Natalie couldn't sleep. Whenever she finally slipped into a slumber, she had a nightmare that woke her up. She could handle a dream about a werewolf or the boogeyman, but her nightmares were real. They were about aliens with laser eyes of death, watching Mom die. Sometimes she was alive again in the dreams, and she would look at her with such disapproving eyes. Natalie would wake up only to realize the disappointment that she wasn't alive all over again.

She was left to wonder in the darkness what she could have done differently. Could she have stopped her mother when she sleepily heard her leaving the bunker? Had she told her that she loved her before she died? No, not lately because more often than not she had fought with her and that left her with a feeling of guilt that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

And while this was far from a second chance with her (this woman that looked like her, acted like her, but wasn't her), she'd managed to cause her grief as well. She didn't belong here, and this whole trip had been a colossal mistake.

Tears streaming down her face, she went down to the RV, which was only a ten-minute walk at a fast pace. Would that she knew how to drive. She'd be out of here so fast. But could she outrun the pain? If she went one mile or a hundred, it didn't change the fact that she missed her mother so much that it hurt sometimes just to breathe. She'd thought she'd worked through her loss before, but she hadn't. She'd only managed to distract herself as the goal of fighting back and then finding her father had consumed her days. It wasn't until she saw her again, only to learn she wasn't her, that it brought all those unresolved feelings flooding to the surface.

She saw a long shadow fall across the moonlit grass, and fear seized her. A prowler? A wild animal?

She grabbed a crowbar from the spare tire kit and hid behind the RV, but she'd been spotted because the shadow came closer. It was definitely human.

Going on pure instinct that came from being Lois Lane's daughter and months of living in a post-apocalyptical world where the humans had sometimes been as dangerous as the invaders, she struck before she had a full picture of the situation.

Poor Jordan Kent doubled over with an oomph.

She dropped the crowbar. "I'm so, so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I've been beat up worse than this before."

"Did you follow me?" she asked as he stood up straight.

"Yeah, I heard you leaving camp."

"You heard me? Was I that loud?"

"I wasn't asleep. I want to apologize for being weird earlier. There's still a lot I'm working through myself, that we're all working through. Jon told me that he told you about our sister."

"He did. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. If there's one thing this year has taught me, it's that death is a part of life. I lost my grandmother one year ago this Sunday, and I still miss her. I wish I'd called her up more. Told her I loved her more."

"She knew. At least, that's what people keep telling me about Mom."

"You know in a way I feel sorry for Morgan Edge or Tal-Rho, I guess I should say. I mean the plan he had for the world was evil, don't get me wrong, and he did terrible things, but it was born from loss. Unlike Superman, he was old enough to remember his world. He lost everything: his parents, his people, his way of life, and this one wasn't welcoming when he first arrived. He just wanted them back."

For the first time, she had a twinge of empathy for a Kryptonian, which she didn't think possible. "I never thought of it like that."

"What he didn't realize is that you can't bring someone back as much as you might want to. Only God can do that."

And there was the overwhelming pain again. How did one go about moving forward and making a new life when the one you lost had been such a central part of it? It hurt to grieve, but it hurt even more to act as if it hadn't been life-shattering and return to mundane things like school when this trip was over.

"I'm not good at talking. I never know what to say, but I've been told I'm a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk."

It was sweet. Problem was she was she didn't know how to put words to her feelings, and even if she did, what would it change? He was right. Death was all too final. "Thanks."