Summary: Clark and Lois face a future without children. Each have their own thoughts on the matter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing. All characters, plot points, and lines of dialogue belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers, December 3rd Productions and anyone else with a stake in the Superman franchise. I just like to play with the characters once in a while. My only liberty to the Lois and Clark storyline is the omission of the random, unexplained infant at the end of "The Family Hour."
Dedicated to anyone facing the pain of infertility.
~~~~~ Superman ~~~~~~
Incompatible.
Infertile.
Childless.
The last son of the House of El.
The words beat around my brain, threatening to drive me insane. I try to force them out, but they are as steady and incessant as jungle drums. I abandon my patrol over Metropolis. It's a quiet night for once. A few wet tears slip down my cheeks as I fly and I brush them away angrily. Not now. Not here. There is a time and place for them.
I need to get away. I need time alone. I need to grieve. I need to run away from everyone and everything. Even Lois. Not forever. Just long enough to shed the tears that I've been holding inside. I don't want her to see me grieve. I need to appear strong for her. She's hurting too.
I feel selfish for running away. And I know that, in the end, I have to go back. In the end, all I can do is to privately cry and then put on my bravest face for Lois. I feel ashamed at the need to grieve in private. I tell myself that it is for Lois. I tell myself that I need to be her rock, even though I know that she would never blame me for feeling the way I do.
But the simple truth is, I just don't want her to see my pain.
Rocketing away from Metropolis, I cleave a path through the clouds until I arrive in Antarctica. I settle down on a glacier. I've come here before when I've needed time alone. I've come here to vent my frustrations because here, at least, there are no witnesses to my suffering. No one can see my tears. No one can hear my screams. And scream I do - primal, animal sounds torn from my twisted soul and broken heart. I scream until I have no breath left and my lungs ache from the effort. I scream until my throat is raw. In those screams, I try to funnel all of my frustrations, my sorrows, my hopelessness, my pain.
My screams give way to heaving sobs. I can no longer hold back the torrent of tears. They slip from my eyes and crystallize on my cheeks in the subzero air. I sink to my knees in the ice and snow. For a long while, I stay there on my hands and knees, chest heaving with the effort of my grief. I can't catch my breath. My lungs burn. But I can't stop, can't calm the torment in my soul. I cry until I am exhausted from the effort.
Eventually, the wracking sobs lessen and I can breathe again. How long it takes, I do not know.
I sit down on the glacier, my knees drawn up into my chest, holding my head in my hands. Silent tears still brim in my eyes and freeze on my lashes. After a time, I look up again. For the first time, I look around at the stark, barren wasteland around me.
Barren.
The same fate that I've condemned Lois to.
Guilt claws at me. I never wanted to hurt her. And now, I've hurt her beyond words. I've taken away her chance to be a mother. And it is all my fault. I'm the one with the alien DNA. I'm the one who isn't compatible with her. If I was just a normal guy - or had left her alone to be with a normal guy - this wouldn't have happened. Maybe there would have been stumbling blocks, but they never would have been so insurmountable as this. She would have had a chance to be a mother. With me, there is no chance.
It's also my fault that we can't adopt.
If Lois and I had never gotten close, she never would have been a target for as much of the criminal circuit as she has been. Since meeting me, her life has been in peril more times than I care to remember. Her life has been at risk because of me. That's not to say that she never would have faced danger. Danger is part of her job. But it is because of her connection to Superman that she's been targeted so often.
Had I never created Superman, maybe we could have adopted.
I've condemned her.
And yet, I would never trade a second of my life with her.
I feel so empty inside. I feel like my heart has been torn out and replaced with a chunk of Kryptonite. My grief cuts me like a knife, deeper and more profoundly than the radioactive rock. Once again, despair clenches around my chest.
How did my parents live like this for so many years? How did they survive the heartache day after day? How did they face every month with small shreds of hope that maybe - just maybe - they'd beaten the odds this time? How did they face the disappointment each time when that hope was dashed? It's only been a few days since Dr. Klein delivered the bad news to me. And already I am falling apart. Already my soul feels dead.
I've always done my best to emulate my parents. I've always desired to be just like them. Except for in this one thing. In this one, painful way, I never wanted to be like them.
There will be no more children falling from the sky.
There will be no miracle that will soothe the emptiness in our life.
I haven't been naive. I've always known that this was a possibility. Ever since I discovered my Kryptonian roots a few years ago, I realized that I was, in fact, an alien. I knew my DNA held no traces of humanity. But before Lois and I became a couple, I didn't worry much about my ability to procreate. I'd never loved a woman before Lois. And until Lois was mine, I never gave much thought to any hopeful, future children. That's not to say that it never crossed my mind. I'd always wanted to find my other half, to settle down, and raise a family. But until Lois loved me, that possibility never seemed real to me. It was just a wish, a dream. Lois made it a reality.
My heart is breaking.
I am a man of action. I have dedicated my life and my powers to helping those in need. As a reporter, I have worked to expose the nasty underbelly of society so that things can be fixed. I've chosen to cover stories that will shed light on worthy causes, knowing that by bringing to light the struggle of the poor or the next big charity event, I can impact lives. My articles reach thousands of people. And among those thousands are others with the means to help the less fortunate. As Superman, I have given over my powers for the good of mankind. I suppose I could have chosen to use them to gain wealth and power. But that's not who I am. I enjoy using my abilities to save lives, to stop crime, and to help out the helpless. As Superman, I can also draw attention to worthwhile causes by showing up to charity events or by giving statements to the press.
But now, I am completely powerless.
For all of my abilities, I feel worthless. For all of my strength and power, there is nothing that I can do to fix this. For all those that I have helped, I cannot help myself. There's nothing that I can do to make my DNA mesh with Lois' to create a new, separate, perfect, beautiful life. There is nothing that I can do to ensure that one day my son will inherit his mother's smile or that I will see my eyes looking back at me from my daughter.
I want to be strong for Lois. I want to be her rock. But how?
How can I pretend that this doesn't bother me? How can I let Lois know how much I hate myself right now? How do I lie to her? How can I put on a happy face each day? How can I play the part of the eternal optimist? How can I hide the lump that forms in my throat every time I see a happy family together? How do I live with the guilt I feel, knowing that this is all my fault?
Or should I even bother to hide my feelings? Ever since Lois discovered the truth about who and what I am, I've always promised to keep no secrets from her.
She's hurting as much as I am. Perhaps we can help each other overcome this. Perhaps our being together is the only way to heal the heartache. We'll lean on each other. We'll draw strength from each other. We may never stop hurting, but together we will survive this, as we've survived everything else that life has thrown at us so far. And we have survived so very, very much.
I leave the glacier and head back home, but I don't go inside. Instead, I fly up into the night sky until I break free of the Earth's atmosphere and I can see the curve of the planet. I hover there, miles above my house and my wife. I hover there, as I've always done when I am troubled. I am not part of the sky. I am not part of the Earth.
Separate.
Alone.
Isolated.
The last child of the House of El.
My heart aches for Lois. In the last few weeks, I saw the glint in her eyes as we discussed the possibility of having children. I saw the wistful look on her face as we passed children in the streets. I saw the fires of her maternal instincts flare into life in her soul. I saw the hope in her face when she thought that the bassinet that was delivered was from me. I heard the silent plea in her voice when she'd asked if it was my way of telling her that we could have children.
And just as suddenly, I saw her hope and spirit crushed. I watched the hope flee from her eyes when I gave her the bad news. I saw something within her break. Her strength failed. Her iron will snapped. Just for a moment. And then, somehow, she was strong again. She forged ahead, refusing to just believe what Dr. Klein told us. And so, we asked her father for help.
But twice more, I saw her heart break. Her father could find nothing wrong with the data. And we were denied the ability to pursue an adoption. It broke my heart to see my wife so utterly defeated. And I hurt inside, knowing that there was nothing that I could say or do that could take away her pain.
A new thought occurs to me.
Could Dr. Klein and Sam be wrong? Could a miracle still happen? Do I dare hold any hope of that? Or am I setting myself up for further heartache?
I feel a tiny ember of hope barely light within my soul. It's only a speck and will extinguish easily if I am not careful. But it is there. I will shelter it, placing it as deep within my soul as I can. I will protect it, as best I can, from the bitter disappointments I am sure are still to come.
Oddly, I feel no relief. I feel no stronger. I feel no less pain. I only feel drained in body, mind, and spirit. But that tiny spark of hope holds me together. My heart and my soul are still fragile, but they are no longer tearing apart at the seams. My tears have dried. I am composed once more. I can face Lois again.
Day by day - that's how I will survive this.
Day by day - I will lean on Lois and she will lean on me.
Our love is the strongest force on Earth.
United, there is nothing we can't overcome.
I may be the last of the House of El, but I am by far the luckiest. I have something that no one else has. I have Lois.
