Apologies that this is so short, but I've almost run out of buffer. 
PART SEVENTEEN
Clark folded up his newly-acquired black tie and placed it on top of his suit in the small hold-all. He’d collected the suit in a superfast trip back to Metropolis, but everything else had been bought at the mall a couple of blocks away from their hotel.
Going back to the house had been horrible. The place had felt claustrophobic; stuffed full of memories, all of them involving Lana. Even the press camped outside on the lawn had clamoured her name, demanding to hear her story. He hadn’t lingered a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
His meagre packing complete, he closed the zip, left the hold-all on the bed and crossed over to the window. The view wasn’t impressive: a tired office block in seventies brown stood just a stone’s throw from the window, and many stories below, a grey, windswept car park contained a handful of cars and SUVs. Not Philadelphia’s most scenic hotel bedroom.
He was sick of motels and hotels. Sick of dull views and anonymous furnishings. He was tired and he wanted to go home, except that he had no home. The house in Metropolis certainly didn’t qualify, and Smallville, where he’d be tomorrow, had ceased to be his home years ago.
“It’s still not too late to change your mind.”
Lois’s weary voice interrupted his thoughts. Was she never going to give up trying to convince him? He dropped his forehead onto the cool glass of the window and measured the distance to the ground. A hundred feet, perhaps. Hardly enough for a good workout at superspeed. “We agreed, Lois,” he muttered. “I don’t want to discuss it any more.”
“No, you agreed,” she said from the other side of the room. She spoke without heat but her words still stung; they’d rehearsed this argument too often over the past couple of days. “I still think you should take me with you.”
He pictured the scene. Mr and Mrs Lang – or Mom and Dad, as they’d insisted he call them after the marriage – clinging to each other on the porch of their house in Smallville and trying desperately to understand why their daughter had taken her own life. He, their daughter’s husband, newly exposed as an alien with extraordinary powers, expressing his sorrow at their mutual loss while holding hands with Lois, the woman he’d slept with while leaving Lana alone at home.
There were just too many lies in that scene. The Langs didn’t know the truth about their daughter – didn’t know she’d worked for Trask from an early age; didn’t know she’d spied on her own husband. They didn’t know their son-in-law had been unfaithful to their daughter – was still being unfaithful, in fact. They didn’t know their daughter might have been murdered.
Remove Lois and at least there was one lie less. The Langs didn’t have to see their son-in-law with another woman and wonder how he’d managed to acquire another female companion so quickly. He didn’t have to lie to them; pretend that she was just a friend.
“I can stay out of the way,” she said.
And then there was the media. They were already hounding him about Lana’s suicide – had she known he was an alien when they got married, had she agreed to him becoming Superman? Their implications were obvious, and if they got wind that he was seeing another woman, the verdict would be unanimous: Clark Kent had driven his wife to suicide.
“They’d find you anyway,” he said.
He didn’t even care so much what the public thought of Clark Kent. If they chose to believe he’d all but killed his own wife, then so be it. He knew the real truth.
But he cared like hell what they thought of Superman. He needed to earn their trust if he was going to be useful to them. No-one was going to shout for his help if they mistrusted or were scared of him.
“You shouldn’t face this alone, Clark.”
“I have to.” He turned away from the window and faced her across the room. “Besides, the other Clark said he’ll stay with me through the funeral.”
She’d been delighted when he’d told her about the telepathy with Clark, but now her face creased in anguish. “That’s great, but he can’t be with you all of the time.”
“No, but it’ll have to be enough.” He sighed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll phone you whenever I can.”
“Trask is still out there,” she pointed out. “You need me to watch your back.”
He bit his lip, his patience worn thin by too little sleep and too many disagreements. “Please, Lois.” He closed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing down his frustration in the interests of peace between them. “We’ve been through all this. I don’t want us to argue any more.”
“You know I’m only arguing because I care about you.” She reached up and took one of his hands in hers. “Promise me you’ll call if you need me. Any time, day or night.”
He let out a breath of relief. “I promise. And you, too.” He was flying her back to Metropolis before heading out to Smallville and he was a little anxious that Trask might go after her as a way of getting to him. “Keep in touch and call me any time. I can be there in seconds.” He wanted to say a lot more, but he’d already tried to give her instructions on personal security and had his head bitten off for being over protective.
She nodded. “And you try to get some sleep. You look tired.”
He smiled wanly. “You, too.”
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
They embraced, clinging tightly to each other because this hug would have to last through far too many hours of separation. The past few days, with all that had happened, had brought them closer together than ever and this would be their first time apart since Lois had rescued him from Trask.
Lois broke away first, easing reluctantly out of his embrace and smiling bravely up at him-
He pulled her back into his arms, not ready to let her go yet. He needed her strength – this slight, fragile woman who’d saved his life in more ways than he could count. Burying his face in her soft hair for one last time, he felt her arms tighten fiercely around him. “Any time, day or night,” she murmured. “Okay?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Five minutes later they were soaring through the bleak skies above Philadelphia on the way to Metropolis.
*******************
Clark knew almost immediately where he wanted to sit while he accompanied his counterpart to Lana’s funeral. The choice was obvious, and, luckily for him, travelling there during the working day wasn’t a problem.
He paused in front of the white, steepled building and gazed upwards. He hadn’t been inside the modest church on Smallville’s main street for a very long time and he wondered briefly if it would look the same inside as he remembered. Certainly, the exterior looked the same, right down to the broken clock still showing half-past nine. Folks said it had jammed the day Kennedy had died.
Pushing the large wooden door open, he stepped inside. Light streamed in from all the upper windows and bathed the church in a warm glow. Looking around, he found it just as he’d remembered – clean and simple wooden pews, plain glass windows, white walls, and a modest altar.
He selected a pew about half way up and sat.
/I’m here./
************
On hearing his counterpart’s voice in his head, Clark sagged down onto the single armchair in his motel room with relief. Just when he’d been wondering how he was going to get through today...
“Where’s here?” he asked.
/The church, of course. I’m about half way down on the right hand side./
He smiled wanly. “Neat idea. But you’re early – the taxi hasn’t even arrived to take me to the Langs’ yet.”
Where he’d receive a stiff, awkward reception if yesterday was anything to go by. He’d dropped by to finalise the arrangements for the funeral. Mrs Lang had given him the briefest of hugs and Mr Lang had barely clasped his hand before moving straight into a clipped, business-like discussion of the arrangements. He’d tried to believe their coolness was due to lingering shock over their daughter’s suicide, but a large part of him was convinced they were repelled by their alien son-in-law and blamed him for Lana’s death.
Heck, hadn’t he heard the relief in their voices when he’d declined their offer to put him up for the duration of his stay in Smallville? They hadn’t wanted him anywhere near their house.
/I came early because I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything taking place in the church today./
Clark nodded. “Makes sense.”
The Langs had ordered the taxi for him, of course. They hadn’t remembered he could simply fly to the funeral, and he hadn’t hurried to correct them.
/Are you talking out loud, by the way? You don’t have to, you know./
“I wasn’t sure I could make this work if I don’t speak out loud,” he explained. “Let me try...”
//How’s this?//
/Coming through loud and clear. Now we can talk even when you’ve got company./
//Yes.// Clark had a feeling he’d appreciate that. This day was not going to be easy. He felt like he was deceiving half of Smallville by pretending that he was the grieving widower. Yes, he was sad that she’d died. Yes, he remembered the young Lana with real fondness and warmth. But any tears he shed today would be crocodile tears, because he could never forget how badly she’d blighted the first thirty years of his life. For evermore, he’d wonder what sort of a man he might have been if Lana hadn’t been there to stifle and suppress.
So today, he, as the chief mourner, would be perpetrating a huge lie right at the centre of what should be a very sincere occasion. He’d be play-acting his grief while all those around him would be genuinely moved and upset.
/So how are you?/
He had no idea. Numb, perhaps. Living through each minute because he had to. Focusing on getting things done because that was easier than dwelling on feelings.
//Okay. Okay as I can be, I guess.//
/Are you any closer to finding out if Trask killed her or not?/
//No. The police won’t investigate and I can’t push things any further without telling them and her parents more than I want to – there’s no way, for example, that I could request an autopsy without getting her parents’ consent. How can I tell them their daughter worked for a man like Trask?//
/Are you sure they don’t already know?/
//Not entirely, but I can’t exactly ask them, can I?// He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the ache behind his eyes. Invulnerability and enhanced abilities were great for rescuing sinking ships, but they were no match for a tension headache. //When Lois and I are back in Metropolis, I’m going to try and find Trask himself. Nothing like going straight to the source.//
/Sounds dangerous./
He shrugged. //I need to know the truth.//
/Yeah, I’d feel the same./
There was a soft knock at the door.
He stood up. //Sounds like my taxi’s here.//
/Okay. Remember now – the taxi driver won’t be telepathic. You’ll need to use your voice./
//Ha. Very funny.//
He opened the door to find a well-built middle-aged guy wearing jeans and a close-fitting khaki t-shirt. “Mr Kent?”
Clark looked past the guy to the taxi parked just outside his motel room. He nodded. “Hold on while I get my coat.”
He turned back into the room to fetch it from the back of the chair. Behind him, he heard the door close.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
Surprised to hear the guy’s voice just behind him, he turned. The guy grimaced in apology. “Got a weak bladder.”
“Uh, sure,” replied Clark, stepping aside to let him pass.
A few moments later, he heard the toilet flush and then water running in the sink. Remembering the other Clark, he remarked, //Hey, at least we’ll never need to worry about stuff like this.//
/Like what?/
//Weak bladders. He’s using my bath-//
Pain exploded in his head, forcing him to double up and then crumple to his knees. Muscles spasmed in agony, nausea rose in his throat, and cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Kryptonite.
A rough hand jerked his chin upwards and, through a mist of pain, he found a gun pointed at his head and beyond that, a very familiar-looking face. “My God, the arrogance,” it snarled. “Calling yourself a super man. You’re no more a man than a cockroach.”
