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Mother's Day: 7/?
by Nan Smith

Previously, from Part 6:

"Strike three!" the umpire announced. CJ rubbed his shoulder as he straightened up from the final pitch that ended the game. The score was four to nothing, largely due to CJ's pitching and the excellent support of his teammates.

Coach Pilson, or whatever his name really was, was standing on the sidelines, a grin on his face, as if he were responsible for the way the Metro Elementary Wildcats had played -- which, CJ thought, he wasn't. Coach Tibbets was the one who had taught them to play as a team, even when the pitcher and the right fielder could barely stand each other. The parents and families of the players were going crazy in the stands, and behind home plate, he could see Wyatt doing a victory dance, clutching the ball in his catcher's glove and waving it in the air. Then the other members of his team descended on him, screaming and pounding him wherever their hands came in contact with his body. He found that he was grateful for his partial invulnerability.

He could see his dad in the fourth row, yelling along with the other parents, and the fact that he was there made CJ feel considerably safer. Whatever the coach was up to, CJ thought, his dad wouldn't let him get away with it, at least for now.

The Eastside Elementary Wolves were advancing to shake the hands of the winners, and the Wildcats lined up behind him to graciously accept the congratulations. That was something that the schools insisted on to show good sportsmanship. CJ suspected that congratulating him was the last thing they wanted to do. He had heard the remarks when the opposing team had discovered that he was the Wildcats' pitcher today. Not many members of Metropolis's four other elementary schools' baseball teams were too fond of him.

Linda had moved up behind him. She was looking at the members of the opposing team with a serious expression, but she didn't say anything. At last, the Wildcats traipsed off the field, to be met by their family members. Wyatt, Linda and CJ walked together in a small group. CJ could see that his dad was trying to work his way down from the stands through the crowd of parents. Coach Pilson had moved toward them, and as CJ approached the area by the gate, the coach stopped beside him. "That was great pitching," he remarked casually. "Not many kids can pitch as well as you, Kent."

"Other kids didn't have my grandfather to teach them how," CJ said.

"Was he really that good?" Pilson asked.

"Yeah, he was," CJ said. "He pitches for the senior's team in Smallville, now. He's still better than any of the others there."

"Too bad your dad didn't decide to play," Pilson said. "Didn't your grandfather teach him?"

"Yeah," CJ said, wondering a little about the questions. "My dad liked football better than baseball. He played at Midwest U."

"Oh," Pilson said. "And then he decided to be a reporter."

"Yeah, he did," CJ said. "Why?"

"Just making conversation," Pilson said. "I've read a lot of his stuff." He looked at Linda and Wyatt. "That was fine teamwork," he said. "I guess catching for Kent here keeps you on your toes," he added to Wyatt. "Do you always catch for him?"

"Yeah," Wyatt said. "Coach Tibbets always assigns me to catch for CJ."

"I can see why," Pilson remarked, casually. "Been catching for him long?"

"Just this year," CJ said. "At least here. Wyatt's in Little League, too."

"Oh, I see," Pilson said. "How about you, Lennox?"

"I just transferred to Metro Elementary this year," Linda said. "I used to go to Susan Bitterwerth Elementary before this."

"Oh," Pilson said.

Linda pointed. "There's your dad, CJ," she said suddenly. Relieved, CJ saw Clark Kent coming across the blacktop toward him. Pilson turned in time to come face to face with CJ's father. CJ could hear his heartbeat speed up.

Clark looked the coach up and down. "You must be Coach Pilson," he said. CJ and Linda looked at each other.

"Yeah," Pilson said. "John Tibbets has the flu, so I'm substituting. You must be CJ's father."

"That's right. Clark Kent," Clark said, extending a hand. Pilson took it, and the men shook hands. CJ saw the coach wince slightly.

"Your son's a terrific pitcher for his age," Pilson said.

"We think so," Clark said. "My father taught him, when he was about five." He looked past the coach to CJ, Wyatt and Linda. "If you three hurry, I'll give you a ride home with Marta. Linda, your mother called to tell Lois that she's going to be late again tonight, so you're eating with us again."

"Okay," Linda said. "We'll be just a few minutes, Mr. Kent."

**********

And now, at long last, Part 7:

As he entered the gymnasium to change out of his baseball gear, CJ glanced back. His father was talking to Mr. Pilson, but without employing his super-hearing, CJ couldn't hear what they were saying.

Linda was also looking back, and he saw that she was biting her lip, but she didn't say anything. Inside the gym, they split up. Linda headed for the girl's changing room, and he and Wyatt for the one reserved for the boys.

There were three other boys from their class there, changing clothing. Paul Roberts, the Wildcats' third baseman pulled his T-shirt over his head and looked around to see them. "Hey!" he said. "Wildcats rule!"

CJ grinned and went to his locker to retrieve his clothes. They were lying in a jumbled heap in his cubicle. He frowned at the pile of clothing. He wasn't given to excessive neatness, but he could have sworn he'd more-or-less folded his shirt and jeans before he'd left them here. And he definitely hadn't left his pockets turned inside out like that.

"What's the matter?" Wyatt asked.

"Somebody's been messing with my stuff," CJ said.

Wyatt glanced at the clothing. "Did you have any money in your pockets?"

"No." CJ bent to retrieve the pencil that had been in one pocket. It was lying on the floor under the bench. "I know better than that."

"There's your house key," Wyatt said. He picked the key up from the spot where it had fallen, nearly out of sight by the foot of the bench.

"Thanks." CJ took the key. Had someone been searching his pockets for money, or was it something worse? He began to dress, frowning thoughtfully.

'You suppose it had something to do with that stuff last night?' Wyatt's voice asked in his mind.

"I dunno," CJ answered the same way. 'I guess it might just be somebody looking for stuff to steal.'

'Biff, you think?' Wyatt asked.

CJ thought about it. 'Doubt it. He was on the field the whole time, and I saw him talking to Grunt when we came in here. He didn't have a chance to take anything.'

'Oh.' Wyatt was buttoning his shirt. 'Maybe you should tell your dad.'

'I'm going to. Let's hurry up.'

"I'm done," Wyatt said, aloud. He tucked in the tail of his shirt.

The final bell, announcing the end of school, rang as CJ picked up the bag that now contained his very dirty baseball uniform and together the two boys left the locker room. Other team members passed them, several giving CJ and Wyatt a high-five. Even Biff didn't give CJ his usual scowl as he passed. CJ grinned at his friends, knowing that his stock was pretty high with them right now, but he didn't stop to chat. His dad was waiting patiently, with Linda and Marta beside him, but there was no sign of Coach Pilson. At least, CJ thought, he didn't have to be back until Monday. Maybe by then his dad and Mr. Henderson would figure out what was going on and put a stop to it.

Clark was talking to Linda in a voice low enough that no one around them would be able to hear, and CJ didn't bother to try to tune in with his super-hearing. His dad was frowning but it wasn't an angry frown. It was more as if he was thinking hard about what Linda was saying. He nodded a couple of times, and then glanced up as CJ and Wyatt approached.

"Come on, guys," he said, noncommittally, "let's get home."

"Somebody searched through CJ's clothes in the locker room," Wyatt said.

"Oh?" Clark glanced at CJ. "Is anything missing?"

CJ shook his head. "No. I didn't have anything worth taking. Just a pencil and my key, and they were there, only on the floor."

"Maybe somebody was looking for money," Marta said.

"Maybe," Clark said. He didn't say anything more as they crossed the blacktop toward the parking lot, but CJ had the impression that he was listening for something, though what it might be he had no idea. He tried to listen, too, but he wasn't as good as his dad when it came to using his super-hearing; at least yet. Trying to sort out what lots of different people were saying tended to make all the sounds blend into one big gabble, and generally gave him a headache.

When they reached the parking lot, CJ saw that the Jeep was completely hemmed in by the cars of parents that had come to see the game. He wasn't really surprised. Cars were jammed together just like rush hour in downtown Metropolis, and it occurred to him to wonder why grown-ups couldn't take turns like the teachers taught the kids in his school to do, instead of trying to be the first in line to exit the lot. As he watched, the driver of a Chevy van tried to shove its nose into a spot too small for a Volkswagen, and the guy in the fancy pickup truck that had been moving into the space had to slam on his brakes to avoid the other vehicle. The car behind the pickup jolted to a stop half an inch from the truck's bumper, but the car behind *him* wasn't quite fast enough and CJ winced at the shriek of metal against metal.

Other cars screeched to a stop as well. The drivers of the two cars jumped out and ran to inspect the damage, which, CJ's enhanced vision informed him, was limited to a minor scratch on the rear bumper of one and a tiny dent in the front bumper of the other.

The minor nature of the damage didn't seem to matter, however, judging by the language that was issuing from the drivers of the two cars. Clark opened the doors of the Cherokee after a glance over his shoulder at the accident.

"You kids get in," he said. "I think Superman's going to step in here."

Wyatt, Marta, Linda and CJ got into the Jeep and at Clark's insistence, shut and locked the doors. When CJ again had the leisure to look up, his father had vanished, and an instant later, Superman had arrived on the scene.

"You think we'll ever be able to fly like him?" Marta asked wistfully, watching the drama.

"Sure," CJ said firmly. "You and Linda can already float down when he throws you into the air. It's gonna take a while, but I bet we'll be flying before we're eighteen. Dad says he thinks he probably could have flown when he was fifteen or sixteen -- he just didn't know he could."

"And," Wyatt said, "CJ can even do better than that -- and he's only about a year older than you, Marta. Last time I stayed overnight, CJ floated in his sleep. I saw him."

"I *did*?" CJ said.

"Uh huh. I woke up in the middle of the night, and you were floating maybe three or four feet in the air."

CJ was struck dumb for several seconds. "Why didn't you *say* something?"

Wyatt shrugged. "I figured you probably knew already. 'Sides flying's no big deal for you guys, is it?"

"Yeah, it kinda is," CJ said. "Next time you see me floating, wake me up, okay?"

"Sure," Wyatt said.

"What was Dad frowning about?" CJ asked, turning to Linda. "He looked kinda worried."

Linda was watching Superman as he separated the drivers, picked up the vehicles and moved them to the side of the lot. "He was," she said. "There's another Kryptonian somewhere around."

"How do you know?" Wyatt asked.

"I always know," Linda said. "I don't know how; I just do."

"Is he around, now?" CJ asked.

"Yes. Not as close as he was a while ago."

"Where was he a while ago?"

Linda shrugged. "I don't know. Just close."

"One of the Wolves' team?" CJ asked.

"Maybe. I don't know."

"But he's not around our school most of the time?" CJ asked.

"No," Linda said. "I've never felt him before."

"He probably came with the other team," Wyatt said. "Or maybe with his mom or dad."

"Maybe," Linda said, but she didn't look convinced. "He was scared."

"Scared? How do you know?"

Again she shrugged. She probably really didn't know how she knew, CJ decided. She'd known Marta was a Kryptonian, and she'd probably known Jonny and Jimmy were, too. And she'd spotted Valerie Henderson as well. Linda seemed to have some way of telling, even if she didn't know how she did it. But then, Linda was pretty special, CJ thought with a twinge of pride.

"He's getting farther away all the time," Linda added. "He's probably in one of the cars that were in the parking lot."

"Yeah," CJ said.

The front door of the Jeep opened and Clark got in. "It looks like we'll be out of here in a few minutes," he said.

"Dad, can you tell if somebody's a Kryptonian?" Marta asked.

He shook his head. "No."

"Then how does Linda know?" Marta asked.

"I don't know," Clark said. "I don't know that much about Kryptonian powers. Zara did mention that sometimes the noble families of Krypton produced someone with better than normal mental abilities. That might have been how the noble families got to be the noble families. I wonder if that might be how they found me in the beginning."

"What do you mean?" CJ asked.

"Well --" His father started the engine and began to back cautiously from the parking space. "When the New Kryptonians arrived, they somehow knew that I was one of them, and since Kal-El had been sent to Earth, they figured that I was him -- and of course they were right," he added. "Zara never told me how they did it, though. It might have been someone like Linda who pointed me out to them."

"Yeah, maybe," Marta said. "I guess Linda's dad was from one of the noble families, huh?"

His dad glanced quickly over his shoulder, and CJ couldn't interpret the expression on his face when he looked at Linda, but an instant later he was paying attention to the traffic that was still crowded much too closely around them for CJ's comfort. "Probably," he said. "It doesn't matter who it was. Linda's from Earth, and the New Kryptonians are gone. As far as I'm concerned, we can forget they ever existed."

"That's sure," Linda said. "I hate him, whoever he was."

CJ couldn't help himself. He reached out, took her hand and squeezed it. 'Dad's right. It really *doesn't* matter,' he said, aiming his thoughts directly at her, so that Marta, Wyatt and his dad wouldn't hear, or at least he hoped they wouldn't. '*I'm* glad you're here. It wouldn't even matter if it was Lord Nor, and Lord Nor tried to kill my dad. *You* didn't have anything to do with it, anymore than I had anything to do with where I came from.'

She met his eyes, and for a long moment they looked at each other very solemnly. Then Marta giggled. "You guys look just like Gwendolyn and Vincent on 'The Ivory Tower'!"

CJ stuck his tongue out at his sister and squeezed Linda's hand again, but he didn't say anything.

It was the beginning of rush hour, so it took nearly twenty minutes to reach the townhouse on Hyperion Avenue. Clark pulled the Jeep into the garage in the rear of the property and cut the engine. CJ saw him lower his glasses and look in the direction of the house. He frowned.

"What's the matter?" CJ asked.

"We have visitors," his father said.

"Good guys or bad ones?" Wyatt asked.

"Good ones," Clark said. "But a little unexpected. When we get there, you four go on upstairs and start your homework. I'll call you if you need to be there."

"You're gonna tell us what's going on, later, aren't you?" Wyatt asked.

"If it's related to this business with Coach Pilson," CJ's father said, "you can be sure I will."

**********

When Clark walked into the living room of the townhouse, followed by the four children, William Henderson and his companion got to their feet.

"Hi, Clark," Henderson said. "We've been waiting for you to get home."

Lois, stretched out on the couch, as usual, looked at the four children. "Why don't you guys go up to the playroom with Jonny and Jimmy."

"Okay," CJ said. They headed up the stairs and Clark looked questioningly at his second visitor.

"I didn't expect to see you, Rene."

The French Interpol agent had risen to his feet. "It's good to see you, Clark. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"What's going on?" Clark asked.

"My inquiries to Agent Olsen got more results than we expected," Henderson said. "He evidently contacted Agent St. Cloud here."

"Are *your* people behind the surveillance of my son?" Clark asked, levelly.

"Not exactly," Rene said. "I shouldn't have been surprised that you discovered it, though. I recall clearly how impressed I was with your work on Crescent Island. No, my people aren't behind the surveillance, but one of my men is involved in it."

"Pilson," Clark said. "Or Maxwell."

"Yes," Rene said. "I had hoped not to have to alarm you, but I should have realized that it was a vain wish." He gestured to the empty armchair. "Sit down and I'll explain. John Maxwell is one of my best men. He'll be most chagrined to discover that a reporter has penetrated his disguise. I did explain to him that you were no common reporter, and warned him not to underestimate you, but I don't think he was convinced."

Clark glanced at Lois, who nodded at him. Martha Kent entered the room, a tray bearing four cups of coffee and a glass of juice in her hands. She distributed the coffee to Clark and the two guests, set the juice in front of Lois and sank onto the foot of the sofa, setting the last cup and saucer on the end table.

Lois sipped the juice and set the glass on the coffee table. "You have no idea how glad I'm going to be when I can have a real cup of coffee again," she remarked. "Go ahead. I want to hear this explanation, myself. I don't particularly like the thought that my son is being watched by his PE coach."

Rene St. Cloud nodded. "I don't blame you, Ms. Lane, but it was a choice of his being watched by one of my men or by someone else who had no reason at all to try to protect him. Quite the opposite." He sipped the coffee. "You recall, I am sure, Arianna Carlin."

"What's *she* got to do with this?" Lois asked, sharply.

"Everything, I'm afraid," Rene said. "She vanished during the raid on Crescent Island and seemed to completely disappear. But we believe she has surfaced again, at last." He met Clark's eyes. "I understand, my friend, that you are angry that your son has become the target of surveillance, but when you hear the circumstances, I think you will be willing to forgive me."

"All right," Clark said. "Let's hear it."

**********
tbc

Nan, your new story shows us once again why you are one of the best-loved writers of Lois and Clark fanfiction. Your prose flows flawlessly; your portaits of the Kent kids are so well done and very interesting; it's absolutely fascinating to see the kids discover unexpected super abilities in themselves; and they interact very well with each other and with their father. And you sure manage to build the suspense as you keep us wondering why the Kent kids are being kept under surveillance.

But because I am one of the world's most die-hard Lois and Clark fans, I would have liked to see more of Lois and Clark in your story, too. The love and togetherness of Lois and Clark is what I'm always looking for in any LC fanfic story, which is not to say that I expect every other Lois and Clark fan to share my preferences here. Obviously, in any next generation story, you are going to see rather less of Lois and Clark and rather more of their children. But for myself, I can never accept the idea that Lois and Clark's love and togetherness becomes less interesting and important once they are married and have children than it was before. And I can't accept the idea that this "married love" should just be there as a sort of comfortable background, not to be much commented on, in stories about Lois and Clark's children.

As I said, I'm obviously just speaking for myself here, and I have absolutely no idea how many other fans out there might agree with me. More to the point, the question of what readers think about writers' stories is not all-important. Creating a story, "giving birth" to it as it were, is such an intensely personal thing. A story can really only flow from the writer's own imagination, dreams, and preferences. In other words: We readers can't tell the writers what to write. We should be grateful that there are so many creative, hugely talented writers out there, with their own unique takes on this incredibly fascinating couple, Lois and Clark. And Nan, you are certainly one of the best.

Nevertheless, just this once, I'm still going to ask you to reconsider your way of showing us Lois in this story. The title of your story is "Mother's Day", and I assume that the mother you refer to here is Lois. Why not try to work Lois into the story more than you have done so far, considering the name of your story seems to be referring to her?

I'm sure looking forward to seeing more of this story. I do expect you to show us the birth of the Kent triplets! Once, in a Superman comic book about ten years ago, when the comic book Lois Lane was engaged to Clark but not married to him, Lois wrote an article in the Daily Planet where she asked people to respect Superman's right to a private life. The way I remember that article, Lois asked her readers to consider the possibility that Superman might live in a house with a white picket fence and have seven children. Well, Nan, you are about to give Lois and Clark their seven children, and I must confess I'm looking forward to seeing how that will work out! So write more soon, please!

Ann

Have patience, Ann. All will be revealed in good time. <g>

Nan