Funeral For a Friend

Perry futurefic
PG (character death warning)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

Clark Kent: I just can't help thinking that... Whitney's skin wasn't bulletproof. His bones weren't unbreakable, but he still put himself in harm's way so the world could be safer. I wonder if I didn't have my abilities if I'd have that same kind of courage.

Jonathan Kent: Son, there is no doubt in our minds that you would.

"We are here today to remember a great American hero."

The casket sat at the front of the cathedral, draped in an American flag and surrounded by red, white and blue flowers. The vast building was packed to overflowing with mourners, and outside thousands more thronged the street, waiting to pay their last respects. Cameras set up in the church broadcast the event to millions or even billions more.

"Superman was not born on this planet." Perry White spoke in clear, measured tones, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. God knew it wasn't easy. "But he committed himself, body and soul, to keeping us safe. Not just America, but the whole world. He defended us for fifteen years. And in the end, he willingly sacrificed himself to save us all."

He looked over the crowd, seeing masked, caped superheroes scattered throughout. It looked like every superhero in the world was here. Superman had been the leader of the Justice League, and he imagined the superhero community must be in something of an uproar right now, though he had no way of knowing for sure. He wondered how they felt, if they grieved the way the general populace did. Judging from the way their heads were bent, he thought they must be grieving almost as much as he himself was.

"Superman was invulnerable, in most circumstances," Perry went on. "But he knew perfectly well he could be injured, or even killed, by the technology of the aliens who attacked us last week. And yet... and yet he faced them anyway. To protect us, to save us, he faced them without hesitation."

As he spoke, he remembered a seventeen-year-old boy, struggling to save him. Somehow the boy had lost his amazing abilities and become as fragile as any human, and yet he'd risked his life to save Perry's unworthy neck. The boy could have easily been killed that day, all due to Perry's stupidity.

But he hadn't died. Thank God for that. They'd both survived, and the boy had gone on to be the world's greatest superhero.

Perry had known, the minute he laid eyes on Superman, that he was Clark Kent. Of course he'd known. He wasn't stupid, and the minute Superman came to town, he'd figured it out. The fact that Clark wore dark-rimmed glasses, alternated a wide, goofy grin with foot-shuffling shyness, and generally acted like a clueless, bumbling idiot hadn't fooled him for a microsecond.

And yet after some thought, he'd decided to keep Clark's secret, because he could easily understand why superheroes needed to conceal their identity in order to protect their families. He'd been torn nearly in two by the issue, had considered it from all sides for weeks. His job as editor in chief of the Daily Planet was to bring the truth to the public, and the truth was that Superman was Clark Kent. And on a more practical level, exposing Superman's secret identity would have sold a lot of papers, no doubt about it.

But it also might very well have caused Superman to stop working as a hero, which could have killed a lot of people in the long run.

Perry had never regretted that decision, and last week's events had made him more certain than ever that it had indeed been the correct decision. Because if Superman hadn't been around, Earth would be a smoking ball of charcoal right now.

He paused for a moment, blinking back tears. Not only had Earth lost a great hero, but he'd lost a colleague and close friend. There were so many more things he wanted to say. He wanted to talk about Clark Kent, journalist, loving husband, devoted son, and a damn good friend.

But no one was here to remember Clark Kent. No one except him, and a handful of others-- his widow, who was seated in the press section and trying valiantly to conceal her tears; Jimmy Olsen, who'd known and protected Clark's secret for years; Martha Kent, who was seated near the front, struggling to look dignified and calm, as if a stranger, rather than her only son, lay in the coffin.

Very few people in the crowd even knew the name Clark Kent.

But everyone on the planet knew the name of Superman.

Perry pushed aside his memories of the dark-rimmed glasses and Clark's wide, goofy grin, and focused on the memory of a heroic figure patrolling Metropolis' skies, his crimson cape ripping behind him.

"And so," he said, "we gather together on this Veterans Day to remember all the veterans who have fought and died to protect our country, as well as those still among us. But most of all, we remember Superman, who gave his life to protect us all. Not just the United States of America... but every person on Earth."

He heard his voice cracking again, and paused, steadying himself, then forced out the last words of his speech in a ragged whisper.

"May we never forget him."

-The End-

Home

Clark
Rating: G
Season 8
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

I walk back into the house after my chores, the same as I do every morning, and the first thing that hits me is the quiet. There's no sound except the low sounds of the air conditioner running and the fridge humming and the fluorescent light in the kitchen buzzing a little. It's almost painfully silent.

I remember when I used to walk into the house after my chores to hear my mom bustling around the kitchen. I'd hear the sound of her stirring up a batch of blueberry pancakes, or the sound of running water as she washed dishes, or the sound of the adding machine whirring as she tried to figure out how to pay the bills.

And most of all, I remember the sound of her singing, all the time, humming songs from the Dark Ages, back when she and Dad were dating.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table and hearing the sound of my dad's workboots clomping over the wooden floor, the sound of him smacking my mom on her butt, and her squealing. "Good morning, sunshine," he'd say in his deep voice. "What's for breakfast?"

And every single day, she'd turn around, shake her finger at him, and say, laughing, "Just for that, you don't get anything."

I remember the smells of cinnamon and bananas and apples filling the house when Mom was running her baking business out of our kitchen. Sometimes those smells would float clear out to the barn, and I'd sniff the air while I was working, and my stomach would growl like a rabid animal. By the time I got to the house I was ready to eat every single baked good she'd made that morning. But she'd smack my knuckles with a wooden spoon, knowing it didn't hurt me any.

"You're as bad as your father," she'd scold. "There's plenty of cereal in the pantry."

She always relented, of course, and let me have a couple of muffins. Well, maybe three or four. "You're a growing boy," she'd say with a laugh, and toss me one more as I headed out for the school bus.

"Off to school," Dad would say, rolling his eyes like I was heading off for an all-expenses-paid cruise to the Bahamas. "Well, enjoy your vacation, son. When you get home, I'll put you to work."

I remember the two of them laughing together. That's the sound I remember most, the sound of their shared laughter. It's not that things were always funny at our house. Far from it. It's just that no matter how rought things got, the two of them always seemed really happy.

Most of the time, we were all happy. We were happy together.

But that was a long time ago now.

There isn't any sound as I walk into the kitchen to wash my hands, except for the shush-shush-shush of Shelby's tail from the hearth. He's an old dog now, and even though he's just as glad to see me as he ever was, he doesn't get up too easily, so he no longer rushes to greet me when I'm done with my chores. But aside from the sound of his fringed tail brushing over the carpet, and the noise of water running as I wash my hands, there's nothing.

No sound of laughter, no voices teasing and joking, nothing bubbling on the stove or baking in the oven. There's no scent in the air, no smell of muffins or pancakes or apple pies.

I can cook them all myself, of course, but for one person, it really doesn't seem worth the trouble. Eggos are enough to keep a guy going.

Physically, at least.

I pull one of the frozen waffles out of the freezer, heat it with my eyes, and sit down at the wide, empty table. It doesn't even seem worth it to pull syrup out of the pantry. I take a bite and chew morosely.

I honestly don't know why I'm so lonely all of a sudden. It's not like I haven't been living alone for a while, after all. Dad's been dead for three years now. And Mom-- Mom became a senator and left for Washington a year and a half ago now. She's really busy, and I run over to see her every now and again, but we don't get to spend a lot of time together. She's just got too much going on.

And the only time she's actually been home was for Christmas.

And that's okay. Really, it is. I'm the one who encouraged her to leave. Like I told her, I'm a grownup now, and I can handle the farm on my own. And I can. It's doing better now financially than it ever did.

But the problem is that it just doesn't feel like home anymore.

I close my eyes, shutting out the solitude, and my mind drifts to the city I spend a lot of my time in. Metropolis isn't that far from Smallville, but it's like a whole different world. It isn't quiet and isolated and dull. It's exciting. Just walking down the streets gives me kind of a chill down my spine.

I grew up in the country, and even though I've spent a lot of time in Metropolis over the past few years, I just can't seem to get over being excited every time I run into the city. I like Metropolis, a whole lot. It almost feels disloyal to admit it, but the truth is that somehow, Metropolis feels more like home now than the farm does.

I'm not sure why that should be, except that everything that made Smallville home is gone now. My parents, my friends... all gone, one way or the other. Smallville feels empty.

The farm feels empty.

I put the half-eaten waffle down on the table and look around. The house looks exactly like it always did. The same antique, battered furniture, the same old chipped plates, the same old Frigidaire. It's like someone captured my childhood in a time capsule and froze it, eternal and unchanging.

But it only looks the same. The reality is that it's more like a snapshot of the past, with no depth and no reality. It's just a monument to the past, with no present and no future.

The heart's gone out of it, and it just isn't home any more.

I sigh, and acknowledge the truth to myself. It's time for me to find a new home. Maybe past time. This old farm hasn't felt like home for a long while now, and all the wishing in the world won't bring the past back.

The truth is that the sounds and smells and laughter of my childhood are gone forever. This empty house is all that's left.

I've lived here all my life-- well, all my life that I can remember-- and I don't think I can ever let it go entirely. I know that I'll come back here for holidays. Maybe I'll come here to have a break from the city, to look over the flat, green plains when I get tired of looking at glass and steel, to smell fresh air instead of exhaust. I know I'll be back.

But deep down, I know that it will never truly be home again.

-The End-

At Last

Clark futurefic
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap from KEakaCK.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kent. But you're dying."

The doctor looked at the man in front of him with compassion and admiration. Clark Kent, he knew, was Superman. He'd once hidden his identity from the world, but the truth had come out two hundred years ago. Now everyone in the solar system knew that Clark Kent was an alien who'd spent half a millennium working to protect humanity.

The doctor also knew that Kent had outlived a long succession of wives, and that he'd never had children. Right now, he recalled, Kent was widowed again, with no one to help support him through the grimmest moment of his long, long life. He was entirely alone as he truly faced his own mortality for the first time.

Kent frowned, his dark brows drawing down. He still looked as young and vital as ever, but the doctor knew he wouldn't continue to look that way much longer. "Are you sure, Doctor?"

The doctor sighed, looking over the test results one more time, even though he'd looked at them so many times he had all but memorized them. "Yes," he said sorrowfully. He couldn't imagine how shocked Kent must be, after all these years of thinking he was immortal. "I'm sure."

He grieved for Kent, but he grieved for the rest of the world as well. They'd all grown to think Kent was eternal. They'd grown to think of him as something permanent, like the mountains and the oceans. The doctor somehow couldn't quite imagine a world without Superman.

But he, and everyone else, would see such a world, very soon.

Kent looked at him for a long moment through solemn green eyes, looking every bit as serious as any man who had just been told he had a month to live.

And then, to the doctor's immense surprise, Kent smiled a wide, brilliant smile, his eyes shining with joy.

"At last," he said. "Thank God."

-The End-

Room 101

Manip by leothelion. Used with permission of the artist.
Clark, Jor-El
Futurefic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.

The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.
-George Orwell, 1984

He walked through the halls of the school building, his footsteps echoing hollowly off the metal lockers that lined the walls. He hadn't been in Smallville High School for years, and yet he knew it as well as any building on the planet. It was quiet and still, as if he were the only person here, and a creepy feeling of foreboding prickled its way down his spine.

He turned down a corridor that he knew led to the cafeteria, and saw a door that had never been there before. It looked much like any other door, a plain oak door with a shatterproof glass window, and a black tag marked 101 was affixed to it.

Despite its ordinary appearance, he knew it didn't belong there, and he paused, filled with a sudden apprehension.

Jor-El, what is behind that door?

The end of your training, my son. This is your final test.

He hesitated a long moment, then reached out, took the knob in his hand, and twisted. The door opened, and he stepped into the darkness beyond.

Suddenly he wasn't in the high school anymore. He wasn't even on solid ground. He was floating in the air, thousands of feet above the ground.

He'd learned to fly quite some time ago, and finding himself high over the Earth didn't frighten him. But the knowledge that suddenly flooded him did. Every cell of his body filled with a terrible panic as the situation became clear to him.

The world was at war, and two atomic missiles were heading for the United States. One was about to drop on the city of New York, killing millions.

The other had been targeted at Metropolis, in Kansas, but it had gone astray. In moments it would drop onto the remote farm where he lived with his family.

In moments, his wife and children would die... unless he saved them.

Even at his top speed, there was no possible way he could stop both missiles. He had to make a choice.

He hung in the air for a fraction of a second, his brain racing frantically. In his mind, he could see the faces of his children, the smile of his wife. They relied on him to save them. He'd vowed to keep his wife safe, no matter what. He had brought his children into this world, and he was responsible for them. His family was his first responsibility.

And yet... his perfect memory ticked off facts despite himself: New York, 322 square miles, five boroughs, population ten point three million...

God help him. He knew what he had to do.

Spinning in midair, he shot toward the city, as fast as he could go. The wind whipped tears from his eyes, but he didn't slow down. He didn't hesitate again, despite the despair twisting in his heart. He caught the missile as it plummeted toward New York and arrowed upward with it.

Far away, he heard the sound of another missile exploding, and the screams of his wife and children as they were blown to bits.

He rocketed up out of the atmosphere, into the darkness of space.

And then he found himself kneeling in a dark room, sobbing.

Slowly, the terrible memories of a family he didn't have faded from his mind. Confused by the sudden shift in his surroundings, he lifted his head slowly, and found that he was back in Room 101.

Jor-El. He tried to keep his mental voice steady, even though he was shaking with pain and anguish. What was the purpose in making me suffer through that?

One day, the AI answered, you may have to cope with a similar dilemma. Before your training could be considered complete, it was necessary for me to produce a simulation, to ensure that you will be able to respond appropriately.

He wiped at the tears and glared into the darkness. Necessary to put me through that? Necessary to make me imagine the worst thing in the world?

There was a long silence. When the AI spoke, it sounded less implacable, almost sorrowful.

I sincerely hope you may never face a similar situation, my son. But if you do... next time it will not be in your imagination.

Room 101 faded away like mist, no more real than the distant skyline of New York had been. Clark Kent blinked as the column of blue light that had held him for so long-- days? months? years? Thinking about it, he realized he had no idea-- flickered out. Suddenly there was nothing around him but the crystalline walls of the Fortress of Solitude.

"Your training is finished, my son," Jor-El said simply. "Go, and do your best."

Clark hesitated. He wasn't sure how long he'd been here, but in his mind, it had been a long, long time. Going home and taking up the mantle of a hero frightened him a little. The thought of making decisions like the one Jor-El had just forced him to experience scared him even more.

And yet... it was true he had no wife, and no children, but beyond these crystal walls were his friends and family, as well as a world that needed him.

Putting his doubts aside, he sped from the Fortress and launched himself into the sky, returning to the world at last.

-The End-

Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen

Clark and Jimmy
Season 7
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Photo from Last Beautiful Girl.

The door to the Talon apartment creaked open, and Clark Kent came strolling in like he owned the place. He always did that, and it invariably ticked Jimmy Olsen off. Of course, Jimmy had to admit that his girlfriend Chloe Sullivan did the exact same thing at CK's house, just walking in like she'd never heard of the concept of knocking. That annoyed Jimmy, too.

He thought glumly that maybe what ticked him off most was the idea that CK and Chloe were such close friends they didn't have any personal boundaries between them.

CK spotted him, sitting alone on the sofa, and came to an abrupt halt. "Uh, hi, Jimmy," he said, looking really uncomfortable all of a sudden. Neither of them liked the other much, despite the fact that they interacted quite a bit, thanks to Chloe. "Is Chloe around?"

Jimmy frowned at him. "She just left for a few minutes to get us some takeout. And we're on a date, anyway. You're not going to swoop in and drag her off on whatever it is you two do. Not tonight. She needs some fun."

Clark looked embarrassed. "I wasn't going to drag her anywhere. I just wanted to talk."

Jimmy glared at him. Keep those big paws off my girlfriend, CK. "Go find someone else to talk to," he said shortly.

He bent his head and went back to what he'd been doing when the door opened, poring over a scrapbook of articles he'd collected. Clark hesitated, then took a step closer.

"What are you reading, Jimmy?"

What, are you still here? Jimmy lifted his head and glared at the other guy.

"I'm looking through these articles I've collected," he answered, trying to keep his tone civil. "There's this guy who does all these rescues and things in the area. Metropolis and its suburbs, I mean. I read through this stuff every so often to try to see if there are any clues about who he is."

"Rescues?" Clark tilted his head, looking interested. "What kind of rescues?"

"Pulling babies out of burning houses, saving people's cars from running off the road, stopping robberies in progress. That kind of thing."

CK took another step closer. "That's a pretty big scrapbook."

"The guy's been doing this stuff for a long time. I started collecting articles last year, when I came to Metropolis, but when I went back through the Planet archives, I found a lot more. Whoever he is, he's been doing this for years."

"Does it say who he is?"

"No. No one has a clue. Almost no one's ever really seen him."

Clark frowned, his dark eyebrows drawing down. "Then why do you think it's always the same guy? For that matter, why do you think it's a guy at all?"

"A couple of people have gotten a glimpse of him, and claim it's a dark-haired man. Otherwise, it's always the same story from witnesses-- the people in danger are saved by this streak that comes out of nowhere, and disappears without a trace a second or two later. The police laugh their stories off, but it's happened too many times for me to believe all these witnesses are crazy."

"What exactly do you think this streak is?"

Jimmy studied one of his articles. "I think it's obvious we have a meteor freak here," he said at last. "But one that didn't go crazy. I figure the guy is superfast, and maybe superstrong. But Chloe and I have been over and over her records, and we can't find any meteor freak who'd fit the profile."

CK's eyebrows shot up. "You've been working with Chloe on this?"

Jimmy lifted his head and glared, as dangerously as he was able. "She's my girlfriend, CK. We work on everything together."

"Yeah," Clark said, very meekly. "I can understand that."

Slightly appeased by the meekness, Jimmy gave a self-deprecating shrug. "The truth is, she laughed at me at first. Said I just wanted my own Wall of Weird. But when she figured out I wasn't going to quit looking into it, she started helping me. She gave me access to all her files on meteor freaks. But we still haven't been able to make any sort of guess as to who this guy is. We call him Superman."

CK's eyebrows shot up so far they looked like they were in danger of flying off his head. "Superman?"

"Well, I think Chloe came up with that name," Jimmy admitted. "Whoever he is, he isn't like you and me, CK. He's got some really amazing powers, and he uses them to do a lot of good things."

"People can do good things without powers," CK said.

"Not like this." Jimmy lifted the scrapbook, feeling the familiar tug of mingled envy and hero worship. The guy who'd done the things written about in these articles was one seriously amazing dude, practically a god, and Jimmy hoped he could meet the guy someday, just so he could shake his hand.

"This guy... well, he's super, CK. He doesn't just have the freakish powers. He uses them." He paused, trying to explain exactly why he thought this guy, whoever he was, was so awesome. "I mean, if you could run so fast no one could see you, and if you were strong enough to pick up a car, would you use your powers to save people? Or would you go rob banks or something?"

He thought he saw CK wince, very slightly. "I like to think I'd help people," he answered.

"Yeah. Me too. But you know that old saying about absolute power, right? If you and I got this kind of power, I bet we'd use it for ourselves, more than for other people."

"You could be right," Clark admitted.

"Of course I'm right. It takes a really amazing person not to misuse these kinds of abilities." Jimmy took one last look at the scrapbook, then closed it, very carefully, and looked back up at CK.

There was an odd look on CK's face, a look of loneliness, almost of isolation, and Jimmy couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy. When he'd first met Clark Kent, he'd been crazy jealous, because the other man was huge, muscled, and movie-star handsome.

But he'd slowly begun to realize that CK had a pretty sad life, really. His whole existence was centered around keeping his parents' farm running, and he couldn't even scrape together enough dough to pay for college right now, or find the spare hours for a part-time job. He had a gorgeous girlfriend, but their on-again, off-again relationship was so full of drama that it hurt just to watch it. Right now, they were broken up again, so Clark didn't have anyone to talk to at the farm.

Basically, the only good thing CK had in his life was his friendship with Chloe. And that was the only reason Jimmy was able to tolerate their closeness, because without Chloe, Clark wouldn't have anything at all.

He thought about the mystery guy Chloe had dubbed Superman, a guy who helped people out all the time, just because he was decent and good and cared about everyone. He had the sudden odd thought that Superman wouldn't want him to send poor CK back to his pathetic, empty life when the guy was obviously really lonely, and desperate for some company.

"Hey, CK," he said. "You want to stick around for dinner?"

Clark looked startled, and his eyebrows did the flying thing again. "Uh, thanks, Jimmy, but I don't want to horn in on your date..."

"Don't worry about it, dude. It's not like Chinese takeout is romantic or anything. And Chloe always orders enough for six people. So sit down and hang with us for a while."

Clark stared at him for a long moment, his eyes saying clearly, Who are you and what have you done with Jimmy Olsen? But at last he shrugged a little, and settled into one of the chairs, which creaked under his weight.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"No problem."

An awkward silence fell. At last Clark reached out and lifted the scrapbook, paging through it idly. "I can't believe Chloe didn't tell me about this," he said, very softly.

"Chloe doesn't tell you everything, CK. The two of us have secrets, too."

"Yeah." CK put the scrapbook down, frowning a little. "I guess you do, at that."

The truth was that Jimmy had never realized Chloe had shared anything, however minor, with him that she hadn't shared with Clark. The idea made his chest swell. He knew Clark had been part of her life for a long, long time, and it was obvious the two of them shared everything but a toothbrush. But for the first time, he realized he and Chloe had secrets she wasn't sharing with Clark.

And that seemed to put him and Clark on a more even footing somehow.

"Maybe she didn't tell you because she thought it might bug you," he suggested. "I mean, whoever this guy is, he's like totally together..."

"And I'm not?"

Jimmy suddenly realized he'd blundered. He opened his mouth to backpedal, but Clark waved a hand in a don't-worry-about-it gesture.

"I know I'm not the most successful person in the world," he said, and once again he sounded uncharacteristically meek, almost humble. "I mean, I'm just a farmer. You and Chloe are going places, but me, well..."

Jimmy shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, anybody would feel inferior next to this guy. I figure Chloe knew you were going through a bad patch, and she just didn't want you to start thinking that way. You know?"

CK nodded solemnly. "You're probably right."

He put the scrapbook down on the coffee table, and once again Jimmy was struck by the look in his eyes, a look of sorrow, of isolation. A look of alienation. He'd never before realized how lonely CK must get, spending most of his time out at that farm in the sticks.

A sympathy he didn't want to feel rose up inside him, and he reached for the remote. "You like basketball, don't you, CK?"

The eyebrows took off again, as if Clark were startled by his efforts to be friendly. "Yeah."

"Cool. I think the Vipers are playing." Jimmy switched the TV on, and sure enough, the Metropolis team's distinctive red and blue jerseys appeared on the screen. He tossed the remote onto the coffee table with a clatter and leaned back on the sofa, grinning. "Chloe's going to have a fit when she gets back. She hates basketball."

Clark hesitated, just a second, then grinned back at him. "Let her have a fit."

"Women just don't appreciate this stuff, you know?"

"Oh, yeah. Believe me." Clark rolled his eyes. "I know."

Before long, the two of them were alternately cheering loudly and yelling insults at the screen. Jimmy reflected that it was fun to watch basketball with someone who appreciated it, instead of someone who was constantly nagging you to turn it off.

He hadn't made any close guy friends since coming to Metropolis, and he was startled to realize how much he'd missed cussing and yelling at the TV with another guy. Chloe was a great girl, but like a lot of women, she just didn't appreciate sports. And when she got back, she was going to gripe at them to turn it off. But Jimmy had no intention of doing that. He was having way too much fun.

The last thing he'd expected to spend his Friday night doing was watching the Vipers with Clark Kent, of all people. CK might not have his life together, and he might be closer to Chloe than Jimmy was really comfortable with. But despite all that, the surprising truth was that CK really wasn't all that bad.

In fact, Jimmy kind of liked the guy.

-The End-

Let Me Go

Clark/Lana
Season 7, after "Fracture"
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the CW and DC Comics, not to me.
Screencap from SVFan.

You love me but you don't know who I am
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand
And you love me but you don't know who I am
So let me go, let me go
-3 Doors Down, "Let Me Go"

"When I was in Lex's mind..."

Clark Kent hesitated, because what he had to say was awkward. Then again, talking to Lana Lang was always kind of awkward nowadays. It shouldn't be, because she was his girlfriend. They'd been living together for six months now. And yet sometimes he felt like he didn't know her at all.

And that she didn't know him, either.

She stood in the farmhouse kitchen now, watching him warily. Her hair was as sleek and perfect as ever, and she was as beautiful as she'd ever been, yet the innocence that had once filled her face was almost entirely gone.

She looked exactly like the girl he'd adored in high school... except when he looked into her eyes.

When he looked into her eyes, he saw a stranger.

"When I was in Lex's mind," he went on, slowly and painfully, "I saw this... memory."

He saw a flash of wariness cross her beautiful face. It was a look he'd seen more often than he wanted to admit lately, the expression of someone who had a great deal to hide, and who was always afraid of being caught in a lie or half-truth.

"What memory?" she asked, quietly.

"You and Lex." He hesitated again, then barged ahead. "Making love."

"Clark." Her voice was wry, and she reached out and put a hand on his arm. "You know that he and I... well, we had sex more than once. It was a mistake. I know that now. And if I could take it back, I would. But I can't."

"No." He shook his head. He wanted to pull away from her hand, but he thought that wouldn't be polite. She was his girlfriend, after all. "See, the thing is that in this memory... you were wearing a wedding ring."

She froze, and then her hand dropped away from his arm of its own accord. She stared at him, wordless.

"I thought you married him because you were forced into it," he went on, uncomfortable but stubborn. It would be easier to sweep this under the rug, as they'd swept so many things under the carpet in their relationship, but he knew they needed to get it out in the open. "But in this memory, you were-- you were telling him you loved him, Lana. That you'd love him forever."

There was a long, long silence, broken only by the sound of her swallowing nervously. He'd said everything he had to say, so he waited silently.

"You've been missing for almost two days," she said at last, her voice sharp. "And now you come back, and the first thing you do is start hurling accusations at me."

Lana was good at that, at turning an argument so that it was all about his failings, rather than hers. But the fact that he'd been gone so long was something he refused to feel guilty about, all things considered.

The truth was that he didn't particularly enjoy coming back to the farmhouse after two days and getting into a fight with her, either. He was tired, and all he really wanted right now was to sleep. But he knew they had to stop avoiding discussion of the problems in their relationship.

"I had somewhere I needed to be," he said flatly. "And that's not the point here. The point is that you made love to Lex, after you married him. And you told him you'd always love him. Why, Lana? You told me you didn't want to marry him. That you were forced into marrying him."

She stared at him a moment longer, then her face went shuttered and cold.

"I also told you I loved him," she answered. "Not the way I loved you-- but I did love him."

He remembered what she'd said to him on the day of the wedding: I thought that the love that I have for Lex would be enough, but I can't keep turning my back on the truth. He heaved a sigh. "I don't understand how you can love two people at once, Lana."

"Don't you?"

Her gaze was accusing, and he stared back at her for a moment, then shrugged uncertainly, not quite sure what she was trying to imply. "The thing is," he said, "in this memory, you acted like he meant an awful lot to you. I just can't understand how you could tell him you'd love him forever, when you came so close to leaving him at the altar."

She shrugged.

"I didn't have much choice but to have sex with him," she answered. "If I hadn't, he would have known my heart wasn't in our marriage, wouldn't he?"

"But why would you care? He wasn't the one forcing you into marriage. It was Lionel."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Because otherwise, I was didn't have any power over him."

"Power." He thought about that, and a cold shiver went down his spine. "Are you telling me you had sex with him just so you could manipulate him?"

The idea bugged the hell out of him. The thought that Lana used sex for manipulation had occurred to him more than once. She usually only seemed to want sex when she wanted something from him, and more than once he'd had the uncomfortable idea that she'd learned to use sex as a kind of bargaining chip, a way of controlling men. But he'd pushed the thought away, because to him, sex was supposed to be an expression of love between two people, not a means of bending other people to your will.

Using sex to manipulate other people struck him as... well, creepy.

"I had to have some way to control him," she answered, her voice icier than he'd ever heard it. "Until I could figure out an exit strategy, I couldn't just let him have all the power in our relationship. But it doesn't mean I loved him more than I love you, Clark."

He looked at her for a long moment. Her eyes were like two chips of dark green ice, hard and cold. He wondered why he'd never noticed her eyes were so cold before.

And suddenly, he had no idea if he could believe her or not.

"If you love me all that much," he said, very softly, "then why didn't you notice when I was missing for a month?"

"Oh, God." Her mouth drew into a tight line. "Do we have to rehash that again?"

"We can't rehash it when we've never really discussed it, Lana. Every time I bring it up, you try to avoid talking about it. But it's a problem, at least for me. It's a big problem. Because I really feel like you should have noticed the guy you were sleeping with wasn't me."

"How would I know that?" she snapped. "You wouldn't have sex with me at all."

"I was afraid of hurting you."

"No, you weren't. You just weren't willing to commit to me." Her eyes blazed with a chilly light. "The other Clark-- he was committed to me. He wanted to make me happy."

Clark sighed. "He was just playing you, Lana."

"No! He really loved me!"

Clark opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. The truth was, he had no clue exactly what had been in his double's mind. For all he knew, the poor sap really had fallen in love with Lana. Clark really couldn't see any other reason why the guy would have hung around a quiet rural farm for a month, when with his speed and strength and abilities he could have gone anywhere in the world, and done anything he wanted.

All of which made the fact that Lana had been the one to destroy the other Clark that much more disturbing. Sometimes Clark wondered if he was going to be the one who was destroyed next.

"Okay," he said at last, quietly. One of them needed to be calm. "So you think he loved you. Did you love him?"

"I thought he was you!"

"Yeah, you said that. But I think you noticed the difference, even if you don't want to admit it. The honest truth... is that you liked me better that way. Didn't you?"

She glared at him for a long moment, then her face crumpled, and tears filled her eyes.

"He was willing to devote his life to me," she whispered. "You're not."

And there it was, right there. The big issue that they couldn't find their way around, no matter how hard they tried.

"Lana..." He sighed. "I've been doing my best. But I can't spend my life on this farm, and I can't run away with you to Paris, either. That's not who I am. At least, it's not who I want to be."

"You don't care about me," she whispered, and he saw her lips tremble. He wanted to go to her and put his arms around her, to comfort her, but he restrained himself.

"I do care about you," he answered steadily. "But I care about the world, too."

She looked at him, and he saw her eyes glimmering.

"I need more than that, Clark."

"Yeah," he said. "I'm starting to get that. But it's all I've got to offer."

She stared at him a moment longer, then turned her back on him.

"It's not enough," she whispered. "If I can't have you-- all of you-- then it's not enough."

He stood there, looking at her. She was the girl he'd loved, or thought he'd loved, since he was five years old. And yet she didn't know who he was, or what made him tick. And he was beginning to realize he didn't know who she was, either.

He'd tried so hard to make this relationship work. But it was finally beginning to dawn on him that it wouldn't. It couldn't. She simply wanted more than he was willing to give.

She wanted more than he thought was reasonable of her to ask for.

"Lana," he said, very softly. "Let me go."

She turned her head and glared at him venomously. "Why? So you can go to Chloe?"

He blinked. "Chloe?"

"Yes, Chloe. That's where you've been for the past day, isn't it? With Chloe?"

He shrugged noncommittally. He'd promised to protect Chloe's secret, just as she protected his, and he wasn't about to tell Lana that Chloe had died, and he'd spent most of a day waiting for her to come back to life. Which, fortunately, she had.

"Chloe has nothing to do with this," he answered.

"Chloe has everything to do with this," she snapped. "She's always meant more to you than I do."

The words hit him across the face like a blow, and he actually took a step backward. He'd been in love with Lana for years, and the idea that Chloe meant more to him-- well, Lana was wrong.

She had to be.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "This isn't about Chloe, Lana. It's about us."

She spun around. Her eyes were colder than ever.

"If you're really honest with yourself," she snarled, "you'll admit it's about Chloe too. I might have fallen in love with other men, but at least I'm willing to admit it. You don't even see what's right in front of you, Clark."

He thought about the way he'd sat next to Chloe for most of a day, refusing to give up hope that she would somehow revive. He'd sat through darkness and daylight, moments of hope and moments of despair, and when she'd finally opened his eyes, his heart had swelled to the point it almost hurt.

He'd never been happier in his life than the moment when he realized he hadn't lost her forever.

Even so, he tried to deny it. Chloe was his friend. She'd always been his friend. A very, very close friend, but nevertheless just a friend. "I'm not in love with Chloe, Lana."

She shook her head. "Clark," she said, more gently. "A few minutes ago, you asked me to let you go. But I can't. Do you know why?"

He hesitated, then shook his head.

She smiled sadly, and turned away, walking toward the front door of the farmhouse. She spoke over her shoulder, her words ringing with a sorrowful truth he couldn't deny, as much as he wanted to.

"Because I never had you to begin with," she said softly.

-The End-