WARNING! Sad. That's all your getting.
BIG THANK YOUS AND HUGS go to my two wonderful, glorious, and beautiful betas Lara and Jenn! I love you both and thank you so much for beta-ing this for me and doing so so that I could post it on the day I intended. You two are my heroes. And thanks for answering my weird and random questions too. LOVES!
Okay this is for my dad in honor of his birthday...
Disclaimer...yeah...we all know it...
Home
No.
That was the last thought he had had. He couldn't stay here ... not here. Anywhere but here. This room, no, this building, was far too confining – but not in a claustrophobic way. No. It just didn't seem right to be indoors at this moment. He needed to be outside. Outside just seemed ... right.
"Cl-Clark? Where ..."
He cut off his mother's grief-choked question.
"I can't," he choked out. "Outside … I can't be in here."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his step as brisk as the cold November air. Outside, he looked around blankly until he spied a bench, and he almost fell onto it, staring up at the sign bearing Arbuckle Memorial Hospital in imposing black script.
This was wrong. So he stood ... wrong … wrong again. Pacing ... pacing seemed to work. It still wasn't right, but it was better.
Just like outside wasn't right, just better.
Laughing.
He could hear someone laughing, and he honed in on the sound. Across the street, in a diner, a woman was laughing. How could she laugh? This was no time to laugh. Didn't she know that the world had just ended? Obviously, this woman was blissfully unaware – and that was just irritating. He wanted to run over there and yell at her, to inform her of how wrong she was for laughing right now. How truly wrong it was for her – for anyone -- to experience any kind of joy.
Not now.
Not on this godforsaken day.
"Clark?"
He looked up and saw Wayne Irig standing there. His father's friend seemed so calm, but then again, so did he. The tears, they would come later. He was certain of that, but for now ... for now, there was just a mostly numb feeling, and a hint of surrealism.
"Yeah?"
"They said we can see him now."
Clark went as fast as he felt was safe to go, not to protect his identity; that didn't matter anymore. In fact, very few things mattered anymore. No, he took it slow to ensure that he didn't fall or stumble. His brain was overwhelmed with so much emotion that it had turned off all feeling, to the point that where he didn't even feel connected to his body anymore.
Slow – slow was better.
No.
His brain was back to that word again. He looked at the man on the table. His father. He just looked like he was asleep. Something suddenly came over Clark, and he leaned down and hugged his father's lifeless body. Something inside reminded him that his father had never refused him a hug. Every time Clark's arms – as a child, and as an adult – had wrapped around him, this large and loving man had always, always gently squeezed back.
Somehow, his brain had told him that if he hugged his father, he would hug him back ... as always ... and then he wouldn't be dead anymore.
Maybe it was the fact that his brain had shut off, but it seemed logical somehow. Like that was just simply how it worked. But no. For the first time in his life, his father didn't hug him back. No soft heartbeat, no unseen blanket of warmth, love, and security descended on him this time ... just a stiff, cold body in his arms, and the feeling of his heart shattering in his chest. This shocked Clark backward, and he felt the sudden need to be back outdoors once again.
Nothing felt real. Nothing looked real. Nothing was real. Not him, not the air, and definitely not this moment. None of it seemed real. But it was. This horror was real, undeniably, damningly so ... this was really happening ... and the world was still turning. The damned thing didn't even have the decency or compassion to stop – just for one second. If he believed in God, he would undoubtedly believe that the continuation of life was just to there to mock him in his pain, but there was no God.
He had learned that today.
A hand touched his shoulder. It probably would have startled him at another moment, but he was too numb to feel it. He was too numb to feel much of anything.
"Clark." It was Wayne again.
"Yeah."
"Why don't you head on home? The doctors need to ask your mother some questions and have her sign some papers, so she's going to have to be here for a while. I'll stay and help her. You should go and get some rest or something. I'll bring her home later. Okay?"
He nodded. Yes, Wayne would help his mom. And getting away from here held extreme appeal. Away from here sounded perfect. He ducked behind a dumpster in the parking garage and spun into his suit so that he could fly home.
Home.
Where was home now? Surely not the farm. No. He couldn't go there. Anywhere but there. It was so empty. So cold. So ...wrong. No. He couldn't be there, especially not alone. His apartment? No. There would be just as cold ... unfeeling ... unwelcome ... wrong.
Lois.
Yes, Lois was exactly what he needed.
He flew faster toward her apartment, hoping that she was home and had left her window unlocked. Luckily, it was, and he flew in to find her sitting on her couch, working on some story.
"Superman! What brings you here?" She nervously tried to make herself look less grubby in her baggy sweats as she walked toward him.
The second her hand touched his shoulder, it was as if the spell of numbness had been lifted. He collapsed into a heap on the hardwood floor, sobbing wildly.
"Oh my God!" She knelt beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back. "What's wrong?" When he didn't reply, concern crept into her voice. "What happened, Superman?"
"He's dead, Lois," he sobbed, turning to bury his face against her shoulder. "Dad's dead."
"What?" The shock was evident in her voice.
"That's why I left so suddenly today after that phone call. My mom called … she said he had a heart attack … I flew there as fast as I could." He drew a long, shuddering breath before adding, "But he was dead by the time I arrived."
She looked confused for a moment before comprehension dawned on her.
"Clark?"
He nodded and clutched himself to her once more. He needed this. He needed her. He needed closeness right now. How long he sobbed as she rocked him, stroking his hair, he didn't know. But when he finally managed to look up into her face, he saw not only sorrow and compassion in her eyes, but love, as well.
He kissed her.
She responded in kind and it gradually grew more heated.
He needed this. He needed to feel wanted, and cared for, and loved right now. But mostly, he needed to feel connected to someone ... to prove he wasn't alone.
Lois gave him all of those things and more as they made love that night. Her passionate cries of his name promised that he would never be alone again. He knew that with tomorrow would come more tears, but with Lois by his side, he knew that he would survive it.
She was the balm for his soul, and he could get through this – anything – as long as he had her. That knowledge, compounded with the overwhelming exhaustion of the day – both emotional and physical – buried him deeply into sleep as he lay in his lover's bed, just holding her.
