From Last Time:
With obvious difficulty, Clark stood up. Lois tried to help him, but he held out a hand, silently asking her to let him do this on his own. He took several steps forward, closing the distance between him and his son. She could see the tears in Clark’s eyes. This time, the tears fell, first one, tracing a lonely path down his face, disappearing in his gruff beard. And then another. And another. He bent down and pulled his little boy into his arms, closing his eyes tightly.
“My son,” he whispered.
********
New Stuff:
Clark felt the tears slip down his face as he held his son. The realization that he had a son, a child, whom he didn’t even know, hit him with a force that threatened to knock the wind out of him. He had only dared to dream of being able to have children, he’d never fully believed it was possible. And now he knew that it was more than simply possible. He had a son. The little boy stood perfectly still in his father’s embrace and while Clark wanted nothing more than to have his child hug him back, at that moment, it was enough that he could show his son that he loved him. That he cared about him and that he would never, ever leave him again. He placed a gentle hand on the back of Jon’s head, smoothing his soft, dark hair. A million thoughts swirled through his head as he thought about Lois having to go through pregnancy and raising their little boy alone.
A pang of guilt tore through him. He was a father. And he didn’t even know about it. All the time he’d been on New Krypton, he’d left Lois here to do this alone. How could he make that right? And his little boy, how could he make up to him the lost years? How could he ever get back the things that he’d missed? He hadn’t been there when Lois had found out, he hadn’t been there for her during her pregnancy, or when their baby was born. He hadn’t been there to hold her hand during the delivery. He hadn’t been there to see him take his first step, or say his first word. His son had been growing up without a father. How could he make that up to him?
“My son,” he said again, his heart aching with love and guilt and grief. He looked up at Lois, who was watching them silently, tears in her own eyes. Reluctantly, he let his son go. The little boy took a cautious step backward, almost immediately bumping into his mother. Clark reached out a hesitant hand to gently smooth a lock of hair off his son’s forehead. Jon watched him, his big brown eyes following Clark’s hand, but he didn’t move. Lois placed a reassuring hand on Jon’s small shoulder.
The quiet moment ended as he heard footsteps on the stairs. His parents.
His stiff knee ached as he slowly stood up. Looking up, he saw his mother and father standing in the doorway, looking back at him as though they were staring at a ghost. "Mom? Dad?" he whispered incredulously.
"My boy," Martha cried as she rushed into the room. She threw her arms around her son.
"Mom," he repeated, hugging her tightly. "I missed you so much."
"It's so good to have you home, son," his father said, his voice rough and thick with emotion. Clark felt his dad put a hand on his shoulder. He stepped back and suddenly started to sway, unsteady on his feet. His father's arm was immediately around him and Jonathan and Lois were suddenly helping him back onto the bed.
"I'm okay," he insisted as he lay back.
"You must be starving," his mother said.
"Bernie said he should start with soup," Lois interjected. "And milk. He's supposed to have a lot of calcium."
"I'll be right back," Martha said. Clark watched his mother leave the room and noticed his son standing shyly by the door. Jonathan walked over to pick up his namesake.
"Come on, little man," Jonathan said. "Let's let your daddy rest a little more."
Lois took his hand and sat back down beside him. He craned his neck to watch his dad carry Jon out of the room before turning back to look at his wife. "We only made love once," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, technically…" she began, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear almost shyly.
"You know what I meant," he replied with a bashful smile, memories of their one night together flooding his mind. They certainly hadn't slept at all. "I guess neither one of us really thought about what might happen. I mean, I think I didn't even really believe it was possible…"
"Looks like we're more compatible than we thought," she said with a wavering smile. Tears shone brightly in her eyes.
"I should never have left you," he replied, his voice breaking on the words. He could feel the tears spill over and slip down his face.
She squeezed his hand. "You couldn't have known," she assured him. "And if you had, you never would have gone."
Clark nodded, knowing it to be true. He would never have left if he'd known she was carrying their child. His heart clenched painfully as he thought about how she must have felt, finding out alone, raising their son without a father. "I should have been here for both of you," he whispered as he tried, and failed, to suppress a shudder. He sobbed and heard her sob, too. "I'm so sorry."
She lay down beside him on the bed and wrapped her arms around his body. They cried together, holding on to each other because otherwise, they'd be lost. Neither one of them had the strength to face such immense and overpowering emotions alone. "You've nothing to be sorry for," she whispered through her own tears. "You came back to us. To Jon and me. That's all I've ever wanted. That's all that matters."
He held her face between his hands, brushing away her tears. He traced the edge of her soft, full bottom lip with his thumb before kissing her. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For being such a wonderful mother to our son."
His wife smiled brightly at him, her eyes still glimmering with tears. "He is an amazing little boy."
Clark nodded, his expression fixed in a wistful smile. "What's he like?" Having to ask the question made him feel terrible; what kind of father didn't know his own son?
"He's a bit shy…I know, he definitely didn't get that from me. But he'll warm up to you really quickly. He's curious—that he did get from me. He's smart and he's sweet, just like you. And I love hearing him laugh more than just about anything."
"I can't wait to get to know him."
"You know, he has your eyes and your smile."
"But he has your ears," Clark replied, drawing one finger around the shell of her ear. She shivered slightly at the whisper soft touch. "They're adorable ears." Lois leaned into his touch, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand. He caressed her cheek.
"And he has such a big heart." He could hear the tears in her voice.
"I love you," he whispered. "You and Jon…I love you both so much." Clark Kent had already known you could fall in love in a split second. And that brown eyed little boy had owned his father's heart and soul the very moment he walked into the room.
"I love you," she replied, taking his hand in hers. He smiled and suddenly winced at the myriad aches and pains claiming his entire body.
"Oh god, Clark, did I hurt you? Are you okay?"
"No, no, I'm fine," he assured her. "Just sore and exhausted. I never thought sleeping for four months could take so much out of you."
His attempt at a joke did nothing to alleviate the look of concern on her face. "Honey, do you need anything?"
He loved it when she called him that. Clark smiled as he closed his eyes. "This is going to sound really weird," he said. "But I really want to shave. The beard itches." It was a lie. Well, not technically. The beard did itch, but that wasn't why he was so desperate to get rid of it. The last time he'd been unable to shave was when he was Nor's prisoner. Shaving was suddenly so important to him. It was a way of proving that he still controlled his life. Proving that he was still civilized. Still a man.
She kissed the back of his hand. Slipping off the bed, she disappeared in a blur. In a blink, she was back with a tray, a mirror, a bowl of water, a pair of scissors, shaving cream and a razor. He struggled a bit to sit up, grinning at his wife. "You're amazing," he whispered.
"I get that from you," she said with a tearful smile.
Clark picked up the scissors and looked at his reflection. He saw his hand tremble in the mirror. "Uh uh," Lois said as she gently took the scissors out of his hand. "Let me." She sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and placed a towel around his neck.
He leaned back against the stacked pillows as she carefully clipped away the long whiskers covering his face. Watching her small, deft hands move, the intent expression on her face, he felt like he was falling in love with her all over again. She moved closer to him and he breathed deeply the scent of her skin and the soft, familiar perfume she'd always worn. He wondered why she kept wearing it after all these years. Was it maybe because she knew how much he liked the smell – like lavender and jasmine? She lathered his face with shaving cream, her fingers soothingly massaging his skin. Picking up the razor, she shaved off the stubble in smooth, clean strokes, taking great care not to cut him. She cleaned off the remainder of the lather and caressed his clean shaven cheek.
"Much better," she whispered as she removed the towel.
"Much," he agreed, closing the distance between them to kiss her. He coaxed her lips to part under the insistent pressure of his. Their tongues met and he groaned deeply. Her mouth matched his, pull for pull. She sucked gently on his lower lip. His heart thundered in his chest and he broke off the kiss to take in a shaky breath. She stroked his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
"I love you," she said softly.
"I love you," he replied.
Lois looked over at the door. He turned to see what had caught her attention. It took a few moments for his mother to appear, carrying another tray. It took a moment for it to dawn on him that she'd heard his mother coming because of her superhearing. Lois cleaned up all of the shaving accoutrement, allowing his mother to put down the other tray.
"I knew my boy was under that beard somewhere," Martha said, smiling.
"He still cleans up pretty good," Lois replied.
"It's nice being waited on by my favorite women," he joked.
"We're just so happy to have you home," his mother said as she bent down to kiss his forehead. "Now eat, you need to get your strength back."
"Yes, ma'am," Clark replied. "And it's good to be back." He started to eat the soup, the sharp edge of hunger cutting through him. He hadn't realized how famished he was until that moment. The chicken soup was warm and comforting and familiar. It reminded him of all those times when he was a little boy, coming in from the cold weather outside, to find a hot bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich waiting for him. He was really home.
"Is Jon around?" he asked, anxious to see his son again. Clark still couldn't believe it. The little boy he'd held in his arms, the beautiful, brown haired, wide eyed child was his son. His flesh and blood. His only biological relative. He'd gone to New Krypton in part to find some ties, something on a visceral level that told him he belonged, that he was with people like himself. And the irony, of course, was that he belonged on Earth, not on New Krypton. He'd left behind not just everything and everyone he'd ever loved, he'd left behind his only biological tie in the universe.
"I'll go get him," Lois said with a smile. His mother took away the tray and he sat up, stretching his sore and tired muscles. Lois came back a few minutes later, holding Jon's hand.
Clark couldn't help but grin. Jon, however, looked at him, clearly puzzled and uncertain. "Hi, Jon. It's still me," Clark said patiently, wondering what sort of nicknames Lois and his parents used for Jon, which terms of endearment his son was used to hearing. What should he call his son? Was he the first father in history to get so paralyzed over something so simple? Wasn't this supposed to be one of those things you just knew? "I just shaved the beard."
"Hi," his little boy said shyly. Jon slowly approached him, regarding him curiously. "You need your glasses," he announced. He walked over to Clark's desk and opened the top drawer. He pulled out Clark's old glasses—the horn rimmed ones he'd worn back when he first started at the Planet. Jon walked over to the bed and silently handed his father his glasses.
"Thank you," Clark said as he took the glasses and put them on. It was so odd how much he missed these things.
Jon frowned as he studied Clark. "That's better," he declared. Clark smiled at him, tears forming in his eyes.
"Sweetie, why don't you show Daddy your dinosaurs?" Lois asked their son gently.
"Okay," Jon replied. He dashed out of the room and came back with a plastic bucket full of prehistoric monsters with spikes and sharp horns and claws and fearsome teeth.
"Come on up here, buddy," Clark said, patting the bed. Jon climbed up onto the bed and emptied the bucket onto the quilt. His little boy proceeded to show him which were the mean dinosaurs and which were the nice ones. Clark watched in rapt attention, amazed at the way his son carefully thought about each little toy, making up stories to go along with them, giving the dinosaurs names like Hank and Susie. His tiny hands sorted the dinosaurs into piles.
Light came pouring into the room, spilling over them. Clark looked up, shielding his sensitive eyes with one hand. Lois was pulling back the curtains over his windows. "Bernie said you should get a little bit of sun, not more than an hour or so today." It was evening, so the sunlight wasn't particularly strong, but he felt its effects immediately. It washed over him, making him almost lightheaded.
Clark frowned, his brow furrowing at what she'd just said. It was funny, earlier she'd said that Bernie was the one who said he needed to have calcium. He didn’t know why he hadn't picked up on it before. "He knows?" he asked.
Lois nodded. "He knows," she replied. "He was my doctor, when I was pregnant with Jon."
Of course. Superpowered and carrying a half Kryptonian child, who else could she have seen? "His bedside manner any better?"
She smiled at him. "Not really. But he's a good doctor and I trust him a lot. He was here yesterday, but you were pretty out of it." She sat down on the corner of the bed, watching father and son as they sorted the dinosaurs.
Jon stopped suddenly and looked up at Clark. "Are you going to stay here?"
"I am," Clark confirmed with a nod. Tentatively, he put an arm around his son. Jon didn't shy away. He smiled at his father and went back to playing with his toys.
********
She drew the curtains back over the windows a while later, blotting out the steady stream of light that had poured into the room for the last hour. The sun had just about set anyway and it would be dark out soon enough. "How are you feeling?" she asked anxiously.
Clark looked up at her and smiled. "A lot better," he said. And he looked better. There was color in his complexion and his eyes didn't seem as darkly circled. She'd thought briefly about leaving the curtains open a while longer; if it was making him feel better, what could be the harm? But she'd squelched the thought immediately – she wasn't going to second guess Bernie on this. Clark's health was far too important. "But I could use some help getting to the bathroom," he admitted. As he stood up, she put her arm around his waist. They walked slowly down the hall to the bathroom.
He reached for the doorknob as her arm slipped from around his waist. "I, uh, I'll be fine," he assured her awkwardly. She nodded – a nervous, jerking bob of her head – and stepped back as he closed the door.
"Lois?" he spoke quietly and she didn't know if it was because he knew she was still waiting for him or because he knew that he didn't need to speak above a whisper for her to hear him. "Honey, could you get me a change of clothes? I want to take a shower."
She chewed her lip as she leaned against the door that separated them. It had been a challenge for him to stand long enough to walk down the hallway. "Sweetie, are you going to be okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine. But no matter how clean the inside of a Kryptonian space capsule is, four months is a long time to go without a shower."
She had to dig through boxes in his closet to find his sweats and a t shirt. Her own stuff now took up the space in his dressers. Pushing aside the thoughts that she'd put Clark and their life together away when she'd moved his things to make room for her own, she hurriedly unpacked some of his clothes. She wanted him to feel like he really was at home. Lois sat down on the corner of the bed, the sweats and t shirt folded in her hands. Her hands gripped the soft material as tears welled up in her eyes.
He was home. He was finally home. It didn't matter that the clothes in her hands no longer smelled like him. They would again. He would step on the fifth step in the staircase that tended to squeak. And he'd sit in his chair at the dinner table with them.
Clark was home.
Drying her tears, she carried the clothes to the bathroom. She could hear the shower still running and she opened the door. "I'm leaving the clothes here on the counter," she announced as she placed the sweats next to the sink. He didn't answer and she assumed he simply hadn't heard her. She slipped out of the bathroom to call Perry and Jimmy and her parents to let them all know the good news.
Clark was home.
A short while later, she walked back upstairs to Clark's room. It really was his room again. From the doorway, she smiled at her husband, who was turning down the covers on one side of the bed. It had been more than four years since they'd shared a bed and though he might not have been well enough for them to end the equally long spell since they'd made love, she wanted so badly to lie next to him and listen to him breathe. Clean shaven, but with his hair too long, he looked a bit like he did when she'd first met him. His time away, however, had aged him; lines of worry creased his face. His old, soft gray t shirt and sweats hung too loosely on him. But he smiled at her, one of those bright, beautiful smiles, and none of it mattered. For tonight, nothing mattered except how much she loved him.
Clark was home.
"Where have you been?" he asked, still grinning.
"Rendering my mother speechless for the first time in well…ever," she replied.
"So she didn't think I was coming back, huh?"
She pulled a pair of flannel shorts and Clark's old football jersey out of the dresser and changed. "I don't think she can imagine a man who would cross the universe to be with his wife. I mean, she can't imagine a man who would choose his wife over fishing, a boxing match, or his secretary."
Clark walked over to her, placing his hands on her hips. "I was never very good at fishing, you've forgotten more about boxing than I ever knew, and I don't even have a secretary."
She stood up on her toes to kiss him. "Those are all very good things to know."
"Lois, nothing was going to stop me from coming back to you. Nothing."
She smiled up at him before stepping around the bed. Lois lay down beside her husband. In the darkness he leaned over and kissed her, almost as though by instinct, and she sighed contentedly.
"I love you," he murmured.
"I love you," she replied, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes welling with tears.
********
A soft breeze stirred the elm branches overhead. The patterns of sunlight dappled on the grass underfoot shifted and changed. She slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she fell in step with him. The late morning sun warmed the air and the soft earth under their feet. He'd slept until nine and as much as she'd wanted just to sit and watch him, she'd needed to start pulling her weight around the house and farm again. When he'd finally come down the stairs that morning, he'd looked healthier and stronger than he had the night before.
He grinned at her. "I'm fine," he assured her, squeezing her hand gently. "The sun's making me stronger."
"We shouldn't stay out too much longer," she said as she looked up at him.
He kicked a little pebble in the path and it skittered off in the dust. "Bernie's orders, huh?"
"Yeah, and we're going to do what the doctor ordered." She nudged him gently.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "So tell me more about what's gone on the last four years. My city girl moved out here to be with my folks?"
"I wanted Jon to be close to your parents. I could never have taken care of him without them. And I'm a columnist now, so I can write from anywhere."
"Columnist, huh? So Perry's paying you to have opinions?"
"That's what I said," she responded with a smile. They turned down the path back toward the farmhouse. The breeze felt good against her skin, the air laced with the scent of honeysuckle and the clean tang of ozone that meant a thunderstorm was on the way. The sky overhead may have been an almost cloudless cobalt blue, but in the distance, thunderheads gathered and the gentle wind would soon push them closer.
As they ascended the steps to the porch, she raised his hand to her lips. "I have to fly a patrol."
"That's my wife, the superhero," he said.
"Ultrawoman's been out of action for two days and I don't want the criminal element in Metropolis getting too excited. I'll be back soon."
He let his hand slip from hers and framed her face as he kissed her. "Be careful."
"I will," she said.
********
"Thanks, Mom," he said as he took the glass of homemade lemonade from his mother's hand. She sat down next to him on the couch in the den, a pile of scrapbooks in front of them on the coffee table. "Is Jon asleep?"
"He is," Martha confirmed. "He'll probably be down for about an hour and a half or so."
In the background, the old grandfather clocked ticked patiently and evenly before chiming the quarter hour. His mother picked up one of the scrapbooks and put her lemonade down on a coaster. Beads of condensation formed and trickled down the tall, cold glass, gathering on the old cork coaster with "Midwestern State" emblazoned across it in maroon and gold lettering. "I've been keeping these for you," she explained as she opened the book. "This one is Jon's."
Together, they slowly turned the pages, looking at the somewhat blurry sonogram picture, Jon's replica birth certificate, and the birth announcement. On the next page was the first photo of mom and son together. A very tired, but happy, Lois Lane sat up in bed, holding her tiny newborn son. Jon was swaddled in a light blue blanket with a little white cap on his head. His mother gave the story behind every photograph and memento. Clark watched his son grow up in the pictures – his first Christmas, his first birthday, his first steps. Tears began to gather in his eyes and his heart ached for all that he'd missed. He should have been in all of these family photos: standing proudly by Lois's bedside when their son was born, holding Jon's little hands as he practiced walking, changing diapers, heating bottles, doing the things a father was supposed to do. He turned the last page and closed the book.
His mother took his hand and squeezed it gently. "I know how much you wish you could have been here," she said softly, voicing his thoughts.
"I should never have gone," he replied, repeating his deepest regret.
"The son I raised could never have turned his back on people who needed him, no matter the cost."
"Lois needed me, too. So did Jon," he insisted.
She shook her head sadly. "You couldn't have known."
"I wish there could have been another way…" He dragged his hand through his too long hair.
"We all do," she agreed, tears shining brightly in her eyes. She took the book from his hands and gave him another album. "Jimmy took these."
He opened the album, immediately surprised. "Jimmy took these?" he asked quizzically as he looked back up at his mother. She merely nodded, smiling tearfully. On the pages in front of him were gorgeous pictures of his parents and Lois and Jon, taken he guessed about a year ago. The pictures made him smile; his little boy had been running and laughing and playing with his mother and his grandparents during another beautiful Kansas summer day. The deep affection the photographer had for his subjects was clear in every shot and Clark figured he shouldn't have been so surprised that these were Jimmy's. But they were assembled with a technical skill that his young friend had never before displayed; the light and shadows all carefully considered in each well-framed shot.
Clark turned the page again and almost gasped. The large photo centered on the page, of Lois holding their son as he slept peacefully, the look on her face perfectly serene, took his breath away. As easy as it had been in the last day to see what a terrific mother she was, he was still trying to reconcile the woman he'd left behind four years ago, still skittish around kids, with the extraordinarily patient and maternal Lois Lane he'd come home to. In the picture, he thought that he finally understood the change. Lois had an incredible ability to focus on whatever was most important in her life. Now, that was Jon. And there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to protect him, and make sure that he felt happy and safe and loved.
"Isn't that one beautiful?" his mother whispered reverently.
"It is," he agreed. "She is an amazing woman."
"She really is. She's been through a lot, you know," Martha said gently. He looked up from the photograph and could tell his mother was holding something back.
"You don't just mean with me being gone and with raising Jon without his father around," he said, his tone flat. It wasn't a question.
She regarded him with sad eyes. "I've been living with her for four years now and I know that she's going to hold back, because she doesn't want to burden you, at least not so soon after you've come home. But she's seen terrible things and she's had to make sacrifices no one should ever be asked to. If you two are going to be okay, you can't shut each other out."
"Did you keep her work?" It wasn't as much of a non sequitur as it would have sounded to anyone else. He knew that there would be things written between the lines of her columns and stories, windows into what she was thinking and going through.
"Every last article and column," his mother replied as she handed him a stack of three more scrapbooks. She stood and leaned down to kiss the top of his head, the way she used to when he was a little boy, before leaving him to go through the articles.
He began leafing through the pages, just reading the headlines, trying to get a feel for what had happened before going back to pore carefully over every word and phrase. The first year and a half's worth of work proved that Perry had been dead on the money in making Lois a columnist. A boastful headline from the Daily Planet announced that she'd won her first Pulitzer for Best Editorial Series. But not very long after that, the subject matter of her work shifted dramatically. Clark didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't what he saw. War, ethnic cleansing, unspeakable suffering and misery. The anger, frustration, and pain radiated from each line she'd written.
Of course, she'd taken a one two combination to the problem, doing double duty as reporter and superhero. Being Lois Lane, she could have done no less. Often, she seemed to find herself in what he'd always considered an incongruous position – writing about her own deeds as though they were performed by a completely different person.
He turned the page and suddenly stilled. It was like a cruel mockery of the picture of her and Jon. In the fuzzy composition of color newsprint, Ultrawoman stood in the foreground, behind her, a village burned. In her arms lay a tiny child. She shielded the baby's face with one hand as she held him close to her body. But the caption under the photo told him that all her efforts were not enough.
The little infant in her arms, the long shadow she cast and the squat, low-slung buildings way back in the distance all served to make her look like a towering, imposing figure, larger than life. But he knew exactly how she would have felt in that moment.
Small.
Insignificant.
Powerless.
Helpless.
He felt an arm slip around his neck and he looked up to see Lois. She smiled before sitting down next to him. "Hi honey," she whispered. He'd been so engrossed in the articles and pictures he hadn't heard her enter the den.
Clark turned to kiss her. "How was the patrol?"
"Fine," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "What are you looking at?"
"Your articles. Mom saved them all."
Lois glanced down at the open scrapbook in front of him. "I hate that picture," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
He took her hand in his and looked into her beautiful brown eyes, shimmering with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that." How could he have been so naïve? How could he have imagined it wouldn't have been like this? He'd told her so many times that the burden of being Superman would have overwhelmed him if it hadn't been for her. Why would it have been any different for Lois? He knew that life wasn't going to stand still and wait for him to come back, but so much had changed.
She gently squeezed his hand. "That was one of the worst days of my life. I went home and held Jon and cried so hard I thought I'd never stop.'' He felt a twist of pain in his heart at the words. Yet another reason why he should never have left her. "But I had to learn to keep going, to be strong. Because it's what people needed me to do. It's what you would have wanted me to do."
Clark shook his head, trying to find the right thing to say. "Lois, I…"
"You're strong. You always have been. And in order to love you, I had to learn to be strong, too. Because I always knew that you were never really going to belong to me. I was always going to have to share you with the world and live with knowing that the world might one day take you away from me." Every fiber of his being yelled at him to deny it. To tell her it wasn't true. But hadn't he already proved that it was? He'd left her for four years and even though he'd come back, he could very well have died on New Krypton and he'd known that from the start.
"Before you, I wasn't strong. I hard and cold and distant, and if you pushed me just a little too much, I would have crumbled to dust. Being with you changed me," she continued. "And because of you, I managed to do a lot of good."
"You've always been strong. You were never cold. And everything you've done is because of who you are."
"I'm sure of two things. That you and I love each other more than any two people have ever loved each other before. And the world is better for it."
He caressed her cheek. "You're absolutely right." Clark leaned closer and kissed her gently. She truly was remarkable. And he didn't just mean the Pulitzer and all the lives she'd saved. Just sitting next to her, holding her hands, made him stronger. He was going to need that strength.
