Lana's soft sighs gently break the silence, enabling Clark to feel safe to exhale himself. Concentrating on the sound of his own breaths, he sits alone with his thoughts.
He so much wants to believe they did right, they chose right, but as he watches her form, barely large enough to dent the bed, shaking with fear, he can only think about how much their decision has broken her heart.
Watching her fragile eyelids flutter as her mind races through the horror of the morning, he prays she will soon be able to quiet her mind long enough to find rest, even if just for an hour.
Carefully lifting himself off the bed, trying hard to not disturb the painless peace she has briefly found, he barely allows his feet to touch the floor as he moves toward the kitchen, his nervous energy not allowing him to sit still for too long.
Peeling her lids open to see his large form walk away from her, she resists the urge to reach out to him, silencing the part of her soul that wants to cry out his name. Feeling lost in a fog, she keeps trying to pull herself free, trying to remember all the reasons why she had to do what she did, but every second her mind reminds her of the sadness, making it impossible for her heart to forget the dream.
Unable to shake the image of the child that had lived inside of her, she cannot make the tears stop falling, feeling she has deprived herself of the most precious gift she may ever receive, fearing her own immaturity, vanity and doubt out spoke the reasoning of her heart.
Wishing somehow she could find a way to let herself deserve his touch again, wanting so much to feel the warmth of his embrace, she lets the part within her that feels she must be punished take the lead, forcing her heart to endure this torment alone.
Letting her eyes wander to the window, seeing the flurries of snow fall from the sky, she can't help but see them as tears floating down from heaven, frozen by the icy winds that her choice brought to the day.
Closing her eyes as she sees the white snow pile into the corner of the window sill, her heart sinks, believing she will never again be as pure, fearing Clark will never be able to see her the same.
X x X x X
Clark's large hand awkwardly turns the crank on the can opener, pouring the contents of the red and white can into the bowl. Carefully reading the directions on the side of the label, he fills the can half full with water, diluting the consistency of the soup he can only hope she'll eat.
Tearing a paper towel off of the roll, he places the bowl in the microwave, the beep of the buttons slicing the silence. Pacing around the kitchen as the bowl spins in place, his eyes go to the picture stuck up on the fridge, saddened that neither one of them can summon the same type of smiles they wore in the past. Longing to be near her, his fingers gently glide across her face in the print, the only piece of her he's able to touch, and suddenly the distance between them is tangible.
Still trying to do everything right, he goes to the counter unwrapping the bunch of flowers he brought to her before their trip into town. Although just a few simple daisies, he had hoped they might brighten her day, but now as he looks at their thin little stems he doesn't know how he could've ever been so foolish.
The fact is he can't look at the bunch himself without feeling guilty. When he left the house his mother looked at him beaming with pride that she raised a son that's such a romantic. Sadly though, there was nothing romantic about the date he and Lana had, and if his mother had known the truth, her heart would be broken into pieces. If only their day had been spent on the picnic he'd concocted as a lie to cover their tracks. What could've been a sweet gesture by a suitor turned, in fact, to be too little too late, barely a band aid on the gaping wound on his lover's heart.
X x X x X
Bringing the warmed soup over to her side, he fills the small vase on the night stand with a few of the flowers, if for nothing else than to keep himself busy.
"Would you have wanted a girl?" Lana asks, shocking him with the first words she's spoken in hours.
"Don't," he says, kneeling by her side, not able to bear her deepening her torment.
"Please," she pleads, only believing she can find peace in thinking of what could've been. "What what she have looked like?" she asks, her wide eyes glassy in the pale light.
Hearing the desperation in her plea, recognizing the flicker of hope in her eyes, his mind drifts there, the place that for the last month he tried to avoid. In his mind's eye he can see her, a tiny girl with raven hair, twirling around in a tu tu, laughing in the sun. Yes, he would've loved to have a daughter, but he cannot let his lips utter those words, fearing that the dream will never come true.
Weighing heavy upon his heart is the fact that this being, this child they created, was much more of a miracle than Lana could know. It was quite possibly the only child Clark would ever be able to help create, making him fear just how much of himself, the normal part of himself he so long hoped to find, had been sacrificed because she was not ready.
"Shhhhhh," he whispers, hoping to calm her with his tone. "We'll get to see her one day," he says, closing his eyes as he speaks the promise he's not sure he can keep, trying hard to not resent her for the path she's led him down.
