Where To End?
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"So that's my story… His story… Our story…"
Through it all he never said a word. He sat on the edge of the chair, crouched forward, body coiled with tension. He listened to every word, and offered none of his own.
The silence drew out like a blade, and she felt the beginnings of tears stir in her eyes. What if he didn't believe her? What if he did, and still refused to help?
How would she get back?
How would she survive this?
"This is… us…" she said, digging her wallet out of her jeans. She flipped it open, revealing a small booklet, each a protective case for a precious photograph.
"At the Smallville Fair last year. He bought me cotton candy," she was rambling, but she had to carry on, "Our friend Dave took that one. We're in the bullpen. Those are our desks. Adjoining, as you can see. That's me, and Clark and Martha in Washington…"
"I believe you."
It was the first time he'd spoken in what seemed like forever.
"You do?"
He nodded. "I'll find a way to get you back."
"Thank you."
"It's what he would have done, isn't it?" he asked, "Your Clark, I mean. He would have done anything in his power to get you home, if our situations were reversed. "
"Yes. He would."
I'm not like him, am I?"
She sensed how tense the moment was. How her next words could break him. But she couldn't lie.
"In some ways, you are..." she said, carefully, "You look like him, talk like him. I get the same... feeling from you. You carry a goodness that... almost radiates..."
"But...?"
"But you're not him. You're not Smallville."
He nodded, went quiet for a while. She'd hurt him, and she was sorry for it. When he looked at her, those eyes she'd stared into a million times still found a smile for her.
"I like the way you talk about him," he said, "You know what he can do – who he is – but he seems so… real to you."
"He is real. Just like you're real."
"No," this time he shook his head, "I'm a shadow. A fragment. We share a name – Clark Kent. We share the same history. But I never did what he did. I never became the man I was supposed to be. On this world… there is no Superman."
"There can be," I told him, gently. Reaching out, I took his hand, "It's up to you."
"I doubt it," he said, with so much sadness.
"Why not?"
"Because… You said it yourself. It's not Clark's story, or your story... it's about the both of you. And I... I never had a Lois Lane…"
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The End.
