Full Circle: Book 2 by Crystal Wimmer Rating: PG-13 Submitted: April 2001 __________________ Author's Note: As with the original Full Circle, this story contains a massive WHAM. Perhaps the most painful WHAM of all... the loss of a parent. I warn you now, because this is a subject that many people don't wish to read about, and I don't want anyone to be hurt by it. I don't consider this to be a "deathfic", because the main focus in the story is life, not death. Unfortunately, people do die, it is a natural progression of life, and it is something we are never truly prepared for. Losing a parent, whether you are 6 or 60, is traumatic. But, it is through life's struggles that we are strengthened, and that is the purpose of this story. If there is more autobiography here than I intended, I am truly sorry, but that's what happens when you write from the heart. I lived through most of this. That's what makes it real. This began as a very short story, entitled "Holes in the Floor of Heaven." It "morphed" during the writing process, at one time planned to be as lengthy as the original, and eventually became what you see before you (which is somewhere in between). It became a merging of two stories, each traumatic in its own right, but together they prove that life has no mercy when it tries to slam you down. Cause there are holes in the floor of Heaven And her tears are pouring down That's how you know she's watching Wishing she could be here now Sometimes if you're lonely Just remember she can see There are holes in the floor of Heaven And she's watching over you and me What began as a little self-analysis/catharsis type thing, has become a full scale story (for better or for worse), and I feel that it may even be fit for reading. I hope that you agree, but I make no promises . Final warning: as with the original Full Circle, CJ and Kat play a prominent role here... it is not *only* a Lois and Clark story. Special thanks to all my Betas... Anne, Carol, Irene, Joy, Kath, Mark, Merry, and Missy G. This story is dedicated to the wonderful people who spent far too much of their lives in a waiting room on the third floor of Duke University Medical Center... I give my grateful thanks to Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Tipton, and the Bellamy Sisters. May their lives be smoother now that they are off the board. With all that said, it's on with the story... Chapter 1... December CJ gulped heavily as he glanced around at the people he loved most on this Earth. His grandparents were seated across the table from him - his father's parents - and his mom and dad were on either side. They were just finishing a Sunday dinner that had been particularly good. Grandma Martha had spent hours in the kitchen laughing and joking with his mother, and the result of their escapades had been fantastic. Lois was still not as adept at potroast and vegetables as CJ would have liked. Perhaps that was why he didn't mind the fast food that had become his habit since he moved into the dorms of Midwestern University. It wasn't that he didn't like home cooking, just that *his* idea of a home-cooked meal usually involved both a fire truck and a pizza delivery boy. Still, his mother tried, and he had to give her credit for that. He certainly remembered what life had been like without her, and this was something he chose not to dwell on. His eyes wandered the table a while more before finally settling on Kat. She met his eyes with a simple smile and a gentle nod. She was so different, now... so graceful and pretty... there were times that he nearly forgot the rough-and-tumble tomboy that she had once been. Still, she was his best friend, and amongst all the life changes that had bombarded him in the last few years, this was one constant... He loved her. He truly loved her. With a final deep breath, and a glance at Kat for strength, he stood and faced his family. "Mom, Dad," he squeaked. Clearing his throat, he began again. "Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa... Kat and I have something to tell you." Lois held her breath as she waited for the bomb to drop. She would have clutched Clark's hand if he had been seated a little closer, but instead she folded her hands tightly in her lap and waited for the worst. Clark had a small smile on his face, as though he knew what was happening, but he didn't say a word. "Kat and I have decided to get married," CJ finally finished in a rush. His glance at Kat showed that she was smiling carefully, as unsure of what the response would be as he was, and his glace at his parents' faces was even less productive. CJ wondered for a moment if he could just sit down and reach for the apple pie, and maybe the last few seconds would disappear as though they hadn't happened. Finally, Jonathan's voice, uncharacteristically gruff, broke the strained silence of the room. "Well, it's about damn time." Jonathan rarely swore, so his choice of words broke the tension in the room. Lois laughed, Clark reached to his side to hug Kat, and CJ found himself bombarded with well-wishes from his grandparents. It was several minutes later, still numb with relief, that he realized that he hadn't been breathing. Clark finally pulled CJ up out of the chair and into a super-hug. CJ hugged back, with equal strength. There was a moment of silent communication, a realization of what CJ had truly found, that passed between the men. Clark knew that CJ was different, as he was, and to find your soulmate was an amazing thing. He had expected CJ and Kat to marry, just as he had always believed that he and Lois belonged together... but knowing what should be and living with what was were often worlds apart. With a final clap on the back, Clark pulled back from his son. He really was a man, now, and it was more than his living away from home. CJ was twenty-three, and nearly as strongly built as his father. The two men looked remarkably alike, and they shared the same unique abilities as well as a strong sense of family and values. Clark was certain that CJ would make a wonderful husband, and someday a wonderful father as well. CJ glanced at his father briefly, then turned to face his mother. If he had been nearly brought to tears by his father's pride, then his mother's love completed the job. He wrapped his arms around her as she reached up on tip-toe to kiss him gently on the cheek. "I love you," she whispered into his ear as he lifted her slightly from the ground with his hug. Kat was dealing with an overwhelming welcome to the Kent family. She had been hugged first by Clark, and then Lois, and finally by the oldest Kents. They had congratulated her, and smiled at her, and given her a feeling of belonging that she had only experienced in this house. She supposed she should regret that her own father was not here for her, but the void was minimal. Clark had been more her father than anyone, and being allowed to become a real and true part of this family was so much more than she had ever dreamed was possible. When they were finally seated back around the table, with dessert plates and glasses of champagne that Martha insisted would go wonderfully with the apple pie, Clark proposed a toast. "To CJ and Kat," he said firmly. "You've been through a lot," Clark said as he faced the couple, "but you'll make it." Everyone drank, and the discussion ranged for awhile from dates to churches to gowns. There was some confusion regarding Kat's lack of a ring, but she assured them that it was merely being sized and would be ready by the end of the week. "Do you have a date picked out?" Martha finally asked seriously. "I mean, it would be nice if you could have the wedding here, but I know you have your studies..." CJ smiled at Kat, then at Martha. "We were thinking about a June wedding, right after we graduate. That gives us almost six months to plan, and by then we may have enough money to pay for it." The family laughed at CJ's choice of words. Both he and Kat had insisted on working while at college, and as a result they had not managed to complete their degrees within the four years that their scholarships dictated. The consequence of this had been a rough fifth year for the two of them. They were each juggling a couple of jobs along with their senior classes, and having to manage tuition and dormitory expenses in addition to clothes and groceries. CJ accepted little financial help from his parents. He knew that they were still dealing with medical bills that were almost a decade old and helping his grandparents with their bills as well. A fixed income simply wasn't enough to manage in Metropolis, and Clark insisted on pitching in where he could. CJ had made the decision to attend Midwest University, while there were many schools both closer and less expensive, and he felt that the money was his responsibility. Kat had graduated with an excellent scholarship to Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville. It had a wonderful nursing program, and she loved being only a few hours from CJ and yet not right in his hip pocket. They had spent enough time apart over the last four years to know that they wanted to be together, and it seemed that this time his parents agreed. Kat couldn't help but smile as she remembered the Kents' reaction to CJ's first marriage proposal. They had gone ballistic! Granted, CJ had been only eighteen and still uncertain of where he would attend college and what he wanted to be. He loved journalism but wasn't sure that he wanted to do it forever. Kat had known she wanted to be a nurse, but she hadn't been accepted into a program yet. Their lives had been in chaos, and they had been frightened that a separation would destroy their love. They had never been apart before, and they didn't know how to deal with the possibility. Clark had begged them to wait one year. One year apart would tell them if the relationship was based only on familiarity or something more. They had reluctantly agreed, but it had not been a happy concession. Finally, the location of the schools and the demands of their education had taken over their time. This, combined with the ever present need for money, had forced them to apply themselves to their own resources, rather than relying on one another. The result had been worth the pain of separation. Despite being hundreds of miles apart, they had grown closer. CJ had finally chosen Journalism as his major, with a minor in Secondary Education. It was his hope to secure a job in a high school teaching others how to do what he loved to do: writing. Kat had worked as a Nurse's Aide, and then as a Vocational Nurse, as she approached her Bachelor's. Her goal was to be an RN, and she was almost there. Finally, they were secure enough in their individual lives that they were ready to begin a life together. It had been a long road, filled with all the personality conflicts, jealousy, and frustration that most young couples face... but it had brought them to a place in their lives where they couldn't be closer. *** "That went well, don't you think?" Kat asked as they walked back into the tree-filled yard. It was cold, and she was bundled in a heavy coat while CJ walked next to her with short sleeves. "Mmmm, yeah," he mumbled as he slipped his arms around her and brought her body against his. Kat smiled and kissed him quickly in the moonlight. There was no snow on the ground, which was unusual for this time of year. Kat wondered vaguely if there would be snow for Christmas and hoped that there would be. Of course, there was plenty of snow on campus... snow that blocked her driveway and inconvenienced her at every turn... but that wasn't the same. She was home for Christmas for the first time in two years... there should be snow. "Are you going to sleep at Grandpa's apartment, or here with me?" CJ asked her quietly. He didn't know which he preferred. He wanted to spend the time with her, and his parents didn't seem to mind them sharing his bedroom, but the temptation was killing him. "Could I stay with you?" she asked him softly. CJ looked down into her huge green eyes and nearly lost his balance. They were the same eyes he had turned to since he was five years old, and he could deny her nothing. "Stay with me," he answered her. She stepped forward again, wrapping her arms around him, and held him tightly. She loved sleeping in his arms and rarely missed the opportunity. He made her feel safe, and loved, and cherished. The temptation was always there, and it had been for years, to break their word to one another, but so far they had survived it. Six more months, she thought... six more months and we can both give in. After nearly twenty years, the last ten of which had tested their resolve, the wait was almost over. CJ stood behind Kat with his arms around her, cuddling her, and began counting backwards from a thousand in Latin, wondering if the water here was any colder than it was in his own shower in Kansas. *** Clark rested back against the pillows of his bed. There was a part of his mind that was concerned about his son sleeping in the same bed with his fiancee, but he tried not to let it show. However, CJ was an adult, and the choice was his. In any case, they often stayed together in the same dormitory and Clark could only imagine what went on there. It seemed rather ridiculous to keep them apart when they visited the house. The man was twenty-three, after all... it wasn't as though he were a child. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" Lois asked him. She had her head pillowed on his chest, prepared to sleep. Clark didn't pretend to misunderstand. "It shouldn't," he answered. "But, yes, it does." She lifted her head and smiled at her husband. He was still so old-fashioned in some ways, and she found it charming. "Don't worry too much," she told him. "I don't think that anything is really going on except some sleeping." "What?" Clark said, startled. "What makes you say that? I mean, they're *engaged*. I remember how hard it was to keep my hands off you during that time, and CJ's only human." "He's *not* only human," she said with a smile. "Besides, I saw his face tonight, and he had that look." "That look?" "Yes, that 'how am I going to make it through another night,' completely frustrated look. Like the one you used to have before we were married." She smiled at her husband's amused glace. "As opposed to that very satisfied look you had *after* we were married." Clark shook his head, clearly amused with his wife. "You think so, huh?" "A mother knows these things," Lois told him as she lowered her head to his chest. "They just do," she concluded sleepily. Clark smiled down at his wife, and kissed the top of her head as she relaxed into sleep. She was probably right, he decided. CJ certainly did seem tense around Kat, and Lois's explanation would definitely make sense. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her, and closed his eyes to sleep. *** CJ sighed as he waited for Kat to finish in the bathroom. She'd let him go first, because she always took longer getting her makeup off and brushing her hair. At least her hair was short, now, and he didn't have to wait while she braided it to keep it out of his face while they slept. They slept together every chance that they got, and had for the last few years. That was a surprisingly rare event. The universities that they attended didn't follow the same schedule, so they normally missed out on Spring Break and three-day weekends due to holidays. It was simply too far for either of them to drive, nearly a thousand miles, when they had less than a week to be together. This time, their schedules happened to coincide, but CJ had still assumed that he would be sleeping alone. While his mother had offered them the chance to share a room on their previous visits, this was the first time that he hadn't taken the couch instead. It was more a matter of appearances than actual activity. He and Kat hadn't done anything more than heavy petting, even alone in one dorm room or the other, but his parents didn't know that. The engagement changed that, marginally. Not that what they were doing had changed, but the impression he had of his parents speculating had. It didn't bother him the way it had before they'd decided on marriage. His mind was still wandering when Kat returned from the bathroom, her face glowing and her short brown hair brushed back from her face, making her green eyes seem huge. "You okay?" she asked softly, getting into the single bed next to him. He scooted over towards the wall, giving her a bit more room. "I'm fine." "You're quiet," she explained. "Just thinking," he told her. "And watching the scenery." Kat sat up and smiled, mimicked modeling the borrowed flannel that she was wearing. "Oh, yes," she told him. "The latest in Metropolis fashions." "You look good in my shirt," he said, blushing slightly. "Nice legs." "That's all you can see," she told him sarcastically, then reached for the light on the nightstand. It took them a moment to get settled, not surprising, as they rarely spent the night in one another's arms. When CJ was finally still, with Kat's head in the crook of his shoulder and her arm resting across his chest, he spoke again. "You tired?" "Exhausted," she answered, then laughed. "And completely wide-awake. I hate this." "Me, too," he told her. "The drive wears me out, but being here revs me up. I can't sleep." "So talk," she advised. "Are we going over to see your grandfather tomorrow?" "No," he answered. "We probably should, but I have so many other things to do that we won't have time." "Maybe Tuesday," she offered. "That should work," he agreed. "Mom's going over in the morning, so if you want to send a note or something, you can." "Nah, that's okay. I don't know him that well." "Me, neither," CJ told her, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Grandpa Sam's always been out of the country on one thing or another. He's been working overseas to develop the medical techniques in third-world countries. The only reason he's back is because he's sick." "Your mom seems to be taking it okay," Kat remarked. CJ tightened his hold on Kat, then answered, "I guess so. She gets quiet sometimes, like she's thinking about him. I don't think they got along very well when she was a kid. I know he and Grandma Ellen divorced for a while, because she was drinking and he was cheating, but they got back together before I can remember very much. I know they were married by my fourth birthday, and that's just about the first thing I remember." "The birthday you got your bike," Kat smiled. "Yeah," he told her. "They gave me the coolest bike. Grandma Martha gave me one the same birthday, so we decided to leave that one in Smallville at the farm. It was pretty fun having two bikes, even if I couldn't ride the Smallville one in the city." "It was a great bike," Kat agreed. "We used to ride together all the time." Kat snuggled closer, and CJ did the same. Her leg bent, coming to rest atop one of his thighs, and his hand descended to her bottom. She leaned up slightly, kissed him gently, then smiled at the silhouette of his face that was visible from the moonlight in the window. "You like this, don't you?" he asked honestly. "I'd like this forever," she answered honestly. "I don't get to spend nearly enough time with you." "Agreed, but it's been good, don't you think?" Kat was silent long enough that CJ started to worry, but eventually she spoke. "Sometimes it was good," she admitted. "It gave me time to work on my degree, and I know that I would have hated my job if it had kept me on a different shift from you. Still, I'm pretty tired of being alone. I think we could have made it work at the same school." "SIU doesn't have a journalism program," he reminded her. She sighed. "I know, and even if it did, you didn't have a scholarship there." "Exactly. We went where we had to. It's just a few years, and we may be running a little behind, but at least we're running together." "We need to start looking at apartments," she said softly. "I assume you want to be here, don't you?" "There are a lot of hospitals in the area," he said casually. "Metropolis General, the Claremont Clinics, and a bunch of others. They all need nurses, so you could pretty much pick and choose." "True," she agreed. "And the Planet's here as well." "It does help having a dad on the staff," he grinned. "I'd like to get back into writing. I plan to teach, and Claremont High has several openings in their English Department for next year, but I would like to get back into the paper as well." "I don't see why you couldn't do both," she told him. "Depends on when you want to start our family," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "Anytime's fine with me," she said with a grin, leaning forward and kissing him suggestively on the lips. As she pulled back, she added, "It's not like we don't know one another." "I wasn't sure how much time you wanted to spend as a couple before we started trying," he told her. "Babies are a pain in the butt." "I'm twenty-four," she said simply. "If we're going to have more than one, we need to get started. I don't want to be trying to put kids through college when I'm seventy." CJ laughed at that. "My grandparents were older when they found Dad," he told her. "They did okay." "Let's get through the wedding, then we'll deal with the kids," she suggested. "If it's just a question of having your baby, I don't have any desire to wait. Still, we can talk about how long I need to work to establish some seniority before trying to take maternity leave." "I should have a decent income between the high school and the Planet," he offered. "Maybe you won't have to go right back to work." Kat laughed outright, then punched CJ in the chest. "We're not even married and you're trying to get me barefoot and pregnant," she joked. "I didn't mean it that way," he said, his voice showing his embarrassment. "I know that," she admitted. "But I do think we should take it one step at a time. We got love, now let's get married, and then we'll talk babies." "Sounds good. You tired?" "Getting there," she admitted with a sigh, resting her head back on his chest. "Yeah, me too. Night, Kat." "Night, CJ. I love you." "Love you, too, Kat." Chapter 2... January Lois walked up the few steps to her parents' condo. They had moved back to Metropolis several weeks ago, when Sam had become ill, and had decided to stay. After a few weeks of testing, Lois's father had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and Ellen had decided that staying in Metropolis was the best idea. Lois used her elbow to ring the doorbell, carefully holding on to the casserole that Martha had sent with her. "Lois," Ellen said with a smile as she opened the door. Lois passed her the casserole and gave her a hug as she entered the living room of the condo and closed the door against the cold outside. She would need to go outside to get the Christmas presents that she had brought along, but she could do that later. "How's Daddy?" she asked quietly. "Your father is asleep at the moment," Ellen answered, nodding to the hospital bed that had taken up residence in the living room, over by the television. Lois felt a pang of guilt for using the doorbell. She hadn't expected her father to be sleeping in the middle of the day. She had also been surprised by the hospital bed, a new addition to the living room's decor. She sighed sadly, realizing once more that the doctors were not wrong... her father was terribly ill. She walked over to the bed quietly, taking in her father's gray tinge and frail body. He wasn't the strong, vital man that she had always known, and that frightened her. "Hi, Daddy," she whispered as she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His eyelids didn't even flicker, but she was reassured by his gentle breathing. After a moment more, she turned and followed her mother into the small kitchen. Ellen's eyes were suspiciously moist as she spoke quickly. "I certainly hope that Martha made this. Not that Sam will eat it. He hasn't been able to keep down anything but strawberry milkshakes for a week, and he can't finish one of those. I don't know how he expects to fight this if he won't even eat." She paused a moment, taking a deep breath and keeping her tears at bay. "I'm sorry we didn't make it to dinner, last night. When CJ called and told us that he wanted us there, I really wanted to come, but your father just wasn't up to it." "I know, Mother. CJ understood." "So," Ellen said, once again bringing herself back from the edge of tears. "What was CJ's big news?" Lois couldn't help but smile as she shared her son's joy. "He and Kat have decided to get married." Ellen smiled. She had always liked the feisty Kat, probably because the girl reminded her so much of Lois. "That's wonderful. When will the wedding be?" "They are planning a June wedding," Lois told her. Ellen smiled again. "That will be beautiful." Lois tried to return the smile but found it difficult. She was happy for her son, truly happy, but she was just coming to the realization that her father would not be attending the wedding. Suddenly, Lois felt trapped, confined. Falling back on the old defense mechanism of avoidance, she babbled quickly for the next few moments and finally went to her car to get the Christmas gifts. The fresh, cold air relieved some of the panic, and she was able to return to the condo long enough drop off the gifts and give her mother a quick hug. She knew she was avoiding the situation as she got in her car to leave, but she wasn't ready to deal with the implications of her father's illness. In a big way, she felt as though she had just got her father back, and she wasn't ready to give him up yet. Unfortunately, life wasn't known for giving people what they were ready for. *** Christmas was a happy time. As always, they were up early to see what "Santa" had brought the kids. Martha and Jonathan were at the house before five, cooking a country breakfast for everyone. They enjoyed the meal, then settled in to open gifts. For the next couple of hours, the Kents took turns opening presents and thanking the givers. It stretched out the bounty beneath the tree and made the morning more enjoyable. Once the bottom of the tree had no more to offer, CJ presented Kat with her engagement ring, assuring her that it wasn't a Christmas gift, but that it had been the first opportunity he'd had to present it to her since the jeweler had resized it. Martha and Lois sighed over the beautiful solitaire, knowing why CJ's budget had been so very tight this year. Still, it was a beautiful ring, and Kat would wear it with pride. The day was quiet and relatively uneventful until Lois called her family. Ellen had told her that they would not be attending the Christmas celebration, but it wasn't until nearly dinner time when Lois finally called them. Sam was sleeping and was too weak to talk even when he was awake. Ellen was quiet and subdued, very much different from her normal personality. As Lois hung up the phone, she felt as sense of dread. It wasn't something she could define, but rather a lingering sense of uneasiness. It worried her. Soon, though, she was swept up in the celebration of the day and found herself enjoying a wonderful meal. Lois was thrilled that CJ and Kat would be able to stay through both this week and the following week as well. Christmas break had been extended for both universities, due to the unusual amount of snowfall that the Midwest had received, and they were all going to take advantage of the situation. If there was a feeling of sadness over the family, they tried not to allow it to show. The finality of life was death, and each person was facing the possibility in their own way. *** Lois couldn't help but smile as her future daughter-in-law chatted constantly on the way back from the department store. After hours of searching, they had finally found just the perfect dress for Kat's wedding, and a willing seamstress that assured them it would fit her perfectly on her wedding day. Actually, Lois was thrilled that Kat's mind was moving a mile a minute. The kids would be returning to school in the next few days, and this presented Lois with a sadness that she didn't want to face. She loved having CJ home, and she missed it. Knowing that this was probably the last time he would live under their roof was a frightening proposition. He hadn't truly lived with them in years, but the possibility was there, and this was what she felt she had lost. Still, he was growing up, and if she had to entrust his heart to anyone, she was thrilled that it was Kat. They were still laughing and joking about a saleswoman's unusual tactics when they pulled up to the house. Entering through the side door, they bustled the shopping bags into the home with less than efficient enthusiasm. Kat was the first to realize that something was wrong. Clark and CJ were sitting at the kitchen table, and both rose to meet the women. Clark stepped forward to face Lois, her smiling face crumbling as she saw his expression. Something was wrong. CJ escorted Kat from the kitchen with an arm around her shoulders, giving his parents some privacy. His eyes were moist, but he remained composed. "Honey, your mother called," Clark began. He got no further. Lois could tell by the look on his face and the expression in his eyes that her father was dead. She took a step towards the door, intending to head for the stairs at a dead run. She had taken only a couple of steps when her world crashed in on her and went black. Clark caught Lois as she crumpled. She wasn't entirely conscious or unconscious. She was trembling and crying, and this shook him more than anything ever had. Swiftly, he whisked her upstairs, courtesy of a little super speed. After laying her on their bed, he retrieved a wet washcloth from the bathroom, and went back to place the cool cloth on her head. As Lois once more became aware of her surroundings, she began to cry. It was not hysterical sobs, but rather a quiet flow of tears that was infinitely more disturbing to her husband. Clark, having no words that would offer her comfort, held her as she clung to him. He hoped his presence would be enough. It was he who had spoken with Ellen a few moments ago, listening to the tightly controlled voice that normally rambled with such animation. He had promised to deliver the news gently... and he wasn't sure he had managed that. He wasn't sure *he* had delivered the news at all. It was several minutes later when Lois began to calm. "What happened?" she asked him. Clark sighed and attempted to relay the events as his voice cracked. "He passed away in his sleep," he explained. "Your mother said he was just sleeping, and then his breathing stopped. The respite nurse took care of the paperwork and making the calls." Lois nodded, absorbing the information. At least he had not been in any pain. He had hurt so much, for so long, that she was still grateful for this much. Pulling herself together, she sat back from her husband and wiped her face with her hands, brushing the tears away. With her best "reporter" stance, she stood and walked to the telephone. She took a couple of deep breaths before dialing her parents' - her mother's - number, and waited for the answer. *** The funeral took place on a dark and rainy day. The sky was fitting for the gloom that Lois was feeling. It wasn't that she was particularly sad, she decided, but rather that she wasn't. She wasn't hurting. She wasn't angry. She was... numb... for lack of a better word. She was surrounded by love and support as she sat in the second pew of the church, her husband next to her, his arm around her. CJ and Kat were next to Clark, and both Jonathan and Martha were on her other side. Her family was with her. Ellen Lane sat in the first pew. Lucy and her son, Daniel, had flown in from California for the funeral. Each sat on one side of Ellen, offering words or tissues as the moment demanded, providing the same comfort that she provided to them. Sam had actually been closer to Lucy and Daniel than he'd been to the Kent families. Daniel had spent his graduation summer in Brazil, working with Sam in one of the small mission clinics, trying to decide if he wanted to go keep his medical major in college after all. The two had grown very close... close enough that Sam had taken the time to fly back for Daniel's college graduation, and he probably would have done the same when he graduated from Medical School. Unlike CJ, who had started school in the same year, Daniel had skipped two elementary grades. He was a perfectionist and had managed to finish medical school in only three years, by earning scholarships that allowed him to go to school year-round. Sam and Daniel were two of a kind, each wanting to help others by fixing their bodies. Lucy was so proud that she could bust, and Lois knew that the closeness between her Daniel and his grandfather had brought Lucy closer to Sam as well. Any doubts that the Lane family might have had about Lucy's ability to be a single mother had been erased years before. Lois had never been terribly close to her father. She had been angry with him in her youth, almost violently so. She had seen his infidelity as the reason that Ellen drank, the reason she lost her mother to alcoholism. His perfectionism had destroyed her confidence, while his eventually leaving them had rebuilt it anew. Lois had been mother, father, and breadwinner for the Lane family, long before she'd been old enough to understand what it meant. What she had understood was that it was Sam's job, and she was doing it. She was taking Lucy to school, she was wiping up the mess when Ellen was sick, and she was making sure that the house was clean and dinner - such as it was - was on the table. She hadn't had a great deal of support in those years. Lucy hadn't been old enough to help, and Ellen had most often been beyond noticing the situation. Every crisis, whether it was small or large, had fallen to Lois. Thankfully, that was no longer the case. Lois had received endless support from her friends and relatives, most sending cards and flowers that even now decorated the front of the church. She had a kitchen full of casseroles and desserts from people who were concerned that she was too grief stricken to eat, and they wanted to help out her family. Most of the people who had sent flowers and food had never even met Sam Lane. It was all very sweet, if she stopped to think about it. She wondered if Clark had received this same support when she had been so ill years before. Still, she felt that it was all a wasted effort. She was really okay. She knew she was. Very little had changed in her life. Her father had always been frequently absent, and now he was permanently absent. It wasn't a great deal of change. She felt a great deal more guilt than grief that she wasn't more affected. The bottom line was that his life had ended, and hers hadn't changed. The small church was amazingly full, but only a small fraction of the people in attendance had known the deceased. Sam had been out of the country for more years than not, so his colleagues had long since forgotten about him as well as his patients. Similarly, her mother had few acquaintances in the area and chose to have the funeral in Metropolis more out of concern for Lois than because it was where their friends were. Again, for Lois. She felt the pangs of guilt once more. Lucy had flown over three-thousand miles, and Daniel was missing vital classes in his third year of medical school. They were sacrificing parts of their lives to be here, whereas Lois was only missing a day of work. Was she a horrible daughter to not even be inconvenienced by her father's passing? She couldn't help but wonder. The funeral was lovely. Daniel gave the eulogy, telling funny stories of the time he had spent in Brazil with his grandfather, the love and generosity that Sam had demonstrated, the understanding of foreign cultures. The music was grand and soothing, the Bible verses comforting. Lois recalled vaguely that her parents had never been particularly religious, but the minister preached anyway, on heaven and hell and better places. By the time they stood at the graveside, huddled under large umbrellas and hugging their raincoats against the chill of the January shower, Lois was nearly in tears. She should feel something, shouldn't she? Some sense of loss? Some sense of pain? She felt sorry for her mother, sorrier for Daniel and Lucy, but she felt nothing for herself. What kind of a daughter was she? "Are you okay?" Clark asked her, his arm around her, for perhaps the tenth time. "I'm fine," she told him, her whisper holding much of the frustration she felt. Clark heard the emotion but couldn't fathom its cause. As the casket was lowered, he steered her away from the waiting limousine and towards their SUV. Lois didn't resist. Once they were in the quiet interior of the vehicle, the heater dissipating the relative cold of the unusually warm January day, Clark spoke again. "Do you want to go home?" he asked. "No, we need to go to the apartment for the reception. There's a ton of food, and I need to help Mom go through all the cards." "If you're not up to it..." Clark began, but Lois cut him off. "I'm fine!" she declared in exasperation. "Clark, nothing has changed. I'm fine! He was gone to his mistress, then he was gone to his patients, then gone overseas, and now gone to heaven. Dad's gone. He was, he is, and he will be gone! Why does everyone think I should fall apart?" "I don't think you'll fall apart," he told her softly. "I just wanted to make sure you were coping." "There's noting to cope with," she said, mindful now of her tone of voice. "Once all the hoopla dies down, nothing will have changed. Not really." She turned to her husband, brown eyes pleading. "Does that make me a bad person? That my life won't change?" "No, Honey," he said, taking her into his arms, wiping away the tears that slipped from her eyes even as she denied their presence. "You're a good person." "I should be sad," she explained with sniffle. "I just don't feel anything, Clark. Nothing. No anger, no pain. What about those seven stages of grief that they're always whining about? I don't feel anything." "Denial?" he asked, his voice amused. Lois got the joke. "That is the first one, isn't it?" she said with a small smile. "I don't think I'm denying it, though. I just don't feel it. I want to feel something, Clark. Even anger would be better than this numbness." "Give it time, Honey," he said softly. "It's only been a few days. It hasn't all sunk in yet." "He was sick for weeks," she argued. "Did you really believe that?" Lois sighed. "Yes," she said, then met Clark's eyes. "No. I thought he'd get better. People don't die of cancer, Clark. They have chemo, and radiation, and they get better. Even at Christmas, I honestly thought he'd pull out of it." "Parents aren't supposed to die," Clark agreed. "Right now, I'd say you're still in shock. Don't let it tear you up. You'll feel what you're ready for, when you're ready for it. Nobody experiences grief in the same way as anyone else, so you can't hold yourself to what is happening to others. Just feel what you feel. It isn't like you get a choice, you know." Lois nodded. "I feel hungry," she admitted reluctantly. "As much as I'm not looking forward to this reception, I am looking forward to the food. I saw a rhubarb pie on the stove, this morning." "Then let's go eat," Clark smiled. "You can help your mom, and if everyone gets on your nerves you can hide at the back of the apartment. No one will question why." Lois sighed. "That sounds good." Clark took off the parking break, preparing to follow the limousine that was already pulling out. "Just don't stop talking to me," he advised. "Whatever you feel is okay, but it's a hell of a lot easier if I know what it is." "I promise," Lois smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the seat. "I'm tired." "You should be," he agreed. "Rest some. I'll wake you when we get there." "Thanks, Hon," she murmured, already drifting to sleep. She felt better, she realized drowsily. At least she didn't feel like she was an awful person anymore. *** A holiday. A death. A funeral. It had all happened so fast. There were times when Lois felt that it was all a bad dream, that her father was just out of the country once more, but then reality would remind her that he would never be with her again. Life had resumed. Lois faced an entire world of guilt when her life was so unaffected by it all. She felt that she should be falling apart, dying herself. Her father was gone, and it had barely made a ripple in her life. Shouldn't his life have meant more? Ellen Lane had flown back to California with Lucy. All had agreed that a change of scenery would do their mother good, and it had made the transition much easier on Lois. Truthfully, she'd had a more severe reaction to CJ and Kat going back to school than she'd had to her father's passing and her mother's leaving the area. That was another cause for guilt. Shouldn't she miss them? She honestly didn't know what she felt. Gradually, life had fallen back into its usual pattern. Clark pulled double-duty as both Editor in Chief of the Daily Planet and Superman. She had never bothered to reclaim her position after he'd assumed it years before. She spent time reporting but spent more time simply helping with the day-to-day operation of the newspaper. It was a big job, and it required as much of her as investigative reporting ever had. Her battles were with sponsors and advertising idiots rather than the bad-guys of Metropolis. She didn't spend as much time with her life in jeopardy, but she'd come to see that as a relief. She'd celebrated her fifty-second birthday with her family around her, minus one father. It was no different than forty-eight of her other birthdays, and yet it had felt horribly final. Lois had taken CJ and Kat to spend a day going though the mall just before the kids had returned to school. It had been a wonderful day of shopping and laughing, mother-child bonding. They had embarrassed CJ at every turn, leaving the boy to blush over his mother and fiancee while they ransacked Frederick's of Hollywood and joked over the many uses of massage oil in Spencers. When they had wandered past the department store where Kat had tried on her dress the week before, Lois had become strangely silent. CJ had made a couple of comments before being shushed by his fiancee. He hadn't understood, but he'd guided them over to the food court anyway. His mother's grateful look had been thanks enough for his actions. He wouldn't learn until much later that Lois and Kat had been in that store even as his grandfather died. They'd had a fun day, and the joy of it almost overshadowed the sorrow when Kat had packed up her bright-red Volkswagen Beetle and the two young adults had climbed in to leave. Kat would drive CJ to the university, where he had left his own car, and then continue across Highway Sixty-four to Illinois. They were going back to school, and the house seemed unbearably large and quiet. Clark tried to help. He flew her to China for dinner three nights in one week before she realized how worried he was. She was normally faster on the uptake, but she had been distracted by her loss. She missed her boy. "You know, when I left the first time, my mother was miserable," Clark mentioned one evening after bringing her back a bag of authentic Mexican Tamales he'd picked up following a short rescue mission in South America. "What did she do about it?" Lois asked softly. "Well, she cried a lot. When I found out about that I started coming home more often." "That's an option," she'd told him sarcastically. "Actually, it is," he'd told her with a smile. "I don't cry often," she'd responded wryly. "Not that part, but CJ visiting. He's almost as fast as I am, so flying home isn't too much of an effort." "I hadn't thought of that. Still, he's busy with his studies. I don't want to ask that. Besides, he still doesn't use his powers very often. I think he's still afraid of them. If he wanted to, he could spend every weekend with Kat, but he waits until he has time to drive." She never had understood that particular piece of logic. "He hasn't decided if he wants to join the family business," Clark had said with a smile. "Until he does, I think the powers make him just a bit guilty. He's not comfortable enough to use them in helping, so he doesn't want to use them for his own convenience. I don't understand it very much, but I can agree with him in principle." "You're two of a kind, all right," she had joked. "But that's okay. I love you both, anyway." Clark still brought her special meals, still paid her a little more attention, but he realized that she was healing from the loss of her son. Umbilical cords were long, but they had raised their son right, and it was time to let him go. It was time for his life to get back to normal, as it was time for her to do the same. Life was back on an even keel for Lois Lane Kent. She was busy preparing for her son's wedding in June, and glad that life was giving her something to enjoy. After all, she'd been through a rough beginning to the year, and she felt that she deserved something better, or at least calmer, after suffering such a loss. Yes, Lois was ready for some good. She wouldn't feel guilty about it either, she decided firmly. Everyone deserved a bit of good in their life. She had earned hers. Chapter 3... April Clark charged through the hospital corridor as quickly as he could without calling undue attention to himself. He'd been in a panic since he'd found Lois' message for him on the kitchen table. He had promised himself years before that he would never set foot inside this hospital again. It had been a foolish ambition, but given both the length of his involvement when Lois had been sick, and his sense of helplessness at the time, it had seemed the best idea possible. Despite his promise to himself, he'd spent two other bouts in this building. Neither of the times had been pleasant. The first had been when Lois had needed some testing. She had spent three days admitted, and each one had been an individual terror to both of them. Fortunately, the results of the testing had been a relief, and she hadn't been back. The second time had been tragic, as Lois' father had been diagnosed with cancer. Aside from those times, Clark Kent had not entered Metropolis General Hospital. Of course, Superman still made the occasional appearance to drop off an accident victim or an unusually ill person that could not wait for the Emergency Medical System, but he kept even those visits to an absolute minimum. Now, he was shaking from head to toe as he used both his hearing and vision to track down his wife. He finally located her in the waiting room on the third floor, and it had taken all of his control to resist the use of super-speed or flight to reach her. The moment he left the elevator, her head popped up and she met his eyes. He could see the fatigue and worry there, the strain of facing this without him. It hadn't been his fault. No one could have anticipated the earthquake that had shaken Japan on the previous weekend. As he had so many times before, Clark had gone on assignment while Superman worked around-the-clock to save lives. They'd had little time to prepare, but this wasn't unusual either. Martha had just come down to spend the week with them, so it had been with some sense of relief that he'd kissed his wife and told her to take care of his mom. It had never occurred to him that she might really have to do so. Lois' arms went around his neck as she greeted him. She didn't try to stand, but instead she tugged him down next to her. "I should have been here," he began. Lois cut him off with a firm shake of her head. "You couldn't have done anything," she reassured him. "The doctors are doing everything possible." Clark sighed, putting his arms around his wife, oblivious to the eyes of the others in the waiting area. "I should have been here," he repeated. Lois didn't bother to argue, but instead she held him and allowed some of the tension of the last few days to dissipate. She wasn't alone now, and the decisions from this point would be shared as a family. She had seen the pain and fatigue in her husband's eyes when he'd rushed into the room, so she didn't bother to explain. She held him tightly, allowed him to hold her, and she loved him. After several silent moments, during which they only drew strength from one another, he raised his eyes to hers. "What happened?" he asked softly. Lois closed her eyes and composed herself. The last week was a blur, but she tried to sort it out and remember. *** It had begun on a Wednesday. She and Martha had spent the day shopping and eating, eating and shopping. They'd tried on clothes, sampled perfumes, and left no store in the Metropolis Mall untouched. It had been a long day, so when Martha had declined dinner, Lois hadn't worried. She hadn't been terribly worried later, when Martha's indigestion had kept her awake and walking the floors. The true worry had started when Martha began to complain of chest pain and numbness in her left arm. Lois hadn't played around but instead had called the Claremont Rescue Squad, over Martha's protests. They had been quick, and thorough, and Martha had been in the Claremont Regional Hospital emergency room for most of the night. When Martha had been transferred to a room a little after seven on Thursday morning, Lois had driven home for a change of clothes and a much needed shower. She'd picked up the phone, called Jonathan and told him not to worry, and promised she'd keep him informed. Lois returned to the hospital before noon, feeling clean if not rested. She'd kept Martha company even as she got sicker throughout the day. That evening, Martha had experienced a heart attack and was moved into the intensive care unit. Lois had been evicted to the family waiting area. By morning, when the doctors decided to do a cardiac catheterization, CJ had driven to Smallville to pick up his grandfather. Kat had joined Lois in the wait. Messages had been left for Clark in every possible location, but they all knew it was unlikely that he would check in with them until every emergency in Japan was dealt with. The cardiac cath had revealed three total blockages to Martha's heart. She was flown to Metropolis General on Friday afternoon, and the waiting began all over again. The weekend had been a blur of illness and Martha's irrepressible sense of humor. She'd badgered the nurses, grumbled about the food, and whined incessantly that she wanted to go home. Lois had stayed by the side of her mother-in-law, trying to give Jonathan the support he so desperately needed. She had worried, cried, and even laughed with the older woman. She had fielded calls from half of Smallville as Martha's friends expressed their concern. It didn't seem like much, but it was all she could do for the parents that were even closer to her than her own had ever been. Monday morning had brought the physician's decision to operate. A triple-bypass was Martha's only chance of ever leaving the hospital, and they had to take it. Jonathan had been worried but optimistic. Lois had been terrified. Martha Kent went to the operating room on Tuesday morning. CJ and Kat had stayed with Lois and Jonathan, reminding them to eat and making sure they took care of themselves. The surgery had gone well. While it had been difficult to see Martha on the respirator, she'd seemed to bounce back. They'd taken out the breathing tube on Thursday morning and had even set Martha up in a chair for a while. Lois had teased her about the hoarse, "Daffy Duck" voice with which she'd argued with her nurses and complained about the oxygen mask. But, despite Martha's spunk, her body was weak. Her heartbeat increased and became irregular, and her blood pressure dropped. By evening, she was back on the respirator, weaker than she had been before. On Friday, Lois went from nervous to terrified. Martha no longer responded to her voice and hadn't even the strength to nod or squeeze her hand. Lois sat for hours in the waiting area, trying desperately not to lose hope. Jonathan stayed at his wife's bedside, speaking little and refusing to eat. Just as Lois' heart had reached its lowest ebb, she had seen her husband's face. His warm brown eyes at once relieved her and filled her with guilt. He'd asked her to take care of his mother. While it was a fairly normal request, one he'd made a dozen times in the past, this one time it hadn't worked out. She felt guilty about everything from taking Martha out to eat, to not having been able to contact Clark, to not being able to console Jonathan or protect CJ and Kat from her worry. Lois had never been one to relax and let matters take care of themselves. Although she had slowed her pace considerably since her own illness years before, her worrying nature had remained persistent. Clark glanced through the walls and encountered nothing except blackness. "X-ray machines," he commented dryly, recognizing the lead walls from his frustrating experiences in the emergency room. "I'll take you back," Lois told him softly. She walked over to an intercom panel on the wall and pressed one of the two buttons. After a short wait, the impersonal, disembodied female voice asked her what she wanted. "Martha Kent's family would like to see her," she said clearly. "One moment," was the sterile reply. It was more than a moment, but several minutes later the voice returned. "You can come back now." Lois took him by the hand and led him down the hall. She tapped a metal button on the wall to open the double-doors. She led him to a sink, and he followed her example of hand washing before trailing behind her to his mother's room. "They just moved her to her own room," Lois said softly. "It looks like we're going to be here awhile." Clark tried to listen to his wife's words, but his eyes were glued to the form in the bed. He stood frozen until Lois moved to his mother's side and took a swollen hand in her own. "Honey, Clark's here," she told her, stroking the hand and arm gently. Clark tried to move closer, but found himself pinned in place. His father was sitting silently on the far-side of the bed and had yet to acknowledge him. The woman in the bed did not look like his mother. She barely looked human. Her face and body were swollen, her skin pierced by dozens of tubes and wires. A plastic tube extended from her mouth, facilitating the artificial looking breathing of the respirator. Her eyes were open, her hands and feet moving in jerky, disconnected motions. She didn't respond to Lois' words or actions beyond increasing the agitated movement. Clark had dealt with hospitals. He'd seen his wife incapacitated for more than a year, comatose and frighteningly still. Yet he'd never seen this. Three months before, his father-in-law had battled cancer and he had lost. It had been painful, but they had seen it through as a family. The cancer that had killed Sam Lane had been mercifully quick and ruthlessly inoperable. The time from diagnosis to death had been less than two weeks. Aside from on oxygen cannula, a clear tube that fed oxygen directly into Sam's nose, they hadn't dealt with medical equipment much more invasive than an IV. Lois' father had passed quickly, quietly, painlessly, and with more dignity than Clark could have imagined. The loss had hurt, and Lois was still not back to herself, but the hurt had become bearable over time. Clark and Lois had leaned on one another, and he knew that Lois had become closer to his mother during that time. His trips home had become even more frequent, and gradually the shared grief became shared remembrance of a life that was long and productive. Sam might have been related to him only by marriage, and certainly wasn't often around, but Clark had suffered a measure of grief in losing him. He had shared the grief with Lois, but only his mother was able to aide him without her own emotions to deal with. His mother had shared her strength with him, and now he wondered where that strength could be. His mother was pale, weak, and frail. Her thin body was swollen from the fluids they had given her, and his father was offering little help to the situation. Clark had no idea what to do. Lois saw his discomfort and reached back for Clark's hand. He stepped forward tentatively, knowing that this was his mother, but not knowing how to handle this particular situation. Lois spoke gently. "Clark's here now, Mom. He's been out saving the world again." Stepping up behind his wife, Clark looked down into his mother's eyes. He couldn't stop the tremor in his voice as he spoke. "I love you, Mom." Martha's eyes opened widely and she began to struggle against the restraints that were around her wrists. Her lips moved around the intrusive plastic tubing as if she wanted to speak, but there was no sound. "Mom?" Clark squeaked. Then he turned and fled the room. *** She had fluid in her lungs. Her heart was weak and irregular. She was retaining so much fluid that her kidneys were in danger of failing. Martha Kent was a very, very sick woman. The physicians were guardedly optimistic, but Clark Kent was petrified. He had never seen anyone so deathly ill; not his wife, and not Lois' father. The worst part was that even with all his powers, all his gifts, he could do nothing to save her. The helplessness and guilt that he had learned while Lois had recovered from CJ's birth, the dread that had been pounded home when Sam Lane had died, was back in his life full-force. The emotions were complicated by the added guilt of having been unreachable when his presence might have made a difference. "Is she in any pain?" he asked softly. His gaze was unfocused as he stood before the glass walls opposite the main elevators. He saw nothing of the dazzling sunset before him. "No," Lois answered as she slid her arms around his body and rested her cheek against his back. "The medications are tricky because they make her blood pressure even lower, but they make sure she doesn't hurt." He nodded his understanding but didn't risk speech. He wasn't fond of emotional scenes in public, but he was very close to being in the middle of one. Closing his eyes, he tried to eliminate the vision of his mother as he had just seen her. "Can we talk to a doctor?" he finally asked. Lois sighed and tightened her arms around his body. "We can ask," she told him. "Unfortunately, as much care as they give her is also as little care as they give her relatives. Last night they kept us out here for four hours. It was all I could do to keep your father calm. They kicked us out at five o'clock and didn't let us know what was going on until after nine." "What was going on?" "Blood pressure, heart rate... you name it. They defibrillated her twice, and they didn't tell me there was a problem until it was over and she was stable." He turned in her arms and pinned her with angry eyes. "Don't sugar coat this," he said sarcastically. She placed her hands on his cheeks and met his angry gaze, knowing his anger was at the situation but not at her. "I won't lie to you about this," she explained. "It's too important, and I love you too much." Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against hers. Tears slipped through despite the effort he made to stop them. They had been building from the moment he had read Lois' note hours before: Martha has had a heart attack. We're at Metropolis General. Come quick. It's bad. Clark had followed the instructions, nearly causing a sonic boom despite his fatigue. Unfortunately, he still felt that it had been too little, too late. "What else?" he asked softly. "She's running a fever," Lois said more gently. "That indicates infection. She's not really aware, either. She doesn't know or respond to your dad and I. The epinephrine is messing up her pancreas, so they're having to give her insulin. I guess the worst is that they can't sedate her with her blood pressure this low." "What do the doctors say?" "Not much," Lois answered bitterly. "They're mostly absent. The nurses seem optimistic, but I can't tell when they're honest and when they're trying to protect us." She met his gaze squarely once more. "Maybe that's why I was too blunt, but I'm so sick of being placated that I'm ready to throw up! I won't put you through that; you'll get enough of that here from the staff." He nodded his understanding, his apology for his anger in the lines of his face. "I don't know what to do," he explained. "Whenever I feel this lost, I call my mom." Lois held him more tightly. "It's just waiting," she explained. "The doctors are doing all they can." *** The next days took on a routine of waiting and wondering. While Martha responded some to Clark's presence, her condition only remained stable. There seemed to be times when she wanted to talk to Clark. Her lips moved around the plastic tube, but she was unable to make sounds. Frequently, Martha became so frustrated with the lack of communication that she refused to even look at Clark. These were the times that he found the most frustrating. Each day seemed to bring a new concern. Her body remained swollen, her blood pressure remained low, and her frustration seemed to mount. Clark and Jonathan remained at the hospital almost constantly. CJ and Lois continued their vigil in the shifts that had become routine to them. Lois had been at the routine long enough that she remembered the little things: meals, resting, and keeping something in her hands to occupy her mind and ease the waiting. Clark was out of practice, so he let his worry overwhelm him. Lois reminded him to eat and showed him the best places to get away from the constant buzz of the busy hospital. Lois didn't realize how tightly strung her husband really was until they had dinner Monday night in the Cafeteria. Clark finally placed his hands over his ears with every evidence of pain. "You okay?" she asked softly. "I don't know," he replied. "I can't seem to tune out sounds, and those beepers are giving me a headache." "You're tired," Lois reasoned. "We'll start sitting outside for meals tomorrow. You need the sunlight." "I guess I have been spending too much time in the artificial lights," he admitted. "You need some sleep, too," Lois added. "When I was sick, you used to sleep in my room. I know you can't do that now, but you have to let your body rest." "Lois, I don't..." "Need as much sleep as I do," Lois finished for him. "I know that. Hell, after twenty years I know more about what you need than you do! My point is that you're so worried about your mom that you're not taking care of yourself. She wouldn't want that." Clark considered arguing, but just then another pager sounded. He misjudged the strength necessary to hold a paper cup, and crushed his coffee in his grip. Lois handed him several napkins and didn't bother to say another word. Clark sighed as he realized that she didn't have to. *** Lois put her arms around CJ and held him as he cried. The day had begun with such promise. The sun was high and bright, giving warmth to the spring morning. They had arrived for nine o'clock visiting hours and had been elated to see Martha without the noisy ventilator that they had all begun to hate. Their high spirits had plummeted when Martha's disorientation had become apparent. At first, they had been able to laugh when Martha rolled her eyes and asked where the baby was. Giggling, they had explained that she'd had heart surgery and not a c-section. Martha had laughed with them. Later, when Martha had called a nurse by Lois' name, asked Clark to fix dinner for his father, and not recognized CJ at all, the humor was harder to see. When CJ had kissed his grandmother on the cheek and told her that he loved her, Martha had bluntly responded, "Who are you?" CJ had made it to the waiting area before he had broken down. Martha and Jonathan had always been more than special to CJ. They had nurtured him as an infant, named him, and cared for him whenever his parents were unable. It had been their love and support that had anchored him when his powers had begun to manifest themselves. His parents had wanted to help, but it was Jonathan who had explained and Martha that had accepted when his parents had been too buried in their own crises to see into his. When Jonathan had strained his back the summer before, CJ had moved in with his grandparents, commuting the distance to Midwestern University, having to assure himself daily that the two of them would be okay. By the time CJ had neared his graduation, he and his grandparents had been virtually inseparable. And now, Martha had no clue who he was. Lois rubbed his back, wishing she had the words to offer some hope. The truth was, she had no idea what was causing the disorientation. Martha had been on more medications and in poorer health the first time she'd been extubated, yet she had been lucid at that time. She had been tired and weak, but she'd known who she was, where she was, and knew who was with her. Now, she knew none of these things. "The nurses are running some tests," Lois murmured to comfort herself as much as her son. "This is probably temporary." "I know, Mom," he said quietly, finally calming some. "It just hurts. It's bad enough that Grandpa is so quiet, but I really thought Grandma would get better." "I know, baby," she answered softly. "She will. You just have to keep believing it." *** Days turned into weeks. Martha had good days and bad days, and at some point the days began to seem more good than bad. Jonathan relaxed as Martha improved, still demanding his place at her side, and yet becoming easier to manage as well. He ate occasionally, left the hospital long enough to shower and get clean clothes, and once in a great, great while he smiled. It was a long road. There were no quick-fixes for someone as ill as Martha. Every step forward had at least one step back. She was moved from ICU twice, and twice she returned due to additional complications. As the first of May approached, she finally seemed to be on the road to recovery. Just as everyone began to feel a sense of relief, Martha required another surgery. The doctors placed a tracheostomy tube in her throat, allowing the respirator to be attached there, rather than through her mouth. It was a mixed blessing. Martha could mouth words now, could have her teeth brushed and suck on flavored, glycerin coated swabs to keep her mouth moist. She could not, however, eat or drink anything. Her nutrition came from the nasogastric tube which was inserted through her nose and descended to her stomach. A feeding pump regulated the rate at which her liquid diet was delivered. She mouthed the word "coffee" over and over. It became an unwritten rule that no one was to come into the room with a cup of coffee in hand. The subject was skirted, the beverage was never mentioned in her private room in ICU. Once, CJ dipped a dry cotton swab in his coffee and let Martha suck on it a while. The physicians had a fit, but Martha smiled for the first time in weeks. It was amazing what a little coffee could accomplish. Just as quickly as Martha had turned her body towards recovery, her body turned back. The medications to rid her body of fluid caused her potassium to drop, and this precipitated a rapid and irregular heart beat. The medications to control her heart both lowered her blood pressure and stressed her kidneys. The medications to relieve her kidneys were ineffective, and blood transfusions, while increasing her blood pressure, caused her body to become jaundiced. Gradually, her liver failed, her kidneys failed, and even her digestive system began to fail. She didn't have the strength to digest food, so she was started on TPN, an intravenous nutrition. This, in turn, stressed her kidneys further, requiring dialysis to purify her blood. Each treatment initiated another ailment, and each ailment required treatment. The roller coaster roared on, and it was Martha and her family that were left stunned and frightened. There were times when Martha Kent seemed to be no more than a bundle of diagnoses, a collection of various illnesses were kept alive by needles and tubes. She wasn't the Martha that they knew and loved, wasn't the devoted mother, the understanding grandmother. She wasn't the artist or the friend, the neighbor or the farmer's wife. She was simply a patient, property of the hospital, and there appeared to be no end in sight. Chapter 4 "Happy Mother's Day," Clark said softly as he placed a small teddy bear next to his mother's frail body. The bear wore a "prayer ribbon", made by Mrs. Tipton in the family waiting area. Clark had found that the area was just that. A waiting family. The Kent family was one of about fifteen families that inhabited the room. They knew one another's names, their family situations, and their loved ones' illness facts. Mrs. Johnson had been the first friend that they had seen lose the fight. Her husband had received a new heart, and his body had never fully accepted it. For the first three weeks that they had spent in the waiting area, Mrs. Johnson's smile had given them all hope. She hadn't given up, not even at the last, when the man that she had been married to for over thirty years didn't know her name. The night he died, Clark had held her for more than an hour while she waited for her children to come and get her. She'd no longer had a reason to stay. She'd been back to visit twice, bringing donuts and jellybeans to share with the new families that had taken her place. She brought her smile with her, every time. Mrs. Tipton was a newlywed. Married only four months, her husband had entered the hospital for a lung transplant almost three months before. He was not doing well. The man was combative, when conscious, and his ups and downs were as frequent as Martha's had been. Gail Tipton had begun to weave ribbons into lapel decorations. The "prayer ribbon" was a reminder. When you accepted one, you promised to pray for every person who wore one, whatever their need might be. It didn't matter if you knew who had them, because God did. Clark had loved the idea and had immediately joined the assembly line of people weaving ribbons into the decorations. He had found it interesting that you could identify a third-floor family member by their ribbon. People who had never been in a church wore them and remembered to pray. Nothing brought you closer to God than the possibility of sending a loved one to be with him. The family waiting room contained a variety of people with frighteningly similar situations. Third floor ICU was primarily for heart and lung surgeries, so they all had a great deal in common. Mr. Bellamy was in for his new lungs, and his sisters were well known for their cheery personalities, their informal prayer circles when anyone took a turn for the worst, and their failure to arrive before noon each day. Even though their brother had been moved to another area of the third floor, the sisters still remained in the waiting area, answering the phone there and taking messages for the board. The message board was another thing Clark had grown to love. He frequently found himself in the big chair by the phone, jotting down messages for family members that had taken a moment to go for lunch or grab a shower. The huge dry-erase board was their only way to receive messages regarding who had called them and leave messages regarding where they had gone. It was a simple system, based on families helping one another out, and it worked surprisingly well. It also provided him an outlet for his mind, as the phone was always ringing. In between the infrequent visits to his mother, the telephone occupied him. The families provided one another with prayers, love, and most of all, understanding. They translated the cryptic words of doctors and nurses with their own experience to guide them and clarified instructions that made no sense. They used their own loved-ones as a guide and aided others through the process of pre-op and post-op routines as though they were the professionals. They took care of one another. When a family's name was erased from the board, it meant one of two things. It meant that either the family was moving down from ICU into a step-down unit, or that a loved one had lost their battle. When a family member passed on, they all felt it. When a family member moved on, they all rejoiced. Twice, the Kent name had been removed from the board in ICU, with prayers of praise offered all around. Twice it had returned. The first prayer ribbon that Clark had made was now worn by the small teddy bear he had found in the gift shop. It seemed a small thing, but the hand-blown glass hummingbird that he had chosen for her was back in Claremont, and he didn't have the heart to leave and get it. Flying with it might break it, and the drive was too long to contemplate. He decided instead to give her the cuddly bear with its knitted blue sweater and the uneven ribbon that he had woven himself. The ribbon was just a symbol, but it was an important one. Religion aside, it stood for hope, and hope was in short supply. This was not the Mother's Day that Clark had planned. His father had been unusually surly, and it had taken both CJ and Clark over half an hour to get him out of the room for linen changes. It was the one time of the day that the nurses would not tolerate families in attendance, and Clark could understand why. At seven in the morning, and again at seven at night, the nurses did a full bed and dressing change on each patient. They physicians came through to do "rounds" and discuss the prognosis of each patient. Breathing tubes were suctioned, orders were written, and gowns were changed. It was a full two hours in the morning, from seven to nine, and a single hour in the evenings, only seven to eight. Every family member was evicted, despite their worry and the illness of their loved one. It was hospital policy. Jonathan Kent had no tolerance for policy. It had been almost eight o'clock before Clark had convinced his father to leave, and even so he had sent CJ to accompany him and ensure that he did eat something and take a shower before returning. A nap would be good, as well, but Clark didn't bother hoping for the impossible. The only way Clark had managed to get his father out of the room was to promise that he would stay. He had done so, first in the waiting room, and now he would stay here, by his mother's bedside, and spend some quality time. He turned the television channels until he found a home-improvement program. While he didn't have any interest in putting in a new bathroom sink, he knew his mother would prefer this program to the soap operas and game shows that dominated the morning lineup. He settled into the surprisingly comfortable chair that was next to her bed, and waited. He was just beginning to doze when Kat walked in. A glance at the wall clock told him that it was almost eleven, and he was stunned that he'd been sitting for so long. Kat smiled, walked over to his mother, and said a few soft words before taking her hand and glancing over her shoulder at the television. "How is she?" Clark asked. They all trusted Kat's impressions far more than the floor nurses. Kat was honest to a fault, knowing that they needed the truth over placation. "Stable," Kat said with a smile. "Blood pressure looks good, and heart rate, too. Urine's a little dark, but that's not unusual. Oh-two sats are stable, the pressure's up a bit on the respirator, but the oxygen's down. Looks pretty good, actually." Clark nodded, then gestured to the dialysis unit that had taken up residence next to the bed. It was an annoying machine, with its clicks and whines and the constant need to change the large bags of fluid with which they filtered his mother's blood-waste. Martha's blood pressure was too unstable for regular dialysis -- the type that was done in an hour or two a day -- and required constant filtration. The unit clicked and hummed twenty-four hours a day, its fluid bags requiring hourly changes. Clark appreciated the necessity of the machine, but when added to the respirator and oxygen machines, it still bothered him. Martha's breath suddenly took on a wheezing quality, and she began to struggle. Kat calmed her expertly even as she reached for the nurses' call-bell. When the nurse stuck her head into Martha's room, Kat requested that Martha be suctioned. The nurse agreed and came in to perform the procedure. Salt water was dribbled down the tracheostomy tube, and a long tube was lowered and used to remove any fluid and mucus that was causing Martha distress. The procedure took only a moment, but the relief that she received was total. She could breathe again. The nurse nodded in approval, then made an adjustment to the respirator. As the nurse left the room and closed the curtain, Kat sighed. "I'd rather just do it myself," she commented. "But I know they'd have a fit." "You do half their job," Clark said with a grin. "Everything from bed baths to linen changes." "I do what I can," she admitted. "But it's their job, and they're the best at it. I've never worked in ICU, so most of this I'm learning as I go." "I'm glad you learn fast." Martha coughed. The plastic connection between the respirator and the trach popped apart, and the woman began to struggle. Kat reacted quickly, grabbing the call-button with one hand, then re- attaching the respirator with the other. She said nothing as she waited for the nurse's return, but her face was tense. When the connection popped again, this time without even a cough to precipitate it, she gestured for Clark. He had already stood nervously, and when Kat waved him over he followed her instructions and held his hand over the connection to keep it in place. Kat disappeared quickly though the curtain, leaving Clark standing there, holding his mother's life in his hand. She returned seconds later with a nurse in tow. It wasn't Martha's nurse, but Clark didn't particularly care. The nurse apologized profusely as she tied a cloth ribbon to one side of the respirator, then slipped it behind Martha's neck to tie it to the other side. The ribbon effectively kept the respiration connection from separating. "We've increased the pressure so that her oxygen could be decreased a little more. Apparently that's a little more pressure than the connection can take. Instead of pushing the air into her lungs, it pushed the respirator off. This should take care of it." "How dangerous is that?" Clark asked, but his eyes were on Kat rather than the nurse who had begun the explanation. "It's not," Kat replied softly. "She could be without the respirator for several minutes before her sats even drop. There's no damage done. It was just a little frightening for her." "She's not the only one," Clark complained. The nurse watched the interaction between Clark and Kat but didn't offer any additional explanation. Apparently, Kat's diagnosis was close enough that she didn't feel a need. Instead, she promised to relay the incident to Martha's regular nurse, who was caring for another patient at the time. Clark watched the woman leave. He had to keep his glare in check, as he didn't want to set the flowered scrubs ablaze. "Everything's okay," Kat told Martha, her voice pitched so that Clark heard the words clearly. She showed no awareness of the words, but Kat continued talking anyway. "I know it all seems scary, and that you just want to go home, but they're taking good care of you here." "Are they really?" Clark asked, his voice soft, uncertain. "They're doing everything they can," Kat told him honestly. "Absolutely everything." *** Lois found Kat in the dining room, staring out the far window at the trees that were beginning to blossom. Pink and white flowers seemed out of place in the dim hospital setting, but life went on. Even when it didn't. She didn't see the tears on Kat's face until she had taken a seat, placing a glass of sweet tea in front of the younger woman. It was her favorite. "Thanks," Kat whispered. She sniffled, wiped ineffectively at tears, then sniffled again. "Are you okay?" Lois asked. It seemed a stupid question. None of them were okay. The world was falling apart and they were at the still center of the tornado. "I'm fine," Kat said. "Just being stupid." "There's nothing 'stupid' about being upset," Lois corrected. "I'm not upset about Martha, though," Kat whispered. At Lois' raised eyebrow, Kat clarified. "I mean, of course I'm upset. I love Martha. She's as much my grandma as CJ's, but that wasn't why..." Her voice trailed off. Lois thought a moment, then dug in her purse for some Kleenex, offering them to Kat. "You know," she said absently, "I was thinking last night that you were supposed to get married next week. I was wondering if that might have you just a little upset." "It shouldn't," Kat said, her tears flowing once more. "There's so much more to think about, worrying about a wedding just seems stupid." "It wouldn't be stupid to Martha," Lois told Kat firmly. "She loves weddings. I remember how excited she was when we were planning mine. She wasn't as forward as my mother. In fact, she's all that kept my mother in line, but she was so excited that you could just feel it coming off her in waves." "I don't want to have the ceremony without her," Kat explained. "Even if I did, I don't think CJ would leave long enough to do it. He's so worried about Jonathan." "He has good reason," Lois agreed. "Jonathan hasn't been handling any of this very well." "I know that, and I'm not upset that CJ wants to stay. I mean, his professors have been really good about letting him do his assignments and send them in, and he's going to be able to graduate, if he wants to. I think it's wonderful that he can stay here, even when I can't. But I'm upset, too. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and as selfish as it sounds, I want to get started." "That isn't selfish," Lois assured her. "It's human. You and CJ have waited six years for this wedding, and you have every right to expect it to happen. I remember what that feels like. Clark and I planned and planned, and everything that could go wrong did." "You didn't give up." "We thought about it," Lois admitted. "More than once, as a matter of fact, but we just couldn't let go of one another. You and CJ are the same way. You're soul mates, and you belong together. The longer it takes to get there, the better it will be when you manage it." "Nice words," Kat said wryly. "But the bed's still cold at night." "I hear ya," Lois grinned. "The most important things in life are worth waiting for. That doesn't make the wait easy. It's fine for you to feel cheated, feel angry. You're right, this was lousy timing. Still, Martha didn't plan it, and I know she'd be miserable if she realized that her illness was turning our lives upside down." "She'd kick us out," Kat said, blowing her nose and taking a deep breath. "She would," Lois agreed. "So, are you going anywhere?" Kat asked with a smile. "Of course not," Lois said with a grin. "I'm as stubborn as she is. And she *is* stubborn, Kat. She never would have made it to eighty-five if she weren't. She can still pull through this. The doctors haven't given up on her, and I won't until they do." Kat nodded. "Thanks, Mom," she smiled. Lois did a double-take, then grinned broadly. "You're welcome," she said. Then, after a pause, "I always did want a daughter. I'm sure glad I got you." "I love you," Kat said softly. "You, too, Kat." *** CJ took a deep breath as he walked out of the transportation tunnel that connected the parking garage with Metropolis General Hospital. Perhaps it was the lack of sunlight in the underground transport, or maybe it was just the gloom of the hospital environment, but the tunnel always made him uncomfortable. They had rented a small apartment across the street from the parking garage. It wasn't much, only one bedroom and a kitchenette, but it was a place that they could rest and shower when they were taking shifts at the hospital. Oddly, Martha required very little of their attention. The doctors and nurses were able to care for her adequately. The person that needed the most effort was Jonathan. CJ had always loved his grandparents. They had been as important to him in his growing up as his parents had been. While Lois and Clark had set the limits and enforced the rules, it had been Martha and Jonathan that had given him the other comforts of home. Pot roast and love... there was little more that a growing boy needed. Martha had given him understanding and compassion as well as a good swift kick in the pants when he needed it. She had been his rock. It wasn't that Lois and Clark were inferior parents, just that they were both new at the job, and dropped in head-first without the usual nine months of preparation time. Martha and Jonathan had been there, done that, and had washed the T-shirts several times. They were old-hands at all of it, from middle-of-the-night feedings to manifesting powers. They had done it all and were more than willing to share their knowledge. They baby-sat, gave advice, and offered their home as a refuge against the world. Dad flew off to save the world, Mom drove off to report it, and it was Grandma and Grandpa that stayed at home with CJ. Now, he couldn't decide which was more difficult. Seeing his grandmother so close to death, or his grandfather so despondent and ready to follow. They were not young. As vital as each seemed, they had been in their thirties when Clark had been found and had been in their sixties when he had been born. Now, as Martha approached her eighty-sixth birthday and Jonathan looked forward to his eighty-fifth, they were no longer young. They had battled through various ailments through the years, but never before had they reached a point this low. CJ loved his grandparents, and he found himself afraid. It wasn't just for his grandmother, although he was terrified of what life would be like without her, but rather it was losing both of them that worried him. Martha was so sick, looked so bad, that he could almost see her passing as a blessing. Jonathan on the other hand was essentially healthy, or had been before he'd stopped eating and moving around. Some days he looked more ill than his wife, and that frightened CJ as well. He didn't want his grandma to die. He did want the hurting to stop, the waiting to stop. It seemed to be a never-ending ride, and he didn't know what to do about it. He was tired of the ups and downs, the bad outweighing the good. He was tired of the hope being crushed, and the good news being tainted with bad. He was just plain tired. They had been at Metropolis General for almost six weeks. It was exhausting. He was doing most of his course work by correspondence, due to the light class load he was carrying and a group of very understanding professors. Still, he seemed to spend almost all his time sitting, rather than studying or helping out. The sitting was more tiring than working. CJ had just made it the distance from the transportation tunnel to the elevators when they opened before him. Kat stepped out, looking tear-stained and tired, giving him a weak smile. "Hey," she said softly, stepping into his arms for a quick hug. "Hey, yourself," he replied. "You okay?" "Hanging in," she told him. "Did you get Jonathan to take a nap?" "Yeah. He sat down to watch a few minutes of the news and he was out." He looked at her closely, the puffy eyes and tired smile. "What's wrong? Is Grandma worse?" "Same," she assured him. "They increased the respirator pressure and it kept popping off, not that that's new." "Is it getting that serious?" "No," she assured him. "It just looks bad. Oh, they did decide to take her down to CT scan, though. Her lungs have built up so much resistance to the respirator that they're worried about pneumonia again." "So, what else is new?" he asked sarcastically. "Yeah," she agreed. "Your dad went with her, but the waiting room's packed so I decided to try and find you." CJ put his arm around Kat and steered her back towards the transportation tunnel. "You mean, Grandma's inaccessible, Dad's okay, and Grandpa's sleeping? And you and I are in the same place at the same time?" "It's a miracle," she agreed with a laugh. CJ laughed too, albeit a rusty one, then turned to give her a hug. He took a quick peek over her shoulder, then his, and finally leaned down to kiss her. Being in love while your life was in turmoil was not a fun experience. Every moment they spent together was shadowed by the situation, by their worry, and by their family's constant presence. Moments when they could just be together were rare. Moments that they could be *alone* together were nonexistent. Kat leaned into the kiss, wrapped her arms more tightly around him, and just held on. He could feel some of the desperation in her kiss, the worry for the future and the fear for the present. More than that, though, he felt her love. CJ startled as he heard voices just beyond the ramp to the tunnel. He pulled away reluctantly just as the voices became clearer and a woman pushing a stroller came into view. He focused his attention on that stroller, trying to get his mind off the disappointment at being interrupted during even such an innocent kiss. The child was bald. Older than the usual baby found in a stroller, perhaps six or seven, the child was not recognizable as a boy or girl. Long and thin, the child wearing a nasal cannula and leaning against the oxygen tank that was propped next to her. CJ knew they were headed to the fifth floor, the one with the huge aquarium that dominated the lobby. The aquarium that had fascinated him until he realized that he was on the floor for pediatrics. As one of the largest medical centers on the east coast, and one of the most open to experimental treatments, the pediatric ward was a haven for children with cancer. CJ saw them every day, in the cafeteria and the parking garage, both inpatient and outpatient: Children who might never get the chance to live. For some reason, he found them far more upsetting than his own grandmother's illness, and this was the root of immeasurable guilt. "I'm thinking about ice cream," Kat said softly, watching CJ's eyes and understanding what he would never say. That was one reason that he loved her so much. She knew his thoughts, even when he didn't speak them, and she never judged. "Chocolate?" he asked gently. "Always." Chapter 5... June CJ watched as Kat swirled her dessert around in its bowl. Double fudge brownie ice cream mixed with hot fudge and chocolate chips. He had the feeling that she would have ordered chocolate whipped cream if it had been available, but thankfully it wasn't. She must have sensed his gaze, because she looked up with a sheepish expression. She shrugged, then took another bite of ice cream. "Marry me," he requested softly. Kat smiled at him, turned her left hand, which was still holding her spoon, and flaunted the diamond he had given her. "No," he said suddenly. "I mean now. Today. Marry me." "What?" she asked, actually sounding stunned. "I know the wedding is off, or at least postponed," he explained. "But I'm sick of waiting. I've known that I wanted you as my wife for the last ten years. There's no reason to wait." "Your grandmother..." she began. "Will understand," he finished for her. "Hell, she'd probably insist. You know what a romantic she is, and she loves you." "It's mutual," Kat reminded him. "That's why I'm so confused. Yes, I want to have married you. I want to marry you five years ago! But with everything that's going on..." CJ sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. He didn't know where his sense of urgency was coming from. Maybe it was losing his grandfather six months before, or the possibility of losing his grandmother now. Life was too short, too unpredictable. "We've had the blood tests," he reasoned. "We were supposed to get married next week, anyway. I know that the big wedding is on hold, because Mom's too busy to put it together, but we can still go to a Justice of the Peace. I don't care, Kat. I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife." He looked her directly in the eyes and told her, "I want to sleep with you, and *not* sleep!" She laughed softly and took his hand in hers. She petted his left hand, tracing the fine hairs that grew there, lacing her fingers with his until they were palm to palm. "I love you," she told him. "And it's not that I *want* to wait, but I don't want you to regret this. If Martha's out of the hospital in a few weeks, I don't want you upset that she missed it." "We can have a ceremony later," he reminded her. "But I want the piece of paper, Kat. I want permission to be your husband." "If she doesn't make it," Kat said gently. "Will you be able to look back on the wedding with more than grief? This will be one of the most important days in our lives, and I don't want it clouded." "Will it be for you?" he asked. He hadn't considered her feelings on the matter. She was as close to Grandma Martha as he was. "No," she finally answered. "I've been yours for years. Probably my whole life." "I'd like to be able to look back on this summer and remember some good," CJ told her. "Nothing will take away how awful it was, but it will be that much worse if I think of it as the time I was *supposed* to get married, and didn't." Kat just waited, considered. She didn't speak. "Kat, I love you," he told her again. "I'll love you whatever you decide. But I want to do this. I want you to be my wife. Now." "I love you, too," she reassured him. "My worries aren't because of that." She released his hand and went back to her melting bowl of chocolate. "If I marry you," she told him. "I want to make love. Are you going to be thinking of your grandmother?" CJ laughed at that. "I don't think I'll be thinking much of anything," he said with a smile. "Except how gorgeous you are, and how lucky I am, and how much I love you." "She's fairly stable," Kat reasoned aloud. "There hasn't been any significant change in her condition in the last week." They sat there together for several minutes, looking at one another, thinking and considering and wondering. Up until three weeks before, even after Martha's surgery and first tentative steps towards recovery and descent back into illness, they had planned for the wedding to occur. No one had imagined that Martha's illness would go on for so long. One way or another, they had both thought it would be over before this. Only after the first return to ICU, following a cardiac arrest in the step-down unit, had Kat and CJ decided to postpone the wedding. There had been no formal decision, but rather a mutual, unconscious decision. "I canceled the band," CJ had told Kat, regret in his eyes. "We got most of the deposit back." "Good," she had replied. "As long as we give another date, we can move the restaurant reservations without losing anything. I told them August, but we can move it from then if we need to." One by one, each of their carefully made plans had been changed. No apology was given, and no explanation was needed. The wedding had simply taken a back seat to Martha's needs. Kat had finished the last of her classes in January and was only waiting on the results of her State Nursing Boards to upgrade her status from Licensed Vocational Nurse to Registered Nurse. She had finally resigned her position at Emmingham Convalescent Hospital in order to look for work closer to Metropolis. The job search had been curtailed by her need to support CJ as he looked after his grandfather. She hadn't found an apartment but instead moved into CJ's room in Claremont when she wasn't at the hospital with him. For a change, money wasn't a real problem. No tuition and no rent meant that there was money to spare from her savings. CJ had gratefully sent in the last of his take-home final exams. His professors had been understanding enough to waive the requirement of attending the final lectures, based on letters from Martha's physicians coupled with CJ's record of good grades. He would graduate cum laude, regardless of the last several weeks. He hadn't decided whether he would return for the formal ceremonies, as he didn't know what his grandmother's condition would be at that time. "The JP is open until five," CJ finally prodded. "I checked." "Witnesses?" Kat asked. "Uncle Jim only lives ten minutes from City Hall. I'm sure he has a friend or two he could bring along." Kat thought a minute more, then smiled. "Your parents will kill us," she added, shaking her head. "Nah. After what they went though to get married, I'm sure they'll understand. I'm surprised that they haven't suggested it, as a matter of fact. Besides, we can always have the big ceremony later, after everything's sorted out." Kat looked down at her watch. "Three-fifteen," she muttered. CJ just smiled in what he hoped was a most persuasive manner. Finally, Kat laughed. "Call Jim," she told him. "Let's do it." *** They stood outside the judge's chambers for almost an hour before he opened the door. A small, balding man, he seemed rushed. He escorted them in, gestured for the witnesses to sit, then stood them in front of his desk before grabbing a little book and taking his place behind it. "I'm used to kids," he murmured with a small smile. "Okay, let's get to business. Do you have rings?" CJ looked at Kat in a moment of panic, at which she smiled. She slipped off her engagement ring and handed it to him. "We'll pick up the bands when we get home," she said softly. The judge nodded his approval and began reading from his book. It was short. There was no "dearly beloved", there were no bible verses or songs, and there was no request for a person to object. He had CJ put the ring on Kat, mentioned that it was a symbol. After having them say some simple vows, to love and respect one another, the judge paused. "Would you like to make your own vows?" he asked gently. CJ nodded, then cleared his throat. "I don't sing," he began. "But there's this song. Let me see if I can remember the words... "I could never promise you, on just my strength alone, That all my life I'd care for you, and love you as my own. I've never known the future. I only see today. Words that last a lifetime would be more than I can say. But the love inside my heart today is more than mine alone. It never changes, never fails, and never seeks its own. And by the God who gives it, and lives in me and you, I know the words I speak today are words that I will do. And so I stand before you now, for all to hear and see. And promise you in Jesus' name the love He's given me. And through the years on Earth, and as eternity goes by The life and love He's given us are never going to die." Kat smiled, wiped a tear as it left her eye, and looked at the judge. "What he said," she whispered. The judge nodded, smiled, and finished the marriage. "Clark Jonathan Kent and Kathryn Lynn Anderson, I now declare you husband and wife," he said. Then, to CJ, "You may kiss the bride." CJ looked at Kat, at her puffy eyes and shaky smile, and he fell in love all over again. She wasn't cute when she cried. Her nose ran, and her face got puffy. She sniffled, and her red face all but hid the freckles that he so loved to look at. CJ reached forward, put his arms around his bride, and kissed her gently. "I love you," he reminded her. "I love you, too," she sniffled. James Olsen began applauding quietly, and his example was followed by the two friends he'd brought along. CJ didn't know them, but he recognized their faces as men who worked at the Planet. CJ turned to face them, and smiled with embarrassment. He couldn't have said why. "Thanks, Uncle Jim," he finally said. "Anytime," James told him as he stood. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world. Kat, you look beautiful." He leaned forward and kissed Kat's cheek. "We've been waiting for this since the two of you were old enough to be legal." "Us, too," Kat assured him. "Congratulations." One of the men that had accompanied James stood and offered the word, then moved to the desk where the judge was arranging paperwork. "You'll need to sign here," he was saying. "And then the happy couple will sign just above that." The judge waited while CJ and Kat did so. "That's it," he said with a smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Kent, I hope you have many happy years together. Be sure and come back for the hard-copy of this in three to five days, and you can take that documentation to the DMV and Social Security offices, down on the first floor, if Kathryn should choose to change her name." "Thanks," Kat said with a smile. "I'll be sure I do that. I've been trying to get into this family for twenty years, and I want all of it." Everyone in the room laughed at that. Kat and CJ took their copy of the documents and were led from the room by the Judge, who had resumed his rushed demeanor. "Well, we're married," CJ said, his voice a bit stunned. "Weddings are quick and easy," James assured them. "It's the divorces that cost a fortune and take two years." "I don't think we'll worry about that," Kat said softly. "As long as we've been together, if it were going to fall apart, it would have already happened." "I know you're right," James allowed. He leaned forward and hugged Kat again, then shook CJ's hand. "I'm sorry your folks couldn't make it," he said gently. "It'll be a good surprise," CJ reassured him. "We all need a good surprise about now." James nodded his agreement, then said good-bye. CJ and Kat watched him go, talking and joking with his friends as he did so. "I'm sorry he never found Miss Right," Kat said thoughtfully. "He did," CJ told her. "And she took him for all he was worth. He told me a couple of years ago that he'll never remarry, he'll just find a woman he hates and buy her a house." "That's sad," Kat decided. "What's worse is that he meant it," CJ agreed. "As for us, though," he said with a smile, slipping his arms around her. "I'm going to take my wife to dinner, then take her home and make love to her, thoroughly, from head to toe." Kat kissed him. Long, passionate, and loving. "Can we skip dinner?" *** Candle light. Soft kisses. Exploration. Above all, the absolute sense of belonging to another person. Kat was no stranger to the male form. She'd been nursing for the better part of five years, taking care of every physical need that male anatomy could conjure. She'd inserted catheters, irrigated and dressed abscessed groin injuries, and given more enemas than she cared to count. She was not inexperienced in viewing the male body. She was stunned at the difference when it was someone she loved. She and CJ had gained more than a little physical experience with one another over the years. They had slept in the same bed, touched and played... explored. For years they had been learning one another's bodies, but nothing had prepared her for this night. Her wedding night. She'd asked him to keep the lights on. He had blushed. He was still blushing when he rose over her, still blushing as he made her his, and only in the final moments did the blush recede, replaced by a passion that she could never have imagined. Kat had been CJ's best friend for twenty years. She was his confidant, then his girlfriend, and finally his fiancee. Tonight, she was his wife, and his lover. The words sounded as wonderful as they seemed strange. Too many times, she had wondered if they would ever reach this point. They'd had their struggles; that much was certain. She had wondered if she'd ever accept his father's heritage. It had been frightening, loving someone from another planet. It had been more terrifying that she'd felt betrayed by his silence. Only time had shown her that he had been as afraid as she was, as unsure of himself as he was of her. Later, they had faced separation, absence. Learning to live independently had been harder than living together, and they had adjusted once more. There had been petty jealousies, meaningless arguments, and more doubt than either of them had been prepared for. The end result had been a stronger love, a better love. The end result was now. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly. His body was warm around hers, still just a little sweaty, but his breathing was normal once more. Hers was still getting there. "That I love you," she said with a smile. He threaded his left hand though hers, looking at his own gold band and the matching ones that were on either side of her engagement diamond. The rings had been hidden in a little box, folded into a pair of burgundy socks that he never wore. Kat hadn't seen them until they'd returned to his room after their wedding, bags of food from a local takeout restaurant in hand. It was a lovely set. She wondered if he'd chosen it himself, or if the salesperson had helped. Not that it mattered. She loved them, and she'd told him so in no uncertain terms. That was what had led to the hugging, and the hugging had led to that first kiss. The kiss had led them here, and the bags of food were still sitting on his dresser, cold and forgotten, and not really all that important to Kat at the moment. "I love you, Mrs. Kent," CJ said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. She turned herself over, enjoying the feeling of being next to him with no material in between for the first time in her life. "Mmm," she mumbled as she kissed him. "Say it again." "Mrs. Kent," he muttered, but his lips were otherwise occupied to the point that he really didn't make an intelligible word. She understood him anyway. She kissed him again. Deeper. Longer. *God, this is amazing.* Her head popped up, and she looked him in the eye. "What did you say?" she asked frantically. "I didn't say anything," CJ told her, his face showing his confusion. "I heard you," she said firmly. "You said, 'this is amazing'. I know you did." CJ frowned slightly. "I thought it," he clarified. "I never..." "You were kissing me," she interrupted. "You couldn't have said it." "That's what I said," he murmured slowly, but she could see that he was thinking. He traced a finger along the side of her face, looked into her eyes. * Tell me what I'm thinking, now.* "That you love me," she said with a grin. CJ's surprise was clear. "I didn't say that, did I?" "Not out loud." *Count to ten,* he requested. "One, two, three..." She couldn't finish because of the smile on her face. "You really hear that," he murmured in wonder. "Tell me this is another Kryptonian power," she requested. "Otherwise I'm going to think I'm insane." He shook his head. "Not that I know of," he explained. "Dad had some telepathy with the other Kryptonians, but I don't think he had it with Mom. If he had, they wouldn't have argued so much." "Do you think it's because we..." "No," he answered. "I think it's because you know me so well. It's because I love you, and because you *want* to know what I'm thinking." She shook her head in wonder. "You sound awfully sure." *I'm sure I love you,* he thought. *Right now, that's all I want to know.* *** CJ couldn't seem to get himself awake. His only awareness was of the warmth in his arms and the contentment that was stealing through his entire body. Then the ringing came again. It took all the control he possessed to keep from destroying the telephone as he reached for it. Somehow, he got his hand around the receiver and brought it to his ear without causing any permanent damage. "Hello?" "CJ, it's Dad." He didn't have to hear the next words. He could tell by his father's voice. "How bad?" he asked, sitting up and nearly dislodging his wife in the process. Kat shifted with a grumble, using his legs as a pillow, rather than his chest, and drifted back to sleep. "Bad," Clark said simply. "The doctors want to talk to us about where we go from here. I think you should be here with us." "What time is it, now?" he asked groggily, looking for the clock that he'd knocked off the table in his haste to silence the telephone. "Almost eight. Visiting hours are in an hour. The doctors will see us around noon." "Yeah, right," CJ said sarcastically. The doctors had *never* done anything when they said they would. "Well, I'd like you here, anyway." "I'm on my way, Dad," CJ said quickly. "Drive safe," Clark said simply. CJ sat there a moment, feeling his whole world shift for the second time in twenty-four hours. The doctors wanted to talk. Given the condition that his grandmother had been in on the day before, it wasn't likely that the news would be good. "Kat," he called softly. "Hmmmph." "Kat, it's time to wake up." "Why?" she asked, her voice decidedly grumpy. It didn't surprise him. She had never been a morning person. "The doctors want to see us about Grandma," he said simply. "If you want a shower, you need to take one. We leave in an hour." Kat sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Should I skip the shower?" she asked. "Nah, we've got some time." "You can fly if you need to," she offered. "I won't go without you." Kat nodded, then rubbed her eyes again. As she did so, CJ reached over and touched the wedding rings that were on her left hand. "Good morning, Mrs. Kent," he said softly. Kat smiled in return. "I love you, Mr. Kent." "Ya know," he told her, his voice serious. "We can shower in half an hour." "So, what do we do with the other half?" she asked coyly. He reached for her, tugging her down into his arms, blocking out the real world for just a few moments more. He needed the oblivion that her arms offered, and just this once he would let himself indulge. "We'll think of something," he told her. Chapter 6 CJ didn't remember her looking this bad. Her skin was darker, almost bluish, and she had no life at all in her eyes. "I should have stayed," he murmured softly. Lois reached forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "There isn't much difference," she explained. "You've just been away from it. We forget how bad it looks." He nodded, reached for the gray hand nearest him. She seemed so much more fragile than he remembered. Had it really been only twenty-four hours? "I should have stayed," he repeated. "No, Honey," she corrected. "You shouldn't have." She reached for his hand, noted the gleam of gold that hadn't been there before. "It looks to me like you were right where you should have been." He smiled softly at that. "Are you mad?" "I probably will be when I think about it," she said with a grin. "But for now I'm just happy for you. The two of you deserve this." "We got tired of waiting," he admitted. "But if I'd known how serious things were getting..." "It would have happened, regardless," she explained. "How's Kat?" "She's beautiful," he said softly, and his smile told Lois all she needed to know. "The doctors are late again," Lois murmured as she glanced at her watch. "That isn't much of a surprise, is it? Why don't you sit here with your grandma, and I'll go ask what's taking so long." CJ nodded, taking the seat by the bed, keeping Martha's hand in his. Lois looked back at her son as she walked past the curtains on her way to the door. He was growing up so quickly, she thought. *** "How's married life?" Clark asked softly. Kat's head flashed up, her eyes going instinctively to the new rings on her finger. She was sitting with Clark in the ICU waiting room, and for a change they were the only two there. CJ had gone in to see his grandmother, and Lois had followed. Only two people were normally allowed at the bedside at a time. "We wondered how long it would take everyone to notice," she said with a smile. "I was kind of looking for it," he admitted. "CJ has a lot better sense than I ever did." "He mentioned that you'd understand," Kat told him. Clark nodded. "Lois and I had to reschedule the wedding more than once," he admitted. "Looking back, we should have just gone ahead and seen a Justice of the Peace and worried about the ceremony later. It would have been easier." "I was afraid you'd be upset," she said quietly. "Because we did it without the family, I mean." "You'll have the rest of your lives to put up with us," Clark told her. "Besides, I'm sure my wife will manage to get you two into a church for the formalities." "I do want to wear my dress," she said, considering the matter. "But I'm not taking the rings back off." Clark looked down at his own ring, a gold circle that was dulled by wear. What little texture the ring had been designed with had long since worn smooth. Still, despite its age, it was as solid as the love he had for his wife. "It doesn't come off," he said thoughtfully. "Not for anything. I even have a pocket sewn into my suit for when the world can't see it. It may not be on the finger, but it's always on *me*." "I feel the same way," Kat told him. "It's just a symbol," Clark said absently. "It has nothing to do with the actual relationship. Kind of like the marriage license. But, you know, for me... it was more. The symbols have power because we let them. If I lost the ring, it wouldn't destroy my marriage." He paused a moment, turning the ring on his finger, then raising his eyes back to meet Kat's. "But I'd buy a new one, probably the same day." Kat nodded her understanding. For a while longer, they sat together in silence. "It's after two," Kat finally said. "Surgery went over," Clark told her, as though it explained everything. And, as usual, it did. *** "As we've told you before," Doctor Frederickson said in a practiced voice. "The longer that Mrs. Kent remains on the respirator, the less likely it is that we'll be able to wean her off the device. At this point, she has not been breathing independently in almost seven weeks, and she requires more oxygen on a daily basis. This, combined with the ineffectual dialysis and repeated defibrillation, indicate that her recovery from this illness is unlikely." Clark looked at the man blankly, unable to take in the information. Lois took his hand, and squeezed gently in support. Kat had tears on her face. "Can you say that again," Jonathan requested. "In English, this time." "She can't breathe on her own," the doctor explained. "She simply isn't getting better. Her body is old, and it's weak. She just doesn't have the strength to recover from the surgery." "You said the bypasses had been a success," Clark argued. "They were," Frederickson agreed. "But she isn't healing. Her body just isn't strong enough to heal." "Why not?" CJ asked, although he suspected the answer. "To begin with, she's eighty-five years old," the doctor said. "In addition, she's too weak to digest food, which causes her to become weaker yet. It becomes a cycle, each illness precipitating another, which complicates the first. There's always the possibility that she'll recover, but at this point it's a very remote possibility." "So, now what?" This from Lois. They were seated around a long rectangular table in the ICU conference area. It was the room used for the beginning and ending of physician rounds, nurses' report, and meeting with the families of exceptionally ill patients. It was not a room that the Kents wanted to be in. Rarely was good news given in the conference room. It was reserved for meetings like the one that was currently taking place. "We have two options," the doctor told them. "We can continue as we have been, provide support measures, and wait. That's one option. The second is to withdraw our support measures, and let her body shut down." "Turn off the respirator?" Kat asked. She didn't like the option. Several times it had been attempted, in an effort to get Martha to strengthen her own breathing, but it hadn't been successful. Martha had struggled, fought, and become so tired that they had to turn the machine back on. Watching her die this way was not something Kat was ready for. "No," the doctor corrected. "The respirator is the one thing I don't recommend discontinuing. The respirator works on her effort, though. When she takes a breath, it augments the breath and oxygenates it. I would recommend discontinuing the medications that are stabilizing her heart rate and blood pressure, stopping the dialysis, and then waiting for Mrs. Kent to do the rest." "So, she would breathe with the respirator until her body stops naturally?" Kat asked. "Exactly." "So, we wouldn't be killing her," Jonathan asked. "We don't have to pull the plug?" "No, Mr. Kent," the doctor said gently. "If or when she stops breathing, it will be her body's decision, not ours." Jonathan thought for a moment, then looked to his children, and his grandchildren, for guidance. "Do you think she'd want this?" he asked uncertainly. "She asked us to let her go for weeks," CJ reminded them softly. She hadn't been able to speak, but she had mouthed the words constantly for the first three weeks on the respirator. When they had deliberately ignored her, she had often become angry, refusing to look at them. She had tried to pull out the respirator as well, which had only resulted in her arms being restrained. "I know she wouldn't want to be the way she is now," Clark added. "I've never seen her on her back for more than a day or two with the flu. She hates to slow down." "Yes," Jonathan murmured. "She does." He looked up at his son, his eyes pleading. "What do I say? I feel like I can't live without her, but it isn't *her* anymore." Clark turned to the doctor and quietly agreed to the second option. "Can we stay with her?" he requested, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. Lois and Kat were already crying openly, and CJ wasn't far behind. His father was still and quiet. "Absolutely," the doctor said gently. "I'll speak with the nurses. You can stay with her constantly, if you like." Clark nodded, then reached for Lois. She crumbled into his arms, sobbing and shaking. He felt the same way. The doctor told them that they could stay in the room for as long as they liked, then went to write the orders that would limit the life support that Martha received. The Kent family remained there for almost an hour. They emptied the tissue boxes that were left on the table for their use, and every one of them was exhausted by the time that they walked back to Martha's room to sit with her. *** The Kents had gathered around the bedside, each saying a word or two to Martha. She was still unresponsive. A nurse dressed in a surprisingly cheery flowered smock came in, turned off several of the IV drips, and then backed away. The dialysis machine ceased its noise. Only the sound of the respiration broke the tense silence as they waited. For a few moments everything stayed stable. Suddenly, Martha's blood pressure began to fall, and her heart rate increased. They watched the systolic pressure, the number that the doctors had strived to keep at one hundred, as it plummeted. Ninety. Eighty-one. Seventy-three. Seventy. Sixty-one. "No," CJ called out. "It wasn't supposed to happen this fast!" He moved towards his grandmother, only to be restrained by his wife. He put his arms around her, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore what was happening around him. He was twenty-four years old, and he felt like a baby. Her pressure stabilized at thirty-four, her heart rate leveled out at over two-hundred and irregular. CJ took a deep breath as he looked up from Kat's shoulder. His father's hand was on his shoulder. Jonathan moved closer to CJ, then took him in his arms. The waiting began. *** Twenty-two hours. The ordeal that had begun at three-forty on Wednesday afternoon didn't end until after one-thirty on Thursday. Martha was strong, she was stubborn, and she was too sick to beat death. Her body remained stable through the night, through the next morning, but as noon neared the numbers once more began to drop. Heart rate and pressure both slowed until the alarms became a constant companion. They were able to turn off the pulse oximeter that warned them of the low amount of oxygen reaching her extremities, but the respirator itself was safeguarded. The alarm was turned to its lowest level, but it was still audible. Each time Martha waited more than a minute to breathe, the machine would alarm until she took a breath. The last ten minutes were the worst. Death was nothing like it was shown in the movies. There were no last words, no pleasant expression, no reassurances for her tired family. She simply breathed less often, and then finally she stopped. Her heart rate slowed after that, finally grinding to a halt. They said their good-byes, told her how much she was loved, and then groaned as her heart began once more, and she took another breath. As they stood around her, Jonathan suddenly laughed. They looked at him in shock, but he spoke through the tears. "She would have really hated this," he said with a sad smile. "Wouldn't she?" "Yeah, Dad," Clark said, putting an arm around his father's shoulder. Martha never took another breath. It took a few minutes longer for her heart, the same heart that had gotten her into this situation, to finally give up and stop. A nurse stepped forward, turned off the respirator, and went to get the doctor. Clark hadn't heard her come in. They stayed a while longer. They spoke in soft tones, cried together, and finally wiped the tears and stood to go. They left the ICU for the last time, walking through the large double-doors that they hated and down the hallway towards the elevators. While they were waiting for the doors to open, CJ turned and walked back to the waiting room. Kat followed her husband, worried, then stopped as she saw him erase his grandmother's name from the board. Mrs. Tipton stood and wrapped her arms around CJ. He hugged her back, said good-bye, and turned to see Kat watching. She wiped a tear from her face as he walked back to her, put his arm around her, and gave her a similar hug. Finally, he released her, and they walked back towards the elevator that Clark was holding for them. *** The casket was simple, polished pine. The lid was closed, and a picture of Martha sat on the lid, surrounded by a profusion of wildflowers. Hymns played in the background, the piano gently bringing music to the somber occasion. Smallville Community Church was overflowing with men and women who had come to pay their last respects to a lovely woman who had been a great contribution to their lives. Children played towards the back of the church, dressed in their Sunday best and not able to understand why their moms and dads were so sad. Jonathan sat towards the front of the church, but not in the front row as everyone had expected. Wayne Irig sat next to him, a frail skeleton of a man who now walked with a cane. Clark sat on his other side, eyes finally dry after days of tears. Lois was next to Clark, her hand in his, her eyes as wet as his were dry. CJ sat in the back row of the church. He knew he should be with his family, but he couldn't bring himself to walk past the people who were hurting as badly as he was in order to get there. He wanted to be near an exit, where he could escape if necessary. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to be a thousand miles away, and it took every bit of restraint not to take to the sky and fly as far, as fast, as he could. Instead, he was here. He was watching the majority of the residents of Smallville congregate in a church to show support, to say goodbye, and to grieve. He'd been doing a lot of that himself. "Hanging in?" Kat asked softly, her head on his shoulder. "Doing my best," he answered, trying very hard not to start crying again. He'd cried for most of the last three days, during the funeral preparations and the logistical arrangements that were unavoidable following a death. He remembered the process from when his grandfather had died, but Ellen Lane had taken care of the majority of the details with little assistance. Jonathan Kent wasn't capable of handling a funeral, much less arranging it, so the task had fallen to Clark. Clark had done the best he could, but when it got to be too much it passed to Lois. From Lois, it came to CJ. From CJ, it passed to Kat. Kathryn Lynn Kent had spent the week following her wedding arranging a funeral for a person that wasn't even related by blood. They had all contributed, of course, but the final decisions had been Kat's, because she was the only one who could manage to go ten minutes without collapsing into tears. It hadn't all been sorrow. There had been light moments, too. They had all laughed when they tried to pick out a dress for Martha to be buried in, and couldn't find a single thing in her closet that was plain or dark. Martha wasn't a boring person, so her clothes weren't sedate. CJ had finally pointed out a lovely, soft-pink silk dress that Clark had found for her in Japan. It was cheery and bright, and they had all agreed that it was perfect for her. The laughter, morbid though it might have been, had started anew when Clark reminded them that the funeral was to be closed-casket. They had spent three hours going through her closet, and no one would ever see the dress. For some reason, they had all found that irresistibly funny, and they had laughed themselves silly. CJ was sorry his grandmother had missed it. She would have loved the joke. Laughter had turned to tears in the blink of an eye. Most days had been similar. A moment of stolen laughter was followed by sorrow that it could not be shared with Martha. A memory that was good became shadowed by a memory of their time in the hospital. Every moment of relief was chased away by pain, and CJ didn't know how much longer he could handle it. He hurt, and he couldn't make it go away. The reason for his pain was simple. Martha had always "fixed" whatever was wrong with his heart and sent him away healed. Now, because she wasn't here to fix it, her own death was tearing him apart. He knew what was wrong. He just couldn't do anything about it. Kat threaded her fingers through his as the minister stepped up to the pulpit. He gripped her hand hard, heard a faint indrawn breath, and loosened his grip. She would have a bruise from that, he realized. "Sorry." "I love you," she whispered in his ear, then she moved more closely against his side as he watched the service. He managed to keep the tears in check through the hymns that Rachel sang. "Just a Closer Walk with Thee" and "I Walk in the Garden Alone" filtered through his mind long after her steady alto voice faded. Many of Martha's friends stood to say a few words, and even Jonathan stood to talk about his beloved wife of fifty-six years. CJ managed to keep the tears at bay until after the minister had sat down and a song began. Children laughing, playing, singing Jesus Loves Me, and then Steven Curtis Chapman began to sing... This is not at all how we thought it was supposed to be We had so many plans for you, we had so many dreams And now you've gone away and left us with the memories of your smile. And nothing we can say, and nothing we can do Can take away the pain, the pain of losing you, but... We can cry with hope. We can say goodbye with hope. 'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no. And we can grieve with hope 'Cause we believe with hope There's a place where we'll see your face again. We'll see your face again. And never have I known anything so hard to understand And never have I questioned more the wisdom of God's plan But through the cloud of tears I see the Father smile and say well done. And I imagine you where you wanted most to be. Seeing all your dreams come true, 'cause now you're home And now you're free, and... We can cry with hope. We can say goodbye with hope. 'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no And we can grieve with hope 'Cause we believe with hope There's a place where we'll see your face again. We'll see your face again. We have this hope as an anchor 'Cause we believe that everything God promised us is true, so... We can cry with hope. We can say goodbye with hope. 'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no And we can grieve with hope 'Cause we believe with hope There's a place where we'll see your face again. We'll see your face again. We wait with hope, and we ache with hope. We hold on with hope. We let go with hope. CJ listened as the last few notes of the song faded, leaving him winded. Every thought had been his own. He looked over at Kat, knowing she had been the one to choose the music for the funeral. "Thanks," he whispered. "Welcome," she answered. *** "Your grandmother was the dearest woman." "Martha was so sweet." "I'm going to miss her so much." The comments went on and on. By the time they had everyone out of the farmhouse, CJ was ready to crawl into bed and stay there a week. They had enough food for an army, two freezers, and every tabletop in the place. It was a house full of memories. Years before, when Lois had been gravely ill, the Kents had attempted to sell the farmhouse, moving into an apartment just outside of Metropolis to be closer to CJ. No one had been upset a year later when the buyers had defaulted, and Martha and Jonathan had been able to reclaim their property. In most loans, the bank would have been the winner, but not this time. The Kents had chosen to sell to a couple who couldn't get bank backing, bond for deed, so the only inconvenience had been moving their possessions back "home". That is what the little house represented to them... home. They had long since given up actually working the farm, leaving that to CJ and Kat when they visited in t