No matter how hard Martha tugged, Conner refused to come out from under
his bed sheets. "I'm sleeping."
"I want your help in the kitchen," said Martha. "I'm going
to make macaroons. They're Aunt Lo's favourite."
In response, he curled up into a tighter call. The bed dipped as his
grandmother sat on the edge. She rubbed large, firm circles on his back
through the sheets the way his mom did when he was little. At the thought
of Chloe, Conner tensed even further. It was like he was doomed to save
everyone except his family.
"Have I told you how much I enjoy your interest in cooking? You're
quite talented. I've never seen anyone pick up bread-making as quickly."
When he kept his silence, she persisted, "I'll make the macaroons
then and save the first batch for you with a nice, hot mug of hot chocolate,
okay, sweetie? I just want you to promise you won't leave without tell
me or Bart."
"Bart's here?"
"Yes."
Good. Bart could take care of Grandma and all the rest of that stuff.
Conner just couldn't. He couldn't face up to his failures just yet. If
he'd learned to fly a lot sooner, maybe he could have brought Dr. Chapel
earlier. Or, even earlier than that, if his stupid E-field didn't go bonkers,
maybe he'd be farther along in his training and his dad would've been
able to trust him with half the Superman shifts, just like they planned.
"You know," said Martha, "it took a long time to convince
your dad was that all the world's problems aren't his to fix. Your abilities,
as wonderful and varied as they are, still have limits. You have limits.
I think because of who you are, you and your dad have a difficult time
truly understanding that. I want you to know that to the people who really
love you-- me, Aunt Lo, Dad, Mom and all your truly good friends-- these
limits matter very little."
He felt her lean over him. Her kiss touched the top of his head.
"You're doing well, sweetie. I'm so very, very proud of you."
Of course, Conner, being who he was, focused on what he wanted to hear,
mainly that his abilities, as wonderful and varied as they were, still
had limits. Superboy had limits. That just wasn't right. There had to
be a way to get rid of those limits or at least extend them as far as
they could go. More than ever, he knew Batman could help. Batman didn't
have a drop of meta in him but he was still one of the most feared and
respected members of the League. He had to train Conner. His dad was
going to kill him but... Conner sighed. Might as well go help with the
cooking to earn brownie points.
His grandma beamed when he left the room, filling Conner with even guilt
about the brownie-point thought. "So, uh, macaroons? Like with chocolate?"
"Aunt Lo prefers the European version so I'm using almond slivers.
Can you beat these egg whites until they're stiff, please?" And so,
on gentle order after the other, Martha eased his tension. His planned
conversation stayed in the back of his mind until the elevator's hum announced
Clark's arrival.
"I want better training," Conner blurted out as soon as his
dad walked through the front door.
Clark blinked slowly. "Um, okay. With cooking?"
"I want to train with the Bat." Conner rushed into the rest
of his explanation before Clark could deny the request. "He trained
Dick and Ti-- Robin. He's super hardcore; he totally won't cut me any
slack and I think I need that."
"No one needs the Bat like that," said Clark. "Also, he
hates my guts. He might transfer that to you."
"Come on, Dad."
"I'm being serious. His xenophobia's common knowledge; who knows
what he'll do to someone of mixed-heritage?"
Martha gingerly stepped between the two of them. "Bart's just going
to accompany me to the store for a few more vegetables. Conner, don't
forget to take the macaroons to rest when they're done."
Both men only nodded in acknowledgement.
"The flying and what I can do with the E-field is like a whole new
thing," said Conner, "Jor-el can't do much except tell me to
keep working my mind and J'Onn just helps me clamp it down, not use it.
I need some sort of hardcore bootcamp thing."
"So I'll ask J'Onn to increase the intensity of your lessons."
But Conner was already shaking his head half-way through his dad's sentence.
"Training with them isn't enough. I still can't figure out what to
do when my E-field's gone haywire and I can still get hurt. We don't know
if that's ever going to go away. I need real fight training."
"Fine, I'll ask Dinah or Dick--"
"No!" Conner threw his hands up in the air. "They're all
afraid of you so none of them want to be as tough on me. You know it's
true. I feel frickin' useless most days 'cause I have to gauge whether
my E-field's controlled enough for deployment or not. I'm totally the
master of all things monitor duty and that's just so wrong. I hate watching.
I want to do things. That B&E you were at? If my powers were under
control, I could've taken care of that. I could've been there and you
could've been with Aunt Lo."
"I told you, that's not your problem."
"It is! Whether you like it or not, I'm in the League, Dad. I
have as much responsibility as you do."
"No, you don't and you know why? Because you're a child."
"Bull--"
"It's not bull." Clark shook him by the shoulders. "You
are just a child and more importantly, you're my child. You should
be in something safe like restaurant management or video game development
or... something that's not the League. I wish I'd never let you join."
Conner pulled away. "Too frickin' late, I have and I love it. Every
time I help out, I feel like I'm worth something."
"Conner, you're worth more than gold just standing there breathing."
"To you I am. But for me...I feel like I'm worth something more
when I help. Like I'm actually making a dent in everything going wrong."
He swallowed. "You can't keep me safe forever."
"I can damn well try," Clark bit out. He covered his face with
his hands, rubbing circles around his eyes and temples.
Conner slouched away from him and glowered at the floor. Balls.
His dad held out his hand. "Conner, come here."
"No." The response was childish but he was "just a child,"
wasn't he? He crossed his arms, glaring so hard at the linoleum it was
amazing his heat vision didn't kick in. A tepid breeze tousled his hair
and the next thing he knew, his dad was squeezing him hard. He'd never
get used to the physicality of their affection, his dad and Aunt Lo. They
hugged about everything. He refrained from thinking about how hard
he hugged back.
"If I'd been around when you were a child, maybe this would be easier,"
said Clark. "Maybe I'd be able to let you go to develop into the
good, conscientious adult I know you're going to be."
"Conscientious. That's a hundred-dollar word." To ease the
emotions threatening to turn him into a blubbering idiot, Conner changed
the subject. "We have a lot of vegetables. Grandma didn't need to
buy more."
"She left to give us a chance to talk. She's smart like that."
After a light, home-cooked meal and a shower, Clark returned to the hospital.
He didn't like the idea of Lois waking up alone. She slept soundly until
dark. When her breathing pattern changed, Clark knew she'd wake up soon.
He heard her toes scratch against the blanket as her eyes fluttered open.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
"C'mere. You look bad, Smallville," she said, her voice hoarse.
"At least I've showered." He kissed her lightly. "I love
you."
"Love you, too. You think you can crawl up in here so I can show
you how much?"
"Um, hospital beds aren't made for guys my size. Also, I think you're
too drugged up to be much fun."
"Aw, really? I thought drugs were supposed to take sex to a higher
level." She poked his chest. "In my incapacitated state, you
can finally do those nasty ET things to me. What's this I hear about tentacles?"
If she wasn't so hurt, Clark would find this conversation hilarious.
"Tentacles?"
"Research for that damned Wonder Woman exposé piece of crap.
Satpal sent me a link. You have sex tentacles. S'why your uniform's so
bulgy."
"Bulgy? Oh! Bulgy." Clark blushed.
"Didn't look like a tentacle to me. Maybe I should've looked closer.
Having suction cups there could be interesting."
Clark sputtered for a second or two before he caught the mischievous
glint in Lois' eyes. "You must be feeling better if you're back to
insulting me."
"Somewhat. I'm trying to keep the breakdowns at bay. One a day is
my limit; the snot and tears dehydrate me." But despite her words,
her chin trembled and she had to bite her lower lip to still it.
Clark lowered the railing so he could rest his head on the pillow beside
hers. He took both her hands, kissed the knuckles fiercely then tucked
them under his chin. "You don't have to be strong for me right now,
sweetheart. Shush, you think I don't know how much I lean on you? You're
strong for me when I need to be strong for the world. But, Lois, if I
can be strong for the whole world, the least I can do the same for you."
He brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.
He held her as she cried. They were soft tears this time, not the gut-tearing
ones he'd heard yesterday. She cried again the next day when they went
home and she caught sight of the nursery. He kept that door closed and
for the rest of the day, plastered himself to Lois' side, reminding her
to sleep and buying her ice cream. Peripherally, he knew Ollie and Bart
had joined forces with his mom to cover the basic life essentials-- food,
bills, mopping-- as well as arrange the baby's memorial. He couldn't.
Lois came first right now.
Four days after they left the hospital, Clark found her clearing out
the kitchen cupboards, dusting the shelves and throwing every piece of
tableware against the wall. She wasn't hurting anything except their bank
account so he let her be until she ran out of plates.
"You could've stretched your staples and hurt yourself," he
said.
"I think I did. Yet strangely, I feel much better." She rubbed
her abdomen then reached around the kitchen's island to twine her fingers
around his. "I was just pissed off at the world again. Kick-boxing
is out and video games don't take enough of the edge off so I settled
for breaking china. I bet I freaked Conner out, huh?"
"I sent him to buy more tableware around the time you started fastballing
the mugs. He'll probably detour for take-out brunch, too. He might be
too shell-shocked to cook."
"That kid's Good People."
"He certainly is."
"Do you think our next kid's going to end up half as awesome?"
Five minutes or five hours may have passed before Clark found his voice
again. "Next kid?"
"Yeah. The doctor said it would take at least two months to recover
completely from the surgery but I don't know if that includes child-bearing."
"No!" Clark burst out. He shouted so rarely even Lois looked
taken aback. "You're not getting pregnant again."
"Smallville, I know you think grief is talking but I know that you
know the best way for me to resolve any type of emotion is to do something
about it and--"
"No. Just... no. Lois, do you know how close you came to dying?"
He didn't wait for her to answer
"But I lived, Clark. I'm here. I'm whole and healthy and I want
another child."
"Then we'll adopt."
"I want your baby, Smallville. If I have to carve your swimmers
out myself, I'm going to have your baby."
Clark stared, at a complete loss for words.
"A little too graphic?" said Lois.
"This isn't the time to be flippant."
Letting out a sigh, she pressed against him and, when he failed to return
her embrace, she positioned his arms around her waist. "One more
time, Clark. We agreed three tries."
"No."
"It's my body."
"It's my sperm."
"Now who's being flip?"
"Damn it, Lois!" He rarely cursed. Those types of words tasted
bitter. However, some situations called for expletives. "If you want
a half-kryptonian baby, let's find a surrogate."
"Like who? Diana? That'll go swimmingly with the tabloids."
"I don't care about the tabloids."
"I do."
"More than you care about your life? This isn't the fantastical
world you've made up where you're the one with superpowers. You're not
in competition with Diana. She doesn't even know who you are."
Lois crossed her arms. "Of course not. You never talk about me in
the Watchtower."
He didn't know when this conversation jerked into a sharp turn towards
crazy but there they were. "I'm not supposed to talk about you
at work. That's why we have secret identities."
"Don't patronise me!" Lois yelped. "I'm recovering from
a D&E not a lobotomy."
"Maybe when you start making Earth sense--"
"Oooh, you just don't get it!"
"Then explain it to me! Why are you stuck on having a mixed baby?
Why do you have to carry it? Why do you have to be the one who gets
hurt?" With each question, Clark leaned harder against the kitchen
island. It was either crack the countertop or shake Lois silly.
"For the same reason you have to dress up in skintight primary
colours and rescue the world every thirty seconds and if you even think
about your supposed invulnerability to everything, I'm going to find something
green and glowy to bludgeon you with."
The countertop creaked. Clark ground his teeth, taking several deep breaths.
"Sit down. You're stressing yourself out." He thought he managed
those two sentences in a normal tone.
"I'm only doing it because I want to get better sooner," said
Lois. She gingerly made her way to the sofa. Halfway there, Clark couldn't
help but follow beside her. She put an arm around his waist. "Are
we done fighting now?"
"Yeah. But let the record show that I still disagree."
"Duly noted, Smallville. I'm going to need those painkillers now.
Yelling requires abdominal muscles. Who knew?"
"Oh, Lois." Clark framed her face with his hands.
"Oh, Smallville." She nuzzled his palms, nipped at his thumb
then kissed it better.
"What would I do without you?"
"Probably live a bland, stress-free life among the cows and the
cornfields."
"Horrific."
"I know. You can thank me with kinky sex later. Maybe in a week
when my vajayjay doesn't feel like I douched with rusty razors."
She curled into his side. Wrapping both arms around her, Clark pressed
rested his cheek against her hair. "I never wanted to be a journalist
at first, remember?"
He nodded.
"I don't know when precisely I figured out I really, truly wanted
to have a baby," she said. "I adore Conner, the little twerp,
but I know in my gut that we're meant to have a child together. I know
we'll be awesome at it. I really want this, Clark, as much as I want a
shelf of Pulitzers and you."
Exhaling, Clark said, "When have I ever been able to keep you from
doing anything? Just one last try. If a doctor independent of S.T.A.R.
Labs thinks your life is at risk from carrying the child, please remember
without you, my mom wouldn't have a daughter, City would fall apart in
two minutes, and Conner and I would be utterly destroyed."
"Likewise." She kissed his neck.
On the muddiest Sunday in March, Gabriel Lane-Kent was laid to rest in
his tiny white urn at Smallville's only cemetery, Gethsemane Gardens.
His plaque lay beside his Grandpa Jonathan's, its delicately carved white
stone dwarfed by the larger, rough-hewn granite. A row away was his Auntie
Chloe's memorial stone.
Conner returned here after the funeral party moved to the farm. He couldn't
stand the contrast of milling guests and awkward silence with his dad's
distracted solemnity and his aunt's forced smiles. At least half of Smallville
had showed up bearing casseroles. Granda flew in from the north. Since
Lex Luthor was kicked out of office, he lived as Gabe Sullivan again but
Smallville had held too many painful memories for him to move back. Grampa
Sam attended, lost and uncomfortable with the emotional outpouring. Most
of the Daily Planet staff was here as well although only Lois' City team
stayed for both the funeral and the following reception. It was a given
that the Originals would come but Conner hadn't expected Ollie to bring
his whole family-- Roy and his daughter, Lian; Connor, whose name caused
a great deal of confusion until someone came up with the brilliant idea
of referring to them as Big Con and Little Conn; and Cissie. It was weird
pretending he barely knew them, especially Cissie, who had kicked his
ass so many times, he knew the tread-marks of her boots by feel.
It was all too weird and so Conner left to walk aimlessly only to end
up here, at the cemetery, staring up the knoll at his baby brother's headstone.
He couldn't face that again. Instead, he took the wimpy way out and stopped
at the plaque bearing the carving "Chloe Anne Sullivan. May 5, 1987
- May 21, 2022." Under her name was a quote by Nellie Bly: "I
said I could and I would. And I did."
|
