AN: Yeah… it's that chapter. You may need a tissue. I'm not saying that I'm certain I did my job and hit a home run with the angst here, but I have been told by the beta readers that tissues might come in handy while reading this one. Lots of thanks to htbthomas – the fastest beta reader EVER. And Hellish Red Devil – the beta with the best commentary EVER. And van-el – the beta who never lets me stop and take the easy route.

It may be a while before my next update. I have a few other things to work out in the Twilight fandom as well as deal with Thanksgiving and family and life. Please don't' stress if you don't hear from me in a few weeks. I already have two pages going and I am SOOOO excited for the next chapter! It may even have to be a two-parter, just so van-el can get the nasty cliff hanger he requested.

Age 25 – Loss

Someone once said that change was good. I have to disagree with them quite emphatically. I would say that some change is good. The change your life takes when you have a baby is a good change, for the most part. The change that happens when you get a promotion at work is a good change. But in my opinion, most changes are bad. Like when you find out exactly what can and can't hurt your seemingly healthy son. Or when you find out your parents aren't indestructible. I found out both in the space of a week.

We moved into a house just outside of the city about five months after Eric was born. It was a small house, but it was in a nice neighborhood and we were still close enough to the city that both Kate and I could still work. She cut back on hours to be with Eric as well as to take correspondence classes to get her Masters. It wasn't easy, but somehow we made it work.

For his first year of life, Eric seemed just as healthy as any normal baby. His ears seemed a bit more sensitive than they should be, and there were times when he would get a grip on a toy or a bottle that was unusually strong, but he was healthy. That was always our main concern. Keep him healthy. Even when the time came for him to have his immunization shots, we held our breath and waited for a reaction, but none came. Whatever it was about my own biological make-up that may have made me sick didn't seem to have carried on to my son, much to our relief. So, when Eric became violently ill over the Fourth of July weekend, there was no denying the cause.

It started on July third when Eric wouldn't eat his dinner. He always had a hearty appetite, especially for mashed potatoes and gravy, yet that night he just wouldn't eat them. As the evening progressed, he grew more and more drowsy, and not in a natural way that a child gets sleepy. It was as if he was dizzy and couldn't focus. He didn't seem to be able to look directly at us, nor could he stand up properly. The sun had set, so my instinct to place him in direct sunlight was thwarted. As had been our agreement from the day he was born, I called Clark right away to ask for his help.

We expected Eric to return from his flight with Clark looking pink and bright-eyed, but that wasn't the case. He was just as sick as he had been, maybe even sicker.

"Why wouldn't sunlight help?" Kate asked, holding Eric close to her. "It's always helped before."

"I stayed up there a long time," Clark explained, looking as helpless as I felt. "I kept waiting for him to perk up, but it just didn't happen."

I frowned and looked over at my son. "Do you suppose it might take him longer to respond to the radiation? I mean, maybe it takes his body longer to process the sunlight and then recoup."

Clark nodded. "It's possible. I'll wait around for a while to see, if you don't mind."

Clark did wait, but Eric's condition only worsened as the night went on.

"Maybe it's just some kind of bug," Clark offered. Kate and I both looked up at him in surprise. "He is more human than Kryptonian, after all. Humans get sick."

"No," I disagreed. "Not like this. It doesn't make any sense. We haven't given him any medicine. He hasn't done anything out of the ordinary. He was outside in the sun all day today, right?" I looked to Kate.

"We went to the park. He was fine. He played like he always does."

My heart broke at the sound of fear in my wife's voice. "It doesn't make sense," I repeated. "He shouldn't be sick. It's almost like he—" And then it hit me. The reason he was sick. I looked over at Clark with wide eyes.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The only thing that makes me sick like that is kryptonite," I explained.

Kate inhaled sharply.

Clark's jaw was firm. "I don't feel any kryptonite."

"Me neither."

"One of us would feel it if it were anywhere near here," Clark said. "It can't be kryptonite."

I turned to look at Kate. "You didn't go anywhere else but the park? You didn't go downtown or over by the water? It's been known to show up along the shore."

"No," she stressed. "We were here all day."

By the time morning came, Kate was ready to take Eric to the hospital. It was against everything she'd ever said about how she would care for our son, but we had run out of options. He was running a fever. His normal body temperature was usually somewhere around 99.5 degrees right now, but overnight it had spiked to 103. That was too high, even for a partial Kryptonian. And he had thrown up. It wasn't a lot since he hadn't had much to eat, but it was enough to trigger Kate's protective mother instincts.

The doctor went to work right away on lowering Eric's body temperature and put him on an IV. It was nothing less than torture watching my fifteen-month-old son being stabbed with needles. Eric's vocabulary was too limited for him to actually be able to communicate with us about where it hurt, but that didn't stop him from crying out words like "MAMMA!" and "DADDY!" and "NO!" Every cry sent chills down my spine.

I tried to be the strong one, both for Kate and for Eric, but it was taking its toll on me. I excused myself at one point, claiming the need to go get a drink, and actually went into the family lobby where I could let out some of the frustration I was feeling. If it hadn't been for my dad hunting me down and talking to me, I think I would have lost it right then and there.

"I know exactly what you're going through," Dad said, sitting down next to me. "Believe me, I know. Your Mom and I – we went though this kind of thing from the moment you were born."

My eyes had grown wet, but I fought back the tears. "How did you do it? Because I don't ever remember seeing you lose it like I'm about to."

"No, you never saw it, but I did have my moments where I just had to let myself be angry at the world. I would do exactly what you are doing right now. I'd find a private place, away from Lois because I didn't want her to know how bad it was, and just yell and scream and curse until I felt I could go back in there and hold your hand and tell you everything would be fine. And the worst of it was that I had to make you believe it when I didn't believe it myself. There was nothing I could do to make it better. Nothing could take away your sickness. But I had to make you believe otherwise. And that's what you have to do now. It's part of being a father."

The respect I felt for my dad in that moment was profound. I'd never felt closer to him. It was like I knew him better than ever before – that we had a real link to something that only the two of us could feel. And I loved him for it. For everything he had done for me then and for what he was doing for me now.

He clapped me on my shoulder and smiled faintly at me. "You'll get through this, Jason. Eric is a strong little boy."

"I know," I said firmly. "That's why this is so hard to accept. He shouldn't be sick."

"You shouldn't have been sick, either."

"But Dad," I leaned closer to talk to him in a whisper. "The only thing I can think of that would make him sick like this is kryptonite, but there isn't any around here. I would know. I would feel it. And if I did feel it, I certainly wouldn't live around it."

"You wouldn't have to be living around it. It's portable. It could come to you."

I made a face. "What do you mean?"

"It's a rock," he stated plainly. "It doesn't have to be imbedded in the ground. It could be just a rock somewhere. Maybe Eric picked up something that he thought was a harmless, pretty green rock. You did once."

"I did?"

"Well, you weren't little like Eric. But that whole thing on the boat with your friends… that was kryptonite. And it was portable."

I considered it for a moment and decided on a plan of action. "Will you tell Kate I'm going to go have a look around the park? I want to see if there's anything there."

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in the middle of a playground filled with happy, squealing children enjoying their holiday. I tried not to see them, keeping my eyes directed to the ground for any sign of the green rock I knew so well. I even used my X-ray vision to peer under the earth and see if it was in the ground and just too small for me to feel. But there was nothing.

I was about to give up when I spotted two boys playing with marbles. I don't know why I was drawn to them, but I was. To my amazement, three of their so-called marbles were jade green in color. Surely it couldn't be something as simple as this? I bent down and asked the boys if I could see their marbles, and they agreed. I picked up one of the green ones and instantly knew it was the source I'd been looking for.

"Where did you get this?" I asked them.

"My brother makes them. He likes rocks. He collects rocks and then takes them to school and makes stuff out of them."

"In school?" I'd never heard of such a thing. "How old is your brother?"

"He's fifteen. He does it in his shop class. He says that's what he wants to be when he grows up."

I looked more closely at the marble in my hands and wondered why something so small would have had such a profound effect on Eric. If he had been near the kryptonite yesterday, he should be fine now. Now that I had found the source, Eric's illness seemed more a mystery than ever.

"Those green ones are my favorite," the second little boy said. "I used to have four, but I lost one yesterday."

I looked over at him. "You lost one? How?"

"Some little baby took it. I think he swallowed it."

My insides squirmed. If Eric had swallowed it… swallowed kryptonite… there's no telling what it would do to his little body. I made it back to the hospital in no time and explained everything to my family. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noted that Clark and Mom were in the same room together and that they weren't fighting, but I couldn't focus on that now. All I could concentrate on was how to get the marble out of my son's stomach.

Upon my request, Clark looked Eric over and found the marble exactly where I had said it would be.

"Why didn't I see it sooner?" he said with regret.

"Why didn't I?" I said, echoing his sentiment.

The easiest solution would be to tell the doctor to perform an X-ray on Eric. Then the doctor would see the marble and want to extract it as quickly as possible. However, being a radioactive substance, kryptonite wouldn't show up properly on the negative of an X-ray and could very well do damage to the machine.

We were all trying to think of some logical and normal way to convince the doctor that there was a harmful substance in Eric's body - without mentioning the marble - that needed to come out when Eric himself provided the ultimate solution for us. He vomited. While I had been out, the doctor insisted upon feeding him. Eric's body rejected the food… and along with the food came the marble. He choked on the object, which made us all panic that much more, but once the nurse cleared out his mouth, he was fine.

The change that came over Eric then was almost instantaneous. I carried him over to the window, dragging his IV with us, so that he could soak up the sunlight. Within two hours his temperature had dropped and he was playing and acting like a normal fifteen-month-old baby again. However, the hospital wouldn't release him until his temperature was normal – meaning 98.7 degrees. Kate and I both knew that was never going to happen, but convincing the doctor of that was another thing altogether. So, Eric spent the night in the hospital under observation.

"He still has a mild fever, but he seems perfectly fine other than that," the doctor said as he signed the release forms. "If it starts to spike again, bring him in right away."

There was no need, for Eric was back to normal as if nothing had ever happened. Kate was another story though. She felt guilty for not seeing that he put the marble in his mouth, let alone swallowed it. She hovered over Eric endlessly, fussing over every detail she possibly could in an attempt to make up for the fact that she'd looked away from him for two seconds. No amount of reassurance from me or anyone else could convince her that it hadn't been her fault. She called me three or four times a day for the next week to report any unusual behavior, afraid that she might make another mistake.

Upon my Dad's advice I took her calls, but I did so reluctantly. He'd said it was what she needed right now from me – to let her be obsessive. He'd gone through some similar things with Mom, and I appreciated the help.

Clark also felt guilty, which I didn't quite understand. It might have had something to do with the looks that passed between my mother and him while Eric was in the hospital, or the fact that he hadn't X-rayed Eric sooner, but I couldn't be sure. He'd made it his personal task to hunt down any and all kryptonite in the area. So far, the only bits he'd found were off the coast, which we'd known about since I was thirteen.

I was in the middle of rehearsal a week after Eric's hospital stay when I was passed yet another note that my wife had called again. "She said it was urgent," the assistant said as she walked away. I nodded and put the note on the piano, knowing that Kate would understand that I was in the middle of rehearsal. I'd call her as soon as we were finished.

Not five minutes later a second note was passed to me. Instead of a request to call Kate, the note said that she was waiting on the line for me to speak to her. I grumbled in frustration at her behavior. Eric was fine. I had every confidence in her as a mother. What happened was an accident that could have happened to anyone. The sooner she realized that, the better we all would be.

"Tell her I will call her as soon as I'm out of rehearsal," I said quietly to the assistant.

"She said it's an emergency."

"Everything's an emergency with her right now," I mumbled.

"Something about your father."

My head jerked up to look at the assistant. "My father?" The question wasn't just to ask what was wrong with him, but to determine which one was the cause for concern – Richard or Clark?

"She said he's sick."

That didn't help much. If Clark had found a hefty chunk of kryptonite, he could be the one for the alarm. With a look to the maestro, I was given permission to take the call.

"Hey, what's going on?" I said into the receiver.

"Jason! Where have you been?" Her panic was obvious.

"I'm in the middle of rehearsal, Kate. Now what's up because I need to get back before—"

"Your dad collapsed at work."

She'd said "dad," but I still wasn't certain. "Richard?" I clarified.

"Yes. You'd um… you'd better come down here."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Um…" She hesitated. "We're at the hospital."

"What's wrong with him, Kate?"

She gave a deep, long sigh. "You really need to come down here, Jason."

I didn't like the sound of this one bit. "Did he have a heart attack?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Jason—" her voice cracked. "Just hurry and come down here."

Kate wasn't one to cry easily. She had cried when Eric was sick, but she'd been mad at herself more than anything. This cry was similar, but more frightening for some reason.

"I'm on my way," I said, and hung up the phone.

After a brief word with the maestro, I was on my way to the hospital. I considered that I didn't know what room he was in, and found it slightly odd that Kate hadn't offered that information. I made it to my designation in ten minutes flat and went in the front, heading for the information desk. To my total surprise, Kate was waiting for me in the lobby.

"Oh, Jason," she gasped and threw her arms around me.

It was then that I noticed my mom sitting on one of the couches with Uncle Perry next to her, his arm draped over her shoulders. Her face was a mess of tears, mascara running under her swollen eyes.

"What happened?" I said, looking down at Kate. "Where's Dad?"

Then I noticed Clark standing off to the side, looking mournful. His eyes pierced mine and then darted over to Mom. I took a few hesitant steps toward my mother, but the sinking feeling in my gut told me that something was dreadfully wrong.

"Mom?"

She looked up at me and reached out her hand. "Oh, honey." She stood up and faced me, looking me directly in the eyes. "Richard…"

My heart was racing in anticipation, and suddenly I knew. I understood. And I didn't want to hear it. "No."

Her head nodded, confirming my worst fear. "He's gone, honey."

In that instant, my whole world changed.

"How?" I said, feeling the panic begin to swell with in me.

"It was an aneurysm."

"No," I repeated, my eyes flickering over to Clark.

"Jason," Mom said, placing her hands on both sides of my face and forcing me to look at her. "There wasn't anything anyone could have done."

Her arms slid around me and I held her loosely. My limbs felt like jello. My heart was thudding rapidly against my chest. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. I'd just spoken to dad a few days ago. He was fine. He was so healthy. He worked out. He'd never really been sick. He was still young. This wasn't supposed to happen.

I felt as if things were moving in slow motion. My mother hugged me and kissed my cheek. She held my hand and didn't let go, even as the others came up to offer their sympathy. Kate held me, saying things like "I know, Jason. I know." My Uncle Perry even hugged me, something he'd rarely done since I was little. And then there was Clark.

He looked at me from a distance. My father. My biological father. My other father. It had always been hard for me to place a qualifier on it. The one title I couldn't remember ever giving him was my real father. That was Richard and it always would be. Now there was another adjective – my only father. No. My only living father. No matter how much I'd come to accept Clark – how I had grown to love him – he would never take Richard's place in my heart. But how was I supposed to face my father when my father had just… just…

I couldn't even think it yet. That word. My mind was still trying to process it all.

Mom still had a hold of one of my hands. Her gaze drifted from me to Clark and back again. Gently, she squeezed my hand and sniffed back some tears. "It isn't his fault," she said softly, as if she could read my thoughts. "Don't blame him for this."

I was slightly stunned by the fact that she wasn't raging out at him. Things were still tense between them, and given the situation it seemed perfectly logical to me that mom would lash out at him. I wanted to. It may have been wrong to feel that way, but it couldn't be denied. He was here… and Dad was not. It was like the universe had turned upside down. He'd never been the one to remain. Dad had always been the one. Always. From the day I was born.

I could see that he wanted to offer me the same comfort the others were offering me – that he would have hugged me if I allowed him to. Yet I couldn't. Not yet. It was too foreign of a feeling for me to accept that he was now my only living father. It was a concept that my mind rebelled against.

Every set of eyes surrounding me had tears in them – even my Uncle Perry's. My eyes, though, were dry. My brain hadn't yet caught up with my emotions. Deeper than that, I knew that if I gave into the loss I felt that it would take a long while for me to resurface. Mom needed me to be strong now. There would be arrangements to be made and papers to sign. There were things that she had to do on her own as his widow. I shuddered at the word. But I would make sure that she wouldn't be alone. I'd be there for whatever she needed. That was my job as his son.

The next few days were a blur. Making the funeral arrangements was as emotionally draining as it was physically. So much of it was distasteful to me. Did it really matter what color stain was on his casket? Or if he was dressed in the blue suit rather than the black one? I stood by Mom and gave my opinions as convincingly as I could without showing how angry or upset I was. When she asked me to play the piano for the funeral, I had to decline. I knew I wouldn't be able to make it through without breaking down, and I didn't want to lose it in front of everyone.

At the funeral, I again stood by Mom and shook the hands of an uncountable number of people offering their condolences. Dad was well liked with friends both here and abroad. The viewing lasted for hours, and the funeral home was packed to capacity for the ceremony. Kate sat next to me through the service and offered to keep Eric on her lap so I could focus better on what was being said about my Dad, but I didn't want that. I had this indescribable need to keep Eric close to me, to wrap my arms around him and make sure he knew how much I loved him. He rested his head on my shoulder and fell asleep halfway through. It pained me to think that he would never remember Richard.

The burial was the worst, though. I'd been to a few funerals before, but never had I been to a burial. I couldn't bring my eyes to look at the open grave where they would bury my father. It was too dark, too cold, too harsh of a reality for me to process. However, when I tried not to look at it, my eyes would drift skyward, up to the sun, which only served as another reminder of just how confusing this whole situation was for me.

The wake afterwards was difficult to get through, though not as difficult simply because I was distracted by everyday life issues. Eric was hungry, and getting a fifteen-month-old child to sit still long enough to eat after he's already been forced to sit still for most of the day was a chore. Then he was fussy because he wanted to play. Kate took him outside for a while, but I couldn't keep my distance from him, and soon enough I was outside pushing him on the swing set Dad had installed in the backyard a few months ago.

Dad.

It was amazing to me how many times thoughts of him came unbidden into my mind. Thoughts that had nothing to do with a funeral or the fact that I would never see him again. He was still such a part of my life that I couldn't fathom the rest of my life without him. I didn't want to.

When it was all said and done and the last person said their farewell to Mom, we were left all alone in a house that seemed far too large without Dad around. I had come inside to stand by Mom as Dad's friends were leaving. Kate was still outside with Eric. That left Mom and me to stand there alone and contemplate the emptiness that we both felt. The missing presence. The person that always seemed to hold our family together when things got rough. The voice of reason. And we would never see him again.

I hugged her, and she cried soundlessly against my shoulder. I still hadn't allowed myself to cry. I knew that if I did start I would probably never stop. Mom looked up at me with a forced smile on her tear-streaked face.

"What do we do now?" she said softly.

"I don't know," I said honestly in a hoarse whisper.

The back door opened, and Clark entered with Eric in his arms, Kate following behind them. For some reason, I thought he had left. I wasn't exactly sure why he was still here even. Shouldn't he be uncomfortable around us right now? That was typical of the kind of excuse he usually used to get out of situations like this. Yet, here he was. He froze when he saw the two of us looking back at him.

Clark smiled down at Eric and said, "Hey buddy, why don't you go to Mommy. Okay?"

"'Kay," Eric said as Clark lowered him to the ground.

"I'm going to put him down for a nap," my wife said as she took Eric's hand and led him from the room.

Mom bit her bottom lip. "Did you mean what you said earlier?" she asked Clark.

"Yes," he said, keeping his eyes on her. "Whatever you need."

She nodded and I had to wonder at what exactly they were talking about. "I think," she started, "that I need some time alone."

"Are you sure, Mom?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm just going to lie down for a while."

"I'll take care of everything," Clark said, stepping forward. "Don't worry."

I gaped at him and how uncharacteristically bold he was acting. And then it occurred to me that what seemed so strange here was that he wasn't acting like Clark the bumbling idiot He was being himself – that combination of Clark and Superman that he only showed on rare occasions when he was sure no one else would notice. I hadn't ever seen him be purely himself in front of Mom… and that seemed to make a world of difference.

"Thank you, Clark," Mom said, smiling at him. It was a small smile, but it was a smile all the same. Had hell just frozen over? She patted my arm and headed up the steps to her bedroom.

I turned my gaze on Clark, my whole mind in a jumble. "What exactly are you 'taking care of'?" I asked venomously once Mom was out of earshot.

"Cleaning up," he replied innocently.

For the first time I took in the mess of dishes in the kitchen. There were gobs of plants and flower arrangements everywhere. The furniture had been pushed to the side to make room for the visitors today. The house looked like a wild party had come through. I couldn't remember ever seeing it that out of order.

A part of me felt guilty for my previous assumption. "Do you need help?" I asked out of courtesy, for I knew he could manage in no time flat and not even break a sweat.

"No. Thank you, but I'll take care of it. Go and be with your family."

I nodded and started up the steps to my old bedroom where Kate was lying down with Eric.

"Jason—" Clark called to me.

I had a feeling I knew what he wanted to say, but I wasn't ready to hear it. "Don't," I said, not even turning around to look at him. "I can't. Not yet." I resumed my way up the steps to my family.

Eric was just dozing off, resting comfortably in the bed next to Kate. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

No. That was a stupid question. I doubted I would ever be "okay" about this. But I nodded my head yes and slumped down into a chair.

"Honey, do you want to talk?"

No. What could I say that would make a difference? No amount of talking would bring him back. I shook my head at her.

"You need to let this out. You need to vent. You haven't—"

"I need to get some air," I said, standing up quickly and walking back to the door. I really didn't have the patience to sit through a therapy session right now. I knew she understood what it was like to lose a parent, and that she could empathize with me better than anyone right now, but I really needed some space. The house had never seemed so restrictive.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I don't know. I won't be gone long."

With my senses tuned in so that I could avoid Clark, my feet carried me down the steps and out to my car. I turned the ignition and pulled away from the house that held so many personal memories of my father. I drove, unaware of just where I was heading. I didn't care. I didn't think. I just wanted to put as much distance between me and that space that seemed so confining.

Once I was a good distance out of the city, I realized that with the landscape stretching out in front of me the car had started to feel restraining. There was so much space outside and so little in the car that had grown too small in the last few minutes. I needed out. I needed air. And so at the next rest stop I pulled over and climbed out of my car, choosing instead to wander on foot.

I started off at a brisk pace that soon became a run. A real run. The way I never allowed myself to run for fear of being spotted. I needed to feel that freedom – that rush. I needed to make my heart pound in my chest as hard as it could to remind me that I was alive and this was reality. I felt too confined to the ground and wished more than anything that I had the power to leave the ground completely.

With my heart thumping madly and my breath panting heavily, I found that whatever strength I thought I had left in me vanished completely. I wanted to cry out, to yell and scream, but all I could manage was a whimper. With a great sigh, I collapsed to the earth, gasping for air. There wasn't enough air for me to inhale. I couldn't take it in fast enough. I rolled onto my back and sucked in as much air as I could, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't breathe. Choking on what little air remained in my lungs, I coughed and wheezed my way through an episode the likes of which I hadn't had in years.

Slowly, painfully, I regained my ability to breathe. Once the air settled properly in my lungs, the mighty sob that had been building within me escaped my throat. The ache tore at my heart, ripping through my soul as my mind was bombarded with questions that I knew would never be answered.

Why? Why him? Why now? And how was I ever going to get through this?

I turned onto my stomach and buried my face in the crook of my arm. The uncontrollable tears that fell came hard and fast. I did nothing to stop them. There was no way to stop them. They burned in my eyes and stung my cheeks, but they were necessary.

When the tears had run their course and my eyes started to dry, I allowed myself to lean up and take a look at where I was lying. I had no recollection of climbing a hill, but that's exactly where I was. This was a hilltop – or rather a small mountain. The sky was dark and the stars were bright, so I knew I was quite a ways out of the city. There were trees all around me, and I could see the lights of houses and buildings in the distance below. The air was still, the only sounds coming from birds and other animals in their native habitat. Nothing was out of place. Except for the heartbeat.

"I know you're there," I called to the darkness. "You can come out now."

Clark stepped out from behind a large tree a good ways off. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I knew you wanted to be alone."

"Then why did you follow me?"

"Kate," he replied simply.

I nodded in understanding. I hadn't been exactly forthcoming in telling her where I was heading. Given how many times she had tried to get me to talk about everything over the last few days, it was no wonder she was worried about me. She had sent him to watch me and make sure I wouldn't do anything crazy.

"I just wanted some space," I explained. "I wasn't going to hurt myself, if that's what she was worried about."

"No, she just wanted to know where you were." He paused before adding. "I was worried about you, too."

I closed my eyes and lay back down on my arms. "I'll be fine," I said flatly, trying to convince Clark of something I knew wasn't true.

"I know what you're going through, Jason."

Something snapped inside me. "No, you don't," I lashed out at him.

"Yes, I do. I know what it is to lose a father."

Somewhere, it registered in my head that he actually referred to Richard as my father, something he'd never really done. He'd always said Richard was "like" a father. Yet, I didn't have time to focus on that. I was more concerned about something else entirely.

"Having your father die on another planet when you're a baby isn't the same as this. You didn't grow up with him. He didn't raise you," I snarled. "So don't even dare compare Dad to Jor-El."

"I wasn't," he said calmly. "I had another father – an adoptive father – a father who raised me and loved me and meant the world to me."

I sniffed, a little surprised that I'd forgotten all about Jonathan Kent.

He walked forward, closing the distance between us until he was next to me. Without asking permission, he sat down on the cool ground beside me. "My dad died when I was eighteen, Jason. It was a heart attack. One minute I was talking to him about school and joking around and the next minute…" His voice trailed off sadly. "He died right there in front of me. Even with all the amazing powers I had, there wasn't anything I could do to save his life."

I swallowed hard and pursed my lip together. That was exactly what I was feeling right now. I hadn't even considered that he might have some idea what this helplessness felt like. But what he didn't understand was the confusion of trying to face one father when you've just lost another.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," I said, "but this is… I mean I never thought…"

"You have every right to be angry, Jason. I just don't want you to feel alone."

I glanced up at him, a flash of hostility rising inside me. "Well, sorry, but that's exactly how I feel. He was my dad." I could no longer hold his gaze, and so I pulled my eyes away from his. "He always knew exactly what to say. He never made me feel…"

I heard Clark sigh and knew I had made my point without even having to say the actual words. Dad had always loved me. I'd never doubted that. He'd always tried to help me work though problems. He was always there when I needed him. And Clark wasn't.

"I'm not here to take Richard's place," he stated. "That was never my intention."

I huffed in bold disagreement.

"Jason," he said in a voice that demanded I look at him. "I never stopped him from being your father. I never took you away from him. He was your family right from the start, and I wasn't. I fully acknowledge that Richard raised you – that you think of him as your father and that I'm just…" He breathed deeply.

I rolled my eyes and rested my head down on my arms again. "This is so confusing. I've spent the majority of my life worried about the wrong father."

I felt him shift slightly. "What do you mean?"

I tutted. "I've always been worried about you. Worried about how to talk to you, how to be around you, how to please you, all so that you won't… leave me… again." I hated admitting it out loud like that, but I'd lost all ability to think rationally. There was little time to filter out my thoughts before I spoke them. "I fought for you… when I should have been more focused on him."

The silence that filled the space between us was thick and tense.

"I can't even remember the last time I told him I loved him," I said softly.

"Oh, Jason, he knew," Clark said. "He knew."

I shrugged. "I find it ironic that he thought of himself as my 'other' father and that you were my 'real' father… when you are sitting here telling me that you feel you are the 'other' father." I sat up. "I just feel like I'm going around in circles sometimes."

Clark nodded. "I have felt that way on so many occasions. I think that's just part of life."

"Is that your fatherly advice?" I mocked.

His eyes caught mine. "What do you want from me, Jason? Talk about going around in circles, you've repeatedly told me that you want me in your life, and yet you still keep me at a distance. Do you want me to be your father, or not? Because this is the only way I know how to do it." There was a boldness to his voice that was new, and it caught me off guard. "I'm not Richard. I wasn't there from day one earning your trust. I have to do it the hard way now, and so far I think I've done everything that you've asked of me. I know you're confused, but I want to be here. I am willing to help in any way possible, you just have to tell me."

He was right. He had done what I'd asked of him, and I owed it to him to at least acknowledge that fact. "I didn't mean to make you think you had done something wrong," I explained. "You've been great. What's confusing me right now is that I just don't know where to go from here. As crazy as this may sound, Dad made things work around here."

"Do you mean, you're having difficulty defining our relationship now that Richard isn't here to act as a buffer?" he asked.

"Yes," I hissed, surprised that he really did seem to understand.

"I can accept that," he nodded his head. "But I'm not going to take myself out of the picture just because you aren't sure where I fit."

"I don't want you out of the picture. I just want…" I couldn't word it.

"You want Richard back."

I nodded silently.

"I hope you know that if I could have done anything, I would have."

I sniffed. "I know."

"I do love you, Jason. No one expects this to be easy for you. But there are so many people in your life that can help you get through this. Your mother – Kate – me…and Eric needs you."

"Kate!" I turned my head quickly upon hearing her name. "Was she really angry at me? I kind of just ran out."

"Kate was worried about you. Remember, she lost her mother unexpectedly. She knows what you're feeling. And you're her husband – and you're in pain. She wants to help you, that's all."

He was right, again. Why was he suddenly so perceptive and in tune with everything?

"I guess I should head back, then." I rose to my feet and brushed off the dirt from my legs. "I didn't mean to cause such a fuss."

"It's no fuss."

I sighed and looked around again. First to my left and then to the right. "Where are we, anyway?"

Clark smirked. "Upstate New York."

"You're kidding!" I was stunned.

"You ran for a long time."

"I guess so."

"You want a lift back to your car?" he offered.

"No, I'll make it back on my own. I need some time." I smiled reassuringly at him, trying to show him that I would be fine. It would hurt, and I knew that the pain would never go away completely, but I also knew that I would get though it. It must have worked because, after a hug, he left me on my own.

It took a while, but I eventually made it back to the house. A quick scan of the bedrooms told me that Mom was asleep in a chair, Kate was pacing the floor, and Eric was playing quietly in his portable crib. My feet made their way up the stairs to Mom's room. Carefully, I picked her up and laid her in her bed, pulling the cover up around her. Then I crossed the hall to my old room where Kate and Eric were.

"Daddy!" Eric chimed happily as I walked in.

"Jason," Kate sighed in relief.

I scooped up my son, wrapped my arms around Kate, and kissed them both.