Hey, I know I've been absent for a while, but I have been writing, really, and I decided not to wait any longer. I have nine chapters written, so I think I'll be posting every other day. Hope everyone enjoys.
Lethal Qualities
Rated PG?
Set directly after Lethal Weapon.
Lethal Weapon was written by Grant Rosenberg. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Chapter 1: Guilt
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Guilt ate at Clark, tore at his insides, twisted and writhed within him, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. It had grown so large that breathing had become a feat worthy of Superman's strength. It colored everything he looked at with the sickly hues of self-reproach, the terrible shades of utter self-loathing, the painful tints of helplessness.
No matter how large the guilt loomed, however, Clark couldn't let Lois know how decimated he felt. He had already hurt her enough.
"So," he said in a cheerful tone he dredged up from memories of how it had been before he had betrayed her. "You want to go back home and finish our little poker game?"
"Oh? Okay." Lois smiled as she preceded him into the elevator. "But you don't stand a chance."
"You're probably right," Clark said even as he studied her closely, looking for any sign of pain in her expression or stiffness in her movements or stiltedness to her gestures. Then, because he couldn't quite help himself--because his guilt and fear were destroying him from the inside out--he tipped his glasses down and x-rayed Lois's body, terrified he would find more bruises shaped by the curve of his hand.
He found only one--the mark of his guilt.
Unfortunately, Lois caught him looking. "Excuse me!" she exclaimed, biting back her grin. "What did you just do?"
Clark took a deep breath and lied better than he ever had before. "Well, you were such a good poker player, I figured that might be as close to a win as I get tonight."
Lois playfully responded, but Clark hardly caught the words. His mind was trapped between relief that he had found no more bruises and horror that he had to look at all. If he had hurt her, he should *know*!
And now he and Lois were headed home. Home where she would, Clark knew, expect them to sleep in the same bed...expect them to touch. And before they got there, Clark had to know if he had hurt her again; he had to know if she was afraid of him. Because if she was--even the slightest bit--he wouldn't stay, wouldn't force her to share quarters with a man who so blithely, easily, and thoughtlessly hurt her.
So he laughed at her remark, and he flirtatiously dived at her, backing her against the wall of the elevator and trapping her by leaning his hands on the wall to either side of her--a position that gave him an excuse not to dare touch her. Then he looked into her smiling eyes as deeply and intently as he could, calling up everything he knew about Kryptonian telepathy.
He searched for any hint of fear.
And found none.
Relief so overpowering it threatened to carry him away flooded Clark's being. With a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes and carefully--oh so carefully--rested his forehead against hers. Her delicate--fragile--hands came up to cradle his face. Then, never once closing her eyes or breaking his gaze, she leaned up and kissed him, once, twice, gestures of forgiveness and reassurance.
"I love you, Clark," she whispered in his ear.
"Thank you," he whispered back, the words scraping his throat.
"It's not hard," she said with a graceful shrug, her hands still on his face, as if she sought to anchor him to herself. "You make it incredibly easy."
He swallowed his immediate protest. "I love you," he murmured--the only words that counted, no matter what he had done to her. His breaths fell gently on her soft skin, all of himself that could be trusted to touch her...and yet, had not even his breath once sent her to death's threshold?
"It's all right, Clark," she told him kindly, prompting a hard-won smile from him, just to thank her for her efforts.
Yet still he dared not touch her.
He smoothly stepped away from her just as the slow elevator slid to a stop. Lois hesitated an instant longer, then followed him out into the spacious lobby. "Do you think Perry will be okay?" she asked conversationally.
"I think we should get Jimmy to spend some time with him," Clark said as he caught sight of their friend about to exit the lobby doors. "Jimmy!"
"Hey, CK." Jimmy turned toward them, stepping out of the way of other Daily Planet employees heading home for the night. His normally eager expression was gone, replaced by a despondent look that sat unnaturally on his features.
"Are you all right?" Clark peered closely at the young photographer.
Jimmy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. What did you need?"
"Not research," Lois said quickly, the shadow of a smile playing around her lips. Both Clark and Jimmy gave her grateful glances as the tension around them eased the slightest bit.
"Did you see Perry?" Clark asked. "I think he could use some company, someone to remind him that he's not as bad a man as he thinks. Could you go up and talk to him?"
Stark panic flashed across Jimmy's face. His eyes widened as he darted a glance to Lois. "Do you know what I--" He paused, then shook his head. "I think I'm the last one Perry wants to talk to."
"He's all alone," Clark countered gently, the sentence awful and terrifying in his own mind. Would he be similarly alone when he was Perry's age, abandoned by the children he had put second to the needs of the world and by the woman he had hurt more than any other? "And he cares about you, Jimmy. You should let him know that someone cares about him too."
"I never told him," Lois interjected, reaching out to touch Jimmy's shoulder briefly. "I didn't tell him you suspected his son."
"I don't know." Jimmy wavered, obviously caught between his concern for the Chief and his own guilt.
Lois rolled her eyes and shoved Jimmy toward the elevators. "Go. The worst he can do is kick you out, and he must do that about five times a day already."
Though Clark had wanted Jimmy to go to Perry, he suddenly felt unprepared--not to mention unworthy--to be alone with Lois. His mind worked frantically to come up with an excuse to be alone, to temporarily distance himself from her lest he hurt her again. "Lois!" he blurted when she turned back to him. "If you give me that watch, I'll go drop it by Henderson's office. We might as well finish this case completely so we can start fresh tomorrow."
If only it were that simple, he thought wistfully.
Lois studied him, and Clark shifted uncomfortably, certain she knew what he was doing. "All right," she agreed.
Clark blinked in surprise, then had to hurriedly reach out to take the Rolex before she noticed his astonishment at her easy agreement.
"I'll be waiting up for you."
"You don't have to," he began to say, but she cut him off.
"I will. Be careful, Clark."
The words cut like a knife, though he knew she hadn't meant them in the way he took them. Perhaps it hurt even worse knowing that she had forgiven him so easily after what he had done to her.
They split up just outside the Daily Planet, but as Clark walked to the nearest precinct, he periodically turned and looked through blocks of buildings to make sure Lois reached home safely.
Henderson greeted him in his usual lackadaisical manner, just as much a façade as Clark's glasses. As Clark spoke to the inspector, he couldn't help but hear the conversation between the cops standing near the coffee machine.
They were talking about the rates of domestic abuse.
Clark's hands shook when he handed over the gold watch, and Henderson looked at him strangely. "I heard you weren't feeling well this morning, Kent, but you know, I don't think I've ever seen you sick before. You all right?"
Closing his mouth over the confession of what he had done to Lois, Clark nodded. "Thanks, Bill. I'll...see you later."
Feeling like a fugitive escaping from justice, Clark slipped from the station and melted into the shadows. Out of habit, he spun into his Suit before he took to the skies, unable to deny the insistent urge to cloak himself in the night. It had been a long time since he had felt so driven to hide. Being given Lois's love had made him feel as if he had also been given a second chance, a ticket to belonging on a world he had not been born into. But in one moment, with the gleam of red Kryptonite, Clark had lost every right to remain.
There were always minor accidents or petty crimes occurring in Metropolis--Superman was always needed somewhere--but Clark couldn't trust himself to answer those distress calls. Dr. Klein had assured him the effects of the red Kryptonite had been completely neutralized, but Clark could not forget the crash of a light-pole almost falling on top of an innocent passerby, the trails of flame that had barely missed a nearby car, the crash of exploding concrete and the whistle of shrapnel sliding dangerously through the air.
The prints of his hand marked in blackish blue on his wife's slender arm.
Clark vaguely remembered feeling cold as a child, tromping through snow and convincing his parents to help him build a snowman before fleeing to the fire and hot chocolate inside the house. He vividly remembered the chill that had pervaded his bones while he lay in Luthor's Kryptonite cage and listened to the Wedding March. But for the first time since Lois had loved him, Clark felt really, truly cold. He shook with it, trembling so badly that he dared not trust his flying and had to alight on a ledge beside a stone statue, wrapping his cape around himself.
Craving stability, Clark reached out one hand to carefully, lightly set it on the statue. His hand, he knew from experience, was much more indestructible than the stone, yet he could be hurt so much more easily.
And seeing what he had done to Lois had hurt more than anything else in his life. It was worse than Trask's unreasoning hatred, worse than Luthor's Kryptonite cage and quantum disrupter, worse than Lois forgetting him, worse than leaving everything for New Krypton. Those others had had reasons, clear enemies, or problems outside of his control. But this...hurting Lois had been all about control, he thought numbly--his total lack of it.
From the instant Clark had realized that he was not like everyone else, he had strived for perfect control, and he had worked hard until he had obtained it. He never forgot that human beings were incredibly fragile, so delicate that one wrong bump, one slight mistake, one sharp object, and they would die, their lives and futures and happiness eternally quenched. He never forgot that he could destroy so much without even making an effort. One sneeze and the electricity would be out for hours. One hiccup and the house he and Lois had made into their home was demolished.
One hug and his wife's flesh was marked with his fingerprints.
Clark understood that it was the red Kryptonite that had caused the accidents. He understood that he had not been wholly to blame for his tragic loss of control.
What he could not understand was how he hadn't known that Lois was hurt.
How could he have missed the quickening beat of her heart? Why hadn't he heard her quick breath of pain? What had distracted him so sufficiently that he hadn't even noticed the hurt of the woman he loved more than life itself? What was wrong with him that he had been more concerned about his own problems than Lois's needs?
With terrible, choking self-loathing, Clark glared at his right hand, hating it--hating himself--for what had been inflicted. His desire to be normal had faded as he grew comfortable with his Superman persona and found acceptance with Lois; now, it returned with a vengeance.
An ordinary man could never accidentally crush a woman's bone to powder. An ordinary man would have immediately noticed if he hurt his wife. An ordinary man...an ordinary man was safe.
For an instant--no longer than the beat of his heart--Clark wanted to retrieve the green Kryptonite from S.T.A.R. Labs and dose himself with it so that he would no longer be capable of causing Lois pain.
But dosing himself with Kryptonite would, he knew, hurt Lois even more than the ugly bruise. And it would solve nothing. It couldn't take him back to before he had carelessly injured the woman he loved.
With the watch delivered to Henderson and nothing more he could do for Perry--and unable to trust himself to make Superman rescues--Clark had no other excuse to stay away from home. Lois would be waiting for him. She would want...would expect...a hug. Perhaps a kiss.
A large part of Clark longed for those things; the saner part of him instantly quelled the idea.
What if the red Kryptonite hadn't worn off completely? What if he hurt her again?
How would he know?
But he couldn't stand alone in the cold night, not when Kryptonite dominated his thoughts.
His parents, he thought with desperate relief. They would want to know he was all right; he should visit and assure them everything was back to normal.
Fleeing his guilt--yet knowing it was just as fast as Superman--Clark blurred toward the stars and landed in a peaceful yard in front of his childhood home. Where he always found acceptance. Understanding. Forgiveness.
But could even his parents forgive him *this* sin?
Tentatively, Clark stepped into the house, for the first time unsure of his welcome.
His parents, though already dressed for bed, greeted him effusively. Clark tried very hard to find absolution in the feel of their arms wrapped uninhibitedly around him, but all he could see was that bruise marring Lois's perfect skin.
"We saw a bit on the news, but we were expecting a phone call, not a visit," Martha observed, her gaze locked on Clark, doubtless noticing that he couldn't meet her eyes.
"The phone," he rasped, closing his eyes as he remembered the plastic splintering into a million tiny pieces. "It...it's broken."
He tried to tell himself to admit what he had done, commanded himself to confess, but the words wouldn't emerge. His parents had taken every new power in stride, never once hesitating to touch him or tell him they loved him. So why couldn't he utter the burning admission stuck in his throat?
Because Jonathan had never once left a bruise on Martha's skin. Because neither one of them could fathom the idea of a man hurting his wife. Clark couldn't fathom it either, but he had done it. And done it without even realizing it.
When Martha put a hand on Clark's arm, he had to resist the urge to jerk away from the dangerous touch. "Clark, you're not blaming yourself for the injuries, are you? It wasn't your fault."
They didn't blame him! They knew he would never willingly or knowingly hurt Lois!
He *hadn't* done it knowingly, he told himself harshly; that was the purposeful distinction Lois had made the night before, and that was the problem. It had been easier to distract himself from his terror when he had been fighting the effects of the red Kryptonite, easier to pretend he was in control when he had been locked in a lab. Now, he was left with only the truth...and the guilt that even his parents' acceptance couldn't alleviate.
But...how had his parents known?
"Injuries?" he repeated slowly, numbly. Had there been more? Had Lois called to let them know what their son had done to the woman he had sworn to protect and cherish and love?
His parents exchanged glances before Jonathan clasped his shoulder. "Son, a man's claiming he was harmed at one of the jewelry store robberies. He's pressing charges against Superman and demanding that the city limit or outlaw your rescues."
Strangely, this betrayal of Metropolis seemed as nothing compared to his own betrayal of Lois.
But it still hurt.
"How did I hurt him?" he asked quietly, the words torn from him against his will. He had been so sure he hadn't harmed anyone...besides Lois.
"Oh, honey, you didn't!" Martha insisted fiercely. She wrapped her hands around his arm, a habit she had begun when he had first started exhibiting his abnormal strength and had decided not to touch anyone until he was certain he could control it.
"Orville Dorian is his name," Jonathan interjected. On the surface, he seemed almost calm, but there was a hard glint to his eyes that Clark had caught sight of only a handful of times before, usually when questions were being asked about Clark. "He has gashes on his arm from the shattered windows, and he claims he was sideswiped by Superman."
"By me," Clark rasped, understanding the reason behind the distinction his dad didn't usually make. But denying this wouldn't make it go away--he had hurt someone else. Without consciously noticing, he began to rub his fingers against his hands, as if he could feel the blood staining his impervious flesh.
Martha forcefully slid her hand into his, stopping the obsessive movement. "Clark, even if he was hurt--and I'm not saying that I believe that slimy, underhanded man for an instan--it was an accident. You would never hurt anyone!"
Caught by the force of her conviction, Clark accidentally looked into her eyes. His mouth opened to confess what he had done to Lois, but the words simply wouldn't come. He was Superman, yet he could not force the admission from his lips.
"Don't let this man strong-arm you, son," Jonathan advised sternly. "Remember that Dregg fellow who tried something similar. If one person gets away with it, they'll all want a piece of you. And Dorian isn't suing you--he's pressing charges for reckless endangerment and third degree assault. The police will probably be looking for you to make your statement."
Looking for him? They were probably terrified of him, Clark thought bitterly. They probably thought the alien would destroy them if they got too close. It was no wonder Metropolis had thought it necessary to shoot him; he was a menace. And Lois had borne most of the damage. If she weren't the bravest person he had ever met--and the most reckless--she would have been terrified of him.
She *should* be terrified of him. He couldn't even control his own body, couldn't calculate how much force he could use in a hug or a handshake, couldn't stop himself from crashing into things around him and getting innocent bystanders hurt.
He had hurt Lois.
He was a monster.
And here he was, sitting in his parents' living room, allowing them to touch him when he knew that at any instant, he might accidentally bruise their delicate skin or crush one of their weak bones or somehow end their frail lives. Humans were so unbelievably fragile, so impossibly flimsy, so indescribably precious.
He couldn't be trusted near them.
Clumsily, he rose to his feet, desperate to remove himself from his parents' presence before they were hurt, afraid to move too quickly lest he accidentally injure them. "I have to go," he said stiffly. "Lois is waiting for me."
Their declarations of love and assurances that they would stand by him no matter what and admonitions to tell Lois they were thinking of her passed over Clark's head. He tensed when Martha reached up to place a kiss on his cheek, and he barely restrained his wince away from his dad's hug. They didn't know what they were doing; hugging him was like hugging a ticking time-bomb.
Finally, pausing only to tell them he loved them--because, after all, he couldn't leave without saying that no matter how much he didn't deserve their love in return--Clark flung himself into the night air. He flew high and fast, driving himself harder and harder until the atmosphere thinned and became as cold as he felt. Then, breathing heavily as he fought to keep his emotions locked safely within himself, he paused.
Light clouds drifted below his feet while the stars glittered in harsh severity above him. Not part of the stars, not part of the Earth, just as he had told Lois over two years before. She had made him belong, tied him to Earth so that he didn't have to drift in limbo anymore.
But he didn't deserve it.
Frozen, Clark hung motionless. He saw the cold beauty spread out on every side of him...but he couldn't react to it. He heard the cries for help coming from every city in the world...but he dared not answer them. He longed for Lois's healing, accepting embrace...but how could he ask for anything from her?
"Come home, Clark."
He started violently, shocked to hear her voice whispering in his ear. Out of all the clamor of the Earth, her whisper instantly sliced through it all and straight to his heart.
Maybe he was weak. Maybe he was selfish. Maybe he was careless. But he couldn't deny that siren call.
Like a shooting star, Clark fell to the Earth.
