Chapter 2
Clark couldn’t remember the last good night’s sleep he’d had.
Every night the dream was the same. No, not a dream...a living nightmare--one that haunted him almost constantly ever since it had happened.
During the day he could try to forget--could concentrate on other things. But the moment his head hit the pillow, and his eyes shut at night he saw it--the explosion that killed Mayson Drake playing over and over again in his head with full visuals and surround sound.
He hadn’t gotten there in time. The fastest man in the world, and he’d been too late.
Ten seconds.
He’d thought about that span of time a lot the past couple of days. He could do so much in ten seconds. He’d timed it. He could clean his apartment in ten seconds, spin in and out of his suit five times and fly around the block twice.
Every day he experimented just to see how much he could do in ten seconds, all the while reminded of everything he’d failed to do in that same amount of time. He called it experimenting, but really it was torture.
All it had taken was ten seconds of his life--ten seconds when he had allowed himself to let go of Superman and be present as Clark...to be with Lois…to kiss her.
Ten seconds. That was all it took for Mayson Drake to die.
And he was responsible. It was his fault.
He'd lost people before. Seen death...gotten there too late. He had been performing rescues on some level since he was a teenager. It had always been hard but, since assuming the mantle of Superman, it had gotten immeasurably harder. The sheer amount of rescues he performed was up, of course, and every time he failed to save someone, it quietly chipped away at his soul.
He had been feeling it especially strongly ever since Lex Luthor had died. It wasn’t as if he felt guilty for what happened to Luthor. After all, Luthor had been the one to jump. But watching someone he knew--even if it was someone he hated--die, had triggered something inside of him. After that, every failed rescue sat heavier and heavier with him.
It had planted a seed of anxiety in the pit of his stomach, at first just barely noticeable--only on the bad days--a small, insidious thing. It was constantly on his mind that one day he would fail to save someone he did care about. What would he do when that happened? Who would he talk to? Who would he turn to?
His parents were a wonderful source of support--they always had been--but they weren’t enough. He couldn’t call every time he got there too late. That wasn't fair to them; it wasn't their burden to bear.
And he ached to think that the one person he wanted to lean on when something like that happened never knew what was really upsetting him. The true and complete relationship he'd yearned for all his life, the kind where you supported each other through everything? He wanted that, desperately so, with Lois. Sure, she was his best friend now, and he'd opened up to her more than anyone in his life, save for his parents. But he hadn't truly opened up to her. She'd shared her worst days, her secret fears...but he couldn't. Wouldn't?
He'd thought they were on that path...they were on that path, but was it something he should even consider, having a relationship? He had never paused to consider what he was trading for his so-called happily ever after. Could he afford to devote more time in his day to a relationship? Wasn't that a selfish thing to do, when every minute he wasn't helping as Superman was one where countless people died?
Like Mayson.
He'd given in to the moment, thinking that Clark finally deserved some time, some happiness. And he'd felt something niggle at the back of his mind, but he'd been breathtakingly distracted and he'd leaned into it. And those extra ten seconds he'd spent, selfishly enjoying the best moment of his life until now, that had been too long.
He'd been too late to save Mayson. This shouldn't be different, not too different from other rescues in which he'd been too late. But it was. It was different for so many reasons.
He'd been with Lois when it happened. And he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone.
His alarm blared, and he resisted smashing it out of frustration. He thumbed the switch to turn the alarm off and threw the bedclothes aside. After a super-speed shower--one that took less than ten seconds--he dressed just as quickly, not wanting to face the red and blue spandex for more than a millisecond.
After what had happened last night, he didn’t want to even think about his alter ego. He didn't want to look at the suit and face such a cheerfully coloured reminder of his failure. And a reminder that the man beneath the suit was the true failure.
Clark moved slowly to the kitchen--ten steps in ten seconds--and opened the fridge to find something to eat for breakfast, though he wasn't quite hungry.
He couldn’t give voice to how he was feeling. He was angry with himself. He’d allowed himself to think that going out with Lois and confiding in her was a good idea. Just looking into her concerned brown eyes at his desk had caused the lump in his chest to ease just a little bit. But they hadn’t even officially finished the workday when he'd heard a cry for help that he couldn’t possibly ignore.
A fire. Something about that particular emergency had caused him to freeze momentarily. He’d had to fight off sudden confusion as he found himself unable to remember how to get out of the newsroom and which way to fly. Lois had seen it as well, and he'd known that he'd had to come up with a perfectly understandable reason that he'd needed to leave the building RIGHT. THAT. SECOND.
But his excuses were generally poor on the best of days. Yesterday, he’d given probably the worst excuse of his life in telling her he needed to rush to the store to pick up a Mother’s Day card.
In July.
He closed the refrigerator door with a groan and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn't even feel like eating anyway.
There had been no mistaking the look of anger and hurt on her face as he’d rushed away from her. She’d reached out to him and he’d rejected her.
But what could he have said? 'Hey, Lois, there's an apartment building on fire and families are trapped inside. Could you hold that thought?'
Not to mention, he wasn't even sure what he would have told her if they had gone to dinner. Even if he could tell her that and just play it off as him feeling responsible as Clark. It wasn't the same as being responsible.
No, he’d forced her look from his mind as he'd pulled people from the blazing building, but he knew he hadn’t been at his best. The thick billowing smoke had reminded him too much of Mayson. Of the bomb that went off that had killed her.
He grabbed his keys and his suit coat and locked the door behind him. He could have taken a cab, or used his super speed to get to work, but he decided to walk instead.
Just barely two weeks ago, he would have said he'd gotten everything he'd ever dreamed of, especially after Lois had agreed to go out on a real date with him. One false start of a date, then a really, really great date, then…
He shook his head as the image of Mayson’s battered body invaded his mind--unwanted and unbidden. Suddenly, he was back there kneeling on the ground, holding her close and feeling his heart clench with horror as he realised what was happening.
The acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh filled his nostrils and he tried desperately to block out the memory of Mayson’s laboured breathing and the feel of her finger as she limply reached up to trace the ‘S’ on his chest, suddenly far too visible, as she died.
The days were just as bad as the nights sometimes.
The thought that Lois might never forgive him warred with the shame he felt for allowing himself to be distracted by his feelings for her.
He and Mayson had been...friends. She'd wanted more. And even in that, he felt guilty for letting her think even for a moment that they might have something. He knew now his heart unequivocally belonged to Lois and, try as he might, that would never change.
Mayson had to have known. She had to have sensed his distraction. She'd have had no way of knowing how badly he would fail her, but he hated the knowledge that she'd wasted the last few weeks of her life chasing a relationship that could never be.
She'd been right to distrust Superman.
And Lois was right to be hurt and angry with him. He had let her down repeatedly. Even now, when he should be making it up to her, he was failing her.
One kiss. That's all they'd had. One real kiss.
He felt a warmth spread through his chest and an echo of the tingling thrum he'd felt that night, the memory of their first kiss physically imprinted on his soul.
He allowed himself to get lost in the memory of that kiss. To say it had been incredible was an understatement. He had never felt more alive than when their lips finally met. The feel of her, soft and willing, pressed eagerly against him, seemed to set him on fire. The gentle intake of her breath that told him she was just as affected as he was had been electrifying. He'd never wanted anything more than to wind his hands through her hair and press their bodies so close they forgot where one ended and the other began. He had wanted her. In a visceral way. Never in his fumbling teenage years had he felt that kind of raw need. It scared him and thrilled him all at once.
And now, the memory of it was the only thing that could save him. He clung to it like a drowning man, desperate to banish the tormented images of burning metal and Mayson’s gaze, resigned to her death as she breathed her last word. But it hadn’t worked.
The ping of the detonator engaging hadn't filtered through his senses in time. He'd been too late.
Would he have to choose between Clark and Superman? If he did, he knew he would likely have to choose Superman. But was he a horrible person for wanting to choose Clark?
As he made his way into the lobby of the Daily Planet building and then up the elevators, he steeled himself for the day. Lois was sure to be furious at him. She’d likely demand an explanation for his hasty exit last night. But he had no explanation to give, and he was far too tired to try. The fire the night before had taken everything out of him, and he still wasn’t fully recovered. The nightmares were still with him.
He looked across the newsroom floor and saw she was at her desk already, furiously typing something. Maybe his obituary. His heart hitched at the thought that she might not even deem him worthy of conversation today. Fighting was preferable to Lois's silent treatment.
He mentally kicked himself. He should have stopped at the corner cafe to grab her favorite latte. He’d forgotten yesterday altogether, hadn't he? He glanced over at her desk. He could still go real quick and come back. Could he do it in ten seconds? Maybe.
No. She knew he was here already. She'd tensed ever so slightly when he'd looked over. No, today was not going to be a good day.
