Author's note: references events in the "Smallville" TV show episodes "Exodus", "Exile", and "Reckoning". SPOILER ALERT if you have not yet seen these episodes!

Step Three: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

Perry slipped quietly into his usual chair at the back of the room. At the podium, a speaker was telling her story.

The thirtyish, attractive woman said, "And I would watch my children, late at night, while they slept, and I would cry, because I wasn't the kind of mother I wanted to be…."

He listened to the woman with half an ear as he adjusted his position on the folding chair. The "Friendly Friday Group of Freedom Park" (a neighborhood in Metropolis) had a noon meeting, obviously on Fridays. Perry was usually on time, but today he'd been talking with a source and it had gone on longer than he'd planned. The tardiness was worth it, though; Perry had gotten some dynamite information.

As ever, a tendril of discontent wormed its way up from his innards. Too bad it won't be in the Planet, Perry thought. He'd gone back there, hoping to be re-hired, but it seemed that, strangely enough, Editor-In-Chief Pauline Kahn was still holding a grudge for the groping episode. Perry found himself shaking his head at his own previous stupidity.

So there was no hope at the Planet until Kahn either forgave him (Perry thought that would probably come at the same time as Hell freezing over or aliens landing on Earth), retired, or died. Fortunately, his contacts at the Planet had put in a good word for him, and Perry had managed to get a job at the Metropolis Star.

It wasn't the Planet, but it was a very good mid-level newspaper. It did tend to focus more on intra-Metropolis news and Metropolis-suburb news than did the Planet. A tacit gentleman's agreement gave the Planet more of the international and national coverage, and the Star took on the state and local coverage. Not to say there wasn't a lot of overlap, but there was a slightly different focus.

Perry shifted restlessly in his chair; his feet were bothering him again. That's what came of running all over the city at his age. The feet had felt a lot better when he was younger. He focused his attention back on the speaker.

"And my husband kept on wondering why we ate bean soup all the time – he knew we had a big grocery budget. I couldn't tell him that I was spending it all on booze. But somehow he figured that out." The crowd laughed at the woman's dry tone.

Perry adjusted to a more comfortable position and looked around the room again. Let's see, there was Leo F. in the corner, Bill W. two rows from the front, and Bob L. in the row ahead, and Terri L., Bob's wife, sitting next to him. (Perry had heard both of their stories. When they married and Terri found out how much of a drinker Bob was, she figured that if she couldn't cure him, she'd join him. After a few years of that, they both ended up in AA.)

There was the usual crowd, Perry saw. He'd gotten to know all the regulars through almost a year of meetings now. He was proud, in a way, to realize that he trusted them all. They'd heard his story, listened to his shame, carved away his pretensions and rationalizations with the surgical precision of experience. They'd been there themselves. And Perry hoped that they trusted him. With regards to non-AA stuff, He'd already gotten tips on stories from several of the members; he carefully promised anonymity and had always delivered on it.

Perry thought back a moment to all the days he'd been sober so far. He finally had something to be proud about. He remembered the big Tri-County AA Conference he'd been at a few months ago. At that conference there had been a sobriety countdown – "stand if you've been sober for forty years" (one man stood); "thirty years…twenty years…ten years…" and so on until they got to one year. Then the countdown was by months, and Perry proudly stood at "eleven months." At the end, when the announcer said, "and stand if you've been sober for one day", everyone in the room stood. Perry knew the wisdom of this. He took it one day at a time. Heck, sometimes he took it an hour at a time. Or even five minutes at a time.

And sometimes my Higher Power is my editor breathing down my neck right before deadline, Perry thought sardonically. Whatever worked. He brought his attention back to the current meeting and the alto voice of the speaker, Barb F.

"Then we divorced, and my husband got custody of our daughters…" Barb continued. Perry felt a twinge of pain at how this mirrored his own situation. To distract himself, he checked the attendance behind him.

Where have I seen that guy before? Perry asked himself. It didn't take long to remember. Hanging over Shuster's Gorge, his life depending on a young man's strength and a rotten rope, was an experience that tended to stay with one. I wonder what Clark Kent is doing here, Perry thought.

He kept chewing on that as the speaker finished, the crowd applauding a better-than-usually-told story. A basket passed around for donations to cover the coffee, donuts, and other expenses. Perry absently dropped in a few dollars. The meeting broke up, and Perry eschewed the coffee table for once. He turned behind him and caught Clark's eye.

"Clark, isn't it?" Perry asked.

"Mr. White!" the kid replied. Obviously he remembered Perry well, too.

"It's Perry in here," the reporter said cheerfully. "You know we're anonymous." He almost laughed at the expression on Clark's face. "Can I buy you a coffee, Clark?"

He watched as discomfort and then acceptance washed over Clark's face. "That would be nice, Mr., um, Perry."

"There's a good diner about two blocks away," Perry said. "Just follow me." They walked together in silence, Perry enjoying the not-too-chilly late winter weather. Perry nodded at the waitress (Darlene, had two kids, worked extra shifts to send them to a private religious school) and took his usual booth. He'd taken to coming here a lot. Not only did some members congregate for the "meeting after the meeting", but Perry met sources here too. He bought a lot of coffee for people.

After they'd placed their orders, Perry leaned forward over the Formica table, ready to make conversation. He was curious what brought Clark Kent to a Metropolis AA meeting. But Clark beat him to the punch.

"You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you, Mr. White," the kid said.

"It's Perry, Clark," the older man reiterated. "And yes, I've made some changes in my life - I hope and believe for the better." He felt an obscure sense of happiness at Clark's solemn nod. "I mostly owe it to you."

The kid shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm glad that something good came out of it," he said. Perry raised his eyebrows at the tinge of bitterness in Kent's tone.

"How's Smallville?" the reporter asked. "Your lady editor still on the paranormal beat?"

Clark gave a half-smile. "She's an intern at the Daily Planet now, Mr.- ah, Perry. They want a little more evidence for those front-page articles than the Smallville High Torch required." Clark seemed happier talking about his friend, Perry noticed.

The waitress arrived with their coffee; Perry stirred two Sweet-n-Lo's into his and noted that Clark took his own coffee black.

"What does she think of Pauline Kahn?" Perry couldn't resist asking.

Clark gave him a steady look. "Chloe doesn't like her very much, but thinks she's a good editor."

Perry had to concede the truth of that. Kahn was a good editor; in Perry's opinion, she was also a first-class witch. He still had some resentment. Got to work on that, Perry, he told himself. We can't live in resentment. We have to learn to forgive.

"And what are you doing, M-, Perry?" the kid asked him. "Did you go back to the Daily Planet?"

"Ah, no, I didn't," Perry admitted. "My friends there put in a good word for me but didn't have enough clout to get me past the esteemed editor-in-chief." He wasn't going to tell Kent the whole story behind that.

Clark nodded.

Perry leapt in before Kent asked more questions. "And how about you? Are you still on the farm? How are your parents?"

He was unprepared for the grief which crossed Clark's face. The kid looked away – to hide tears, Perry thought.

"My father died a few weeks ago," Clark said softly.

"I'm sorry," Perry said lamely. He'd only met Jonathan Kent the one time, but despite their differences, the farmer had struck him as an upstanding man.

"It was hard to lose him," the young man continued. A pause; then Perry heard Clark say softly, "Now I don't know if I can be the kind of man he wanted me to become."

Perry sat still on his side of the booth. The naked sadness in Kent's voice reached to him. This was an important moment. Later on, he half-facetiously described it to himself as "God told me to listen". He'd become much more likely to attribute things to God since he turned over his life to a Higher Power. Although sometimes he wished that God would tell him to take a nap, or go out to a strip club. But that never seemed to happen.

"Can you tell me about him?" Perry asked the kid softly.

There was a moment of silence, where Clark turned back to look at Perry. Perry hoped that the kid saw the sympathy in his eyes. Apparently he did, because Clark began speaking. "He was the strongest man I knew. Not on the outside, but on the inside…"

Perry nodded and made noises of agreement throughout the kid's monologue. The waitress refilled their cups several times. Perry kept a calm face, but inside he felt for the kid. Clark went on about how much his father had done for him, how good of an example he'd been, and how Clark had never appreciated him properly, and now it was too late.

Perry pricked up his ears. Clark said in a low tone, "And when I was sixteen, I ran away to Metropolis, and spent the whole summer on, um, drugs." Perry must have made a noise of surprise – This kid? He's a straight arrow if I ever saw one. A regular Boy Scout – because Clark gave a tiny, sad smile.

"My father staged an intervention and came to get me," the kid said. He went to say something else, choked it back. A moment of silence, then Clark said, "I know seeing me on drugs was really hard for my dad. I know that, and the intervention, really hurt his health. I can't help but feel my drug problem contributed to his death."

Perry didn't know what to say. He wasn't going to deny Clark's statement with platitudes. He'd heard enough stories in AA to know what substance abuse did to a family, how it caused stress, damaged marriages and health. He looked at Clark and nodded.

Clark went on. "So, I've gone to a few meetings here and there, and today I felt really…I felt like I should go."

"I know what it's like, kid," Perry replied. "Don't give in to the craving. Go to a meeting instead. Call your sponsor. Do something else for ten minutes." Hard-won experience colored his words.

Clark looked abashed. "Yeah. I could feel the drugs calling me. I was so angry."

"Hungry, angry, lonely, tired," Perry said. "I've found myself that those are the worst times for getting the craving." Their eyes met in sympathy. "Tell me more about your Dad," Perry said. "I've got a lot of coffee left in my cup."

An hour later, as they got up to go, Perry reached out to Clark, grasped his sleeve. "Clark, if you need to call anyone…" he reached into his wallet and pulled out his card. "And I'm usually at the Friendly Friday group."

Clark studied the card for a moment and put it into his own wallet. "Thanks, Perry," he said. They were definitely on a first-name basis now.

Perry pulled a few bills out of his wallet, leaving a generous tip for the waitress. "Next time you buy the coffee," he said jokingly. "Can I give you a ride anywhere? My car is in the lot down the block."

"Um, that's OK," the kid stammered.

"You sure?" Perry asked. "This isn't the best neighborhood."

"I think I'll be OK," Clark said, smiling.

Perry looked back at him. The smile was a lot more genuine now. Clark seemed to be more at peace.

"Yeah, I think you'll be OK too, kid," Perry said. "Just take it one day at a time."