Chapter 11
She could feel the jackhammering of his heart. Being this close to him, her hand on his chest...it'd been a risk. He could have been out the door and in the skies far faster than she could have crossed the short distance between them.
But she could tell he was spiraling. Her closeness had worked on his nightmares, effortlessly, it had seemed. This…now? She'd halted his motion and nothing more. But that was a start.
She was way out of her depth here, but Clark was on a ledge and still looking extremely jumpy.
He seemed to have at least heard some of what she'd said. He was still paused, his brow furrowed, as if he was trying extra hard to process words and thoughts.
He gave a quick shake of his head. "You know?" He paused, processing again, she assumed. Before she could even nod in confirmation, he was on the move again, but then stuttered to a halt in front of the TV. "Okay. You know. She knows."
Three steps back towards her. "I should…Oh! I gotta get my suit. I almost forgot it!" He turned heel and went further into the room, over to where his duffel bag sat along the wall, and she watched--half stunned, half curious--as he haphazardly tugged it out without even opening the zipper all the way.
She couldn't hold back her gasp of horror, but she quickly clapped her hand over her mouth as if she could somehow will the sound back in. He'd heard.
"Yeah, you're right. I can't show up in a dirty suit." He held it up by one hand to let it hang down fully, cape and all.
Dirty didn't begin to describe it. It looked like more than the smudged black of soot and ash. She tried not to think about what the other dark colour was, but in her heart, she knew it was dried blood.
"Clark," she said softly.
He still wasn't quite hearing her, not acknowledging the full reality of the situation. The panic was almost palpable, coming off him in waves and reverberating around the room as he paced about, always moving. He shoved the suit back into the bag unceremoniously. "Gotta fly home and get one. Should only take a few minutes…"
She approached him slowly, this time putting both hands on his chest and standing squarely in front of him. He paused, and she waited a beat with a silent plea for him to look at her and see her. His semi-absent gaze and frantic, agitated state were alarming to witness.
He hadn't moved, but he also hadn't looked at her yet. She reached a hand up to cup his cheek. The contact of her skin against his startled him for half a second before he blinked and gave his head a little shake again, as if to clear his vision and his mind.
His eyes met hers, and she saw the panic return. His gaze darted away again in the direction of the door, but before he could make a move, she brought her other hand up to his face. "Clark, look at me."
She felt his jaw tick and he swallowed hard. His eyes flicked her way for only a second then flinched away again, as if looking at her caused him pain. She could see the tears threatening. She could feel the slight tremors of his body and how he was working so hard to keep them in check.
He cleared his throat. "I have to go. I'll be back," he said, his voice thick and almost trembling with more than a hint of desperation. "I always come back."
"They're gone. I'm so sorry," she said. She'd repeat it as many times as he needed to hear it. "You need to stay, love. You can't help them. There's nothing more you can do."
He backed up a step, towards the wall, but she followed in a heartbeat. She looked down and pushed the duffel aside with her foot. She moved closer still to him. Her thumbs caressed his cheeks, trying to stir a response from him.
Some of the tears slipped through the careful dam he'd constructed. His jaw ticked again. And finally he looked at her. "The bodies," he choked out. "Someone needs to go remove the bodies."
Her breath caught and then she exhaled slowly. His eyes remained on hers, the tears coming more quickly now, and she knew he was pleading with her. To go. To do something. To not be still anymore so the emotions wouldn't come.
She wasn't sure if he crumpled to the floor first or if she moved to gather him up in her embrace, but now they were both on the floor, her holding him as he wept.
She rubbed his back and shushed and rocked him and held him as he sobbed and whimpered. "They're gone," she repeated quietly. She held him tight against her as he unloosed the grief and fear that had worn his heart thin. "I'm here." She moved her hand rhythmically, up and down along his upper back. His shoulders heaved with his sobs, and he clung to her with desperation. "I've got you."
She kept rocking him, stroking his back, taking comfort from the fact that she seemed to be helping. The solid feel of his chest warm against hers, even as he shuddered with grief...that connection felt of love and security and she willed him to feel it, to share it with her. "I've got you. I'm right beside you."
He seemed to be winding down, his breathing slowing, though interspersed with sniffling. He settled his head on her shoulder, his face against her neck. His whimpering was starting to sound less mumbly and more like words. "Seventeen...and ten...twenty-seven."
"Clark?" she asked, curious to know what he was talking about...but fearing she already knew.
"I took too long," he mumbled into her neck.
Her heart broke at the defeat and guilt in his voice. "Oh, Clark. It's not your fault."
He pulled away from her slowly and started swiping at the tears on his face and sniffing. He sat up with his back against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. But he still hadn't looked up at her yet. "Yeah. It is my fault."
"I know it feels like it. I know," she said, not wanting to outright invalidate his feelings. "But I promise it's not." She waited a beat before continuing. "It's not your fault that people didn't evacuate their homes."
"I could have gotten them out…" he said to a worn spot on the carpet.
"What, would you have forced them?" she asked calmly, evenly. "And are you suddenly psychic, too? You knew that the wind would change and these people that chose to stay in the path of potential danger would die?"
"Well, no…"
"Look, there are a million potential eventualities, and you can't possibly prepare for all of them." She did her best to keep her tone gentle and unaccusing. "How many people do you think died in the last five minutes in car accidents or other disasters? Should you have been able to save them, too?"
He flinched. Shoot, maybe that was the wrong tactic.
"Maybe. Maybe some of them," he said dejectedly, and then continued more quietly, almost under his breath. "Instead of sitting here crying."
She hung her head a little. Her heart hurt to see him in so much pain, blaming himself for all the things he couldn't do. "I hate to see you like this. You've always been too hard on yourself," she said softly. "As Superman and Clark. I wish you'd give yourself more credit. You, all of you, do so much for the world."
He shook his head and took a deep breath before speaking again. “What do you say to the 27 people that died in yesterday's fire?"
“Clark!” she exclaimed, forgetting her promise to keep an even tone. “Why would you even say that? That's not fair.”
"Ten people, Lois. That's how many lives were lost while you and I…"
She inhaled sharply. Oh, God. The words hit her like a knife to the gut. That…she'd never considered…all the infinite consequences of every choice Clark made. And that he'd even thought to measure their lovemaking--already a cherished memory--against how many people had died during? It cut her to the core and stole her breath again.
Apparently, taking her silence as an agreement to his self-indictment, he continued. "I'm weak. I knew the fire wasn't fully cleared, that a change in the wind could reignite things, that more lives could be lost. Instead, I chose…"
"Clark, no…" She was trying to regain her composure. She was so out of her depth. Maybe she should send him home to his parents; they'd surely know better what to do, what to say.
She watched as he swallowed hard, clearly fighting back tears again, but she suspected this time they were tears of anger, self-recrimination. "Superman chose to give in to his hormones. Do you know how many women I've made love to? I'll give you a hint. It's a very short list."
Her emotions were busy rending her insides, but the penny still dropped. "You mean...?"
He nodded and gave a derisive snort. "I wanted you, needed you so badly that I didn't care about the consequences. Ten lives so I could go to bed with the only woman I've ever loved? Sure, it's a deal…" he trailed off and started fussing at a string hanging off the seam of his jeans near his knee.
This was heartbreaking and so beyond what she could even fathom. She'd foolishly thought that saving Superman would be a touch easier than this. She wasn't even sure what to say; she hadn't expected this.
"Superman should be above all that," he spat. "It's selfish and irresponsible for him to even entertain the idea of a relationship. Part of me...I hate myself because it almost feels like it was worth it. Some hero I turned out to be."
And there it was, the fuel she needed to keep on going. NO. Her mind rebelled against the thought of Superman hating himself, denying himself happiness, denouncing himself as a hero. No. She held fast to the determination, the resolve that defending her hero inspired in her.
It was a million-fold stronger now that she knew he was Clark, and she'd need every ounce of that determination to make it through.
Slow and logical this time. "Did you hear them?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" He seemed a little taken aback at her disregard for his diatribe, and he looked at her.
"When we…" Oh, this was harder to talk about when he was looking at her with that face, those eyes, so sad and defeated. "When we made love, did you hear the cries for help?"
That caught him and made him think for a moment, but he'd likely already dismissed this on his own as any kind of excuse. He wasn't giving himself any of those. "It doesn't work that way, Lois. I don't always hear...and then if I'm focused on something else…"
She hadn't known it worked that way, but she felt like she would have noticed his trademark ready-to-dash look if he'd heard something. She hadn't known what it really meant before, but she would have noticed it instantly.
"Did you hear them?" she asked again, her voice even softer.
"No," he admitted.
"What about when you're sleeping? Or at work? Or playing poker with Perry or having dinner with your parents? Can you be focused, then, all the time?"
"It's not the same," he protested feebly.
"It doesn't matter, Clark. When it comes right down to it, it is the same." She chanced grabbing his hands and holding them in her own. "Superman deserves a life. You deserve a life. You can't be out saving lives every second of every day. You just can't."
He looked down at their joined hands and worried at his lower lip. “How can I even consider doing anything else when it means...it’s just...how...and if I'm stuck in a...or trying to have a date...and a first kiss.” he sputtered to a halt and looked up at her, tears threatening to overflow again. His breath hitched, and his face crumpled.
She held her breath, afraid of what was coming next but knowing she needed to bear it if Clark had any hope of healing.
"Ten seconds, Lois," he said, his voice almost a whisper, as if he didn't really want to say this out loud.
"What?" she prompted ever so gently.
"That's how long it took...for me to hear the bomb...because we were kissing. And I was ten seconds too late to save her."
"Mayson," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry Clark."
*** *** ***
Clark couldn't speak. Couldn't think. And he didn't want to. More than anything, all he wanted in this moment was to be still.
He had no idea if Lois had sensed that, or if she simply didn't know what else to say. Either way, he felt something in his heart unclench as she moved closer to him.
He made room for her--his body on autopilot as she settled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. He rested his chin on the top of her head and exhaled deeply. Somehow just the feel of her against him was enough to take the pain in his heart down to a dull ache.
They sat that way for what seemed like forever, her body warm and reassuring, calming the chaos in his mind. He placed soft, absent kisses on the top of her head and she trailed gentle circles on his arms with her fingertips.
"I'm sorry," she finally said after an eternity of silence. Her voice was small and sad. "I'm so sorry, Clark."
"For what?" he asked, wondering what she could possibly feel the need to be sorry for.
"I should have seen…" He noticed she was near tears now, and he closed his eyes, unable to bear the pain in her voice. "I knew something was wrong. Knew you weren’t yourself, but I had no idea it was this bad. You're my partner and my best friend. You were drowning. I should have been there for you more. I should have tried harder."
He drew a shuddering breath, and she removed herself from his embrace, turned, and knelt in front of him.The naked emotion in her face almost broke him all over again. How did she have so much mercy? So much compassion?
"I lied to you," he said, his voice hoarse and uncertain. "Over and over, I lied to you. You didn't notice because I didn't want you to. On top of everything else…"
He looked away. It was too much. Her forgiveness hurt almost as much as his failures.
"I understand why you did it," she said as she reached out and gently caressed his cheek. "I do."
"You shouldn't," he said, the bitterness inside him rising up like bile. "You should hate me. You have every right to. Especially after I slept with you under false pretenses."
Her hand still on his cheek, she urged him to look at her. After a moment, he finally did. "Do you love me, Clark?" she asked. The question caught him off guard, and he found himself struggling against the pull of her beautiful and earnest gaze.
"With all my heart, yes," he finally managed to say, though it felt woefully inadequate.
"Then there were no false pretenses," she said simply. "I could never hate you. Sometimes I wanted to…" she gave a soft laugh, and he felt his heart lighten ever so slightly.
"How did you figure it out?" he wondered. She laughed again and looked somewhat indigent.
"I'm a prize winning reporter, Clark. It was never going to be a secret for long." Then, as an afterthought she added, "Plus, you haven't had your glasses on since last night."
He touched the glasses that now sat on his face reflexively and gave a sheepish smile.
"Yeah, that'll do it," he agreed.
Then she smiled and blushed ever so slightly and looked down at the floor.
"What?" he asked softly.
"To be honest, I realised it when we made love. The way you touched me, kissed me. Something just came together and I knew." She reached up and brushed her fingers along his forehead and seemed to be reading his face, his features. "This face doesn't hide much when you're…" she trailed off and dropped her hand back to her lap.
"Oh," he said and swallowed heavily as the memory of them together flooded his senses.
There was an awkward pause, and he ran a hand through his hair. He felt drained emotionally and physically. His eyes drifted to the burned and charred suit that he'd attempted to pull out earlier. Lois looked as well and he could tell the sight of it still had an effect on her.
He felt the oddest need to hide it--to cover it up so she didn't have to see it. His suit burned and battered almost beyond recognition. Like him.
"It's just a suit, Clark," she said, as if reading his mind. She had settled back into his arms, her legs curled under her with her head against his chest. "It's not all you are. What happened to Mayson wasn't your fault. I will say it over and over again as many times as it takes, but I need you to know that."
"Why does it matter so much?" he asked, bewildered by the passion in her voice.
"Because…" She took a deep breath and sat up to look at him once more. "I love you. More than I ever thought it was possible to love someone and it kills me to see you do this to yourself."
"Lois, don't…" he protested.
"Don't what? Don't love you?" She said, her voice rising slightly. "I'm sorry I didn't know I got a choice in that. I couldn't stop loving you even if I wanted to, so you better get used to it, farmboy, because I'm not going anywhere."
He kissed her then. Hard and deeper than he had intended. She responded in kind almost instantly, twisting to face him and running her hands down his face and neck. They parted, both breathing heavily, and Clark marveled at how beautiful she looked, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
"Then it's settled," she said, still somewhat breathless. "We face this together. No more pushing me away."
Clark wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to kiss her again and never stop. He wanted to sleep for a week. He wanted to lay down in her lap and weep. He wanted to be worthy of her.
The motel room floor suddenly felt uncomfortable and he found himself standing up. Lois did as well and pulled his arms around. He searched her deep brown eyes and finally saw the love he'd always wanted staring back at him.
His emotions warred inside him. Grief mixed with love and fear all fought for dominance. Could he really allow himself this? The only way to know for sure was to tell her how he was feeling--the good and the bad.
"I feel...like I can't breathe, Lois," he almost whispered. "Like it's all closing in on me. I want so badly to be with you...to be the man you deserve, but I don't know who that man is anymore. And...I'm scared."
"Oh, Clark," she said, tears shining in her eyes. She ran her hands over his chest and kissed him softly on the neck. "I know who you are. You've never been able to hide from me. Not even with the suit. You'll remember in time, I promise. Until then, let me be your strength."
Before she could respond, she wound her arms tightly around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss that seemed to both soothe and excite him.
"You're the only one…" he marveled when they parted. He touched her face gently, almost reverently. "The only one who has ever been able to make me forget...to make me feel like I'm just a man. Just...Clark. Thank you."
She nodded and stepped back from him, swiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I, uh...I think we should call your parents," she said. "Let them know what's going on. There's no reason for us to stay here. And you should be around people who love you while you figure things out."
"What about Wallerville and Bobby's source?" he asked, suddenly remembering why they had come this way in the first place.
Lois squirmed slightly in embarrassment and gave him a sheepish look.
"There is no source in Wallerville. At least, nothing legitimate. I uh...made it all up"
"You what?" He was fairly certain his eyebrows had hit the ceiling with this news. Lois had the good sense to look even more embarrassed. "Did Perry know about this?"
"Sort of," she admitted. "But in both of our defense we were really worried about you. I thought the break would do you some good." She shook her head regretfully. "I made a real mess of things."
He smiled and for the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful.
"I love you, Lois."
"I know," she replied. "Will you start packing up? I'll call your parents and let them know we're coming."
