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Complete Ficlet and FDK

Complete Ficlet
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Complete Ficlet and FDK

Complete Ficlet
Comments

Complete Ficlet
Comments

<Happy sigh> I’ve always loved Matha and Lois’s interactions on the show, and your story did canon justice.

Now Lois just needs to meet Jonathan…

Joy,
Lynn

Nice chapter. More fun and pre-romantic LC interactions. Also we get quite some background info bits about Lois. So she apparently lost her job at the Planet AND her husband...hmm...the story of Lex broke down? Hmm.. Also curious what's going on with Martha. I'm mostly sure her appointment in Smallville is related to Jonathan. Is he sick and in a hospital or something? Imprisoned by the military or someone else shady and that's her visiting him there? Dead and an anniversary where she goes to the grave? Whatever is is, it seems to take a lot of her nerves. Poor Martha.
Well obv. Lois and cooking...do not match well. Takeout is it, then. Not something Clark's used to.
That was another good one, rife with little alusions along the way.
Nick

Located here. I'm well ahead of the editing now so hoping to post more soon!

"In other words…

I. Love. You."

No, no no. No. They were so close. He's almost tortured by the decision, certain he is risking all he's ever wanted to save two hundred some-odd lives in a hijacked plane over the Atlantic. He could almost taste how close they were to something thrillingly new, and terrifyingly not pretend. And he knows that now he's blown it, and without a doubt, she's going to hate him when he returns.

He turns a few contemplative barrel rolls as he powers toward the sea, mulling how he is going to explain this longer absence to her. A hijacking can be delicate, and usually takes at least a half an hour to get under control once the plane is on the ground. First he has to land the plane. Then he has to check on the passengers inside, apprehend the hijackers and wait for the police to take over. He heard over the radio at the hotel bar that the plane was bound for Munich, but he decides to take them to Charles de Gaulle in Paris, the closest International airport equipped to handle the situation. He calculates how fast he can fly with the plane and still keep the passengers comfortable. Faster than the plane can fly itself, but it would still be another hour at least. Plus the time on the ground, one and a half hours. The party would be winding down by then, if she was even still there. Oh Lois.

He locates the plane, flying erratically but still cruising at the right altitude. He knocks on the window and waves to let the terrorists know he's here. This part is always a bit nerve-wracking because he can't enter the plane until it's on the ground, and because the doors have to remain shut to keep the plane pressurized, he's helpless to protect the passengers inside. He x-rays the scene and can see they don't have guns. Good. The terrorists' eyes grow wide and Superman proceeds to stabilize the plane and guide it gently into the runway, his mind on Lois, only Lois, and the betrayed, abandoned look that darkened her eyes when he left her behind.

He's never seen her look so hurt. Even the night he'd gently rejected her advances as Superman, she seemed to understand. This was something different. They were becoming something different, right there on that dance floor. And then he'd left her there, confused and alone.

He begins concocting his excuse. Stomach trouble? Violent, horrific, stomach trouble? Embarrassing, and besides, it's not like this is an isolated occurrence. On the way back from the bathroom he got a message at the front desk from the Planet - a source needed to meet him urgently? He couldn't tell her because she would want to come, and he knew it was dangerous? No, she'll hate him more for trying to protect her like that, and feel betrayed that he's been hiding his non-existent story from her. A man was having chest pains in the bathroom, so he took him to the emergency room? Not bad. But she would never believe it. She knew there was some other reason he was leaving. But how else could he explain this? He was supposed to be here with her. There was nowhere plausible for him to escape to in a hotel.

The terrorists are apprehended, and all passengers are safe and unharmed, save for one pilot who sustained a concussion and a cut in the struggle. Superman is free to go. He sighs. As much as he had been itching to get back to the party, now he's dreading it. He looks at the clock. 4:30 am. It is 10:30 pm in Metropolis.

The party is dwindling a bit but still lively, and the guests are significantly more lubricated than when he left. Lois and Jeanne are tucked into a sofa talking when she spots him from across the party. Her face looks...not angry, exactly...but raw, vulnerable. Stung. He squats down at her feet at the sofa, covers her hand with his and looks her in the eyes, pleading her forgiveness. "Lois, I'm so sorry I had to leave you. Can I talk to you?"

This is the only acceptable approach as her "boyfriend", but he still has no idea what he's about to say. He decides not to give her a reason and let her be angry. It's better than lying. It's better than cheese of the month. He winces at that one. God, this has gotten so bad. He feels certain she needs to know. Not here, not now, but soon. The all too conveniently vague…soon. His heart is pounding at super speed. He notes that hers is calm, steady, cold as ice.

Jeanne gets up from the sofa. "I'm turning into a pumpkin anyway. I'll leave you two to it. Lois, I'm looking forward to the ethics symposium tomorrow," she winks. Lois blushes and he knows her complicated relationship with Superman was explored in their conversation. "Leave it to you to have two gorgeous men falling at your feet," she whispers in her ear, squeezing her hand. "Go easy on him. He adores you." It was meant for her ears only, but Clark hears it, and winces again. She deserves better than two halves of him.

Lois gives her a half-hearted smile and waves her off. Lois turns back to Clark and looks at him under an arched brow. Well?

"I'm sorry, Lois. I had an emergency. It's personal, so personal that I can't really talk about it, but I promise I had a good reason," he cradles her soft, delicate hand between his, "and I wouldn't have left you for anything but a very good reason."

She looks at him flatly. "That's it?"

He stares back for a moment, then nods, knowing it isn't enough.

She clears her throat and takes back her hand. "Well, I have a big day tomorrow, and need to be clear-headed for the symposium. So, I'm going to turn in," she says briskly. "Sorry to cut our evening off."

"No, of course, I was actually going to suggest that you get some sleep…"

She's standing up, then briskly striding toward the door, and he's trailing behind her. They journey to the room in silence, not feeling the need to put on the ruse of a happy couple.

When they get up to the room, he promptly goes to the bathroom and turns on the tub, pouring the bath gel in to create a frothy foam of bubbles.

She peeks in at him from the bedroom, has already slipped off her shoes and pantyhose. "Didn't peg you for a bubble bath guy."

"I'm not. But I thought you'd want one. You always take a bath to relax."

"How did you know that?"

"Well…" his mind scrambles for an explanation, "you've called me from the tub before, for starters," he says, he hopes not too suggestively, "And a few times when I've left after a late night doing heavy research you've been drawing a bath. I've always known this about you," he says with a half-smile.

And only two weeks ago, he dive-bombed into her living room unannounced, without thinking or knocking, just as she was stepping out of the bath, just as she was wrapping her robe around her slender frame. She didn't mind at all, which made it even more of a problem than he'd intended, standing before her, him in the completely wrong suit, her in a completely alluring silk kimono.

He realized in that moment that his frequent super appearances could almost be considered violating, and certainly the closer she and Clark had gotten the more these Superman drop-ins were confusing her…him…them. He gently, painfully rejected her advances, and his heart dared to hope as she admitted that saving his life, Clark's life, was as natural to her as breathing, because there wasn't anything she wouldn't do for him. For Clark.

He mightily fought against the magnetic pull he felt, always feels, toward her when her guard is down and she slips into that rare, vulnerable space with him, with Superman. The pull that has him longing to touch her, cup her face, slide his fingers through her hair, pull her close against him, cover her in kisses…and some nights, he can't help himself. Even though he is well aware he's in the wrong suit, sabotaging a dream that was beginning to feel like it had wings, a future that was beginning to feel like it had roots. So he gives in, and takes the rose, pulls her into a dance, floats her around her living room. He is invulnerable, he can push asteroids out of the earth's orbit, he repels bullets and lasers and is immune to every virus known to man. But he is not immune to her. Her adoring gaze is as life-giving to him as the sun. When he feels weak, when his defenses are down, when he feels particularly alone and singularly powerless against all the brokenness he sees in the world, he basks in her glow, and she makes him feel like a man worthy of his purpose in life.

As Superman, a man the world sees as an aloof, heroic, untouchable alien, she is the only one who makes him feel seen and wonderfully human, in a way he always feared no one who knew the truth about his powers ever could. But as Clark, he feels a connection he can't describe, like his soul has always been tethered to hers. The ways she has softened her edges, let down her guard for only him makes him hopeful that one day she will let him all the way in, and he will tell her who he really is, and they will be okay. Yet it's his greatest fear, that her knowing will be the end of them. And it's the most vulnerable he's ever felt, knowing that the deception could cause him to lose her heart – as both men – forever.

In that moment, when he stilled her confused and roaming hands, he vowed that would be the last time he appeared at her window as Superman without knocking, and a very good reason.

Lois eyes the tub, now full of fluffy, sensuous bubbles. "I think I will take a soak, actually. I need to clear my head about this ethics symposium," she says, making a face. "Will you - uh, well – help me with my dress? It's not nearly as painful to unzip as it was to zip up, but the buttons might remain a challenge," she says with a half-smile.

He nods, grateful for any small opening she's giving him, and she turns around, lifting up her hair so he can access her buttons. "How are you feeling about your speech? And the symposium? Did Jeanne help you think it through?" he ventures carefully. He then works at the clasp of the necklace, allowing his fingertips to grace her neck ever so slightly, aching to touch her, wishing he could reinstate their closeness from before.

"I'm…well, I'm feeling a little nervous about it. Not my speech as much, I wrote that weeks ago. But I talked through my, uh, Superman relationship with Jeanne, which was really helpful, since she sort of specializes in well, crafting a narrative." He works at the tiny buttons as she babbles on, "Not that I need to craft a narrative, everything with Superman is above board, that's all true, I just need to be careful about what I say and how I say it so that people don't get the wrong idea, since they always seem to. And I want to be the right ally for Superman. It's really his image that I want to be sure I'm protecting." Clark lets his hand glide down her back as he unzips her, then takes her shoulders gently, turning her to face him. She seems affected as she says breathily, "I just need to…think it through a bit more."

He's enchanted. There are few things he enjoys more than watching her ramble adorably into a corner, but his heart tugs a little more at the way she's become his protector. He realizes his adoration is written on his face when her mouth starts to twitch at him. He coughs, in that lame breaking-the-awkwardness way that anyone over the age of five would have known wasn't a real cough. He groans inwardly.

"I completely understand. The tub is ready. I brought a book with me. I'll be reading for awhile out here, if you want to talk it through when you get out."

She gives him a weak, forgiving smile. "Thanks, Clark."

She turns in the doorframe. "Hey, by the way. When you left earlier, you know who swooped in at the bar?"

"Thomas Howson IV?" he grins, waggling his sleepy eyebrows.

She chuckles and shakes her head slowly, maybe a little seductively, she hopes. "Senator Charlie Carson," she says with a playful swagger.

"Oh really," he says, a little surprised. And more than a little bit concerned.

"Mmm hmm. At first I thought maybe I could weasel some election information out of him, so I let him flirt for a little bit."

"Loisss…you know his reputation. That could be dangerous. He could turn that around on you too," Clark admonishes. He trusts Senator Carson about as much as he ever trusted Lex Luthor. And, much to his chagrin, he's well aware she's never above using her beauty to her advantage for an exclusive.

"Oh Clark. I handle men like him every day. You of all people know that," her tone turns playful and coquettish.

He responds with a defeatist glare. "That I do," he says.

"Anyway, apparently he's joining me on the ethics symposium panel tomorrow," she says with an eyeroll. "And something's fishy about his connection to Intergang. He was sniffing around about our Intergang investigations the minute we started talking. Such a weasel. He was also asking me a lot of nosy questions about Superman."

Clark's eyebrows raise. "Oh really. The usual kind of questions, or more personal?" He and Lois were both used to answering curious questions from strangers about Superman - "Does he eat?" "Does he have a family?" "Where does he live?"

"The usual kind; he was trying to play it breezy, but there was an undercurrent of suspicion. Not surprisingly, he's one of those conservatives who thinks Superman could pose a threat."

Clark threw his head back. "Ah yes, I know the type. 'The United States must be able to protect itself against every potential security risk," he says, affecting the tone of a grumpy old man. Lois chuckles. "I'm a little surprised though, I hadn't noticed he was very vocal about Superman in the state Senate."

"Well, buckle up for tomorrow. And he's apt to be interesting this campaign season. But don't hold your breath for his affections winning us any exclusives, partner," Lois says wryly.

"Lois. I'm more than okay with not having the in with Senator Carson," Clark says.

"That's good. Because, tonight between the Superman bashing and the repeat advances I had enough, so I gave him an earful and may have said something I shouldn't have," she says.

"Which was?"

"I told him I can handle myself, I'm a black belt in taekwondo. But as he had just said himself, Superman always seems to appear when I'm in trouble. And if his hand drifted down my skirt one more time the only person Superman might be a threat to…was him."

Clark erupts with laughter. "Well, never let it be said that Lois Lane is a shrinking violet," he teases.

Lois pads into the bathroom, then turns around sliding her face between the frame and the nearly-shut door. "Please, Clark. No one's ever said that."

Hi Andrea,

Thank you, and welcome back. It does look like there is a lot of catchup to be done. So much wonderful reading ahead.

Chapter 2

Story TOC

A chapter here from little Clark's perspective. 💔

Thanks for reading

-Bek

Link to Chapter 1

Reminder of content warning:




A comfortable warmth surrounded Clark as he drifted in and out of sleep, unable to keep his eyes open for very long. Each time he woke, it seemed he was in a new place. First, he’d woken again in the room in that dark house where the doctor had examined him. The next time he’d woken up, he’d been jostling around in the backseat of a pickup truck. And then, finally, he’d woken up in yet another house—this one with a roaring fire in the fireplace and lighter paint on the walls.

But regardless of where he was when he woke, the warmth surrounding him didn’t change. And the gentleness of the woman’s embrace didn’t change.

He didn’t know where he was, and he couldn’t seem to remember much about the whole last day. All he really knew was that his head hurt. A lot. And that for some reason, this woman—whom the doctor had called Martha—had been holding him for…a while now.

As he pulled himself out of sleep again, blinking his eyes open slowly to let them adjust to the dim light of the room, he felt a hand caress his forehead. He looked up at her, letting his eyes meet hers for just half a second before he closed them again.

Her voice came then, quiet and soothing. “Shh, sweetie. You’re safe here.” Another soft touch on his forehead was accompanied this time by her arm tightening around him. “Are you hungry, sweetie?”

Hungry? She was…asking him if he was hungry?

Clark scrunched his eyes shut tighter as the pain in his head throbbed, and he felt himself start to tremble.

He…couldn’t…

No. He shook his head. No, he wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t…allowed to say when he was hungry. That…wasn’t a question anyone had ever asked him or a complaint he was allowed to have. He got to eat when they decided to feed him—Ma and Pa, that is. He wasn’t allowed to complain about being hungry.

But even as he shook his head again, his stomach growled, and that hollow emptiness that he was so used to living with seemed to ache, making him curl up against the woman.

She caressed his forehead again, although her soft touch seemed almost uncertain to him this time.

“Jonathan is making spaghetti,” she said. “He should be almost finished, I think. Do you like spaghetti, sweetie?”

The question surprised Clark, just like the last one had. But he nodded. He did like spaghetti. At least, he thought he did. Ma’s spaghetti usually tasted pretty good, after all, unless she gave it to him without the yummy red sauce on it like she did sometimes when he was not well behaved. Then the noodles were just plain and didn’t have much flavor. But he’d never been asked whether he liked it before, and it didn’t matter. He would eat whatever he was given.

“Oh, good. Jonathan will be glad to hear that,” the woman said in her quiet voice. After a moment, she continued. “He made the sauce last night. It’s his own special recipe. I hope you like it, Clark.”

Sauce! It would have sauce! His stomach growled again, almost as though it wanted its approval to be known, and he opened his eyes and looked up at the woman as she laughed lightly.

“Here, let’s head into the kitchen, and we can see how close Jonathan is to being finished.”

The woman stood slowly, still holding him in her arms, and Clark closed his eyes and buried his head into the blanket as she carried him. The smell of food—definitely spaghetti with sauce!—made his stomach growl yet again. At the same time, the temperature of the air seemed to heat up, and Clark lifted his head and swallowed as he looked around the room.

They had moved into a small kitchen where a large man with brown hair and glasses stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Jonathan, he assumed. Jonathan and…Martha.

Why was he here? Where were Ma and Pa? And…why did his head still hurt?

He should ask them—Jonathan and Martha. He should at least ask them where Ma and Pa were because Ma and Pa would probably want to know if Clark was going to eat their food. And—

A sharp pain stabbed through Clark’s head, and he whimpered and closed his eyes as he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Wrong.

It was wrong.

He couldn’t take someone else’s food. Especially if Pa hadn’t given him permission. He would get in so much trouble.

He shouldn’t even be here right now. At least, he couldn’t remember getting permission to be here. But then again, he couldn’t remember much of anything that had happened that day. Maybe…he was supposed to be here? Maybe they’d left him with Martha and Jonathan so they could go—

Shopping! They’d…they’d taken him shopping with them in Wichita. For the first time ever. He remembered! They’d bought him a new T-shirt. A green one, with white stripes. And a pair of shoes. The blue shoes. He’d wanted the red ones, but Pa had growled at him not to be greedy when he’d reached out to touch them at the store. He’d just wanted to touch them—they looked different from the blue ones, the material smoother, maybe. And he’d just wanted to feel them.

But…but then what?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to cry, as he realized he really couldn’t remember anything after they’d left the shoe store.

Maybe…maybe Martha knew. Or Jonathan. Maybe he’d been sleeping. He did feel sleepy still. And his head hurt. So maybe Ma and Pa had left him with Martha and Jonathan when he’d been sleeping. And they’d be back soon. Or maybe they had at least told Martha and Jonathan that Clark had permission to eat their food.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. Shh, don’t cry. It looks like dinner is ready, whenever you want to eat,” Martha murmured, and she sat down at the kitchen table with him and started to rock him gently.

It helped. A little.

But he knew he couldn’t eat unless he had been given permission. Unless Ma or Pa had given him permission. And he didn’t want to get in trouble. He never wanted to get in trouble.

So he swallowed hard and then, without looking up, forced himself to speak.

“D-did…” The one word squeaked out of him, almost as though he hadn’t used his voice in a long time, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “D-did M-Ma or—or Pa s-say I could…s-say it w-was okay?”

Not much better, really.

“Stop that stutterin’, boy! Get to the point! Or it’d be better if ya just kept yer damn mouth shut!”

Clark felt his whole body tense, and he held his breath, waiting for a reprimand. He shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. He shouldn’t have said anything. He—

“Oh, sweetie…” Martha seemed to sniffle, and her arms tightened around him again, holding him snugly against her.

He risked a glance up at her, and he saw tears in her eyes. With a frown, he closed his eyes and curled up into the blanket again.

“I-it’s o-okay,” he said quickly, not wanting to upset her further.

“What…what’s okay, Clark?”

He shook his head, unable to speak more. Obviously, Ma and Pa hadn’t given him permission to eat, or Martha would have said so. And he wouldn’t be sad about it. He was used to the aching in his stomach. The empty, weak feeling that just…wouldn’t ever really leave. Even though he’d really been…looking forward to spaghetti…with sauce.

The tears came, even though he really, really didn’t want them to, and he screwed his eyes shut tightly and choked back a sob.

He was hungry. He was really, really hungry. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten earlier that day, but he could remember the day before, when he hadn’t eaten because Ma hadn’t liked the way he’d made a little too much noise when he’d gone down the stairs. He knew to be quieter. He did. And he should have done better. And now, they hadn’t given Martha and Jonathan permission to give him food, and he was going to have to be hungry…still.

But he couldn’t cry, or he’d get in more trouble.

“Clark, sweetie, what is it?” Martha asked, and she continued to rock him slowly.

“We need to tell him, Martha. I don’t think he knows.” Jonathan had a deep voice, but it sounded quiet and gentle like Martha’s, and Clark found that he wanted to hear it again.

He tried very hard to stop himself from crying, even as tears began to slip down his cheeks. And he managed to lift his head up a bit and turn to look toward the man’s voice. As their eyes met, Jonathan gave Clark a small smile, but Clark immediately knew something wasn’t right. The older man sat down in a chair at the table and then looked at Martha, his expression sad.

Clark tensed, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Tell me what?” Both pairs of eyes shifted to look at him, and he immediately buried his head back in the blanket. “S-sorry. S-sorry, I-I…” He shook his head again, wishing he could explain, apologize again.

Gosh, he’d be in so much more trouble now. Speaking up out of turn, stuttering, crying, interrupting an adult. All of that. He hadn’t meant to. He really, really hadn’t meant to. And he didn’t want anyone mad at him.

“S-sorry,” he repeated, his voice still muffled into the blanket he’d buried his face in.

He felt Martha shift him in her arms until he was sitting up in her lap, and he held himself as still as he could, even while his body shook with every sob.

One week. At least. Maybe more, since he’d misbehaved around other people, not just for Ma or Pa. They’d keep him down in the basement for at least a week because of this. Plus the incident at the shoe store. Pa had already been angry enough about that.

And it was so dark down there, in the basement. Dark and cold.

He should have known better. He should have done better.

“Clark, sweetie, you’re…you’re not in trouble.” Martha rubbed his back softly now, and she seemed to hold him just a little tighter for a second as her words hit him. He wasn’t in trouble? But… He carefully looked up at her, sniffling as he sat back a bit. Her eyes looked sad, like Jonathan’s, and he glanced sideways to where the man sat, still and quiet.

Jonathan cleared his throat and gave Clark another careful smile. But then the man took a deep breath and shook his head. “Clark, buddy, so… Do you remember the accident?”

His heart sped up a bit as he blinked and looked away from Jonathan. There had been an accident? He closed his eyes. He didn’t…remember anything after—

“It’s a long drive. I don’t wanna hear a peep from ya, understand, boy?”

Clark nodded quickly and looked outside at the rain pounding down as Pa pulled the car out of the parking lot and turned right, back toward the highway.

It had been raining when they’d left Wichita. Had there…been an accident? Where were Ma and Pa? Is that why his head hurt so much?

He reached up slowly and touched the spot on his cheek where the doctor had put a small bandage. As his fingers came in contact with the bandage, the skin underneath stung, and he pulled his hand away.

“Wh-what…?” He shook his head and forced himself to look at Martha first and then at Jonathan. “N-no. I-I don’t…”

His stomach hurt now too. Not the aching of hunger, but something stronger, sharper, and more…dizzying. He lowered his face into his hands and shook his head again.

“There’s no easy way to say this, buddy. There was an accident, a car crash. Your parents…they didn’t survive the crash, buddy.”

Martha held him to her. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

“Dammit, Jake, slow down already! Why the hell are you in such a hurry?”

“Shut up, woman! I know how to drive.”

Clark swallowed hard and closed his eyes as he pulled his knees up to his chest in the backseat. He’d stopped watching outside a while ago; it was raining so hard, he really couldn’t see much past the edge of the road anyways. But he hated when they yelled at each other, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset either of them more than they were already upset now. He was already in enough trouble from the shoe store. He’d probably have to go to bed without dinner again.

“Jake! Watch out!”

“What the—”

The memory faded with sounds of squealing tires, a curse, and then darkness. And pain. He’d…hit his head. But…

He sat up straighter, pulling away from Martha. Didn’t survive. What did…what did that mean? It couldn’t mean…

“N-no. No.” They couldn’t be…dead. They couldn’t be… They were his parents—okay, so they weren’t actually his parents, they’d reminded him of that all the time. But they couldn’t be…gone. They couldn’t… They’d always said… Clark shook his head. It just couldn’t be true. “N-no.”

He jumped up out of Martha’s arms, pushing away the blanket as his feet landed on the floor. Immediately, his vision swam, the lights in the room dancing around, and the pulsing pain in his head came back with a vengeance. He doubled over as he brought his hands up to his temples, and then he sank down to the ground, unable to hold himself upright.

The next thing he knew, two strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him up off the ground, and he felt himself cradled against Jonathan’s chest. Tears stung his eyes, and this time, he didn’t fight it. He let himself cry, curling up and covering his face with his hands.

Voice swirled around him, but he couldn’t seem to hear any actual words. Just…feelings and warmth and the same sense of gentleness he’d felt from Martha.

After a few minutes, Clark’s tears slowed and then stopped, and somehow, he managed to steady his breathing. But he kept his eyes closed and his face covered. After all, he didn’t want…

“Don’t no one want to be seein’ you starin’ at ’em. Keep yer eyes to yerself. Ya got that, boy? Don’t screw this up, or you’ll never get outta that house again.”

Pa had been perfectly clear just before they’d gotten out of the car that morning. And that had always been the rule anyways: don’t look at people, don’t look them in the eye, and definitely don’t stare.

Ma and Pa had strictly enforced that rule. And although Clark had always tried his best to follow their rules, he had messed up all the time.

He tensed as he realized he’d already broken so many of their other rules, even just in the last few minutes since he’d woken up here, with Martha and Jonathan. He’d looked at both of them. And he’d spoken up, out of turn, interrupted them, cried…

“This is yer punishment, boy! Don’t you be cryin’ again, ya hear? Be glad yer here with me and Ma, and be glad some o’er people didn’t find ya. They wouldn’t be so nice as me.”

Clark flinched as terror filled him. What…would his punishment be here? Did they have a basement they’d send him to? Or…did Jonathan have a belt like Pa’s? And what if they had different rules? They hadn’t told him any of their rules yet. How many had he already broken? How much had he already misbehaved?

“Clark, sweetie,” Martha said, her voice coming from a few feet away, “I’m so sorry about your parents. Jonathan and I…”

He felt the arms holding him shift ever so slightly, and he screwed his eyes shut tighter, preparing himself. They’d tell him now about all the rules he’d broken and what his punishment was. And he deserved it all, he knew. Probably he deserved more.

However, when Martha spoke again, her voice was still quiet and gentle. “Jonathan and I want you to feel at home here, for however long you stay. If there’s anything—anything at all—you need or want, we want you to feel comfortable speaking up. Okay, sweetie?”

Clark let out a short breath and managed to open his eyes partway, turning his head a little until he could see her. But then he remembered—gosh, why was he always so forgetful in the first place?—and twisted his head back to look away. Don’t look at people. Right.

And she’d addressed him directly; it would be rude and disrespectful if he didn’t answer. He didn’t really remember what she’d said, so he just nodded.

“Dinner is gonna get cold. How about we eat, and then we’ll get you settled in for the night? How does that sound, buddy?” Jonathan asked.

“’Kay,” Clark said. Slowly, he sat up, and Jonathan helped him sit in his own chair. Then, Martha scooted her chair closer to his, and he watched silently as she put a huge portion of spaghetti on a plate. His eyes widened when she set the plate in front of him and then again when Jonathan added a piece of toast and some green vegetables to his plate as well. He bit his lower lip and glanced at Martha for just a second before lowering his eyes to the table once more.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Another direct question. And he couldn’t lie—at least, not about this. He was only allowed to lie about one thing.

His voice trembled, but he answered honestly. “Th-that’s…a l-lot of—of food.”

It was only part of the answer, but his words didn’t want to work right, and he felt his heart start to pound in his chest as he prepared himself for a reprimand. He couldn’t complain about food. He wasn’t allowed to complain at all. Ma hated that.

“Oh,” Martha said quietly.

“You just eat what you want, buddy. You don’t have to eat all of it. Okay?” Jonathan set a hand lightly on Clark’s shoulder, and he flinched again, readying himself for the yelling and…worse.

But it didn’t come.

That was all Jonathan had to say. The hand on his shoulder squeezed him gently and then dropped away.

“Would you like some milk, Clark? Milk is always my favorite when we’re having pasta,” Martha said.

Milk.

Clark swallowed hard and lifted his eyes again, looking out across the table. An empty glass sat next to his plate, and Martha had stood, holding a small pitcher of milk in one hand while reaching out toward Clark’s glass with the other.

He loved milk. But it was…not something he’d had in a long time. Were they really going to let him have it?

With a quick nod, he looked up at Martha again, and she gave him a smile. “Perfect.” Then, she poured him about half of the glass—and it was a big glass!—before sitting back down.

“Why don’t we eat now?” Jonathan suggested, and as Clark watched, his hands clasped together in his lap, Martha and Jonathan picked up their forks and began to eat.

After a moment, Clark reached toward his own fork, his hand shaking ever so slightly. And when he took his first bite of the spaghetti, he closed his eyes to savor the flavor. It was so good! The sauce was so yummy. And it even had bits of meat in it! He’d never had sauce with meat in it before.

“Do you like it, sweetie?”

Clark opened his eyes and turned his head toward Martha, although he tried his best to not look directly at her. “Y-yes. Yes, I-I d-do. Th-thank you.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear that.”

Clark blinked with confusion and looked back down at his plate. She sounded so…honest or…something. There was another word for it, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. He should know. Ma had always told him he should know more. But right now, he couldn’t find the word he wanted, the word that could describe how Martha seemed…like she really meant what she said. Like she really was happy to hear that he liked the food.

And he’d never…had anyone ask that or…or care.

He reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek and then took another bite of his spaghetti.


Comments

Thank you all for your comments! 🥰

This Clark's backstory is very sad, for sure, and we're going to find out more very soon. 💔

Sorry I let this sort of drop off, I've been super, super busy IRL. Going to post chapter 2 now and then disappear for another week to meet some work deadlines.

Michael

FoLCs, the Kerth Ceremony Log is now online!

https://www.kerthawards.com/ka/2024-kerth-awards/2024-ceremony/

Michael

OK, so this is a little something I wrote out of frustration over the total lack of Lara/Jonathan-interactions in the show. Set roughly at the end of Season 3. I'm...not totally satisfied with how it came out (somehow it sounded all better in my head lol) but anyway, here it is. Enjoy!

***

It was one of those afternoons when Jonathan Kent was sitting in his room at home on the farm and didn't really have much to do. His shift at the fire department had ended an hour ago, and Smallville wasn't exactly what you'd call a particularly exciting town. He had had to give up football for obvious reasons, and outside of that he had almost no friends to hang out with. His family was also pretty busy: his father was saving people from an earthquake somewhere in India. His mother had holed up in her office at the Gazette to try and find evidence against Lex Luthor so he could be put back in prison where he belongs. (She happily ignored the fact that she had played a role in his release.) And Jordan...I dunno. He was probably trying to get closer to Sarah Cortez again. Some people just didn't understand the term "toxic relationship," Jon thought with an internal snort. Not that he could really talk much himself - after all, his relationship with Candice was anything but a prime example of what a healthy relationship should be. Some distance and thinking had made him realize this.

So in short: Jonathan was alone, had finished his homework, and was bored. He was mindlessly scrolling through various social media accounts on his phone... when the phone in question suddenly started ringing. A number he didn't recognize appeared on the screen. Confused but curious, Jon decided to answer the call.

"Hello, Jonathan Kent?"

The voice that came from the other end of the line was probably the last one he expected to hear.

"Hello Jonathan. I'm glad to hear I was able to reach you."

It took a moment before Jon managed to place his voice.
"...Lara?"

"Oh, nice, you remember me. And yes, that's correct."

Jon stammered, not a little irritated. "You... You can, um, make a phone call? Like... on your cell phone?"

"Well, it required some modification, but of course. I'm the central program of a computer system based on technology far more advanced than anything this planet has to offer. So why shouldn't I be able to do it?"

"That's...fair, I guess," Jonathan agrees. "It's just that Dad never mentioned that the Fortress had a phone number."

Lara mimicked a noise that somehow sounded a lot like a laugh. (Krypton AI's could do that? Strange.) "I don't think Kal knows that yet. It wasn't something he initiated, to be honest. It seemed like a necessity to me, though, since apparently not all members of the Hausel El have an easy way to access this facility - and even for those who do, it can certainly provide an easier alternative."

Jon sobered up. "Yeah, great family Fortress. Why did Dad think it was such a great idea to build it somewhere in the ocean where only he and Jordan could easily get to?" he grumbled quietly to himself.

However, Lara seemed to have excellent hearing as she responded. "That is also incomprehensible to me. In general, my son doesn't seem very interested in introducing his descendants to Kryptonian culture and history, and in your case, even having access to this data. Not to mention more basic aspects such as medical ones investigation or access to an emergency location transmitter."
"A what?" Jon was confused until he understood. "Oh, yes, an ELT. That would have come in handy...a few times."

"I agree. Since you cannot reach this facility on your own and Kal doesn't seem to have the time or desire to bring you here for an extended period of time, I have decided to contact you myself. I have a few questions that I think I would and should like to ask them personally."

Jon was now somewhat intrigued. "Uh, thank you? And, uh, what do you want to know?"

"Well, first of all, I'm curious as to why you seem to reject everything Kryptonian."

Jon was shocked at this. "What makes you think I'm doing this? I mean, it's not like I'm included in any of this or like it's important to me. After all, genetically, I'm more human and all."

Now it was Lara, whose generated voice sounded confused. "I apologize if I came to the wrong conclusions. Since Kal and Jordan so rarely bring you or even mention you, I always assumed there was a disinterest on your part. Jordan himself isn't exactly interested in our technology or culture, that Most of the time he uses this facility to train his abilities generated by the yellow solar radiation. I just assumed that Kal, despite his extensive training, has become too assimilated into human society and therefore not able to adapt to your Kryptonian one "Is that incorrect and you've been kept from information against your will? And what exactly do you mean by being more human? That's not how genetics works."

"OK, well, sure, but I don't have powers and Jordan does. And that, well, that's what it's about, right?"

"What do you mean?"

Jon got a little nervous. It wasn't really something he usually liked to talk about. "We were both raised as humans. Dad was too. It's just that...if we didn't have powers, then, in theory, we'd be just as human as everyone else. In the sense that we're indistinguishable from them could, if that makes sense?"

"I'll follow. Please continue!"

"But the powers make Dad and Jordan different from humans in a way that they can't ignore. That's kind of the aspect that makes it impossible for them not to see themselves as Kryptonians in some way. And, well, I have that problem "Not really, because I don't have any powers."

"Are you implying that your father and brother reduce their Kryptonian side to their enhanced abilities?" Lara sounded…kind of annoyed at that statement?

"Um...I guess so? It's kind of what makes us strange...?"

"That's...not a definition I would subscribe to. Jonathan, are you aware that Kryptonians on our planet had no "superpowers" as we humans call them at all?"

"Yes, yes."

"There are many things that it means to be Kryptonian. We have thousands of years of history and culture, science and technology. Your father should know better!" OK, now she was clearly pissed.

"I'm sure he does," Jon tried to reassure her. "It's just...not really that important to him in everyday life? Because...it's not like he can get much use out of it, he can't talk to other people about it and stuff."

"What do you mean? As I understand it, Kal-El is a recognized public figure on your planet, regularly appearing in the media for his achievements. That should give him ample opportunities to speak about his legacy!"

Jon began to have a suspicion that he needed to confirm. "Um, yeah, but...you understand that he's not Superman most of the time, right?"

"...No? The name is, in fact, very pretentious and unnecessary, but what are you trying to imply?"

Oh man. Really Dad?!

On the other hand, why would it be important for AI? All right, he had to explain.

"Dad has...a 'secret identity', so to speak. That means when he's 'Clark Kent', people think he's a normal human. This works because he was raised by our grandparents - sorry, adoptive grandparents - when he was a baby."

"That's good. I understand why you consider them family, and that's completely legitimate."

Jon sighed in relief. "Oh good. Well, because Grandma and Grandpa found him when he was a toddler, long before he developed any powers, he has a full human identity and everything. And then at some point he decided that he wanted to use his powers to help people and to protect. But so that everyone doesn't just know who he is, he came up with Superman."

"That seems confusing to me...but I suppose it makes some sense. But how would he fool people? It's not like he's using holographic technology or anything like that to hide his identity. People have to know it."

"It's kind of funny. He wears glasses as Clark, moves a little differently, acts more relaxed and stuff."

Silence for a few seconds. Then.

"That's all? I would have rated people's intelligence higher."

Jon felt a bit offended. "Hey, to be fair here, most people don't exactly expect them to be the same person, and "Clark Kent" isn't exactly someone whose face is known outside of those who have a lot to do with him. Dad likes to say , people see what they expect. I mean, we're his kids and we didn't find out until we were fourteen and-"

"WHAT?!"

Oh yeah. Maybe should have picked up that bomb.

"He has withheld your heritage, your identity, who you are and who he is for so long? That is unhealthy in so many ways..."

"Yeah, we weren't happy about it either. To be honest, I feel pretty stupid about it sometimes. I always wonder if I would have noticed if I had been more careful..."

"Oh, I'm not disappointed in you or your brother, but in your father. We'll talk about it!"

Great. Knowing Dad, he would probably blame Jon for this. Joy!

"But that brings me back to one of the original reasons for my call. Would you be interested in learning more about Krypton? You strike me as an intelligent and curious boy. Less...repellent than your brother!"

Jon swallowed. How was he supposed to explain that without being an ass? "Jordan is...it's a little complicated. He has...social issues and isn't really good at mentally focusing on things."

"Another fact Kal forgot to mention," Lara said, audibly dissatisfied. "If it's something medical, the Fortress might be able to help fix the problem, depending on what's causing it. And even if not, it gives me the opportunity to better tailor any lessons to his condition."

"Oh cool. That's probably good. He's kind of frustrated because Dad won't really let him do anything except fight holograms..."

"So I guess I'll have to talk to him about creating false expectations too..." Lara grumbled. (AI's can do that? It's exciting to see what was possible.)

This thought brought Jon back to the original topic. "But to answer your question...I don't know if and to what extent I'm interested in Krypton...but I'd like to find out. There's definitely a lot of exciting things to discover."

"That's what I'm assuming. I remember the one time you were here you were trying to find a Kryptonian solution to your mother's illness. I don't have any options for that, but perhaps you would like to explore Kryptonian applications Exploring technology. Maybe there's something useful that can be adapted for people. Kal doesn't seem really interested in that side of things." And now Lara actually sounded a little sad.

"That sounds interesting. But I don't really know how it's supposed to work. It's not like I can keep asking Dad or Jordan to fly me over..."

"We'll find solutions to this. First of all, if you would like that, can I create a mobile app version of some of the data in this facility that you can use on your phone or computer?"

Jon couldn't help but give a little excited jump in his seat. "Sounds like a great idea, if that's possible..."

"Absolutely. It will take some time to compress the data accordingly, but that's what I'm here for. And we'll discuss everything else soon. It's my declared goal to make the lives of all members of the House of El as easy and pleasant as possible in the best interests of everyone involved. That includes you."

"That...that's good to hear! And, and maybe you should call or text Dad and Jordan too so they know you have a phone number now. Oh, and Mom too."

"I will. This was a very informative conversation. I hope we will have more to do with each other in the future."

That would be nice, Jon thought. "Me too. You know, I think Grandma Martha would have liked you a lot."

"Oh, that's good to hear. Well then, see you soon, Jonathan-El"

"Bye". There was a click on the line.

Well, that was...a much more interesting afternoon than Jon could have expected. Dinner tonight would certainly have plenty to talk about too.

**


Aand that's it! Feel free to tell me what you think, all constructive criticism is appreciated! FDK can go right below.

Oh, and the credit for the long-form of "ELT" (since the show apparently never gave it to us) goes to HatMan, so thanks for that one.