Fic: One Aching Breath | SR | Clark/Lois, Jason | PG | 1/1
Title: One Aching Breath
Fandom: Superman Returns
Characters/Pairing: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Jason White
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,282
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Oxygen
Summary: Lois just wants to be able to breathe again.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks. If I owned it, SR would be getting a proper sequel, dammit.
Author's Notes: Set in the Aftermath-verse, during SR. This is my take on the hospital scene, and what was going through Lois's head at the time. This is also my long-awaited response to the challenge that kalalanekent gave me months ago, to write fic inspired by a particular song.
One Aching Breath
Open up next to you and my secrets become your truth
And the distance between that was sheltering me comes in full view
Hang my head, break my heart built from all I have torn apart
And my burden to bear is a love I can't carry anymore
All I have, all I need, he's the air I would kill to breathe
Holds my love in his hands, still I'm searching for something
Out of breath, I am left hoping someday I'll breathe again
--"Breathe Again", by Sara Bareilles (Full Lyrics; Reeveverse Clois vid to the same song by kalalanekent [for contrast and listening])
~*~*~
He doesn't look anything like Lois imagined. He should be... she imagined him wrapped in bandages, bruised, broken, not... not completely unscathed. The last time he needed medical attention, Zod's crew had nearly turned him to hamburger, and Lois had had to buy a whole new set of towels after cleaning up the bloody mess of his injuries. In here, he's clean, his skin seemingly unbroken, not a blemish to speak of. He's perfect. Hell, that damn spitcurl is resting perfectly over his forehead, and he doesn't even have an IV.
But then, why should he? Or, how could they get one in? If he's in good enough shape to not have any visible injuries, then how could the nurses get a needle through his skin?
Why is he even still asleep and in here if he's already healed this much?
Shaking off the train of thought, Lois admits to herself that she's stalling, standing just inside the closed door with Jason clinging to her hand, both of them waiting, watching. She shouldn't have brought him. Shouldn't even be here herself. What on Earth was she thinking?
“Mommy, is he gonna get better?”
Lois startles at the question from her five-year-old.
“I don't know,” she says, the admission seeming to suck the air out of the room, leaving her chest in agony with a sudden lack of oxygen. Ka-he might look fine on the outside, but who knows how badly he could be hurt on the inside? He's in a coma, for God's sake, and traumatic brain injuries have to be a common risk for humans and Kryptonians, regardless of invulnerability, don't they? Besides, she saw the length of the kryptonite blade that came out of his back. She can still hear the sickening squelch it made as she pulled it out with the pliers on the-
“I want him to. I like him.”
She can't help a tiny smile at the statement. Of course her son-their son-would form such a connection, and tell it like it is. Her breath catches in her throat with the thought, as the too-fresh memory of Jason's miraculous transformation aboard The Gertrude flashes across her mind's eye. Jason's father would be so proud.
Will be so proud.
“Me, too,” she admits. God, she doesn't want to lose him again. Not after he only just came back. And even if-
But she can't think about Richard, and all the implications of this man's return right now. There's only one thing that she came here to do, only one thing that will let her breathe again, that will allow her some oxygen at last, so she can finally stop holding her breath and waiting for the world to crash down over her.
Stepping around to the other side of the bed, Lois keeps an eye on her son as he spots the neatly-folded red and blue costume on the chair and goes over to look at it, to touch it. As is his birthright, she reminds herself. At last she musters the nerve to lean in close over... over him, to speak to him.
“I don't know if you can hear me. They say that sometimes when people are-” she starts, pausing as she knows she must sound ridiculous. “That sometimes they can hear you.” It's more of a question than a statement; she really doesn't know if he can hear her, but hope swells in her chest that maybe he can. That maybe he'll hear what she has to say, and it'll help bring him out of this coma.
“I don't know if you can hear me,” she says again. “I wanted to tell you, that J-” But she can't quite bring herself to say it out loud yet, as if this simple admission would give away all the secrets of the universe, as if the mere words could topple everything.
They might, of course, but it has to be said.
Leaning in closer, she glances back at Jason, catching him tracing the raised 'S' on the costume with his tiny hand. It shouldn't make her chest tighten, but it does, and before she can chicken out, she whispers the truth in Ka-his ear, in one aching breath.
“Jason is your son.”
And there, it's out. It's done. Immediately Lois feels as if she could run a marathon, the air finally back in her lungs, even if her knees feel a little wobbly for having done it at last. He knows. He knows.
Lifting up, she watches his face to see if there's any reaction. So far, nothing. Settling a hand on his chest-God, so warm, always so warm-she leans back in and drops a chaste kiss on his lips. It might be the only chance she'll ever get, and dammit, she missed him so much, missed this. Well, not this, exactly, but just being close, being able to touch him, to kiss him, to tell him all her secrets and make them his. The heart monitor connected to him beeps at that instant, and a spark of hopeful adrenaline jolts her. Her face turns up to look at the monitor, but-
But no, it's just measuring his heart rate, which hasn't changed. Forty beats per minute. It's low. Steady.
God, what the hell was she thinking, that he was gonna wake from her kiss? Ridiculous. Ridiculous fantasy. Like something a silly little girl would expect. And Lois hasn't been a silly little girl since before her mom died, so many years ago.
Shaking her head, she blinks heavily, then glances back down at him. He hasn't moved. Hasn't responded. Of course not, why would he?
Her heart seems to seize up in her chest again, and she just can't bear this for another agonizing moment. She did what she came here to do, and that has to be the end of it. He'll recover... she hopes. And he'll go on about his life, knowing that Jason is his. Either way, her burden is lifted.
Finally, Lois can breathe without this weight pressing down on her chest. Even if there's more to the story that she'll have to tell him eventually, that might make him hate her, she can go on with her own life, too.
For now.
She hopes.
Straightening, she tries to compose herself. Another minute, and she'll be likely to start crying. There'll be time for that later, but not now, not in here. She almost has to force her legs to carry her away from his bedside to go collect Jason, but manages it at last, catching his attention with a quick, “Come on.”
They're almost out of the room, Lois almost free of the gravitational pull of the man in the bed, when Jason tugs his hand free from hers and runs back to the bed to hop up and drop a kiss on a seemingly untroubled forehead.
Lois's chest tightens so hard in that moment that she wonders for a split second if it might kill her, if she might wind up in a bed of her own here, barely clinging to life as her heart stutters and slowly gives up the ghost. But then it's over, and he hasn't moved, still hasn't given any sign that he even knows they're here. Jason runs back to her, and with another murmur of, “Come on,” she ushers him out the door.
Finally, it's over, her mind spinning as security-actual Metro PD, of course-escort her out. The roar of the crowd waiting outside, the media waiting to crucify her for being allowed in to see Superman, it all hits her in a wave, and even as she picks Jason up to shield him from the cameras and the shouted accusations and questions, she feels lighter.
It's over. She can breathe at last.
It's over.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Superman Returns
Characters/Pairing: Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Jason White
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,282
Prompt: For dcu_freeforall: Oxygen
Summary: Lois just wants to be able to breathe again.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks. If I owned it, SR would be getting a proper sequel, dammit.
Author's Notes: Set in the Aftermath-verse, during SR. This is my take on the hospital scene, and what was going through Lois's head at the time. This is also my long-awaited response to the challenge that kalalanekent gave me months ago, to write fic inspired by a particular song.
One Aching Breath
Open up next to you and my secrets become your truth
And the distance between that was sheltering me comes in full view
Hang my head, break my heart built from all I have torn apart
And my burden to bear is a love I can't carry anymore
All I have, all I need, he's the air I would kill to breathe
Holds my love in his hands, still I'm searching for something
Out of breath, I am left hoping someday I'll breathe again
--"Breathe Again", by Sara Bareilles (Full Lyrics; Reeveverse Clois vid to the same song by kalalanekent [for contrast and listening])
~*~*~
He doesn't look anything like Lois imagined. He should be... she imagined him wrapped in bandages, bruised, broken, not... not completely unscathed. The last time he needed medical attention, Zod's crew had nearly turned him to hamburger, and Lois had had to buy a whole new set of towels after cleaning up the bloody mess of his injuries. In here, he's clean, his skin seemingly unbroken, not a blemish to speak of. He's perfect. Hell, that damn spitcurl is resting perfectly over his forehead, and he doesn't even have an IV.
But then, why should he? Or, how could they get one in? If he's in good enough shape to not have any visible injuries, then how could the nurses get a needle through his skin?
Why is he even still asleep and in here if he's already healed this much?
Shaking off the train of thought, Lois admits to herself that she's stalling, standing just inside the closed door with Jason clinging to her hand, both of them waiting, watching. She shouldn't have brought him. Shouldn't even be here herself. What on Earth was she thinking?
“Mommy, is he gonna get better?”
Lois startles at the question from her five-year-old.
“I don't know,” she says, the admission seeming to suck the air out of the room, leaving her chest in agony with a sudden lack of oxygen. Ka-he might look fine on the outside, but who knows how badly he could be hurt on the inside? He's in a coma, for God's sake, and traumatic brain injuries have to be a common risk for humans and Kryptonians, regardless of invulnerability, don't they? Besides, she saw the length of the kryptonite blade that came out of his back. She can still hear the sickening squelch it made as she pulled it out with the pliers on the-
“I want him to. I like him.”
She can't help a tiny smile at the statement. Of course her son-their son-would form such a connection, and tell it like it is. Her breath catches in her throat with the thought, as the too-fresh memory of Jason's miraculous transformation aboard The Gertrude flashes across her mind's eye. Jason's father would be so proud.
Will be so proud.
“Me, too,” she admits. God, she doesn't want to lose him again. Not after he only just came back. And even if-
But she can't think about Richard, and all the implications of this man's return right now. There's only one thing that she came here to do, only one thing that will let her breathe again, that will allow her some oxygen at last, so she can finally stop holding her breath and waiting for the world to crash down over her.
Stepping around to the other side of the bed, Lois keeps an eye on her son as he spots the neatly-folded red and blue costume on the chair and goes over to look at it, to touch it. As is his birthright, she reminds herself. At last she musters the nerve to lean in close over... over him, to speak to him.
“I don't know if you can hear me. They say that sometimes when people are-” she starts, pausing as she knows she must sound ridiculous. “That sometimes they can hear you.” It's more of a question than a statement; she really doesn't know if he can hear her, but hope swells in her chest that maybe he can. That maybe he'll hear what she has to say, and it'll help bring him out of this coma.
“I don't know if you can hear me,” she says again. “I wanted to tell you, that J-” But she can't quite bring herself to say it out loud yet, as if this simple admission would give away all the secrets of the universe, as if the mere words could topple everything.
They might, of course, but it has to be said.
Leaning in closer, she glances back at Jason, catching him tracing the raised 'S' on the costume with his tiny hand. It shouldn't make her chest tighten, but it does, and before she can chicken out, she whispers the truth in Ka-his ear, in one aching breath.
“Jason is your son.”
And there, it's out. It's done. Immediately Lois feels as if she could run a marathon, the air finally back in her lungs, even if her knees feel a little wobbly for having done it at last. He knows. He knows.
Lifting up, she watches his face to see if there's any reaction. So far, nothing. Settling a hand on his chest-God, so warm, always so warm-she leans back in and drops a chaste kiss on his lips. It might be the only chance she'll ever get, and dammit, she missed him so much, missed this. Well, not this, exactly, but just being close, being able to touch him, to kiss him, to tell him all her secrets and make them his. The heart monitor connected to him beeps at that instant, and a spark of hopeful adrenaline jolts her. Her face turns up to look at the monitor, but-
But no, it's just measuring his heart rate, which hasn't changed. Forty beats per minute. It's low. Steady.
God, what the hell was she thinking, that he was gonna wake from her kiss? Ridiculous. Ridiculous fantasy. Like something a silly little girl would expect. And Lois hasn't been a silly little girl since before her mom died, so many years ago.
Shaking her head, she blinks heavily, then glances back down at him. He hasn't moved. Hasn't responded. Of course not, why would he?
Her heart seems to seize up in her chest again, and she just can't bear this for another agonizing moment. She did what she came here to do, and that has to be the end of it. He'll recover... she hopes. And he'll go on about his life, knowing that Jason is his. Either way, her burden is lifted.
Finally, Lois can breathe without this weight pressing down on her chest. Even if there's more to the story that she'll have to tell him eventually, that might make him hate her, she can go on with her own life, too.
For now.
She hopes.
Straightening, she tries to compose herself. Another minute, and she'll be likely to start crying. There'll be time for that later, but not now, not in here. She almost has to force her legs to carry her away from his bedside to go collect Jason, but manages it at last, catching his attention with a quick, “Come on.”
They're almost out of the room, Lois almost free of the gravitational pull of the man in the bed, when Jason tugs his hand free from hers and runs back to the bed to hop up and drop a kiss on a seemingly untroubled forehead.
Lois's chest tightens so hard in that moment that she wonders for a split second if it might kill her, if she might wind up in a bed of her own here, barely clinging to life as her heart stutters and slowly gives up the ghost. But then it's over, and he hasn't moved, still hasn't given any sign that he even knows they're here. Jason runs back to her, and with another murmur of, “Come on,” she ushers him out the door.
Finally, it's over, her mind spinning as security-actual Metro PD, of course-escort her out. The roar of the crowd waiting outside, the media waiting to crucify her for being allowed in to see Superman, it all hits her in a wave, and even as she picks Jason up to shield him from the cameras and the shouted accusations and questions, she feels lighter.
It's over. She can breathe at last.
It's over.
~*~*~*~