Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Anchor: Part II -- Kal-El (9-12/49)

Apparently, Lois thinks I smell like welding fumes. And that’s why I end up in the shower, wobbling precariously on feeble legs as I struggle to scrub off the odd odor from the Sun. I had stupidly insisted that I could manage the shower myself, so Lois is waiting in the bedroom, the bathroom door propped open slightly just in case I need help.

The warm water stings as it cascades down my chest, beading up and over the angry red scar. I allow my fingers to brush over the raised blemish, the vivid memory of how I got the wound replaying in my head. My hands start to shake, and I steady myself by holding onto the wall with one hand while I run a washcloth over my skin with the other, faintly scented bubbles washing away the stench of a month of stewing at millions of degrees. My legs are done holding me up by the time I’m clean, and I turn the water off, grab a towel, and wrap it around my waist as I step out of the shower, one hand clinging to the sink for support.

Lois pokes her head in around the edge of the door as I lean on the counter.

“All done?” she asks, stepping into the bathroom toward me. I nod as she picks up an extra towel and begins helping me dry off, gently rubbing the soft cloth over my back and shoulders. My muscles feel achy and stiff, and so I stand quite still while she works. She is careful to avoid touching the scar; she knows it is painful still. When she’s finished, she kisses me on the cheek and takes my hand, and I follow her out into the bedroom. The weakness in my limbs persists, and I sit heavily on the edge of the bed, a towel still wrapped around my waist.

A sudden sense of guilt hits me, forcing the air out of my lungs. I close my eyes as a familiar voice reverberates in my head.

“There, Clark. I did what you asked. But it didn’t feel good.”

It takes me a second to realize the guilt is his—my doppelganger. He’s with my parents, and he’s fulfilled my request to avoid telling them about my injury. He doesn’t like to lie.

I know. I’m sorry to ask you to lie for me. Thank you, I communicate back to him.

Next to me, Lois sifts through the duffel bag and pulls out a clean set of clothes for me. Her hand touches mine, and I open my eyes and look down at her as she kneels in front of me. She smiles softly at me. And at the same time, I hear Clark curse to himself.

“Dammit.” The curse is followed immediately by more regret. He then deliberately tells me, “I’m still getting used to this telepathy thing. I didn’t mean to connect with you there. Sorry about that.”

I laugh out loud, though the sound rattles in my chest a bit, and I end up coughing several times. Lois looks alarmed, but I shake my head and give her a crooked grin.

“Sorry, uh, Clark, he—he thinks very loudly sometimes,” I explain. With an understanding smile, she mouths, “Ahh,” and hands me a white long-sleeved T-shirt. To him, I project, No problem. Please, tell them I love them, and I can’t wait to see them.

“Will do,” he replies quickly. For a brief moment, I see my parents through his eyes, his love and respect for them overpowering his embarrassment. Then, I close our connection and turn back to my beautiful fiancée. Her hand rests lightly on my knee, and she watches me with concern.

“Is everything okay with him?” she asks, her voice low.

I nod with a grimace as I pull the T-shirt on. The soft cotton is such a contrast to the rough, tight, thick material of the Kryptonian battle suit I’d gotten so used to wearing.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” I assure her. “He’s in Smallville with my parents.”

She continues watching me expectantly, but I don’t add anything more. Exhaustion is threatening me again, and I’m quickly getting annoyed by this back and forth that my body is forcing me into—not allowing me to sleep for any amount of time, but then recoiling as soon as I do anything remotely taxing. And apparently standing up long enough to shower falls into the category of remotely taxing.

I reach over to her lap, where the rest of the clothes sit, and grab the briefs and pants. As I absently pull the clothing on, she stands and moves to the bathroom for a moment, depositing the wet towels in the clothes hamper. When she returns, I am fully dressed. I glance up at her briefly and reach out one hand toward her. She obliges and takes my hand as she steps over to me. I pull her close and settle my head on her chest as my arms wrap around her. Her hands rub my back, and a sudden urge of desire pulses through me. I push the feeling down and just hold her.

“Clark,” she starts, her voice breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” The sound is muffled in her shirt, and I feel her muscles tighten under the thin cotton material. I press my hands into her back, bringing her slightly closer to me, and I turn my head and plant a kiss on her stomach and then
allow my hands to slide around and grip her waist. Her hands shift from my back to my shoulders.

“You know that he and I are just friends, right?” she asks. Her body shudders against me, and I push her back a bit so I can look up at her. She’s watching me again through anxious eyes, and it hits me. She had misinterpreted my terse response, which was actually related to my sudden overwhelming fatigue, as a sort of resentment to her inquiring about his wellbeing. I exhale slowly and drop her gaze as I rest my head against her again.

I believe her, of course. I’m sure she’s never acted on any of her feelings. Hell, I even trust him. No, neither of them ever allowed their relationship to move beyond being very good friends—I know this now. But I’ve felt his love for her, and I’ve seen the glint in her eye when she’s looking at him as well; I know there’s something more between them. I also have no doubt that she loves me fiercely, as I do her.

“Clark?” Uncertainty radiates off of her. I shift my arms to wrap around her again.

“I know, Lois. I know,” I confirm. My eyes close as I feel her sigh with relief and lean into me.

“I-I love you,” she says as her embrace tightens. I sense she wants to say more, give me more of an explanation of her feelings for him. But it’s not necessary. I understand. I was dead, after all. And he is a good man. A true Superman. Everything I used to be.

Before she can say anything more, I pull her down onto the bed with me and cover her body with mine. My knee wedges between her legs as I capture her lips in a deep kiss, and my free hand, insistent and needy, pushes up under her shirt, grazing the smooth skin of her abdomen. She moans as my fingers reach the underside of her breast, covered in a thin layer of lacy satin, and her hands move to the small of my back, her palms pressing into me. She deepens the kiss, teasing my mouth with her tongue, and trails her hands lower to settle on my waist. With a gentle but firm pressure, she raises her hips off the bed, pressing against me. I growl in response, and she laughs into the kiss. Her hands travel up my back and then down again to tug at the hem of my shirt, which I’d worked so hard to put on a few minutes ago. In one swift movement, she pulls the shirt back up over my head, and with effort, I tear my hand away from just below her breast to extricate my arm from the sleeve. The cool air of the bedroom drifts over my back and shoulders, and I groan again as her fingers trace up my sides, my skin burning under her touch.

“God,” I breathe, pulling away from the kiss. She whimpers a response, but then gasps as my lips find the sensitive spot at the base of her neck.

From a pocket of her pants, her cell phone buzzes a notification, and we both flinch slightly at the interruption.

“Ignore it,” I suggest, resettling myself over her. She makes a noise that rumbles deep in her throat, and I smile as I suckle and kiss my way down toward the valley between her breasts. Her skin is so smooth, so soft, and she smells intoxicating.

She groans this time as the phone buzzes again.

“I…I just—what if—your parents…” she pants. I hear the reluctance in her voice, but I know she’s right.

Carefully, she eases out from under me and pulls her phone out of her pocket. My arm buckles, and I collapse onto the bed, managing to roll to my back and away from her as I fall. My chest heaves as my breaths come fast and short, and I close my eyes and settle into the mattress as she checks her messages. She inhales sharply, and I turn and look at her. Her shirt is still pushed partway up to her chest, and her lips are swollen and wet from our kisses. God, she is beautiful. I inch closer to her, twist onto my side, and then reach out and embrace her with one arm as my eyes close again. I feel her lips brush against my forehead.

“They are going to be here any minute,” she laments. A gentle hand cups my cheek, and her lips press into mine again, teasing me with just a hint of the passion we shared a moment ago. She then pushes away from me and sits up, straightening out her shirt.

As if on cue, I hear footsteps and rustling from the living room, followed by low voices. My parents. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. My incredible mother and father; I love them and have missed them so much. Lois and I can continue where we left off later. Right now, I get to fulfill the promise I made to Mom and Dad—the promise that I would come back home to them. I rub my eyes and grab my T-shirt as Lois stands up.

“I’ll go meet them,” she suggests. She tucks a strand of her hair back behind her ear and smiles weakly at me. “You should probably put that shirt back on.” She winks at me teasingly.

An overwhelming feeling of needing to be near her—of not wanting her to so much as leave the room without me—surges through me, just like when she’d left the room to go meet Clark earlier, and my head begins to swim. I push myself up to a sitting position and then grab her around the waist and pull her to me as she gasps. I kiss her stomach and embrace her again, pressing my forehead into her abdomen.

“Wait for me. I’ll come with you. Please.”

She massages my shoulders and threads her fingers through my hair. “Okay, sure,” she whispers. She plants a light kiss on my head and then steps away from me so I can get dressed.

Moments later, Lois squeezes my hand as we walk together down the hallway toward the living room. My body is screaming at me that it needs another unsatisfyingly short power nap, and my legs tremble with each step. However, I manage to keep up with Lois until the end of the hallway, where we stop abruptly. My mom and dad stand hand in hand next to the couch. They look just as I remember them, although my dad’s usual gruff expression is hidden behind a growing smile. My mom’s hands fly up to cover her mouth as she sees me, and tears run down her cheeks as she leaves Dad’s side and rushes across the room. Dad follows just behind her, his glasses falling crookedly down his nose as he wipes away a tear of his own. I’m vaguely aware of Lois moving away from me to give them room and a brightly clad figure standing by the window on the opposite side of the room, but all of that awareness disappears as my mom’s arms embrace me.

“Oh, Clark,” she cries. Her body shakes as she sobs, and her tears wet my shirt. I close my eyes as I tighten my arms around her. God, Mom, I’m so sorry to have put you through this. My dad joins in the embrace, wrapping one arm around each of us. The familiarity of this, this hug—something I’ve taken for granted for my entire twenty-eight years of life—it energizes me. My legs stop shaking, and the throbbing pain in my chest fades somewhat.

From across the room, I hear a whisper of a thought. “Bank alarm. Maybe... No, I should go.” He doesn’t want to leave. But I hear echoing of gunshots from his superhearing. He speaks with Lois briefly, and a second later, Superman’s telltale sonic boom rattles the windows.

The boost of energy I’d felt fades, and I open my eyes and pull back slightly from the embrace.

“Mom, Dad—I missed you both so much,” I manage, my voice hoarse. Seeing my mom’s tear-stained cheeks unsettles me. “I’m so sorry. Both of you. All of you.” I glance up to Lois, who hovers a few feet away, wiping the tears from under her eyes. Mom begins to shake her head, but I pull her back in for another hug and rasp, “I should never have left. I shouldn’t have left.”

No one argues with me. No one tells me that it was the right thing to do. No one tries to convince me that I was a hero to my people. Nope. We all just hold each other for another few minutes. Finally, when my legs are about to give out, Lois gently touches my shoulder.

“You should sit, sweetheart,” she suggests, motioning to the couch.

I nod numbly and allow her to help me over to the sofa. I sit heavily, and my parents position themselves on either side of me. My mom immediately embraces me again, as though she cannot stand any amount of distance between us. I meet Lois’s eyes briefly, and she smiles at me. I can see her concern though. She knows that I’m tired.

“I-I can’t believe you’re back, Clark,” Mom says quietly, her voice muffled in my shoulder. “I thought we’d lost you forever. When Lois called and told us that you’d…” She can’t finish her thought. Instead, she shakes her head, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. My chest hurts. Not only because of my wound. No, not only because of that. But also because I see how much my death hurt them. All of them.

I sense Clark floating outside the window, having returned from helping with the bank robbery, and I’m reminded again of how lucky I am, how lucky we all are, that he is here and that he brought me home. He is watching, but giving us space. More evidence of his thoughtfulness. I feel a need to thank him again. I know he will hear me now.

“It’s a good thing the other Clark was here to bring me back,” I start. I raise my eyes to meet Lois’s. She stands a few feet away now and nods slightly, agreeing with my words. There’s so much more I should say, but my voice seems to fail me. When I’m feeling more articulate and less exhausted, I’ll need to thank him properly. All I can manage now is to add, “I don’t know how much longer it would have taken for me to be able to fly home of my own power, for me to come home to all of you. If I’d even been able to at all.”

I feel Dad tense up next to me, and he shifts on the couch with agitation.

“Kinda fishy if you ask me,” Dad mutters. I recognize the wary, mistrustful tone in his voice, similar to the tone he might use when referring to a slimy car salesman. My jaw clenches as I feel Clark’s dejection outside, and I quickly realize something must have happened between them. I look up to Lois, but she stares at the ground now, her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed over her chest. She heard it too. Oh, man, this was not my intention. Dad’s hand shudders as he straightens his glasses, and Mom speaks up from next to me, her arm squeezing my shoulders gently.

“What is, Jonathan?” Unlike my father, her voice is calm and kind, as always. But she’s now opened the door for Dad to say exactly what he is thinking. Which is exactly what he does.

“He shows up, claiming he is here to help since the world needs Superman,” he grumbles, shaking his head indignantly. “But the world has Superman still, we just needed to wait a bit longer for him to come home. He jumped right into your life, taking over your jobs, your apartment, your fiancée…”

I bite my lip, forcing myself to not respond. I know my dad; it’s not worth arguing with him when he’s got an opinion like this. He will change his opinion over time, when he gets to know Clark better, but his initial mistrust, whatever it was borne out of, will persist until he is ready. Mom usually has the best luck—or skill, I suppose—getting him to shift his views. I glance at Lois again and see her holding back a rebuttal as well. She swallows anxiously and shakes her head, almost imperceptibly.

Outside, Clark is nauseous. He’s not even aware that I’m sensing his mood. I stop eavesdropping and turn my head toward my dad. This isn’t fair to Clark. I need to speak up. But Mom beats me to it.

“No, Jon, he was just acting on the information he had available to him,” Mom corrects in a sympathetic tone. They’ve discussed this before, I gather. I make a mental note to ask Lois about this all later—something had to have happened to make my dad feel Clark isn’t trustworthy. My mom hugs me tightly and continues in a much more enthusiastic voice. “It doesn’t even matter now. All that matters is that you’re back now. I can’t tell you how happy I am, Clark. Oh, my boy!”

I smile weakly and lean my head onto her shoulder, suddenly feeling quite tired again. And I close my eyes. Dad puts an arm around my shoulder, and soon, Lois joins us, stepping up behind me and leaning over the back of the couch as she wraps her arms around me. I forget about Clark’s distress for a moment and concentrate instead on the wonderful feeling of being home and loved.

I’ll worry about Clark later.





I don’t last much longer before my vision begins to go blurry again. Small multicolored dots dance in front of my eyes, and a throbbing pain pulses at the base of my skull. I press my head into my hands and screw my eyes shut, suppressing a groan.

“You’re almost out of chamomile, Lois,” Mom says from the kitchen, raising her voice so Lois can hear. The teapot whistles from its place on the stove, the sound exacerbating my headache.

“I’ll have Clark pick some up for me next time he’s in Shanghai,” Lois replies from the hallway. I hear two sets of footsteps as Lois and my dad return from moving the luggage to the guest bedroom. There is a brief pause, and then Lois is at my side, her hand touching my shoulder lightly as she sits next to me. Her lips brush gently against my cheek, and she whispers, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I, um, I just…” I can’t seem to form sentences. I shake my head, but that doesn’t help my growing headache and only serves to make me dizzy on top of everything else. “Tired,” I manage.

“Do you need to go lie down for a few minutes?” she asks quietly. Her hand moves to my back, and I hear my dad’s footsteps move closer to the couch, his breathing slightly labored.

“Um, yeah, that’s… Yeah.” I straighten up a bit and open my eyes, trying to blink away the dancing spots. Nausea is quickly added to the growing list of symptoms, however, and I groan and close my eyes again.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll help you, and you’ll feel better again after you rest a bit,” Lois assures me. She loops her arm around my waist and stands up, encouraging me to follow. My legs complain and wobble, but I manage to push up to my feet. “Martha, I’ll be right back,” she says. I hear a muffled murmur from my mom in the kitchen, but I concentrate on moving with Lois through the apartment toward the bedroom as I feel myself slipping away into darkness. Not yet, we’re not there yet. I stumble as we turn into the bedroom, and Lois’s arm tightens around my waist.

“Almost there, Clark.” Her voice is soothing and confident. What have I done to deserve her kindness? “One more step.”

I blink my eyes open again and see the bed just in front of us. Lois reaches out ahead of me and pulls the comforter back, then helps me to turn around and sit.

“Thank you, hon,” I say as I shift onto my back and close my eyes. I feel her pull the comforter up over me and press her lips to mine. Her hand caresses my forehead gently.

“Rest now. Okay?”

“Mmmhmm.”

The bed compresses next to me as she sits, and I lean into her touch. My beautiful Lois. Please stay with me. I need you here. To keep out the darkness. She can’t hear my thoughts, however, and as I drift off to sleep, she kisses my forehead and her warmth disappears. No, Lois. Please stay.

Too late. She’s gone.





I am cold—freezing, really—despite the scorching red sunlight burning my flesh. I run, bare-chested, over a hard, dusty, unforgiving trail. The rocks underneath me cut into the soles of my bare feet, but I ignore the pain and continue to sprint toward a bright yellow light glowing far in the distance. I must make it there. The yellow light will take me home. That is my only objective. My lungs burn, and my muscles ache; I keep running.

Ahead of me, two men materialize out of the earth. They wear the now-familiar Kryptonian battle suits of Nor’s army—black armor with the emblem of the House of Zod on a red armband—and they both wield nanotech-coated broadswords, similar to mine. I halt abruptly and pull my own sword out of its sheath. The blade vibrates menacingly in my hands, and I growl at the two soldiers as I lunge with incredible speed. Anger. I’m so angry. They are slowing me down. I must make it to the yellow light. My sword slices through both of them before they can react, and they fall to the ground at my feet. I wipe the blood off of the blade onto one leg of my tattered pants before sheathing the sword, and my feet start moving again.

The trail beneath my feet begins to rise up a steep hill, and the rocks become sharper. Soon, I’m racing over glass shards, screaming as the ground shreds my already raw feet. I cannot stop now. I cannot stop. Lois. I must get home. The glass melts into a flat, searing hot surface, and my feet begin to steam and blister with every step. Still I continue. A rustling from behind me is followed immediately by a strong arm wrapping around my neck. I’m forced to my knees, and I cry out in agony as I hit the sizzling earth. Two more men jump out in front of me, and fists start to pound my face, chest, and abdomen. Anger. I hate them. I hate them all. They are keeping me here, when I need to get to the yellow light. I scream with rage and rise to my feet, overpowering the man behind me. With one quick motion, I pull my deadly blade out from its sheath and slash all three men, killing them instantly. My chest heaves with effort, and the air seems to thicken around me, the red haze from the sun growing denser. I cough as I breath in the red mist, and I step over the dead bodies at my feet and launch myself back into a sprint.

The trail levels out again, and the yellow light still shines in the distance. Is it any closer? It seems farther away. How is that possible? My vision fractures into two—on my right, an army of soldiers with red armbands approaches, and on my left, a sea of lifeless bodies forms a huge wave moving toward me, bodies falling and rising over other bodies. Blood everywhere. I switch my sword to my right hand—my nondominant hand, but it will have to do—and I charge toward the army. A single man against thousands. The bodies continue to follow me, the wave growing like a tsunami, as I slice and slash through the army. Every man I kill becomes part of the sea behind me, and yet, I continue toward the yellow light. Home. I must get home. Anger. Madness. Home. I must get home. Hate. I hate them all. Get out of my way. I must get home. I must get home. I strike down the final enemy soldier. I have killed them all. I must get home. But my feet will not carry me another step.

Exhausted, I fall to my knees. As I hit the ground, an earsplitting sound, like a sonic boom, echoes around me, and the sea of bodies vanishes, replaced by miles and miles of dead, dusty earth. The thick red haze blurs my vision, and breathing it in stings my lungs. A single man clad in a black battle suit similar to mine approaches me out of the red fog, swinging a massive broadsword in his hand. He laughs at me. There is something familiar about him, but I can’t place it. I stand and regrip my sword, moving it back to my left hand. The man smiles maliciously and then lunges forward, his broadsword moving absurdly fast. Despite my fatigue, I parry his blow and automatically counterattack. My sword slices through his abdomen, and blood spurts out of the fresh open wound, coating my blade. The man’s eyes widen and then become unfocused as his life leaves him; his body collapses and turns to ashes at my feet.

A hand grabs my shoulder, and I spin around as I raise my sword up to attack.





I sit bolt upright in bed, twisting around and grasping a small wrist tightly in my left hand. Sweat drips down my face, and my chest heaves as I take short, rapid breaths. Through blurry vision, I see Lois’s eyes first widen in surprise and then screw shut as she inhales sharply. The dim lighting of the room obscures her facial features, but an obvious pained expression crosses her face as she tries to tug her hand out of my grip. Immediately, I release her wrist.

“Oh, God, Lois. I’m so sorry,” I blurt out.

My voice sounds foreign—this isn’t really me. I’m not really here, and I didn’t really just do that to her. I blink several times. I didn’t really just do that to her. Right? Her eyes are lowered now, but a single tear slides down her cheek, and she rubs her injured wrist with her other hand. An angry red discoloration already encircles her wrist.

God. I did really just do that to her.

I push myself up out of the bed and stumble across the room.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I’m—God, I’m sorry, Lois.”

I begin pacing at the edge of the room, and I run my hand through my hair, damp from sweat. The room sways around me, and I stop as a wave of nausea—like the wave of dead bodies from my dream—pummels me. I grab onto the wall next to me to keep myself from collapsing.

Lois moves off the bed and starts toward me, but I hastily back away, tripping as I run into the dresser. “Clark, it’s okay, sweetheart. It was an accident. I’m fine. Just breathe, sweetie,” she tells me, her voice calm and firm. She advances a few more steps toward me, and my stomach seems to twist into knots.

“No, stay away. I don’t want to hurt you,” I plead, gesturing with my hands for her to stop. I try to focus my eyes on her, but my vision is still fuzzy. “Please, stay away. Please.”

“Clark, look at me, sweetheart,” she instructs.

But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

I turn away from her and start pacing again. Dead bodies swim around in my vision, and I feel another wave of lifeless corpses crashing over me. I raise my hands up to protect myself, but the wave hits hard, and I fall to my knees. Blood covers my hands. I try to wipe the viscous red liquid off on my shirt, but it won’t come off. Why won’t it come off? Please. I push myself back to my feet and head toward the bathroom. I can wash it off.

I turn on the water as hot as it will go and shove my hands under the burning stream. Soap. I need soap. Three or four or maybe five squirts of the lavender-scented liquid. I scrub. Harder. The bubbles aren’t working. There is still blood.

“Clark?”

Why won’t it come off? I scrub harder.

“Sweetheart, please.”

“Why won’t it come off?”

“Honey, there’s nothing there.”

No. They are covered in blood. So much blood. Can’t she see it? I scrub harder.

“Clark, your hands are clean, sweetheart.” She is close to me now. Too close. I could hurt her. She shouldn’t be near me.

I forget about washing the blood off my hands and step backward, away from her. I continue backing up into the corner of the bathroom until I feel the cold, hard wall against my back, and my knees buckle. I slide down into a seated position against the wall.

“Please stay away,” I beg, lowering my head to press against my knees. The room begins to spin around me. I close my eyes to fight off the nausea.

“I’ll sit right here. Okay, sweetheart?” Her voice reverberates through the room and echoes in my head. I risk a glance up at her; she sits cross-legged on the floor about three feet away from me. Her nightgown is bunched up around her thighs, and her hair falls loosely around her shoulders. Her face is tight with concern, frown lines creasing on her forehead. I screw my eyes shut again and nod my head against my knees. I can’t hurt her from here. I—God, how could I have done that to her?

We sit there in silence for some time. Eventually, the room stops spinning, and my rapid breathing slows. However, a tingling sensation persists in my hands and feet, and when I try to open my eyes, the bright artificial light of the bathroom is disorienting. I shut them again. She is still there, sitting quietly, waiting patiently for me. I don’t deserve her.

“Are—are you okay?” I ask. The words are difficult to form, and my mouth feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton. I hear her move closer to me, and I tighten my arms around my knees as tension builds in my shoulders. A sharp pain erupts in my head, and I clench my jaw to keep from groaning.

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m fine, really,” she replies gently. A small hand rests carefully on my arm, and I have to force myself not to flinch away. “It was just an accident. I’m okay. Please look at me, Clark.” I hear her pleading tone, but I shake my head.

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head buried in my knees. Her hand squeezes my arm, and she shifts closer to me, moving to wrap one arm around my shoulders. Her body presses up against mine. I can’t breathe. I see her wide, scared eyes, my hand gripping her wrist roughly. Blood. Bodies. Drowning in a sea of dead soldiers. Soldiers that I killed. No, I won’t hurt her.

I jump to my feet and move out of the room, barely managing to stay upright as large black spots dance in my vision and the room spins again.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeat. Over and over. My feet find a path along the far wall near the window. It is dark outside now. When did the Sun go down? My hands wring together as I pace, and I’m only vaguely aware of her following me out of the bathroom and then settling silently on the edge of the bed. I pace and pace. I can’t seem to allow myself to stop. My feet begin to ache, and my legs quiver. But I can’t stop. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Through the red haze that seems to have filled the room around me, I hear a muffled sob. My feet finally freeze, although my body almost continues moving forward, and I grasp the wall to keep myself upright. The red fog dissipates, and I see her—my lovely fiancée, the love of my life—sitting on the bed several feet away from me, her head buried in her hands. Her body shakes as she sobs.

All the energy I’d had—all that I used to pace for who knows how long—is gone now, and I collapse to the ground. My knees hitting the carpet sends shooting pain through my back and chest, and I give in to the exhaustion and roll over onto my back on the floor.

“Lois?” I force her name out and weakly reach toward her. My arm will barely lift off the floor. She is at my side almost immediately, her hand clasping mine, and I close my eyes and rest my head back onto the ground again. “Lois, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I-I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She stretches out next to me and buries her head into my shoulder.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I’m fine. It’s okay. We’re okay. Shhhh.”

I want to curl up and wrap my arms around her. But fear prevents me from moving.

“I love you, Lois,” I murmur, my voice trembling.

“I love you.”

Her hand brushes against my cheek, and my aching body shudders as my brain begins to shut down, pulling me back toward unconsciousness.

“D-don’t l-leave me, p-please,” I implore her.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” she promises.

Her lips press against my temple, and I fall into a dreamless sleep.