As the anniversary of his father's death arrives, Clark attempts to keep it to himself.

Set early in their relationship

CW: Parental death, Mention of suicide attempt

Chapter 23: Remembrance

Lois walked out into the living area to see Clark staring into the fridge. There was barely anything in there, besides milk, juice, and condiments.

"Judging me?" she asked jokingly, and he looked around as if startled.

"No." He closed the door and stepped back.

"How did I sneak up on you?"

"I'm not always paying attention."

She looked at him thoughtfully. He hadn't slept well the previous night – kept turning over till she threw on arm over him to get him to stop. When they were eating breakfast, he wasn't interested in his food and only ate most of it at the last minute. He didn't look quite right now, either. Even though he was looking right at her, it seemed his mind was somewhere else.

"You ok?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, quirking his lips in a tiny smile, "I think I'll head out now. I'll see you at work?"

"Where else would I be?"

His smile widened a bit, and then he was leaving. She stared after him suspiciously.

They saw each other briefly at the staff meeting, before going off on separate stories. When she got back to the office, he wasn't there. Not surprising. Clark was notorious for "forgetting" to clock out – Just another thing to add to the list of reasons Perry was always yelling his name out in the office.

She texted him on her way home.

'Headed home. You coming?'

Her phone buzzed when she got to the ground floor.

'Yeah. I'm at my place. I'll come by later.'

Lois tried to quell her disappointment. She didn't mind if he had people to save, but what was he doing at his apartment that was so important? She knew it was immature to pout over something like that, but she couldn't help it.

She texted back, 'See you later'

When she got back to her apartment, she kicked off her heels and made a beeline for the fridge, thinking of the half-eaten empanada inside. Upon opening the door, however, she was greeted by a wall of food.

Very weird. Normally, if he brought food, he started cooking it immediately. She dialed his number. It rang longer than usual before he picked up.

"Hey."

"Hey. Thanks for the groceries."

"I'll make something when I get there."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Just tidying up."

"It's almost 6, Clark."

"So?"

"No one cleans this late. When did you get here?"

"I don't know. Before you did."

"Are you ok? You're acting weird today."

He was silent for a moment, which made Lois even more suspicious than if he had poorly denied it again.

"I'm fine." His tone was off. Like he was telling himself, as well as her.

"I'm coming over."

"What? What about the food?"

"I'll bring some in a bag, how's that?"

"I don't – " he started, then trailed off, "Ok."

"Don't go anywhere."

His door was unlocked when she got there, so she walked right in. The sparse furniture was shifted around. She found him on his knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the tile grout with a toothbrush. His head jerked up at her arrival, and he jumped to his feet.

"Hi!"

He went to the sink to wash the chemical off his hands.

"Do you have to use a toothbrush for that?"

"It's the best I have to get the stains out. It's really dirty…"

"Why are you doing this now? You've been here for months."

"It needed doing," he muttered as he dried his hands with a towel.

He tried to take the bag of food from her, but she turned and set it down in the kitchen herself.

"I feel like you're trying to keep yourself busy," she said, "You're restless. Are you gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

The tension was fading from his demeanor, leaving tiredness in its wake. He rested one hand against the counter and looked away.

"Today's the day," he said hesitantly, "that my father died."

Lois felt like she'd been punched in the chest. She instantly felt terrible and insensitive.

"Oh, Clark, I'm so sorry."

She hugged him, not knowing what else to do.

"It's ok. I didn't tell you."

She looked up at him. "What do you need? Do you want me to stay? I won't be offended if you don't."

When it was the anniversary of her mother's death, she didn't like to talk about it. Most of her friends and acquaintances didn't know the date, so it was easy to avoid. The only person she sometimes spoke to was her sister. Lois liked to stay busy, as well.

Clark shook his head. "I want you to stay."

"If you cook and everything, will you feel better?"

He nodded, and she mouthed "Ok." He kissed her forehead, then let go to work on dinner.

After they finished, Lois was thinking about how it might help if they had some alcohol – It always helped her anyway – and Clark produced two cases of beer. They sat with their backs against opposite arms of the couch and their legs overlapping in the middle. He asked her to talk about her investigation, so she did. His left hand rested on her ankle, rubbing circles on her skin.

She ran out of things to say by the end of her second bottle. Clark, meanwhile, had almost finished a case by himself, but he didn't look drunk. He was nursing one in his hand, and staring at a point by the floor when he started to speak.

"The first time I left home was the day after the funeral. I couldn't stand to be in the house, to see my mother grieving. I thought I was making it worse; that she blamed me for what happened. I thought she hated me because I hated myself."

He paused. He was still tracing circles. Lois wanted to interject, but it felt wrong.

"I left in the morning before she woke up and hitchhiked out the county, and I just kept going. The first place I went was the sea. When I was growing up, I always imagined going there with them. Like, it would be this perfect, beautiful family vacation. It was overcast when I got there. I sat there for a long time. Then, I went in. I went all the way down to the bottom and waited, but nothing happened. That was the only time I ever tried…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but Lois's throat was closing up.

"I didn't call Mom for months. Even though I told myself she didn't want to hear from me, I knew deep down it was a lie. I was so short-sighted back then. When I finally came home, she made me enroll in community college because that's what I wanted before I left. She said he would have wanted me to do it, even though it was the last thing we argued about. The last thing we ever talked about."

He made eye contact with Lois. "I don't know if ever forgave myself or if I'm just living past it."

"It's not your fault."

"That's what she always says."

The only person he couldn't seem to find empathy for was himself. Martha might have said it time and time again, but he still didn't believe it. At least, not wholly.

Lois set her bottle down on the floor, crawled into his lap, and cupped his face in her hands.

"She might have said it before, but I'm saying it, too. What happened wasn't your fault."

He looked wistful.

"He made his choice, Clark. You can't put that on yourself. You obeyed your father, that's all."

"Maybe I was too obedient."

Her grip tightened. "I'm going to keep saying it till you understand. It wasn't your fault."

His brow furrowed, and he bit his lips.

"It wasn't your fault…"

Suddenly, his fragile composure shattered, and he let out a dry, ugly sob. She'd seen him cry before, but never like this. His body shook, and she held onto him tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped as her throat closed even more, "I'm sorry."

Somehow, the resonance of his grief was clawing open the small hole in her own chest. She'd been in his position so many times before. It took a long time for those wounds to heal: The regret, the guilt, the permanent sense of loss. She didn't realize how much it was affecting her until it was too late. She was crying, but she couldn't stop herself.

After a while, she felt a comforting hand on the back of her head. He was trying to manage his breathing, trying to stitch back together his countenance. She felt indignant on his behalf. He was trying to take care of her in the midst of his own heartbreak.

She sat back to look at him. His cheeks were streaked with tears, but they'd stopped flowing. She took ahold of his face again.

"I can't make you forgive yourself," she whispered in a coarse voice, "and I can't make you love yourself. But I'm going to take care of you. I'm going to show you that you deserve love. You're doing the best you can, and I'm so proud of you. And Martha's proud of you, and your father would be, too…If there is an afterlife, and he can see you, then he's definitely proud of you."

Clark looked like he was on the verge of losing control again, but he shut his eyes. Lois pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I promise I'll take care of you."

I actually forgot that I wrote this. I know it's pretty dark, but that was the mood I was in, at the time. Hopefully, you enjoyed it anyway.