Carry You

She supposed it started with his death. His death started the downward spiral. Depression stalked her, and at times Mackenzie struggled to get out of bed or even eat. But she forced herself to. She had to take care of herself. For her son. She couldn't let Jon see her like this.

"Is Dada coming back?" Jon asked her one day. Mackenzie picked him up, her grey eyes looking looking like melting silver.

"He's not, Jon," she whispered. "I wish he would, but he can't."

"Why not?" the three year old boy asked. Curiosity and worry were sparking in his cerulean eyes, the same shade as his father's.

At this, Mackenzie shook her head. "He can't." Tears started to brim in her eyes, and she tried to stay strong. She tried. But she broke. She was broken inside. She was a broken person.

* * *

Three months after his death, Mackenzie lost her job. She never knew why, never was given a reason.

"I'm sorry, Mackenzie," Perry apologized to the shocked woman. "I know this is a lot to take in."

"I'll go clear my desk," Mackenzie whispered, leaving Perry's office. She couldn't lose her job, she couldn't. How would she support herself? How would she support Jon?

I can manage she thought to herself. I've done it before, I can do it again. She put her things into a box, smiling sadly at the pictures of her and Clark, pictures of Jon, pictures of times before and after Clark's death.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I failed you, Clark. I failed. . ." She left the office, not even taking a glance back at the place she used to work.

When she got home, she was greeted by the squeals of Jon.

"Ana, stop!" Jon squealed. Mackenzie couldn't help but laugh. Her son loved spending time with Diana, so she asked her to babysit whenever Diana was available.

"I'm home!" Mackenzie called, setting the box down on the kitchen table. Instantly, Jon came running into view, his tiny legs carrying him as fast as he could.

"Mamma!" he yelled, latching on to Mackenzie's legs. "You're home!" Diana soon shortly followed him, glancing at the box on the kitchen table, then back at Mackenzie.

'Later,' Mackenzie mouthed, kissing Jon's forehead.

* * *

"He fired you!?" Diana asked, her eyes widening. Mackenzie nodded,"he did. I have no clue why."

"Will you be able to manage?" Diana continued to ask, worried for her friend.

"I've done it before," Mackenzie's reply was whispered, the reply loosing itself in her glass. "I can do it again."

"But you didn't have a child then," Diana countered. "If you talked to Bruce maybe-"

"I'm not asking for anything from him," Mackenzie snapped. "I don't need charity." Diana sighed,"but if it helps you and Jon, you should just ask."

"No," Mackenzie said, again. "I'll manage. I'll manage."

* * *

But she wasn't able to manage. Within two months, Mackenzie lost the apartment, leaving her and Jon homeless.

"Please, I can get the money," Mackenzie begged. "Please. I promise." Her landlord shook his head,"I'm sorry. I can't make any exceptions. You need to be out within three weeks."

"That's not enough time!" Mackenzie protested.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He glanced at Jon, who was standing behind Mackenzie, looking at the man with curious eyes.

Mackenzie shut the door in his face, picking up her son,"we have to move out, Jon. This isn't our home anymore." She started to cry,"I failed you. I failed you, Jon."

* * *

"Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Lulu," Mackenzie said. "It's just until I get back on my feet." Lulu waved her hand,"stay here as long as you need. You're always welcome." Jon held his arms out to her, so Lulu picked him up,"always welcome."

Through the days, Mackenzie struggled to find a job, all while fighting depression and PTSD. She woke up in screams every night, nearly waking Jon up, as well.

"Mackenzie, are you alright?" Lulu asked, handing her a cup of coffee. Mackenzie took a sip of it, nodding,"I'm fine. Don't worry about me, ok?" Lulu nodded,"ok. . ."

* * *

She knew it wouldn't turn out alright. It had all been a downhill spiral since Clark died. Losing her job, the apartment, everything.

"Take care of him, Lulu," Mackenzie whispered, putting the gun against her head. "Take care of my son." She pulled the trigger, sending the bullet into the side of her head.

She was dead. Mackenzie Wright was dead. She had wanted to be there for her son, but she couldn't. The weight and pain was too much for her.

She would finally join Clark in the afterlife.

* * *

She woke up with a scream. Next to her, Clark stirred but didn't wake. Across the hall, Jon slept peacefully, not even knowing of the nightmare his mother had. Two text messages lit up Mackenzie's phone, but she ignored them, knowing that all was well in the world.

Knowing that her nightmare would never come true.