From Last Time:
"Can I ask you a question, ma'am?
"Certainly," she said.
"Why did you decide to become an officer?" he asked.
"I was commissioned before the fighting started," she explained. "Even though it was possible I'd have to spend my entire career in the military, most officers didn't have a problem getting out after five or six years if they wanted to. I thought, I could do this for a while, get a better experience than I would practicing within the Guild, and then do whatever I wanted."
He nodded in understanding. "So what do you want to do, when all of this is over?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "All I want is for this war to be end, for Thia to be able to grow up unafraid. Beyond that, I'm not really certain. What about you? What do you want?"
"Ordinary things," he said. "I want a family. Children. I want to know I won't have to deploy for six months at a time to some desolate corner of the planet."
She smiled. Lok Sim would be an excellent father. "Any word on how long you're going to be deployed?"
"Until the end of the mission, it seems," he said, a distinct look of sadness in his eyes.
She knew that could have meant months more. "Please, be careful," she said.
He nodded. "I will. I'm afraid I have to go. Please say hello to Thia for me."
"Of course," she replied. "Good night, Sergeant."
"Good night, ma'am." He gave her a ghost of a smile before the communications monitor went blank.
********
New Stuff:
"Another two weeks, at least," the medic said definitively.
"You cannot be serious," Talan replied.
"Ma'am, this is the worst sprain I've ever seen. You snapped a pair of ligaments almost clean in two and you've made a mess of the tendons. How exactly did this happen?" he asked, frowning at his digital tablet.
"Jumping off a cliff," she said humorlessly.
"Oh," the medic replied.
"Are you sure it'll take two more weeks?"
"Positive, ma'am," he said with a slight nod. "If you try running on it before then you're liable to do permanent damage."
Talan sighed in frustration. She certainly didn't have time to nurse a silly sprained ankle. Apparently she now had no choice but to lead her forces from the command center, even though not being there with them in the field went against every one of her instincts.
"You'll have to continue wearing the brace, and icing it daily. And continue taking the anti-inflammatories, ma'am."
"Anything else?" she asked impatiently.
"No, ma'am," the medic replied.
Talan hopped gingerly up onto her crutches. The ignominy of her injury had put her in a particularly foul mood. She hobbled her way back to the command center, where she'd be forced to continue to command her forces from within its sterile, closed-in confines. Although she no longer had long deployments in the field as an excuse, she hadn't spoken more than a few words to the First Minister since she'd snapped at him that day. She tried to tell herself that for the sake of the mission and for both of their peace of mind, it was for the best.
Despite trying to keep her distance, the nightmares were back. Only in meditation could she find some degree of tranquility. It had taken her weeks to restore her equilibrium, but through willpower alone, she'd been able to reclaim control over her meditative states. In meditation, she didn't have to think of the complicated emotions or the million distractions drawing her attention from her work. She could focus completely on controlling her reactions and centering her thoughts. She could hide there from the nightmares and the feelings she wished desperately she didn't feel. It was a refuge she took to too quickly and too easily. It was cowardice, plain and simple. While she may have demonstrated courage bordering on insanity in the field of battle, she'd never met an emotional fight she hadn't run from.
********
Clark stared at his hand, willing it still. He clenched his fist and flexed his hand again, but it continued to shake. He'd noticed it a few days earlier as he was reaching for a glass of water. His hand was trembling slightly. It stopped on its own after a while, but it came back, and over the days, it had gotten progressively worse. He blamed it on the lack of sleep. The nightmares were a constant. He may as well have had the images from Silban tattooed on the insides of his eyelids; he couldn't so much as blink without being assaulted by them. Clark went to bed every night with trepidation, afraid of what dreams might come when he finally closed his eyes. The tension and anxiety alone would have made it impossible for him to get any rest, even if the nightmares weren't there to guarantee him an awful night.
"The tremor is a nervous reaction, probably caused by a lack of rest. I can give you a mild sedative," Tao Scion said, his tone soft. "It will help you sleep."
"No!" Clark replied emphatically. He stood up and started pacing the floor in his reception room. "I'm not going to go through life in a drug-induced haze."
Tao Scion looked up at him from his chair. "Young man, you need to rest."
"I'm really not in the mood for a lecture," Clark replied with a harder edge to his voice than he'd intended. "No sedatives."
"Well, have you tried meditating?"
"Yes, it doesn't help," Clark said tersely.
"Kal El, please listen to me," his physician began in earnest.
"Do you have any idea what the people of this world will think if they find out I'm taking sedatives?"
Tao Scion stood up and stepped into Clark's path, stopping his pacing. "They will recognize that you are a man, not a god."
"They're expecting me to be a god. To do what isn't possible and to do it without medicating myself into a coma. Silban happened because the people around me thought I was weak. I'm not giving them any ammunition."
"You are not weak, Kal El, you're human," Tao Scion countered. "Human beings have limits."
"You're not going to talk me into this," Clark replied. The tremors, the nightmare parades of ghosts, the crushing sense of loneliness, the cold sweats, the racing pulse, the nights when he woke up in the darkness, certain he was still in one of those tomblike bunkers – these things he would endure. The shame of popping pills just to be able to live in his own skin? That was too much. He used to be the most powerful being in the universe. He wasn't going to turn into a zombie to get through this.
"What is it that makes the men in your family so stubborn?" the old physician grumbled.
"Don't bring my father into this," Clark replied. "I'm not him."
Tao Scion's bright blue eyes fixed themselves on him. "You've seen the same darkness he did, and whether you know it or not, you share the same audacity to keep fighting when any other man would have simply given up."
Clark looked away from the older man's gaze. "We see what we expect to see in people. You want to believe that the strength you saw in my parents still exists, so you convince yourself that you see it in me." He turned around and began to walk back toward his quarters.
"Am I to take it we're done here?" Tao Scion called after him.
"We are," Clark confirmed without pausing or turning around. "Good night."
********
"Merry Christmas, Martha," her husband said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. She leaned back against his chest as she sighed wistfully.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," she replied. "Do you remember Christmas when Clark was Jon's age?"
Jonathan chuckled. "Sure," he said. "That was the year we gave him that stuffed dog."
"The one he named 'Doggy,'" Martha replied with a laugh.
"Well, he wasn't quite two," Jonathan said in his son's defense.
"He was such a sweet little boy," she said wistfully as she stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace. Clark's stocking hung right beside Lois's on the mantle. As much as it had pained her to hang it there, just like she had every year, when she'd fill it with toy cars and candy canes, it would have been so much worse not to hang it up. Leaving the space empty would have been unforgivable. At any moment, her boy could walk through the front door, dusting the snow off his shoulders and wiping his boots on the doormat.
With every day that passed, however, hoping got just a little bit harder. It took a little more stubbornness and a little more patience. She still waited for him to come home, but she didn't…anticipate it any more. When she heard a creaking step in the hallway in the middle of the night, or the rattle of the screen door banging closed, her first thought wasn't that Clark had finally come home. Just like Jonathan and Lois, she kept waiting and she kept hoping, but just like them, she'd settled into a daily routine that didn't include her son. She had to keep living her life – watching her grandson, balancing the farm's ledger, organizing the charity bakeoff and the Christmas toy drive – even though she didn't want to. She wanted to believe all of these things were impossible while her boy was away – that time would simply stop and wait for him. But time refused to be so courteous. It barreled forward and would continue to do so, whether she liked it or not.
"I just wish we had some way of knowing whether or not he's okay," she murmured quietly.
"I know," Jonathan said gruffly. "I know."
"I don't know if he's hurt or in danger, or…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. "I'm his mother, I'm supposed to know. I should just be able to sense it."
She turned around in her husband's arms and looked up at him. His eyes were unusually bright. He pulled her into his warm, comforting embrace. Martha shut her eyes, hanging on to her husband tightly because holding on to him was the only thing she could do. She couldn't fight the currents and the tides threatening to sweep her away. All she could do was hang on. "He's going to be okay," Jonathan said, his voice wavering.
"He is," she whispered through her tears.
********
"Councilor Alon, thank you for coming," Zara said as she stood up. She gestured toward the chair across from hers at the conference table.
"Of course, ma'am," the elder statesman replied.
"Kal El and I are planning to hold a summit of the governors of the outer settlements. As one of the most trusted and respected members of the Council, I was hoping you would be willing to participate."
"I am honored and humbled, ma'am," Alon replied with a slight smile. "I will do whatever I can, whatever you ask of me, in the service of peace."
"I knew I could count on you," Zara said.
"When do you anticipate hosting this summit?" the old man asked almost casually.
"Two months from now," Zara replied. "And we will not be hosting it, the governors of the Belaar will."
A look of surprise flashed across Alon's face. "Given the threat against you when you went to Ganaf, are you certain it is a good idea to hold the summit so far away from the colony?" he asked. He recovered nicely from his initial shock, managing to turn it into rather genuine sounding concern, Zara noted wryly.
"Our security forces are hard at work guaranteeing the protection of the summit. Besides, it would be rather impertinent of us to decline the invitation of the Belaar's governors."
Alon smiled and nodded, tight-lipped. "I understand, and I applaud your resolution."
"Thank you, Councilor."
"Well, I am certain you're busy. I won't keep you from your work any longer, but please let me know what it is I can do to best serve you," Alon said as he stood.
Zara stood as well. "We will be in touch shortly. Thank you again, Alon."
"It is my pleasure, as always, ma'am." He smiled as he bowed.
Moments after Alon had left, Ching entered the room. "He won't be fooled if this doesn't appear completely genuine. Everyone, and I mean everyone, must believe that this summit is actually going to take place," she said.
"Of course," Ching replied. "We're monitoring every single communication to and from Alon and every one of his aides and staffers. If Nor contacts him, we'll be able to triangulate the source of the communications and find him."
Zara nodded as she listened to Ching explain their one shot at using Alon to get to Nor. "Tell me this is going to work," she said quietly.
"It is," Ching assured her.
********
"Good evening, sir," she said quietly as she stared at the communications screen. She watched as he tapped his fingers anxiously on the table in front of him.
"Good evening, Commander," he replied somewhat absently.
"I know it has been a very long time since we've spoken and I apologize," she began.
"I'm sure you've been busy," he said, regarding her with darkly circled, bloodshot eyes.
"Yes, but I wanted to see how you were doing," she said.
"I'm fine," he replied. It didn't matter how out of practice she was when it came to social niceties, he wasn't fooling her. He was anything but fine. His tapping became more agitated. She noticed the way his hand trembled and realized it might not have been entirely voluntary.
"Are you certain, sir?" she asked, trying to keep her tone gentle.
He frowned. "I'm fine," he repeated.
She hesitated for a long moment before speaking. "I know I am overstepping my bounds," she began, already starting to regret what she was about to say. "But you haven't been sleeping, have you?"
"No," he confirmed. "I haven't. I can't get the images out of my head. I can't even close my eyes without seeing it."
"Neither can I. Every time I blink, I see Silban." She paused for a long moment. "Do you wish to talk about it, sir?"
"I don't want to talk about it, I just want to forget it. Forget all of it. I think I'm losing my mind," he whispered. He clenched his fist tightly and she noticed the shaking continued. He looked down at the table, his head bowed. "How can you stand it?" he demanded through gritted teeth.
"You know the answer to that question," she said softly.
"And you won't help me do the same," he replied, the tone of his voice an accusation.
"Sir, please do not ask me to do this," she said, hearing her voice waver. "As your subordinate, I am bound to follow your orders, but I would like to believe I am also your friend and I cannot do this to you."
"I'm not a child, this should be my choice." His body suddenly tensed, his posture combative.
"You do not want to become what I am," she said, more forcefully than she'd intended. "I'm not the person I was five years ago and the change hasn't been for the better. You cannot just turn off the feelings you don't want to have. If you go numb, you go numb. You'll become hard and empty and lose everything that matters most to you. Besides, it's not a permanent fix. The past has a way of catching up with all of us, no matter how fast we run."
He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I don't have the luxury of worrying about what's going to happen a year from now or even a week from now. I can't figure out how to get from one day to the next."
"Then figure out how to get from one hour to the next, or one minute to the next, sir," she pleaded with him. "You have to keep fighting this."
"Why? Why should I keep fighting it?" he yelled.
'Because I need you to,' she thought to herself. While she would never say it, she worried that keeping silent wasn't enough. Her actions, the tone of her voice, she had to control them. It wasn't sufficient to simply keep from saying the wrong thing, there were a million other ways her feelings could betray her. If he ever knew, if he knew how she felt about him, she would lose his trust. She would make it impossible for him to be open and honest with her. "Because it isn't enough that you merely survive this war. You have a life and a family to go home to."
He shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? I'm drowning here. I need a little bit more than moral support to get through this."
"Perhaps you should speak to a physician," she ventured somewhat lamely.
"Not this again. The kind of sedatives it'll take to get these thoughts out of my head will put me in a coma. What use will I be to anyone like that?" he demanded. When she didn't respond, he continued more softly. "Talan, I need your help."
She felt tears burning the corners of her eyes. "Sir, you must believe that I want more than anything to help you." She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "But what you need, I don't think I can give to you. I'm sorry."
He stared silently at her for a moment before turning his gaze downward. "I understand," he said softly. "Good night, Commander."
Talan watched as the screen went dark. She exhaled a shaky breath, still staring at the blank monitor through eyes brimming with tears. She closed her eyes for a long moment, waiting for the tears to recede. The very thought of crying was completely foreign to her. Even at Silban, surrounded by more death and suffering than she'd imagined possible, she'd been able to keep her emotions totally in check. There had been no time to be overwhelmed – to mourn the dead or feel the anguish of the bereaved. Weeping, grieving, would have accomplished nothing and there had been work to do: people to rescue, orders to give, an evacuation to launch. These responsibilities had fully occupied her thoughts for the days following the battle, leaving no room for grief or despair. Talan had focused on her work, her entire universe narrowing to the task at hand. She'd been able to shut out the pain and anger because she couldn't do her job if she indulged the feelings. In the field, there was her mission and nothing else.
Now, there was nothing to distract her, nothing to draw her attention away from the fact that someone she cared for dearly – someone she loved – was in unspeakable pain and she was powerless to help. Her normal approach of squaring her shoulders and bracing for the fight was useless. There was nothing she could do for Kal El. She wondered if she had the strength to stand aside and do nothing as he asked for her help. He was asking her to help him destroy the best part of himself, but how long was she supposed to watch him in pain and not acquiesce?
Talan drew in a deep breath. She would hold firm. She would not succumb. She would not help him buy a few moments of peace in exchange for his soul. A trillion miles away, there was a woman waiting for Kal El. A woman he loved completely. A woman who, if she had any sense at all, loved him just as much. Whoever she was, Lois Lane had watched her husband leave to bring hope to a planet she would never see, knowing the world he was trying to save might take his very life. "I will send him back to you," Talan whispered, making a promise to a woman she would never know. "And he will be the man you remember."
********
A smile spread across Lok Sim's face as he watched Thia run into her aunt's study, dressed for bed. "What are you doing awake?" Enza asked mildly as she pulled the little girl onto her lap.
"I wanted to say hello to Lok Sim," Thia replied, smiling at the communications screen.
"Hello, little one," he said.
"Can you read to me about the Iros tribe?" she asked.
"It's late," he responded gently, not wanting to keep her up at all hours of the night. "Are you sure you're not too tired?"
"I'm not," she assured him.
"Well then, it's up to your aunt Enza. If she says it's bed time, it's bed time."
"Sergeant, are you sure we're not keeping you?" Enza asked.
"Of course not, ma'am," he replied. He had an early morning, but he certainly didn't mind.
"Then you can stay up for a little while, but then it's straight to bed," Enza said.
Thia sat on her aunt's lap, listening in rapt attention as he told her about the Iros, known as the travelers, they were a nomadic tribe and the last to settle down with the rest of Kryptonian society. They'd wandered the planet – cartographers, traders, diplomats, and storytellers – bringing together the disparate parts of the world.
He'd barely started the story, however, when he noticed Enza's little niece begin to drift to sleep. Her eyelids drooped and finally closed and she nodded off. Lok Sim watched silently as Enza lifted Thia up in her arms and carried her out of the study. A few moments later, Enza returned.
"I wasn't sure you'd still be here," she said quietly.
"Well, I wanted to say goodnight," he replied.
"She's going to be so disappointed that she couldn't stay awake."
"We'll finish the story when I come back," Lok Sim said with a resolute nod.
Enza smiled at him, that slight, soft smile that always made him feel good. The one that always elicited a smile from him in response. "She adores you," Enza said.
"She means a lot to me, too," he replied.
"Take care of yourself, Sergeant," she said. "And come back home safe."
"Thank you, ma'am."
********
"We're running down a few suspicious transmissions received by Alon over the last few days," Ching explained. He stood by the doorway in the First Ministers' chambers, his back to the wall. The three of them tried not to discuss what they were working on anywhere else.
"Anything promising?" Clark asked.
"Unclear," Ching said succinctly. "But we're following every lead."
Zara looked up at Ching from her chair. "Do you have the resources you need to do this?"
He nodded. "We do. I've pulled the most trustworthy analysts onto this. I'm shorthanded my best communications engineer, but there's nothing that can be done about that. Talan needs him in the field."
"Keep us informed of every development, no matter how small," Zara replied.
"Of course," Ching said. "The plans for the summit are proceeding accordingly. I've ensured that Alon is made aware of all the details. If he does any investigating, he won't find anything to suggest the summit isn't legitimate."
Clark nodded. It was a good plan. It played to their advantages and their enemy's weaknesses. It would work because the most trustworthy and capable individuals on New Krypton would ensure it. It would work because there was no way that Nor could pass up the opportunity they were presenting to him. It would work because it had to.
"If you can spare me, there's much to be done," Ching said.
"Certainly," Zara said. "And thank you."
Ching slipped out quietly. It was odd how carefully he and Zara worked to maintain pretence, even when Clark was the only other person around. True, they called each other by name and Ching usually dispensed with the 'ma'am' when there wasn't anyone else around, but they still remained politely distant around one another. Familiarity was something they seemed to reserve for when they were truly alone. He tried not to envy them, but how could he not? He, too, wanted to feel like someone understood what he was going through.
"Are you all right, Clark?" Zara asked. "You seem a bit distracted."
"I'm fine," he lied. He hadn't slept well in so long he couldn't keep track. The nightmares were getting progressively worse – alternating between repetitions of the past and his worst fears for the future.
She nodded slightly, a look of sadness in her eyes. He knew he wasn't fooling her. They both knew. "I'm going to read over Talan's report, but if you need anything…"
"I know," he said.
She stood up. Walking past his chair, she paused for a moment and place a hand on top of his where it lay on the armrest. "You should get some rest," she said softly.
"Yeah," he agreed unenthusiastically.
********
Lois flopped down on the couch in the den as she held the cordless phone to her ear. "Perry, are you serious?" she asked.
"'Fraid so, darlin'," he replied.
"I'm not ready to do this," she said firmly. "I don't… I have no perspective on this."
"Maybe this is what you need to get perspective," he said.
"I spend two hours a day there, flying patrols and arresting bad guys, it's really all I can take. I can't think about that place any more than I already do."
She heard her editor sigh. "Take some time and think about it. Just please don't rule it out yet."
"My first book just came out in paperback a few months ago. Between that and the columns, don't you think people are going to get sick of hearing from me?"
"They want the book out while this is still news, not history. Also, they were hoping you'd be able to ask Ultrawoman to write the foreword."
"Chief, that's ridiculous!" she exclaimed. "I'm not going to exploit Ultrawoman to sell a few stupid books. I've done quite enough to tarnish her."
"Does Clark talk about himself in the third person, too?"
She sighed as she stood up and started pacing. "Yeah, he di…does. When he's trying to remind himself that, to the world, Superman is real. He stands for things, he has integrity, and ethics, and all those other things that make him the world's biggest Boy Scout."
"You don't have to decide now," her editor said in response.
"Perry, I can't do it. I can't risk doing any more damage to Ultrawoman and I don't think I have it in me to write the book the publishers want."
After hanging up the phone, she picked up her cup of coffee and walked out to the porch. The farm was covered in a thick blanket of snow; it seemed so still and calm. She was using more time these days for regular patrols away from Kinwara, trying to do the simple things that a superhero was supposed to do. She spent more time with Jon and she focused more on her columns. But no matter how much she tried to reclaim her life from that little country in the Lake Regina Valley in Africa, she couldn't. It was always on her mind. Questions of what she could have done better and what she should have done differently swirled through her head at all hours of the day and night. She didn't need more reasons to think about Kinwara.
********
It was the middle of the night again and he wasn't even going to try to get back to sleep. In his dream, he'd been flying. He wasn't sure where exactly, but it didn't seem to matter. He was himself again, and he was flying, unbound by the laws of physical reality and ordinary limitations. He was free. The thrill of it, the exhilaration had been shattered by a cry for help. An all too familiar voice calling out to him.
He'd been too late. Her last breath had been an indictment. She'd used it to whisper to him, to ask him why he'd left her. He'd lost her. It was one more in a string of countless variations on the same nightmare. He'd lost her and the whole damn world around him might as well have fallen to pieces. Clark had woken up with the same, gaping wound in his soul, the same emptiness that made him feel hollow and thin. On the outside, he'd grown hard – short tempered, impatient, abrupt. But there was nothing inside him anymore. He was brittle, a thin veneer of anger and ill temper covering nothing at all. The slightest bit of pressure and he'd crumble to dust.
He paced in his chambers, feeling caged, restless, and entirely too aware of everything going on around him. Clark tried to be glad that they were on the verge of closing the trap on Nor, but all he felt was anxiety. If they failed here, if Nor got away, they'd blow the best chance they'd had so far at capturing him.
Clark clenched his fists, his right hand still trembling. Dammit, why didn't Kryptonians drink? What about their overly rational, analytical approach to life did they believe was so wonderful that it couldn't be improved by a little bit of alcohol? Granted, he'd never been drunk before, but he could have really, really used a good, stiff drink or ten right about now. Something to take the edge off, something to make the pain a little duller and a little fuzzier. Something to help him forget.
His birth mother had been a chemical engineer. She would have been able to figure out how to make something pretty damn potent. If he'd tried the same he probably only would have blinded or worse, killed himself. He wondered about them, wondered if his birth parents didn't drink themselves into oblivion in their last days on Krypton. But then, they'd used every possible minute they'd had saving his life. They hadn't had time to drown their sorrows.
He wondered if he'd been worth it. Had he become a man so good and great that it justified his parents' sacrifice? By all accounts, they were tremendous people. They gave their lives so that others might live, so that he might live. They'd put him above themselves, knowing they would never even be sure that he'd survived. They'd never seen the man he'd become. He used to wonder if he would have made them proud. Now, he was almost afraid to speculate.
Clark stepped into his small bedroom. He sighed as he leaned against the wall in his darkened room. He was just so tired of being alone. So tired of feeling like he was drifting, unconnected to anything or anyone. He wanted to see his wife, to hold her and have her hold him. To hear her voice again, telling him that everything would be all right, that she would be beside him, no matter what. But it was his own fault that she wasn't with him. He was the one who'd left her. And he was the one who'd abandoned her. In that dark, damp dungeon, he'd given up hope and he'd never been further away from her.
The memories of the one night he'd spent with her weren't enough. They couldn't banish the darkness in him. They couldn't pull him out of the depths of his despair anymore. He needed more. He needed to feel her skin against his, to hear her heart beat, to let her help him forget his pain and his doubts and his fears. Instead, he spent night after night alone, being torn to ribbons by his nightmares. He hadn't had a single decent night's sleep in months. He was fraying and coming apart at the seams. He needed to bury his pain and his loneliness. He needed to let the poison out of his soul before it welled up and spilled over. If he couldn't go numb, if he couldn't just shut off the pain, why couldn't he at least blot it out for a little while? Why couldn't he just forget, even if only for a moment, how much this hurt? Why couldn't he know a few moments of peace and contentment? Why couldn't someone help him forget?
What exactly was he asking himself? Was he honestly thinking about seeking solace in another woman's arms? Could he actually be thinking that? Then again, how hard could it be to break his wedding vows? He was a powerful man, wasn't he? And reasonably good looking; women had been drawn to Superman. But then, Superman had never been reduced to a pathetic shell. Still, he was surrounded by attractive women who seemed to like him well enough. If he stopped to think about it, his loyal general commander, for one, was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. He wouldn't have survived without her; he relied on her friendship and her support, why not this as well? Why not push things beyond, into the realm of the completely inappropriate? She was the one who kept him from going numb, after all. She'd claimed that she wouldn't be responsible for making him less human. Why it was that she'd taken the responsibility for protecting his humanity wasn't clear to him. But he realized that she probably saw him with nothing but pity. He wondered derisively if she pitied him enough.
He rubbed his throbbing temples. He wasn't looking for comfort or solace or even a warm body to break the freefall. He was contemplating emotional suicide. He was looking to kill the last decent thing inside himself, hoping that if it were gone, he'd be able to resign himself to his fate. He'd be able to give up without regrets or remorse. In a sense, he'd already given up. He'd prayed for death. He'd prayed to be able to leave his wife, alone on another world, a trillion miles away. The man he'd once been would have endured anything just to keep fighting to make it back home. The man he'd become had forgotten the most important promise he'd ever made. Now, if he could bring himself to commit the last betrayal, if he could convince his body to become as much a traitor as his soul had, he'd be free. There was no doubt in his mind that if he did it, he'd die on New Krypton.
Something deep inside him, though, reviled the thought of touching another woman the way he'd touched Lois. Even if she'd never know, even if she lived the rest of her life thinking he'd died an honorable man, he would know. His love for her was the last good and pure thing about him. He couldn't let go of that. It was all he had left.
In the still and silent room, Clark slid down to the hard floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, bowed his head, and in the darkness, wept.
