Progress with Mayson. Yes, there was progress. In fact, all it took was for him to slide his arm around her shoulders one night and tug her close while they were sitting on her sofa watching a movie. She smiled the broadest, happiest smile he'd ever seen on her.
“Hi,” she said, beaming up at him.
“I'm sorry I've been so edgy,” he murmured. “Things are going to be different from now on.”
And they were. They slipped fairly easily into a new familiarity with each other. It wasn't taboo to touch or cuddle any longer. Kissing became a natural part of their relationship again.
Life picked up pace as their relationship developed. Her friends became his friends, they accompanied each other to work social events, and Alice and Perry invited the two of them around for dinner.
For Clark, their companionship was a revelation after Lana and his other girlfriends. Lana had always been dominant in their relationship; looking back, he realised that a lot of their activities had been centred around Lana, with his interests squeezed in wherever he could fit them in. Intellectually, he and Lana had been equals, but other than their shared schooling and the fact that they came from the same small town, their values had been increasingly unequal. Then, his later short-term girlfriends had been frivolous flings; frothy, disposable nights out followed by lots of sex. There had never been sufficient intelligent conversation to discover whether he shared values with any of them, but somehow, he very much doubted it.
Mayson, by contrast, was his equal in so many ways. She didn't place the same pressure on him that Lana had exerted, and she enjoyed nothing better than an intellectual battle of wits. She was interested in his work, and he in hers. Not only that, but she was dating him, Clark Kent, and not Superman. Friendship with Mayson, he decided, was comfortable and life-enhancing.
The one thing they just couldn't see eye to eye on was Superman. Oh, she didn't mind him using his powers domestically, and she didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that he wasn't actually human, but so far as she was concerned, Superman was no better than an unpaid vigilante, and no amount of argument on his part could persuade her otherwise.
“I wouldn't mind if you stuck to rescuing people from burning buildings and so on, but when you start apprehending bank robbers and muggers, you've overstepped the line,” she'd say.
“I don't see the difference. Whatever I do, I'm just trying to help people,” he'd say.
And on and on the argument would roll. He should have joined the police force if he wanted to become a law-enforcement agent. Or joined the FBI. And couldn't he see that he was setting himself up as a one-man criminal justice system? Clark Kent, the journalist, investigated the crime and passed judgement in the Daily Planet, then Superman, the vigilante, apprehended the criminal. He was bypassing due process completely. Or perhaps he considered himself above the law?
It hurt that she didn't approve of Superman. He supposed her opposition was useful in making him reassess his work and asking himself if he did ever step over the line into vigilantism, but he always satisfied himself that what he was doing was right. He just couldn't make her agree he was right.
***************
Clark was at his desk very early one morning when his phone rang. It annoyed him; he was early for a specific reason and no-one ought to have known where he was. He'd wanted...needed...peace and quiet for a couple of hours.
“Hey.”
Mayson. He should have known she'd call. “Hey yourself,” he said.
“How are you?” she asked. “I saw the news this morning. Looked like a tough night's work.”
“Yeah.”
“They said fifteen fatalities.”
“Yeah, sounds about right.” He hadn't dealt with all fifteen, but he'd heard one of the rescue workers quote that figure at some point.
“You didn't answer my question.”
He sighed. “I'm...okay.”
“I wondered...how about lunch? We could meet at the park.”
“I'm going to be busy...there's a lot to write. Phone calls to make.”
“Too soon, huh?” she murmured. “How about I come over tonight and cook you dinner, then?”
“I've got an appointment with George.” His regular fortnightly session, ironically. Not that he was sure he wanted to keep it now. George was sure to rake him over the coals about last night.
“That won't take all night,” she pointed out. “When are you seeing him?”
“Seven. But I don't think I'll be very good company afterwards.”
“That doesn't matter.”
Maybe it didn't matter to her, but it did to him. Plus, she didn't exactly approve of Superman stuff, did she? “Mayson, I'd just rather not, okay? I'm not trying to push you away, I just...I just need a little space.”
“Oh.” He'd hurt her; he could hear it in her voice. “Well, how about tomorrow night, then?”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to inject a little enthusiasm into his words. “That would be good.”
“Sweet and sour chicken okay?”
“Sounds nice.”
“Great. I'll see you around seven thirty, okay? Don't worry about the wine – I'll bring that, too.”
“Okay. Thanks for calling.”
“I was worried about you, especially when I rang your apartment and you weren't there. Clark...” She sighed heavily over the phone. “Look, take things easy, okay?”
“Yeah.”
************
He kept the appointment with George – even if he didn't want to talk about what had happened, and even though he'd rather just go home and flop in front of the TV for a few hours of mind-numbing quiz shows, sitcoms and soaps, he had just enough sense to realise that he needed to see George.
Nevertheless, he wasn't exactly an enthusiastic participant in the session. Especially when George went straight for the jugular as soon as they'd exchanged the usual pleasantries.
“Okay, buddy, do you remember that conversation we had a long time ago about being emotionally strong enough to be Superman?”
Clark nodded wearily, knowing what was coming next. “Yeah...”
“So, Superman, I'd like you to tell me about last night's train crash.”
Clark hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms over his middle. “There's nothing to tell, George. I pulled a few people out of the wreckage; flew them to the hospital. The usual.”
“Oh, really? Just the usual, huh?” said George. “Tell me, were they all okay? Once you got them to the hospital, I mean.”
So George had done his homework, it seemed. He knew, or suspected, that this had been more than just a normal rescue operation. Clark still didn't feel like playing ball, though. “I'm not sure - I didn't really get a chance to hang around much,” he explained. “They needed me back at the site to help with the clear-up operation.”
“You're not sure.” George sucked air through his teeth. “Tell me about the woman, Clark.”
“Which woman, George?” asked Clark. “I rescued quite a few women last night. You'll have to be more specific.”
“Oh, you want me to get specific, Clark?” said George. “Here's specific - the woman who was dead by the time you got her to the hospital. That specific enough for you?”
Okay, so the gloves were off and they were down to the bare-knuckle jousting. Clark's mouth twisted. “What do you want me to say, George? She died. I couldn't rescue her in time. It happens.”
“That simple, huh? Boy, I envy you your emotional detachment. I wish I didn't care about my patients the same way you don't care about the people you rescue.”
“Shut up, George,” said Clark. “I know what your game is, and I'm not interested in playing, okay? It happened, I dealt with it.”
“Nope, you don't get off the hook that easily, my friend. This is the first time you've dealt with a fatality since you got back into the suit – am I right?”
“So? It's happened before,” retorted Clark. “It'll happen again. I'll cope, just like I always do.”
“Jesus, Clark, I'm your doctor,” exclaimed George. “Don't be such an obstinate bastard. Talk to me.” He drew in a deep breath. “Tell me, was she conscious when you picked her up?”
“Yes.” Just barely, but enough for her to know that her life was slowly leaking away from her. She'd been scared about that – scared that she might die. He'd comforted her, told her that everything was going to be okay. They'd be at the hospital in no time, he'd said.
“What did you say to her?”
“I told her I'd get her to the hospital.”
“Which you did. But she was dead by the time you got there, yeah?”
Why did George have to keep reminding him? “Yes.”
“Why?” said George. “Why didn't you get there in time? You can fly faster than the speed of sound, can't you?”
Clark shook his head. “Not when I'm carrying someone so fragile. I had to fly pretty slowly, actually.”
“Oh, I see. So it wasn't your fault that she died before she could receive the treatment she needed, yeah?”
Clark closed his eyes and sighed heavily. He'd been over the exact same question again and again since last night, replaying everything he'd done before he found her. The honest truth was that he had no idea whether he could have saved her if he'd done things differently, but he couldn't help wondering. If he'd perhaps been a little quicker to find her, or hadn't spent so long talking to the fire chief, or hadn't flown quite so slowly when he'd been carrying her, maybe she'd still be alive.
“Clark? You going to answer me?”
“I would if I knew the answer,” he muttered.
“So it might have been your fault?”
“Yeah.”
“I see. Clark, are you perfect?”
He snorted. “No.”
“Fine, just checking.”
Yeah, clever old George – always managed to make his arguments look stupid. “Okay, I know I can't save everyone all the time,” Clark conceded. “I'm not stupid. But she died in my arms, George.”
And with those few words, all his defences crumbled. The aching sadness from last night came back with a vengeance and the band of pressure across his forehead returned. She'd been so scared... “In my arms, George,” he repeated huskily.
“Yeah, that must have been tough-“
“She didn't go quickly, either,” he added. “It wasn't clean and tidy like in the movies. No, she died slowly and in pain and I was with her for every agonising minute of it. She cried and I told her everything would be okay, but it wasn't. I was the last person she saw, George, not her family and friends.” He drew in a shaky breath. “In my arms, George. I'm supposed to save lives, not let them leak away in my arms.”
“Hey,” murmured George. “Go a little easier on yourself, there, buddy. Look, what do you suppose would have happened to her if you hadn't found her?”
He remembered where she'd been – buried right underneath the overturned carriage. No-one else had suspected there was anyone alive down there, but he'd heard her raspy breaths. “I guess she would have died anyway,” he said.
“And where would she have died?”
“Underneath the train.” And what a horrible way to die, he thought.
“So wasn't it better for her that she died in your arms?” said George. “Someone who comforted her while she passed away? Gave her a little hope during her final few minutes?”
“I guess so.”
“I know that doesn't get rid of the "what if', but you're always going to have those, aren't you?” said George. “Like you said yourself, you can't save everyone. But the ones you do save – even those who don't survive – will be better off because of something you did.”
Clark nodded. “I know. And I will get over this, I think. It was just hard, you know?” he said. “I think it might have been the hardest thing I've had to deal with since I became Superman.”
“Yeah, it was a bitch, I'll give you that.” George did his irritating teeth-sucking thing. “Okay, I have to ask you this, but don't take it the wrong way, all right? I'm guessing you didn't sleep much last night, right?”
Clark grimaced. “Not a wink.”
“So, while you weren't sleeping, did your thoughts ever turn to a certain red substance? I mean, you were in a pretty bad place last night, so I wouldn't be surprised if they did,” said George. “I just need to know either way.”
Boy, George was good at making the question sound so innocent. No big deal, Clark – okay, so you fell of the wagon again. No problem, we'll just help you jump right back on. Once an addict, always an addict. Wasn't that what they said? You can't cure an addict, you can only control him or her.
Well, they were right. “Yes.”
“And then what?”
“Well, I knew it wouldn't solve anything – after I came down from the hit she'd still be dead and I still wouldn't know whether I could have saved her or not.” He sighed. “So I got angry instead. Not sure if that's an improvement, really.”
“Depends on what you did with the anger,” said George.
Clark grimaced. “Bashed the living daylights out of a few innocent icebergs up in the Arctic. Took a long swim across the Pacific. Flew up into the stratosphere.”
“Sh*t ,” said George, clearly impressed with his antics. “What did you do next...do we still have a moon?”
“Oh, yeah. But several fewer lumps of rock circling the globe.”
George laughed. “You know, scientists would probably kill to get a sample from those rocks.”
Clark blinked. “Never thought of that. Maybe I should offer to collect some.”
“Good idea,” said George. “But seriously, this is good, Clark. You had the thought, but you realised it wasn't the solution. I have to say, thumping icebergs probably wasn't the answer either, but so long as you don't destroy the entire polar region, I guess we're okay.”
“So you think it was okay to even think about the stuff?” said Clark. “I was disgusted with myself.”
“You'll never forget it, Clark. You know what it can do, and what it felt like to be high. No amount of therapy is ever going to erase that,” said George. “But you seized control and you held on to it. That's what we're looking for, and that's what you delivered. I think that's pretty damned good, buddy.”
“Okay. Thanks. I think.”
***************
It was small consolation, but his editor congratulated him profusely on his front-page story. Of course, he'd been able to include a lot of detail about the crash, bringing it to life for the readers, but he'd also put a lot of work into investigating the causes of the crash. There hadn't been much information this early in the aftermath of the incident, but he'd managed to unearth one morsel of knowledge that no other newspaper had as yet unearthed, giving the Planet an edge over the competition.
He refrained from enquiring as to whether Ralph would have delivered such a good story. He knew the answer, and so did his editor.
************
He was glad he'd postponed Mayson until the following night. Two working days between the rescue and seeing her gave him the time he needed to shake off the worst of the blues. By the time she arrived with shopping bags full of chicken, wine, and vegetables, he was a little melancholic but not so blue that he couldn't give her a welcoming smile and a brief kiss when he opened the door to her.
Dinner was a quiet but friendly affair. He kept the conversation light and well away from the train crash, and she played along willingly. Things were going just fine until they were slumped next to each other on the sofa drinking coffee.
“So how are you really?” she asked. “I mean, I've just spent a very pleasant hour or so with a guy called Clark who sounds like he's got the best job in the world and lives the most idyllic life you could possibly imagine. I came here to see the real Clark, though. Where is he?”
He sighed heavily. “Right here. Look, I just needed a reprieve from that other guy for a while, okay? He's not so much fun to be around at the moment.”
“No? Why's that?”
He opened his mouth to tell her, but then closed it again. “You wouldn't want to know. It's Superman stuff.”
She pursed her lips. “I do want to know – when I see you looking sad, I want to help.”
“Sad?” he said. “I thought I was the epitome of good cheer.”
“You overplayed your part, if you really want to know. No-one gets that happy over a well-prepared sweet and sour chicken,” said Mayson. “So tell me, Clark. I know that crash was bad, and I can see it's still affecting you. What happened?”
So he told her. Not the full gory picture, but the edited highlights. Perhaps, he told himself, repeating the tale was good for him, in any case. If he said it enough, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much.
Sometime during the story, her hand slid into his, and when he'd finished, she lifted his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles softly. “I'm sorry you had to go through that,” she said.
He shrugged. “It happens. I have to deal with these things.”
“Did you think of contacting the hospital?” she suggested. “In fact, why don't I contact them? I could find out about her injuries for you.”
“I'm not sure – what if you find out exactly what I don't want to know?” he said. “At least this way I can tell myself she would have died anyway.”
She nodded. “Okay, I won't interfere if you don't want me to. But I will do this...” She twisted slowly around to him and pressed her lips against his. “There,” she murmured, drawing back just a little. “All better.”
He smiled ruefully. “If only it were that easy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it is.” She closed the distance between them and kissed him more fully, slipping a hand around the back of his neck, encouraging him to respond. He didn't really need the encouragement – they'd been here before and he enjoyed kissing her. She tasted nice and smelt even nicer and she was soft and gentle. It was easy to let himself be drawn into her spell.
The kiss deepened. Her tongue touched his inner lips delicately and he responded by kissing her back with more fervour, tangling one hand in her curly, soft locks while slipping his other arm around her back.
She murmured low in her throat, a beautifully feminine sound of approval. He felt her hand fiddling with the buttons on his shirt and then a warm palm was smoothing over his chest, moving up to his shoulder. He reciprocated, slipping a hand inside her blouse. They'd been here before, too – this much was safe.
God, safe wasn't an adequate word to describe this at all, he decided, as their kiss went on and on, filling his head with clouds of thought-dampening pleasure. No, this was way, way more than just safe.
But when her hand began to burrow southwards between their bodies, a red light went on in his head. No. Too much. He found her hand and pulled it gently away, twining his fingers around hers.
She stopped kissing him and leant back a little. “Why not?” she murmured, her voice a little breathless. “I can tell that you're interested. Heck, you're getting me interested.”
He sighed and leant his forehead against hers. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a tease. It's just that if you touch me there I know things are going to get out of control and I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.”
He felt her upper body sag in defeat. “Why not give it a try? You might surprise yourself.”
He shook his head. “Not tonight. Not so soon after the crash.” Because he knew he was vulnerable. It would be easy to let himself surrender to the comforting oblivion of loveless sex, but he didn't want that with Mayson. If he was going to sleep with her, it would be for the right reasons, not for the wrong ones.
If he ever did sleep with her. Even after all this time in her company, and despite the physical attraction he felt for her, his mind still didn't seem able to accept the concept of lovemaking with Mayson.
She sighed. “Okay,” she said, disengaging herself from him and slumping back onto the sofa cushions. “Sorry if I went over a boundary.”
“Mayson...”
“I mean, this is just another reason why I hate Superman,” she said. “You do these rescues, and then you get all upset by them. I just don't think he's good for you.”
He'd been ready to be conciliatory with her, but that last remark made him see red. “You don't understand,” he said vehemently. “You really, really, don't understand. These rescues, all my other work as Superman, they're what keep me sane. I have to help people, or I'd go crazy.”
“Seems to me you go crazy because of your work as Superman,” she muttered. “I hate to see you upset, Clark. Especially when it does this to you.”
“Does what?”
She waved a hand vaguely between them. “This. This lack of...anything.”
“That has nothing to do with Superman,” he said.
“Oh, really?” she said. “You effectively just said you didn't want to sleep with me because of the train crash. Or is that just tonight's excuse?”
“That's not fair,” he retorted. “The reason I don't want to sleep with you has got nothing whatever to do with Superman, and you know it.”
“You're running out of excuses, Clark. You remember when you asked me to tell you if I ever feel I'm being used? Well, this is it – we're here at last. You're using me, Clark.”
“I am not using you,” he said. “I thought you understood.”
“I did understand. Haven't I given you space? I've taken things slowly, always let you take the lead - when you stop, I stop. But it's been months, Clark. How long do I have to wait? A year? Two years? I can't believe you've got that much control.” She fired him an angry look. “If you really wanted me, you'd have done something about it by now.”
He sighed. She was right. The desire just wasn't strong enough. He could just about see them coming home late after a great night out, perhaps a little high from all the fun they'd had, and maybe lettings things happen in the heat of the moment, but otherwise he didn't think he wanted to sleep with Mayson.
“I'm right, aren't I?” she prompted.
He rolled his head around on the sofa cushions to look at her. “Remember what we also said in that restaurant? We'd give ourselves a second chance, see if we could make this work.”
She'd clearly been ready to fire off another salvo of frustrated anger at him, judging by her thunderous expression when he'd turned to look at her. But at his reminder of their conversation, her face relaxed into sad resignation. She nodded. “It isn't working, is it? I think we're way past your hang-ups about Lois.”
“Yeah.” He reached up and cupped the side of her face. “Mayson, I care about you a lot. You've been really kind and understanding and that's meant a lot to me over these past few months. I've tried to show you the same kindness and understanding, and tried hard not to be selfish, but I suspect even so that I've received more than I've given. And any of the guys I know would say I'm out of my mind not to want to make love with a gorgeous, sexy woman like you. But it's more than that. We can't just base this thing on sex alone, and the fact is, we don't agree on the one thing that's a huge part of what I am, and I think that would always come between us.”
Her eyes fell downwards. “What you're saying is that if you have to chose between Superman and me, you'd choose Superman.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I can respect that, I guess.” She laughed dryly. “I don't like it, but I respect it.” She raised her eyes and looked at him again. “Thanks for trying, Clark. Maybe I have given more than I've gotten in return, but I've always known that I wanted you more than you wanted me. So maybe it's right that I put a little bit more into it than you did.”
She was being so magnanimous in the face of defeat, he couldn't bear it. “Oh, God, Mayson,” he exclaimed, gathering her into his arms and hugging her tightly. “Thank *you!* You have done so much for me. I can't even begin to explain how much.”
“I only did it because I...I care about you.”
He heard the unmistakable catch in her voice, the hesitation over "I care'. He hoped he was wrong. Hoped she hadn't found love just as they were breaking up. He certainly didn't have the guts to ask her.
But breaking up they definitely were. They exchanged a few more sentences of comfort and regret, agreed to keep in touch, and then parted. As break-ups went, Clark thought, it was as amicable as was feasible.
And he really had appreciated Mayson's friendship and companionship. He owed her a great deal, for her kindness and compassion had helped him re-enter the real world. Without Mayson, he probably would have found it considerably harder to rebuild his life and place his love for Lois in the proper perspective. He might not love Mayson in the romantic sense, but as the best and closest friend he could have wished for, he loved her dearly.
*******************
