From Last Time:
“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered.
“No,” he said flatly. “I just want to go back to sleep.” Clark stood up stiffly and returned to the bed.
She lay down beside her husband and let him pull her into his embrace. “I knew this was going to happen,” he said softly, confirming her own thoughts. “I can’t do this. I’m a complete basket case. I can’t help anyone like this.”
“We’ll take it slowly,” she told him.
“Superman can’t just disappear again,” he retorted.
“No, but you can ease back into it. You don’t have to come back full time just yet.”
“I’m tired of feeling like I need someone to hold my hand,” he said bitterly.
“I know,” she replied, not knowing what to say. “I know it’s hard and it isn’t fair. I hate that this happened. I hate how awful it was. I can’t stop thinking about what we saw, either. But it doesn’t make you weak, Clark. It makes you human.”
********
New Stuff:
“I’m sorry to bother you again so soon,” Clark said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He’d stood on this same quiet stretch of beach with his therapist just the day before. How much of her well-deserved vacation was he planning on monopolizing, anyway?
“Please, don’t think anything of it; I’m glad you came,” Dr. Friskin replied as she placed a hand on his arm. “I take it you’re having some difficulties with what you went through over the last week?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. He removed his trembling hand from his pocket and dragged it through his hair. He stared angrily at his shaking fingers, silently demanding that they stop. His offending digits did no such thing. Flexing his fist open and closed, he finally brought the tremors under control.
“Clark?” she prodded gently and he realized how long he’d remained mute.
“I’m sorry,” he said, giving himself a mental shake. Clark exhaled slowly. “I didn’t go to Indonesia thinking I was ready to handle it. I promise you, I’m not that dumb. But I weighed the options. If I didn’t go, thousands of people were going to die. Lives were going to be destroyed. I didn’t have the luxury of telling myself that other people would be able to handle it until I was ready to come back. I didn’t have a choice.”
“I understand why you felt that way,” Dr. Friskin replied as they started to walk along the shore. The sun, though dipping toward the distant horizon, still warmed the sand and the gentle breeze that moved the air. It was an idyllic afternoon and he could see why she’d decided to spend her vacation here. It only made him feel that much worse about his seemingly constant intrusions.
“But you don’t agree,” he replied. It was a statement, not a question.
“I can’t make that decision for you. I know that in my professional opinion, it would have been good for you to wait a little longer before creating so much stress in your life. But I also know you; and I know how much stress you’re under when you’re not helping. You weighed those competing stressors and you made a decision. Now we need to figure out how to move forward given that decision.”
He frowned and nodded, deep in thought. “Hmph.” It all sounded so logical when she put it that way.
“I know it’s not as easy as I make it sound,” she continued. “If it was, I imagine you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“I had nightmares again last night,” he said with a sigh. “It was Silban and Indonesia all mixed together. I couldn’t even keep them straight. I just want to forget about all this, but now I have to deal with the press, bringing Superman back, figuring out when and where to patrol and how to do it without turning into a quivering mess.”
“This gives us a place to start,” his therapist replied. “We need to figure out how often you’re comfortable patrolling and what sort of rescues you feel capable of handling.”
“Have you seen the papers?” he asked.
“I have,” she replied.
He grunted. It angered him that the stupid tabloids plagued his thoughts the same way that the disaster had. How could he even care about something this stupid? The banner headline of The National Whisperer of all things stuck out the most. “Long Lost Lovers Reunited At Last!” it had proclaimed obscenely — oblivious to the context, to the death and destruction that had surrounded the two spandex clad figures clinched in an all too intimate embrace. The image of himself in his wife’s arms was burned into his brain. His eyes were shut firmly, lines of pain carved deep in his features. With one hand, she’d cradled his head to her shoulder. The mask obscured most of her face, but the corners of her mouth were turned downward, her lips slightly parted. He could see the anguish there, could almost feel it radiating from the photograph.
As appalled as he was by the tabloids’ speculation into the superheroes’ love life, he knew it existed because of his inability to control his emotions. Other papers had skipped the tackier allegations and had gone straight for his throat.
“First Rescue Back Too Much For Superman?”
“Man Of Steel’s Heartbreaking Return”
“Superman Overwhelmed By Tragedy”
The Daily Planet, of course, had portrayed the scene in the kindest possible light. “The Price of Heroism” its headline read. But though Perry had tried to spin the story as one of strength, there was more truth in the rag journalism – even ironically, The National Whisperer – than Clark cared to admit.
“It hurts you, doesn’t it? The speculation about your reaction?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Of course it does.”
“Because you hold yourself responsible for what happened at Silban.”
“The tsunami was an act of nature. Silban was the result of malice,” he countered.
“But it affected you more than other tragedies, manmade or natural,” his therapist prodded gently.
Clark stepped in front of his therapist. “Silban happened because my generals hid information from me. They thought I was too weak to deal with it. They hid the intelligence that would have allowed us to stop it. Over twelve hundred people died. Because people saw weakness in me. Don’t tell me that wasn’t my fault.”
“You know that I’m going to. Clark, you blame yourself because doing so means that you had some semblance of control over the events. Because if you had some control, then there’s something you can do differently next time to prevent the same outcome. We need that sense of control, because without it, we feel lost. But not everything in life is within our power to control. You can’t be responsible for Nor’s actions. Or the actions of his followers. Or even your own generals.”
“I am responsible for the weakness they saw in me,” he replied stubbornly. “I may not have killed those people, but their blood is still on my hands.”
“Between Silban and the attempt to break Nor out of prison, you’re blaming yourself for the deaths of almost two thousand people. None of that is justifiable. You said your generals withheld information from you because they thought you were weak. But you didn’t govern alone, did you? Did they share the information with your co-First Minister?”
“No,” he confirmed.
“Was it because they also thought she was weak?”
He shook his head. Of course that wasn’t the case. Zara was the best leader New Krypton could have asked for.
“So could it possibly be that those generals just failed to do their jobs?”
Clark shrugged. “I suppose.” After the attack they’d figured out that the generals had been encouraged in their decisions by Alon, the highest placed saboteur in the government. Whatever the officers’ initial thinking had been in concealing the information, it had been nurtured by the malice of one of Rae Et’s few trusted confidantes, someone they’d believed to be a good leader and a man with New Krypton’s best interests at heart.
“I can tell you over and over again that trying to blame yourself for what happened is natural, but incredibly counterproductive and unjustifiable. But my saying it isn’t terribly meaningful, if you don’t believe it.”
He nodded, tightlipped. “I know,” he said quietly.
“I understand this isn’t easy. It’s not like there’s a switch you can flip to change the way you think and feel, but every time you find yourself trying to take the blame for what happened, you need to derail the thought. You need to remind yourself that you did everything you could.”
The words made sense—at least, on an intellectual level they did. That didn’t make what she was suggesting any easier. How could she possibly understand? She hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen the things he’d seen. She hadn’t borne the responsibility of leading a world at war like an albatross around her neck.
********
He pushed open the massive window over the bullpen and flew down to the newsroom floor. The last time he’d flown through that window, he was leaving his wife and his parents and his entire life on this planet. It was four and a half years ago. It felt like an eternity. A sea of camera flashes blinded him momentarily as he touched down behind the bank of microphones that had been set up. Perry grinned as he gripped Clark’s hand and shook it heartily, his other hand clapping the younger man on the shoulder. The din of reporters whispering amongst themselves grew to a deafening roar to his sensitive ears. He should have been accustomed to the crowds after being the political leader of an entire planet, but the newsroom seemed to be spinning. Dizzily, he tried to focus, but the air around him was thick and oxygen-less. The world seemed to wobble, but he managed at last to draw in a long, deep breath.
“You’ve got this, son,” his old editor in chief whispered softly as he released Clark’s hand.
Perry smiled as he approached the microphone bank. “Let me be the first to say, ‘welcome back, Superman!’ You were missed, but we are all awfully glad to see you back here on Earth, son.” He looked back over his shoulder at Clark. “I understand you’d like to say a few words.”
Clearing his throat, Clark stepped up to the microphones. “Good afternoon,” he said, a little too softly. He scanned the audience until his eyes met Lois’s. She smiled ever so slightly at him, silently offering her strength. Clark stood up just a little bit straighter. He could do this. So long as she was still there with him, he could do this. “Thank you all for coming. I know my return has come as a surprise and that you probably have a number of questions. Please know that I came back as soon as I was able. The war on New Krypton is over; that world is at peace. Earth is my home and I cannot begin to tell all of you how happy I was to be able to return. Both Ultrawoman and I will continue our work here. One or the other of us may have to return to New Krypton temporarily, but this is where we belong. I am more proud of the work I’ve done here than anything else I’ve accomplished in my life. I look forward to continuing that work.
“But lest there be any misunderstanding, the tragedy in Indonesia must not be overshadowed by this. The people there need your help. I intend to return and do what I can, but there are hundreds of thousands who are hungry and have no food. Who are thirsty and have no clean water to drink. Who are tired and have no homes to go to. Please, give what you can. Wonderful organizations like UNICEF and the Red Cross are working to bring hope to the victims of this disaster, but they cannot do so without your support.
“I need to return to Indonesia, but I will take a few questions.” Before he’d even finished his sentence, a roar of questions erupted from the gathered journalists.
“Superman! What happened on New Krypton? Did you have to fight in the war?”
“Can you guarantee you’re back for good, Superman?” the reporter for LNN shouted.
“Are you ready for duty, Superman?” came another voice. He thought it belonged to the Metropolis correspondent for the Washington Post.
“I am,” he replied, trying to sound confident.
“What about that picture of you and Ultrawoman? You looked pretty shaken up.” He didn’t recognize the woman who’d shouted the question.
He felt his jaw clench, but he knew he was still under the press’s spotlight. Superman couldn’t be seen losing his temper so shortly after appearing to fall apart at a major rescue. His throat was dry, yet he managed to swallow around the rough-edged lump that had formed there. “I’ve seen more death and suffering in my life than any human being ever should. And yes, it still affects me. I imagine it always will. But I believe it is my responsibility to do what I can here to ease that suffering. I am fully prepared to do that.” He knew it was a lie, but he hoped it sounded convincing. He tried not to think too much about telling such a bald faced fabrication while in the suit. Drawing in another deep breath, he tried to slow his thundering heart and gather his thoughts. “You saw me at the sight of one of the worst disasters I’ve ever experienced. People will read into that photograph whatever they will. But I’m asking you to look past the foreground of that picture to see all the people who were suffering around us. Who had lost their homes and families and friends. Let’s try to remember that that’s where our attention belongs.” He could hear his voice waver on the last words, his paper-thin resolve crumpling in his tight, shaking grip.
“So what is your relationship with Ultrawoman?” That couldn’t have been anyone besides the Dirt Digger’s Jerry Schultz. The man’s voice had always sounded like nails on a blackboard to Clark. He tried not to grimace in response.
“I asked her to do my job while I was away. I left that responsibility in her hands because there is no one I trust or respect more. It is my honor to work beside her. And to call her my friend. I’m afraid I need to go. Thank you for your time.”
********
Lois smiled tremulously as she watched her husband float up off the newsroom floor on his way toward the window. The last time she’d watched him do this, he’d stared past her, pretending he didn’t love her. He’d had to do it so that they could keep their composure, but it had shattered her heart. Back then, she would have given anything just to *know* this moment was coming – the day he was going to fly back into the newsroom, announcing his return. This day wasn’t the way she’d imagined it all those years ago. He was still the majestic hero, able to take her breath away with the easy grace of his powerful movements, the way his cape billowed behind him. But he wasn’t here in triumph. And his voice wavered when he spoke.
He was still a hero. But he wasn’t as innocent as he’d once been. He wasn’t as naïve. Neither was she. Like Perry had said, heroism had exacted a toll from each of them. The weight of the world wasn’t as easily born on either of their shoulders.
“Lois?”
The sound of the managing editor’s voice startled her out of her ruminations. Looking around, she could see the crowds of journalists from other news agencies slowly filing out of the bullpen. Finally, she found Mike Burns. “Hi Mike,” she said.
He grinned at her. “Editorial board meeting to discuss the Planet’s reaction to the big news,” the middle-aged editor said as he gestured toward the conference room. “You’ve got the pen on this one, Lois.”
There’d been some back and forth among the paper’s senior editors over who should write this particular piece. It wasn’t typically the job of a columnist, but Perry had made perfectly clear who he wanted handling the editorial. That meant that Lois would be writing, not under her own byline, but as the voice of the entire Daily Planet. If the rest of the editorial staff knew she was going to be writing about her husband, they probably would have pushed hard against it. As it was, people still wondered about the relationship between Lois and Superman, though the photo of him and Ultrawoman seemed—ironically—to have displaced that particular form of gossip. She knew that Clark didn’t like feeling as though he was hiding behind his wife, but the rest of the world wouldn’t know that he was the one she was writing about. Nor would they even know she was the editorial’s author. Before telling her he expected her to handle the assignment, Perry had stated that she was his best writer and that it was important for the Planet to take a bold position to not just defend Superman but to remind the paper’s readers and the wider public that Superman was right; the focus needed to remain on the victims of the tsunami.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” she said as she caught sight of Perry. She approached the old editor-in-chief and quietly pulled him away from the remaining journalists, still milling around the newsroom.
“Perry, I need a favor,” she said. “Ultrawoman should do an ad to try to raise some money for the victims. Can you see about getting it put together and getting the networks to run it?”
Perry nodded. “I’ll have the PR department start working on it right away.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “You all right, darlin’?”
“Yeah, I just want to get this meeting done with quickly,” she said as she nodded toward the conference room.
He frowned. “Do you want me to get someone else to write the editorial?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s fine,” she demurred. “Clark’s on his way back to Indonesia. I think maybe… it might be easier… I don’t want him to have to deal with that alone for too long.”
********
Surveying the landscape around him, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the destruction. The village he stood in had been completely leveled. It was all just flotsam and waterlogged wood and the detritus of ruined lives.
“Superman, we’re so grateful to have you here.” He smiled and nodded, tightlipped. In their few interactions, he’d learned quickly that Dr. Coleman had an almost preternatural talent for running a huge, messy, complicated relief mission. She was calm and focused and that made his job a hell of a lot easier. Standing behind a card table she used as a desk with her radio clipped to the waistband of her jeans, she looked down at the maps and supply lists and situation reports spread out in front of her.
“Just let me know where I can be the most help,” he said.
“We have supplies we need to deliver…” she began.
“Just let me know what and where,” he said.
“Actually, it would be more of a help if you could clear some of the major roads.” She pointed at the major arteries connecting the larger population centers. “We’ll need them open to keep operations running.”
“All right, he said. “Tell me where to start.” If he could keep his focus and think about doing simple things like moving boulders and redirecting channels of mud, he could keep himself from going catatonic.
********
It was hard not to fidget with her mask as she stared straight at the camera. The public service announcement was going to be simple. She’d written the script for it herself and the logistics had been pulled together quickly. A blank screen behind her in the newsroom served as the backdrop. It wasn’t the most dramatic of productions, but it was important to get the message out as quickly as possible. As quickly as possible, however, apparently meant doing this damn thing over and over again.
“Okay, Ultrawoman, take it from the top in five… four…. Three…” the director counted ‘two’ and ‘one’ on his fingers silently before pointing at her. She looked straight ahead at the monitor, displaying her lines.
“The holiday season is about more than gifts and parties,” she began. “During this time of year, in the cold of winter, we’re reminded of the fact that the warmth in our lives is the product of human kindness and compassion. This year, the people of Indonesia need your help. Hundreds of thousands of victims of last week’s tsunami are still without homes, food, clothing, and medical attention. Relief agencies are working around the clock to help them, but they can’t do it without your assistance. Please, give whatever you can. More information on how to donate can be found at the web address on the bottom of your screen. Thank you. And happy holidays.”
“All right, we’ve got it,” the director said with a smile as he removed his headphones. “Great job, Ultrawoman. We’ll get this cut and to the networks as soon as we can.”
She gave him a faint smile. “Thanks,” she said. Lois was anxious to get away. She wanted to get back into the field, back to the real work that only a superhero could do. Over the last four and a half years, however, she’d learned that the power of her celebrity could be almost as beneficial as her superstrength and invulnerability. A superhero could draw a lot more attention to her pet cause than an ordinary reporter could.
Over the years, she’d come to use her fame more often than Clark ever had. She knew he found the whole business a bit unseemly and bewildering. He was, despite the peculiar extracurricular activities he engaged in, a very private person. But while Ultrawoman steered clear of partisan politics, she was far more comfortable in the bully pulpit than her husband had ever been.
“I have to go,” she said to no one in particular before lifting off for the massive windows above the newsroom floor.
