Author's notes at the end.
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Wedding Vows
by David --
The mud was thick with the smell of death. Of loss. It'd seeped into his bones as he'd worked, weighed him down as he'd shifted brick and concrete and bodies with slippery hands. His costume, covered in layers of mud caked over mud, was ruined. He'd never get the dirt out. It was staining his skin. He'd need a new suit, but he didn't... it didn't...
Lois was going to kill him.
It didn't matter, because Lois was going to kill him.
He'd have to tell her this time. He'd have to. He'd been gone for three days.
Three days.
Three days, seven hours and however many damn minutes.
There was no way he could explain that away. He'd been gone far too long for one of his excuses. Not even he could get lost on the subway for three days.
He'd have to tell her, but first... first he'd have to shower. He couldn't face her like this. Death caked onto his skin, streaked through his hair, blurring his vision. He needed to compose himself, scrub the thousands of lost lives away until he could breathe without smelling... close his eyes without seeing... think without feeling...
Clark shook his head.
It'd been bad. It was still bad.
The earthquake had been sudden, striking before many people had had time to get out of the area. People had holed up, but the whole area had crumbled under the force. People had been trapped... so many people trapped. It'd been over a day since he'd pulled out anybody alive.
Over a day since he'd heard a cry for help.
It was time to go home, but he couldn't. Not like this. He could shower at the farm. His father wouldn't mind. He could change there, too. That way he'd be clean, at least, when he had to face her. He wouldn't trek mud into the house. She'd appreciate that. And then he'd tell her.
Unless he called her from Smallville, told her there'd been an emergency... that he'd had to... that he couldn't call... once... in three days...
No.
There was no way around it. He'd been gone for three days without letting her know where he was, and she was going to kill him.
He pulled out the ring tucked into his cape, running his dirty fingers over the smooth circle of gold. Round. Never ending. Eternal.
Lois was going to kill him. And then she was going to leave him. And then... then...
"Superman?"
He spun around, slipping the ring safely out of sight and squaring his shoulders. He was Superman now, not Clark Kent. And Superman, unlike Clark Kent, didn't have a wife who was going to leave him when he returned to the States.
Superman, unlike Clark Kent, had to walk with his shoulders squared and his chin up. Always. Even when he was standing in the remains of a village torn apart by natural disaster. Especially then.
The relief coordinator looked as haggard as he felt. The small man's tired eyes fixed on him. Clark could see the man's weary determination and forced himself to remember why he was there. Forced himself to draw on his reserves, to push his shoulders impossibly back, to straighten his already straight spine.
He was Superman, and he was there to help, not wallow.
He was Superman, and Superman was more than a man. He was a symbol. He brought hope. Lois had told him, all those years ago, that Superman was...
Clark clenched his jaw, took a shallow breath, and addressed the man. "Yes?"
"Some delivery trucks are trying to get through the pass to bring supplies, but the road through is blocked."
He nodded sharply. He could handle that. He could clear the path and bring in the troops. One last thing before he left. One last thing before he went home...
Clark was thinking about the safest way to bring the trucks in as he lifted off. He was thinking about the debris he had to clear. About the supplies the village needed. He was thinking about how he could help, and he wasn't, definitely wasn't, thinking about his wife.
--
"I don't care
what you have to do to get this information, do you understand?" Lois growled.
He watched her run a hand through her tousled hair and his heart clenched. She was wearing his sweatshirt. The big one. "I don't care if you have to kill th- Clark?"
"Oh, God, Clark!" The phone slipped from her fingers and her arms were around him before he was fully inside the door. Her small frame pressed against his, her warmth enveloping him, her soft scent wafting up around him, blocking out the smell of death.
"I'm dirty," he murmured into her hair, making no move to pull away. "I was going to shower..."
"It's okay," she said, her breath hot against his neck. "I don't care, it's okay."
She pulled back suddenly, her warm hands finding his arms, his shoulders, his neck. Her touch burning through his thin t-shirt. Her fingertips skimmed his face, nails brushing over his scalp, as if she was making sure he was real. Whole. And then she paused, her worried eyes flicking upwards and finding his. "Are you okay? Please, please tell me you're okay."
His heart clenched at the quiver in her voice. She'd been scared for him.
"I'm okay," he whispered, and then he was in her arms again. Held against her warmth and her scent and her life. He raised his own arms, heavy with fatigue, still stained with mud and grime and death... everywhere, death, and crushed her to him. "I'm okay."
"I'm going to kill you," she breathed into his neck.
Clark nodded against her, and her arms tightened around him. "I know."
He waited, standing of the edge of a precipice, holding her in his arms, listening to the sound of her breathing, kissing her temple and feeling her skin beneath his lips one last time. Feeling her one last time before he'd tell her. Before he'd tell her and she'd leave. He waited... but the question never came.
She didn't ask.
She held him as if trying to remember the feel of him and she didn't ask where he'd been. Didn't question his sudden appearance. She trembled, leaned into him and whispered, "I was so scared." And then her breath hitched. He'd made her cry.
"I'm sorry," he said, lifting her into his arms. "So sorry," he murmured as her tears seeped through his shirt and broke his heart. She clung to him, tugged his hair, kissed his face, breathed his name as he carried her into their bedroom.
"I love you so much," he whispered as he laid her on their bed. "I'm sorry," as he crawled next to her. "I love you," as he held her. "I'm Superman," as she slept, wrapped tightly around him.
--
End
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Author's notes: Many thanks are owed to Wendy for BRing and to Krafty, though she may not remember seeing this - it's been sitting on my hard drive for over a year, waiting to be polished up. If there's anybody else I owe thanks to - and I'm sure there is, I'm sorry I can't recall. I am incredibly lame like that and should get into the habit of writing author's notes as I write... The title (and the whole idea, really) is based loosely on the idea that Wedding Vows don't include the word 'truth' in them.
