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Complete Ficlet and FDK

Complete Ficlet
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Complete Ficlet and FDK

Complete Ficlet
Comments

Complete Ficlet
Comments

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."

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

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.

Groaning, he pulled out a chair, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.

He was exhausted. He felt as if every ounce of energy had been leeched from him.

His strange alien strength helped him physically, but it had done nothing to help him through the emotional and mental trauma of the past year.

If only he could… He fiercely squashed all thought of giving up before the idea had even properly formed. He couldn’t give up. He had to keep going, keep providing steady support, keep being there… until his mom was ready to move on.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to decide what he should do now.

Where was Lois? Why had she –

Then, he heard it.

The motor of the rental car.

It was getting closer.

He looked through the walls again and saw the little car decrease speed, indicate, and then turn into their gate and drive towards the house.

Lois was back! His mood lifted; his exhaustion fell away.

He put on his glasses and flew up the stairs to the bathroom to wash up.


Chapter 5

Lois came into the farm kitchen, her bag on her arm and a pizza box in her hand.

She had successfully driven to Smallville, located the pizza store, ordered one she hoped Clark would like, and found her way home along the unlit and unfamiliar roads, despite panicking several times that she had missed the gate to the Kent farm.

She put the pizza on the table, feeling pretty good. She’d found a way around the ‘fix Clark’s supper’ conundrum, and her concerns about Martha weren’t enough to tarnish her anticipation of a meal with Clark.

“Hi, Lois,” he said, appearing in the doorway. “Mom’s not feeling well, so it’s just us.”

“Yes, she told me.” He had changed out of his farm clothes and was wearing jeans and a blue and white striped shirt with the long sleeves folded up to his elbows. The top couple of buttons were loose, giving her a peek at his chest. “I… ah, I got pizza. I hope that’s OK.”

Clark grinned. “It’s better than OK,” he said. “I’m starving.”

“I wasn’t sure which ones you like.”

“All of them,” he said. “Would you like to sit on the front porch to eat?”

“Yes, I would,” she said. “The sunset last night was spectacular.”

“We’ve missed it for tonight,” Clark said as he took down two plates. “But it’ll be nice out there anyway. Would you like a drink? I have some root beer.”

“Yes, please.”

He added two glasses to the plates and took a bottle from the fridge. “All set?”

“Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Five minutes later, they were seated – Lois on the couch and Clark on the seat, with the pizza between them. Clark had turned on a light at the corner, and it lit enough to see but not enough to dispel the cosy atmosphere.

“Are you cold?” Clark asked.

“Not yet.”

“There are blankets if you need them,” he said, handing her a glass of root beer.

“OK. Thanks.”

They opened the pizza box, and each took a slice.

“Have you checked on Bess?” Lois asked.

“Yes. No change.”

“Did you bring up all the apples?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a grin.

“Just checking.”

“You don’t want to be the farmhand, do you?” he said. “You’re going straight for the farm manager position.”

Lois grinned around her pizza. “Of course.”

They ate in silent tribute to their hunger and the quiet stillness of the evening as it closed in around them.

Lois finished her piece of pizza and sat back in her chair, sipping on her root beer. “Will Martha be all right?” she asked.

“I hope so.”

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Yeah.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

Lois leaned forward so she could see Clark’s face. “It’s not something bad, is it? Not cancer or something like that?”

He shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

He picked up the pizza box and offered it to Lois. After she’d taken a piece, he also took one. He put the box on the couch and picked up his glass. He sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. He sighed. "She's mourning."

“Mourning?”

Clark nodded. “For my father.”

“Oh no. Clark. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“The first anniversary is next month.” He continued to stare ahead, his pizza and drink seemingly forgotten.

“Clark! Why did you insist I stay here? The last thing she needs is a stranger in her home.”

His head turned slowly towards her. “You are exactly what she needs.” He shrugged, lifting tired shoulders. “Actually, I don’t know what she needs, but I was hoping you being here would help keep her from slipping into the blackness.”

“Has she been struggling with that?” Lois asked gently.

Clark nodded. “I think so. She won’t talk to me. She won’t tell me what she’s feeling. I just know she’s hurting so bad and there’s nothing I can do to help her.”

Lois reached over to put her hand on Clark’s forearm. “I’m so sorry, Clark. This has to be incredibly difficult for you.”

“So, we go on pretending. Pretending everything is OK. Pretending we didn’t lose Dad. Pretending he was never a part of us.”

“I noticed there are no photos.”

“Mom took them all down. She said she couldn’t bear to be reminded of everything she’d lost.”

“They were close? Your parents?”

Clark laughed grimly. “About as close as two people can be. Mom lost her husband, her best friend, her confidante, and her work partner. She lost a part of herself. I don’t know how anyone is supposed to recover from that.”

As much as he was hurting, as much as he had lost, Lois felt a little spray of envy. Imagine having parents who loved each other that much.

Their skin contact under her hand had begun to warm, reminding Lois she was still touching him. She withdrew her hand. “You lost your dad,” she said. “I am so sorry, Clark.”

He nodded, still staring ahead. With a flash of insight, Lois suspected that Clark had been so worried about his mom, he had barely grieved for his father.

“Thursdays are always bad,” he said. “I finally got Mom to go to grief counselling, but I don’t know if it is a good idea or not.”

“It doesn’t help?” Lois asked.

“Not noticeably. Not in the short term. She always feels terrible when she gets home.”

“She… she hasn’t mentioned your dad. Not once.”

“She doesn’t. Not anymore.”

Which meant Clark probably didn’t get to talk about his dad either. “Tell me about him,” Lois said.

Clark settled further into the chair and sipped from his glass. “He was the hardest working man I’ve ever known. He loved every inch of the farm. He knew every bit of it. He could tell you the history of each field – when it was sown, what with, when it was hayed, when it was grazed, when the fences were replaced.”

“The farm was his life,” Lois said, reflecting that a week ago, she wouldn’t have had any notion of what that might mean. Now… now at least she understood it was possible.

“No,” Clark said with a short laugh. “Mom was his life. As much as he loved the farm, he loved Mom more.”

Clark’s broad shoulders had carried a formidable load. He had been trying to work on the farm by himself while also trying to support and comfort his mother through her grief, and, almost as an aside, mourn the loss of his father.

Lois shivered.

“Are you cold?” Clark asked.

She wasn’t, but the thought of a blanket was surprisingly inviting. “A little.”

“I’m sorry. I should have realised. Do you want to move inside?”

She didn’t want to risk their conversation by moving. “You said there are blankets.”

Clark stood, walked over to a chest, and brought out a blanket. He tucked it around her knees. “Better?”

“Much,” she said. “Thanks.” She gestured to the couch beside her. “Sit there so we can share the blanket when you get cold.”

He sat down, just a few inches away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before,” he said. “I should have. I should have warned you Mom was going to the grief counsellor today.”

“Is that why you took me apple picking? So Martha could have some time and space when she got home?”

“Partially.”

“Partially?”

His mouth flickered to an almost smile. “And partially because the apples needed picking. And because Mom usually does it and it tires her because she has to climb on a ladder to get the high ones.”

“I think you’re an incredible son,” Lois said. “She’s fortunate to have you.”

“I don’t think I’ve been able to make this past year any easier for her.”

“I bet you have,” Lois said. “You probably don’t realise how much difference you’ve made.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“What’s one of the best memories of your dad?” Lois asked.

He glanced at her. “Are you sure you want to talk about him? You never even met him.”

More than anything, Lois wanted to give Clark the chance to talk about his dad. “Would you like to talk about him?”

Clark didn’t answer for a long, stretched moment. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Then I’d like to listen.”

He did say anything as the seconds ticked by. Lois looked at his bare forearm and wondered if he’d mind if she reached out to touch him again. She was still debating with herself when Clark started speaking.

“This is cattle country,” he said. “Cattle and wheat mostly. About thirteen years ago, Dad decided he wanted to try sheep. The other farmers thought he was crazy, but he bought in twenty ewes and a couple of rams. The very first ewe to lamb had twins – one good size ram lamb and one tiny ewe lamb. She rejected the ewe lamb, so Dad brought the little mite to the barn and bottle fed her. He fed her every couple of hours, day and night, for almost a month. He kept her warm. She survived. She started to grow. When he weaned her at three months, she was almost the same size as the rest of the lambs.”

“Did he give her a name?”

“He called her Sarah.”

“Your dad sounds like a great farmer and a fine man,” Lois said. But she was thinking how easily she could imagine Clark doing exactly as he’d described.

“He believed everything deserved a chance. The small, sickly, weak, rejected, different, alone, vulnerable – he took them all in and did his best to help them.”

“Do you still have that lamb?”

“We lost her a couple of years ago,” Clark said. “But nine of our current ewes are from her – daughters, granddaughters… One of them is called Sarah.”

“That’s a wonderful story,” Lois said.

“That one had a great ending. Others didn’t. Dad tried to help many hopeless cases. Mostly, he couldn’t save them. Occasionally, he did. Either way, they always got his best effort.”

“I think your father would be proud of how you’re continuing his farm.”

“I wish…”

Lois waited, figuring there were many things Clark wished.

“I wish I could do something to help my mother. Dad would have known what to do.”

Lois leaned over and rested her head against Clark’s shoulder. “You’ve been here for her. You’ve supported her.”

“I wish she’d stop pretending everything is OK. I know she’s pretending. She knows I know. Nothing I’ve done or said has changed that.”

“Why were you so adamant that I come up to the house on that first day?”

“Because you didn’t look like you should be driving. Because you looked like you needed some help. And…”

“And?”

“And because that’s what we used to do. Mom has always loved helping people. We used to have guests in our home. People we knew, people who just needed somewhere to stay, people visiting, people dropping in for a cup of coffee, people…”

“Hysterical women sobbing uncontrollably.”

“Yes,” he said, his tone a little lighter. “Hysterical women sobbing uncontrollably, too. Luckily, there hasn’t been any of those for a long time.”

“Liar!” Lois sensed he was smiling at that and wished she could see his face. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”

“I have run out of ideas for how to get us back to where we used to be. Not ‘back’ obviously. But something… something better than what we have now.”

“You told me Martha would be annoyed if you’d let me drive away. And when we got to the kitchen, she seemed really pleased I had come.”

“Mom has always loved having guests. She’s a natural hostess. That’s who she is. But since… since we lost Dad, she has had to work at just being who she’s always been.” He lifted his hands in frustration. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

“Maybe who she’s always been was so tightly tied to your father that she’s having to rediscover herself.”

“Maybe.”

“I guess it feels as if you’ve lost both of them.”

He shifted in the chair, turning his head to her, and his eyes darted into hers. “That’s exactly how it feels,” he said. “I’ve just never thought of it like that.”

“Aw, Clark.”

He settled back, and Lois returned her head to his shoulder.

The peacefulness seemed to descend around them, enclosing them together, and Lois hoped Clark could feel it too. Did he want to be quiet? Or continue to talk? She thought of a question and decided to risk it. “Did you have a different job before your father passed away?”

“An off-farm job?”

“Mm-hm.”

“No. I worked on the farm with Dad.”

So now Clark was doing double the farm work while trying to support Martha.

Most of the men in Lois’s world – her father, various boyfriends, some colleagues – were selfish men, driven only by the need to please themselves.

But Clark Kent, he was different.

“Do you think it would help if I asked Martha to take me into Smallville tomorrow?” Lois said. “Maybe we could have lunch in a café. Or browse some stores.”

“That’s a great idea,” Clark said, although his tone was less enthusiastic than his words. “But please don’t be offended if she refuses. She hasn’t been into the café since… well, for a long time.”

“She might say there’s too much work to do,” Lois predicted.

“Lois, there’s always too much work to do,” Clark said, sounding weary. “Sometimes, you have to put the work aside and do something that isn’t work.”

“I’ll ask her.”

“Thank you.” He shifted a little, and somehow, they edged a little closer. “You obviously found Smallville OK? And the pizza store?”

“Uh huh.”

“On the road to Smallville, there’s a sharp turn then a steep hill leading to a bridge.”

“Yes,” Lois said, “I remember that.”

“It’s OK when it’s dry, but once the rain comes, it gets very slippery. The locals know to slow right down.”

“Thanks for the warning,” she said, wondering if he was trying to tell her she was welcome to stay until the rain came next week.

They fell silent. Lois arranged the blanket over Clark’s knees and then settled against his side, appreciating his warmth as the temperature dropped. It was more than warmth, though. There was a feeling of togetherness, of sharing. Something hard to describe, but definitely there. Definitely real.

Half an hour later, Lois could feel lethargy creeping through her body. “I’m tired,” she said.

“Me, too.”

She stood and dropped a quick, awkward hug to his shoulders. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.” She took the blanket and folded it, depositing it on the couch. “You and your mom will find each other again,” she said. “You’ll both keep working at it until you do.”

He looked up. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because that’s what your dad would want.”

He stood and stepped towards her. “Thanks, Lois,” he said. “Thanks for listening. And for the pizza.”

She lightly patted his chest. “Goodnight, Clark.”

“Goodnight, Lois.”

~~~~

Clark sat on one bale of hay, leaning back into another, and watched Bess twenty yards away as she sat chewing her cud.

There was no sign of labour, but that wasn’t why he was here.

His mind was full of Lois.

And the effect she had on him.

He hadn’t talked to anyone about losing his father. No one. In the early, horrific days of shock, his only thought had been to try to help his mother. A few friends had enquired after him, but he’d brushed them away.

When the funeral was over and the friends had drifted back to their own lives and he and his mother had begun the impossible task of rebuilding something salvageable, it had become clear that Martha had changed.

Talking about his father, even in the most everyday way, had inflicted unbearable pain on his grieving mother.

Therefore, Clark had learned to say nothing. He’d learned to pretend that everything was OK. That nothing had changed. That his dad had never been a part of their lives.

But Lois…

Lois, seemingly without any great effort or intent, had loosed his tongue and got him talking.

That was earth-shattering enough.

But then there was her compassion. Her understanding.

Her touches.

Soft, gentle, touches that had felt as if she’d taken hold of his tired and aching heart and saturated it with…

Something.

Concern? Compassion?

Maybe love. In a strictly platonic sense, of course.

But he couldn’t dwell on that. He couldn’t even allow ‘Lois’ and ‘love’ to co-exist in his mind together.

Because he knew how precariously he was teetering on the edge of falling in love with Lois Lane.

And that…

That was simply asking for more heartache.

He couldn’t allow himself to be that foolish.

Lois was possibly involved with Jack, although the more he knew Lois the less he thought that was likely.

Lois was a modern, city-loving, independent woman, with a successful and exciting career.

He was an old-fashioned farmer, who devoted most of his time to soil, land, animals, and crops.

She would never consider living on the farm. He couldn’t leave it.

Even if they both wanted something between them – which was highly unlikely – it simply wasn’t possible.

Tomorrow, he had to work on the new fence in the sheep field. It should have been done last week. He would have to start at dawn and continue by the lights of the tractor after dark.

He didn’t mind the long days.

He did mind that he probably wouldn’t see Lois for the next two days.

He would be gone before she was up and get back after she’d gone to bed.

He could have done the whole job in five minutes.

But that would cause his mother a lot of stress and anxiety, and he couldn’t do that to her.

His parents had always worried that people would discover his strangeness and he would be taken away from them. But they had always assumed that, as terrible as it would be, they would face it together.

Now…

Now, if that ever happened, his mom would be alone.

He couldn’t risk that.

He couldn’t add further fear to her overload of grief.

So, he worked at a pace that would seem entirely reasonable to any and every neighbour who happened to look over Clark’s fields.

The work was piling up.

His frustration was escalating.

And all he wanted to do was spend time with Lois.

~~~~

When Lois walked into the kitchen the next morning, Martha was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Martha,” Lois said. “I hope you are feeling much better.”

“I am, thank you, honey,” Martha said. “And I’m sorry I was short with you yesterday.”

“You weren’t short with me,” Lois said, sending her a smile.

“Would you like some breakfast? Clark has taken his. He went out early.”

“Is it Bess?”

“No. He has a week’s worth of fencing to do and two days to do it. The jobs keep adding up when he’s busy with something like the hay.”

“Can I get breakfast for you?” Lois asked.

“I had breakfast with Clark,” Martha said. “I can cook bacon and eggs for you.”

“Toast is fine, and I can get it,” Lois said. “You stay there and enjoy your coffee. What are you planning to do today?”

“Firstly, pick the apples and then start processing them.”

Lois cut two slices from the loaf and dropped them into the toaster. “We picked them yesterday,” she said.

“You and Clark?” Martha asked, not sounding particularly pleased.

“Yes. Is that OK?”

Martha smiled, but Lois saw that it was a little forced. “Of course, it’s OK, honey,” she said. “I just worry Clark won’t get all his work done, so I don’t like him doing mine.”

“We filled six baskets,” Lois said, getting a butter knife from the drawer.

“That’s great,” Martha said. “We can make a start on cutting them up as soon as you’ve finished your breakfast.”

“I know we have a lot to do,” Lois said, “But would you like to go into Smallville today? We could have coffee at a café. Maybe look at some stores. I need more clothes.”

“Of course, you can go to Smallville,” Martha said. “But I won’t.”

“It’s not much fun having coffee by yourself,” Lois noted.

“No. Thank you,” Martha said, her tone final.

Lois and Martha spent the entire day cutting and peeling the apples. They started the apple cider vinegar with the peels and cores. They cooked and canned applesauce. The canned pie apples. Martha made a variety of apple cakes and apple puddings to put in the freezer.

She was a little subdued and not particularly talkative but did answer politely whenever Lois asked her a question. Lois wondered where her thoughts went during the silences.

To memories of her husband?

To her session with the counsellor?

To her future… without the man she loved.

As Martha prepared a quick supper for them, she told Lois that Clark had taken his with him and wouldn’t be in until long after dark.

It was a little after nine when Lois hauled her aching back and tired shoulders up the stairs. Her thoughts turned to the previous evening spent on the porch with Clark.

She had missed him today.

She had enjoyed their evening together – enjoyed their closeness as Clark had opened up about his father’s death and his concerns for his mother.

Today, in the quietness, Lois had found herself thinking about the family she had stumbled upon. She’d thought about the missing husband and father. She’d though about the grieving widow. Mostly, she’d thought about the son who was trying so gallantly to fill the void left by his father.

As far as she could see, he’d done it alone.

Lois wished she could help him in some way.

He – and Martha – had done so much for her.

Once in bed, Lois’s thoughts went through the darkness to somewhere on the farm where Clark was building a fence, working by tractor light.

Was he cold?

Hungry?

Lonely?

Annoyed at Jack’s continuing absence?

Frustrated at being behind in his work?

Martha had said that tomorrow was to be a repeat of today. Apples for them, fencing for Clark.

Maybe if they were able to get the apples done by mid-afternoon, Martha would let Lois take some lemonade and cake to Clark.

She would ask.

Because a day without seeing Clark had felt strangely empty.

Clark leant back against the barn wall. Was it wrong that he’d wondered if there was any chance that Lois would fall asleep on the bale?

He’d carried calves, lambs, children in his arms. But nothing and no one had left the impression that Lois Lane had.

He’d already been fascinated.

Then he’d lifted her into his arms, and it had felt as if she belonged right there.

And when she’d snuggled closer against his chest…

That was a moment he would never forget.

He laughed quietly, recalling how Lois had questioned him about whether he’d eaten his supper.

Did she – even the tiniest bit – care for him? Or was she merely parroting his mom?

Possibly neither, he accepted, as he stood, cast a final eye over Bess, switched off the lights, and headed home.


Chapter 4

Lois sped down the stairs two at a time, enticed by the delicious aroma of bacon that wafted up to meet her. Had Martha already taken Clark’s breakfast to him?

“Good morning, honey,” Martha said as Lois entered the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lois said. It was true. She had slept very well – both before and after the excursion to the barn. “Has Bess had her calf yet?”

“Not yet. Clark checked her earlier.”

“Is he on the tractor?”

“Yes. He’s doing the north-eastern fields today.”

That probably explained why Lois hadn’t been able to see the tractor when she’d looked out of the bedroom window. She scanned Martha’s pan. “Is that Clark’s breakfast?”

“No,” Martha replied. “Clark took his breakfast with him. It’s too far to take food to him.”

“Oh, OK,” Lois said, pushing aside a trickle of disappointment. “What are we doing today?”

“I have to go into Smallville after lunch,” Martha replied. “Will you be OK staying here?”

“Yes, of course,” Lois answered quickly, patting down a little flash of surprise at not being invited to accompany Martha.

“This morning, we need to can the beans and carrots.”

“Similar to yesterday?” Lois asked as she started to make herself a cup of coffee.

“Yes,” Martha said with a smile. “No need to roast them, though.”

“Hopefully I won’t need so many instructions on how to do every little thing.”

“You did fine, honey,” Martha said as she loaded up two plates and set them at the table.

They ate breakfast, talking companionably about the farm and the seasons and the weather. Again, Lois noticed how little Martha talked about people. It really did seem as if the farm was her whole world.

On the first day, Clark had said his mother would be annoyed if he didn't take Lois up to the house. And, as Lois had discovered, Martha welcomed people, including complete strangers, into her home.

But no one seemed to come. No one called.

Lois took a moment to study the older woman’s face. She looked like what she was – a kindly generous and loving lady. But the reporter in Lois was sure there was something else there, too. Something carefully concealed. Some pain or difficulty that was hidden deep.

Could she be dealing with an illness?

Was that why Clark was so concerned about her?

Maybe that was why Clark had encouraged Lois to stay – he wanted someone with his mom while he was forced to be out in the fields all day.

Being Lois, she would like to know. But she wasn’t a reporter right now. She was a guest. A guest who was grateful to Clark and Martha for many things, including that they hadn’t pressed her for answers about the disasters in her own life.

They finished breakfast, and the morning passed in a similar fashion to the previous one. The first hour was spent outside picking beans from the vines that snaked up poles in the garden and pulling bright orange carrots from the dark earth. Then, back in the kitchen, they were washed, chopped, and preserved in glass jars.

Lunch was a roast beef sandwich with salad from the garden – a hurried affair because Martha seemed impatient to get to Smallville. She’d said nothing more, giving no details, but she repeatedly checked the time, causing Lois to assume she had an appointment.

After they’d eaten, Martha went upstairs for a shower. She appeared half an hour later, dressed in a pretty floral frock and a light cardigan.

“You look lovely,” Lois said as she dried the canner.

“Thanks.” Martha motioned towards the living room. “There are books if you’d like to read,” she said. “Or perhaps a walk through the flower garden.” She smiled, but it seemed a little forced. “Just make yourself at home, honey.”

After Martha had gone, Lois wandered into the room adjacent to the kitchen. It had the feel of a display room. From the snapshot Lois had seen of the Kents’ lives, they lived outside and in the kitchen. Sitting, relaxing, and leisure seemed rare. There was a large open fireplace, so maybe this was more of a winter room.

She moved over to the bookshelf, recognising some of the titles and knowing enough of literature to realise that Martha had wide and varied interests.

The next section seemed more agricultural. She pulled out a well-read green book called The One-Straw Revolution by Masanobu Fukuoka. She flicked through the pages. There was nothing obvious to draw her to it, but it had clearly been read and referred to many times.

She took the book, stopped in the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, and wandered outside to the seat where she had shared lunch with Clark.

She sat on the log, leaned back into the trunk of the tree, drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

Somehow, she’d slipped into the world of the farm – Bess, the hay, the harvest – and it had been exactly what she had needed. It had given her time to step back from her life and the emotional maelstrom of the revelations in Metropolis. It had given her a much-needed opportunity to begin to rebalance and recover.

Jack’s delayed return had relieved the pressure to make decisions and allowed her to remain in limbo for a little longer. Clark had said she could stay as long as she wanted.

She had left Metropolis threatening never to return.

That had been anger speaking. Anger and pain at betrayal.

The anger was still there. The pain also.

But realistically, she had to return.

Didn’t she?

A week ago, she’d thought her whole life was in Metropolis – her job, her family, her man.

She’d lost all three within the space of a few hours.

What was in Metropolis to lure her back?

Nothing, she realised.

And that felt like a sharp slap to the face.

Her life so far amounted to nothing.

But if she didn’t go back to Metropolis, where would she go?

She opened her eyes and looked around.

This place was peaceful. Quiet. Ordered.

Simple. Predictable.

Clark had talked about discovering if an alternative life could be better than the one you knew.

Lois had experienced a day and a half of life on a farm.

How long could she hide in this world?

How long would it take for her to start to feel hemmed in by the routine? Constricted by the demands of the farm? How long before the need to accomplish, to do, to attain, and to progress would start to eat at the edges of her soul, infusing her with restlessness?

Maybe she should tell Martha she would leave tomorrow.

But the truth was she didn’t want to leave.

Not yet.

She wanted to see Bess’s calf. She wanted to experience more of farm life. She wanted to talk more with Clark.

And, she admitted to herself, she wanted to find out if he really was as considerate and thoughtful as he seemed.

And what of Jack?

The passing of a couple of days had given her a different perspective. She didn’t need to meet Jack Mackenzie. She certainly didn’t need the guaranteed complications of plunging into his life.

That unfortunate mess was best left alone.

If she hadn’t been so distraught, she would have known that instinctively.

Lois sipped from her coffee and picked up the book, her decision made.

She would spend one or two more days here, helping Martha however she could. Then, she would fly back to Metropolis to pack up her apartment, tie up a few loose ends, and start applying for jobs that would take her to a new life.

A life she would build for herself, relying on no one.

A life –

“Hi, Lois.”

She jumped and the book thudded on the ground. “Clark!”

“Sorry to startle you,” he said, bending low to pick up the book and sitting next to her on the log. “I didn’t realise you were so engrossed in Masanobu.”

“I… I’d barely started,” Lois said, hoping he wasn’t going to expect her to have learned anything from its pages.

He placed the book on the log between them. “Has Mom left?”

“Yes.”

“How did she seem?”

“OK,” Lois said hesitantly.

“Just OK?” There was deep concern in his eyes as they levelled in hers.

“A little quiet. And maybe a bit stressed. More so as the morning wore on.”

He nodded. “Thanks for helping her. I appreciate it more than you could realise.”

“I appreciate you taking me in, looking after me. I… I wasn’t great when I stopped at your gate.”

“I’m so glad you stopped right here,” he said with a warm smile. “Good for all of us.”

“Yeah.” She gave him a small smile. “Why aren’t you on the tractor? Another broken screw?”

“No,” he said. “I knew Mom would be in Smallville, so I thought I’d take a break and see if you’d like to come with me to the orchard to pick some apples.”

“I would like that,” Lois said. “I’ve enjoyed canning with Martha, but it’s such a beautiful day, it would be nice to spend some time outside.”

“I warn you,” he said, suddenly serious, “you’ll be making work for yourself tomorrow. Picking is just the first step.”

“Oh, I’ve learned that already.”

He flashed his rather cute smile. “Do you want to finish your coffee while I go and get the baskets?”

“No,” Lois said, realising she’d had enough of her own company. “I’ll come, too.”

Clark picked up the book, and they walked together through the garden and to the house.

~~~~

The orchard was five rows of trees, with each row containing four trees. Clark led her to the second row. “These are the apple trees,” he said. “We’ll start at this end because these are the earliest varieties. We won’t finish - the rest of them are next month’s job.”

“How do I know which ones to pick?” Lois asked. “Or do I just pick all of them?”

“Pick all from the first two trees,” Clark said. “On the third tree, gently twist the apple. If it comes off easily, it’s ready.”

Lois reached up to the nearest fruit and gave a little squeal as it dropped into her palm.

“That’s how it’s done,” Clark said with a grin.

“What do we do with the ones that have fallen?” Lois asked, looking at the fruit-littered ground around the trees.

“If they look to be in great condition, they can go in the basket.”

“If not, we just leave them there?”

“For now, yes. In about a month, we’ll let the hens in here and they’ll clean up anything we don’t take.”

“Helpful hens,” she said.

“Exactly.” Clark reached over her head. “You get the lower branches. I’ll do the higher ones.”

The work was repetitive, but neither difficult nor unpleasant. The sun shone warmly, and the breeze rustled through the leaves. Lois circled the tree, clearing the lower branches, and Clark followed, working on the higher ones.

“How is it you’re able to take time away from the hay?” she asked.

“The weather looks like holding for at least another week,” he said. “I’ve almost finished slashing. I’ll wait a few days and start the raking.”

“Are you annoyed that Jack is delayed?”

Clark didn’t answer for a time, so Lois turned to her left and looked at him. He stopped picking, faced her, and shrugged. “I’m not sure there’s much I can say to his… to Jack’s friend.”

Lois smiled at his tact. “So, you are annoyed?”

“Not annoyed.”

“Then what?”

“Concerned.”

“Why?”

“I’m concerned for Jack. I’m concerned about the reasons why he can’t get back. I’m concerned for Mom because I know she worries a lot. When Jack stopped by, asking for work, the main reason I took him on was so Mom wouldn’t be so anxious about everything getting done.”

“Did you need him? Is there too much work for you to do alone?”

Again, Clark didn’t answer immediately, and again, Lois paused to check his face. He grinned at her. “You sure do ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m a reporter,” she said automatically. She saw him regarding her thoughtfully and quickly added, “I’m not working. I’m not writing a story. I just… it’s a hard habit to break.”

“You said you like knowing everything.”

Lois nodded. “Yep. But this is just interest.” She put the apple in the basket and looked around her. “I didn’t think farm stuff would be interesting at all,” she said. “But it is.”

He smiled at that. “What were you expecting?”

She chuckled. “I was expecting I would never go onto a farm. I didn’t plan to stop at your gate. I didn’t plan to come up to your house. And I most definitely didn’t plan to stay.”

“I’m so glad you did,” he said softly.

His tone caused her heart to skip a little, and she cast another glance to his face. His concentration was on the apples, and there was nothing to suggest his words carried any deeper meaning. “Why?”

Clark stopped picking and draped his arm over a branch, facing her directly. “Mom…” He swallowed and his gaze dropped for a moment. When he looked up, there was sadness welling in those deep brown eyes. “This past year has been so difficult for Mom. I meant it when I said I’m grateful for your help but giving her some company means even more.”

“She has done so much for me,” Lois said. “You both have.”

Clark picked another couple of apples in his large hand. “Oh, and I’m concerned about you, too.”

“Me?”

“You came looking for Jack. I told you he would be here the next day. Now, we don’t know when he’ll be back. I don’t know how that affects your… your… you being so upset and all.”

Lois picked an entire mini branch of apples as she considered her response. Finally, she said, “A lot of things went horribly wrong in Metropolis. I didn’t know what to do. I had to get away. Looking for Jack seemed like a good excuse… seemed preferable to the truth.”

Clark waited for several seconds before asking, “Which was?”

“That I was running away.”

“Are you still running?”

“Nope,” she said, and wanting to drive away the melancholy atmosphere, she added, “I’m picking apples.”

He laughed, a melodious sound that somehow buried into her insides and made her feel good.

Made her realise that Clark Kent didn’t laugh enough.

Why was that?

Was it because of the pressures of the farm? Because Jack Mackenzie had been gone far longer than anticipated?

Or something else?

They had stripped two trees and made a good start on the third when the six baskets were filled.

“Leave them here, and I’ll pick them up later,” Clark said. “Are you OK to make your own way back to the house?”

“Yes, of course. Are you going back to the tractor?”

“Yes.” He checked his watch. “Should be finished before dark.”

“With enough time to check Bess?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling again. “Thanks for your help, Lois.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clark crossed to the next tree, considered the apples, chose one and picked it. He held it out to Lois. “These are the best eating apples,” he said. “Try it.”

Lois accepted it, her fingers brushing against his as she did. “Thank you.”

With another smile, he turned and walked away. Lois started back to the house, munching on the crispest, sweetest apple she had ever tasted.

~~~~

The house was quiet when Lois entered through the back door. The kitchen was empty. She picked up a tea towel and began drying the utensils they’d used for canning the beans and carrots.

She heard a sound behind her and turned. Martha was there, her eyes red and puffy.

“Martha,” Lois said, dropping the tea towel onto the table and crossing the kitchen. “What is wrong?”

“I’m not feeling well,” she said sharply. “I’m going to bed.”

“Can I do anything to help?” Lois asked, taken aback by Martha’s tone.

Her expression softened a few degrees. “Just leave me be,” she said. “I’ll be all right tomorrow.”

“I think I should leave,” Lois said. “You shouldn’t have a house guest when you’re not feeling well.”

“Don’t leave,” she said, her words midway between a request and an order.

“But – ”

“Clark will be in about seven o’clock,” Martha said. “Would you fix him some supper, please?”

Lois gulped. “Ah, yes. Yes, of course.”

“Thank you,” Martha said, sounding a little more like herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Lois listened to Martha’s footsteps as she climbed the stairs. She glanced around the kitchen. The canned beans and carrots were sitting in rows, but somehow, she didn’t think they were going to make Clark the sort of supper he would be expecting.

A perusal of the fridge didn’t offer any ideas.

She knew there was meat in the freezer but had no idea how long it would take to defrost. Or how to cook it.

Lois quickly climbed the stairs, took her bag from her room, and went out to her rental car.

~~~~

Clark finished slashing the last field, hauled the six baskets of apples to the corner of the orchard, and checked on Bess, who was quietly chewing her cud.

He examined the calf, both visually and with his hand on Bess’s hide.

Everything seemed fine. He felt his impatience rise a notch. His anxiety, too. He was keen to have Bess safely through the birth and the danger period that followed.

He shut in the hens for the night, collected the eggs, and walked eagerly to the house. He was looking forward to sharing a meal with the ladies and hoping that Lois’s presence would make everything easier.

His mom would be tired after her trip to Smallville. There was a chance she’d retire early. If she did, would Lois follow? Or would she be comfortable being alone with Clark?

“You’d better think of something to talk to her about,” he muttered to himself as he swung onto the porch.

The kitchen was deserted – devoid of both people and the usual aromas of a meal in preparation.

Clark concentrated his hearing. His mom’s breathing was coming from upstairs, steady and regular, indicating she was probably asleep. He was grateful for that.

There was no other breathing. No other heartbeat.

What had happened?

Had his mom been so upset that Lois had felt she had to leave?

Would she go without even telling him?

He looked through the walls to where the rental car had been parked. It was gone.

Groaning, he pulled out a chair, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.

He was exhausted. He felt as if every ounce of energy had been leeched from him.

His strange alien strength helped him physically, but it had done nothing to help him through the emotional and mental trauma of the past year.

If only he could… He fiercely squashed all thought of giving up before the idea had even properly formed. He couldn’t give up. He had to keep going, keep providing steady support, keep being there… until his mom was ready to move on.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to decide what he should do now.

Where was Lois? Why had she –

Then, he heard it.

The motor of the rental car.

It was getting closer.

He looked through the walls again and saw the little car decrease speed, indicate, and then turn into their gate and drive towards the house.

Lois was back! His mood lifted; his exhaustion fell away.

He put on his glasses and flew up the stairs to the bathroom to wash up.

Hello fellow FoLCs! This is a follow-up to my previous story in the Walk the Dog Challenge: Krypton Meets a New Friend?

Let’s see what happens during a leisurely afternoon on Clark’s balcony.

Clark sat on the deck of his apartment soaking up the sunshine and thinking about his upcoming marriage. After all he and Lois had been through, their wedding day could not get here soon enough.

He looked over at his two furry companions: Krypto and Pepper. They were both lying beside him, also enjoying the warm spill of sunlight. Since their rocky initial meeting, the two animals had made up and become fast friends. Earlier this morning, Mrs. Harper had asked if he could look after Pepper while she was out of town overnight. Of course he agreed and rather than let the friendly feline stay all alone in an empty apartment Clark had moved his feeding dishes and litterbox into his place.

With a smile he watched them for a moment and then went back to his own happy contemplations. When Lois got here, he could fly all of them to his private paradise island in the Pacific Ocean for long walk to help Lois unwind after a hectic week.

Of course he had to worry about whether or not to take Pepper along. Than he thought that taking a cat to a tropical island without his owner’s permission might cause more harm than good.

Maybe they could have a conversation about where they would live after the honeymoon? Lois’ place was definitely bigger than his, but at this point in their lives, they needed a home that was more spacious.

Little did he know, Krypto and the neighbor’s cat were having a private conversation of their own.

Krypto: Okay. My staff person is quiet. So tell me the long story. How did you get here?

Streaky: Remember how big his uncle’s lab was? It was crammed with many shiny boxes and gadgets! Anyhow, a moon round* before the big boom, he kept talking about, I was exploring…

Krypto: Happiness! Looking for a squeaky snack?

Streaky: Sometimes one or two might escape their cages. Yum! None were running free. On this particular day, I found a large device my staff member was working on… a shiny metal box.

Krypto: Oh! That was something he called a test rocket or was it sprocket…?

Streaky: Big buddy, please stop interrupting.

Krypto: Sorry.

Streaky: I watched from my favorite perch until he went away. The metal box was glistening, and it was big enough that both of us could have fit into! After walking around and sniffing for a minute or two – I thought squeaky snacks might be hiding in there – I decided to hop in!

Krypto whimpered in alarm but said nothing. Pepper purred loudly in response. Clark noticed the exchange and again thought that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his dog than met the eye. Pepper continued purring loudly, ignoring the curious glances of his substitute staff person.

Streaky: I had no idea my staff person was priming the box to be launched. He did not see me get into the box. The top clanged down and the next thing I knew, a funny air came into the box. I slept for a long time and then woke up in a field in this town. Mrs. Harper was taking a walk in the field … or rather she called it a ‘park’…and found me wandering around. She fussed over me quite a bit. Something about ‘bad staff’ leaving me alone. Anyway, after a stay in a place with smelly cages, my new female staff brought me here.

Krypto: Oh! That must have been the uncle’s test ship. Good thing the ship was sent here. Now we can be friends again. Do you like her?

Streaky: She is nice. Wish she didn’t dress me up all the time and call me fuzzy britches!


Clark watched as the two animals got into another exchange of soft yelps and meows. They were good to have around and pleasant company. Maybe he should consider getting a cat to keep Krypto company?

*One month

Clark sat next to her – careful to get near enough for comfortable conversation but not close enough to crowd her.

Lois handed him an omelette inside a bun. Clark took a bite, wishing he’d had the forethought to plan topics of conversation.

She busied herself with pouring the lemonade.

Silence fell.

Clark thought of a series of questions and dismissed each one as being banal. Or intrusive. Or insensitive.

The gap between him and Lois yawned wide and impassable.

She handed him one of the cups.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice sounding dry and strangled.

Lois turned a little more towards him, and he desperately hoped she was about to open a conversation. “What is the most important thing to remember on a farm?” she asked.


Chapter 3

Clark chuckled at her question. “Always shut the gate.”

“Really?” Lois asked, surprised.

“You only need to chase stock down the road once to realise the importance of a closed gate.”

“I guess so,” she said.

“And don’t touch any fence unless you’re sure it’s not electrified.” He pointed to the field. “See that white tape? It will shock you if you touch it.”

“OK. Thanks.” They fell silent again. Lois had hoped they would find something to talk about before she’d completed the business of dealing with their lunch. But now that was done, it still seemed neither she nor Clark could think of one thing to say. Then she remembered his cow. “How’s Bess?” she asked. “Do you know when her baby be born?”

“She’s good. I don’t know exactly. It should be in the next few days.”

“Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?”

“A heifer. That’s a girl.”

“Why?”

“Because Bess is getting old. This could be her last calf.”

“And a girl – a heifer – could replace her?”

Clark nodded.

Lois took a couple of bites in silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Martha said Bess has helped you through some tough times.”

“That’s true.”

“I don’t understand how a cow could help.”

Clark shrugged, looking a little self-conscious. “Ah…”

“I mean, she’s just a cow,” Lois said.

“Yes, she is.”

“But?”

He paused long enough to drag in a deep breath. “There’s something about milking her every day. The fact that, whatever is happening – good, bad, busy, tragic, exciting, boring, wonderful – she has to be milked. Whatever the weather – blizzard, heatwave, and everything in between – she has to be milked. And I have to take that time to be quiet and reflective. I can’t hurry. It gives life rhythm and stability.” His brown eyes met hers. “Does that make any sense at all?”

Lois nibbled on her bun for a moment. “Not a lot,” she admitted. “But I’d like to understand. Would you mind if I came with you when you milk her tomorrow?”

“You’ll still be here tomorrow?” he asked quickly, although when she peeked into his face, he was staring into his lemonade.

“Martha said it would be OK if I stayed.”

“Of course, it’s OK,” he said quickly, looking up. “It’s better than OK. Mom will appreciate both the help and the company.”

“I’m not sure if I helped much this morning,” Lois said. “But Martha seemed happy with what we did.”

“How many buckets did you pick?”

“Five.”

“That’s great for one morning.”

“Does she do the tomatoes every year?”

“Every year.”

“Have you ever helped her?”

“Yes. When I was younger. Wash, slice, season, roast, repeat.”

Lois wondered if Clark had also helped his father. “That’s what we did.”

“Did you get bored?”

Lois considered his question as she finished her bun. “No.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“It’s not that. I was thinking about what you said about milking. How the rhythm and repetition is kind of soothing. Maybe it was exactly what I needed today.”

“I’m glad,” he said, sounding sincere.

“Why do they need to be roasted?”

“Mom says it enhances the flavour.” Clark grinned suddenly. “But I think it’s really because that’s the way her mom did it.”

“That’s a good reason,” Lois said, trying – and failing – to think of any similar traditions handed down through the generations of her family.

After a few moments, Clark asked, “Have you made any decisions about Jack?”

No, she hadn’t. “He called earlier,” Lois told him. “He won’t be back until next week.”

Clark briefly touched his fingers on her arm. “Are you disappointed?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Pretty confusing time, hey?”

She nodded, wondering if Jack had said anything that had given Clark a clue as to why she was looking for him. Wanting to shift the spotlight from her connection with Jack, Lois asked, “Will it be all right? Without Jack’s help? Will you be able to get all the work done?”

Clark nodded, grinning. “I’ve had an offer to help with the milking.”

She grinned, too. “When will you do it? Later today? Or tomorrow?”

He took a moment before answering. “We have to wait until Bess calves,” he said.

“Oh.”

“A couple of months before a cow is due to calve, we dry her off to give her a rest before the new calf is born.”

“You won’t be milking until after the calf is born?”

“That’s right.”

“Won’t the calf need milk?”

“Yes, it will. Bess will have too much for the calf. We’ll take the excess.”

“The milk we had in our coffee this morning… did it come from the store?”

“No.” He gestured in the direction of the house Lois had seen from the bedroom window. “The Irigs. They’re our neighbours. When Bess is dry, we use their milk.”

“Do they use your milk when their cow is dry?”

He nodded.

“That is a good arrangement,” Lois noted.

Clark picked up a bunch of grapes, offered her some, and said nothing.

“No, thanks.” Lois took an apple and bit into its crisp sweetness. As she munched, she studied her surroundings, something she rarely did in Metropolis as she raced from lead to source to witnesses to research to her office, on repeat, every day. “It’s so peaceful here.”

“Different than Metropolis?”

“The exact opposite.”

“You think so?

“Of course.”

“Maybe they’re not so far apart,” Clark said. “Not in some ways.”

Maybe Clark had never visited Metropolis. “What do you mean?”

“The farm is like a small world. It’s all interlinked. It’s a world where many live – humans, animals, birds, insects, plants, all interacting. It’s a world that can, at times, seem to be all there is. A world where you can forget there is anything beyond the boundary fences. Is Metropolis anything like that?”

Lois thought for a long moment, her apple forgotten. “Yes,” she said finally. “It can be like that. I can get so caught up in a story that everything else passes by unnoticed.”

“Me, too,” he said. He shot her a smile. “Different sorts of stories, though.”

“I figure Bess is the main story right now?” Lois said, before taking another bite of her apple.

He nodded. “And the hay. Rain is forecast for next week. All the hay must be finished before then.”

“Kind of like ‘Make hay while the sun shines’?”

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask another question?”

“You can always ask questions.”

“Why are you mowing the grass? Don’t you have animals that eat it?”

“Yes, I have animals that would enjoy it,” he said, “but then I’d have nothing to feed them in winter.”

“It’s not about cutting the grass? It’s about preserving it? Just like the tomatoes?”

“Got it,” Clark said.

“Are you going to leave it lying there in the field?”

“No. I’m going to let it dry for a few days and then I’m going to rake it. Then I’m going to bale it. Then I’m going to bring it into the barn and store it for winter.”

“That seems like a lot of work.”

“It is.”

“But you’ve got spare grass now and not enough in winter?”

His smile filled her with warmth. “If you ever decided to stop being a reporter, you’d make a great farmer.”

Lois smiled, too. Never once in her entire existence had she given one thought to being a farmer. That hadn’t changed. But there was something profoundly satisfying about Clark Kent’s assessment that she’d be a great farmer.

He stood from the seat. “I’m going to check on Bess before I go back to the field,” he said. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes,” Lois said, surprised at how much she wanted to see this particular cow.

“Thanks for bringing my lunch,” Clark said with a smile. “And for the company.”

“You’re welcome.”

They packed the remains into the basket and left it on the log. As they moved away, Lois asked, “Where is Bess?”

“In the field near the barn,” he replied as he led them away from the barn.

“That barn?” Lois asked, pointing forty-five degrees away.

Clark grinned. “We need to go via the vegetable garden. Mom grows sugar beets for Bess.”

“And you’re going to take her one?”

“Yep. Can’t disappoint her.”

At the garden, Clark considered a patch of green leaves and pulled out a clustered group. A large cream coloured root emerged, attached to the leaves.

Clark went to a faucet and washed the dirt off the beet. Then he turned towards the barn.

“How old is Bess?” Lois asked.

“Twelve. She’s a grand old lady.”

Martha had said that Bess had been born when Clark was sixteen so he must be twenty-eight – a year older than she was.

They walked to the barn, stopping in a small room with a bench and two walls lined with shelves. On the shelves were an array of tools and multiple containers, most of which were unfamiliar to Lois. Clark cut up the beet with a large knife and then led her through the barn and into the adjoining field.

A tan coloured cow with a black face and legs was standing under a far tree. She came towards them as they passed through the gate. She was as round as a barrel but seemed to move easily. She stopped next to Clark and nuzzled his hand. He offered her a piece of beet, and she crunched it loudly.

“Hello, Bess,” Lois said, completely unsure as to the etiquette when meeting a cow.

Bess ignored her, nuzzling Clark’s hand for another piece of beet.

Remembering Martha’s discussion about vegetables earlier, Lois asked, “What variety is she?”

She saw Clark try to cover a smile. “She’s a Jersey,” he said.

“From New Jersey?”

“Not exactly. Her breed originated on the Island of Jersey, just off France.”

“She’s pretty,” Lois said, partly because she thought Bess was pretty and partly because she thought Clark would like her saying that.

“She is,” he agreed.

When all the beet and the leaves were gone, Clark started stroking Bess’s neck. The cow stood still, seeming to enjoy his touch. He worked down her shoulder and to her abdomen. “Would you like to feel her calf?” he asked Lois.

“Will she mind?”

“Not Bess.” Clark held out his hand and gestured for Lois to move into the space between him and the cow. “She won’t hurt you.”

Lois stepped forward, and Clark took her hand in his and guided it down Bess’s sleek side. He stopped below her ribs and gently pressed Lois’s hand into the soft hide. “Can you feel that solid mass?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lois said. “Is that the calf?”

“Yep.”

Under her hand, the mass heaved a little.

“Did you feel that?” Clark asked.

Lois nodded. “I’ve never touched a cow before,” she said. “I’ve never been closer than seeing them in a field. They are bigger than I realised.”

“Bess is on the smaller side for a cow,” he said. “Some of the other breeds are much bigger.”

“Breeds,” Lois said. “Not varieties.”

“You learn quickly and notice detail,” he said with unmistakable approval.

“I’m a reporter.”

“Those skills are useful in many areas.”

The cow turned her head and licked the thigh of Lois’s jeans.

“She likes you,” Clark said. “She only does that to people she likes.”

Lois wasn’t sure how she felt about receiving affection from a cow, but she figured it beat being attacked.

“It’s probably best not to allow her to lick your bare skin,” Clark said. “Her tongue is like sandpaper. Very coarse sandpaper.” He backed away, releasing Lois’s hand from between his bigger hand and the side of the cow.

Lois thrust her hand into her the pocket of her jeans, trying to ignore tingling warmth that lingered from Clark’s touch.

He’d turned away. “I should get back to the tractor,” he said. “Will you be OK taking the lunch stuff back to the kitchen?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thanks. You can stay and chat with Bess if you want to. Just make sure –”

“To shut the gate,” Lois cut in.

He grinned. “Could you tell Mom I won’t be in for supper, please? There’s a fence down in the eastern field.”

“Clark!” Lois said. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? Why did you stop to have lunch with me? Why did you let me hold you up? You –”

“I wanted to have lunch with you,” he said simply.

“But now you’ll have to work so late you’ll miss supper.”

He laughed. “No, I won’t. Mom will put something in the fridge for me. I can heat it up.”

“I feel terrible,” Lois said. “You’re so busy and –”

“Don’t feel terrible,” he said. “It was my choice.”

“I guess Jack being delayed hasn’t helped.”

Clark shrugged. “Thanks for lunch, Lois,” he said. With a farewell smile, he started walking towards the barn.

“Don’t forget the replacement for the bent screw,” Lois called.

He raised his hand in acknowledgement, and Lois was left alone with the cow.

“He’s a nice guy,” she said to Bess. “But I suppose you knew that already.”

~~~~

That afternoon, Lois helped Martha can the tomatoes. As the lines of glass jars grew with each batch coming out of the canner, Lois felt her admiration escalate. Martha had grown these tomatoes. She had grown enough for the summer and extra to provide food through winter and beyond.

It was simple. Traditional. Durable.

They washed all the equipment and then Martha showed Lois how to test that the lids were sealed, how to rinse and dry the outside of the jars, and finally label each one. While Lois worked through the jars, Martha cooked lamb chops and fried potatoes for their supper.

The delicious aromas reached Lois, and she realised she was hungry.

When the meal was ready, Martha suggested they eat on the front porch, catching the last of the sunshine.

It was beautiful there, the serenity only interrupted by the occasional car travelling along the distant road. After the busyness of the day, the stillness seemed particularly soothing.

“This is wonderful, Martha,” she said. “Thank you.”

Lois closed her eyes. She was tired. A few of her muscles were complaining about the ‘yoga’ session that morning. It was a different tiredness than she usually experienced. It wasn’t the draining exhaustion that numbed her brain but a pleasant feeling that settled like a fine shawl.

“Look at that sunset.”

Lois opened her eyes and gasped at the panorama of reds and oranges that decorated the western sky. “That is magnificent.”

“The worst thing about being inside is you miss so much beauty,” Martha said.

Lois couldn’t remember one single time she had noticed the sunset in Metropolis. Not one. “Is it always this good?”

“Not every day. But most. It will be different in a few minutes.”

Martha was right. The colours intensified, moved through many shades, all equally stunning, and then slowly faded into the twilight.

“Let’s go inside,” Martha said. “It’s getting dark.”

It was, and Clark was still out in the fields.

Lois and Martha cleaned the kitchen and stored away the tomatoes in a huge pantry that already boasted jars containing many different foods.

Despite her long sleep the night before, Lois felt herself tiring and made her excuses.

“Goodnight, honey,” Martha said. She patted Lois’s hand. “Thank you for your help today. It's lovely having you here.”

“You’re welcome,” Lois said. “I enjoyed it.”

As she climbed the stairs, she realised it was the truth.

When she’d left Metropolis in such a fluster, the last thing she had expected was to find herself in a rural kitchen surrounded by tomatoes.

But the whole place exuded a kind of peace that had permeated her soul and become a buffer between her and the troubles that had seemed insurmountable just yesterday.

As Lois got into bed, she realised she was looking forward to the following day. She usually didn’t look forward to much at all. Each day was merely the means by which she achieved – a new lead, a big story, another front-page by-line.

Martha was great company, knowledgeable, and generous with her home and her appreciation.

Then there was Clark.

Lois had no idea what to think about him.

As she pulled up the sheets around her shoulder, she told herself she didn’t need to know what to think about Clark. This was a pleasant interlude. Surprisingly pleasant. But it didn’t change that in a couple of days, she would be gone.

~~~~

Lois woke up, reached through the darkness for the lamp, and checked her watch.

It was just after three.

Why had she woken up? Was it somehow related to her long sleep the night before?

She felt wide awake. She stood from the bed, went to the window, and looked out over the moon-lit fields. She could easily make out the shadows of the trees and the barn.

In the city, the lights diminished the effects of the moon. Here, it gave an eerie, shadowy presence to everything, but she could see surprisingly well.

Looking to her right, she realised there was a light on in the barn.

Bess!

Could she be having her calf?

Was Clark down there in the barn?

Before she could talk herself out of it, Lois pulled on her jeans and sweater over her pyjamas and slipped into her sneakers. She picked up the flashlight, tiptoed down the stairs, crossed the kitchen and went out the back door.

When she entered the barn, she saw Clark sitting on some hay, leaning against the wall.

“Lois!” he said, jumping to his feet. “Are you all right?”

“Where’s Bess?” Lois asked, looking around anxiously.

“Over there,” Clark said, pointing through one of the large doorways to Bess’s field.

“Is she having the baby?”

“Is that why you came?” he asked. “No, nothing yet. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she fired at him. “Have you finished the fence? Have you been to bed yet?”

“I’m checking Bess,” he said calmly. “Yes, I’ve finished the fence. Yes, I’ve been to bed.”

“Not for long.”

“Long enough,” he said. “I got in a bit after ten.”

“You ate your supper?”

He grinned at that. “Yes, I ate my supper.”

“Are you sure Bess isn’t in labour?”

“Pretty sure.”

Lois looked around the barn. There was no obvious reason why Clark was here. “Are you working?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m unwinding.”

That, she understood. “This is a great place to unwind.”

“Yeah.” He dragged another hay bundle and positioned it close to the first. “Want to unwind, too?”

Lois sat down on the hay. Clark picked up a folded blanket. “Up you get,” he said. “Hay is scratchy.”

Lois stood, and he placed the folded blanket on the hay. She sat on the blanket, and Clark sat on the opposite hay.

The first moments of silence caused Lois to question her wisdom in coming here. They had struggled to find a topic earlier, and that had been in daylight.

She thought of something safe. “Has your mom really lived here for almost forty years?”

“Yep.”

“I can’t imagine doing that.”

“Why?"

“I can’t imagine having so much stability. Being so content. Being able to find new challenges and satisfaction from one thing instead of needing to flit from thing to thing.”

“You’ve stuck at your career. You’ve done incredibly well.”

She might not have the choice to stick at her career for much longer. She decided to shift the topic away from her life. “Does everyone around here stay for years and years? Even the kids?”

“A few of the families have been here for generations. But even in those families, the kids are usually a mix.”

“A mix?”

“Farm kids usually fall into one of three categories. There are those who love it and know from a really young age that they want to stay. Then there are those who can clearly see all the drawbacks – the long hours, the times when the weather doesn’t cooperate, the times when you do everything you can and an animal still dies – and know they just want to get away.”

“Who are the third category?”

“They’re the kids in the middle. The kids who love the farm, but always wonder if there is something else they would enjoy more.”

“Is that you?”

Clark didn’t answer for a long time. “No,” he said. “I love the farm, and I can’t imagine something I would enjoy so much it would make up for being away from here.”

“You’re lucky. To have those roots, those ties, that belonging – you’re very lucky.”

“Yes, I am,” he said gravely. “I know how lucky I am.”

But there was something in his tone that made Lois wonder how many times he thought about doing something else. When he was on the tractor, driving the mindlessly repeated rows, did he think about a different life?

“What about you?” Clark asked. “Did you always know you wanted to be a reporter?”

“Not always. From about thirteen or fourteen onwards.”

“Why a reporter?”

“I always enjoyed writing. I found it easier to express myself when I could re-read and edit.”

Clark nodded as if he understood.

“And I always, always hated not knowing everything about everything.”

He chuckled. “I guess that’s helpful in being a reporter.”

“Sometimes,” she acknowledged. “Are you sure Bess is OK?”

Clark glanced over to the field. “I think so.”

“Are you worried something could go wrong?”

“Things can always go wrong, but there’s no reason to think they will.”

“She’s older, isn’t she?”

“A bit.”

“Is that likely to cause a problem?”

“More so after the birth. There’s a condition called milk fever.”

“Do you know what to do if she gets it?”

“Yes. But it’s better to prevent it than to try to treat it.”

“Martha asked me to stay tomorrow. Is that OK?”

He was smiling as he said, “I’ve already told you, Lois, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks.” She could feel lethargy starting to creep through her body, and she could not risk falling asleep again. She stood, stretched, and said, “I need sleep. You should get some, too.”

“I will,” he said. “I’ll turn off the light once you’re in the house and be right behind you.”

“Goodnight, Clark.”

“Goodnight, Lois. Thanks for checking on Bess.”

After a final shared smile, Lois headed out of the barn and through the moonlight towards the house.

~~~~

Clark leant back against the barn wall. Was it wrong that he’d wondered if there was any chance that Lois would fall asleep on the bale?

He’d carried calves, lambs, children in his arms. But nothing and no one had left the impression that Lois Lane had.

He’d already been fascinated.

Then he’d lifted her into his arms, and it had felt as if she belonged right there.

And when she’d snuggled closer against his chest…

That was a moment he would never forget.

He laughed quietly, recalling how Lois had questioned him about whether he’d eaten his supper.

Did she – even the tiniest bit – care for him? Or was she merely parroting his mom?

Possibly neither, he accepted, as he stood, cast a final eye over Bess, switched off the lights, and headed home.

Complete Ficlet
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Part 1
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Part 2
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Part 3
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Part 4
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Part 5
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This is the first completed fic in the ‘Anthology’ series, a collection of stories inspired by Bryan Adams songs. For more info, check out the feedback thread!

****

He was stunned. Had he missed something? Had there been a crazy timewarp where she said she’d had a horrible date and he’d been plunked back into time just as she announced she never wanted to see him again? At least then he could understand her promptly slamming the door in his face.

“Lois?”

He raised a hand to knock on the door before pausing and reaching for his glasses to check on her instead. He hesitated again, just before his x-ray vision kicked in, weighing his choices, and then pushed his glasses back up, resisting the urge to invade her privacy so fully. Instead, he concentrated on his hearing. Her heartbeat - the one he could pick out of a crowd - was pounding in his ears. He tried a little less focus and his heart sank when he heard her sobbing.

“Lois?” He called out a little louder. “ Is everything ok?”

He quietly chastised himself. What a dumb thing to ask. He wouldn’t be standing in the corridor with Lois crying on the other side of the closed door if everything was fine.

“I’m sorry.” He had to have done something to upset her so much and he could hear the sobs turning into great gulps of air. He’d never heard Lois cry this hard before.

“Please,” he begged softly knowing she was still in the living room and not wanting her nosy neighbour to open their door.

Actually, screw that. The woman of his dreams, the love of his life, who seemingly had a fantastic time on their date tonight was now crying her heart out on the other side of the door. He wanted to hold her and try to fix whatever was wrong.

He knocked a little bolder.

“Lois. Please, let's talk this out.”

Another, sharper knock, and he could hear her approaching the door.

“I don’t want to wake your neighbours,” he added, hoping it would convince her.

He heard the slide of the security chain and stepped back as she opened the door. He realized too late that she’d just added the chain and the door had been unlocked. He could have opened the door if he’d thought about it.

She didn’t say anything as she peered at him through the small opening in the door and Clark had to resist placing his hand on the door.

“Lois,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what I did to upset you but please, could you tell me?”

The door closed and his heart fell for a brief moment before he heard the security chain slide, this time to open the door. When the door opened, he stepped in, yearning to reach for her and hold her.

“I’ll be right back,” she mumbled as she fled in the direction of the bathroom.

In the distance, he heard the sound of a siren and promptly forced his hearing range to remain only within the confines of the apartment. He did not need any distractions right now. Unless an asteroid was about to fall on the Earth, he was otherwise occupied. He sat on the couch and stared at the coffee table in an effort not to accidentally hear anything outside of this room.

Lois returned shortly, changed out of her evening wear and into sweat pants and a sweater. Clark noticed she’d wiped her makeup off but her eyes were still red and her face a little splotchy. He stood as she entered the living room. She stopped on the other side of the coffee table, staying on her feet, her arms crossed.

“Clark, it’s nothing you did.”

While that was a relief to hear, it still left the unanswered question of what exactly about tonight had upset her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Look, Clark. Tonight was great. Amazing.”

He wanted to ask questions, probe for an answer, but restrained himself, moving every so slowly towards her.

But she held up a hand to forestall him, “Have you thought about where we go from here?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. He’d spent far too long dreaming about where they would take their relationship and was sure he’d scare her away if he verbalized his desires and dreams.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Lois whispered.

He had slowly crossed half of the distance that had been between them and he longed to rush the last half and embrace her, assure her that they would be perfect together.

“What if it does?” He asked in a hushed tone, trying to match her own.

Her gaze moved from the floor to focus on his face.

“Lois, there will never be another tonight. This is our moment.”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“What do we have to lose?” He asked gently as he stopped just in front of her, realizing that her arms weren’t crossed in defiance, but in fear.

“Everything,” she whispered.

“If you’re going to take that chance, shouldn’t you know what exactly it is you’re saying no to?”

Clark took a gamble and reached up, gently cradling her elbows in his hands. He expected her to tense up or flinch out of his touch, but she didn’t.

“What are you suggesting?”

“This,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her.

The first kiss was chaste, he barely brushed her lips, but when she didn’t push him away, he lingered for another, then another kiss. His mind barely functioning, he just registered that her arms had fallen by her side and he slipped one hand to her waist to pull her a little closer.

“What did you say?” She gasped between kisses.

“Huh?”

“What did you say about tonight?”

“Oh?” He had to try to remember what he had been saying before. “This is our moment?”

“No, the other thing.”

“There will never be another tonight?”

“I think I’d like a repeat.”

Clark laughed and his heart soared. There wouldn’t be another night quite like tonight, but hopefully there would be many more together.

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Superman has a love child? That's the story when a woman starts a media storm claiming that her son's father is Superman. Lois and Clark investigate while an important peace treaty goes awry.

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She couldn’t let this go. Jack Mackenzie could leave – move beyond her reach – at any time. Then, the decision would be taken out of her hands.

She had to act now. She had to find some answers to the horde of questions relentlessly tapping at her brain. Perhaps then she would find a measure of peace. Perhaps then she could go back to Metropolis and attempt to resurrect her career. Perhaps then…

She felt the table shift a little and sensed movement around her. Strong arms lifted her and held her against a broad body. She knew she should protest, but sleep lured her exhausted body and overloaded mind towards nothingness.

“It’s OK, Lois.” It was Clark’s voice, very close. “You’re tired. We’ll take you to the spare room where you can rest.”

Lois knew she should open her eyes. She should demand that he put her down and let her drive away.

But her final reserves of energy were gone. She snuggled closer into his chest and succumbed to the captivating lure of oblivion.



Chapter 2

The sunlight was fading when Lois awoke. She sat up slowly, surveying her surroundings. The walls were painted the palest blue. The curtains were blue and white gingham and held open with wide burgundy ribbons. Beyond the curtains, she could see the expanse of fields.

Next to her bed was a small nightstand, covered with a cloth embroidered with flowers. Her watch was there, alongside a lamp and a flashlight.

She hadn’t got to the hotel. She must have fallen asleep, here, at the Kents’ kitchen table. Seeing her handbag and suitcase positioned against the wall, she leapt from the bed, snatched her handbag, and rifled through it. Nothing was missing. Nothing had been touched.

She jumped to the door and turned the knob. It opened easily. It had no locking device. Two aromas floated up the stairs, teasing her nostrils. Bacon… and coffee!

Lois closed the door and sat on the bed, feeling a mix of disgust and relief. Lois Lane walked – sometimes ran – into dangerous situations, but she never, ever let down her guard.

This time, she had. She’d allowed herself to be defenceless as she’d slept in the house of strangers.

But, as far as she could tell, these strangers hadn’t taken advantage of her vulnerability.

She felt her cheeks heat a little, wondering what they must think of her. She checked her watch. Almost seven o’clock. She’d slept for over two hours!

She noticed a fluffy mauve towel on the dresser with a piece of paper folded on top of it. The keys to the rental car lay next to the towel.

Lois crossed the room and picked up the piece of paper. It read: You’ve had a lovely long sleep. The bathroom is the door to the left of yours. There’s plenty of hot water. Have a long shower, then come down for breakfast. Love, Martha.

Breakfast?

Exactly how long had she slept?

Lois crossed to the window and looked out. She could see a green tractor moving along a straight row in a field. To its left, the grass was cut, to the right it was standing tall, billowing in the breeze. Was that Clark?

The last thing she could remember was being held against a broad chest. That, and a feeling of complete security.

It had to have been Clark who had carried her up the stairs, removed her shoes, and placed her in the bed.

How should she feel about that? Annoyed? Grateful? Uneasy? Embarrassed?

She looked out of the window again. The distant tractor reached the end of the field, made a wide, sweeping turn, and set out along the next row.

Lois closed her eyes and tried to visualise the map. Which way was north? She bundled together her memories of the map, the house, and the surrounding fields, and concluded that her window was facing north. The sun was to her right – in the east.

She had slept for almost fifteen hours!

Lois couldn’t remember ever sleeping for that long. She’d been a terrible imposition on Martha and Clark. Although she did vaguely remember an invitation to stay. And Martha’s note didn’t sound as if she resented uninvited guests appearing in her kitchen, falling asleep at her table, and needing to be carried to bed.

Lois looked down on the surrounding country. There was only one other house in view, and it was little more than a speck in the distance. To her right, about fifty yards from the house was the side of a large red barn with a wooden cabin tucked behind it. Below her was a garden, the plants set out in neat rows. There were a lot less flowers than in the front garden. Maybe it was vegetables?

To the left, she could see the front of the rental car, parked alongside a blue car.

In the field, the tractor was halfway along another row.

Did Clark find it boring? What did he think about as he drove up and down those endless rows?

Lois hauled her suitcase onto the bed and began rummaging through the hastily packed contents. As she had thrown in her clothes, she had convinced herself that finding Jack Mackenzie would solve all her problems and take away the pain.

That had been patently illogical.

He was due to return today.

That fact solved nothing. Indeed, it intensified the need for decisions.

Did she want to meet him?

Could she just walk away and pretend she didn’t know? Lois sighed. She had never been able to control her rampant curiosity.

Would meeting him give her the peace she needed to move on and attempt to rebuild her life?

Was it possible to meet him and remain anonymous?

That was preferable to other options. She wasn’t ready to deal with the complications of Jack Mackenzie knowing her. It would be like letting the genie out of the bottle, and she would have no control over what happened next.

What should she do now?

She read Martha’s note again. A shower to wash away the travel grime was exactly what she needed. And breakfast. Her stomach was gnawing at her insides. And coffee. She really needed coffee.

Lois pulled a favourite pair of jeans, a blue tee-shirt, and a light sweater from her suitcase. Then, gathering her clothes and the towel, she went in search of the bathroom, still no closer to finding answers to the vortex of questions swirling through her brain.

~~~~

“Lois!” Martha greeted, turning from a sizzling pan on the stovetop. “You look so much better this morning.”

“Good morning, Mrs Kent,” Lois said. “I can’t believe I slept all night. I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Martha said. “We love having you. And please, call me ‘Martha’.”

“Thank you, Martha,” Lois said, inhaling deeply as the aroma from the pan reminded her of exactly how little she had eaten in the past twenty-four hours. “And thank you for looking after me yesterday.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” Martha said. “I’m so glad you stopped at our gate. You must be hungry. I’ll just finish this for Clark and take it out to him, then I’ll cook some breakfast for us.”

“I could take it out to him,” Lois offered.

“Would you?” Martha said as she placed six slices of thick bread on a board. “That would be a wonderful help.”

“Of course. Is he in the green tractor I saw out of my window?”

“Yes. He’s slashing the north field for hay.” Martha flipped all three eggs and then turned back to the table to butter the bread. “Have you thought any more about finding your young man?” she asked casually.

There was nothing in Martha’s question to indicate she knew the ‘young man’ was Jack Mackenzie. “He’s not my young man,” Lois said quickly. “He’s just… he’s just someone I thought I wanted to find.”

Martha nodded. “Have you decided what you are going to do?”

“I don’t know… I think if I went home without seeing him, I would always wonder.”

“Yes,” Martha said. “I think you should try to find the answers. Talk it out with him. Find out where you stand… what he wants. You’ve travelled such a long way. And completely exhausted yourself.”

“It’s not… it’s not what you think.”

Martha put rashers of crispy bacon on the bread. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“I suppose I should -”

“I have a suggestion.”

“You do?”

“There are a ton of tomatoes waiting to be canned,” Martha said, gesturing through the back window. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me while you think things through.”

“I don’t know much about cooking. It’s not something I do.”

“No one knows without being shown,” Martha said.

Mindless activity – such as canning tomatoes, whatever that entailed – was surprisingly appealing. It would give her time – a couple of hours to decide if she should stay and meet Jack or leave. Perhaps it would be possible to meet him without him knowing she was anyone other than the Kents’ house guest. “OK,” Lois said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her reply.

“Thank you, honey,” Martha said with a smile. “I’d really appreciate the help.”

Martha placed an egg on each of the three sandwiches, put the bread on top, and then loaded them into a small plastic container. “Clark has been out there since five-thirty so he’s going to be ready for this.” She handed the container to Lois and added a large, lidded cup.

Lois breathed in the coffee aroma, and her stomach responded. She was starving.

“Can you carry all that?” Martha asked.

“Yes. It’s fine.”

Martha crossed the long kitchen to the back door and opened it. “Thanks, honey,” she said. “I’ll start on our breakfast.”

Lois walked across the porch, down the steps and through the back garden towards the tractor, which was coming towards her. It reached the fence before she did and stopped. Clark jumped down and approached her with long, easy strides. When he arrived at the fence, he placed his hands on a post and swung over with a lithe movement. He was smiling as came closer.

“Good morning, Lois,” he said. “How are you feeling now?”

Lois handed him the sandwich container and mug. “Better,” she said. “Thanks to you and your mom.”

“We didn’t do much,” he said. “Just allowed you to rest.”

“Fifteen hours!” she said. “When I woke up and saw it was almost seven o’clock, I thought it was evening.”

Clark laughed. “Thanks for bringing my breakfast,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

He lifted the top sandwich from the box.

“Clark?”

His eyes shot into hers, deep and brown and soft, just as she had remembered them. “Yes?”

“Thank you for your discretion,” Lois said. “I appreciate you not telling Martha I came looking for Jack Mackenzie.”

“It’s not my business.” Clark took a sip from his coffee. “Have you decided if you want to see him?”

Had she?

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “That’s none of my business either.”

“I haven’t had much time to think this morning.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Martha asked me to help with the tomatoes today.”

Clark seemed genuinely pleased at that news. “That’s a great idea,” he said. “You’ll stay?”

Lois nodded.

“Thank you.”

His appreciation was low and balmy, setting off a few hunger pangs in her stomach. “You’re welcome,” she said.

“You have some time. Punctuality isn’t Jack’s strongest point. I doubt he’ll be here until mid-afternoon.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lois said, turning back to the house. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

~~~~

Clark leaned against the back tractor tyre and ate his breakfast. His thoughts were not on food, but on Lois Lane.

She was the most intriguing woman he had ever met.

Intriguing. Fascinating. Captivating.

Mysterious. Distant. Brilliant.

Strong. Vulnerable.

And beautiful. So very beautiful.

But…

She had come to Smallville looking for Jack Mackenzie, and Clark had spent most of the morning trying to deduce possible reasons.

Most likely it seemed Lois and Jack had been together as a couple, broken up, and now Lois was having second thoughts.

Clark slowly shook his head. Jack was a nice kid, but Clark could not imagine him with someone like Lois. And that was the Lois he’d seen here – lost and confused and obviously distressed. The Lois Lane he imagined – the capable, talented, tenacious reporter for The Daily Planet – made it even more incongruous that she would be with Jack.

But now, she was looking for him.

Why?

A thought that had lurked around the edges of his mind leapt onto centre stage.

What if Lois had discovered she was pregnant? With Jack’s child?

Clark swallowed roughly. Jack was twenty-two, but sometimes he seemed more like a teenager. He was not ready for fatherhood.

“Aw, Lois,” he murmured.

As he’d told her, it was not his business. But he was concerned. Far more concerned than he had any right to be.

Jack had knocked on the door asking for work a bit over two months ago. If he had just broken up with Lois, and then she’d discovered she was pregnant, the timing was possible.

Clark did have a second, marginally preferable scenario.

Lois could be following a lead for a story. Clark had read enough Lois Lane stories to know she was an investigative reporter. She’d come all this way to find Jack – it had to be something big.

How would it affect the farm?

More importantly, how would it affect his mother?

To get to where she was in her career, Lois had had to be ruthless. If she were investigating Jack and she found something to publish, Clark doubted she would let a simple Kansas farmer and his mother get in the way of her story.

It would be asking too much.

But he wondered what sort of investigation would bring her to tears. Tears of frustration, maybe, but not the body-wrenching sobs he had heard from his tractor yesterday.

Those tears seemed to be a response to heartache.

Heartache caused by Jack?

Clark climbed into the tractor, put the coffee cup between his knees, and started the motor to continue driving row after row, paddock after paddock.

His world was slow and repetitive and conventional. Tedious even.

Her world was fast-paced and modern and dynamic and exciting.

She was – in every way possible – out of his reach.

But that knowledge did nothing to still his heart or silence its assertion that Lois Lane was exactly the woman he had been waiting for his entire life.

~~~~

“Who’s Bess?” Lois asked a few minutes after she and Martha had sat down behind two steaming plates loaded with bacon, eggs, tomatoes, and mushrooms.

Martha smiled, and there was a twinkle in her eye as she answered. “Bess has been the love of Clark’s life for a long time.”

“Is she Clark’s wife?”

“Oh no,” Martha said. “Clark isn’t married.”

“Bess is his girlfriend?”

Martha shook her head. “Bess is Clark’s cow,” she said. “She has helped him through some really tough times.”

A cow? A cow had helped Clark through tough times? “She’s pregnant?”

“Yes. About to calve. Any day now.”

“Is Clark worried about her?”

“Not worried exactly. But he’s watching her pretty closely.”

“She means a lot to him?”

Martha nodded slowly. “She means more to him than most people would be able to understand.”

Lois certainly didn’t understand it. “A cow?” she said, trying to suppress the scepticism in her tone. “Don’t you have a farm? Don’t you have lots of animals?”

“Yes, we do,” Martha said as she lathered golden butter on her bread. “There are the animals – they all get the best care we can give them. Then there are the special ones – the favourites. And then there’s Bess.”

“Why is she so special?”

“I used to milk my cow, Winnie, every day. When Clark was twelve, we struck a deal. Winnie’s next heifer calf would be his, and once the calf was grown and ready to milk, Clark would take over the job.”

“Bess was born?” Lois said, no closer to understanding how a cow could mean so much.

“It wasn’t that simple,” Martha said. “Winnie’s next two calves were bull calves. Then she had a stillborn heifer calf. Then, finally, the heifer calf we’d been waiting for arrived. Bess. Clark was sixteen by then. I think he loved her from the moment he saw her.”

Lois hadn’t known any sixteen-year-old boys who were enamoured by a cow. “She must be special,” she said, hoping her lack of comprehension wasn’t too obvious. “He waited a long time for her.”

“Clark never gave up hope,” Martha said with a quiet smile. “And yes, Bess is very special.”

They finished breakfast and cleared the table. Then Martha gave Lois a bucket, and together, they went to the back garden.

Tomato picking, as Lois discovered over the next hour, was a lot more physical than she’d imagined. Very soon, all the bending, stretching, and squatting started to feel like a yoga class. Eventually, they took their full buckets back to the kitchen and spent the rest of the morning cleaning, slicing, and roasting tomatoes.

And talking, too.

Martha talked about the farm, some of the animals, some of the times when extremes in the weather had made everything more difficult. She talked about vegetable varieties she grew. She talked about Winnie, her cow. She mentioned Clark occasionally, but never as the focus of the story.

But she didn’t mention Clark’s father. Or her husband. Or whether they were the same man.

Martha wore a simple gold wedding band. Where was the man who had given her that ring?

Lois glanced around the kitchen. On the mantlepiece, there were three photos – a tractor, a baby cow, and a garden of flowers.

If Martha’s husband had died, why were there no photos?

If he’d left, why was she still wearing his ring?

She’d said she’d lived in this house – and therefore, the local community – for almost forty years. Yet, it seemed to Lois that she was lonely.

Where were her friends? Her extended family? Did she have any other children?

“Well done, Lois,” Martha said as she sprinkled salt and pepper over the tomatoes and placed the final tray in the oven. “Next job is Clark’s lunch.”

“I can take it to him,” Lois offered, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.

“It’ll be a bit of a walk,” Martha said. “He’ll be in the far field by now.”

“I would like a walk after being in the kitchen all morning. Maybe we could both go.”

Martha considered for a moment and then said, “I’ll stay here and prepare the canning jars so we can get straight onto that after lunch.” She looked at Lois. “I can pack enough for both you and Clark so you can have a picnic under the trees.”

Great food. Peaceful fields. Warm sun. It sounded good. Except…

“Isn’t Clark busy?” Lois asked.

“Yes,” Martha said. “But he needs a break. If you take just his lunch, he’ll keep working while he eats. But if you’re eating too, he’ll have to stop.”

“OK,” Lois agreed. “Thanks, Martha.”

Her reply was cut off by the phone, and Martha crossed the kitchen to answer it. “Martha Kent.”

Lois took the knives and cutting boards to the sink and began to wash them.

“Do you know when you’ll be back?” Martha said into the phone.

Lois put the clean boards on the drainer.

“OK. I’ll tell Clark,” Martha said with a sigh. “Bye.”

Lois turned from the sink as Martha replaced the phone. “Anything wrong?” Lois asked.

“That was Jack,” Martha said. “He is Clark’s farmhand. He was supposed to be away for a couple days, but he’s been gone for over a week. We were expecting him to return today, but now he says he doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”

Lois turned back to the sink, mostly to give herself some space to absorb this new information. “Did he say why he was delayed?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

“He said it was personal.”

“Do you have any ideas? Did he say anything before he left?”

“No. He announced rather suddenly that he had something he needed to do and left the next day.”

“You sound disappointed. Do you like him?”

Martha took out a large frying pan and set it to warm on the stovetop. “Yes, I like him,” she said. “He’s a good worker, eager to learn, cheery…”

“But?”

“I was going to say he’s not very reliable, but he is in the sense that when Clark gives him a job, he does it well. After just a few days, Clark didn’t feel he needed to check everything Jack did. But Jack knows Clark needs him here now, and he keeps delaying his return.”

“Do you think he will come back?”

“I hope so,” Martha said. “He knows harvest is a busy time.”

Martha’s mood had dipped noticeably. Lois left the sink and approached her. “Are you worried about Clark?”

Martha nodded. “There is so much to do. If Jack were here, he could do the tractor work, which would leave Clark free to keep up with everything else.”

Lois collected the containers from the table. With Jack’s return no longer imminent, there was nothing to keep her here. And yet… “Would it help if I stayed another day?” she offered. “I probably can’t do much to help Clark, but I can help you.”

Martha paused from lunch preparations. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “But can you spare the time? What about the young man you’re looking for?”

“I need time to think,” Lois said. That was true. But also true was that she felt strangely disinclined to leave. “It’s peaceful here. Different than my life in Metropolis. And you’ve been so good to me. I’d like to help if I can.”

“Thank you, Lois,” Martha said with a smile. “I know Clark is concerned that I’m too busy and I worry about things. He’ll be so pleased you can stay.”

Martha made cheese omelettes and put them into the buns that had been cooling on the bench. She packed them into a cane basket and added some tomatoes, a large bunch of grapes, two apples, and several slabs of fruit cake. Then came a bottle of lemonade and two cups.

“Would you please tell Clark that Jack won’t be here today?” Martha said as she folded a blanket and laid it on top of the basket.

“Or course. Will he be disappointed?”

“A little. Although he’s probably already given up on some of his plans for this fall. He was hoping to get the new barn finished before winter, but that won’t happen now.”

“Oh,” Lois said. “That’s a shame.”

Martha handed Lois the basket. “See if you can keep Clark at lunch for at least twenty minutes.”

“I hardly know him,” Lois said. “What should I talk about?”

“Do you know anything about farming?”

Lois shook her head. “Not one thing.”

“Good,” Martha said. “Ask him questions about the farm. Ask anything that interests you. Or you could tell him about your life in Metropolis.”

“OK.” Lois stepped through the door to be greeted by the warm sunshine. As she walked through the garden, she felt her mood lift with anticipation.

Picnics were fun. They were one of the many things that had fallen away in her all-consuming obsession to become the best reporter in the world. Looking back, she realised that at some point, she had stopped living and accepted that merely existing would be enough.

It wasn’t.

A picnic in the sunshine seemed symbolic of a more straightforward life. Slower, simpler, more natural. Yet also more real, more genuine.

Home-made food, sunshine, taking time out from the morning’s work… it felt like a balm to her tormented soul.

~~~~

Clark had been watching the back door of the farmhouse for over an hour. It was approaching lunchtime, but it wasn’t hunger that sparked his interest.

Then he saw her come through the back door, basket in hand, and his spirits soared. He shut off the tractor engine, jumped down from the seat, accessed the motor and removed a shield screw, bent it to seventy degrees, gathered up his jacket, and flew to the orchard, which was located between the house and the fields.

He used the final few seconds to wipe his hands on his jeans and run his fingers through his hair. He lowered his glasses, watching her approach and timing his move so as not to startle her.

He strode out of the orchard when Lois was twenty yards away. “Lois,” he called, waving in her direction.

“Hi, Clark,” she responded.

He tilted his head enough to look over his glasses and check the contents of the basket. Yep, as he’d hoped, there was enough to two.

“Martha is watching the tomatoes,” Lois said as she neared him. “She suggested we eat lunch together because the weather is so good.”

He held up the bent screw. “I need to go to the barn to replace this part,” he said. “I’m glad I saved you the long trek to the far field.” He pointed to a log, smoothed out by time, and placed at a convenient distance from a broad tree trunk that functioned as back support. He folded his jacket and put it on the log, straightening its creases with a brisk sweep. “Would you like to sit here?”

“Thanks.” Lois smiled at him, causing his heart to somersault a few times as she sat down and began to unpack their lunch.

Clark sat next to her – careful to get near enough for comfortable conversation but not close enough to crowd her.

Lois handed him an omelette inside a bun. Clark took a bite, wishing he’d had the forethought to plan topics of conversation.

She busied herself with pouring the lemonade.

Silence fell.

Clark thought of a series of questions and dismissed each one as being banal. Or intrusive. Or insensitive.

The gap between him and Lois yawned wide and impassable.

She handed him one of the cups.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice sounding dry and strangled.

Lois turned a little more towards him, and he desperately hoped she was about to open a conversation. “What is the most important thing to remember on a farm?” she asked.

Between Two Worlds
By AmandaK

Summary: A coup on New Krypton sends Clark fleeing back to Earth with his nine-year-old “son,” Jor-El. He arrives in Smallville to find Lois and their son, Jon. Clark must now find his place on Earth once more, while helping Jor settle in and becoming the father Jon never had.

Chapter 8

Jon Kent sat on his mother’s bed, watching her pack her suitcase to head back to Metropolis. As much as he loved his summers with his grandparents in Smallville, it was always hard to be so far away from her for two months. Of course, they spoke on the phone almost every day, but it wasn’t the same.

Most of the year, it was just the two of them. His mom woke him up in the morning and made him breakfast (or took him to the bagel shop). She drove him to school and kissed his head before he got out of the car. Later, she picked him up and let him do his homework at his dad’s old desk at the Daily Planet while she finished up her articles before deadline. They shared dinner every night – be it take-out or something they managed to make edible by working together in the kitchen.

She planned every birthday and made every holiday special for him. He made her gifts for her birthday and Mother’s Day and Christmas.

Jon knew he wasn’t a perfect son. He messed up plenty. And he knew his mom struggled to balance her career with being a single mom. But they managed to make it work one day at a time. They were happy. Just the two of them.

Except during the summer.

This was the time, every year, when she made a strong push on her biggest investigations. She used those two months to work the long stake-outs and undercover assignments which she couldn’t do with Jon home.

And Jon liked to use the summers to learn new things in Smallville. Grandma was teaching him how to cook and keep a garden. Grandpa was showing him all of the ins and out of the farm. He had friends in Smallville. They went hiking and rode their bikes and stopped in at Masie’s for root beer floats. His summers were filled with fun and adventure.

But sometimes he got homesick and wished he could go back to Metropolis early. He didn’t ask – hadn’t in several years anyway. He knew how important this time was to his mom’s career. She had dreams and ambitions and she also wanted to give him the best of everything. Her summers alone helped make that happen.

But sometimes he just wanted to be home with his mom – just the two of them.

“You’ll be extra good for Grandma and Grandpa, won’t you?” his mom asked as she looked under the bed for anything she might have missed.

Jon rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Of course, Mom.”

“Good,” she stood up, pushing her hair out of her face and glancing around the room. “I think that’s everything.” She shut her suitcase and then sat down on the bed next to him. Smiling softly, she mussed his hair before wrapping her arm around him and pulling him into a hug. “You know this summer is going to be different. Your father is back. Things are going to be changing.”

Jon frowned. He was excited to finally have met his dad and Jor was… well, pretty quiet but he seemed alright. But Jon hadn’t really thought about what their arrival would mean. “Changing how?”

“Well, your dad and Jor will be staying here for the summer,” his mom answered. “They’ll need your help to get settled in. Especially Jor. Once he learns a bit more English, it’ll be nice for him to have someone his own age showing him how we do things on Earth. And your dad really needs to get up to speed on technology and current events. He missed a lot.”

“Okay… I guess I can do that. What about when I go back to Metropolis? Are they coming too?” Jon asked.

“That’s the plan,” his mom said. “But we’re still working out the details.”

Jon traced the pattern on the quilted bedspread with his finger. “Will they move in with us?”

His mom hesitated a moment before answering. “I don’t know. That’s one of those details we haven’t figured out yet.”

“Aren’t parents supposed to live together?” Jon asked quietly.

“They often do,” his mom acknowledged. “But sometimes they don’t – if the parents are divorced or never got married. Remember, Jon, your father and I were never married. And it’s been ten years since he left. We have a lot to talk about before we make any big decisions.”

“Moving in together would be a big decision?”

“A very big one. It would affect all of us.” She paused and then asked, “Do you want your dad and Jor to move in with us?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t know.” He really didn’t know. He used to think his dad coming home would be great and they’d all live together and be happy. But now that his dad was actually here, he wasn’t so sure. How would having his dad home change things? Would his mom still take him to school and pick him up? Would they still make dinner together and watch movies on the weekends? Or would his dad do some of those things with him now?

And what about Jor? Having a brother might be cool… or it might not. He didn’t really know the other kid. Would they have to keep sharing a room like they were now? It was okay in Smallville but he really liked having his own space back home. He guessed Jor could take the spare room in their house. But then, where would Grandma and Grandpa stay when they visited? Would they go to the same school? Be in the same class? What would his friends think?

Suddenly, none of this seemed simple at all.

His mom bumped his shoulder a bit to get his attention and looked down at him with worried eyes. “Hey, kiddo. You okay?”

Jon offered her a small smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just didn’t realize how much things were going to change.”

She nodded. “Change can be tough. But it can also be good. Don’t think too far ahead. Let me and your father work out the details. Just take it one day at a time. I think you are going to love having your dad home and I hope you and Jor can become friends – he could certainly use one.”

“Yeah, he seems like he could.” Jon thought about his new brother for a moment. “Do you think he’ll like video games?”

His mom laughed. “He’s a nine-year-old boy. Of course he’ll like video games. And seeing the way he was using that learning orb this morning, he might even give you a challenge once you show him the ropes.”

“No way! I’m the video game champ.”

“Champ, huh? Well, champ, why don’t you see if Grandpa will let you hook up the GameCube and we’ll see if you can beat me at Mario Kart before I have to leave for the airport?”

------------------

Clark stared at his reflection in the slightly foggy bathroom mirror. After hashing out some more details with Lois for his come-back cover story, he had gone out to the back fields to practice using his abilities. He wanted to make sure his control was still perfect after so many years.

His morning spent helping his dad around the farm had restored almost all of his powers. His afternoon practice session had done the rest, culminating in a brisk flight into the middle atmosphere where he could see the stars. He’d immediately sought New Krypton’s distant light and his thoughts had gone out to the people there. He wondered what had become of them in the aftermath of their insurrection. But he hadn’t allowed himself to linger there – in the mesosphere or in his grim thoughts.

Returning to the farmhouse, he taken a shower to wash off the dirt from the day. He felt good. He felt great, really. He was strong again. The power within him was a comforting presence after so long without. Soon enough, he would resume his role as Superman, making a difference in the world wherever he could – be it fighting crime in Metropolis or saving thousands from natural disasters worldwide. He would really be helping again – not just sitting back and giving orders for men to sacrifice their lives in a pointless war.

He'd been wrong though.

He had expected that with the return of his abilities, his scars from the mortar would have vanished. He no longer felt any of the internal aches which had accompanied him for the past two years. But his skin was still marred with scars. He supposed that there was nothing left on the outside to actually heal. His skin was healed, albeit imperfectly. His arms, legs, and back would forever serve as a gruesome reminder of his years away from home.

Sighing, Clark pulled on a long-sleeved t-shirt. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hide the marks from Lois and his parents. For now, he was glad that his super suit would hide his scars. Such identifying marks would link Superman to Clark Kent in an instant.

Stepping out into the hall, he used his enhanced hearing to locate his family. Everyone, including Jor, seemed to be gathered in the living room. Stepping lightly down the stairs, he discovered Lois and Jon going head-to-head in a video game involving characters from Super Mario Bros. in go-karts. He seemed to recall a game like this coming out for the Super Nintendo around the time he started working at the Daily Planet, but the 3D graphics he was seeing now were worlds ahead of what he had seen of the game back then.

“Oh, Jon! Switch to Baby Mario. You’ve got Chain Chomp,” Martha called from the sidelines. Clark glanced over to see his mother completely immersed in watching the game. His father was also observing with a small smile.

Clark shook his head – this from the parents who never let him get an Atari.

Jor was also standing nearby, watching the game with interest.

“No, back seat driving, Martha!” Lois scolded as she narrowly avoided being hit by Jon’s Chain Chomp. The maneuver forced her to slow down, however, allowing Jon’s kart to zip ahead. The Kent’s laughed and Clark couldn’t help but chuckle as well. Lois seemed to be as competitive as ever – even against her own son. He wondered how she had done with Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders.

Lois tried valiantly to catch up to Jon’s kart, employing a flying blue turtle shell at the last moment. But she was too late. Jon’s kart crossed the finish line a split second before to shell made contact. He jumped up from his seat, cheering. “Yes! I did it! I told you I’m the champ!”

Lois seemed to chew on her cheek for a moment, but then she smiled gently. “Alright, alright. You’re the champ.”

Jon seemed to deflate slightly, despite her acknowledgement of his win. “What? No rematch?”

Lois put her controller aside, then stood and pulled Jon into a hug. “I’m sorry, Jon. You know I have to get going if I’m going to make it to Wichita in time for my flight.”

Clark blinked. He’d almost forgotten that Lois was headed back to Metropolis tonight. He felt just about as disappointed as Jon looked. He’d only just returned. He had hoped they could have more time together. It sounded like she was going to catch a red-eye flight, meaning she’d be tired at work in the morning.

Clark almost smacked himself in the head when his brain caught up with him. “Lois,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. “You don’t have to catch the flight in Wichita.”

Lois frowned. “Of course I do. I have to be back at work tomorrow. Until we’re ready to let everyone know you’re back, I don’t have an excuse to take more time off.”

“I know,” Clark answered. “What I meant was…” he kicked off the floor to hover about a foot in the air. “I’ll fly you home tonight. That way you can stay later and still get a good night’s rest.”

Jon’s eyes flew open wide and he leaned over the back of the couch to get a better look. “Whoa!” he grinned. “That’s so cool! I mean, I knew you could fly – but to actually see it? Man, I hope I can do that someday.”

Clark smiled at his son and then glanced over at Jor to catch his reaction. He’d registered a flicker of something through their mental link – Wonder? Apprehension? – he wasn’t sure. Jor had locked him out quickly and his face was a mask of indifference. Clark stifled a sigh. They still had a long way to go.

“Are you sure, Clark?” Lois asked. Clark looked back at her and caught her knowing on her lower lip. “It’s an awful long way to Metropolis and you just got your powers back…” she trailed off.

Clark offered her a reassuring smile. “I feel great, Lois. And I would love to fly you home.”

Lois hesitated only a moment longer before she smiled and nodded. “Okay, then. Let me just call the airline to cancel my flight.”

While Lois dipped out of the living room to make her call, Clark’s parents joined him behind the couch. “It’s good to see you feeling like your old self, son,” Jonathan said, clapping him on the back.

Martha wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a quick hug. “We missed you so much. It’s still hard to believe you’re home.”

Clark returned her hug. “Believe it, Mom. I’m home. And I’m never leaving Earth again.”

“Hey, Dad! Want to play MarioKart?” Jon asked. “It’s DoubleDash but it’s basically the same as the old one.”

Clark raised one eyebrow. “I never really played the one that came out before I left but that looks nothing like I what I do recall of it. Even the controller is different.”

“Huh?” Jon looked at the controller in his hand. “I mean, it’s a GameCube controller but it’s not that different from the N64.”

Lois laughter preceded her into the room. “Jon, sweetie, your father left before the Nintendo64 was released. He’s thinking of the old NES version.”

“Oh…” Jon nodded. “Do you want to play, anyway?”

Clark shook his head. “I’ll just watch for now.” He hoped Jon wouldn’t be too disappointed, but all Clark wanted to do was watch – not the game, but his family. He wanted to soak in their smiles and the sounds of their voices, their laughter. He wanted to commit them all to memory and never be so far away that memory was all he had again.

Before Jon had the chance to ask someone else or rope his mom in for a rematch, Jor sat down on the couch next to him. “May I… play the game?” he asked, his English more assured than it had been that morning, though still heavily accented.

Jon opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly unsure. But then he smiled brightly. “Sure!” he replied, handing Jor the second controller. The next few moments were spent showing Jor which buttons did what and going over some of the special features of the game. Jor said little, but acknowledged Jon’s explanations with a small nod.

Before long, they were off on their first race. Jor crashed and ran off course a few times at first, but quickly got the hang of it and was soon battling Jon for first place.

Lois came over to stand beside Clark. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” she said softly, smiling up at him.

Clark’s returning smile felt bittersweet. He lowered his own voice so only she could hear. “I hope so. Jor could really use a friend. I’m not sure he’s going to let be get through to him anytime soon.”

“If anyone can break through those walls, it’ll be our boy. He’s got all of your kindness and twice my… persistence.”

Clark chuckled. “Were you going to say stubbornness?”

“Hush,” Lois smacked his arm and turned back to watch the game. She was so close, but not quite touching him. He could feel her warmth radiating through the air between them. If she just leaned back a bit…

Clark shook the thoughts from his mind. This wasn’t the time. Not with the boys here. And they still had so much to talk about.

Besides, he’d be able to hold her later when he flew her back to Metropolis.

A cheer arose from the couch, as Jon’s kart swept through the finish line just a second ahead of Jor’s. “Whew! Man, I really thought you were going to catch me! You’re a fast learner.” Jon grinned at Jor.

Jor frowned for a moment but then offered a small smile in return. “Yes, I do learn quickly.”

Jon laughed amicably. “Let’s go again. Wait till you try Rainbow Road.”

-----------------

Lois set her suitcase down on the front porch and turned to give Jon one last hug. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

“You’ll call every day?” Jon asked.

“Of course. And if your father doesn’t mind playing taxi, I might be able to visit a few times too.” Lois looked over at Clark in question as she said it. He smiled and nodded. “Now you be extra good and remember what we talked about earlier.”

“Of course, Mom. I love you,” Jon smiled up at her.

“Love you, too,” she replied before turning to face the rest of the family, gathered to see her off. “Well, we’d better be going.”

Martha stepped forward to hug her. “Don’t you let Perry work you too hard this summer. Take some time for yourself too.”

“And don’t worry about your boy,” Jonathan chimed in. “I’ll keep him too busy for him to get into any trouble.”

Lois chuckled. “I’m sure you will.” She then looked over at Jor, who was standing awkwardly near the door. “It was nice meeting you, Jor. I’ll see you again soon.” Jor nodded but did not reply. Lois turned to Clark. “Ready?”

“All set,” he answered, holding his arms out towards her. “I’ll come back for your suitcase after I drop you off.”

Lois hesitated a moment before stepping close enough for him to lift her, bridal style, as he had so many times in the past. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and their eyes met. She knew that he felt it too – that almost electric connection between them, still so strong after all this time. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Forcing herself to breathe, she broke his gaze and turned back to the family with a smile. “Bye! I’ll call tomorrow.”

A chorus of goodbyes followed them as Clark lifted off the ground, slowly at first and then picking up speed as they ascended into the night sky. Lois couldn’t help but gasp and hold on a little tighter. Once again, she was overcome by waves of memory, sensations coming back to her after so many years she had nearly forgotten.

Clark adjusted his hold slightly into a position that was more secure. “I’ve got you, Lois,” he reassured her.

Lois shook her head. “I know. It’s just been so long. I’d almost forgotten what it was like – flying with you.”

“I know what you mean,” Clark replied wistfully. “I used to dream about flying during those first years on New Krypton. But after awhile even the dreams faded away. When my powers came back this afternoon – when I could finally fly again – it was exhilarating.” He paused for a moment, looking out over the dark horizon, guided only by the stars and moonlight. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear his words. “This, flying with you… this is exhilarating to.”

Lois bit her lip and leaned her head against his shoulder, gazing up at the field of endless stars - uninhibited by light pollution from the city. He’d only been back for two days. So why did a part of her feel like he had never been gone? Why did she so desperately want to go back to that night before he left? Why did his every touch seem to ignite something deep inside her – embers long buried in the sand, ready to start a fire. If only she could ignore that tiny voice telling her it was too soon.

They flew in silence and reached Metropolis far too quickly, it seemed. As the city skyline appeared before them, Lois lifted her head. “I guess I should tell you where we’re going,” she said.

Clark frowned and slowed down to a near stop, hovering just out of reach of the city lights. “Oh, I was just headed to your apartment on autopilot. I guess you don’t live there anymore.”

“No, I got a bigger place when Jon was two.” Lois smiled, remembering. “He had a lot of energy, so I wanted something with a yard where he could play. I got a brownstone on Hyperion Avenue. It has three bedrooms and private backyard. You should be able to land there without being seen.”

“That’s a nice neighborhood, if I recall correctly,” Clark commented as he altered their flight path slightly.

Lois nodded. “It is. We’ve been happy there.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached her street and Lois pointed out which yard was hers. Clark scanned around to make sure no one was watching, before quickly landing in the back yard. The tall trees surrounding the privacy fence made for excellent cover from nosy neighbors.

Clark set her on her feet but kept his arms around her waist. Lois looked up and her eyes locked with his once more, his gaze dark and intense. “Lois,” he whispered her name and then leaned down to kiss her.

The moment their lips met, she felt those small embers leap into a blazing fire. She wanted him – all of him. And she knew he wanted her as well. His mouth burned against hers, coaxing, begging for more. Pressing her body closer to his as he pulled her in, she wondered if either of them would have the willpower to stop this time. The boys weren’t here. They had the house to themselves. It would be so simple. They could relive that night. They could pick up where they had left off. Everything could be as it was before.

Except it wasn’t.

Clark seemed to reach that conclusion just as she did. He pulled back, breathing heavily, and leaned his forehead against hers. “We should…”

“Yeah…” Lois breathed, picking up where he had trailed off. She was loathe to end this. But if they didn’t stop now, they would surely move too fast into territory they weren’t ready to explore again. They needed more time.

She stepped back out of his arms and headed toward the back patio, pulling her keys from her pocket as she went. She unlocked the door and opened it, then paused, looking back at Clark. He stood in the middle of the yard, just as she had left him, his eyes still dark with desire as he stared back at her. She wanted to invite him in – just to show him around, maybe have a cup of coffee. But… she wasn’t sure what would happen if he came inside just now.

After another moment of indecision, he solved her dilemma for her. “I should go get your suitcase,” he said.

Lois shook off her stupor and nodded. “Right. My suitcase. You should… yes… go.” That would give them both time to cool off. She could make coffee while he was gone and maybe give him a tour when he got back. Yes. That would be fine.

He nodded, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he took off and disappeared into the night sky.

Falling For a Farm Boy

Chapter 1

The tears Lois Lane had been fighting for over an hour welled up her throat in a knotty lump of pain and disillusionment. She pulled onto the grassy bank and cut her engine. As she slumped against the back of the seat, her restraint dissolved, and anguished sobs racked her body.

Five minutes later, the storm began to wane. Lois dragged her sleeve across her damp cheek and hauled in a quivery breath.

There was a new emotion mingling with her wretchedness now – exasperation at her own weakness. Crying never achieved anything. All her tears hadn’t changed a single detail of the triple disaster that had destroyed her life. And worse, her head felt like a bomb had detonated behind her swollen, sandpapered eyes.

Lois glanced through the windows of her car, noticing her surroundings for the first time. The fields were green-brown, glistening in the early fall sunshine and separated by networks of wire fences. She wound down the window, and the breeze whispered against her hot cheeks. After lowering the window to fully open, she settled back into her seat and closed her eyes.

Her tears had slowed to a trickle, creating a vacuum inside, and leaving her without protection against the gushing flood of despair.

Why was she here?

What was she trying to achieve?

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure. And even if it had been possible to put her plan into coherent words, she knew it was so fundamentally flawed there was very little chance of it amounting to anything significant.

She’d left Metropolis that morning, the day after her world had shattered. She’d flown to Wichita, rented a car, and here she was.

Why?

She had no valid answer.

Somewhere, deep inside, she felt a gnawing ache for… something. It had been there a long time. It had been easier to ignore in the days when chasing her dreams and building her career had left her too tired to think of anything beyond the next story.

And then, for a few short weeks, her life had seemed perfect. It had been a flimsy shell with no real substance, and deep, deep down, she’d known it did nothing to fill the void.

But it had been easy to pretend. Too easy.

Until the shell had crumbled, powerless to withstand the onslaught of revelations - three of them, one after the other. She hadn’t been able to resist the impulse to run away. Flying to Kansas had served as a convenient escape.

What did she want? Really? What was she actually seeking? Her mission – the foolhardy longshot that had sent her scurrying halfway across the nation – was of scant importance. Indeed, its main attraction was the near certainty that it would fail.

“Are you OK, Miss?”

Lois startled at the quiet voice and turned to find a man standing a metre from her window and leaning down to peer into her car.

He was about her age, his dark hair was neatly trimmed, he wore glasses, and his clothes instantly announced him as a farmer.

“Yes,” she said hurriedly, hoping he would go away. “Everything is fine.”

“Engine trouble?”

“No. No, I just needed to stop for a few minutes.”

He squatted, placing his forearms on her window. He was clean-shaven. His hands were a little dusty, but that didn’t mar their strength and masculinity. His arms rippled with taut muscle, right up to his biceps, peeking out from under the short sleeves of his well-worn shirt. “Are you lost?” he asked.

Yes, she was. Hopelessly. But not in the way he meant. “No.”

“How can I help?”

The question carried such unexpected empathy that her throat constricted, and the traitorous tears threatened again. She grabbed her bag and searched through it frantically.

“Here,” the man said, offering her a clean, folded, ironed handkerchief, white, with the letters ‘CK’ embroidered in blue on the corner.

Lois gave up on her bag and accepted his offering as she muttered, “Thanks.”

She dried her eyes and wiped her nose, realising with some surprise how little she cared that she must look like a snivelling blob who lacked sufficient composure to articulate her circumstances.

Trying to summon a shadow of the real Lois Lane from the debris, she resolved to get away from here as quickly as possible. She turned back to the yokel, words of dismissal forming, and discovered he was watching her with unmistakable concern on his rather good-looking face.

“You look like you need a break,” he said. “Tea? Coffee maybe? Something cold?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. I just needed a few minutes. I’m OK now.”

He looked unconvinced. “Where are you headed? Do you have far to go?”

“No. Not much further.”

He paused, seemingly unsure about what to do with the stranger who was stranded on a road that probably rarely saw strangers. “See that house on the hill?” he said, extending his arm behind him to point across the road.

She lowered her head and glanced towards a pretty house behind a flowerful garden. “Yes.”

“That’s our farmhouse,” he said. “My mother’s kitchen is behind the left window. She will have seen you stop here. If I don’t take you in for a drink and something to eat, she is going to be really annoyed with me. I’m surprised she isn’t already charging down the hill to find out what is taking so long.”

Lois turned from the house to the farmer. His brown eyes were soft, and she thought she detected the slightest twinkle through the earnestness. She felt an answering smile begin but controlled it quickly. “No. Thank you,” she said, hoping her clipped tone crushed any possibility of extending this chance meeting. She held the handkerchief – no longer pristine white and pressed – towards him.

He took it, somewhat bashfully, and then said, “CK. My mom makes them for me. I’m Clark. Clark Kent.” He brushed his right hand on his shirt and held it towards her.

Lois shook his hand but didn’t bother to offer her name. His skin was warm, his grip firm. Again, she was struck by the strength implicit in the size and shape of his hand. Yet he had enclosed her hand with exquisite gentleness.

“I wish you’d tell me how I can help,” he said. “I hate letting you go when you’re obviously dealing with some difficulties.”

“How do you know that?” Lois demanded, telling herself that if he so much as alluded to her unsightly appearance, she would drive away without another word.

He didn’t flinch. “You’re in a rental car,” he said. “It has a Wichita Airport sticker. Therefore, you’re not a local and you probably flew in from far away. There has to be a reason why you came. I’ve lived here all my life. Maybe I can help.”

Maybe he could. “Do you know if someone called Jack Mackenzie lives near here?”

Clark’s smile faded in response to the name. “Jack?” he said. “Jack Mackenzie?”

“You know him?”

“He works here.”

“Here, as in Smallville?”

“No, here as in on our farm.”

“Jack Mackenzie is here?” Lois squeaked.

“Not now. He’s away. He said he’ll be back tomorrow around lunchtime.”

Tomorrow? So soon? She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.

Lois scanned the fields, her eyes sweeping over the cute cottage, where, if Clark Kent was to be believed, his mother waited with ready refreshments. Jack Mackenzie had been here? In these fields? In that house?

If that were so, he had just become more than a name. He was a person. A real person with a real life.

Did she want to meet him? Was she ready to deal with the ramifications of thrusting herself into his life?

It would be easier to leave. To pretend she hadn’t been able to find him. To run away. Again.

“Miss?”

Clark’s hesitant prompt brought her back to the present. “Hm?”

“Did you come to Smallville looking for Jack?”

Had she? “Maybe,” she mumbled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be driving,” he said. “How about you come up to the house and we have that drink? It’ll give you time to work out if you want to stay and see Jack tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” Lois said, completely unsure as to whether she was fine or not. She hadn’t expected to find Jack Mackenzie. Not this easily. Not this soon. Not at all.

She turned to Clark, who was watching her with those deep brown eyes. He smiled, and she felt a little trickle of warmth drizzle through the ice layers capped over her heart.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asked.

Lois nodded. Not because she couldn’t drive. Not because she particularly wanted to accept his hospitality. Not because she could be coerced by soft brown eyes and a pleasant smile.

But because it postponed the need to make any other decisions.

Clark opened her door. Lois mechanically released her seatbelt, took his offered hand, and stood. She put her other hand on the car.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked as his hand moved behind her back to land just below her waist, steadying her. “Not dizzy?”

Of course, she was all right. She started to walk around the back of the car, but she didn’t release his hand or push away his hold on her hip.

Clark helped her into the passenger side and then slid into the driver’s seat. “You’ll feel a lot better after a drink and some of Mom’s biscuits,” he said, glancing her way with a warm smile. “She serves them with jelly and cream.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He backed up a little, turned into the gateway, and drove up the hill on the track that twisted through the fields. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t asked your name.”

She was too weary to examine the possible complications of giving her name and too drained to create an excuse for secrecy. “Lois,” she said. “Lois Lane.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You are a long way from home.”

“You know who I am?”

“I know Lois Lane is a reporter for The Daily Planet.”

“How do you know that?” she snapped.

“The local newsagency gets a few copies,” he said. “They come in twice a week.”

“You’ve read my work?”

“Yes.” He glanced sideways and smiled. “I’ve read a lot of Lois Lane’s stories and been amazed by the depth and quality of her writing.”

“Thanks,” she said without any real warmth.

“You are that Lois Lane, the brilliant reporter?”

She had tarnished that status – probably beyond repair – in the past few days, but she had no intention of going into that disaster with a Kansas farmer. “Yes,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t launch into an in-depth analysis of any of her stories.

He didn’t. He stopped the car next to the gate between the two sections of white picket fence. He didn’t get out of the car immediately, turning to her instead. “Why do you want to see Jack?”

The question had sounded casual, but one glance into those brown eyes told her he was uneasy about her enquiry. “Personal reasons,” she replied.

“He’s not in any trouble?”

What was it about Jack Mackenzie that made Clark think he might be in trouble? And what sort of trouble? Women? Money? Law? Drugs? “None that I’m aware of,” Lois answered truthfully.

Clark gave her a small smile and got out of the car, arriving at her door in remarkably quick time, opening it for her, and again offering his hand.

She took it. Not because she’d appreciated the warmth of his touch. But because it was easier than having to explain a refusal.

Once she was out of the car, he released her hand and shut the door. “This way,” he said, gesturing towards the gate.

The garden was vivid with flowers that boasted a rainbow of colours and gave the path a heady, sweet aroma as they walked towards the cottage. Clark opened the door and waited for her to precede him. With the lightest touch on her back, he directed her to the right and into a long room, filled with light from the sizeable windows at both ends. The opposite wall was dominated by an open fireplace. Ahead was the table, and to the left, the kitchen. A woman rose from where she’d been checking the oven and came forward with a warm smile.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said. “Great timing. I’ve just taken out the biscuits.”

Clark shot Lois a ‘told you so’ look, and she couldn’t help the small smile that squeezed out from the haze of her misery.

“I’m Martha Kent,” the woman said. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“This is Lois,” Clark said.

“Lois,” Martha said. “What a lovely name. Welcome, honey. Please, sit down. What would you like to drink?”

Lois slipped into the nearest chair, one of several around the old, worn table that seemed to resonate with wholesome things like family and home and sincerity of welcome. Seeing a teapot, she said, “Tea, please.”

Clark walked past Lois and went to the sink to wash his hands.

“What brings you this way, Lois?” Martha asked as she took jelly and cream from the fridge. “Have you been travelling for long?”

Lois glanced at Clark to see if he was about to reply for her. He was drying his hands and looking at her. “I… I was looking for someone,” Lois said, “but now I’m not sure if I want to find him or not.”

Martha brought the teapot to the table. “Sometimes, those decisions can be difficult,” she said.

Lois nodded.

“I guess you need to look at the good things you had and the not-so-good and weigh it all up.”

Lois stared at Martha for a moment as her frazzled brain searched for meaning in the words. Then it became clear. Martha thought she had come searching for an ex-boyfriend. Lois opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, too tired to offer an explanation.

In less than an hour, she would be back in the rental car, driving to… driving somewhere and she would never see these people again.

Except if she did decide she wanted to meet Jack Mackenzie, that decision would lead right back to Clark and his mother.

Maybe she should say something…

What?

She couldn’t face even an abridged version of what had led to her sobbing wildly outside a farm gate in the emptiness of rural Kansas.

So, Lois said nothing, realising her silence would seem like confirmation of Martha’s hypothesis.

Clark sat down, and their eyes met. He smiled at her and pushed the plate closer. “Have one of Mom’s biscuits,” he said. “I can recommend them.”

Lois took one and put it on her plate, wanting not so much the biscuit but the chance to appear occupied. She reached for the container of jelly for the same reason.

“When did you last check on Bess?” Martha asked Clark.

“Half an hour ago,” Clark replied. “Still no sign of labour.”

Lois looked up from her biscuit and scanned the expressions of both Clark and his mother. Did Clark have a wife? His ring finger was bare. And why couldn’t Martha ask Bess herself?

With the three of them seated at the table, Clark poured from a brown teapot. Lois stared at her plate, realising she was hungry, but not sure her stomach was ready for food. She sipped from the tea. She hadn’t had anything since a coffee and doughnut on her way to the airport. That had been seven hours ago.

“Where are you from, Lois?” Martha asked pleasantly.

“Metropolis.”

“Did you fly into Wichita? Or drive all this way?”

“I flew. And got a rental car.”

“I’ve only been to Metropolis once,” Martha said. “It’s such a big city. So many people, all rushing around. Very different than here.”

“Very different,” Lois agreed with feeling.

“Do you like living there?” Clark asked.

Did she? She lived there because her work was there. She’d never considered alternatives. “It’s home,” she said. “I guess.” She looked out of the front window, seeing the fields and the trees and the road beyond them. “Do you like living here?”

Clark and his mother shared a look. “I have lived in this house for almost forty years,” Martha said. “Nowhere else could be home.”

Lois looked from Martha to Clark and awaited his answer.

“It’s home,” Clark said.

“But?” Lois persisted.

“There’s a big world out there.”

Would he move if he could? Would he take the opportunity to experience something different? Did he want to? If he did, what was holding him here?

“I’ve toyed with the idea of living somewhere else,” Clark admitted. “But then I think about all I’d be leaving behind and I can’t imagine anywhere else being good enough to beat it.”

Lois took another sip of her tea. She couldn’t eat the biscuit yet, but she could feel the tea calming her.

“When is your flight home, Lois?” Martha asked.

“I have an open booking,” she replied. “I didn’t know how long this would take.”

Martha nodded. “You look exhausted, honey. What are you plans for tonight? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“I will get a hotel room. In Smallville… maybe.”

“There is one hotel in Smallville,” Martha conceded in a tone that didn’t leave room for any optimism. “But we’d love for you stay here, honey.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Of course, you could. I’ll cook supper. You can eat, have a bath if you want, and get an early night. Everything will look better in the morning.”

It sounded ridiculously tempting. Staying with these people was out of the question, obviously, but Lois was surprised by how close she was to agreeing to do exactly as Martha suggested.

“We’d like you to stay,” Clark said quietly.

“The spare room is all made up,” Martha said. “It’s quiet and cosy and just perfect for a restful night.”

“I couldn’t,” Lois repeated as the first twinges of panic began to stir inside her. It was becoming clear that Clark and his mother were not the sort of people to allow her to flee their home with no firm plan. Lois picked up a piece of her biscuit and took a bite. The jelly had juicy clumps of fruit and tasted wonderful.

She ate the rest of it while Martha and Clark talked about various things that Lois assumed had to do with the farm. She surmised that Clark had a lot to do and had been out working very early that morning. A feeling of guilt crept through her as she realised she had taken up so much of his time. It refired her intent to get out of their lives as quickly as possible.

Except… if she decided to meet Jack Mackenzie, it was unlikely she would be able to avoid another encounter with Clark and Martha.

Did she want to meet Jack Mackenzie?

It had been easy to decide she wanted to contact him when finding him had seemed unlikely in the extreme.

But now…

Lois glanced up at Clark, regretting she had told him she was looking for Jack Mackenzie. Would he tell Jack that a strange woman from Metropolis had come asking after him? Maybe if she asked Clark not to say anything…

Clark’s gaze swung from Martha to her, and Lois realised she had been staring. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

His concern seemed deeper than mere courtesy.

“Better, thanks,” she said automatically.

He smiled again and returned his attention to his mother.

Lois took another sip from her tea. The biscuit had given her a short spurt of energy, but now it felt as if a blanket of exhaustion was smothering her. She was so tired, and her mind – usually so nimble – was suffocating in thick fog.

She made a dogged attempt to examine her options. Perhaps that would make it easier to choose one of them.

If she left now, drove back to Wichita tonight, stayed in a hotel, and took the first flight back to Metropolis tomorrow morning, how would she feel next week?

Lois sighed quietly. She was not the sort of person who could let things go. She didn’t simply dismiss and move on. That attribute had helped her become such a successful reporter, but it was also something of a liability.

She couldn’t let this go. Jack Mackenzie could leave – move beyond her reach – at any time. Then, the decision would be taken out of her hands.

She had to act now. She had to find some answers to the horde of questions relentlessly tapping at her brain. Perhaps then she would find a measure of peace. Perhaps then she could go back to Metropolis and attempt to resurrect her career. Perhaps then…

She felt the table shift a little and sensed movement around her. Strong arms lifted her and held her against a broad body. She knew she should protest, but sleep lured her exhausted body and overloaded mind towards nothingness.

“It’s OK, Lois.” It was Clark’s voice, very close. “You’re tired. We’ll take you to the spare room where you can rest.”

Lois knew she should open her eyes. She should demand that he put her down and let her drive away.

But her final reserves of energy were gone. She snuggled closer into his chest and succumbed to the captivating lure of oblivion.

Disruptions In Time by ML Thompson

Hey there.

I found this story through our scavenger hunt for a time travel fic.


I loved how the older Lois convinced the younger Lois that Clark was someone worth pursuing. She showed her the future and somehow Clark managed to not reveal his secret in the process.
Also the future without Clark in it was really dark and I'm so glad younger Lois saw the light in time.

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Summary: Clark has brought Lois home and will now tell her who he really is. Expanded scene (can be a stand alone or a flashback within ‘Sound’, 4th part of ‘Come Home’ series). Lots of super discussion.
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“So what are you going to show me?” Lois asked as they walked hand-in-hand along the tractor path through the mostly cleared corn field.

“My secret,” he said, stopping along the edge of the path.

Lois glanced around. “Here?”

Clark nodded.

“Why here? Couldn’t you have told me anywhere?” she asked curiously.

“Well, there's a story involved,” he hedged, clearly nervous.

She smirked at him, finding his hesitancy adorable. “Why are you so nervous?”

“I've, uh–” he chuckled anxiously, “–never told this to anyone before.”

Lois raised an eyebrow, suddenly realizing this was of a more serious nature than she had thought.

“Okay. I'm listening,” she said supportively.

He gave her a gentle smile before taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Do you remember when I told you I was adopted?” he asked, looking at her.

“Yes. You said you were found. That the authorities never found your biological parents or where you had come from,” she said, her voice suddenly soft.

He nodded before turning his gaze away, across the field.

“Clark, if you want to figure out where you've come from, I'll help you. I'm good at investigating, you know,” she said gently, moving closer to him.

His eyes moved back to hers. “I know where I came from,” he whispered tentatively.

“Oh. Is that what this is about, then? Well, you know I don't care where you've come from, right? You could have come from outer space and it wouldn't change how I feel,” she said, lifting her other hand and placing it on his chest.

“I–” He nearly choked on the sudden lump in his throat and had to take a moment to clear it. “Thank you, Lois. That really means a lot. You have no idea how much–well, I suppose you'll know soon.”

He swallowed, ignoring her confused look.

“My parents found me here,” he said, pointing to a spot less than a pace away from them.

She quickly followed his finger and looked at the earth riddled with stubs of corn stalks.

“Who would leave a baby in the middle of a field?” she muttered, sadness and anger within her voice.

“I wasn't left here, I was sent,” Clark quietly corrected.

Lois frowned, quickly looking back up at him. “What?”

“I was sent here, when my planet . . . Krypton, was destroyed,” he said carefully.

Her eyes locked with his. She swallowed, slowly taking in his earnest and wary expression as she processed.

And processed some more.

“You’re not joking,” she stated.

He gave a strained chuckle. “No. I'm not.”

“I think I need to see proof,” she said, still staring at him.

“Okay.”

Clark stepped back, letting go of her hand. He then removed his glasses and allowed his feet to leave the ground.

Her eyes followed him as he floated up, and astonishment draped over her whole form. He came to a stop and hovered, looking down at her worriedly. After a long moment of stunned silence, he lowered himself back down and put his glasses back on.

Slowly, Lois approached him, her eyes suddenly holding a tender light – before she whacked him on his chest, surprising him.

“So Janet was right!” she exclaimed.

Clark blushed, recalling what Janet had told her on the day of the televised interview: ‘I think Superman is into you.’

Lois pulled back further, shaking her head as reality continued to settle upon her, giving her another perspective, another angle.

“These glasses . . .” she muttered, shaking her head and looking exasperated. “People really do see what they expect to see. No one is immune.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but . . . it’s not an easy secret,” he began, but instantly fell silent as he saw her expression of contemplation.

“Yes. Waiting makes sense. I don’t blame you. I can’t blame you. This is . . . huge,” she said, before throwing her hands up. “Gah! I can’t believe I didn't see it! You're Superman! And we’ve been dating for how long now?!”

“Two months, three weeks, one day, and 4 hours,” Clark rattled off.

Lois froze and stared at him for a long moment, before smirking. “You . . . are such a dork.”

“Well, you did already know that,” Clark said, smiling back.

“I did,” she agreed, “And now I know Superman is dorky too.” She paused and gripped his arm, taking a deep breath. “Gosh. Is this weird for you too?”

“Very. You're the only person outside my parents to know who, and what, I really am,” he said. “I'm so glad you're taking it so well. Granted, I suppose I should have known you would since you're Lois Lane.”

She laughed as she took his face in her hands, feeling his stubble as she closely examined his face.

“How do you shave? I doubt razors work,” she abruptly inquired.

“Heat vision,” he answered with a shrug.

“Why do you wear glasses? Just for the disguise?” she asked.

“For the most part, but there was a time I wore glasses to get control of my x-ray vision. The lenses were leaded glass,” he explained.

Lois’ eyes widened. “What was that like?”

“Without the glasses, nauseating. With the glasses, manageable, since they allowed me to take breaks between practice,” Clark said.

“Practice?” she asked.

“My dad, Jonathan Kent, helped me learn to control my powers, usually in the barn. It took me a solid week for x-ray vision.” Clark shook his head. “That was the first time I ever threw up.”

“Threw up?” she asked, surprised.

“It really messed with my spatial awareness, peering into and out of objects indiscriminately. Not to mention how disorientating and alarming it was to see people’s organs and bones as well. Even when I understood what was happening, it was still jarring.”

“How old were you?” Lois asked, now working on imagining a young Superman coming into his powers while doing her best to balance the reality that he was also Clark.

“Ten.”

Lois stilled, processing the implications. “That's . . . a lot, especially for a child.”

Clark shrugged. “I got through it. Would you like to see the barn?” he asked, hopeful.

She smiled at his childlike eagerness. “Sure.”

They entered the barn and he led her to the trap door, which he opened. They went down the wooden ladder and he lit the lanterns hanging from the low rafters with his heat vision. Lois watched him, transfixed, the use of his heat vision a blatant demonstration of exactly who he was.

“For a long time, I was known as a sickly kid, having to be home for long stretches of time a few times a year,” Clark said, walking to a large tarp. “And during most of those days, I was down here with my dad.”

Lois slowly approached as he removed the tarp, revealing a large wooden log. She blinked as her eyes were immediately drawn to the fist imprints littering the surface of the hard oak. She tentatively pressed her fingers into the grooves, and she gasped at the size of some of the fist marks.

Some of them were so small!

“This was the first one I made,” he said, pointing to the knuckle print just a few inches from the one she was touching. “I was four.”

“Clark, this is amazing,” she said, stepping toward him.

He smiled. “You’ll like this even more then,” he said, directing her deeper into the cellar to another covered object. He yanked off the tarp.

Lois gasped, her eyes taking in a sleek metallic shape. “Is this . . . ?” She looked at him in question.

“Yes. This is what brought me to earth,” he said.

She chuckled softly, her eyes taking it in. “You put your spaceship in the cellar under your family barn.”

“My dad is the one who brought it down here. I just never relocated it,” he countered with a smile.

“Did you do anything else down here?” she asked as he covered it back up.

“I worked on controlling my x-ray vision and senses mostly, though I did do some things with my ice breath over there,” he said, indicating the corner of the cellar. “I practiced my heat vision outside and in the farm house.”

She looked around the dimly lit area with a thoughtful eye. “And flying?” she prompted.

He grinned as he took her hand and led her back up. “That came later. I learned that at . . . my fortress. I can show you tomorrow if you like.”

She grinned at him as they left the barn. She stepped closer to him. “Okay. So what will we do in the meantime?”

He swallowed, taking in her form as an expanse of stars stood as a backdrop. He pulled her close, gently holding her against himself.

“How about this?” he asked softly, slowly floating them up into the sky.

O o O o O

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Don't Let Me See You Hurt - Ficathon Story

Prequel -Don't Wanna Say Goodbye

Sequel -In The Depths Of My Eyes

Nfic version available

Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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