Chapter 13
Clark's emotions were all over the map as he stepped tentatively into the living room of his parents' farm home. He'd followed his father into the barn under the pretext of helping his dad move some heavy farm equipment around.
Clark went along with it, though he knew that the errand was likely extremely trivial. He couldn't count the number of times his dad had asked him for help as a teen only to somehow gently coax Clark into talking about whatever happened to be bothering him. Somehow he always seemed to know.
This time was no different, the only exception being that, for once, Clark found it extremely difficult to verbalise what had happened and why they were there.
His dad, however, had listened with seemingly infinite patience as Clark moved the tractors and combines around the barn while slowly and haltingly explained the events that had brought him to Smallville. His father's face had remained impartial and without judgement as Clark confessed each failure, piling one atop the other like a repentant sinner at confession.
He hadn't wanted his parents to know these things, but Lois had been right that he couldn't continue to keep them all to himself.
Clark's heart did feel somewhat lighter, and after unloading his burdens, Clark’s father had simply embraced him in a fierce, tight hug and whispered in his ear, “I love you, son.”
Before Clark could say anything else, his mom had popped her head into the barn and let them know that she and Lois were ready for them to all talk in the living room.
Clark felt shaky and oddly nervous as he followed his father inside. The living room was warm and cozy as usual. Clark noticed that his mom had hung a new painting on the wall--one of her original art pieces. He resolved to mention it to her when...whatever this was was finished.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lois exit the kitchen alongside his mother. Immediately, he noticed both their eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy--clear evidence they'd been crying. He hadn’t heard the conversation that had taken place between the two women, but if he knew Lois at all, he imagined that his mother now knew everything that had happened as well as his father did. Strangely enough, he was grateful.
He wasn’t sure he could have this conversation a third time.
Lois approached him and there was a split second where he almost leaned in to kiss her. He refrained, not sure if he had the right to that sort of easy affection when so many things were up in the air between them. He settled instead for a gentle hug.
“Don’t worry,” she told him softly. “Your mom took good care of me.”
He gave his mom a weak smile as she pulled him into a surprisingly strong hug. He held her tight, not wanting to let go as the woman who had raised him offered him the one thing he desperately needed--her unconditional love.
When they broke apart, he felt Lois take his hand and guide him over to the sofa in the middle of the living room. Clark's parents sat down, each in an easy chair on either side.
To the casual observer, it was a cosy scene. The Kent's house was comfortable and inviting, with soft, warm lighting and a plate of his mom’s famous oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table. Lois made herself at home, curling her legs up underneath her and settling in beside Clark. Rightly or wrongly, it made him feel better to have her by his side. She rested her head lightly against his shoulder, and he noted for a second time how tired she seemed to be.
A pang of guilt shot through him as he realised her exhaustion came as a result of everything he’d put her through in the last two days. He hated that he had put her and his parents through all of this. He hated even more that a small part of him wondered if he was worth it--worth their worry, their time and their attention. After everything that had happened, they continued to love and support him.
His mom had placed a cup of tea in front of him with two lumps of sugar on the side, just how he liked it. He could tell from the smell that it was Oolong tea and for reasons beyond his control he felt emotion well up inside him. She kept this tea in the house for him. She might have a cup occasionally when he wasn’t there, but this was one of a million reminders of the way that his mom showed him he loved him. And, despite the fact that this felt vaguely like an intervention of some kind, a feeling of profound relief passed over him. Whatever happened, he was safe here.
“Thanks, Mom,” he murmured as he took a sip of the tea. She still hadn’t gotten the hang of how to brew it. Yet despite the fact that she’d clearly oversteeped it, it was one of the best tasting cups of tea he’d had in a long while.
A pregnant pause took over as they all sat there, unsure of who should speak first. Since he felt responsible for everything that had led them to this point, he decided it was up to him to speak first.
“I uh, guess you both know everything that happened,” he said, not sure whether to go into further detail or not. His mom gave a short nod, and a knowing look passed between her and Lois, which told him everything he needed to know. Lois had told her everything.
“Yes, honey,” his mom said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “We know.” He hated that she was hurting, and especially that her hurt was a result of his own grief and trauma.
“What we need to do,” his dad was saying, “is figure out what to do next.”
“What do you mean what to do next?” Clark said, somewhat confused and a bit defensive. “There’s nothing you or anyone else can do. People are dead and it’s my fault. That’s all there is to it.”
“And so you just live with that?” Lois exclaimed, a flash of anger in her eyes and voice. “You just give up on being happy? On us?”
Another look between the two women and Clark started to wonder what else they had talked about. Whatever it was there was no denying that Lois and his mom had bonded. Something had clearly made her bolder.
“I don’t want to talk about this here,” Clark almost pleaded. The last thing he wanted was for his parents to see their...fight? Lover’s quarrel? Could two people who weren’t really dating break up?
“This is exactly why we are here,” his mom said gently. “I think...I think you need some help. I think being Superman is starting to take a toll on you and I think you need to talk to someone.”
Clark gave a short laugh.
“Yeah, sure, Mom,” he said, more bitterly than he intended to. “Anybody know the name of a good therapist? Preferably one with experience treating a superhero?”
“C’mon, son, that’s not fair,” his dad said, gently. “Your mother is just trying to help.”
He took a deep breath and looked at his socks. Somehow, despite being a grown man, his dad still had the ability to make him feel four years old again.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said quietly. He was quiet for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts. Eventually, he looked up and met his parents’ expressions. “The truth is, I don’t know what to do. I know logically I shouldn’t blame myself. I know that I can’t be everywhere or save everyone and yet…”
He shook his head and looked down again. Lois reached out and squeezed his hand in a gesture of comfort.
"I don't know how to get better, to fix this...whatever this is. I don't even know what's wrong with me," he said. "I'm afraid I'm going to let you all down again. I'm afraid more people are going to die because of me." His voice was low, softly voicing his greatest fears out loud.
“You could never do that,” his mother insisted. “Nothing you do or say will ever make me anything but proud to be your mother, do you hear me? You are my son, and I love you, and that will never ever change.”
"You don't understand," Clark said, fighting the flood of emotions that suddenly overwhelmed him. He could feel that same feeling of panicked claustrophobia--like the walls were closing in. He wasn't aware his breathing had sped up until Lois' voice cut through the din.
"Clark?" She rubbed her hand gently over his broad shoulders. "How can I help? What can I do?"
"Nothing!" he exclaimed, shrugging her hand from his back, and standing up. Their concern, which had made him feel safe and loved only a minute ago, suddenly now felt laden with unspoken pressures. "Don't you see? You all mean well, but you can't know...can't understand what it's like to be responsible for something like a life."
"I know what it's like," his dad said softly, looking up from his hands. Something in his voice gave Clark pause, and he sank back down onto the couch. "I know what you're going through, Clark. I know what it's like to be responsible for someone's death. I know."
"Dad, what are you…?"
"Oh, Jonathan," Martha whispered, "that wasn't your fault. You were so young. It was an accident."
"It was an accident," Jonathan acknowledged, "but I wasn't innocent either." He took a deep breath and met Clark's gaze directly. Clark drew a sharp breath when he did so, seeing the same haunted look in his father's eyes that he'd seen in the mirror ever since Mayson's death.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse and unsure. Lois took his hand once more, and this time he didn't pull away.
"I was sixteen years old," Jonathan said, drawing a shuddered breath. "Martha and I had just started dating. I was on the football team. Top of the world. My best friend and I...well we were inseparable. I was a running back and he played left tackle."
"Jonathan, that was so long ago…"
"I need to tell him, Martha," Jonathan interrupted. Then, his voice a bit gentler, added, "and you. There are things you don't know. Things I...couldn't even tell you."
"Dad…" Clark began, but stopped. Something in his father's tone told him he needed to get this out. And Clark needed to hear it.
"It was the night of the State Final. We were playing our rivals and we won." He chuckled softly at the memory. "Oh, we celebrated that night. Everyone wanted to carry us on their shoulders. We were heroes."
"You looked so handsome in your letterman jacket," Martha said wistfully.
"We were underage, but there wasn't a single person in town that night who would have said no to anything we wanted." He laughed again, but this time there was a bitterness in it. "Heroes. My buddy got us a couple cases of beer, and we drove out to the field to drink them. We didn't have a car so my friend borrowed his dad's."
A coldness settled in Clark's stomach as he realised where this story was going. One look at Lois told him that she could tell as well. His father was lost in his memories as he recounted the story.
"He'd had too much to drink...my buddy. He was very obviously drunk. But he needed to get his dad's car back before he noticed it was gone in the morning or we were in real trouble."
Clark watched as his father, the proudest man he'd ever known, looked down at the floor in shame. He could hear the tremble in his voice as he spoke and Clark wondered when he last saw his father cry.
"I should have taken the keys from him," he said, his voice heavy with repressed emotion. "I never should have let him drive. But he insisted the car had a tricky shifting mechanism and only he could drive it. So I got in the car. About half a mile down the road, something ran out onto the street. A cat, a raccoon...I don't know. The car flipped over and we ended up in the ditch."
Jonathan's voice cracked as he spoke, and Martha crossed the room and knelt down on the floor next to his chair, taking his hand in hers.
"It's all right. I'm here," she told him softly. Jonathan nodded, tears in his eyes as he forced himself to continue.
"He died on impact. Took about an hour for the authorities to get to us. By the time they did, I had sobered up. Cops saw the letterman jackets and didn't ask any questions beyond the basic. The official story was that an animal had run into the road and caused the crash. I didn't mention the drinking. I didn't want his parents to know...I told myself I was protecting them. But that wasn't it. I was protecting myself."
He turned and looked at Martha. For the first time ever, Clark's father looked like a frail old man, and he found the reminder of his mortality unsettling.
"I should have taken his keys. I should have done something. I could have prevented it and I didn't. And my best friend died because of me."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Martha gasped, then kissed his hand and placed it against her cheek. "Oh, Jonathan, why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't," he insisted, almost begging for Martha's understanding. "What we had was so new, but even then I knew I loved you…knew I wanted to spend my life with you. If I had told you, I would have lost you. And you were the only thing that kept me sane. The only thing that…"
He trailed off and looked away. Martha reached out, and gently touched his cheek. He leaned into her touch and they lingered there for a moment. Clark marveled at the depth of love and understanding in their communication. One touch seemed to be all it took and the message was received.
The room was silent for a moment while everyone processed the revelation. Clark wanted to speak but his tongue felt heavy and his heart hurt. His father took a deep breath and continued to speak.
"After the accident things were...tough. The whole world seemed to move on and I felt stuck. I had nightmares every night. I would wake up, covered in sweat, shaking as I relived the accident." He looked at Martha and smiled gently. "Do you remember how I would show up at your window some nights long after everyone had gone to bed?"
"Of course," Martha said and Clark was mildly surprised at the blush that appeared on her face. "You were so romantic."
"I was damaged, Martha," he admitted. "Those were the nights when it got to be too much. When I needed help. I needed you."
"And you never thought to reach out to someone?" Lois asked, and Clark could hear the care in her voice. It warmed his heart how much she seemed to care about his parents.
His father shook his head.
"You have to understand that in those days people--men especially--didn't talk about things like that. A tragedy like that could destroy a person if they weren't careful. I knew a couple guys who went off to 'Nam and when they came back, they were never the same. Some of them drank themselves to death, or worse. I got lucky."
He gave Martha a pointed and loaded look.
"I got so lucky."
"Oh, you poor man," Martha whispered. "You poor stubborn man."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "I didn't think I would ever tell anyone, but then Clark…"
He faltered again, clearly searching for words that eluded him. After another moment he spoke.
"It took me a long time to understand what I was going through," he said, this time only to Clark. "They didn't have a name for it back then. Closest thing would have maybe been shell shock. I thought I was all alone--that nobody could possibly understand."
He looked pointedly at his son, and Clark flinched under the knowing scrutiny.
"They call it post traumatic stress disorder now. I'd, uh...done a lot of reading at the library. It helped to have a name. To know that it wasn't just me. And it's not just you, Clark. Superman or not, you're not alone."
Clark looked down at his hands, now completely entwined with Lois'. He thought about what his father had said, wanting desperately to be able to find the absolution his father offered him. He knew, he understood, but it wasn't the same. It couldn't be, could it?
"Dad, I…" he fought to find words for what he was feeling. "I want to believe you. I just…this wasn't an accident. Superman can't have accidents. My job is to save others, not to be the reason they die."
"You aren't the reason that poor woman died, Clark," his father said fiercely. "I know it feels like it. For years, I convinced myself that my friend's death was my fault. It took me a long time to realise that I didn't put those keys in his hands. And you didn't plant the bomb that killed her."
"He's right, Clark," Lois said, her deep brown eyes filled with a love that took his breath away. "Someone killed Mayson Drake, but it wasn't you. And it's our job to find them. But for that, I need my partner. I need Clark Kent back. I know you've lost faith in yourself, but I haven't. Do you hear me? I believe in you."
"Lois…" Clark murmured. The rest of the world fell away and all he saw was her. "I don't know if I can do this."
"You can't," she replied, "at least not alone."
She looked over at his mother and a look passed between them once more. Martha gave her a small, encouraging nod.
"I understand now," she told Martha.
"What do you mean?" Clark said, wondering what they had talked about.
"You weren't the only one feeling as if you were in over your head, you know." She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile, and Clark desperately wanted to kiss her. "When we got here, I was scared...terrified, actually. What happened in the hotel...finding out your secret...it was a lot. Being in love with Superman is a lot."
Here it is, Clark thought, and he braced himself for Lois to break his heart.
"Lois, it's okay, you don't have to…"
"Stop right there, Clark, I'm not walking away from this." She shot Martha a look and smiled. "I came here wondering how on Earth I could do this...how to say the right thing or do the right thing. How to help you...bring you back to me."
"Lois, that's not your job…"
"No, you're right our relationship isn't a job," she said, her eyes shining with understanding. "It's a gift. I realise now that I don't have to have all the answers. Your mom told me...showed me that I am enough. We are enough."
"She's right, son," his father interjected. "Your mother saved me. She didn't even know I was hurting, but she saved me just by loving me."
Jonathan squeezed Martha's hand as he spoke. "Did I ever tell you that I didn't like the idea of Superman? When you first decided to put on the suit, I told your mother that I didn't like it. I didn't want you to take on a burden like this. I know how much you need to help, and I worried that it would eat you alive."
"It almost has," Clark said, his voice breaking ever so slightly.
"Maybe so," his father said, "but the moment you mentioned Lois' name I knew you'd be okay. That you'd always find your way out of whatever darkness you might encounter. You just need to lean on each other. Trust me."
And he did. Something in his father's voice told him that it was okay to hope. And even if he didn't feel like he was worthy of Lois, someday he would. And that someday was enough, at least for now.
"Okay, Dad," he said as he drew a ragged breath. "How do I do this? How can I talk to someone if I can't reveal my secret?"
"There's a phone number you can call. A support line for first responders. Totally anonymous. They can help." Jonathan looked at Lois and stood up, wrapping an arm around Martha. "And if it gets to be too much, you've got us. And Lois. She's your light out of the darkness."
Clark looked at Lois and swallowed heavily as she leaned her head against his chest.
"I know," he said, kissing the top of her head gently.
"Clark, why don't you go make up your old bedroom for you and Lois while I fix supper?" Martha said, giving him a meaningful look.
He ducked his head and hoped his furious blushing wasn't too obvious. She hadn't even asked this time if they were...
"Lois, why don't you help me in the kitchen?"
Clark, desperate to get the attention off his sex life and looking for a little levity, said, "Careful, Mom. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."
Lois thwaped him on the chest and looked mildly offended, but hugged him closer even still.
Martha, for her part, clucked at him. "Oh, you hush. This is why I taught you to cook."
Clark threw his hands up in defeat, quietly grateful for the levity. He turned to Lois to give her a brief kiss. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too," she whispered back. "See you in a few," she said at a normal volume, and then she used his knee as leverage to stand up from the couch.
Clark stood, too, and watched with some degree of nervousness as Lois and his mom went back into the kitchen together.
"Better leave them to their girl talk, son," his dad said with a clap on the back. "She's part of the family now. C'mon, let's get some fresh bedding for the room."
"Sure," Clark said. Then, "Hey, Dad? Thanks. For telling me I'm not alone."
