Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic So Far Away 14/21

**This chapter has an nfic version over in that folder.**

TOC found here

Chapter 14: You Don't Have to Be Superman
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Mid-March 1997
10 months, 1 Day Since Clark Left Home

"If I could break away half of all your pain
I'd take the worst of it and carry you like you carry me.
...We're strong enough for this and I need you.
It's okay that you need me too..."

Superman by Rachel Platten
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There were so many feelings waging war inside her, both Clark's and hers, and to have their connection so open and free-flowing was...indescribably painful and wonderful all at once. Her heart ached when she looked at his scar again, her fingers still wandering this new part of him. And as much as he'd shared, she knew he was holding back. But...she had no idea how far to push him. If she should push him.

She could sense he needed a little space, a little time. And honestly, so did she—her chest was tight and full of apprehension, fear. She hesitated, fumbling frantically for something to ask that wasn't so outwardly blunt. "Does it still hurt?" she asked. It looked painful.

He shook his head, and she was relieved to know it didn't hurt, but she could still feel tension in his chest. "Not really, no. I guess maybe that's my invulnerability? It itches sometimes, though."

He seemed to be relieved by the more mundane question. "Yeah, that happens with scars." She wanted to say more, that scars fade, that they become a part of who you are, your story and where you've been, what you've survived...

But there was so much she didn't know, and she could tell there was so much more he was reluctant to share. Her stomach was sick from imagining what unspeakable horror had caused such a scar. Why hadn't it faded?

And why had being wounded, attacked...why was he so deathly afraid of sharing what had scarred him so deeply?

She reached up to stroke his face, tracing each part of it as if she needed to memorize it again. In truth, she was wondering how it was possible that anyone in this or any universe would want to try and kill him, this man who was nothing but selfless and loving. She knew, she knew all too well—all manner of criminal elements on Earth wanted him dead—but she still couldn't understand it.

Had it been the same on New Krypton? Surely, it had been—people wanting him dethroned if not dead...a sovereign lord from another planet who didn't know their culture or their customs. She hadn't let herself dwell on the possible repercussions of dealing with a populace who had been raised so vastly different than Clark had, how they would likely resent a leader installed so abruptly and...ceremoniously.

Did it matter that he was fair, caring, magnanimous, altruistic? Had they had a chance to see that?

The grief and anguish and fear coming off him in waves told a different story, one that portrayed him as something other than a noble and unselfish ruler. But she couldn't fathom a reason why that would be. And her heart broke at the thought that he'd obviously experienced something horrific.

Her fingers lingered on his abdomen, but she felt awkward and unsure touching him. It ached to feel that way when all she'd ever felt was excitement, arousal, and love when she touched him. What had changed?

She looked up to catch his eyes again in the light of the small lantern, and they told of unspeakable violence, trauma, and something that refused to be named. His eyebrows knitted together more tightly than they had right to, and she could feel the lurch and stabbing of the pain in his heart.

She closed her eyes and let out a sharp breath, and then inhaled deeply. He wouldn't say anything, but his heart was broadcasting loudly.

"Clark," she said, her voice a strained whimper. "You have to let me in, my love."

She watched enough to see that he was shaking his head, and his chest was heaving with breaths he couldn't contain.

<<Let me in,>> she tried.

Lois felt, more than heard his sharp inhale of breath. She squeezed her eyes shut almost painfully and concentrated, pouring every single ounce of love and determination into her soul—into his soul—as she could.

<<No matter what it is, I will still love you.>>

Silence stretched into the corners of the treehouse and beyond, even the crickets outside seeming to have fallen silent for the moment. When she opened her eyes again only to see his features contorted with anguish as he shook his head. She would swear she could feel him swallow past a lump in his throat. <<You can't...I can't.>>

"You can. I can," she said gently. Her hands came up to either side of his face, making sure he would look at her, see her, feel her. "I love you." She paused, making sure he was really seeing her. "Nothing. Nothing could make me stop loving you."

She could tell he'd heard her...by the clench in his chest and hitch in his breath...the tears threatening in his eyes. He hadn't let his gaze wander this time, but she saw so much pain in his eyes, so much pain that it hurt within her own chest, and she fought back her own tears, desperate to stay strong for him.

And then his eyes closed and his pain ripped at her, tearing at her chest and in her heart. He thought himself unforgivable.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes too, her hands never leaving his face. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

<<I forgive you,>> she told him.

His eyes flew open and she could feel his heart clench. His brow was still furrowed so strongly, the anguish evident in his expression. "You don't know what I've done."

"Then tell me. Tell me and I'll still forgive you," she urged. "Everything. I forgive you." She stroked his cheek with her thumbs, trying to convey through her touch as well that he was worth forgiving, worth loving, because something deep inside told her that he was doubting everything, even her love.

She held fast to the knowledge that he'd been through hell. It wasn't her love he was doubting. It was his worthiness.

And he needed to know he was worthy. He was forgiven. And above everything—he was loved. Always.

Always.

She let her hands trail down his neck and over his bare chest. She added a little more pressure to the hand that now covered his heart, willing him to feel her, feel her love.

He shut his eyes, and she could feel him trying to hide, trying to hold tight to the truth that he seemed convinced would destroy him if he let it out. "I'm scared of who I've become," he said, his voice a strained whisper. <<Kao-zha-aovem-u.>>

Her heart clenched, but she waited, hoping he'd explain again, that he just needed a moment. But even as she hoped, she could feel him slipping away, the static of their connection building, and she pressed harder against his chest. Something touched her thumb, and she saw it. Her ring.

As fast as she could, she moved her hand to cover the ring, feeling it press into her palm as she focused desperately to hold on to their connection.

His chest rose and fell beneath her hand as he took a deep breath. The static of their connection ebbed, and she felt a strange, steely calm replace it. It echoed through her hand, her arm, and into her chest. Dispassionate, severe, and impassive. Everything Clark never was, but for the wisps of resentment and pain slipping through. For the first time since she'd entered the treehouse, she felt the chill of the evening seeping through the door and the seams of the planks.

Lois searched Clark's face, desperate to find a trace of him, but his eyes remained closed and his brow absent any hint of the fear and anguish of moments ago. Had she lost him? What had he said? He was scared of who he'd become. She could only guess at what that meant...what it meant to be at war...what—rather, who—had given him the gruesome scar. She shivered slightly.

Then there were short bursts of thoughts, and—she gasped softly—images. His memories. She had to close her eyes, so odd was the sensation of seeing something in her mind that wasn't hers. And then the memories flowed freely, stripped of emotion and playing out like a grisly but silent movie in her mind. Clark in a black suit, his S in blue—the very same as the suit he'd left in. His eyes stony and unforgiving but his thoughts telling another story, not so indifferent or detached about the actions he was taking.

<<Terminate the vehicle.>>

Her heart staggered as thoughts and images of death and starvation and strategy and antiquated legislation scattered through her mind like the shrapnel and debris from the explosion. Then...

A rage that felt so foreign. A desperation she could hardly bear. A phantom pain, so agonizing, as a blade tore through her side. Then another blade—no, the same blade—and a different body, a sickening plunge and a slick warmth...

<<This is how I die.>>

And a blackness descended over her mind, the steely calm settling over her again.

Her breath caught for a long moment before she gasped, taking in a few halting breaths of the chilly evening air. Nothing and everything made sense...she almost couldn't comprehend the level of tragedy and trauma she'd just experienced—that he'd experienced—nor the level of suffering...

She looked up to find him watching her with a detached and impassive expression that resembled nothing like her Clark.

At some point, her hand had fallen from his chest, and she started to fear she'd lost him for good. Had he turned his emotions off for the last time? Her eyes searched his face wildly, trying to find the traces of her Clark she knew were there behind the mask of indifference and the sea of trauma.

"Clark," she whispered, and her heart wrenched at the slight flinch she saw.

"I don't know who I am anymore," he said, his voice quiet, almost dispassionate. "Not Clark. Certainly not Superman. Everything that I am—that I was—is gone. I'm not the man you knew, the man you want. I'm a murderer."

All she could feel was his resigned sorrow. And it was devastating. All of it.

She wasn't sure how he hadn't been crushed by the weight of it all.

"Kao-zha-aovem-u," he said softly. "That's how."

Her eyes flew up to meet his again, surprised that he'd read her thoughts. But then the meaning of his words hit her, and she was overcome by a profound sadness at what those words meant. Things were more serious, more grave than she ever could have guessed, and her mind raced to find the right answer, how to help him. Flashes of his thoughts and emotions, his memories, charged through her mind, demanding to be reconciled with the man in front of her, the man she could feel fighting against the full torrent of emotions.

Lois closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, bracing herself for what she knew had to happen, gathering her strength for the oncoming flood. Clark had a history of bottling up his emotions, feeling like he always needed to be the strong one—and as Superman, he'd had to be. But this...this was...

Killing was a line that Superman never crossed. And now...

She took another breath before she opened her eyes again, and she found him staring down at his hands. "Clark," she said, her heart crying for him and for the flinch she still saw when she said his name. A gentle hand on his knee finally made him look up at her, his eyes glassy and tinged with red, and she reached to take his hand, grateful that he let her. "I know I promised you my forgiveness, and—" He started pulling his hand away, she held it tight. "No, stay with me, please. You have it, my forgiveness, my absolution. Anything you need because I know—I know—that you tried everything in your power to avoid taking lives."

He stared at her, his tension still bleeding through, and she could tell that he didn't believe her, that he wasn't willing to allow himself her acceptance. It was silent for a long moment, and then he shook his head and gently pulled his hand back. "What does it matter, Lois? It won't change what I've done. I can't take it back. I can't take any of it back."

"You're right. You can't. And I know how much that hurts." She brought her right hand up to cup his face. "I know," she said, her voice breaking as she fought back her own tears. "But that doesn't mean you're beyond saving. I see you. I see all of you, all the parts of you I fell in love with—they're still there." She let her hand slide down to rest again against his chest. "In here."

"I'm not the same man anymore," he said, looking around the inside of the treehouse slowly, wistfully, as if in search of himself in the walls of his childhood hideout.

"No, you're not. And I'm not the same woman. It's been almost a year, Clark, and we've both been through...so much. So much. Neither of us wanted to do it alone. It was beyond painful not to have you here, but I at least had your parents. You were alone. You did what you could. You did what you had to do. But now you're back, and you have your family. We're here for you. Let us be here for you."

"But I..." His voice faltered a bit, and he shook his head again.

"I know you want to shut it all out in some sort of effort to make it up to us—to me—but you can't. You can't turn them off, Clark. Not anymore," she said, her voice soft but imploring him to listen. "We can't go backwards and fill in the gaps; we can only go forward, learn to live with how life happened."

"I'm not strong enough for this," he said, his voice a strained whisper and his eyes seeming to beg her for the answer, any answer.

"You don't have to be," she said softly, confident in her words but not sure what else to say. What could she say?

Lois' eyes drifted down to her ring on his chest, and she moved her hand to take hold of it, letting it play between her thumb and index finger a few times. "You kept your promise." She was quiet for a moment and looked up to find his eyes again. "You managed to keep your love for me safe throughout...everything, all this time. Even with..." She winced, not even wanting to think of it. "Even despite the training. During a war. On a planet and in a culture that...Ching said it himself—they didn't have time for love or kindness—"

<<They did in the end...kindness, at least.>>

She gasped. Her hand fell to land gently on his knee and her voice trembled slightly when she asked him, "They did?" It was almost too much to hope for, but...given everything...it was the least she should have expected.

His nod was almost imperceptible, and she was struggling to think of why this, of all the things that had happened up there, why this was hard to share.

<<There was some kindness...not always amongst the ruling families, but the peoples' representatives.>>

"Representatives?" she asked, working hard to keep the shock from her voice. She fought the urge to launch excitedly into a stream of questioning, a part of her so encouraged by this, seemingly the single positive thing to come of his whole New Krypton experience. But she knew she had to hold back—he couldn't even tell her out loud.

"I...I helped them...Their new governing structure has representatives. I guess...it's a bit similar to a constitutional monarchy? Like Britain?" he said, his voice still unsure. "And...well, I think...ruling alongside the people instead of over them...there's a lot more kindness."

She almost asked herself—asked him—why he wasn't happier about this, why finding a way to save New Krypton and leave it better off wasn't inspiring any joy or pride from him—that had been the goal, after all. But she knew the answer. It had cost him too much.

For Clark, celebrating that would mean celebrating what came before, the painful and tortuous path it took to get there. And she didn't have to ask him if he thought the end justified the means.

<<I almost died.>>

Lois’ heart lurched and twisted painfully. Too many nights she’d stayed awake wondering...praying that he was still coming home, that he hadn’t died.

He almost had. She’d almost lost him. Would she have ever known?

She tried, but she couldn’t stop the sob from escaping or the tears that followed.

And then she was in his arms, he’d gathered her into his lap and was holding her close. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her hair.

She wanted nothing more than to just stay in his arms, to be certain she'd never be apart from him again, never have even a chance of losing him. But she had to pull back slightly to tell him, to make sure he knew, “Don’t be sorry. You made it back to me.” Her fingers came up to touch his face, reassuring herself with the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. "You kept your promise and you made it back home to me," she said through the tears.

"I had to," he rasped, and his words hung in the space between them for a moment before he leaned in to capture her lips in a deep and desperate kiss.

Flashes of their moments, their kissing, their closeness over the years...what seemed like all of Clark's favorite moments...played through her mind as his kiss grew more insistent, and he threaded his fingers through her hair to draw her closer still. At first, she wasn't sure what drove his urgency until newer, more painful memories of his insinuated themselves between the happy moments, bringing along with them piercing memories that were all too familiar to her.

A flight above the clouds, the moon bright and hopeful....morphing into white walls surrounding him on all sides and the sensation of lying in a hospital bed, not letting himself have the full allotment of medication because he felt he deserved the pain...

Holding hands and watching carolers together from her window—their first Christmas spent together—the time he'd 'missed' his flight to come to her dinner; and then their next Christmas—their first as a couple—when he'd nearly died, fallen into a coma...

Then another coma, just as dire...but maybe worse, his body stabbed and wracked with poison and his mind trapped in a tortuous void, assaulted with endless images of losing her...her frozen body, not reviving as she truly had after Mazik's threat...the stabbing pain of watching Bad Brain turn her to a pile of ash...the slow rending of his heart when she didn't even remember who he was...

But then...the thrill in his heart when she said yes to his date...the racing pulse and fireworks in his chest during their first kiss...the slight fear yet extraordinary relief when she'd discovered his secret...the spectacular warmth and feeling of wholeness when he'd accepted her proposal...and the indescribable flood of arousal and life and passion and belonging when they'd first made love.

The moment seemed like eternity but only seconds all at once, and she had no idea how much time had actually passed. As she tore her lips away from his to catch her breath, she tried to ground herself back in their surroundings. She was still in his lap, but at some point she had moved to straddle him, her legs around his waist. Her hands were at the nape of his neck, her forearms resting on his broad shoulders.

Faster to catch his breath and unable to contain this feeling of belonging and desperation and need that was radiating from him, Clark set his lips on a journey down her jawline and to her neck. His mouth was warm and wet against her skin, and everywhere he touched set her skin afire and tingling.

Traces of thoughts and emotions and memories—both his and hers—remained, but she was only vaguely aware of how they'd gotten to where they were now. All she knew was that she needed him and he needed her with a fierceness that rivaled anything she'd experienced before. A moan escaped her as she felt his lips and tongue dance against her skin, exploring her neck and part of her collarbone.

"Clark..." she whispered.

He paused and when his head came up, the look on his face stole her breath away all over again. His eyes, slightly clouded with passion and dark with need, held something so much more, something she couldn't name but didn't have to because she could feel it...she could feel...

Her love, their love...he'd used it to banish the darkness...held fast to their love, their connection, this whole time even though he'd had to hide it away in the darkest recesses of his heart and mind. It'd kept him alive, saved him somehow and some way, and he needed it again now, needed to be consumed by it to banish everything else that had happened. She crushed her lips against his once more and threaded her hands through his hair, pulling at him as if there were some way to get him closer still.

After a while, Lois couldn't be sure where she ended and he began, because as they made love, their connection was so strong and so powerful, more than it had ever been before. When they both were spent, he lifted his head back up and brought a hand up to cup her cheek. "Lois, I..." He trailed off and she watched him shake his head ever so slightly, just the way he always did when he was a little tongue tied.

But before she could reassure him just like she always did, she felt an incredible warmth and explosion inside her chest, of gratitude and grief and belonging and need and sadness and relief and love. So, so much love.

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