Rated: T
"What about everyone else, Clark? Don't we matter? It's okay for you to run away and hide and we have to stay here and pick up the pieces?"
He turned away in shame, wishing he could tell her how it was all his fault that Jonathon had died. He wished he could share it with someone at least, anyone, because the weight of it was crushing him, and he couldn't breathe.
he'd killed his father, he'd killed his father, he'd killed his father, he'd killed his father
"No! You don't get to just ignore me! Absolutely not!" Her voice was shrill, almost hysterical and he noted dimly through the stupor that had descended since his father had passed that he'd never heard her so angry. She was spitting mad, hopping mad, and she looked like she would be perfectly content to rip his head off with her bare hands.
"Lois, you don't understand!" he roared She charged at him, managing to get in his face even thought she was significantly shorter than he was.
"I don't have to! I don't fucking have to understand, Clark Kent, but Martha does, and if you leave her now you will kill her!"
He grabbed her shoulders, wildly; she was blurry through the tears that had begun for the first time.
"I might as well have!" And he broke, sobbing. She grabbed him, and held him tightly as she helped lower his much larger frame to the dusty wood of the loft, not worrying for a moment that their black suits were getting dirty. This was more important than what people would say at the funeral.