********Author's note: This is an older fic I had posted previously at KryptonSite, but after the outpouring of "more Clark/Lana" I received (and thank you for the kind reviews) after My Favorite Things, I thought I'd re-post it here. ************
END GAME
The sun was setting over the Kent farm, giving all it touched a kiss of ruddy gold. Shadows lengthened over the barnyard and would soon swell into darkness with the departure of the sunlight. In the distance acres of corn rustled in the breeze, their golden tassels flickering like pom poms, and deep within the dark green forest fireflies rehearsed the light show they would perform later that evening. Crickets sang in harmony to the sound of the massive irrigation sprinklers that threw water over the fields in great shimmering arcs: "schtich, schtich, schtich"
Clark Kent stood in the window of the barn loft and observed it all while the tension slowly eased from his body. It had been a long time since he'd been home, and the jangle and whine of the city had worked itself deep into his bones. A year and a half of spending nearly twenty-four hour days on the go had taken its toll, leaving him mentally and physically exhausted; not a feeling with which he was very familiar. He was long over due for a break, and the only place he could think of in which he felt comfortable enough to rest was here - home. No matter what he learned about himself, nor how many years he spent away, Smallville Kansas would always be home. No alien origins or mysterious antarctic fortresses could change that fact. His heart belonged to the Kent Farm.
He supposed, upon reflection, that he would eventually get used to his rapidly paced schedule much in the way most people adapted to working the third shift. For now, however, the responsibility he'd taken on, and the duel roles he played, seemed to be all consuming. The juggling game had turned out to be much more difficult than he'd ever anticipated, and the stress was starting to get to him. Had he been human he'd have high blood pressure bad enough to kill him and/or be spending time in the looney bin. In Clark's case it simply added up to drive him out of the city and back to "Green Acres" (as Lois was wont to quip) to catch his breath.
"You look like hell son." Jonathan had said upon seeing him.
It was true, although only those who knew him well could have seen it. The strained look around his eyes and the tight set of his shoulders were perhaps the only signs, but they were apparently enough to invoke concern from his parents. Martha fussed over him mercilessly and after a dinner of his favorites, sent him off to bed with orders to "get some sleep or else"; and he had. He surprised himself by not only falling asleep immediately, but remaining completely out all that night and well into the next day. He thought perhaps it was the first time he'd slept so long and so deeply since the night before he'd left Smallville for good.
"Clark, you're defeating your purpose if you run yourself into the ground like this." Martha lectured when he appeared for "breakfast" at noon. "Even Superman needs to sleep."
"And if, while I'm off lolly-gagging, something happens?" he'd demanded in response.
"Then obviously you were over-ruled by the maker. You aren't God, Clark! You can't be everywhere. What would be worse in your book; loosing someone because you were catching a well deserve nap, or loosing someone because you make a mistake due to sleep deprivation?"
It was an old argument, and one to which Clark always conceded to Martha. She was, true to the "mother knows best" rule, correct. He couldn't be everywhere. He couldn't save everyone. He could only do the best he could with what he had to offer, but every time he failed to save someone, or prevent some horrible event from happening; the pain went right through him. When it passed, it left a scar, building up the armor that would protect him from the worst of it later. It would never go away, the pain, but at least it could be dulled. Logic helped as well: some things were simply not preventable.
He breathed deep, filling his senses with the earthy scent of the farm. It was the scent of freshly turned earth, flowering plants, and wood smoke from a distant bonfire; so unlike the sharp metallic tang of car exhaust and sewage that choked the air of the city. Clark had been missing it lately. One drawback of spending most of ones time in the air over Metropolis; not only did the heat rise but so did the smog and the stench. God how he missed the clean air. Since he had helped take over the management duties of the farm, the business had grown and they were able to hire a full time staff of employees to do the heavy work. Neither Jonathan nor Clark actually did any of the farm work anymore, and thus Clark's visits had decreased in both frequency and duration. Kent Organic was doing quite well under Clark's eagle eye, and he no longer had to worry about his parent's financial future. Then again, corporate businessman/farm manager was yet another role he had to juggle, and he didn't get to breathe fresh air much.
He let the breath out with a sigh.
"Some things never change do they?"
Clark spun around, alarmed that someone could have snuck up on him without his knowledge. He was most decidedly off his game.
She stood at the top of the stairs watching him. She was a little bit taller, but not by much, and a little thinner in the face, but otherwise just the same as the day he'd last seen her. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail hanging over her shoulder, and her eyes were wide and very green in the light of the single bulb hanging over her head. She smiled, and Clark relaxed again, pushing his glasses up his nose from where he'd let them slip. She knew him without them, but it had been a long time, and it was not worth the risk.
"Lana."
"I heard you were in town." She came up the last step into the loft and approached him, glancing around at the furniture and crates Martha now stored in Clark's old retreat. "Figured you'd be up here. Spying on me again Kent?"
He hung his head and laughed. "No. I had no idea you were home."
"Not surprising. We usually miss each other. I don't think we've ever been home at the same time."
"Visiting Nell?"
Lana nodded. "Her birthday is this weekend."
"You'll have to give her my regards."
"I'll do that." She leaned against the side of an old hutch and crossed her arms. She looked at him carefully with an expression he found he could not read. "How are you?"
"Fine." he replied quietly. "Yourself?"
"Fine."
An awkward silence fell between them, one of many they'd experienced over the years. The history of their relationship seemed to be made up of nothing but awkward silences.
Clark cleared his throat finally. "So, are you still living on the coast?"
She drew in a breath. "No, actually. I'm in D.C. I'm surprised you weren't aware of that Clark."
"How so?"
"I've run into Pete several times...we've talked about you..." Lana looked up at him. "You don't talk to Pete much any more." It was a statement. Not a question.
"No." Was the terse reply.
"Because of Lex?"
The tension started to creep back into Clark's shoulders. He could almost feel the red cape settling down upon them with all the weight it carried with it. "He's playing with fire Lana. Lex will double cross him, its what he does."
"Pete is aware of that. He's careful."
"I hope so. I sincerely hope so."
He started to cross his arms over his chest, a habit he'd picked up as Superman, but caught the motion and turned it into one that put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Clark always had the habit of putting his hands in his pockets as he conversed, and he discovered, much to his dismay, that Superman didn't have pockets. At a complete loss as to what to do with his hands, he'd ended up adopting the folded arms stance, which he felt made him seem pretentious. It seemed to work for Superman though, and he'd not bothered to stop. He just had to remember not to do it when in "Clark Mode".
"Pete's a fan of your work. He subscribes to the 'Planet just to read it. I've read it too Clark. I'm impressed." she hesitated. "Chloe would be proud of you."
"She would, wouldn't she." he whispered, bracing for the wave of pain he knew would come.
Lana saw it in his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...."
Shrugging, Clark let out a breath. "No, its all right." He glanced out the window where the stars were starting to come out into the darkening sky. He wondered, not for the first time, if Chloe were somewhere out there looking up at the same stars, or if she were among them. "Chloe and I, we never worked out together. We were, oddly enough, too much alike."
"No reason not to miss her."
He nodded. "I just wish I knew she were safe." he murmured. On assignment somewhere in South America, whereabouts unknown, and silent for two years now -- Clark feared the worst.
So many changes. So many losses.
He turned back to Lana, and his eyes met hers. Some things never did change. His heart lurched as the emotions overwhelmed him: Lana Lang could still tie him up into knots and reduce him to a love sick puppy, even now so many years later. All the old love, all the old pain, surged to the forefront as he fell into those deep green eyes. Kryptonite be damned; Lana Lang was far more dangerous.
"I don't know why I came here tonight," she said softly. "Just to see you, say hello I guess."
"Lana...."
"I still love you Clark."
"Lana don't...." His voice was rough.
"Its the truth. I've never stopped loving you." She pushed herself off of the hutch and paced a little, her hands pressed tightly together. "When you left, I realized how unfair it was for me. You'd had so much more time, loved me so much longer, and I -- I had been so stupid. I was just began to understand how I felt -- and then you were gone."
Clark bit his lip, forced himself to speak steadily. "We both know that I could not give you the life you wanted...."
"We could have tried!"
"And both been hurt in the process. Lana I couldn't do that to you!"
She turned her back on him. "I would have taken the risk."
Clark said nothing.
Eventually Lana turned back to him. Behind the thick glasses it was hard, he knew, to see his eyes clearly, and he was rather glad of that at this point. Yet her gaze was very direct, and he wondered just what she did see as she spoke again.
"Don't you ever have any regrets Clark?"
"No."
"You're a poor liar."
He sighed deeply. "I'm not lying. I don't regret my decisions Lana. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you...."
She chuckled. "We were four..."
"And I loved you then. I worshiped the ground you walked on for years Lana. I loved you with all my heart and soul and when it came time -- I loved you enough to leave you." This time his voice did break. "I can't give you a home, a family; none of the things you want Lana. I can't be there for you every time you would need me. You'd be miserable, and that I absolutely could...not...bear."
That hurt. It hurt worse now than when he'd first said something similar to her ten years earlier. Perhaps because then he'd been speculating, and now he knew the truth of the matter. He thought of the children he would never sire, the life he'd never have, and the loves he'd already lost; and it was all he could do not to break down completely. The loneliness rose up in a surge from the depths of his heart to smother him with grief. Would he always feel this way? Would he always be alone? The answer he thought he saw terrified him.
"But I will always love you Lana." he whispered.
She started to cry, and despite himself he caught her up and held her. She trembled, her sobs shaking her small frame within the strong circle of his arms, and he felt her tears upon his chest. He smoothed her hair, fighting his own tears as he heard her words.
"Stay with me. Please don't leave me again. Stay...stay...stay..."
And he had to say: "I can't."
********************
He walked her home under a full moon, down the dirt track that led from the Kent farm to her Aunt Nell's home next door. As they had done many times in the past they strode along side by side, hand in hand, down the tree lined path without saying much. The presence of the other was more than enough. Lana had recovered from her tears with a sniffled apology, and gratefully accepted his offer to walk her home, much to Clark's relief. He was grateful for the distraction the walk provided as he spent the time attempting to get his own emotions back under control. It was nice, as well, to be outside, for the warmth of the summer day had faded to a comfortable level and the sky was clear and bright. He would have liked to go for a quick flight to clear his head, but decided it might not be a good idea to take the risk of being seen barnstorming the cornfields over Smallville Kansas.
"Remember our first walk Clark? It was on a clear night, like this." Lana looked up into the sky as they strolled along. "When I found you crying in the cemetery."
"I was not!" he protested immediately. "It was cold, and my nose was running."
They shared a smile.
"Okay. A little bit." he admitted.
"You never did tell me why."
Clark hesitated, then rolled his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. "I learned some things about myself that day. Things about my real parents, my life in general, that I found rather hard to swallow. I was trying to sort it all out." His smile broadened. "Then you came along and gave me a rather pleasant distraction, which helped a lot. I should thank you for it."
"The feeling was mutual. I was feeling particularly lonely that night myself." She paused. "I'm sorry Clark. Truly, my intention for coming to see you was not to bring up all the old pain."
"I know," he replied quietly. "Sometimes things need to be brought out into the open though Lana, or they fester inside and make it all worse."
Lana did not reply right away, but she gave his hand a little squeeze. He helped her around a puddle, stepping over it himself with one long stride, and they continued along their way.
"You were reading Nietzsche that year for Ms. Foster's Advanced English class." she said finally. "Do you remember?"
"Vaguely. That was a difficult class too if I recall correctly."
"So have you figured out the answer to my question?"
"What question?" he returned.
"Are you man or superman?"
Clark abruptly stopped walking, jerking her to a halt as well with the grip he still held on her hand. She turned to look at him, her expression unreadable, and waited patiently as he studied her face. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?
"I don't think I have." he replied finally. "I don't think I ever will."
"You've put the interests of the world before your own Clark. I think that should make it very clear to you what kind of man you are."
He let go of her hand. It was a moment before he could breathe again.
"How did you know?"
"Billy Winger." She said, and resumed walking.
Perplexed, Clark stared at her retreating back before catching up with her. "Billy Winger?" he laughed.
"Yes. Seventh grade - tall kid, wore glasses and stuttered. You can't tell me you don't remember him. You, Billy, and Greg Arkin hung out together the summer Pete went to band camp."
"I remember. I'm just surprised you do." He remembered Billy very well as another member of the dork patrol madly in love with the ethereal Lana Lang.
"I paid more attention than people thought I did." Lana responded, cutting him the sly look that always made him grin. "I know it was Billy who slipped a rose onto my desk in home room every Valentine's day, and you that stuffed little quotes from Ovid into my locker."
Clark chuckled.
"Your handwriting is horrible Clark. I could barely read them."
"It hasn't improved either." He agreed, recalling a recent chastisement from another brunette with the initials "LL"
As if reading his mind, Lana continued. "I saw an interview some time ago, with that woman you work with, Lois. They were asking her about Superman, who I guess had made his debut by plucking her out of some life or death situation. You were with her and when you responded to their questions, I was completely shocked." She stopped and gave him a stare. "I know you Clark. You have twenty-twenty vision. You are not self-conscious about your height and do not slouch. When you talk you do not stammer nor trip over your tongue at all. That Clark stood all hunched over, wore the most hideous bottle bottom glasses I've ever seen, and stammered. He had all the mannerisms I associated with Billy Winger and I could not figure out why you were impersonating him on national television."
With a bemused look over the tops of the hideous bottle bottom glasses, Clark snorted softly. "Until..."
"Until I saw Superman on the cover of Time magazine two days later."
"The fire rescue."
Lana nodded. "You were holding a little girl, her face was all sooty, but through the tears she was smiling. You had your finger on the end of her nose, smiling back at some little joke you'd told her so she wouldn't be afraid. I recognized that smile. I knew it well." She paused. "It also reminded me of another Time cover, and a little girl who never had a Superman to make it all better."
That old guilt slammed home. "Which was my fault in the first place. I arrived with the meteors Lana. The death of your parents is my fault." he said quietly.
She was shaking her head before he even finished. "No Clark. It wasn't. It was fate. Ill fate to be sure, but destined to happen all the same, and I will tell you something..." She took his hand again, giving it a little shake. "If my loss has contributed towards making the world a better place, I accept it. I will make the sacrifice. My parents would understand." Her stare was intense. "I am a selfish woman Clark. I want nothing more than to keep you here by my side. Believe me. I want that badly. But I also believe that you do not fully understand how important you are to us, the human race. We needed you desperately." Abruptly, before the tears could begin anew, Lana turned away and started up the driveway towards the house.
Clark fell in beside her and took her hand again. They walked in silence up to the front porch.
"Lana..."
Lana stopped his words with the most sorrowful expression he had ever seen. "I must not love you enough Clark. If I did, I'd be able to let you go." she whispered.
Clark suddenly didn't want her to let him go. He wanted nothing more but to throw off the burden of the red cape, abandon the whole hero endeavor, and stay with Lana forever. He stared deeply into her eyes, struggling with his demons, and wondered what he would do if she asked him to stay once again.
She didn't. Instead she changed the subject with a slight smile. "You know, the flying thing is more than a little weird to me."
This made him laugh.
"Here. Did you ever dance with your father, when you were little?"
"Standing on his feet?" She giggled. "Yes."
She stepped lightly onto his toes, and Clark wrapped one hand around her waist, holding her hand in the other. Her free hand she placed upon his shoulder as if they were about to engage in a waltz. It would be a waltz, of sorts, to a tune only they could hear. He felt her stiffen as they rose from the ground, but he reassured her with a slight tightening of his grip, and she slowly relaxed. Swaying gently, three feet into the air, they circled in a silent dance like the delicate fluff of a dandelion in a summer breeze. It was the lost dance, the one she'd promised him so long ago on that cool autumn night, finally realized.
Lana relaxed, and rested her head against his chest. His eyes closed, and he held her, soaking up her essence like a forbidden drug. Her body was soft and warm against him, and her hair beneath his cheek was the silky softness of a spider's delicate snare. He sighed as they drifted back down to the earth, and opened his eyes half expecting her to be gone.
She wasn't.
He leaned in, and the kiss they shared held in it all the passion he'd ever felt for her, intensified by the years of separation. That it was reciprocated in kind did not help, and the hardest thing he'd ever had to do was to end it.
He opened his eyes and saw hers - pleading. They drew him in and held him in a grip he could not break for all his strength.
Kissing her again was his first mistake.
When she drew back, his hand in hers, and said: "Come inside." - and he followed her...
That was his second.
But in the morning, as he whispered to her outside her window and the sun began to break over a new day; Lana finally found the love she required, to do what needed to be done. She leaned out the window to kiss him....
....and then she let him go.
Clark slowly drifted down to the ground, put his hands in his pockets, and walked back down the lane towards home.
He did not look back.
END GAME
The sun was setting over the Kent farm, giving all it touched a kiss of ruddy gold. Shadows lengthened over the barnyard and would soon swell into darkness with the departure of the sunlight. In the distance acres of corn rustled in the breeze, their golden tassels flickering like pom poms, and deep within the dark green forest fireflies rehearsed the light show they would perform later that evening. Crickets sang in harmony to the sound of the massive irrigation sprinklers that threw water over the fields in great shimmering arcs: "schtich, schtich, schtich"
Clark Kent stood in the window of the barn loft and observed it all while the tension slowly eased from his body. It had been a long time since he'd been home, and the jangle and whine of the city had worked itself deep into his bones. A year and a half of spending nearly twenty-four hour days on the go had taken its toll, leaving him mentally and physically exhausted; not a feeling with which he was very familiar. He was long over due for a break, and the only place he could think of in which he felt comfortable enough to rest was here - home. No matter what he learned about himself, nor how many years he spent away, Smallville Kansas would always be home. No alien origins or mysterious antarctic fortresses could change that fact. His heart belonged to the Kent Farm.
He supposed, upon reflection, that he would eventually get used to his rapidly paced schedule much in the way most people adapted to working the third shift. For now, however, the responsibility he'd taken on, and the duel roles he played, seemed to be all consuming. The juggling game had turned out to be much more difficult than he'd ever anticipated, and the stress was starting to get to him. Had he been human he'd have high blood pressure bad enough to kill him and/or be spending time in the looney bin. In Clark's case it simply added up to drive him out of the city and back to "Green Acres" (as Lois was wont to quip) to catch his breath.
"You look like hell son." Jonathan had said upon seeing him.
It was true, although only those who knew him well could have seen it. The strained look around his eyes and the tight set of his shoulders were perhaps the only signs, but they were apparently enough to invoke concern from his parents. Martha fussed over him mercilessly and after a dinner of his favorites, sent him off to bed with orders to "get some sleep or else"; and he had. He surprised himself by not only falling asleep immediately, but remaining completely out all that night and well into the next day. He thought perhaps it was the first time he'd slept so long and so deeply since the night before he'd left Smallville for good.
"Clark, you're defeating your purpose if you run yourself into the ground like this." Martha lectured when he appeared for "breakfast" at noon. "Even Superman needs to sleep."
"And if, while I'm off lolly-gagging, something happens?" he'd demanded in response.
"Then obviously you were over-ruled by the maker. You aren't God, Clark! You can't be everywhere. What would be worse in your book; loosing someone because you were catching a well deserve nap, or loosing someone because you make a mistake due to sleep deprivation?"
It was an old argument, and one to which Clark always conceded to Martha. She was, true to the "mother knows best" rule, correct. He couldn't be everywhere. He couldn't save everyone. He could only do the best he could with what he had to offer, but every time he failed to save someone, or prevent some horrible event from happening; the pain went right through him. When it passed, it left a scar, building up the armor that would protect him from the worst of it later. It would never go away, the pain, but at least it could be dulled. Logic helped as well: some things were simply not preventable.
He breathed deep, filling his senses with the earthy scent of the farm. It was the scent of freshly turned earth, flowering plants, and wood smoke from a distant bonfire; so unlike the sharp metallic tang of car exhaust and sewage that choked the air of the city. Clark had been missing it lately. One drawback of spending most of ones time in the air over Metropolis; not only did the heat rise but so did the smog and the stench. God how he missed the clean air. Since he had helped take over the management duties of the farm, the business had grown and they were able to hire a full time staff of employees to do the heavy work. Neither Jonathan nor Clark actually did any of the farm work anymore, and thus Clark's visits had decreased in both frequency and duration. Kent Organic was doing quite well under Clark's eagle eye, and he no longer had to worry about his parent's financial future. Then again, corporate businessman/farm manager was yet another role he had to juggle, and he didn't get to breathe fresh air much.
He let the breath out with a sigh.
"Some things never change do they?"
Clark spun around, alarmed that someone could have snuck up on him without his knowledge. He was most decidedly off his game.
She stood at the top of the stairs watching him. She was a little bit taller, but not by much, and a little thinner in the face, but otherwise just the same as the day he'd last seen her. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail hanging over her shoulder, and her eyes were wide and very green in the light of the single bulb hanging over her head. She smiled, and Clark relaxed again, pushing his glasses up his nose from where he'd let them slip. She knew him without them, but it had been a long time, and it was not worth the risk.
"Lana."
"I heard you were in town." She came up the last step into the loft and approached him, glancing around at the furniture and crates Martha now stored in Clark's old retreat. "Figured you'd be up here. Spying on me again Kent?"
He hung his head and laughed. "No. I had no idea you were home."
"Not surprising. We usually miss each other. I don't think we've ever been home at the same time."
"Visiting Nell?"
Lana nodded. "Her birthday is this weekend."
"You'll have to give her my regards."
"I'll do that." She leaned against the side of an old hutch and crossed her arms. She looked at him carefully with an expression he found he could not read. "How are you?"
"Fine." he replied quietly. "Yourself?"
"Fine."
An awkward silence fell between them, one of many they'd experienced over the years. The history of their relationship seemed to be made up of nothing but awkward silences.
Clark cleared his throat finally. "So, are you still living on the coast?"
She drew in a breath. "No, actually. I'm in D.C. I'm surprised you weren't aware of that Clark."
"How so?"
"I've run into Pete several times...we've talked about you..." Lana looked up at him. "You don't talk to Pete much any more." It was a statement. Not a question.
"No." Was the terse reply.
"Because of Lex?"
The tension started to creep back into Clark's shoulders. He could almost feel the red cape settling down upon them with all the weight it carried with it. "He's playing with fire Lana. Lex will double cross him, its what he does."
"Pete is aware of that. He's careful."
"I hope so. I sincerely hope so."
He started to cross his arms over his chest, a habit he'd picked up as Superman, but caught the motion and turned it into one that put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Clark always had the habit of putting his hands in his pockets as he conversed, and he discovered, much to his dismay, that Superman didn't have pockets. At a complete loss as to what to do with his hands, he'd ended up adopting the folded arms stance, which he felt made him seem pretentious. It seemed to work for Superman though, and he'd not bothered to stop. He just had to remember not to do it when in "Clark Mode".
"Pete's a fan of your work. He subscribes to the 'Planet just to read it. I've read it too Clark. I'm impressed." she hesitated. "Chloe would be proud of you."
"She would, wouldn't she." he whispered, bracing for the wave of pain he knew would come.
Lana saw it in his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...."
Shrugging, Clark let out a breath. "No, its all right." He glanced out the window where the stars were starting to come out into the darkening sky. He wondered, not for the first time, if Chloe were somewhere out there looking up at the same stars, or if she were among them. "Chloe and I, we never worked out together. We were, oddly enough, too much alike."
"No reason not to miss her."
He nodded. "I just wish I knew she were safe." he murmured. On assignment somewhere in South America, whereabouts unknown, and silent for two years now -- Clark feared the worst.
So many changes. So many losses.
He turned back to Lana, and his eyes met hers. Some things never did change. His heart lurched as the emotions overwhelmed him: Lana Lang could still tie him up into knots and reduce him to a love sick puppy, even now so many years later. All the old love, all the old pain, surged to the forefront as he fell into those deep green eyes. Kryptonite be damned; Lana Lang was far more dangerous.
"I don't know why I came here tonight," she said softly. "Just to see you, say hello I guess."
"Lana...."
"I still love you Clark."
"Lana don't...." His voice was rough.
"Its the truth. I've never stopped loving you." She pushed herself off of the hutch and paced a little, her hands pressed tightly together. "When you left, I realized how unfair it was for me. You'd had so much more time, loved me so much longer, and I -- I had been so stupid. I was just began to understand how I felt -- and then you were gone."
Clark bit his lip, forced himself to speak steadily. "We both know that I could not give you the life you wanted...."
"We could have tried!"
"And both been hurt in the process. Lana I couldn't do that to you!"
She turned her back on him. "I would have taken the risk."
Clark said nothing.
Eventually Lana turned back to him. Behind the thick glasses it was hard, he knew, to see his eyes clearly, and he was rather glad of that at this point. Yet her gaze was very direct, and he wondered just what she did see as she spoke again.
"Don't you ever have any regrets Clark?"
"No."
"You're a poor liar."
He sighed deeply. "I'm not lying. I don't regret my decisions Lana. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you...."
She chuckled. "We were four..."
"And I loved you then. I worshiped the ground you walked on for years Lana. I loved you with all my heart and soul and when it came time -- I loved you enough to leave you." This time his voice did break. "I can't give you a home, a family; none of the things you want Lana. I can't be there for you every time you would need me. You'd be miserable, and that I absolutely could...not...bear."
That hurt. It hurt worse now than when he'd first said something similar to her ten years earlier. Perhaps because then he'd been speculating, and now he knew the truth of the matter. He thought of the children he would never sire, the life he'd never have, and the loves he'd already lost; and it was all he could do not to break down completely. The loneliness rose up in a surge from the depths of his heart to smother him with grief. Would he always feel this way? Would he always be alone? The answer he thought he saw terrified him.
"But I will always love you Lana." he whispered.
She started to cry, and despite himself he caught her up and held her. She trembled, her sobs shaking her small frame within the strong circle of his arms, and he felt her tears upon his chest. He smoothed her hair, fighting his own tears as he heard her words.
"Stay with me. Please don't leave me again. Stay...stay...stay..."
And he had to say: "I can't."
********************
He walked her home under a full moon, down the dirt track that led from the Kent farm to her Aunt Nell's home next door. As they had done many times in the past they strode along side by side, hand in hand, down the tree lined path without saying much. The presence of the other was more than enough. Lana had recovered from her tears with a sniffled apology, and gratefully accepted his offer to walk her home, much to Clark's relief. He was grateful for the distraction the walk provided as he spent the time attempting to get his own emotions back under control. It was nice, as well, to be outside, for the warmth of the summer day had faded to a comfortable level and the sky was clear and bright. He would have liked to go for a quick flight to clear his head, but decided it might not be a good idea to take the risk of being seen barnstorming the cornfields over Smallville Kansas.
"Remember our first walk Clark? It was on a clear night, like this." Lana looked up into the sky as they strolled along. "When I found you crying in the cemetery."
"I was not!" he protested immediately. "It was cold, and my nose was running."
They shared a smile.
"Okay. A little bit." he admitted.
"You never did tell me why."
Clark hesitated, then rolled his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. "I learned some things about myself that day. Things about my real parents, my life in general, that I found rather hard to swallow. I was trying to sort it all out." His smile broadened. "Then you came along and gave me a rather pleasant distraction, which helped a lot. I should thank you for it."
"The feeling was mutual. I was feeling particularly lonely that night myself." She paused. "I'm sorry Clark. Truly, my intention for coming to see you was not to bring up all the old pain."
"I know," he replied quietly. "Sometimes things need to be brought out into the open though Lana, or they fester inside and make it all worse."
Lana did not reply right away, but she gave his hand a little squeeze. He helped her around a puddle, stepping over it himself with one long stride, and they continued along their way.
"You were reading Nietzsche that year for Ms. Foster's Advanced English class." she said finally. "Do you remember?"
"Vaguely. That was a difficult class too if I recall correctly."
"So have you figured out the answer to my question?"
"What question?" he returned.
"Are you man or superman?"
Clark abruptly stopped walking, jerking her to a halt as well with the grip he still held on her hand. She turned to look at him, her expression unreadable, and waited patiently as he studied her face. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?
"I don't think I have." he replied finally. "I don't think I ever will."
"You've put the interests of the world before your own Clark. I think that should make it very clear to you what kind of man you are."
He let go of her hand. It was a moment before he could breathe again.
"How did you know?"
"Billy Winger." She said, and resumed walking.
Perplexed, Clark stared at her retreating back before catching up with her. "Billy Winger?" he laughed.
"Yes. Seventh grade - tall kid, wore glasses and stuttered. You can't tell me you don't remember him. You, Billy, and Greg Arkin hung out together the summer Pete went to band camp."
"I remember. I'm just surprised you do." He remembered Billy very well as another member of the dork patrol madly in love with the ethereal Lana Lang.
"I paid more attention than people thought I did." Lana responded, cutting him the sly look that always made him grin. "I know it was Billy who slipped a rose onto my desk in home room every Valentine's day, and you that stuffed little quotes from Ovid into my locker."
Clark chuckled.
"Your handwriting is horrible Clark. I could barely read them."
"It hasn't improved either." He agreed, recalling a recent chastisement from another brunette with the initials "LL"
As if reading his mind, Lana continued. "I saw an interview some time ago, with that woman you work with, Lois. They were asking her about Superman, who I guess had made his debut by plucking her out of some life or death situation. You were with her and when you responded to their questions, I was completely shocked." She stopped and gave him a stare. "I know you Clark. You have twenty-twenty vision. You are not self-conscious about your height and do not slouch. When you talk you do not stammer nor trip over your tongue at all. That Clark stood all hunched over, wore the most hideous bottle bottom glasses I've ever seen, and stammered. He had all the mannerisms I associated with Billy Winger and I could not figure out why you were impersonating him on national television."
With a bemused look over the tops of the hideous bottle bottom glasses, Clark snorted softly. "Until..."
"Until I saw Superman on the cover of Time magazine two days later."
"The fire rescue."
Lana nodded. "You were holding a little girl, her face was all sooty, but through the tears she was smiling. You had your finger on the end of her nose, smiling back at some little joke you'd told her so she wouldn't be afraid. I recognized that smile. I knew it well." She paused. "It also reminded me of another Time cover, and a little girl who never had a Superman to make it all better."
That old guilt slammed home. "Which was my fault in the first place. I arrived with the meteors Lana. The death of your parents is my fault." he said quietly.
She was shaking her head before he even finished. "No Clark. It wasn't. It was fate. Ill fate to be sure, but destined to happen all the same, and I will tell you something..." She took his hand again, giving it a little shake. "If my loss has contributed towards making the world a better place, I accept it. I will make the sacrifice. My parents would understand." Her stare was intense. "I am a selfish woman Clark. I want nothing more than to keep you here by my side. Believe me. I want that badly. But I also believe that you do not fully understand how important you are to us, the human race. We needed you desperately." Abruptly, before the tears could begin anew, Lana turned away and started up the driveway towards the house.
Clark fell in beside her and took her hand again. They walked in silence up to the front porch.
"Lana..."
Lana stopped his words with the most sorrowful expression he had ever seen. "I must not love you enough Clark. If I did, I'd be able to let you go." she whispered.
Clark suddenly didn't want her to let him go. He wanted nothing more but to throw off the burden of the red cape, abandon the whole hero endeavor, and stay with Lana forever. He stared deeply into her eyes, struggling with his demons, and wondered what he would do if she asked him to stay once again.
She didn't. Instead she changed the subject with a slight smile. "You know, the flying thing is more than a little weird to me."
This made him laugh.
"Here. Did you ever dance with your father, when you were little?"
"Standing on his feet?" She giggled. "Yes."
She stepped lightly onto his toes, and Clark wrapped one hand around her waist, holding her hand in the other. Her free hand she placed upon his shoulder as if they were about to engage in a waltz. It would be a waltz, of sorts, to a tune only they could hear. He felt her stiffen as they rose from the ground, but he reassured her with a slight tightening of his grip, and she slowly relaxed. Swaying gently, three feet into the air, they circled in a silent dance like the delicate fluff of a dandelion in a summer breeze. It was the lost dance, the one she'd promised him so long ago on that cool autumn night, finally realized.
Lana relaxed, and rested her head against his chest. His eyes closed, and he held her, soaking up her essence like a forbidden drug. Her body was soft and warm against him, and her hair beneath his cheek was the silky softness of a spider's delicate snare. He sighed as they drifted back down to the earth, and opened his eyes half expecting her to be gone.
She wasn't.
He leaned in, and the kiss they shared held in it all the passion he'd ever felt for her, intensified by the years of separation. That it was reciprocated in kind did not help, and the hardest thing he'd ever had to do was to end it.
He opened his eyes and saw hers - pleading. They drew him in and held him in a grip he could not break for all his strength.
Kissing her again was his first mistake.
When she drew back, his hand in hers, and said: "Come inside." - and he followed her...
That was his second.
But in the morning, as he whispered to her outside her window and the sun began to break over a new day; Lana finally found the love she required, to do what needed to be done. She leaned out the window to kiss him....
....and then she let him go.
Clark slowly drifted down to the ground, put his hands in his pockets, and walked back down the lane towards home.
He did not look back.