easy to do the press conferences, the media interviews, sign the autograph books, and so on. As Clark Kent, he asked people at work to treat him normally and, mostly, they did.
However, when Superman became more widely known – and more importantly, the values he stood for became widely known - Clark realised that people expected him to be as perfect as his alter ego. It wasn't that he wanted to behave badly all the time, but he couldn't even behave badly for five minutes.
So, eventually, Superman controlled Clark Kent – he dictated when Clark had time to himself, and he dictated how Clark should behave.
Yet another two reasons why he needed his Lois.
“Do you think you'd need Lois so much if you weren't Superman?”
He blinked, George's question bringing him back to the present. He was on the couch again, playing their usual game of twenty questions. Or make that two hundred questions, he amended ruefully.
He pondered George's question. It was hard to imagine his life without Superman, but he supposed that logically, he'd been sort of okay when he'd just been plain old Clark Kent – he hadn't needed a Lois Lane back then.
But how did you erase someone from your soul once they'd branded themselves on you? Just as he couldn't imagine his life without Superman, he couldn't imagine life without Lois – even if he never met her again, she'd always be part of him.
So could he cope; live his life with just the mere memory of a lost love to sustain him if he wasn't Superman?
“Maybe – I mean, maybe I wouldn't need her quite so much,” he conceded. “But you're asking me to imagine the unimaginable.”
“Well, just humour me for a moment,” said George. “How about giving up Superman? Given that you can't have your Lois, would that make things easier for you?”
He shook his head immediately. “No.” As hard as he found the job, and as bad as things had become, he just wasn't prepared to give it up. “Superman is what I am – it's what I do,” he said.
George cleared his throat and resettled himself on his chair. “Okay. Let's summarise things so far. You definitely want to be Superman, and, even though you have this big guilt problem because you can never do enough, you're not prepared to give up being Superman. And even if you can't have your Lois, you still want to be Superman.” He chuckled. “I got to tell you, buddy, you've got a lot of determination – and that's what will probably get you through this, you know.
“But, and this is the big but, you told me the other day that you're poorly equipped, emotionally, to be Superman. Frankly, I'd agree – you don't handle stress well and you don't have much of a support system in place. Occasional dinners with Perry and Alice just ain't enough, buddy.”
Clark pulled a face. “You're really cheering me up here, George,” he said. “I feel better already.”
“Hey, I said you were determined, didn't I?” replied George. “Anyway, how do you suggest we fix this mess? How do we make you into an emotionally strong Superman?”
“Isn't that your job?” said Clark. “To tell me what to do?”
“Oh, no, that's your job, buddy. I just ask questions.”
“Seems to me you're overpaid if all you do is ask questions.”
George grinned. “Why do you think there are so many therapists in the world? We know a good thing when we see it. So what's the answer? I'll give you a big clue – the answer doesn't involve Lois Lane.”
Clark closed his eyes, hurt by George's careless dismissal of her. “Then I don't know.”
“Come on, buddy. Use your imagination – how else can you make yourself emotionally strong?”
Clark sighed. “I don't know, George.”
“I'll give you another clue – support systems.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. I tried that – tried it a lot. They were all really nice women, but I couldn't love any of them.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn't have those sorts of feelings for them. I pretended a little, but they soon figured me out.”
“But did you even try to love any of them? Love takes time, you know – it's not all that dewy-eyed, love at first sight crap you see in the movies.”
“George, I'm not stupid,” said Clark. “I know all this.”
“So why didn't you give love a chance?”
“Because they weren't the right type...because I already loved someone else.” Clark swallowed back the inevitable lump in his throat, determined not to give in to his emotions yet again. “Look, there's something you don't seem to understand,” he said.
“What's that, Clark?”
“All those women...any woman I meet – they all know who I am. They date me because I'm Superman, not because I'm Clark Kent.”
He flashed on his latest girlfriend, murmuring breathlessly beneath him. “Oh, yeah, Superman. You're so big, Superman.”
They'd all been like that. And even if the women he'd dated while he'd been high on red kryptonite were shallower than the sort of woman he could imagine wanting to form a deeper relationship with, the Superman thing would always be in the way. He'd always wonder if they'd like him so much if he were just plain old Clark Kent, farmer's son from Kansas.
“Oh, you mean this?” said George, flicking a tabloid newspaper into Clark's lap.
“I SEDUCED SUPERMAN”
The headline was emblazoned across a two-page centre spread. Sub-headlines declared “He Was Insatiable,” “Super-Sex,” and “Love On The Ceiling.”
“Or this?” George flicked a second newspaper on top of the first.
“BETWEEN THE SHEETS WITH SUPERMAN”
More lurid sub-headlines – “He Said He Loved Me,” “Always The Gentleman,” and, most embarrassingly, “Impressive.”
Clark winced. He'd been aware of these, of course, but had resolutely ignored them; pretty much denied they even existed, in fact. At the time, he'd hardly cared what anyone thought of him, so long as they didn't know that he was out of control and high on red kryptonite. That had been the important secret to protect – by comparison, newspapers printing scurrilous gossip about Superman had seemed like an unimportant annoyance.
He pushed the papers aside. “I was out of my mind, George. I didn't know what I was doing half the time.”
“Yeah, you could say. Yet you base your whole theory of relationships on your experience with these women? Did you even know any of them for more than few days?” said George.
Clark shrugged. “Mostly, no. One or two lasted longer. But that's not the point. Even if I met someone who I thought I might actually learn to love eventually, I'd still wonder if they were attracted to Superman or me.”
“So it's safer not to risk finding out.”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like a pretty lonely existence you've mapped out for yourself, buddy.”
“I don't have a choice.”
“You know, I think the women of the world might be a little pissed that you've written their whole sex off as shallow and undiscerning,” remarked George.
“I'm not doing that,” objected Clark. “I guess I'm just saying I don't think I could stand being hurt again. I've already been in one long-term relationship that ended badly – I don't want another that ends the same way.”
“Love hurts, buddy.”
“Spare me the fortune cookie stuff, George.”
“Didn't you realise my whole therapeutic approach is based on fortune cookie sayings?” said George. “Okay, let's talk about Lois for a minute. Your Lois, that is – the one who disappeared in the Congo. Say she came back tomorrow – she'd know you're Superman, just like everyone else. How do you know she wouldn't treat you like those other women?”
“Because she just wouldn't,” said Clark. “I've met her counterpart, and she wasn't like that.”
“So she'd be exactly the same as the Lois Lane you met, huh?” said George. “Just like you're exactly the same as that other Clark, yeah? The one who grew up in a stable family home, broke up with Lana when he was a teenager, and doesn't have to deal with everyone knowing that he's Superman. I'm sure you're just like two peas in a pod, aren't you?”
Clark rolled his eyes. “No, George. But we have a lot in common, and I think my Lois would have a lot in common with the Lois I met.”
“So your Lois is a safe bet, huh? You're certain not to get hurt in a relationship with her, is that it?”
“I guess so.” George was so annoying sometimes. He made Clark's explanations sound stupid and narrow-minded.
George laughed. “You know, what? I think you're lazy. And a coward. It's easier to live your lonely, miserable life wishing Lois were here than it is to get off your butt and take a few risks.”
“That's not true. I don't get off my butt, as you put it, because I know I can't love anyone else.”
“How do you know until you've tried? I'll say it again, buddy – you're afraid of taking the risk.”
“That's not true, either,” protested Clark. “I take risks all the time.”
“As Superman, maybe, but not as Clark Kent.”
Clark bit his lip. George was right. Superman was the flamboyant part of his character – Clark Kent just plodded along in his wake, doing as little as possible to make waves. Especially during the last year, when he'd begun to lose his edge as a reporter. Once upon a time, Clark Kent would at least have broken the occasional major story; made a nuisance of himself until he uncovered the news that no-one wanted told.
“Look, buddy, I think that's enough for today. Hopefully I've given you a few things to think about, okay?”
Clark nodded.
George began scribbling a few notes on his clipboard. “It's time to start thinking about how you're going to live your life once you're out of this place and rid of my ugly face,” he said, his head still bowed over his notes. “We'll work on that some more next time.”
Clark unfolded himself from George's couch. “Actually, I was thinking I might move back to my own place soon,” he said. “Do you think I'm ready for that?”
George's head popped up, a big grin spreading over his round face. “Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to say that? Bud, if you're asking the question, you're ready.”
Clark smiled. “Okay, I'll tell Alice and Perry. I'm sure they'll be glad to get rid of me.”
*******************
