From last time:

Was it strength that kept her alive, or had she somehow grown cold-hearted again? Did she lose the capacity to love as purely and as deeply as she once had, now that he was away? She didn't want to believe it was possible. And the ache that still gripped her, deep inside, was enough to prove to her that she loved her husband every bit as much as she had that morning, watching him leave, feeling her heart crumble to dust. Lois swallowed roughly, trying hard not to succumb to the tears welling up in her eyes. She would find a way to keep holding on to him. To keep clinging to hope. And she'd do so for as long as it took for him to make his way back home.

********

New Stuff:


Pushing the messy strands of blonde hair out of her eyes, Talan stood up and walked out of the secluded corridor. It would be hours still before they would let anyone see him and she couldn't stand doing nothing for so long.

Twenty four hours after the blasts, all of the survivors had been rescued. Field commanders with expertise in logistics were now working with the rescue crews to deal with the people who'd been displaced and injured. The engineers and fire crews had dealt with the lingering danger at the blast sites. Fresh forces from elsewhere on New Krypton had arrived to relieve the weary men and women who had been working nonstop since the attacks the evening before.

Finding herself with no particular way to be useful, she'd had to quit that empty hallway in search of something to occupy her mind. Somehow, she found herself heading toward the medical facility's general waiting area. Inside, anxious people waited for news about their loved ones. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the doorway that led out of the medical facility and back into the larger compound. On the other side of the entrance stood an enormous group of people. Were there so many wounded at this facility that their families couldn't all fit into this room? Talan made her way over to them, figuring that perhaps there was some way she could help the overworked medical staff get news to the families.

The din created by all of those people faded into silence as she stood in front of them. All eyes suddenly focused on her. Startled, she didn't know what to say to all of the people looking up at her expectantly.

"Is he all right?" someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

"Who?" she asked, puzzled.

"The First Minister," came another voice. "We heard that you rescued him."

She looked around at the immense group. These people were all here for him. They were waiting and hoping – like they would for their own loved ones – for any small bit of encouraging news. "He is still in surgery," she said. A disappointed murmur rippled through the crowd.

"He saved my life." She heard someone say. The man stepped forward, the emotions at war within him clearly visible on his face. "I heard his voice and I knew it was him. The way he talks, he doesn't sound like one of us. I used to think he sounded odd, but I don't think I've ever been so happy to recognize anyone in my entire life. He pulled me from the rubble and told me everything would all right. And I believed him."

"He rescued my daughter," a woman said over the whispers of the group. "He held her with a father's love as he brought her to me."

"Is it true? Did he kill Nor?" a man asked.

"He had no choice," Talan replied reflexively. She would not let rumors of a vengeful killing even begin. She owed him that.

"Thank the fates," the man replied.

"We're finally rid of that monster," a woman added.

"It seems fitting that it was Kal El who killed him," another man responded.

"No it doesn't," came the retort. As one, the entire crowd turned to look at the woman who'd said it. "Kal El is a gentler sort of person than we are. You could see it in his eyes, and like that woman said, in the way he would carry a child. But we made him fight our battles for us. We should have slain our own monsters."

"The First Minister holds his duty to protect this world as sacred," Talan replied. Outwardly calm, the currents of confliction swirled around inside her. "He wouldn't have hesitated for a moment before sacrificing his own life to save his people."

"He's going to die, isn't he?" came a panicked voice. The unease washed over the group as an ominous rumbling.

Talan sighed inwardly at her poor choice of words. This was a bad idea on her part. What did she know about comforting an anxious and grieving world? It was pure hubris to imagine that her skills as a commander would somehow translate into the much lighter touch she needed to succor the distressed. "No, he is not going to die," she said definitively, as though the force of her words alone would keep him alive. "I know that he will be touched to hear that you have all gathered to wish him a speedy recovery. When I know more about his condition, I'll make sure that you're informed." The hero of countless battlefields prepared to beat a hasty retreat.

"Surely there must be something else you can tell us," a woman near the middle of the group called out.

The overwhelmed general commander shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know anything more than what I've told you," she replied. "I'm sorry." She turned back toward the medical facility, the guard at the entrance allowing her to pass. Back inside, she nearly ran into the tall engineer walking back and forth in the hallway, but he didn't seem to even notice her.

"Lieutenant?" she ventured. The young man did not respond. "Lok Sim?" she tried again.

He finally looked up, seeing her for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot and darkly circled, a look of pure agony had settled on his face. "I'm sorry, Commander," he apologized.

"Is your wife all right?" she asked.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "She's still in surgery," Lok Sim managed.

"Some of the best surgeons in the world are working on her," she replied, hoping the words would provide some small measure of comfort.

"I know," he said with a short, quick nod of his head. The young man pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and his thumb. "Faral is dead," he murmured.

"I heard," she said softly. His oldest daughter was about to be married and he'd so been looking forward to relinquishing the burdens of the fight, to finally going home to be with his family. And yet, when his fellow soldiers had needed him, he'd laid down his hopes of a happy and peaceful life.

Lok Sim looked downward, avoiding eye contact. "He saved our lives."

"He gave his life willingly to make sure the mission was accomplished." Her old friend had fallen defending his comrades, which was exactly like him. "And it was. You stopped the saboteur and restored the life support systems. Your actions saved probably at least a thousand lives. My soldiers said you saved one of their own in that battle, and you saved Captain Enza's life."

"I shouldn't have left him there," Lok Sim said, shaking his head slowly.

"You did your job, just like Faral did his," she replied resolutely. "You showed great courage, and we owe you a debt of gratitude, Lieutenant."

He looked at her grimly. "You were right, ma'am. About whether it's worth it to know how you'd react to the life or death situation. I'd give anything not to."

********

Zara cracked open the door, peering into the dimly lit room. "Good morning, Commander." She wasn't expecting to see her there, but she wondered if she should have been surprised. Immediately, Zara pushed the thought from her mind, now wasn't the time.

Talan opened her eyes suddenly and sat up straighter in her chair. She looked around, obviously disoriented, before standing up and saluting crisply. "Good morning, ma'am."

"How is he?" Zara asked, walking slowly into the room, limping slightly.

"He hasn't woken up yet," Talan said.

Zara regarded her friend sadly. He lay completely still in the hospital bed, tubes leading away from his body and to the countless machines surrounding him. "May I have a few minutes, Commander?"

Talan bowed deeply. "Of course, ma'am." With that, the commander strode out of the room.

"I am so sorry, Clark," she murmured, slipping easily back into English. "I have said it before, but we never should have brought you here. This wasn't your fight." She took his hand in her much smaller one. "Please know that I will do everything I can to make sure you get home as soon as possible."

Tears stung her eyes. She wanted him to be gone already. On its face, it was a positively terrible thought, but she wanted him off this world, away from its problems, and back with the people he loved. He didn't belong here anymore now than he did nearly four years ago when they'd plucked him from his home. Four years later, he still wasn't Kal El. And that may well have been a good thing, but she knew that part of 'Clark' was slipping away. Every wound he received took something away from him. He'd said it himself – he felt like he wasn't whole anymore and for a time, he'd tried to conceal the emptiness behind a mask of anger and ill-temper.

As time had passed and he'd grown closer and closer to going home, the mask had started to slip. She'd seen more of the Clark she'd remembered from their first interactions. There would be moments when he'd smile unguardedly, or even laugh. He would seem like his old self, even if only for an instant. And she'd hope that when he was finally away from this place, those moments would multiply and stretch until they'd blotted out the darkness and bad memories of New Krypton.

"Be strong," she whispered. "Get well soon so we can send you back to Lois." Zara let go of his hand and stepped back. Her parents were waiting for her; Dek Ra's physicians expected him to wake at any moment.

********

The very first thing he became aware of was a constant hum, punctuated regularly with an annoying, electronic sounding beep. The assault they launched on his ears was the least of his problems, though. His lungs seemed to have been scorched from the inside and they throbbed painfully in time with his pulse. The nerves in his right arm, too, felt like they were on fire. Clark tried to speak, but his parched and irritated throat made it impossible to form any sound other than a weak croak. And when he tried, he got nothing more than a new stabbing pain for his troubles. It was odd, but he didn't remember swallowing a sword.

Coughing, he considered his predicament darkly. He desperately longed for a drink of water to sooth his raw throat, but he couldn't ask for one, because he couldn't even make enough noise to let anyone know he was awake. The quintessential Catch-22.

Well, at least he wasn't dead.

He couldn't exactly remember what had happened or how he'd ended up here – wherever 'here' was – but he was fairly sure he was lucky to be alive. Lucky, of course, being a relative term in such circumstances. His morbid ruminations were interrupted by the sound of a voice, distinctly feminine and more than a bit anxious, over the background hum of the machines. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it, nor could he understand what she was saying.

"Lois?" The way he pronounced the syllables, strangled and strained, hit his ears all wrong. How could he mangle the soft, mellifluous sounds of her name into something so harsh and tinny? His eyes opened a crack and brutal light came pouring in, making him regret the attempt immediately. She would understand. She would turn off the bright lights overhead and he'd see her at last, after four long and empty years, he would finally be able to look at his wife again. He wished she would hurry. The powerful lights were penetrating the thin skin of his eyelids, making him wince.

Clark reached toward the sound of the voice and brushed against a warm hand. He closed his own around it but it only took him a moment to realize it wasn't Lois's. It was most decidedly a woman's hand, but the fingers were too long, almost as long as his own. The palm, just at the first knuckle of each finger, was faintly calloused. The hand under his remained stone still. "No sir, it's just me, Talan," she said. The commander continued speaking, her voice softer than usual, but he didn't comprehend a word of it.

Something inside him began to die. It was hope. The revelation buried him like an avalanche. Oh god, he was still on that damn planet.

No, this was hell; clearly, he'd died and woken up in hell. It made a certain sort of sense, he supposed. Talan had sworn that she'd follow him into hell again and nothing would have made that woman break a promise. Somewhere, a door opened and he could hear footsteps. There was suddenly another woman's voice, but he didn't recognize it. She was asking him all sorts of senseless questions about how he felt and whether he knew where he was and what had happened.

"It hurts," he rasped, the rough words rubbing his throat raw anew.

"We'll increase the pain medication right away, but it will take a few minutes for you to feel the effects," the other woman said.

He was too tired to explain that he wasn't talking about physical pain.

********

General Command was still a mess, Ching thought ruefully. Crews were working to clean up, but it would be a long time before the physical evidence of the attack could be scrubbed away. Throughout the compound, officers worked at jobs that had been vacated by others who were now injured or dead. Intelligence officers were coordinating civilian relief responses, combat commanders were relaying orders to mechanics and construction crews. The men and women around him had been forced to step into unfamiliar roles in order to bring the colony back from the brink of destruction.

For at least the tenth time that day, he'd stopped himself just before bellowing for Parth. He'd never realized how much he'd come to rely on that young officer. Now he was gone. He'd fallen in the battle, leading a company of soldiers to contain the riots in the prison.

Parth had been born on this planet some years after it had been settled. From the first moment of his life, he'd known nothing except this place and its harshness. He'd only escaped it on those sojourns aboard a Star Runner, where, like Ching, he'd been trained as a navigator. Ching wondered if the younger man had also hoped that by charting the stars and mapping the universe, he'd find his place in it. He supposed it didn't matter any more. Parth was dead, like so many of his comrades and hundreds of civilians.

Those who'd survived, however, still had work to do. Parth, Rab Dun, General Commander Flad, Councilor Shai, even Trey, had all died in the service of their world. In life and in death, they'd tried to protect their people and their way of life. The most fitting honor the living could bestow on the dead was to remember their sacrifice and carry out their work.

Metal workers were reinforcing the wall panels even as the staff in the command center tried to work. It had only been a few days since the attack, but they were wasting no time in trying to restore order – a difficult task given how many senior engineers had been killed. Over the sounds of pounding and welding, Ching reviewed the reports from the field commanders, still trying to piece together what had happened. The saboteur had been captured, Rae Et and Nor were both stone cold and laid out in the morgue. Rae Et had been shot twice, presumably by one of her own thugs, before her transport was downed. If the gunshots hadn't killed her, the crash would have. Several dozen other rebels had been killed and another fifty or so were now new guests at the recently re-secured prison.

Ching still had a difficult time believing the fact that Clark had killed Nor. Perhaps another man would have found some peace in finally dispatching the monster that had tormented him and threatened an entire world. Not Clark. This was just another psychological burden they'd laid upon his shoulders. The doctors were confident that he'd physically recover despite the horrific injuries he'd suffered. Once more, they'd been lucky that Talan was nearby. If she hadn't summoned help immediately, Clark would have likely succumbed to his injuries alone in that hallway. All that mattered now was getting him well enough to travel. He and Zara had agreed that keeping him here a moment longer than necessary was a cruelty neither could bear to visit upon the man. When he was strong enough to leave, they would let him go – they would send him back to those who could take care of him and help heal the wounds this world had inflicted upon him.

He looked up from the schematics displayed on the table in front of him to see a young lieutenant waiting patiently and quietly, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven, but he did his best to project the air of professionalism that an officer should. Like the rest of them, he was holding on to what he knew, clinging to the familiar and the understood. In the roles and rituals that went along with his place in the military structure, he could find a measure of order in the chaos. He could convince himself that some small things still made sense.

Ching had been so absorbed in his thoughts of people who no longer existed and inviolable rules that didn't apply anymore that the other man could have been standing there for half an hour for all he knew. He shook the cobwebs from his mind. "What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Sir, the acting Chief Engineer is here for your briefing," the other man said.

"Send him in," Ching replied absently.

"Aye, sir," the lieutenant replied with a crisp salute before turning neatly on his heel. When there was nothing left but the façade, the rituals, whose symbolism was confused with true meaning, seemed more important than ever. If they could keep up the shell – the solid looking but brittle, thin exterior – long enough, maybe they could rebuild from within. Maybe they could prop up the world and the structures they'd come to depend on.

He looked at the weary man walking into the command center, carrying burdens better suited to a giant. Like Ching, Rab Dun's replacement was going to have to follow in the footsteps of an almost mythical being. Neither of them could really hope to measure up to their predecessors, but they would still have to do their best.

********

She sat in a chair in the corner farthest away from his bed, just watching him sleep. He'd woken up several times, confused and delirious, asking for his wife. It cut deeply to listen to his distress, to hear the anguish in his voice and know there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. In truth, she just made it worse every time she had to tell him that Lois wasn't there.

Tao Scion had been by earlier to check his vital signs. The physician had said he was optimistic about Kal El's prognosis, but his tone only conveyed sadness. He seemed to care a great deal for all of his charges, but none so much as the First Minister.

At the moment, Kal El seemed to be sleeping peacefully. It was the middle of the night and she, too, should have been taking advantage of the quiet to get some rest. But she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes, even to meditate for a few minutes. Her gaze remained transfixed on him. It calmed her troubled soul to know that he would recover from this. Kal El was strong, stronger than anyone she'd ever met. The darkness and death of this world could not hope to contain him.

But it could still damage him.

He had taken a life. His actions couldn't have been more justified; it wasn't only self-defense, Kal El had killed Nor to end his reign of terror and the threat against New Krypton. While he had done the right thing, killing changed a person. It was a line one couldn't uncross.

The innocent shall sleep tonight for I will watch over them.

The oath of the Expeditionary Forces rolled around in her mind. She could stand watch over a sleeping world and a wounded leader, but neither was innocent anymore. They knew too much of darkness, they'd seen too much of the ugliness that could destroy a person's soul. Innocence was a quality of the inexperienced – of those who did not have to concern themselves with terrible choices that all had unspeakable consequences.

It should have been her. She should have killed Nor. What was one more death on her head? One more enemy felled by her hand? She'd moved beyond her thirst for vengeance, her battle with Nor wasn't personal anymore. And though she wanted nothing more than to lay down her arms and be done with the bloodshed, it was still her duty to protect her people from the darkness, even at the cost of her own humanity. That shouldn't have been Kal El's burden. They'd asked too much of him already.

But life was rarely fair. That was, of course, that first realization that came with the loss of innocence. It didn't matter that Kal El was too good and noble a person to have endured what he had, and to have been faced with the choices he'd had to make. He'd found himself at the end of that hallway, already wounded and facing death at a monster's hands – a monster who would have continued to terrorize and murder had he not been stopped. So he'd done the only thing he could. He'd eliminated the last threat against New Krypton. Once more, a chance at peace was possible because of him.

Talan looked up at the sound of him beginning to stir. The bedclothes rustled as he struggled to sit up. "Sir, please, you really shouldn't move," she said, standing up to cross the room.

"Where am I?" he asked, his tone bewildered.

"The medical facility."

He squinted as he looked at her. "What happened?"

"You were shot, sir, by Nor," she said. As she stood beside his bed, she fidgeted for a moment, trying to figure out what to do with her hands. Talan finally settled on clasping them behind her back. It was always easy to just slip back into the military habits that had become like second nature to her. Better to fall back on that particular default than try to navigate the treacherous space that lay somewhere in the middle of a command relationship, friendship, and whatever it was that roiled inside her, making her feel like she wanted to die when she saw him in pain.

"That explains a lot," he mumbled in response.

"You don't…you don't remember?" she ventured hesitantly.

"No," Kal El replied. "There was a Council meeting…Ching was confirmed…then…wait…" His brow furrowed. "There were fires…we were getting people out, weren't we?"

She nodded with a relieved, tight-lipped smile. "That's right. Do you remember anything else?"

He stared blankly at her. "No…I don't. That's weird; I think I should remember getting shot."

"The mind often suppresses intensely traumatic experiences, the memories will probably come back with time," Talan said softly.

"Were you there? Do you know what happened?"

She swallowed roughly around the lump in her throat. "Nor fired on the civilians you were evacuating. You drew his fire by running down a corridor. Nor shot you in the back. He was going to kill you…"

A look of horror crossed his face, his eyes growing wide. "I killed him, didn't I?"

"It was self-defense, sir. He would have killed you and others and he would have escaped if you hadn't," she whispered stridently.

"I killed him," he repeated dully as he stared at her in disbelief. She wanted to shrink from his gaze but there was nowhere she could go.

"You had no choice," she said firmly, but the look on his face told her that he found no comfort in her repeated reassurances.

He lowered his eyes, looking away from her. "I killed him," he whispered again.

"I should get the doctor," Talan replied softly before retreating from the room.

********

Breathe in and then out.

Over and over again.

Stay alive from one moment to the next.

Keep fighting.

He watched the slow rise and fall of her body, his breaths having long ago fallen into sync with hers. They breathed as one, just like they had, so many times, moved as one. One soul, one body, one life, one heart.

Hesitantly he placed his hand on top of hers, just curling his fingers over hers to avoid jostling the IV that had been inserted in the back of her hand. A dark bruise had formed there; delicate veins, the nurse had explained. With the pad of his thumb, he traced her fingers. Her skin was so soft and warm. There was still life, still fire in this small body. The cuts and bruises that marred her face bore testament to the strength of the fight in her soul. She had survived what should have been certain death. Enza had fought off her attackers, forcing them to retreat, and she'd held on. When any ordinary person would have succumbed, she'd stubbornly refused to die.

Her husband lifted his gaze from where their two hands were joined, taking in the full extent of her injuries. Her entire right arm was held stiff in a complex metal brace. The bedclothes were molded to the outline of her body, the sheets at the end of the bed tented by only one foot; her right leg ended abruptly just below the knee. It was just so…wrong. Feet came in pairs, one the mirror image of its mate. And they were joined to ankles, hard shins, flesh, and blood. She had delicate little ankles, slender and fine-boned. He'd always teased her about them, wondering how a person could stand on ankles that skinny. Lok Sim choked back a sob as he tried not to let the memory overwhelm him.

He looked at her face. A dark bruise surrounded one eye, but her expression was peaceful, as though she were merely asleep. And yet, he didn't even know if she would ever wake up. His eyes flooded with tears as his gaze swept her small body, lying perfectly still in the middle of that large bed, except for the rise and fall of her chest. Why hadn't he kept her safe? He should have stayed by her side. He should never have let her go. He should have prevented the entire catastrophe in the first place.

They had both been right – he to suspect the damage control engineer, she to encourage him to look at who would benefit from Nor's escape, but it hadn't been enough. He hadn't been smart enough or fast enough to stop Sur Ahn before she could unleash hell on the main colony.

Six hundred and seventy one people had died in the attacks. Six hundred and seventy one men, women, and children had been sacrificed in Sur Ahn's single-minded drive to protect her husband. He didn't even know if she'd succeeded. For all of his anger toward her, Lok Sim did hope Sur Ahn's husband was alive. He knew of Rae Et's cruelty and could not imagine a man suffering through four years of it. He'd been suffering less than four days, living and dying between each one of his wife's labored breaths. It was not quite four days and he was certain he was a hair's breadth from oblivion. She'd lived four years like this, knowing that her husband was being slowly tortured. He didn't doubt that it had driven her mad, that those fours years had wrecked and warped who she once was.

What would he have done? In her place, after four years of such horror, four years of such unimaginable pain, what would he have been capable of? Would he, too, have become an agent of death? Would he have given himself to everything evil in this world to spare his love unspeakable torment? He didn't know.

He didn't want to know.

Despondent, he lowered his head to the mattress, right by where he still held her hand, feeling the soft blanket under his cheek. He closed his eyes and let the tears fall, silently at first, but he was soon sobbing. Breathe in and then out. Over and over again. It was all he could manage at the moment.