Presuming real life allows, the next chapter will be posted next Saturday as previously scheduled.

As always, thank you to Kelly, Carol, and Beth for all their help!!

From Chapter 29

For a moment, I hesitated. My natural inclination to seeing his tears was to want to hold him. Was that still okay? “Me too,” I admitted to put off the decision. “But it's for the best, isn't it?”

Chad nodded. “I can't believe it, but I think you're right. But Lois… I'm going to miss you so much,” he said, the tears spilling over onto his cheeks. "Oh, screw it,' I thought. He was my husband. I loved him. Was I supposed to dispassionately watch him cry just because he wouldn't be my husband forever? Nothing we'd decided changed how I felt about him. I couldn't just stand there and watch him cry.

“I know,” I told him as I wrapped my arms around him, the tears falling down my own cheeks. “I know because I'm going to miss you just as much.”


Chapter 30

“Stop pitying me!” I insisted before I took a deep breath. Even I could hear the screech creeping into my voice.

“I'm not pitying you, Lois,” Clark said, his voice soft. “I'll be perfectly comfortable on the couch.”

“You're too long for the couch,” I pointed out.

“I float,” he grinned at me. “Really, Lois. It's okay.”

“I'm the one who's crashing at your place,” I reminded him. “I should take the couch.”

Clark sighed. “Fine. If you want to insist on being uncomfortable, go right ahead.” He turned around. “I need a cup of tea. Want anything?”

“No, I'm fine,” I said, slumping onto his bed. The last thing I was was fine. My husband was 1400 miles away and was planning to stay there. In fact, the only thing we were planning to change at all was that he was my husband. How could I possibly be fine?

“Lois?” Clark asked leaning his head back into the room.

“I'm fine,” I repeated.

He gave me a long look before deciding to let me get away with my lie and retreating back into the kitchen. I found myself stretching out on his bed and promptly falling asleep.

************************

I woke up confused. I smelled coffee. Wasn't Clark making tea? I stretched and as I did so I realized it was lighter in here than when I fell asleep. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was seven in the morning. I had stolen Clark's bed after all.

“Sorry,” I said with a yawn as I came into the kitchen.

“Sleep well?” Clark asked as he poured some coffee into a mug and handed it to me.

“Yeah,” I admitted as I fixed my coffee. “I guess. I didn't mean to take your bed.”

“I know. And I told you I didn't mind,” Clark said.

“So, what's on the agenda today?” I asked.

“I have a meeting with Bobby Bigmouth for lunch. He said he has some information for me on that story I told you about – about Art Hadley and John Praught working together. So I'm off to India this morning to pick up some food. Bobby said he likes spicy food, so I'm going to get him some vindaloo. He probably won't even be able to eat it, but it will get him to stop complaining about the food not being spicy enough around here.”

“What's vindaloo?” I asked, trying not to focus on the story. It was Clark's story, not mine. I wasn't even working again yet since Perry had suggested I take a few days to find an apartment first.

“It's like a stew. But very spicy. You can get it a few places here at Indian restaurants, but they always temper the spice. The real stuff is hard for even me to eat.”

“Does it hurt?” I asked amazed. I didn't realize there was anything Clark couldn't handle.

“Me? Not really. But it does make me really thirsty,” Clark grinned. “In Goa, where vindaloo is from, they eat really spicy food all the time, so they don't even notice it, but I think Bobby will have trouble swallowing it.”

I smiled as I pictured the snitch trying to hide his discomfort.

“So, want to join me?” Clark asked. “Or do you have a bunch of apartments lined up to look at?”

“I can't do that, Clark,” I said, wishing I could. “It's your story. You've been working on it for months.”

“And so far I have nothing more than speculation,” Clark pointed out. “Come on, partner. I could really use you on this one. I know you aren't officially working again yet, but I promise I'll help you look at apartments all afternoon if you come with me to see Bobby.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Of course,” Clark said. “Why don't you check out the classifieds and set up some appointments while I head to India? I'm meeting Bobby at noon, so as long as you don't set up anything before 12:30 or so, we should be fine.”

************************

July 1995

“Just give me a call when you're ready,” Clark said softly before walking out the door.

I took a look around after he left. I couldn't believe I was doing this. With Clark's help, I had found an apartment in Metropolis in just a couple of days. Another week and it was ready for me to move in. So, I was spending today packing things up from our place in Smallville. Clark had offered to help with moving costs by flying things there for me. I felt a little badly for using him like that, but he insisted it was okay and I didn't have the energy to argue. Plus, details like arranging movers or whatever seemed beyond my capabilities right now.

I wasn't delusional. I knew I was operating at half mast or something. Clark was basically covering for me at the Planet and pretending that I was adding more to our investigations than I was. It was sweet of him, but I wondered sometimes how long he would do that for. When would he stop feeling badly for me and start to get annoyed at having to carry the extra weight around?

Since Clark was doing the moving, things were a little simpler. Clearly I wasn't going to take any furniture, just clothes really. My books and music, too. I couldn't think of anything else. It would be expensive to replace all the stuff I had had with Chad, but I wasn't going to have Clark move dishes. Besides, I couldn't take the dishes. Chad needed them.

Briefly, I wondered if this would be easier if this was a typical divorce – if I hated Chad. Then I wouldn't worry about what he needed, I'd only care what I needed. I couldn't imagine that, though. Regardless of where the road we were on was leading, and while I couldn't bring myself to think the word I knew what it was, I couldn't imagine ever not caring about Chad. Heck, I couldn't imagine ever not loving Chad, so how could I completely not care about him?

Then again, maybe it wasn't lack of caring in your typical divorce – it was just anger masking all other feelings. Besides, I knew I didn't really prefer that to what we were doing. It was hard to imagine anger that only went one way, and while it was hard to imagine not caring about Chad, it was positively painful to imagine a world where Chad didn't care about me.

I sat down on the couch heavily. Just the thought of it left me breathless. Would we get there some day? Suddenly I realized that what I wanted was what Clark and Rachel had. When had that happened? For months now I had been trying to avoid thinking too much about their relationship, about their inability to live together. I didn't want to end up anything like them; I wanted to end up together with Chad.

Now that that hadn't worked though, everything had changed. Ending up like Clark and Rachel was suddenly the best possible outcome. Being good friends with Chad – the thought was unbelievable to me, or at least the thought of being only good friends with Chad – platonic friends. Still, it was preferable, so preferable to not being friends with him at all.

I thought briefly of our first visit to Smallville for the Wind Festival over a year ago. I remembered Clark and Rachel bumping into Pete and Lana. They were friendly to each other – knew the basics of their lives, but there was no warmth there, just a bland friendliness. I couldn't imagine Clark ever acting that way if he bumped into Rachel. Then again, I couldn't imagine Clark ever randomly bumping into Rachel like that here in Smallville. They would always be close enough for him to let her know he was visiting so they could get together. At least, I thought they would be.

So, who would Chad and I end up like? Would we be like Clark and Rachel or Clark and Lana? Or worse, would we end up avoiding each other completely? I mean, it wasn't like it was impossible we'd see each other again. Chad's family was still in Metropolis. Metropolis wasn't Smallville, of course, so we would be unlikely to bump into each other randomly there. Still, it was certainly possible.

Plus, I'd grown so fond of the Kents during our time here. It seemed unlikely I'd never come back to Smallville unless Clark and I had some sort of falling out.

So I'd see Chad here. Would I let him know I was coming? Assume he'd hear it through the grapevine since Clark was bound to let Rachel and his folks know? Who would we be? I closed my eyes, blocking out the tears. Why were we doing this?

“Hi,” the soft voice from the doorway startled me and I looked up in alarm.

“Oh,” I said taking in his form. He was standing stiffly in the doorway. I had told him I was coming, but it was clear he hadn't really been expecting me. Or maybe he just hadn't been expecting me to be here when he got home.

After a moment of silence, he moved more fully into the house and closed the door. “Where's Clark?” he asked quietly.

“At his parents. He said to call him when I'm finished,” I said, my voice just above a whisper.

“Are you?” he asked, and I could hear the strain in his voice, the hint of tears just beneath his words.

I shook my head. “I haven't even started yet. I haven't been able to.”

He nodded his head before he took a seat beside me on the couch. “So, where's the apartment you're moving into?”

“It's in midtown. Not too far from the Planet,” I said. “On Sixth and Bleeker.”

Chad nodded. “Near the crepe place.”

I nodded. “Yeah, pretty close.” We sat in silence for several minutes.

“Do you want help packing?” Chad asked, his voice soft.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't decide if I wanted his help or not. I couldn't bear the idea of going through things with him, but I also couldn't bear the idea of going through things alone and not spending time together while we could. “I don't know,” I finally whispered.

He reached over towards me, but changed his mind at the last minute, his hand dropping on the couch cushion between us. I stared at it in fascination. When was the last time Chad hadn't known if it was okay to hold my hand? Maybe when we first started dating? So, ten years ago.

This was not okay. It was so not okay. I reached over and placed my hand on top of his. He flipped his hand over to grasp mine tightly, but we didn't look at each other. “This is the right decision, isn't it?” I asked him in a whisper.

Chad didn't answer me at first. Finally, he whispered back, “I don't know, but I don't see a different solution.” After a few more moments of silence, he got up, his hand in mine pulling me up with him.

“Come on,” he said gently. “This isn't going to get easier. Let's start with your clothes.”

I nodded. “I got some boxes,” I pointed them out to him in the corner and hand in hand we went over to grab one each and then head upstairs to the bedroom.

The clothes were easy. At least there was nothing in there to think about. I tried not to imagine if someday someone else's clothes would fill these drawers as I moved my things into boxes. It only took us ten minutes to empty out the drawers and my side of the closet.

“What's next?” Chad asked quietly and I could tell he was trying to temper his emotions.

“Books?” I suggested. We headed downstairs to the bookcase. For a few minutes, we worked in silence, pulling books off the bookcase. That, too, took little time. Chad and I had very different tastes in books – he preferred nonfiction, I had a weakness for chick lit, so it was easy to determine whose books were whose.

The CDs were more complicated. There were some CDs that were clearly Chad's. He had gone through a stage of liking heavy metal (or what I teasingly referred to as heavy metal, but was probably more like hard rock) in college. On the other hand, I had gone through a period of liking classical music. Chad now liked classical, too, but all the classical CDs were mine. I left behind the Brandenburg concertos, though. Chad loved those. I liked them, too, but wasn't sure I'd ever be able to hear them without crying. Chad always whistled along while we listened to the CD. Since I was going through that side of the CD case, Chad didn't notice. I wondered what he would think when he did.

“Is this yours or mine?” Chad asked, holding up Negotiations and Love Songs. I shrugged. We had both been Paul Simon fans before we met and that was one of the albums we had both owned. Since we had bought them early in high school, the versions we owned were on cassette. It had been a no-brainer to buy the album on CD when we got rid of our tape player. But whose album was it now? We'd only bought one CD obviously.

“You keep it,” I said softly. My default seemed to be to leave things with Chad if there was any question. He seemed about to argue with me, but changed his mind.

“Well, that's it,” I said as we packed up the last of the CDs.

He looked at me quizzically for a minute. “That's it? What about the other stuff? We have boxes of stuff we moved here from Metropolis we never went through. I'm sure some of your journalism textbooks are in there. Keepsakes, that type of thing.”

He was right. I wasn't sure I wanted to go through those boxes. They were going to be filled with mementos from our time together. Still, it made sense to go through them now. It would only be more painful for Chad if I left them for him to go through alone.

Grabbing another box, I headed upstairs to the spare bedroom where we had stored all the boxes. We worked in silence for awhile – the first box was college textbooks which were pretty easy to separate.

The next box had our high school yearbooks on top. A quick flip through revealed which ones were mine, and I put them into a box with my textbooks. Below that was a box that made my breath catch. I knew what was in there. I paused with my hand over it and Chad reached over me, but once he got the top of the box off, he dropped it like it had burned him. “Do you want it?” he asked me, the tears audible in his voice.

I didn't say anything and of its own accord, my hands reached out for the box, pulling the thick book out and opening it to the first page. Chad looked over from where he sat. “You looked so beautiful,” he said softly.

“So happy,” I whispered back, running a hand over the smile on my face in the image.

“We were happy, Lois,” Chad said. “No matter what happens from here, we were happy that day and every day that followed.”

“If you had known we would end up sitting here like this…” I started, but had to stop to swipe my tears away. “Would you have still done it?” I motioned to the picture in front of me. “Would you still have wanted to…”

“In an instant,” Chad said, an urgency to his voice I had rarely heard in our time together as he moved closer to me. “That was the happiest day of my life, Lois. Seeing you walk down that aisle filled me with a feeling I can't even describe. Knowing that you were agreeing to share your life with me was a high like I'd never felt before.” He reached out to brush the tears from my cheeks, ignoring the ones on his. “I wouldn't trade a day of my life with you for anything. No matter how things turned out.”

I nodded. I felt the same way, although it brought me back to the same question again. Why were we doing this? “Let's stop,” I whispered.

“Stop what?” Chad asked me.

“Stop packing. I'll stay here.”

“You can't,” Chad said, his voice thick with tears. “You're miserable here. I can't let you stay. I just… I can't let you be so unhappy, Lois.”

I moved forward and wrapped my arms around him. I couldn't bear to watch him cry. We sat on the floor for a long time, both crying before we pulled away.

“I want the wedding picture of us downstairs,” Chad said softly, referring to the one we had framed that was now sitting on his desk. “I love the way you look in that. You can keep the album.”

I nodded, placing it back in the box and then into the larger one containing my things.

“What's this?” Chad asked, holding up a small bag.

I shrugged, reaching out to grab it. Opening it, I gave a slight smile. I thought I had lost these. I hadn't seen them in years. “They're the letters you sent me when you were staying with your grandparents.”

“You kept them?” Chad asked in surprise.

“Of course I did,” I said quietly.

The phone rang, breaking us out of our thoughts. Chad got up to get it and I sat on the floor opening the first of the letters in the bag. My tears flowed as I read it. We were so different then, so sure of our future together. Where had that confidence gone?

“That was Clark,” Chad said as he came back into the room. “There's an emergency. And it's late. I hadn't realized how late. It's already ten. I told him you'd stay the night and he could come get you tomorrow.”

I nodded my head wondering where I would sleep. In our bed? On the couch? I glanced at the letter in my hand again. I wished I could go back to the girl who was the recipient of that letter and tell her to stop feeling sorry for herself. Living apart from Chad for a little while was really not that bad. Not while he sent letters like this one. Not while she could feel loved and secure in her relationship.