~~~Part 4~~~
Clark woke to darkness. The VCR clock told him it was well after two in the morning. He'd slept all day, but he couldn't bring himself to care. What did it matter? He was that much closer to the day he'd die. Whenever that was. Too far away. Too many miserable days to spend alone. Too much to handle. He didn't want to handle it anymore.
He remembered, dejectedly, his desperate attempt to end it all. He'd gotten all the way to the sun. Or at least close enough so that even *he* had felt the heat. He'd stared at it for minutes. Long minutes. Daring himself to just do it. But in the end, he'd chickened out, run out of air in his lungs, and had shot back to Earth like a coward, gasping for breath when he'd hit the stratosphere.
He'd been foolish. Stupid to think that he could actually hurl himself into the sun. But there hadn't been another way. Nothing else could hurt him. In fact, he wasn't even sure the sun would have killed him. Lack of air might have... but that hadn't worked out either.
Then he remembered... the agonizing, debilitating pain that fateful day when Tempus had introduced him to...
Kryptonite.
Clark sat up abruptly.
Kryptonite.
He sat motionless like he had been for days, but this time his heart was racing.
Kryptonite.
A glowing, painful, green chunk of home. Ironic that a little piece of home could be his undoing, that a tiny meteorite was a force more powerful than the Man of Steel.
The invulnerable man who'd been shattered beyond repair.
The man who was an alien in every sense of the word. He didn't belong.
Not as Clark. And not as Superman.
Though he hadn't been Clark in a long time.
The world only knew Superman now. Strange, how world-wide acceptance had made him feel more alienated. There was no Clark anymore... He'd been dead for a year now.
Only Superman.
Kryptonite.
If he...
Superman didn't think anymore; he stood and spun into the Suit, reveling in the detachment he felt.
Clark was dead. Only Superman was left.
He opened the window and shot into the sky.
Clark flew aimlessly around the city, trying to think where the Kryptonite may have gone. Perhaps in the police department. Surely they would have picked it up after the press conference and locked it in the evidence room. Looking back, he should have followed up on that. Disposed of it so that criminals wouldn't think to steal it and use it against him. But the thought hadn't occurred to him, and he was quite glad of it now. The Kryptonite was there. It had to be.
Clark changed his course and flew in the direction of the downtown precinct. Number fourteen. The one at which he knew all the foreign and dangerous substances were kept.
He landed on the ledge of Metropolis Tower. One of the tallest buildings in the city. High enough up so that no one could see him. Clark stared down at the building across the street. The downtown station. He sat completely still for a few long minutes before he got the courage to scan the building. There it was. Tucked away in a far corner of the evidence lock up, there was a small lead box. That had to be it. Odd how they'd inadvertently protected him from it. Or had Wells told them? It didn't really matter. It was still there, just waiting for him.
Kryptonite.
The last time... he'd been passive. Too passive. Like swallowing a bottle of pills, hoping it'd be enough.
Kryptonite. Kryptonite was active. There was pain. There was certainty.
He didn't move.
He wanted to do it. He wanted to die. He *couldn't* keep living like this. It wasn't even living. Just existing. There wasn't any point to it. The world didn't need him. He was useless. He didn't have anyone. No friends. No family.
No Lois.
No one would miss him.
Well, the citizens of Metropolis might miss their "superhero", but they wouldn't miss him.
Maybe, foolishly, he could ask to be buried beside Lois. Not that her body was there, but maybe in death, he'd at least find a small comfort in knowing he could be near her in some way.
He eyed the lead box again. It was slightly blurry this time.
Clark swiped at the tears angrily. There was no reason to cry. Not anymore. Not after he... There would be no more tears. Just nothing. He wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore. Sweet oblivion.
Clark sank down to the ledge and started sobbing, shaking. The tight pain in his chest was awful. He didn't want to die. But he desperately didn't want to live. There was nothing in between. Nothing he could do. And nothing would make the pain go away. He pulled his cape tight around him and wept.
***
Lois stood nervously outside Clark "Superman" Kent's apartment.
Earlier, she'd been surprised - and just a little pleased with herself for thinking to ask - that people seemed to know where Superman lived. Or at least in the general direction. Collecting clues from several different people, she'd been able to narrow it down, and now she was standing outside his door.
The peephole stared back at her like an all-knowing eye. A critical eye. She frowned. The peephole kept staring, and she got the odd sensation that someone was watching her.
But that was ridiculous. *If* Clark Kent was home, he'd be sleeping at this ungodly hour. He *wasn't* home, that much she was sure of. The papers at the supermarket held no mention of Superman and every person she'd talked to had been sure to let her know - sometimes with a patronizing or ridiculing stare - that the resident superhero was still out of town.
So why was she nervous? She was just leaving the note under his door. That was it. Just a simple note saying, "Hi, I'm Lois Lane. You don't know me but I'd like your help." Or something to that effect. A stupid plea from a nobody, has-been reporter. Something he probably wouldn't even pay attention to. He must receive a thousand requests like this a day; he'd just laugh at hers and then throw it out. She wouldn't even have to be witness to his ridicule. She'd never hear from him and that would be that. This Kent guy was a superhero, a celebrity, for crying out loud. Why would he even give her the time of day?
She stared at the door again. Come on, Lane, he's not even home. Just slip it under the door and get it over with. What was stopping her?
She knew what it was. It was the feeling she'd gotten when she'd looked at his picture, read what little there was about his life in that article, and read the articles he'd written. There was just something about him that spoke to her... something that told her there was more to his life than what was visible to the naked eye. Something she felt keenly. Hurt. It hit close to home for reasons she couldn't even fathom. But maybe she was just tired. Having nonsensical feelings because she'd been without human contact for so long, and she was desperate to feel any sort of connection.
She thought back to the picture... It wasn't pity exactly - that wasn't the feeling - but she'd gotten this silly idea, a tingling, that somehow he was someone important to her. That maybe she was reading him far more accurately than anyone else had. Kindred spirits.
Which was nonsense. Ridiculous. As human as he appeared, Clark Kent was still an alien with powers beyond that of any mortal man. How could she relate to someone like that? And how could he relate to her for that matter?
She was just lonely. There was no one in her life. Everyone thought she was dead. She was alone and probably would be alone for the rest of her life. She was just deluding herself. She needed someone to save her and Clark Kent was Superman, hero to the world.
She remembered when she was a teenager, looking at pictures of the latest movie heartthrob and feeling certain that they were meant to be together. An immature, unrealistic crush. That was what this weird feeling about Clark was. She felt stupid for even succumbing to the idea, but she had. Maybe it was because of just how alone she felt, how long she'd been away. His picture had been the first she'd seen at the beginning of her journey back to the "real" world.
A hero. A handsome hero at that. She'd just conjured up the image of being saved by him, and had gotten the childish notion that he might just care about her, too.
Foolish as that may have been, that was what was making her hesitate outside his door. What if he *did* just ignore her letter? Or worse yet, what if he didn't, and just regarded her as another citizen in need? Another victim in his long line of people to save? Someone he'd help and then wash his hands of? What if all he felt for her was pity? What if after it was all said and done, she never saw him again?
She wasn't sure she could handle that, regardless of the fantasies milling about in her head.
And then there was that foolish Lane pride. She'd survived three long years in the Congo. Made her way to the top of a male-dominated profession. Bounced back with determination after her family had died. All of this by herself. She'd never needed anyone before, really *needed* them, but now she *did* need Clark Kent.
She eyed his door cautiously once more. A rather small apartment on Clinton Street. Not a great neighborhood, but not the worst. Back when she'd last been in Metropolis, this had been one of the worst areas of town, rampant with crime. It had since cleaned up a little, but it certainly was not a neighborhood in which one would expect to find an individual of Superman's celebrity.
Suddenly, she wondered, why *did* Superman live here of all places? Surely he could afford better.
Lois got a small tingling sensation at the back of her neck. Curiosity. The thing that had killed the cat and the occasional intrepid reporter. Something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Lois glanced up and down the corridor and then at her watch. Three a.m. No one was around. *He* wasn't around. What would be the harm in taking a little peek? She felt an inexplicable need to know a little more about Clark Kent. She wished she'd had the idea to do some research, find out a little more about him before she'd even written the letter. The article had told her precious little about the man in the cape.
Was it really so wise to offer up her vulnerability on a silver platter to someone she knew virtually nothing about? She was used to having the upper hand.
She really had lost her edge. Researching first would have been more intelligent. Not that he was here, or that she *really* needed more background before she asked for his help. She simply felt she *had* to know more. Just in case she never did get to talk to him.
She checked the hallway hastily one more time and tried the doorknob.
Locked.
Well, what were you expecting, Lane?
She sighed and stuffed the letter in the front pouch of her bag and dug out the pocket knife that had proved quite a useful tool in the jungle, and then dug a little further. She knew she had a bobby pin in there somewhere - no clue as to *why* she had a bobby pin, but she *knew* she had one.
Ah hah! There it was. Now, she hoped she wasn't too out of practice.
Armed with her makeshift lock-picking kit, Lois made quick work of getting the lock undone, and hurried inside. Closing and locking the door behind her, she sighed with relief and rested for a moment against the solid wood.
The adrenaline high felt good. It reminded her of the past; back when she was Lois Lane, star reporter at the Daily Planet. Back when she *was* somebody. She shook herself mentally, stopping that train of thought in its tracks. She didn't have time to waste on silly memories, she was here to snoo - investigate. She was here to investigate.
Lois let her bag slide off her shoulder to the floor and surveyed the apartment curiously.
Who exactly was Clark Kent?
The apartment was nothing like she had expected. Well, she wasn't sure *what* she had expected, but it wasn't the sight before her.
Sparse furniture. Simple decorations. The place had a sort of homey feel, but at the same time it felt empty. Lois wandered over to the mantle and sized up the solidified memories that decorated it. An old football in a trophy-type stand. She ran her hand over the engraved plaque at the base of it, gaining a layer of dust on her fingers in the process. Smallville High 1984 Champions. She brushed her hand off on her pants. He'd played. That was somewhat odd. From what she'd read about him, he had superior speed and strength. Wasn't that a bit unfair? He didn't seem like the type that would cheat, especially considering his current occupation. Then again, she didn't *really* know him, and her judgment of men wasn't the best... so anything was possible.
She moved on to the next item. An old photograph - a middle-aged couple. His parents? Maybe. The picture was older and the frame a bit weathered and covered in dust like the rest of the mantle. The picture she'd seen of Clark Kent didn't show any of the same characteristics. The older couple didn't look like him in any sense. Though... Superman *was* an alien. Maybe these weren't his parents at all. Maybe he didn't even have parents.
The picture on the other side of the football gave her pause.
Clark and a woman.
A blonde. Pretty, if you liked that type. Not drop-dead gorgeous by any means, but...
She was wearing a ring.
An engagement ring.
Clark Kent was engaged. Or really, he could be married by now. Maybe he was on his honeymoon. Though... she supposed the paper would have said something about that... Or even something about his fiancée. Lois looked around the apartment again. There wasn't anything here that suggested a woman lived here. Not that that meant anything necessarily. Maybe Clark spent most of his time at her place. That was probably true, if the layer of dust covering the mantle and its inhabitants was any indication.
He was engaged. Taken. Of course he was taken. Who wouldn't want an attractive - extremely attractive - man who could fly? Every woman on the planet no doubt had some fantasy or another about him. And this woman in the photograph... she'd won the prize.
Lois tried to tell herself that it didn't bother her. By all rights, it shouldn't. And it didn't. Nope. She couldn't care less. And by no means did the dull ache in her chest mean that she felt she'd missed out on the best thing that might have ever happened to her. That was just heartburn.
Lois let out a sigh and headed towards the bedroom, well more of just the same room, really, though there was a half wall that separated it somewhat. The bed was messy, like someone had slept in it recently. Or like the man hadn't cared to make his bed before he'd left on vacation.
Another picture frame on the nightstand caught her eye. This one clearly had no dust on it, but it was laying face down. Curious now to see who it could be, she reached for it and grabbed it carefully. She turned the frame over and looked at the picture within.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
She gasped and nearly dropped the frame. It was *her*! But no picture she ever remembered taking. She started to wrack her memory for that moment, when she heard a noise behind her.
She froze.
The sound was kind of a strangled gasp, like someone had tried to say something, but the words hadn't come out. Lois forced herself to turn around slowly.
It was him.
Superman.
TBC... Monday. Yes, I said Monday. 
