It’s Monday, so here’s the new part. This one has been done, reread, changed, done, reread, changed… every time I thought it was really finished and then I thought I should redo this or change that… but I think it has turned out well. You can tell me what you think in your feedback. 😁 I really hope you enjoy this part.
Thanks to all readers and commenters. Big thanks and much love to Socomama and 90stvfangirl.
TOCChapter twenty-threeWe’ve just stepped out of the house when I stumble, my balance off just enough that I have to grab Lucy’s arm.
“Whoa!” She catches me. “You okay?”
“Loose board…” I start to say, but movement catches my eye. The treehouse across the yard, half-hidden behind the barn. Something shifted in the shadows between the slats.
“There.” I point, steadying myself. “Did you see that?”
Lucy’s gaze follows mine, her concern for me momentarily forgotten. “The treehouse?”
“Someone’s up there.”
My heart leaps as we hurry over the uneven yard. The structure looks fragile, more memory than shelter, and if there’s a kid up there…
“Hey!” I call, already heading across the uneven ground. “That thing’s not safe! You need to come down!”
No answer, but there’s more movement.
We get closer. The ladder is still intact, barely. Through the slats above, I can just make out a sleeping bag. Up in the shadows, a figure slowly stirs.
Not a child.
An adult. Broad shoulders. Familiar frame.
The figure shifts, and a face appears in the door.
My heart stops.
“Clark,” I whisper.
He freezes. A tiny hitch in his breath, gone almost before I notice it.
His eyes meet mine and something gives. For a fraction of a second, his expression is filled with a flash of unbearable, exhausted relief. Then the wall slams shut and recognition collides with instinct. Hide. Avoid. Disappear.
His clothes are plain, worn, with dust clinging to the folds.
He climbs down silently. Each movement is deliberate, precise, careful. His boots barely make a sound hitting the ground.
But he doesn’t come closer.
Lucy stops a few feet behind me, quiet. Giving us space but staying close.
Clark’s hand finds the tree trunk, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Testing whether this is real.
“I never thought…” His voice is hoarse. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
I don’t answer yet. I let him look. Let him see that I’m real.
“I don’t leave traces,” he says, confusion creeping into his voice. “No names. Only cash. I stay off roads. Out of sight.” His eyes search mine. “How did you find me?”
“You told me you went home sometimes,” I say quietly. “I just had to figure out where home was.”
His brow furrows. “That’s not… I never said where.”
“No. But you mentioned growing up on a farm, the annual farming event. Your parents.” I pause, watching his reaction. “I followed the accidents. The pattern of orphaned children in the mid-seventies. Then I narrowed it to families with farms. The Kents weren’t hard to find once I knew what I was looking for.”
Something flickers across his face: surprise, maybe fear. “You investigated me.”
“I needed to know you were real,” I admit. “That what we shared wasn’t just… a moment I imagined.”
His jaw tightens. “And now that you know?”
“This isn’t a trap,” I meet his gaze. “We’re not here to expose you. Or pin you down somewhere you can’t breathe.”
His hand flexes against the tree, but some of the tension in his shoulders eases.
“You shouldn’t have come.” It breaks something in him to say it and he averts his gaze.
I let the quiet stretch. Let the wind rustle between us. Let him realize I won’t leave.
A twig snaps behind me. I glance toward the shadowed edge of the field. Lucy. She doesn’t step closer, just watches, half-hidden, a small, knowing smile on her face. Her eyes meet mine and she gives the faintest nod.
I turn back to Clark. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t retreat.
“I thought maybe you’d forget,” his voice is barely audible. “That it was just one night. That you’d move on.” Each word lands like a knife in my heart.
“You’re not just a night to me,” I whisper. “You never were. I just didn’t understand that before you left.”
He looks up. And in that second, there’s only him. Scared and scarred and here.
Fear and longing and every wound that never healed, all visible now.
I watch him, then I lift my hand, not to reach for him, but to offer it, palm up, a small, quiet space between us. An option.
He looks at my hand, then at my face. He releases the oak trunk, his thumb brushing over the rough bark one last time, a final farewell to his hiding place. He doesn’t move toward me, but he does something much more profound: He lets his guard drop. The posture of the fugitive is gone, replaced by the uncertain stand of a man who has decided to stay, for now.
Hands open, palms visible, I take a slow step forward. Giving him enough time to move back if he wants.
I reach out, slow, so he can see every inch of movement, and let my fingertips graze the back of his hand. His skin is impossibly warm, smooth. My hand slides down until my palm fits against his.
For a moment he grips back. His thumb twitches against my skin. Then he lets go, and I watch him retreat into himself again. Not physically, he hasn’t moved, but I can see it in his eyes.
I don’t chase the contact. I let it fall away, giving him space. But the shape of his hand stays pressed into my memory.
His gaze flickers from my face to my hands and back, and I remember, the way he memorized every shift of my body like it was language. The way his fingertips could read a sigh before it escaped.
“I came, because I needed to know you were alive. I needed to see you again. You don’t need to run from me. You deserve…”
“Don’t.” His voice cracks. “Don’t say that.”
I stop moving.
He rubs the back of his neck, looking past me, as if shadows might lunge. “You don’t understand. You being here, Lois, it puts you in danger. And her too.” He nods at Lucy.
“I know.” My voice is steady even as my legs protest standing still this long.
“No. You think you know. But you don’t know they will do with me. You can’t be found. Not by them. Not by people like them…”
“I do know,” I say. “I know enough.”
“You don’t,” he insists, voice breaking. “I’ve been running since I was eighteen. I don’t do staying. I don’t remember how.”
“I can help you remember. Let me help you remember.”
He shakes his head. “Lois, I’m not safe.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not,” his voice shakes as he repeats an old truth he’s lived by. “Everyone I care about ends up hurt. Or hunted. Or worse.”
“You think I don’t know what danger is?” I whisper. “I’m not some soft thing, Clark. I’ve been hurt. I’ve been hunted. And still, I’m standing here.”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes.
“I’ve seen the soldiers, Clark. I’ve heard them talk about their target. I know they mean you. Wherever you go… there will come a moment you can’t escape. What happens then, when your ‘dragon of a girlfriend’ isn’t there to save you?”
His jaw tightens.
“In Atlanta, you were ready to give up. If I hadn’t been there, you would have let them take you.”
“Lois…”
“Don’t deny it.” My voice is gentle, not accusatory. “I saw it in your eyes. You were done running.”
I raise a hand, slow and deliberate, and gently rest it over his chest, over his heart. I feel it stutter. Then beat. Then catch again.
“You don’t need to run from this,” My gaze holds his. “Not from me. I’m not asking you to stay forever. I’m asking you to believe, just for tonight, that you’re allowed to have a home.”
And a family. But not yet. He’s barely holding on as it is.
He lowers his head. I can see the storm behind his eyes, the fight to protect me by leaving versus the ache of not being alone.
My vision blurs at the edges, just for a second. I blink it away.
Not now.Behind me, Lucy shifts. I can feel her watching, not Clark, but me. But she doesn’t step forward.
“You think you’re dangerous,” I say. “But you don’t scare me.”
He lifts his gaze. His voice is barely a breath. “You should be scared.”
“I’m not. I know you. I’ve seen all of you, not just your body, your soul. And I’m still here.”
He swallows. His hand twitches near mine. His shoulders go rigid.
“Hey,” I murmur, softer now. “I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”
His eyes flick to mine.
I move closer slowly, giving him time to step back if he needs to.
“Let yourself have something,” I whisper. “Even if it’s just tonight. Even if it’s just me.”
My voice wavers at the end.
He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t step back.
His chest rises and falls beneath my palm, breath uneven. I feel the tension there.
Then, slowly, his hand comes up. Not to pull me closer. Just to rest at my waist.
He lets out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead tipping forward until it touches mine.
I lean into him.
His arms fold around me then, careful at first, almost afraid of breaking something, me, or himself. I ease into him, and his arms tighten carefully around me.
We stand there, breathing the other in, steadying the other.
He holds me.
And I hold him.
A soft rustle of leaves, Lucy shifting her weight, still keeping her distance, reminds me she’s there, the quiet witness to this fragile moment.
His hand trembles again. I feel a shiver run through him. He takes a long, shaky breath.
When he finally whispers, I know it’s a confession he didn’t mean to make: “It’s never just you, Lois.”
I let his words hang in the air. We stay like this, his heart racing beneath my palm. Each beat speaks louder than words.
Then, carefully, I ease back just enough to let the world back in.
Lucy’s small presence, just at the periphery, gives me reassurance. Then slowly, reading the shift between us, she steps closer.
“Hi,” she says, voice gentle. “You must be Clark. I’m Lucy, Lois’s sister.”
He can only nod, throat working. “Clark,” he manages finally.
Lucy’s smile softens. “You’re a long way from the city. And it looks like you could use a real place to stay.”
He shakes his head, hesitant.
“We’re staying in town,” Lucy says. “Just for tonight. Come with us.”
He glances toward the field.
“It’s okay, Smallville’s been waiting for you to come home.”
For a long moment, he looks at me, weighing fear against something far more dangerous: hope.
And then his hand moves, not reaching, but no longer pulling away. When his fingers find mine, they hold on.
I curl my fingers around his, and this time he doesn’t let go.
There’s so much to tell him, I think. But right now, this, his hand in mine, is enough.
Without another word, the three of us walk back across the field toward my Jeep.
***
The drive back is quiet.
Lucy drives, both hands on the wheel. She doesn’t speak, though she keeps glancing at me through the rear view mirror.
Clark sits in the back, his forehead nearly touching the glass, watching the landscape roll by.
I’m beside him, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. My hand twitches toward his, then stills.
Does he want this closeness, or dread it? Should I scoot nearer, offer silent support? Or give him space?Eyelids heavy, I blink hard. Just a little longer. Hold it together.
The sun dips lower, turning the fields gold. We’re just reaching the first scattered houses on the edge of Smallville when Clark leans forward, voice low and urgent.
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the car,” he repeats, sharper this time.
Lucy pulls onto the shoulder just before the bend and cuts the engine.
Then I see what made him freeze.
Ahead, near the hardware store, a group of men fan out across the road. Black boots, plain dark uniforms, no local insignia. Not police. Not military.
Bureau 39.
Two are outside Maisie’s, asking questions. More move house to house, flashing ID too fast to read. A black SUV idles nearby.
Clark sinks down instinctively, his grip tightening on the seat ahead like it’s the only solid thing left.
“Shit,” I mutter. “They’re not even pretending to be low profile.”
Clark’s eyes go wide, scanning. His gaze flicking to every movement. His breath turns shallow, rapid.
“It’s me,” he whispers, barely audible. “They know I’m here.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Yes, we do! Why else would they be here? Why today?” His voice is low. “This is how they move. They push. They intimidate. And when they don’t get answers…” He swallows hard. “They take.”
“I should…” His hand jerks to the door handle.
I don’t let him finish. My hand closes over his wrist. He tenses, pulling against my grip, but I shift closer, forcing him to acknowledge me.
“Clark,” I breathe. My other hand finds his face. “Look at me.”
His breath is coming too fast, but his eyes lock on mine.
“They’ll see you run,” I whisper. “The second you move, they’ll know. Stay with us and you’re just another face passing through.”
“Lois…”
“I just found you.” My voice cracks. “I’m not losing you again. Not to them. Please.”
His hand stays on the door handle. I can feel him vibrating with the need to run.
“Clark, listen to me.” I don’t let go. “You run now, they will see you. But if you stay with us…“
“They’ll find me anyway…“
“They don’t know you’re here. They’re fishing.” My grip tightens on his wrist. “Let them come up empty.”
A long moment. His breathing still ragged. Then, finally, his hand drops from the door handle.”
I pull him closer, forehead to forehead, my hand steady on his face, the other hand closes around his.
“We’ve got you,” I whisper. “You’re not alone anymore.”
His breathing eases. Just a little.
My heart hammers, but I keep my voice even. He needs me calm.
He nods against my forehead. Stays.
Out the windshield, we watch an elderly couple step onto their porch. A soldier approaches, gestures to his badge.
The man just shakes his head. I can’t hear the words, but I can read his posture, it’s almost the same posture I saw in Wayne Irig earlier.
Ain’t seen nothin’. Don’t know nothin’.The soldier tries again. The woman steps up beside her husband, arms crossed, chin high.
Clark’s shoulders drop, though his breath is still shaky.
“They’ll send them away.” Lucy says firmly from the front, eyes sharp on the road ahead. “Mr. Irig told us they cycle through every few years. Smallville knows the drill.”
“They’re probably tracking patterns,” I whisper to Lucy. “Like we did.”
I turn back to Clark. “Look, they’re canvassing the whole town. If they knew you were here, they’d go straight to wherever they thought they could find you. They’re searching blind.”
I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
“I never told anyone in Smallville where I was going,” he whispers. “Never called. Never wrote.”
“They don’t have to know you’re here,” I murmur. “You’re part of their community, like your parents. And that means the town protects you.”
We sit silent, watching the town close ranks around its own: stonewalling, protecting.
Lucy glances back once, assessing. Then shifts into gear, easing onto a side road looping the square. No haste. No attention. “I’ve got the route. Stay low.”
“Good thinking,” I murmur.
Lucy catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “I’ve got you both.”
Clark doesn’t raise his head again until we’re almost back to the inn. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. “They didn’t give me up.”
“No,” I say softly. “They didn’t.”
My hand is still on his and he hasn’t pulled away.
“You okay?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I forgot what it felt like. To be protected instead of hunted.”
“You’re safe.” I whisper. “We’ll keep you safe.”
T. B. C.
