~~~Part 11~~~
Clark hovered a few feet off the ground, his head propped up by his arm on the cushion of air he'd made his bed for the night, though he hadn't slept yet. He watched Lois as she slept, worn out from the emotions of the day. She'd talked for a good while longer, telling him all of the horrors of the West African jungle, everything she'd struggled through in her attempt to get to safety and back home.
She looked so peaceful in her sleep, as if none of the horrors she'd experienced could touch her now.
And if he could help it they wouldn't ever again.
The strong feeling of protectiveness from earlier hadn't left him. For a moment, he'd thought it might be the superhero within finally showing through, but it was more than that. Even at his best as Superman, he'd never felt quite so... fiercely about wanting to keep someone safe.
Maybe it was because he had the chance to now.
His gaze wandered over her features for the hundredth time since she'd fallen asleep. Her soft brown hair framed her face, and a few stray locks had fallen across her chin. The faint light from the bathroom cast muted shadows upon her high cheekbones and small, rounded nose. Her eyelids danced to some unknown rhythm as she dreamed.
He let the soft drum of her heartbeat fill his ears. Like before, the sound was strangely comforting.
He watched, almost hypnotized, the slow rise and fall of the blanket as she breathed softly beneath it. She was so thin, so delicate. He suspected the lunch he'd made had been the first real meal she'd had in a long while. Maybe years.
Clark seethed, losing a few inches in altitude. Days ago, hell, *months* ago, he'd been cursing his fate, crying at the unfairness of it all. But Lois... Lois had had it far worse.
And she'd survived.
More than survived. She'd *fought* for her life. She'd made sure that no one could break her spirit... though he suspected the gunrunners had taken more than a fair amount of who Lois Lane had been. Despite all that, she'd still made it. Fought hand and tooth to get back home. And she was still determined to get to the bottom of it all and put the bad guys in jail.
He admired her determination, her strength. He almost felt less of a man in light of everything he knew she'd accomplished, but he wouldn’t let himself.
Not again.
He was through with being helpless. Through with being the victim.
But...
Could he handle being a hero again?
The diametric opposite of what he'd been for so long?
The thought terrified him. He wasn't ready. He needed time. Time to figure out who he was. Not Clark Kent. Not Superman. Not... anyone, really.
Truth was, he had no idea who he was.
For so long, the only part of himself he'd known... was the dark part. The depressed, lonely, miserable, pathetic part. The part that made him so much less of a man.
How could he be the superhero everyone thought he was? The superhero Lois had come running to all the way from the Congo for help? He'd already failed to save her once. All his determination and tireless searching, and he'd still failed.
He'd failed her when she'd needed him most.
What kind of Superman was he if he hadn't been able to save her?
That man... in Point Noire... *he'd* saved Lois. Clark was grateful and resentful of him all at once. He was supposed to be Superman. *He* was supposed to be the guy that saved people. He was the one who was supposed to save Lois.
But he hadn't.
He was so full of anger. Full of resentment. Mostly towards himself. It was far from healthy, he knew, but he didn't know how to make it all go away.
One thing to be thankful for, though... he'd searched himself for the resentment he'd felt towards Lois earlier. It was gone. Replaced with... something. Something he didn't have a name for, but he knew for certain it wasn't love. Or at least not the all-consuming love that he should have rightfully been feeling.
This was Lois. *His* Lois. To hell with semantics. This was *his* Lois. He knew it. He could *feel* it. Earlier, when she'd been recounting her horrific tale, he'd felt it. Her. *Her* fear and terror. He hadn't realized it then, but... it'd been the same as the connection he'd felt with the other Lois. Only stronger. Infinitely stronger.
That feeling on its own was more comforting than even the sound of her heartbeat.
But even if the connection was there. Even if he *did* love her. Even if she somehow, miraculously, loved him...
How could he ever be enough for her?
Clark Kent. Superman. Whoever he was... how was he supposed to love someone when he couldn't even love himself?
But that was beside the point, wasn't it? Lois didn't love him. Not even close. The kiss... the kiss had been magical. There was no denying that. He knew she'd felt something too. She had to have. But what woman wouldn't after three years in the Congo, alone and scared, desperate for *some* kind of human contact?
Her seemingly eager participation didn't mean that she loved him. They'd just met. She might have just been attaching herself to the first person who’d been kind. Any port in a storm.
And then there was her reaction afterwards...
<Forget it happened. Won't happen again.>
It really didn't matter whether or not he loved her.
She didn't want him.
But... why would she? Why *should* she? Hadn't the other Lois said -
<<Help me!!>>
He started. Not again. He felt every muscle in his body tense.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
He couldn't handle it now. Not now. Please not now.
Why was he hearing cries for help all of a sudden? He hadn't heard anything for days. Nothing since he'd returned. Nothing.
<<Someone, please help me! I'm trapped.>>
Clark spun into the Suit. Put his feet on the ground.
He'd brought it. The red and blue. The cape. Picked it up when he'd gotten his wallet. On a whim. A stupid whim.
He was trembling. Shaking. He... he couldn't go.
<<Unit 53 to dispatch. We're on the scene.>>
Firemen. They were there. They'd find the guy... in time. It would be okay. Fine. He'd live.
He tried not to hear the man's choking, the gasping for breath.
He couldn't move. Wouldn't move. His legs wouldn't move.
<<Help! *cough* I can't see anything!>>
Clark brought his hands up to his ears. Fast.
Block the sound. Block the voice.
Dammit. Damn his super hearing.
A faint heartbeat. Somewhere... muffled among the sirens and screaming.
Lois.
Her heartbeat.
Soothing. Calming.
He focused hard on the soft rhythm of her heartbeat.
And sank to the floor, against the wall in a crumpled heap.
***
Lois woke to the sound of a soft sobbing. So soft it sounded as if it was far off in the distance. But, instinctively, she knew it was coming from only a few feet away.
Clark was crying.
She looked over to the wall, beneath the payphone. She stifled a gasp. He was wearing the costume.
Superman was crying.
His head was buried in his hands, his knees drawn up near his chest.
Superman was crying. Weeping softly.
The sound cut at her, seized her heart. And the image before her, a fallen superhero, shook her mercilessly.
He looked up at her then, as if he'd sensed her staring at him.
Gently, she asked, "What's wrong, Clark?"
His eyes were soulful, agonized for a moment before the look disappeared altogether and was replaced with a poor attempt at a sunny disposition. Even the smile wavered.
"Good morning, Lois." He glanced at the clock - avoiding her gaze? "Well... afternoon, I guess. Did you sleep well?"
She just stared at him. Why... why on Earth was he attempting to hide his obvious suffering? And *what* had happened?
She didn't intend to let him brush this away like it was nothing. It was clearly *something*. "What happened, Clark?"
A tortured look played across his face for a moment, as if he were fighting some sort of internal battle.
"Did you want me to make lunch? I think I remember picking up something I could use... lunch meats, bread, chips... maybe... And I bought some juice, I thi-"
"Clark Kent!" she blurted out.
He finally looked her in the eye, startled. He almost had that sort of deer-in-headlights expression. Terrified. Or something.
Now that she had his attention, she softened her tone. "Tell me what happened, Clark."
He shook his head, the barest of movements. Wordlessly, she got out of bed and sank down beside him. She put a hand on his knee. A comforting one, she hoped. He seemed tense, on the verge of shaking.
She didn't ask again. He'd speak when he was ready. She hoped.
"No."
She looked up at him, confused, pulling her hand from his knee. "What?"
"I said no. I don't want to tell you what happened."
"Oh, okay. I just thought... Well, never mind." She stood and made her way back to the bed. "I'll... just... get a little more sleep, then."
She didn't even wait for a response before she pulled the covers tight around her and closed her eyes. It didn't matter that the day was already half gone. She didn't have anything to do anyway. And Clark could do whatever he liked.
Her lower lip trembled. She'd thought... She'd thought he might *want* her to help. That he'd want to tell her what was wrong. Lois turned on her side, away from Clark so he wouldn't see her chin trembling.
How stupid could she get, thinking he might actually want to share his problems with her? Just because he'd done it once before didn't mean that he'd *wanted* to. Maybe he was just using her, taking advantage of her anonymity to hide from the reporters. But... that didn't make sense. He could fly. He could disappear to any corner of the world if he wanted.
So why was he staying here?
Could it be he felt obligated to help her?
There was a tight clench in her gut. Was he only staying because he'd given her his word?
But what about last night? He'd been so comforting, so concerned. He'd acted as if he really did care for her.
Had it all just been a ruse?
No, it couldn't have been. She wouldn't let herself believe it.
Maybe...
That was it! He was embarrassed. Ashamed.
Lois sat up abruptly and turned back to face Clark.
Or... at least the now empty spot where he'd been sitting.
She hadn't even heard the door snick shut behind him.
***
He was stupid. A complete and utter moron. A coward. Too scared to rescue someone from a fire, and terrified to face the woman he'd been looking for... all his life.
He couldn't tell her anything.
It was beyond wrong to keep it from her, but he couldn't stand the thought of what she'd do if she did know. She'd leave if she knew her superhero, the person she was counting on, was impotent.
How could he even begin to help her if he couldn't even make it to a simple rescue?
Clark hovered high above what remained of the burnt building, watching the firemen pack away the hoses and pile back onto their trucks. The acrid smell of smoldering wood lingered in the air. Sodden ashes were all that remained of the small house on Hyperion Avenue.
He scanned the ruins slowly, terrified of what he might find.
No bodies.
He let out a huge sigh of relief. No casualties. No one had died because of his failure to act.
At least not today.
There would be others. Other fires. Robberies. Muggings. Earthquakes.
The fear clenched his heart like a vice. He couldn't do it. He couldn't be the superhero that everyone needed. That Lois needed.
Clark rocketed south, heading for the only place that still offered him a scrap of solace. Smallville. The Smallville Cemetery. Final resting place of Martha and Jonathan Kent.
The clouds covered the late afternoon sun in the Kansas sky, lending an almost eerie quality to the cemetery - a place that wasn't supposed to be ominous during the day.
His parents lay in a modest plot; they hadn't had much money when they'd died. Clark landed softly near their headstones and sat on the grass facing them. He stayed motionless for quite some time, just staring at their names. Carved in granite.
Indelible.
He hadn't saved them.
He hadn't saved Lois.
But the difference was Lois had lived. She was still alive. Still needed saving. Needed help. From him.
But that was all she wanted. Maybe friendship at the most - another person to talk to because she had no one else.
That would be enough for him. It had to be. If that was all she wanted, and if she let him be a friend to her even after everything was over... it would be enough.
If she'd even talk to him after he'd left her so abruptly and been so rude to her.
He huffed. He was fed up with it all! Sick and tired of being so pathetic and miserable. Why couldn't he just snap out of it? Why couldn't he be happy? Why couldn't he do what he'd been born to do? Why couldn't he fall in love with Lois Lane?
Clark punched the ground at his side, and his fist sunk a foot into the soft earth.
He withdrew his hand and splayed his fingers, staring at the damp earth covering them. The soil of a planet that had adopted him. Then failed him.
He was an alien. Alienated. Not human.
Did that mean he didn't deserve what most humans had? Friendship? Happiness? Love?
Was that why? Because he wasn't from here, didn't really belong here?
Clark wiped his hand off on the grass, though remnants of the sodden soil remained stubbornly on his skin, making sure to remind him that it was there, but not a part of him.
TBC...
