By David <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Submitted: April, 2006
Summary: They meant no. He'd never be a father.
Okay, so… I lost a bet with Sara. I'm really terrible with these. Really. I should just give up on betting altogether. Take up Russian Roulette instead. Better chance of survival…
Anyway, terms of the bet meant that I had to write a one page piece on a premise of Sara's choice. This is a missing scene from Family Hour.
I'll keep the thanks short, in deference to the length of the story. ;) So, a quick thanks to Sara and Nicole for the beta job, and an enormous thanks to both of them for not pushing.
An enormous thank you, also, to Labrat for the quick GEing. :)
The piece of paper was crumpled in his hand. The test results. Twisted between his fingers. Almost illegible with the dirt of his sweat and tears. Clark tried to smooth out the wrinkles, but his hands were shaking. And sweating. And the paper tore. The results… Torn. Dirty. Wrinkled. Filled with numbers and figures and reams of data that he couldn't understand. Couldn't begin to understand but for the way they blurred behind his closed eyelids. For what he knew them to mean.
They meant no. Not compatible. They meant that he'd never hold a child of his own in his arms. He'd never create life. He'd never look at a child and see his wife's eyes shining out… his smile reflected back at him… Never feel that kind of love for another… He was the last of his line and he'd stay the last.
Walk. One foot in front of the other. He needed to walk, to move, to feel the earth beneath his feet. The Earth, his home, which he'd never be a part of. Not really. Which he'd never leave his mark on. A legacy he'd never create.
Not compatible with humans. With Lois.
They meant no.
No. No matter how much they loved each other… no matter how much they wanted… No, he'd never give her a child. No, she'd never carry his baby. No, he'd never be a father.
Distance. He needed to put distance between himself and… everything. He needed to get away. Away from Star Labs. From the man who'd been unable to look him in the eye as he'd told him… Away from the Planet. From his friends. From his family…
From his wife.
Away from Lois.
Just for a moment. For a minute. Just so he could mourn. So he could rebuild enough of his skin. Cover the raw patches, just enough for him to be strong for her. So he could be strong enough to face her tears. Her disappointment. So he could be strong enough to tell her…
They'd never have babies… He could never give her that…
Up. He needed to be up. He was in the air before he could think to check that nobody was watching. That nobody would see. He went straight up. Up, until the air was so thin it pulled at his skin. Up, until the tears that burned his eyes barely stung. Up, until he hadn't the breath to scream. He let the paper flutter from his fingers.
He needed… just for a moment. For a minute. Until he could… Until he was strong enough to tell his wife he'd never be the father of her children.