Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic A Father's Kryptonite 4/5

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Jonathan couldn't watch as the Kryptonite leeched the strength and vitality from Clark's body and soul. He couldn't watch as that green glow grew stronger, feeding on Clark, and his son grew paler and more still. He couldn't watch as Superman writhed and twisted in agony, small murmurs of pain leaking from his tightly-clamped lips, Lois's hands on his all that kept him from curling into a tight ball. He couldn't watch as Lois sat vigil over her fianceé while he died, bit by bit, killed by his own friends and family as much as by the disease.

Instead, Jonathan sat on Clark's couch, and he looked around at all of Clark's belongings, and he smelled the scent of Clark, and he wished that Clark were there. He didn't want to be sitting by while Superman suffered--he wanted to be there for Clark Kent, his son.

"Daddy!"

Lois's shriek tore through the heavy shroud that wrapped the apartment in a haze and protected them from the non-stop sirens outside--the sirens Superman would have stopped in an instant if he could have.

Sam responded immediately, on his feet almost before the echoes of her cry had faded. Martha rushed toward the bedroom and stood on the threshold, her eyes deep shadows of terror. Ellen stepped up beside her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, sensing the other woman's turmoil even if she couldn't understand the full reason for it.

But Jonathan couldn't move. He didn't want to go into that room and find out that Clark was dead. He didn't want to have an image of a pale and too-still body burned into his memory, overshadowing all his better memories of his boy. He didn't want to face a reality without Clark in it.

There should be a word for parents who lost their children, he thought numbly. Children without parents were called orphans; wives who lost their spouses were widows, and husbands widowers. But what did you call a parent who lost his son? Bereaved was the only word that came to Jonathan's mind, and yet it seemed too little to cover all that he felt.

Incomplete.

Abandoned.

Useless.

Broken.

Maybe it was better there wasn't a word for it--maybe no word could say all that he felt. Maybe it wasn't even fair to try.

"He's in a coma." Sam's words sounded loudly and clearly.

Despite his best efforts at remaining stoic and strong, Jonathan put his head in his hands. An instant later, he was on his feet and rushing toward the Kryptonite. "We don't need this anymore, is that right?" he demanded.

Sam looked up from his examination of Clark, one hand lightly brushing Lois's shoulder as she visibly sought to pull herself together. "Yes, close it. His body is now too weak to support the virus, but we don't want him getting any worse."

With vindictive strength, Jonathan slammed the lead box closed, doing what he should have done immediately in that workshop in Kansas two years ago. A surge of bitter satisfaction flooded his being as he pushed the box out of the room. He knew lead protected Clark from the Kryptonite more effectively than distance, but he couldn't help feeling relieved when the guards from STARLabs arrived to return the stone to their vault.

For the next hour or so, Jonathan paced, back and forth, back and forth. The Christmas decorations Clark had put up for his parents' arrival now seemed garish and out of place. Clark had always loved the holiday season, Jonathan thought in despair. It made it that much worse that he now hovered so close to death while carolers sang their songs about eternal peace and life above.

Eventually, curled up next to Clark so, Jonathan suspected, she could hear his heartbeat, Lois slept. Martha was not so lucky. Jonathan kept trying to get her to rest, to lie down, to take a breath, but she could not still herself. Her vibrancy had turned into manic desperation, and she was sick three or four times--not a disease, only stress and tension and fear.

Several times throughout the evening, Jonathan caught Sam staring speculatively at his daughter and the superhero the entire world knew she adored. As if fear for Clark's life was not enough, Jonathan thought grimly, he now had to worry about the Lanes figuring out Superman's true identity. And if there was even the slightest chance that Clark would survive to see morning, Jonathan knew that he must protect Clark's secret identity for him, safeguard that which at the moment he could not, defend his future.

He waited until Martha had dozed off--her complexion pale, her features cast in shadow--before he quietly made his way into the bedroom. Sam was asleep, his head propped precariously on a hand. Jonathan took a moment to examine Clark and the woman who slept in his arms. No matter the danger, it did the father's heart good to see how much Lois loved his boy. For so long, Clark had despaired of her ever loving him, and Jonathan secretly admitted that he had sometimes wondered in frustration why this reporter could not love his son--but now she did, and with such apparent devotion that Jonathan now had to hope she did not betray her love to her parents.

"Sam?" He put a hand to the doctor's shoulder, whispering so that he didn't disturb their children.

"Huh?" Sam looked up groggily. "Ah."

"May I?" Jonathan gestured to the seat beside him and sat when Sam indicated his permission. Once he had settled himself, however, he found that he couldn't look away from the couple lying before him. All the words and excuses and explanations he had planned to misdirect or allay Sam's suspicions vanished from his mind, and so he said nothing. What could he say? How could he lie to this man who might yet save Clark?

It was Sam who spoke first, perhaps as leery of silence as his daughter. "Jonathan, I want to thank you for being so good to my little girl. It's been tough for her to trust people, and I feel somewhat to blame for that. I was thrilled she found Clark," he added quickly, as if afraid Jonathan would take offense.

"He's a special son," Jonathan murmured. Only after the words were already uttered did he remember that he was supposed to be providing an explanation for Clark's prolonged absence and Lois's devotion to Superman, not saying things that could so easily confirm any suspicion Sam might have.

But how could he hold these words back? If these were--God forbid--Clark's last hours, could Jonathan really spend them lying--with more lies sure to follow when they had to explain Clark's permanent disappearance?

"He must be," Sam agreed easily with no sign that he had heard the confession implicit in Jonathan's statement. "Superman must be a special friend."

All Clark's life, Jonathan had taught him to be careful, to always fade into the background, to do what he could to blend in with everyone else. All his life, he had warned him about the dangers of being discovered and unmasked to the world. He hadn't stopped him from becoming Superman--well aware of just how badly Clark needed to help and just how hard it was growing for him to do nothing--but he had silently worried about the possible consequences of going public.

And yet, somewhere buried deep inside Jonathan, there was a part of him that wanted the world to know it was his son who was the hero. He wanted people to recognize that it wasn't some impersonal, alien demigod hovering over their heads and their lives who swooped in just long enough to make the rescue and then flew away unharmed and unaffected--it was a living, breathing, feeling man who admirably kept a demanding job and longed to be loved for who he was and hurt just as much as any of the victims he saved or lost. It was a small part of Jonathan to be sure, but every once in a while, it made itself known, and this was one of those moments.

"Well, he and my boy have a lot in common," he observed neutrally. Superman was special to the world, Jonathan would never argue with that, but Clark was special in a much more personal way.

Before Sam could reply, Lois stirred and sat up. She gazed down at Clark for a moment, reassuring herself that he still lived, before she looked to the two other men. "Has there been any change?" she asked dimly.

Sam stood and moved to the bedside. "No, not yet. But you look more drained than I've ever seen you. Now, I want you to take a break--you go to your place for a while."

She was already shaking her head. "I can't leave. Jonathan, tell him--I can't."

Now that his attention had been drawn away from his son, Jonathan could tell that Sam was right: Lois could barely stand, and there was a hollowness to her eyes that was truly frightening in such an indomitable personality. Still, he knew from his years living with Martha that it would not be easy to convince Lois to leave.

"Lois," he said kindly, "Martha's feeling poorly. We'd both like it if you came with us. I think *Clark* would appreciate it too," he added.

When Lois hesitated, Sam pressed the advantage. "I promise I'll call the minute there's a change."

The cab ride to Lois's place was long and quiet. All three of them were too drained to say much, too worried to speak of inconsequential things, too afraid to dare speak of tomorrow. Jonathan steadied Martha when they exited the taxi and moved up the stairs into the apartment building. Lois remained upright by sheer strength of will, but any movements beyond that seemed to be made on autopilot.

"You two can have the bed," she commented numbly as she locked the door behind them. "I know I wouldn't sleep well anyway, and I can curl up on the couch."

Martha frowned. "Are you sure, honey? We would hate to kick--"

"Please." Lois paused, as if she had suddenly forgotten what she was about to say. "Please," she said again. She turned and strode to the window, one hand fingering the curtain hanging over the glass. Jonathan wondered what she was seeing--and how many times Superman had flown in or out through that window, how many times he had carried Lois through it.

"Clark asked me to take care of you both," Lois admitted softly, unable to look at them. Jonathan put an arm around Martha's shoulders, silencing her with a look, stilling her with a touch, reassuring her with his presence. "And I promised him I would. But...I don't know if I can." She finally turned to face them as she forced a smile that did nothing but emphasize her repressed tears. "I don't know how to do this--I don't even know if I can take care of myself, let alone anyone else."

"Oh, honey, I'm sure Clark meant that we'd all help each other." Martha stepped forward to take Lois into her arms. "He knows you're strong, but no one can be strong *all* the time. And we're here for you, you know that, don't you?"

"I know." Her smile was tremulous and obviously more for their benefit than hers. "It's just...I don't know if you realize how much Clark has changed my life. Before him, my life was...dark, and dull, and dim, and it was so lonely, so isolating. And then Clark came. And, gradually, little bit by little bit, things became lighter, sharper, more vivid, and I wasn't alone anymore. I can't even say when it happened exactly, or when I first noticed it; it just...happened."

She shook her head and moved once more to the window. "Do you know that every time I enter the newsroom, Clark is smiling at me? Before I knew that he could hear my heartbeat, I thought it was magical--well, first I thought it was disconcerting, then I found myself looking forward to it, and finally, I thought of it as magical. And then I found out how he could always know when I was on the elevator...and it's still magical. Because no matter how many times I've come into the newsroom since we've met, he *still* looks up to see me enter, and he *still* smiles."

Lois looked at the Kents over her shoulder, the poignancy in her expression making Jonathan feel somewhat dizzy. "I don't think I can go back to the way things were before Clark. I can't go into that newsroom without knowing that he'll be there, smiling at me. I can't write stories without his name beside mine. I can't..." The rest of her words dissolved into all the tears she hadn't been able or willing to shed earlier.

Instantly, Martha was there, holding onto her and shedding a few of her own tears. Jonathan joined the hug, an arm around his wife and a hand on Lois's shoulder. Martha was murmuring a stream of words that meant nothing in and of themselves but were comforting nonetheless.

"He'll be all right," Martha stated firmly when the stream ended, her strict, no-nonsense glare taking in both Jonathan and Lois. "There's still a chance, and there's always hope."

Somewhat calmed, Lois smiled at her. "Taking a chance--that's what Clark said he and I were all about."

Jonathan nodded his agreement. "In a way, Lois, I think you're the only thing he's ever taken a chance on." When both the women frowned in confusion, he elaborated: "Clark is always so careful, so cautious about everything. Because of how vulnerable he sees us as being, he's afraid of hurting anyone, afraid that he'll be too late to save everyone. Because of his desire for a normal life where he can be accepted, he's afraid of being rejected, afraid of being found out. And yet, as soon as he came to Metropolis, he was done running, done, for the most part, hiding. He found a way to help and stay at the same time, and all because of you, Lois."

"That's right," Martha agreed with a firm nod. "Every other time he came close to being discovered, he'd simply pick up and leave. But he couldn't bear the thought of living without you, honey."

"I don't remember a specific moment when Clark decided that he would tell you, or precisely when he told us he was going to tell you who he was." Jonathan shook his head. "After the first several months, it just seemed to be a given. He'd slip it into conversation as casually as if it were already done. 'When Lois knows, I'll...' or 'We'll do this or that after I tell Lois.'"

With a rueful chuckle, Martha gently wiped away the tracks of tears on Lois's cheeks. "He did take a chance on you, Lois, and I, for one, am very glad that he did. I don't think he could have chosen a better woman."

"He will be all right," Lois said slowly, as if only now allowing herself to believe it. With a single finger, she wiped away a last recalcitrant tear. "You're right. If anyone can pull through this, it's Clark." She met Jonathan's gaze. "He's strong where and when it counts."

"That he is," he hoarsely replied. "But we all need some rest."

"You and Martha take the bed," Lois commanded, the fire back in her eyes--not as strong as usual, but stronger than it had been since Clark had slipped into a coma. "I'll be right out here if you need anything."

As he walked toward the bedroom, Jonathan glanced over his shoulder. He saw Lois folding herself into a chair near the window and once more gazing out over the city. She was looking, he realized abruptly, in the direction of Clark's apartment. And for some reason he couldn't explain, Jonathan felt immeasurably cheered, as if Lois's determination alone could bring Clark back from the verge of death.

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11 months ago...
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Flying with Clark was an experience Jonathan always found somewhat disconcerting. He had known for most of his life that he was a farmer, bound to the earth, so in many ways, it was almost ironic that he had become the father of the only man on Earth who flew. Jonathan couldn't deny that it was exhilarating to feel his feet leave the ground and the wind cradle his body from below even as his son's strong arms kept him secured to his body above, but he also knew that if it were anyone other than Clark holding him, he would be too frightened to enjoy the experience.

"You doing okay, Dad?" Clark asked, always careful with either of his parents when he flew with them.

"Fine," he answered shortly. The ground was very far beneath him, and he had a great view of it--which didn't mean that he was nervous, Jonathan assured himself. It just meant he was prudently cautious.

Clark tightened his arms around Jonathan, more to reassure his father than anything else. "We'll land at my place and then go from there. I don't want anyone to catch sight of you with Superman."

As soon as they had landed on Clark's patio and entered his apartment, Jonathan straightened his clothing and did his best to remind himself that flying was almost commonplace in his life, certainly much more so for him than anyone else.

"So how far away is this jewelry shop?" he asked, quite proud of how steady his voice sounded.

"Not too far away; it's just a couple blocks from the Daily Planet." Having spun into his regular clothes, Clark shoved his hands into his pockets. "You'll have to tell me what you think of it, Dad. Maybe I should go someplace nicer, but she did say she liked them a lot. What's more, I could tell she actually meant it, which isn't always a given with Lois."

"Well, son, I just bought your mother's at a little place in Wichita, so I might not be the best judge for something like this."

"I know, but Mom said she loves the one you bought for her, and I want Lois to love hers in the same way."

"Clark, if she loves you, she'll love whatever one you get for her. It's not about what it looks like; it's about who gives it to her."

Clark paused, then turned to pace a few steps. "Well, I'm not even ready to give it to her yet. I mean, *I* am, but I don't think she's ready for it."

Jonathan frowned in confusion. "I thought you said she told you she would do anything for you."

"No, she told *Superman* that there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for *Clark*. And that's..." A grin emerged to overtake Clark's face, and he all but floated off the floor. "That's pretty amazing. I mean, the last I knew she only loved me like a brother. Of course, she did take it harder than I thought she would when Clark died. And when Superman stayed at her place while I was blind, she didn't fawn over him like she used to--*and* she was pretty concerned about where Clark was. Well, actually, she was kind of mad at me, but if Jimmy hadn't spread that rumor about Mayson's cabin, she *would* have been concerned about me. And--"

"Son," Jonathan shook his head with a chuckle, "has anyone ever told you that your life is very confusing? How *do* you keep it all straight?"

"I don't know." He fiddled with his glasses, a nervous habit he had developed whenever he felt that anyone looked at him too closely or hinted at his secret. "It's either another superpower or a survival trait."

A wave of tenderness overtook Jonathan, and he stepped forward to place a hand on his son's shoulder. "Well, where is this shop?"

He had heard a great deal about the distant politeness of big cities and how no one ever knew each other, but it didn't surprise him in the least when Clark greeted quite a few neighbors, regular vendors, and habitual walkers by name. That was the sort of person Clark was, and no matter that he could never allow anyone too close, he had always shown himself friendly. Never having had a moment where he didn't feel proud that Clark was his son, Jonathan was more than happy to be introduced to each of Clark's acquaintances and to receive their compliments on his boy.

"Here's the shop, Dad." By the intent look on his face, Clark had already forgotten about the others; he was totally focused on his task just as he had been completely focused on winning Lois's heart for the last two years. "We had been talking about marriage outside--not exactly favorably, mind you--and then she was looking at this counter and said they were beautiful. She mentioned the cameos, but she was playing with her left ring-finger, and I could tell she was looking at the engagement rings. I distracted her because I didn't want her to know I noticed. What do you think of them?"

Jonathan pretended to look over the display case full of rings as he thought through his answer. In truth, he wasn't entirely certain why Clark had chosen now to pick out the ring--it wasn't as if he and Lois were even dating. On the other hand, Clark had been in love with Lois for a very long time, and it certainly seemed that Lois liked his son a great deal more now than she had to begin with--but did she *love* him?

"Ah, Mr. Kent, it is good to see you again." A dark-skinned man emerged from the back of the small shop with a smile on his lips and a slight accent edging his words.

"Mr. Kent, huh?" Jonathan was quite proud of how well he hid his amused grin. "You must have a good memory to remember Clark. How long has it been since that Prankster was put away, Clark? Several months, wasn't it?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably, a blush staining his cheeks when the owner said: "Oh, Mr. Kent visits frequently, and he always looks over the same merchandise. I keep telling him there is more to my store than the engagement rings, but I have not yet convinced him, I think."

"I've just been by a couple times," Clark corrected hastily. "Jim, this is my dad, Jonathan Kent."

"Ah, so you have finally decided on a ring?"

Taking pity on his son's discomfiture, Jonathan shook his head. "We just want to look a bit longer, if you don't mind."

"Of course. I understand how important this decision is. Just call if you need me."

"Thanks." Clark kept his eyes fixed on the display cases, avoiding eye-contact with his father.

"They all look pretty to me," Jonathan said neutrally. He had hardly known how to pick out Martha's engagement ring; he wasn't certain why Clark had wanted *him* here and not Martha.

"I *have* come by pretty frequently," Clark admitted in a rush, as if he hadn't heard Jonathan's statement. He finally looked up to meet Jonathan's gaze, revealing his expression of heartfelt longing. "It's just...Dad, after that fiasco with Luthor, I didn't think I'd ever have a chance. I thought she would never love me outside of the Suit. But lately, every day it's as if she lets me see a little bit more of her. I love her so much, and I just...I can't help hoping even though I've told myself a thousand times that she already said she didn't love me."

"Now, she's never said that, son," Jonathan interrupted. "You know your mom thinks she loved you even while she was engaged to that monster. She says that Lois *must* have loved you since she seemed more worried about you attending the wedding than the wedding itself."

"I know, Dad, but..." Clark shoved his hands into his pockets and looked back at the rings, as if his eyes were magically drawn to them. "What if she can't love me the way I want her to? What if she never does? How long am I supposed to wait? When does it go from patiently waiting to...delusional? And what if she *never* loves me?"

Horror flashed through Jonathan, but he knew he had to handle this very carefully. He liked Lois, had noticed some of her similarities to Martha, and had cautiously looked forward to calling her daughter, but he didn't know her very well. He couldn't make promises on her behalf to Clark--and he certainly didn't know the answers to his son's questions. But there was no way he was going to ever let Clark think he wasn't worthy of being loved.

"Clark, what isn't to love?" he asked quietly. "You're there for her when she needs you, you protect her, you respect her for who she is, and you--"

"I've made mistakes, Dad." Clark shook his head wearily. "I lie to her all the time. I--"

"Son, when it comes down to it, you do the right thing." Jonathan took Clark's shoulder and made him face him. "Of course you make mistakes--you're not infallible--but you would never knowingly hurt anyone, least of all Lois."

"But I can't make a mistake!" Clark cried. "I can't mess this up, Dad! I can't...I can't do that again." He paused, swallowed, then asked in a very quiet voice: "How did you know you were the right one for Mom? How did you know she would be better off with you than anyone else?"

"I loved her, and I realized she loved me. I knew that as long as we both loved each other enough to put the other's needs ahead of our own, we were the best thing for each other. And, Clark, you've been putting Lois's needs and wants ahead of your own for a long time. Does she do the same for you?"

"Sometimes," he whispered. "A lot, lately."

"Then, Clark, which of these rings do you think Lois would like?"

Clark brightened. "You really think it would be all right to buy one?"

"I think if you don't, you'll just keep wasting time coming here to stare at them."

"Well..." Almost fearfully, Clark drifted closer to the display case to point at an engagement and wedding ring, both silver, the former boasting a small, star-bright diamond. "I think she'd like that one. And I think that if she wore it, it would be beautiful. It's not enough to dominate her or steal attention, but it would complement her perfectly."

Jonathan put his hand on Clark's back. "Then that's the one. Don't let it get away."

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Disclaimer: Portions of dialogue are taken from Home Is Where The Hurt Is, written by William M. Akers and Eugenie Ross-Leming & Brad Buckner