Lizzie landed in Kansas that morning. She caught the bus to Smallville, looking out and at the sights which she passed. Her eyes wandered down to her hand, looking at the blue engagement ring and silver wedding band which sat on her finger. She twirled them, wondering what would be in store for her when she returned back to New York. She knew that she was running away from James. She was running away from her marriage because she didn't know what else she could do.

She returned home, telling her mother what had happened. Ellie had held her daughter to her, allowing her to cry against her shoulder. Her mother had mellowed over the past few years. She had watched her daughter leave her. She had visited occasionally, and each time she knew that Lizzie wasn't truly happy.

She hadn't been truly happy since she was a seventeen year old girl.

Lizzie had stood back, telling her mother that she wanted to go and visit her father. Ellie wondered if she should go with her daughter, but Lizzie shook her head, promising her mother that she would be fine by herself. Ellie handed her the car keys, watching as her only daughter left the house. A sudden chill came over as she felt herself begin to cry again, unable to stand being alone in the house.

...

Clark left Lois by walking in the opposite direction of the graveyard to where she stood. He hadn't told anyone the story of how his father had died. No one else knew about Clark and his secret. No one but Lizzie and his mother. He hadn't heard from Lizzie in the past few months. He had tried to call her but she wasn't answering. It was like she was purposefully ignoring him.

That was how he found himself confused when he saw her figure in the graveyard. He could sense that Lois was still stood at his father's grave, clearly debating what she should do. He wondered what she would do too. He hoped the right thing was the way forwards. He needed his secret to be kept.

He pushed her from his mind, walking towards Lizzie as she kept her head bowed. She didn't notice his arrival, too intent on the stone in front of her.

Clark didn't know what to think when he saw the name on it. The white marble was expensive; flowers lined the front of it, almost covering the name. But Clark could see who it was.

Lizzie finally heard someone breathing behind her. She turned around, wondering if her mother had followed her to the cemetery. But it wasn't her mother. Clark reached for his baseball cap, pulling it from his head to look at her clearly in the setting sunlight. She stared back at him, seeing him dressed in a tight white t-shirt with a blue shirt unbuttoned over it. His face was clean this time, revealing his bright blue eyes and strong jaw.

Clark took his time to look at her. She wore her skinny jeans on her form, a black blazer covering a plain white top. But it was her face which worried him. She hadn't aged, but she looked drained and tired.

"Clark," Lizzie croaked out, her voice soft and shocked. Her eyes were rimmed with tears as Clark nodded at her. "You're here."

"I'm here," Clark promised her.

He watched her for another few moments. "I didn't know about your father."

She turned her head over her shoulder to look at the gravestone, speaking back to him; "Cancer. There was no cure for it. He found out too late...he died last year..."

"I'm sorry," Clark said. And he was sorry. Her father was an acquired taste, but he wasn't a monster. Clark had seen that when he was twenty two and being told of what Lizzie had gone through during his absence.

"He died peacefully," she nodded, turning her gaze back to him. "They say that time heals wounds, don't they?"

"They do."

"Well they were wrong," Lizzie replied. "I don't know how it can heal. He was my dad. How did you cope?"

"I didn't for a long time," Clark said, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. "You know that. You put on a brave face, Lizzie. It is all you can do. Besides, you're a tough girl...you always have been..."

"Have I?" she replied, wanting to do nothing more than go back to those days. "I don't feel tough anymore, Clark."

"I wouldn't know," Clark replied, his voice cautious as he decided to tread on thin ice. "I haven't heard from you in months, Lizzie. I was worried about you."

She bit down on her bottom lip, well aware that she had been avoiding Clark and his calls for a long time. She hadn't been able to face him since she was made redundant and her marriage began to break down. What could she say to him? She could hardly tell him that her life was collapsing around her.

Clark waited for her to respond, his eyes looking at her as she instinctively began to twirl her wedding and engagement ring.

"I didn't know what to say, Clark," Lizzie admitted. "Everything has turned to crap."

"What do you mean?"

"My dad died. I lost my job...my marriage has broken down...I have no money and work in a diner now...I work in a diner where men grope at me with any available chance...I'll be homeless as soon as James throws me out...I have bills to pay that I can't...credit cards galore..."

Clark watched as she made her explanation to him, his eyes full of sorrow for her and worry. He rushed forwards to her then, wrapping his arms around her petite form and holding her to his muscular body. Lizzie placed her own arms around his neck, her sobs continuing to shake against him as she made her revelation to him.

He kept quiet, looking to the side as he saw a car drive past and noted Lois sat in the driver's seat, her gaze on Clark instead of the road. He gave her a curt nod before turning his attention back to Lizzie. She was the one who needed him now. She was his concern now.

"Come on," Clark urged her, pulling back after a moment. "You need a drink."

"Just one?" Lizzie finally managed to form a wan smile.

...

"Where do you want me to start?" Lizzie asked from Clark.

She was sat at the bar on a stool, her feet dangling off the floor. Both of her hands were wrapped around a beer bottle on the wooden surface. Clark had one foot on the footrest, the other on the floor as he leaned towards her. He held his head with one hand, his other holding the beer bottle he had just been given.

"From the beginning," Clark said to her.

"Well...it first started when my dad died," Lizzie admitted to Clark. "James did everything that he should. He held my hand, stayed with me for the entire event. He told me comforting things. But...it was as I watched my dad...as I watched him being lowered down when my mother cried so loudly...I'd never heard a sound like it."

Clark watched her as she drained a lot of the bottle in a few gulps.

"And I saw how much she loved him. I saw how much she cared for him. She may not have shown it like a normal woman. God knows my mother isn't normal."

Clark couldn't help but silently agree with that analysis.

"But she loved him so much...and I thought...I thought that I didn't love James that much. I don't. I care for him, of course I do. But after that day I kept on finding faults with everything that he did. I kept on making excuses to stay away from home. I'd known it for a long time," Lizzie whispered. "I don't want to die without love. Proper love. Even if it tears me apart."

Clark took a moment to contemplate. He barely recognised Lizzie drink the rest of the alcohol. She handed the bottle to bartender, ordering herself another one for Clark's tab. The bartender looked at Clark with an arched brow, wondering if she was alright to do that. The rate she was drinking was alarming. Clark nodded, waving his hand with the beer bottle in a nonchalant manner.

"You married him," Clark told her. "You must have loved something about him."

"I know," Lizzie said. "I love him in a certain way. I just don't love him like a wife should love her husband. He's said we should attend counselling. And then I was made redundant. The paper wasn't selling. It lost all of its business to the Daily Planet. There were sixteen of us who applied there after our paper folded. I didn't get the job."

"So you're a waitress?" Clark checked. "Could James not help you out? Surely he knows what happens to you."

"He knows that the men are randy," Lizzie agreed, draining her drink. "His job pays well enough, but living in New York isn't cheap. His money is allocated for...he pays for the rent and groceries and all that. We needed a bit more money. It was the only way in the end. And now I have credit card debts. I'm living on an overdraft. I...I don't think I have any other option but to move back here...move back to Smallville to stay with my mom. If not then I'll be homeless."

"Your mother wouldn't let that happen," Clark whispered back. "I wouldn't let that happen."

"That's a point," Lizzie snapped out suddenly, the alcohol clearly going straight to her brain. "What are you doing back here? I was too shocked that you were at the grave to comprehend that you're back in Smallville."

Clark gave her a small smile, pressing his bottle to his lips as she did the same to hers.

"I know where I came from."

Lizzie spat out some of the liquid, some people looking at her as she leaned closer to Clark, her eyes widening. She forgot all about her problems for a moment, too focused on Clark's revelation to think about anything else.

"What?" she snapped at him. "How? You need to tell me everything!"

Clark urged her to keep her voice down before he began to speak to her. He told her how he had worked on the base in Canada and found the ship in the ice. He told her all about his piloting of the ship and his talk with his real father, Jor-El. He explained everything about Krypton and the suit which he had found. The reason why Clark was stronger than anyone else was due to the planet's sun.

"So you can really fly?" Lizzie checked. "I knew that you could."

"Not as far as I can now," Clark replied to her. "I made it all the way to South Africa before I couldn't fly anymore."

"Jesus," Lizzie gasped, drinking more of her alcohol. "And this reporter...do you trust her?"

"Lois?" Clark replied; a brow arched as he did so. Lizzie nodded at him. "Yeah, I trust her. She said that she would do the right thing. There are still a few good people in the world, Liz. She's one of them."

"She's a reporter," Lizzie clarified. "You do know about them, don't you? Journalism is a cruel business. I've seen it."

"And were you cruel?"

"I've done things which...well...I don't know. Some say cruel, others say pushy. I don't know," she admitted, shaking her head. "It does make me hate her more; now that I know she works for the Daily Planet."

"I could have a word," Clark said. "I could tell her about you."

"I don't need pity," Lizzie said, her tone harsher than she had meant for it to sound. "You sound just like James."

"What are you going to do about him?" Clark asked her. "Are you going to go to counselling?"

Lizzie stared back at her rings again, biting down on her bottom lip before drinking her second bottle of beer.

"I thought about it," she admitted. "I was adamant before, but...on the plane...I wondered if I could do any better than him. I wondered if there would ever be anyone else, or if he was the one. If he is the one and I quit too easily. I have no idea, Clark. I don't know what to do for the best."

"Only you can make the decision," Clark said to her.

She rolled her eyes, urging herself not to cry by completing the motion. She glanced back at Clark, her lips pulled up at the side.

"I see some things haven't changed. You're still terrible at giving advice."

Clark grinned then, trying to be encouraging for her sake. "I always thought I offered sound advice."

"You were terrible," Lizzie replied, ordering another beer as Clark finished his first. He watched as she swayed on her stool. "I'm assuming you still are terrible."

"At least I didn't spend my time berating you," Clark replied, taking the fresh beer into his grasp as she shook her head.

"I berated you to make sure you did well in your exams. How did you do, anyway? You never said."

"No idea," Clark told her. "I never went to collect the results. It's never affected my life since."

"That's because you've been living in the cold ever since," Lizzie clarified.

Clark sat opposite her for the rest of the evening, watching as she ordered numerous beers. The pair of them laughed and reminisced. It was almost as if she had forgotten all of her troubles for a while, and she knew why. She was with Clark. He seemed to make most things better for her.

The clock struck one when chucking out time came. Clark stood first, placing his empty beer bottle on the counter and digging into his wallet to pay for it all. Lizzie assured him that she would pay him back before she reached for the remainder of her beer and drained it.

Clark shook his head, watching as she tumbled down from the stool. He caught her around her elbow, keeping her on her feet as she laughed loudly. At least she seemed to have held onto her high spirits.

"Come on you," Clark whispered, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her from the dive. She struggled to stay upright, constantly swaying from side to side and moving from Clark's limp grip on her. He watched as she tripped up the steps, hitting her face on another one.

"Lizzie," Clark complained.

"I'm fine!" she shrieked at him, pushing herself to stand up.

Clark continued to keep his eye on her as he moved out to the alleyway. He looked up and down it, making sure that it had emptied before he put his plan into action. There was no way he was waiting for a bus to take her home. There was no way she could go home. Her mother would have a fit. She may have been a woman, but she was still her daughter.

"Stay here," Clark urged her, moving to check that the alleyway was completely clear.

"I'm a waitress!" Lizzie suddenly snapped. "I'm in debt! My husband can't stand me...I look like a living corpse...and now I'm drunk! Clark! I love my life!"

"Yes, Lizzie," Clark humoured her. "Come here."

"Why?" she wondered back.

"I'm taking you home. We're going to fly."

"No way!" she snapped back, her voice full of drunken enthusiasm.

"Way," Clark agreed. He said nothing more, deciding to simply pick her up into his arms. He grabbed hold of her around the waist, forcing her to wrap her arm around his shoulders.

"You're like a personal plane," Lizzie declared, her feet lifting from the ground as she tossed her head back. Clark shook his head at her, rolling his eyes and allowing a small grin to form on his face. "You could make a business from that."

"Okay, Liz," Clark mumbled and slowly moved into the sky.

Lizzie watched as the sky became closer, her eyes wide with delight as she felt her breathing become shallow. She laughed loudly, her sounds shaking against Clark as she began to sober. Clark looked down at her face as she kept her arms firmly around his shoulders, making sure she didn't let him go.

"This is amazing!" she yelled as Clark finally got high enough to be able to fly in the direction of his house. That was when Lizzie's posture changed. She was hanging underneath Clark, looking down to the ground as she felt her throat clench.

"Clark..." Lizzie suddenly spoke. "Clark...I'm going throw up..."

"What?" Clark said, not comprehending that she was normal human. It was what they did after a ridiculous volume of alcohol. "Can't you...well...wait?"

"No," Lizzie said. "Clark...we need to go down...please...Clark..."

Clark sighed but did as she asked, hurtling towards the ground. He found a dirt track off the road, setting her down by the side of it. She moved from his hold, stumbling to her knees as she vomited. Clark wrinkled his nose. Even he could smell it. Shaking his head, he watched as she wretched. He pulled her hair from her face as she doubled over.

"Oh God," she complained. "Puking in a ditch...what would the neighbours say?"

"Luckily you're out of the way," Clark told her. "No one will know."

"I know," Lizzie muttered, her voice quiet as her eyes drooped and she lost all energy. "This is your entire fault, Clark Kent."

"I know," Clark agreed, not bothering to argue with her. "Do you think you've finished?"

"Maybe," Lizzie whispered, spitting out the contents of her mouth before trying to stand up. Clark caught her as she ran a hand over her forehead.

"Okay...you're okay..." Clark promised her as she stumbled into his hold. She rested her hands on his chest softly, steadying herself.

"Oh God," Lizzie mumbled. "I feel terrible...Clark...I think I might die."

"You're not going to die," Clark promised her, knowing full well that she was being melodramatic.

"What if I do?"

"Then I will sue the doctor who failed to save your life."

She seemed appeased with his answer, patting his chest once. "Good, young one. The force is strong with you."

"I'm not Yoda," Clark replied simply.

"No," she replied. "You're Superman. Super...duper...Clark Kent..."

"You're going to regret those eight beers in the morning."

"Probably," she agreed, finally feeling her body give up on her. She slumped further against Clark, allowing him to take her weight. He held her underneath her arms, keeping her upright as she closed her eyes.

"Let's get you home."

Clark wrapped his arms around her waist again, deciding to travel slowly with her as she passed out in his hold. She didn't forget to mention one final thing;

"No feeling my ass up, Kent."

Clark couldn't help but smirk as she finally fell to sleep. He landed in his mother's yards, pulling Lizzie closer into his arms as he walked into the house, banging her head on the door as he went. She didn't seem to notice. She was far too intoxicated to know what her middle name was.

"Clark, is that you?" Martha called to her son, walking from the kitchen to the hallway where he stood with Lizzie in his arms. "Is that Elizabeth?"

"It is," Clark clarified, juggling her in his arms. "She's had a bit too much to drink."

"She smells like a back street gutter."

"That would be because she has just vomited on the side of the road."

"What have you done to the girl?"

"How is this my fault?"

"I can find a way to blame it on you," Martha smirked, grabbing hold of the blanket on the armchair. "I don't want to believe that innocent Elizabeth is like this. Put her on the sofa, she can sleep here tonight."

"Can you phone her mom?" Clark wondered. "She needs to know where she is. She didn't have a phone on her."

"Fine," Martha said as Clark settled Lizzie on the sofa.

She stirred after a moment, looking to Clark as she worried where she was.

"You're safe," Clark promised her. "I'm here, Lizzie."

"I'm going to be sick..." she complained.

Clark had gone and returned before she could even push herself to stand. He bent by her side, holding a red bucket by her side as she continued to empty the contents of her stomach into it. Clark patted her back when she had finished.

"Lie back," Clark urged her. "Try to sleep. You'll feel better for it."

"Will you stay?" she managed to speak as he pushed the blanket over her shoulders.

"I'll stay," Clark said when she closed her eyes, too tired to wait for his answer. "I'll always be here now, for as long as you need me."

Martha came back from the kitchen after a long conversation with Ellie, assuring the woman that she would make sure Lizzie was safe. She saw Lizzie on the sofa, sleeping soundly with a bucket beside her. Clark was leant against the front of the sofa, looking at Lizzie's hand as it dangled over the edge. He cautiously picked it up, looking at the rings which sat there.

His mother said nothing, as he remained too clouded in his own world. She climbed the stairs to her room, leaving him to look after his childhood friend.

...

A/N: Another chapter for the day! Thanks again to anyone who is reading, and do let me know what you think. There is so much more to come.