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Broken	By : MidnightBard Category: G through L > Lois & Clark Views: 2191 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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The words hung in the air, an almost physical weight that Clark could feel. He closed his eyes, unable to meet Lois' gaze, though he heard the shocked gasp escape from her lungs as her heart rate quickened. All his old wounds opened, all his shame and self-blame rising to the surface like a thick, black, oily sludge that oozed over his mind and heart. And yet, a tiny part of him was somewhat relieved to know that Lois now knew his deepest, darkest secret.
                At least, half of it, he corrected himself.
                "Oh, God," Lois croaked out, her voice shaking. "Clark..."
                "He raped me, Lois," he said in a whisper, needing to explain, needing her to fully understand.
                The word 'raped' surprised him. He'd meant to say assaulted, or abused, or any number of other descriptive terms. He wondered at how simply the word had slipped from his lips. He'd covered a number of rape cases in his time as a reporter. And he'd seen and prevented plenty as Superman. Perhaps he'd numbed himself to the word, though it had taken him years to admit to himself that 'raped' had been the accurate term for what had happened to him.
                "I'm ashamed to admit it," he said, hanging his head, "but it's true."
                "Oh, Sweetie, that's nothing to be ashamed of," Lois said, trying to comfort him.
                She reached for his hands but Clark sprang to his feet and began to pace. He wasn't done with his confession yet. Unsure of how she would take what he had to say next, he felt compelled to move, as though the movement could somehow shield him from whatever reaction she might have.
                "Yes, it is, Lois. Ever since then...I've been...terrified...of being intimate...with anyone."
                "That's why...when I asked you to stay the night after Cindy's party," Lois said slowly, comprehending. Her voice cracked, though Clark could tell she was trying valiantly to keep her composure. "Oh, Clark, I'm so sorry. I never meant..."
                "It's not your fault. I just...never had the courage to tell you, Lois. That's why I'm so ashamed to tell you now, and why your mother is right about me." He allowed his feet to carry him to the small bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. He rested his arm against one of the shelves and buried his head in the crook of his elbow for a moment, before he found his voice again. When he did, he spoke into the books, unwilling to meet Lois' gaze, though he could feel her eyes on his back.
                "You deserve someone who can fulfill all of your needs. The emotional and the physical ones. And, as much as I want to be that guy, I know I'm not him. I know it hasn't been fair of me to lead you on this whole time. It's just...I have loved you, ever since the moment I first saw you. But these scars, these memories...I can't be the man you deserve. I'm sorry, Lois. Believe me, please. And...I'll understand...if you want to leave."
                He didn't move from his place, purposely looking away from her. If she chose to walk out his door, he would let her go, but he knew he'd never be able to bear watching it happen. It was always difficult enough watching her leave when she returned home for the night after a dinner together or time spent looking over story notes. If she left tonight and walked out of his shattered life...there was no way Clark could possibly witness it happen.
                Still, he wasn't a fool. He knew how difficult it would be for Lois to stay. He steeled himself for the inevitable. She would leave, he just knew she would.
                The silence stretched on for an eternity. Then, finally, the sound he'd been dreading. He heard the springs of the couch creak almost imperceptibly as she rose and stood. He closed his eyes, waiting to hear her retreating footsteps as she left his apartment, leaving him behind with nothing but his shame to keep him company.
                "I'm not going anywhere," Lois said, her voice sounding like a solemn vow as she stepped to his side. She gently laid a hand on his shoulder. Clark flinched, despite himself, at the unexpected contact. "Despite what you may think of yourself, I know you are exactly the right man for me."
                "Lois, I know you might think that. But this...this is a huge deal. I know...I know," he said, shaking his head and cutting her off before she could argue the point. "Relationships aren't based a hundred percent on the physical aspect. But let's face it. Intimacy does have an important role. And as much as I want to one day be your husband, I can't ask you to be with someone who can't make love to you."
                "Clark, listen to me. I am not leaving," she promised him, again reaching for him and resting her hand on his back. This time, Clark was prepared for the touch and did not shy away. "We'll work through this, together, just like we always have. We'll beat this obstacle. And that's all this is - an obstacle. A bump in the road. Look at how much else you and I have overcome together. There is nothing we can't overcome. Nothing."
                "This isn't a case to be solved, Lois. This isn't some...broken item to fix. This...goes beyond that. Way beyond that. It's something that's damaged, deep inside of me." He stepped away from her again, feeling the primal urge to move, as if he could put some distance between himself and his mental anguish. "I'm broken, Lois. I can't even think about being intimate with you - or with anyone, for that matter - without breaking out into a cold sweat and shaking. It's like my whole body turns on me. It's not because I don't want to be with you. Please, understand that. More than anything, I want to be able to take you in my arms and show you just how much I love you. I just...can't."
                He sighed and sank onto the couch once more, feeling utterly drained and defeated. He raked his hands helplessly through his hair.
                "I don't know what to do," he whispered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
                "I think you're already doing something," Lois said softy, as she sat down next to him again. She gently pulled his hands away from his eyes. "You told me."
                "It doesn't change anything," Clark said miserably, as Lois made a soft sound of protest. "It doesn't fix the problem." He sighed heavily. "All I've ever wanted was to be a normal guy. And, for the most part, I am. I have a job, an apartment, a wonderfully amazing girlfriend. But I'm not normal, my super abilities aside. I can't even be intimate with the woman I love. How pathetic is that?"
                "It's not pathetic at all. It just shows how normal you really are. You aren't the only person in the world to suffer from a reaction like this," Lois said. "I want to help you, Clark, if you'll let me...because I love you, and because I would do anything in the world for you. You know that, don't you?"
                "I know," he whispered as he nodded slowly, his eyes still downcast.
                "Then believe me when I tell you that we can and will get through this."
                She cupped his chin softly and lifted his head, drawing his reluctant gaze to her face. His chest tightened at the sight of her tears. A pang of guilt shot through him. He'd promised himself that he would never make her cry. He tenderly wiped a stray tear from her cheek as it raced down her face.
                "I'm sorry," he said in a shaking and broken voice. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Lois."
                She shook her head and mustered up a smile for him. "You didn't. It's just...my heart's aching for what you went through. But, I promise, we will get through this."
                Clark nodded slowly, wanting to believe her, but unsure if he really did. His hands covered hers as she continued to cradle his head, and he allowed himself to briefly bask in the warmth and comfort of her touch. He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again.
                "I want to believe you," he admitted in a hollow voice. "I just don't know where to start."
                "Well," Lois said slowly. Clark could hear the hesitation in her voice as she carefully selected her words. "I wrote a series of articles, back before you joined the Planet. They were on a serial rapist that had been terrorizing the women of Metropolis."
                "I remember those," Clark said, dropping his hands to his lap. "Even before I met you, I always read and admired your work."
                "You'll remember then that I interviewed some of the women who'd been victimized."
                Clark nodded, but said nothing.
                "When I was working on those, I did a little research on my own. I met with the therapist one of the women had been seeing, a Dr. Friskin. She told me that sometimes, the thing you need to do is face your fears," Lois continued, when Clark failed to speak.
                "Lois, I already told you, I turn into a mess at the thought of sex. How I am supposed to...you know?"
                "Exposure therapy," Lois said. "You take baby steps. You might start by thinking about it, until you find a way to be comfortable with the idea of it. Then, you move on and get to...know your own body. Find what makes you feel comfortable. I'm guessing Alex took away a certain degree of comfort you have with your own body. Most people, from what I understand, feel that way, after they've gone through what you have. No, no, you don't have to answer that. But, you get the idea."
                "You mean...work my way up to intimacy?"
                Lois nodded. "Once you're comfortable in your own skin, then you move on to gentle caressing through clothing, slowly working toward skin to skin contact, and finally full on intimacy."
                "You mean, hopefully," Clark corrected her.
                "No, I mean finally," Lois said, smiling at him. "I really do believe that, with a little bit of patience and gentle steps in the right direction, you can overcome this. With my help, if you'll let me."
                "Lois," Clark said, turning serious again. "I appreciate what you're trying to tell me...these reassurances. But this isn't some childish fear based on imagination...like being afraid of the boogeyman or something. My problems...my scars...were caused by a very real monster."
                Lois nodded and took his hand in her own. "I know."
                Without a conscious thought, their fingers intertwined - a perfect fit, like always. After a few moments, during which, Lois appeared to be appraising Clark's reaction to her touch, she tucked herself against his side. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, just as it had a thousand times before. Clark took a small measure of comfort from the solid feel of her against his body. He said nothing, finding no words left. Instead, he luxuriated in listening to the sound of her breathing, the rhythmic and unfailing beat of her heart, now once more constant and even, a welcome change after the way it had raced after he'd told her his final secrets. Minutes passed, each of them taking strength silently from the other, until, at last, Lois tilted her head slightly to look up at him.
                "Clark?"
                "Yeah?"
                "Can you tell me more...about what happened? It might help, if you got it all off your chest. But only if want to. I don't want to push you to do something you aren't comfortable with."
                Clark hesitated only a moment before nodding slowly. As painful as it was to revisit those old memories, he knew he owed it to Lois to tell her everything. And, he thought to himself, it could be that she was right. Maybe finally telling someone what had happened would be therapeutic. For twelve long years, he'd carried the burden of his secret alone. He'd never spoken of his ordeal to anyone. Not to his teachers, not to the high school guidance counselor, not to the police, and certainly not to Alex's parents. They had barely had enough interest in him to give him the time of day. He owed it to himself to try something - anything - that could have the potential to heal those psychological scars. He was so tired of carrying them around. So tired of having that gaping chasm separating him from Lois.
                "Okay," he said finally, "but, it's not going to be easy for me to tell...or for you to hear. I've never told anyone about this."
                "I'm willing to listen to whatever you're comfortable enough to tell me. I love you, Clark, and I'll be here for you, no matter what you have to say."
                "I love you too, Lois. And, thank you, for not...running for the hills yet."
                "There is no 'yet,' Clark. There's nothing you can say that will make me leave you or make me change my mind about how I feel about you."
                "I hope that's true."
                "It is."
                For a few moments, Clark grew silent, almost meditative. His gaze remained fixed on their joined hands. He tried to will down the nervous moisture he felt starting to sprout on his palms, and resisted the urge to pull his hands away to wipe them on his pant legs. His throat grew dry and he struggled to find the right words. He'd never imagined it would be this hard to verbalize the things he'd gone through.
                "For a long time," he finally said, "I tried to forget. Tried to ignore what happened. The problem is, I can't forget it. My mind...it's like it's wired so that I have this...almost flawless memory. I can recall things...things I shouldn't be able to. And sometimes, that's a good thing. After all this time, I can remember exactly how my dad's favorite cologne smelled, even though the company discontinued it over a decade ago. I can remember the exact routine he had, working on the farm, down to the minute. I can remember perfectly how my mother used to tuck me in at night when I was five or six years old."
                He sighed. "And sometimes, it's a curse. I can remember, in vivid detail, everything Alex said to me as he...forced...as he raped me. I can remember every single night it happened - what he wore, what thoughts I had, the stench of garlic on his breath from the pizzeria he used to hang out in with his friends, mixed with the cheapest booze he could afford or steal. I can recall the feel of his hands on me, holding me down. I can recall how it felt when he...violated me. And I remember the disgust I felt...toward him...toward myself."
                "Oh, Clark," Lois breathed, her voice hitching a bit.
                "I guess...I should start at the beginning," Clark mused, not moving his gaze from their hands. "I've already told you about what happened to my parents. When my mom died, there was no one to take care of me, so I was placed into the foster care system. The Harwoods...I suspect the only reason why they did it was for the money the state gave them as a stipend for caring for me. Or maybe at one point, they really did have noble intentions of caring for a kid who needed them. I know I wasn't the first kid they'd fostered. But, by the time I got there, they were so wrapped up in their own lives, it was as if I didn't really exist. They didn't even pay that much attention to their own flesh and blood son."
                "That's so sad," Lois whispered, sounding horrified.
                Clark nodded. "At first, I wasn't sure if I liked it or not...being ignored like that. Part of me craved that human interaction I was being denied. I was so lost, so lonely. I needed someone to be able to turn to. Do you know, Lois, how many times I have wished that I'd known you back then?" He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "The other part of me was glad to be left alone. My powers were still developing. It felt like I was changing by the hour some days. Getting stronger. Getting faster. I didn't want them to know. I was afraid they would put me back into the foster system. Or worse, that I'd be handed over to some scientist as a lab experiment. That was always my parents' greatest fear."
                "I see. I mean, it makes sense," Lois said. "It must have been a scary time." Her thumb stroked the back of his hand in a comforting manner.
                Clark nodded again and sighed. "I did my best to stay under the radar, so to speak. But, on my own, I tested my limits as best I could. I worked on controlling my powers in secret, always asking myself what my parents would have thought, said, or done. Anyway, it was November when I was shipped off to California to live with the Harwoods. They had this pool in the backyard that was being worked on, so it wasn't covered up or anything. That January, I started to discover that I could hold my breath much longer than a normal person could. I don't know what made me test that ability in the pool. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. But every day, I would dive beneath the water and see how long I could last before I needed to take a new breath. I was usually alone in the afternoons, so it was easy to do it and remain undetected."
                Clark disentangled his hand from Lois' and wiped his palms on the legs of his pants. A nervous shudder ran up his spine. He paused, for several breaths, caught between sitting and the desire to pace. He finally decided to remain where he was.
                "Alex caught me one day. I guess I was under the water for a solid five minutes, about half of what I could do at that time. He called me a freak. He said there was something wrong with me - that not only was it too cold that day to be in the water, but that no one could hold their breath that long. And then...that was it. He walked away. I waited for him to tell someone about what he'd seen. But nothing happened. He stayed quiet."
                "Really?" Lois asked, frowning.
                "I didn't understand it at the time either," Clark said, his head bowed, not meeting her gaze. "A few weeks went by and I started to think maybe he wouldn't do or say anything."
                "But he didn't."
                He shook his head slowly at the memory. "No, he didn't."
                "I'm sorry," Lois said, reaching over and rubbing his knee gently, trying to impart further comfort to him.
                "It was the night of my sixteenth birthday when Alex made his move. Arnold and Lillian had totally forgotten about it. I didn't even have any friends to wish me a happy birthday. I was miserable, missing my parents more than ever. I knew most people had fantastic sixteenth birthdays. Girls threw big parties to mark the occasion. Guys usually got some big gift or another from their parents in celebration. I'd been forgotten. No cake. No candles. No good wishes or acknowledgement of the date at all."
                Lois recaptured his hands and threaded her fingers through his. From the corner of his eye, Clark could see the pain written in her face. He realized with a start how much she was hurting for the boy he'd once been.
                "It bothered me," Clark continued. "I felt worthless and lonely. But it was that night that held the worst of it. I went to bed early. I remember feeling like if I went to sleep, time would pass by more quickly, and that maybe the next day would be somewhat easier on me. But as I lay there, huddled beneath my blankets, I couldn't sleep. I'm not sure how long I stayed that way, wishing I could just drift off, when Alex came into my room. He tore the blankets off me and...held me down."
                Clark paused, wincing at the memory. It was all so fresh in his mind, as though it had happened the night before, not twelve years ago.
                "At first, I didn't understand what was happening. I expected a threat of some kind, but not..." Clark swallowed hard, in an effort to moisten his parched and constricted throat, and trying to force the next words to come. "But not what he did," he finally managed to squeak out in a broken voice. "He stripped me from the waist down with one hand, while he used the other to twist my arms behind me. I could smell the booze on his breath, though I knew he wasn't drunk. He lowered his head down to my ear and whispered 'Happy birthday, freak. Don't you dare make a sound.' I heard..." Again, he reflexively swallowed hard, needing to tell Lois everything, but terrified of the words. "I heard...his jeans unzip and felt him...take me."
                Clark shuddered violently. He released Lois' hands and pitched forward in his seat. He buried his face in his hands as a near-sob escaped him. He fought valiantly against the sting of tears in his eyes and the bile that had arisen in his throat.
                "Clark?" Lois choked out. "It's okay...you can stop..."
                She sniffled a bit. Clark could smell the salt of her tears as they escaped down her cheeks. He heard her wipe them away with one hand before putting that same hand on his back.
                "No," Clark said, shaking his head. He opened his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling, blinking rapidly in an effort to banish his own pooling tears. "No, I have to get through this. You were right about that."
                "Okay."
                She sniffled again as Clark nodded and angled his body away from her, too ashamed to allow her to look at him. He had to finish telling her. There was no turning back now. As much as it hurt to remember these things, it had so far been slightly easier than he'd anticipated, to relate them all to Lois. But that didn't mean it was a simple matter to find the right words to say. It didn't bolster his failing courage. It didn't stop the tears from pricking at his eyes, or one from breaking free to slide down his cheek.
                "He...used me...until he was...satisfied," he finally said in a small voice, after several minutes had gone by and he regained control of his breathing and hammering heart. "When he was done, he let me go. I was so...relieved...thinking that it was finally all over. But before I could move he threatened me. He said that if I told anyone about what had happened, he would tell them about what he'd seen that day in the pool, that he'd spread the word that there was something different about me. And, he said that no one would believe me - that everyone would assume I was just some troubled, depressed, attention-seeking boy with dead parents. If anything, he promised he would spin the story so that I was the attacker and he was the victim."
                "And you believed him," Lois said sadly.
                Clark turned to face her again. "I had to. I knew he was right. And even if someone did believe me, I knew they would order medical tests...to prove what I'd said was true. I couldn't risk that. They would know for sure that I wasn't a normal kid. It terrified me."
                "So you didn't say anything," Lois said, nodding slowly as another tear rolled down her left cheek.
                Clark nodded, just as slowly. "Until now. You're the only one I've ever trusted with this information. The only one I've ever...needed to know this."
                "Clark, I'm so sorry..."
                "Do you know what the worst part was?" he asked in a quiet voice, interrupting her.
                Mutely, she shook her head.
                "All I kept thinking when it happened was about how strong I was. I mean, I wasn't anywhere near as strong as I am now. But I could have easily gotten out of Alex's grasp that night...and all the subsequent nights. I could have broken him into two pieces if I wanted to."
                "Why...? Why didn't...?"
                "Because I was afraid. I was getting stronger all the time. I was afraid of it, of myself. Afraid of what I could do. Afraid of killing Alex when all I wanted was to get his hands off me. To get all of him away from me. I couldn't...I didn't dare risk it." He lowered his gaze and looked away from her. "And, I guess I felt like..." He paused, searching for the right explanation. "My powers...what good were they, really? They couldn't save my parents. Why should they have helped me? Not that I thought in those terms at the time, but in the years since, I've come to realize that maybe some part of me felt like those nights...like they were my punishment for not saving my parents."
                "He...he did this...more than once?" Her voice shook, with grief or disgust, Clark didn't know, nor could he force himself to meet her gaze.
                Clark nodded slowly. "I lost track, after a while. It was just too painful. But, yeah. At least twice a week, every week. Sometimes more. Rarely less, unless Alex wasn't home. He always pinned me down in some way. Usually, he had me on my back, because he said he liked watching the reactions on my face. The fear. The desperation to get away. The anger. The helplessness. Always, he would whisper these horrible things to me. How he could control me. How much he liked doing what he was doing. How weak I was. How much of a freak I was."
                "What a sicko," Lois whispered, the horror in her voice starkly evident.
                Her comment hung in the air for a long moment before Clark could continue. When he did, his voice was barely above the whisper that hers had been.
                "Lois, I used to pray for him to get drunk enough to pass out at a friend's house so that I would be left in peace. How terrible does that make me?"
                "It doesn't make you terrible at all," she said, gently turning his head so that he would be forced to look at her. Again, she cupped his cheek. "All it says is that you were a scared kid. And rightfully so. I can't imagine what it must have been like, to be in a situation like you were."
                "Sometimes..." Clark started, before swallowing hard, as his courage tried to flee him. He lifted her hand from his face, the normally reassuring warmth of her touch suddenly making him uncomfortable. "Sometimes...he would...touch me. And it terrified me when I...responded to it...on a couple of occasions. I wondered if I was gay, or if some twisted, sick part of me enjoyed what was happening. I tortured myself over it. It took me a long time to realize that it was just...a reaction of my body - that I was responding to the action, not to Alex himself, or to the circumstances."
                His shifted his gaze to a spot across the room. "I thought about trying to hide," he finally continued. "But there was no place to go. My room was in the basement - the only window too high and too small to make an escape. There wasn't even a door I could barricade. I used to try to stay awake, as long as I could, hoping some idea would come to me so I could protect myself from another attack. But always, I'd fall asleep after a while from exhaustion, and when I awoke, it was always too late. Either morning had come without an attack, or I'd find Alex hovering over me, pinning me down, preparing to assault me."
                He knew his voice sounded hollow, but he forced himself to continue. "My hearing was getting stronger all the time. But it wasn't like it is now. I had to really concentrate in order to be able to manipulate it. What I wouldn't have given for it to have picked up Alex's movements while I was asleep and awoken me...like calls for Superman do now."
                "Oh, Clark," Lois said, the words half-strangled in her grief for him.
                "After a month or two, I knew running away was my only option. It was the only thing I could do to protect myself - to stop Alex from abusing me, and from having my secret exposed...that I wasn't a normal teenager."
                "Why did you wait?" Lois asked softly, and Clark was glad to hear only curiosity in her voice, not condemnation as he'd feared.
                "By then, I was so close to graduation. I knew I didn't really stand a chance in the real world without at least a high school degree. How would I get a job? If I couldn't work, how could I ever build a new life for myself? And...I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen if I got caught running. Afraid of what the Harwoods might do to me if I was returned to them. Were the horrors of living on the streets, for even a short time, better or worse than the horror of Alex's repeated abuse? I didn't know and I was fearful of making the wrong choice. When I finally did leave, I regretted not having done it sooner."
                He sighed, fidgeting on the couch. "I'm so ashamed of myself. How could I have let Alex do what he did to me, for so long?"
                "Clark, there is nothing to be ashamed about. You were the victim. You aren't to blame.             "
                "I know that," Clark said shortly, becoming agitated. He stopped, took a deep breath, and held it, trying to calm himself. He let the air out of his lungs again in a defeated sigh. "In my head, I know it. But in my heart..." He let his voice trail off.
                "Clark, you can't keep beating yourself up over this. You have to move on. Or those scars you carry - they'll never heal. I don't want you to have to suffer for the rest of your life. You don't deserve that."
                "Strongest man in the world," he mused bitterly, his voice barely a whisper, "and yet so weak."
                "No," Lois argued, shaking her head. "A regular guy who went through a terrible, traumatic experience."
                "I have to set things right somehow," Clark said, standing again and pacing. "That's why I need to find Alex. Why I've been obsessing about this thing. I can't allow him to do to anyone else what he did to me. I refuse to lose this battle."
                "And we will find him and we'll bring him to justice. You and me, like always." She paused and gave him a small, teary smile. "You know I'd never let you do it alone."
                He nodded slowly in response. "Lane and Kent," he finally said, breathing a tiny sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to face this challenge alone. He knew, deep down, that he'd never needed Lois so much as he did now.
                Lois firmly nodded. "Lane and Kent," she vowed.
                Clark moved to his bookshelf and rested his arm on one of the shelves in thought. "I just wish I knew what to do next."
                Lois stood up from the couch. Clark could hear the springs as her weight was lifted from them. She softly padded to his side and gently touched his back.
                "We'll find him, no matter what it takes. He can't hide forever. Not with two of the best reporters in the country looking for him. And when we do, we'll make sure he goes to jail for the rest of his life."
                Clark turned to look at her. "I hope so. I mean, Henderson has the DNA evidence he needs to connect Alex to the attack on Ryan, but...I'm not sure it's enough to send him away for life."
                "Well..." Lois carefully began. Clark could see the apprehension in her features as she prepared to say what was on her mind. "Maybe...you should consider testifying against Alex when he's brought to trial."
                "I'm not...really sure...I have the strength to do that."
                "I'm not saying you have to," she said, shaking her head and rubbing his back in a soothing circle. "Just...think about it, okay?"
                He nodded mutely, unable to speak. He just wasn't sure he could do it. He couldn't imagine himself sitting in a courtroom, strangers staring at him as he told them all about the things Alex had done to him. It already made a trickle of nervous sweat roll down his back as he thought of the jury, listening intently, judging his words. It already made him want to squirm, imagining being asked just why exactly he'd never breathed a word about his ordeal until now. Assuming they caught Alex.
                And yet....
                Could he really remain silent on the matter? Could he really sit back and let Ryan and his family fight this battle on their own? Wasn't he sworn to protect those weaker than himself? Didn't this count as one of those moments, when it was his duty to step up, putting his own needs and desires aside to do what was necessary to help?
                "Clark," Lois said, looking up into his eyes, an apologetic look on her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you. I just...it makes me furious that Alex hurt you. I just want to find him and make him pay for what he's done."
                "No, Lois. Don't apologize," he said, shaking his head and sighing a little. "It feels kind of good...having you know. It's just been stressful to make myself remember, when I've spent the last twelve years trying to run from that part of my past. It's strange."
                "Stranger than me knowing about your alter-ego?" Lois asked, lightly teasing him.
                Clark flashed a grin at her for just a heartbeat or two. "Not exactly stranger. Just...different. The thing is, I'm not ashamed of being Superman. I'm not ashamed of what I do on a daily basis to keep that a secret from the world. Okay, so I am embarrassed that I kept it from you for so long. But, I always knew that I could fix that. Somehow. This...this...I am absolutely mortified about."
                "I told you. There's nothing..."
                "To be ashamed about," Clark finished for her. "I know. I just can't help it. And maybe, once Alex is behind bars, I'll be able to accept that. Maybe even come to believe it in time. But for right now..." His voice trailed off as he gestured vaguely.
                "This just in," the LNN anchor on the television said, breaking Clark's train of thought and stopping him cold. Though the sound was low, it had managed to catch his attention. Now he crossed the room and raised the volume, listening intently to the woman on screen. "A riot has broken out in the Glenfield Springs prison. We go now, live, to our reporter on the scene. Tom?"
                "Thank you, Lisa," came a man's voice as the video feed cut from the newsroom to a man standing out in the night, the prison behind him in the near distance. "We're being told that a riot broke out just over twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately, this seems to have happened on the block which houses some of the more violent inmates. It is unknown at this time just how many prisoners are involved in the fray, but there are reports of injuries. Again, information is limited at this time, but we'll be here throughout the night to report back as the situation progresses."
                "Lois, I need to go," Clark said, his hands tightening into fists at his sides, his eyes fixed on the television screen. "I'm sorry."
                "Go," she urged him. "I'll be here when you get back."
                "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised her, already slipping into the composed and neutral mask of Superman.
                "I know."
                "I love you," he told her, his voice soft. He bent down and kissed her gently.
                "I love you too. Be careful." She briefly caressed his cheek and placed a second kiss on his lips.
                "I will," he promised.
                Spinning at top speed, he donned the familiar uniform of Superman. He sped to the terrace, but hesitated a moment as he stepped up onto the edge of it. He glanced back at Lois for the span of five heartbeats, in awe of her, in awe of her acceptance of him and the terrible secret he'd told her, then rocketed into the night sky. It felt good to get out of his apartment. As the wind rushed over him, it almost cleansed his mind. He focused only on what lay ahead of him, the task he was flying toward. It was wonderfully freeing to be able to put his mind on something other than his nightmarish past.
                Minutes later, the prison loomed out of the darkness before him, the walls and empty exercise yards lit with harsh white floodlights. Alarm sirens rent the air, a steady "whoop, whoop" that nearly shattered Clark's thoughts. He stopped in mid-flight and hovered, x-raying the building to see where he was needed. It took only a second or two to find the source of the emergency. In a flash, Clark raced toward the building, having no time to do so much as even assess the situation. To hesitate would only ensure that more people were injured.
                Into the building he went, his progress hampered only by the security checkpoints, until he stood before a couple of security guards. The two men were manning one of the doors, watching the fight on a series of monitors. One of them nervously chewed a thumbnail. They looked up with surprise as Clark landed.
                "Gentlemen," Clark greeted them. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"
                "Superman, thank God," the man chewing his fingernail said. The lapel pin identified him as Clayton. "Our men in there are badly outnumbered."
                "I need to get in there," Clark said, nodding at the door barring his way. "Can either one of you unlock it?"
                "Of course," Clayton said, nodding. "It's bad in there, Superman. We've got every spare man in there right now, the ones who aren't guarding the other doors, just in case."
                "How many inmates are out?"
                Clayton shook his head. "I'm not sure anymore. There were about forty when this whole thing started. Some have been knocked out, I'm sure. But then, just about...I dunno...five minutes ago, another entire cell block's doors unlocked by themselves."
                "By themselves?" Clark repeated, stunned.
                "It's like the computers are going haywire," the second guard, Trent said. He tapped the walkie-talkie at his belt in explanation. "The control room's called in for reinforcements, but, well, they haven't gotten here yet. Got a computer expert coming in too."
                "Let them do what they need to when they arrive. In the meantime, I better get in there and see what I can do about breaking up this riot. Do me a favor. Is there a locker or something around with extra sets of handcuffs?"
                "Yeah," Clayton said.
                "Get me as many as possible. Leg shackles too."
                "You got it, Superman."
                "In the meantime, are you safe here?" Clark asked, unsure of how close to the fighting the room was. "Can I escort you out?"
                Trent shook his head. "We'll be okay here. These doors are all old-fashioned lock-and-key models. No one is getting in here without us allowing them in. And, if need be, we can use the same route you did to get out of the building. It's all offices and supply rooms behind us. The inmates are all deeper into the building."
                "Good," Clark said, relieved that the two men would be safe while he worked to control the riot.
                While Clayton went to gather up the restraints Clark had requested, Trent showed him the video surveillance on the monitors at his desk. Clark watched only for a moment, noting the different areas of the prison where the battle raged the hardest, and where guards and inmates alike had been felled. In the next moment, he had Trent unlock the door for him before he rushed headlong into the depths of the prison.
                His first priority was to whisk away those who were hurt. Several guards received his attention right from the start, each of them wounded in some way, despite the heavy riot gear they were wearing. Clark grabbed them, two at a time, and guided them out of harm's way, dropping them off in the area where Clayton and Trent waited.
                "Thanks, Superman," the men all mumbled, most cradling broken arms, or limping to one side, or holding their heads.
                Clark merely nodded and went back in, searching for others.
                It was like a warzone within the main body of the prison. Screams of pain echoed off the concrete walls. Pounding footsteps thrummed in the air. Shouts of fury resonated in the halls. Bodies sped past him, barely noticing him, it seemed. Cell doors lay open, the small rooms beyond empty, save for the few personal items the inmates were allowed. Clark wondered for one fleeting second just how many of them were loose. It was impossible to tell from the chaos that raged around him.
                He thought about freezing the floor into a slick ice patch, but immediately discarded the idea. There were still guards in that brawl, and he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize their safety. Instead, he rescued one guard who stood in the center of five approaching inmates, completely surrounded by the men. In a blur of blue and red, Clark dashed in and plucked the man from a certain beating, and deposited him outside with the others. It was only after getting the man to safety that Clark realized who the guard was - Jerry White, Perry's son.
                By then, the other guards had made a pile of hand and leg restraints for Clark. He smiled grimly at the men and took as many as he could in his arms.
                "Leave the rest outside of this door," he instructed them. "But be careful. I don't think the prisoners have thought to come this way yet. They seem too intent on beating each other and your fellow guards. Still, don't take any risks."
                "Okay," several of them agreed, nodding.
                Back through the door Clark went, this time armed with restraining devices. In a burst of speed, he launched himself at the nearest group, where they were savagely beating on an older guard who looked close to retirement age. In seconds, Clark had the prisoners cuffed, their hands behind their backs and their ankles shackled. He ferried them off to one corner of the main room, where the inmates ate their meals or played at board games during the day. The men looked around in bewilderment, until they realized what had happened. Each of them glared at Clark with a look so intense, he would have been smoldering ash had they possessed heat vision.
                Two of the men began to hurl obscenities at Clark, but he paid them no mind. He still had his work cut out for him. Going back to the beaten guard, Clark knelt and helped the man to his feet, then assisted him to the door. Grabbing up more cuffs, he went back into the fray. For fifteen minutes, Clark methodically went through the entire prison. Every inmate was shackled and flown to the main room, each left against the wall and several feet away from their nearest neighbor. Every fallen guard was aided. Many were conscious. Some were not. Five lay dead. Clark brought each of those men and women to the safe zone beyond the locked door, moving the wounded first, and leaving the dead so that their deaths could be processed by the rest of the guards once it was safe. As he finished scanning the building to ensure he'd missed no one, the backup finally arrived at the prison.
                The guards arrived in full riot gear, not taking any chances. They burst in through the door as Clark came back to the main room, his scan of the building complete. From what he could see, there was not a single renegade inmate to be found, though he'd seen a few cells with inmates cowered against the far walls, hoping their fellows would not find some way to get at them. Clark knew that, often, prisons held gangs of prisoners who wouldn't hesitate to attack, hurt, or kill one another if given half a chance.
                Clark strode over to the reinforcements, quickly filling them in on what he'd witnessed and done. The group broke off into several smaller ones. Some began the process of tending to their wounded counterparts. Others began to examine the cell doors which had come open on their own. Clark led another small contingent through the prison to the guards who hadn't survived the attack, where each team began to process the scene. The rest stood watch over the recaptured prisoners.
                An hour later, the computer expert that had been brought in found the faulty line of coding in the computer's system, which had caused some of the cell doors to spontaneously unlock. One of the men explained to Clark how the prison had upgraded their system that morning, which was why they hadn't encountered the problem before. Once the coding was fixed, they tested the system over and over again, ensuring that all was now well with it. Clark stayed, helping the guards to get the prisoners back into their proper cells, until the last one was safely behind bars once more.
                Then he took his leave, ready to call it a night. Between everything he'd been doing lately, and the stress of reliving his memories as he came clean about his past to Lois, he was drained. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the night relaxing, though he wondered if he could, now that his secret was exposed. He didn't worry about Lois pressing the subject. He was, instead, afraid of his own thoughts on the situation, knowing it was likely that the matter would haunt his dreams, if he was able to get any sleep at all.
                And Lois...
                She had promised him she would stand by him. She'd promised not to leave, that she would help him through this, that together, they would conquer his anxieties. He wondered if that was really true. Could she really help him? Could she really stand by him, if his fears proved too great a foe to vanquish? Would she eventually give up on him? Would this one, admittedly huge, thing be too great a chasm between them, and make her leave him?
                Clark's heart sank, even as he flew above the Earth. He couldn't survive a life without Lois. He couldn't bear the thought of how painful it would be to lose her. She was everything to him - his future, his present, his family. Without her, he was a nothing - a nobody. She was the only thing that mattered to him. Superman could retire. Clark Kent could quit his job and disappear off the face of the Earth. So long as he had Lois, none of that could hurt him. But if she left him...he would never be able to live with the heartbreak.
                He sped up his flight as he left the prison, needing to get back to his apartment, needing to know she was still there. Though it had been soothing to him to flee for a while and focus on another task, now he was panicked that he would find his apartment cold and unoccupied when he returned. She'd promised to still be there, but he had to know, had to see for himself that she'd kept that promise.
                But, as he passed over a stretch of woods about an hour's drive north of the city, he stopped, scanning the area. Something wasn't right. He could feel it, deep in his bones. Hovering, he tried to pinpoint the source of his unease.
                "Clark, you're going crazy," he mumbled to himself, though he did not dare fly on yet.
                A scent came to him and tickled his nose.
                "Smoke?" he asked himself, wondering aloud.
                He inhaled deeply. It was definitely smoke coming from burning cedar. He eyed the dark forest beneath him, trying to locate the source, but there was no obvious blaze to catch his sharp eyes. He flew slowly, following the scent until he was above an abandoned cabin. The place had suffered fire damage some years before Clark had ever arrived in Metropolis, and had been left to rot, boarded up against any curious hikers. Not that it looked in the least bit inviting. Rather, it had the foreboding appearance of one of those out-of-the-way cabins featured in horror movies. Lois had commented on more than one occasion to Clark how it looked like the place where teenagers got murdered by axe-wielding psychopaths or zombies came back from the grave.
                Silent and abandoned, that cabin had stood, slowly moldering. A piece of the roof bulged inward, a heavy, broken tree limb resting atop it, though it was not quite heavy enough to cause the roof to collapse. But now that cabin was no longer abandoned. Smoke came steadily from the chimney. Curious, and with a bad feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach, Clark listened intently.
                That's when he heard the wracking sobs of a child crying.
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