Almost Lois (Chapter Eighteen)

It was Monday afternoon when he touched ground at home. He found his mother in the kitchen. She got up from the table and, if he'd been a weaker man, would have knocked him over. "Where were you? Clark, I was frantic..."

"Mom, I'm fine."

"No, you're not." She pulled back and stroked his face. "When you didn't come home last night, I didn't know what to think. Then I..." Her lower lips trembled and she took in his rumpled suit and empty face. "Oh, Clark." She pulled him down to her again. "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" he asked dully. His arms were at his sides. He hadn't moved to hold her.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way."

He looked over her head at the table. There was a coffee mug, scattered, crumpled tissues and a letter. Even from where he was, he recognized the handwriting. "How long, Mom?"

She pulled back. "What, Honey?" He nodded to the table. She sniffled and stepped back, wiping her eyes with her hands. "The post came an hour ago," she said, her voice shaky.

He moved to the table and picked it up.

Dear Martha,

I can't think of any way to say this without hurting you. That's the hardest part. Because it's the last thing I want to do.

I suppose Clark has told you about Doctor Grady and what he does. What he doesn't know is what I'm planning to do. He may know by the time you read this, but it will have been done.

You're one of the most insightful people I know, Martha. I've always been in awe of your faith in people despite that. And I hope you've never lost faith in me, even knowing, as you surely must, that things between Clark and I weren't always what they seem. Clark said to me only days ago that he wished we could go back, as if the things that have happened could be wiped away. It's impossible. Not without a time machine that would prevent Clark Kent and Chloe Sullivan from having met. I think these events were written way back then.

But it's possible to forget. I never would have thought that before meeting Kevin Grady. You might be wondering why I'd have to forget you, even though you're the closest thing I've had to a mother for so long. Martha, I need to. You come with other memories. You're tied, through no fault of your own, to bad ones that destroy me the longer they're inside.

Please believe that it's not just your son. Those fearful nights on the farm, wondering when the axe would drop, the night Lois and I came home bloody and torn, and Lucy.

It was supposed to be me. And I selfishly took the opportunity to die. Maybe it's survivor's guilt, post-traumatic stress, any number of disorders that conventional medicine could treat.

But the bottom line is that this life won't be mine unless I make it so. So here I am, about to let someone die again. And now it's Chloe Sullivan-- for real this time.

Please remember that I love you. And please tell Clark I hope he does great things. And please also tell him to let me have this life. Even his need to save me should be tempered with the knowledge that there are ways he endangers me, though only under the surface.

I hope I meet you again, Martha. I hope a part of me recognizes how truly amazing you are. I hope for that so much.

All my love.

She didn't sign it. She hadn't signed Linda's either.

"Honey?" His mom touched his shoulder. "Is it true?"

He nodded and moved to the stove. He turned on the gas burner and held the letter to the flame. A corner lit up.

He felt his mother gripping his arm. "No. What are you..."

"We can't keep something like this around, Mom. It's pretty much evidence of who she... was."

She nodded and they stood, watching the letter burn, watching the black flakes fall to the stove and the floor. "Poor girl," Martha sighed, then turned to Clark. "You know I love you."

"I do, Mom."

"Then can you accept it if I say this is for the best?"

He'd heard that a lot. Those in Star City who would speak to him, which did not include Linda, were of a mind that, as long as she was happy... But would she be okay? Would she really be safe? That was the thing that kept nagging him. "Mom, I want her to happy," he finally said. "I... I won't interfere."

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In the next month, he followed her sometimes. His mother didn't have to know that. He just had to make sure. So he watched. He watched her get coffee at stands on the street in the morning. He watched her at newsstands on her way to work. The way she surreptitiously moved copies of The Daily Planet in front of the other papers. He watched her come home at night. When he could sneak away from his awful job at the fish market during the day, he watched her eat lunch at Wade Park. Yogurt, a banana, and a hard-boiled egg, usually. He kept out of sight. He just had to make sure she was okay. That was all.

It wasn't that he couldn't get through a day without seeing her form only twenty feet away. It wasn't that, on those nights when she went to the gym, he zoomed in to her face, sweaty, free of makeup, with a tired but satisfied expression that made him think of other nights.

It was just to be sure she was safe.

One afternoon, his vigilance was rewarded with an actual reason for it. She'd cut down an alleyway. She was probably going to The Met Stop for lunch. It was a Wednesday, after all.

Two men had approached her. When one pulled a gun, Clark had been there- the blur that rushed through the alley, took the gun and knocked both on the head. He'd hovered at a fire escape right above her, smiling as she shook her head, then pulled her purse from the one man's arm before she kicked both in the ribs, pulling out her phone. "Perry, I just got mugged and the... No. I'm fine... Well, that's just it. The guys just suddenly fell down... And where the heck is that gun?"

He'd touched down near a dumpster some forty feet away, leaning against it as he crushed the gun in his hands. He hadn't looked or listened, just stepped away, assuming she'd go back the way she came. That was the day he finally touched her again. She bumped his shoulder as she passed, then whirled around. She looked behind and before her. "Where did you come from?"

"Uh... I..." He was so mesmerized by seeing her up close that he stepped forward.

She hurriedly stepped back, wrinkling her nose. He didn't blame her. He had to wear nose-plugs just to get through the day. "I'd ask if you were with those jerks back there, but I'd have smelled it." She shuddered and put a hand to her nose. "Listen, Guy... Have you seen a gun?"

He wanted to laugh at her voice. He also wanted pull her to him, fishy jumpsuit and all. Of course, that would be stupid. "No," he said instead. "I didn't see anything. I was just taking a break here."

She eyed his jumpsuit, piching her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Long way from the fish market. And who takes their break by a dumpster?" She looked at the dumpster, then eyed what must be the scales and other matter on his suit. She shrugged. "Must be an improvement, though." She shook her head. "Listen, there's police on the way. Are you sure you didn't witness..." She trailed off, finally looking at his face, his smeared glasses. "Don't I know you?"

"No," he said quickly. He pointed down the alleyway. "I think they're waking up," he lied.

He didn't waste time. He sped off as soon as she turned away. He didn't stop until he was back at work. He leaned against one of the bins in the back. "Kent?"

He turned slowly. "Hey, Larry. I..."

His short, round manager folded his arms. "Where the hell were you?"

"I just stepped out for a second to...Uh..."

"What? Get a coffee? Go to the restroom? Return a movie? An emergency dentist appointment? I've heard it all from you , Kent."

"Larry, I only..."

He shook his head. "You're a good guy, Kent, and the fastest, cleanest gutter I have here, but... Well, you're not dependable." He threw up his hands. "I mean, you're late, you leave early, you leave in the middle of your shift..."

"I'll make it up, Larry. I just..."

"Sorry, Kent. No more second, third, or fourth chances here. Just go home." He turned away. "I'll send your last check in the mail."

"But, Larry..." Whatever great excuse he might have thought up, he had to go. A woman was screaming. It didn't always happen during the day. Most times, it was at night. He hung around the city then, watching her or just waiting. Sometimes, he didn't get home till morning. There were always muggers, always small fires, always drunk drivers who never quite knew how their cars stopped in the middle of the road and why their keys were missing. Only the lingering smell of fish left behind to add to their confusion.

He hadn't told A.C. about his job. To A.C., he'd be a party to murder and no matter how many guns he destroyed or knives he bent, it wouldn't make up for the fish massacre that is his job...

Was his job, he corrected as he looked for a good place to take off. He could fly fast enough not to be seen... or smelled too easily, but it bothered him. It was never accurate. It was hard to guage the distance with such speed. He landed further from the action. It was easy enough today. He just pulled the carjacker up and dropped him again on an awning. The man sat on it, afraid to move as Clark hovered just over the roof.

"Oh, my God! I'm gonna fall," the man screeched.

The heavy-set woman from the car came out and stalked over. "Serves you right, you jerk!" She pointed up. "Somebody call the cops. That man up there tried to jack me!"

The produce seller appeared from under the awning and looked up. "The guy on the awning or the guy on the roof?"

"What guy on the roof?"

Clark sped backwards and away. It was close. Too close. It almost made him want to start using the ridiculous disguise his mother had cooked up. But no... He'd wear a kryptonite hat before that.

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Chapter Nineteen