A/N: If this looks familiar to some people, it's because I posted it on the Lois and Clark MBs under a different screen-name.


I hate being the bearer of bad news.

When Superman first came to me with this, I was-well, I was shocked, but also flattered, in a way. The Man of Steel is a very private person, and for him to trust me like this is very humbling.

Now, though, I almost wish that he'd trusted someone else instead.

I check my notes and the test results again, but it's pointless. The results won't be any different from what they were the last time I checked.

He's going to be devastated.

I step out of my office and see him standing outside my door, waiting, looking at me as though I were holding all of his greatest hopes and worst fears in my hands. I am not a miracle worker! My eyes drop down to the clipboard in my hand. Whether he wanted a son who would follow in his boot-prints, or just a normal, happy family, I don't quite know, but this news can shatter both.

"Well?" he prompts.

"I'm afraid it doesn't look good," I tell him. It's best to be honest, here.

I wish this were someone else standing here talking to him. I wish I didn't have to stand here, look him in the eye, and tell him-

"What do you mean, Dr. Friskin?"

I sigh and lower the clipboard. "Superman, I'm afraid your son has Schizophrenia."

There. I've said it. And as I watch the reaction in his face, I can see the exact moment when everything shatters for him.

I hate being the bearer of bad news.