Hi,

Some plot stuff, but quite a bit of family stuff in this part too. I hope you enjoy.

Yours Jenni

Previously on My Wife The Boss:


“No, I'm Clark Kent of The Daily Planet, but I've been investigating this case and Thomas Timmons. Believe me, Liz, you've just given me the chance to stop this madman,” Clark said, deciding he could leave Liz in the care of her boss. “Go sit with your old lady, and I'll let the police know where to find you. They'll want to talk to you soon, and can you repeat everything you've told me about the package from Thomas?”

Liz nodded. She wasn't sure why, but she had trusted this stranger from the moment he'd prevented her from falling. “It's the truth.”

“I don't doubt that for a minute,” Clark assured Liz, then turned back to the older woman. “Are there any policemen on the floor above?”

The supervisor looked puzzled but she answered freely, instinctively recognizing Clark Kent's aura of authority, “Yes, there are policemen stationed all over the home.”

“Then tell them to put a guard on Liz and Miss Bowen-Timmons. I can't tell you why, but it is very important.”

“Don't worry. I'll make sure they are safe.” The supervisor had no idea what was going on, but she'd picked up on the seriousness of the situation immediately.

“Good!” Clark replied, giving both women a fleeting, yet somehow somber smile.

The two woman watched as Clark left the building at speed. It was imperative he find Zymak and she talk to Peterson on his behalf. Jed ought to be convinced of the connection now, even though his bosses might need some persuading.

*****

continued ...

Soon after Officer Zymak had relayed Clark's message and convinced the sergeant of its urgency, Peterson arrived. Without saying a word, he marched past Clark and the policewoman, leading them further off the drive into the privacy of the trees.

Finally he turned, regarding Clark guardedly. “Sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff, but I suspect my new partner told the inspector I was talking to you earlier. He sees sucking up to the bosses as his fast track to the top.” For a brief second the detective seemed weighed down by too many problems and he spoke to Clark somewhat curtly. “I've been told you think you have found our bomber?”

Clark shifted his weight from foot to foot. Perhaps getting Jed on board might not be so easy as he'd believed. “I haven't found him exactly ...”

“Then why am I here?” Jed interrupted, before swinging on Zymak, his voice hard edged with frustration. “Tracey, you told me ...”

“I do have a name!” Clark cut in with some force, directing Peterson's attention back on himself. When the sergeant fell silent, he continued. “His name is Thomas Timmons, and if you check with the nursing supervisor and an aide called Liz, you'll discover that Miss Bowen-Timmons lives in the home, she might even own the place, but today she got a package from her nephew Thomas. He sent her chocolates, but she didn't open them.” Clark watched Jed's face closely to see how he was reacting and saw a flicker of interest spark in his eyes. “Instead, she gave them to Liz who put them in the staff room. Liz didn't open them either, but I'm guessing that our casualty did. You can ask her when she regains consciousness.”

Jed cleared his throat, but said hoarsely. “I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. I got word from the hospital. The victim didn't make it.”

Silence engulfed the private conversation of the three individuals for a time, the only movement clouds of their breathing rising in the cold air.

“I am sorry,” Clark murmured, his eyes closing as he felt heartache for this woman and her family at this time of year, when life should be happy. And Matt! Matt would be hurting. He had to find his son and comfort him ... but not yet.

“Yeah,” Jed said starkly. “This Timmons has a lot to answer for.”

At Jed's words, Clark's eyes flashed open. “You believe me about Timmons?”

The sergeant inclined his head in a partial nod, but didn't look at Clark. “Let's just say I'm prepared to go along with you at this point.” There was another pause while he blew on his hands and rubbed them together for warmth. “It's cold out tonight; probably below freezing ... but I guess we're lucky to be alive to feel it. Too many people have died.” Jed turned back to Clark. “This isn't for publication, but I believe you because one of the forensic team found traces of something that could once have been chocolate on the detonator. They can't be sure -- not until they run tests, but it's a possibility.”

Clark nodded in silence, ignoring the temptation to warm up the two cops with his heat vision. Totally oblivious of Clark's impulse or his ability to carry it out, the sergeant continued, “So you seriously think we can link the bomb with this Timmons guy?”

“I'm sure Liz and Miss Bowen-Timmons will confirm that the package came from him, and ...”

“But you knew about him before you got here?” Jed's question came at Clark with the speed of a bullet.

“Yes, I did.” Clark took a deep breath, trying to get his thoughts in order, which wasn't quite so easy, because in the deepest recesses of his heart he could feel Matt's distress. He had to wind this up as quickly as he could and find his son. “This is what I was trying to tell you earlier. This morning ... or make that yesterday, I got a tip from a source who saw Timmons with Bob Tanner, the night before the hospital explosion. My source said he overheard Timmons telling Tanner he wanted him to have a clear head for some job they had on the next day ...”

“Blowing up Metropolis General?” Tracey joined in the conversation.

“I believe so,” Clark answered her.

“That's purely circumstantial,” Jed said, slightly dismissively. “And do I want to know who this source is?”

Clark sighed. Peterson had every right to be skeptical. With as fragmented information as he had, he'd be exactly the same way. “True, but the coincidences mount up ... and, no, right at this minute, I have to protect my source.”

“Sure that's all it is, Kent, and not that your source isn't exactly reliable?” Jed asked bluntly.

Stifling another sigh, Clark continued. “Please, just go with me on this. I know I don't have any firm evidence, but you're a good policeman, Jed. Hear me out?”

There was another pause, but shorter this time, before Jed acquiesced. “OK, tell me what you've got.”

Clark straightened his shoulders before continuing. It was imperative that he get this right. “My source gave me a partial name and the fact that he had spotted this guy working in an all-night cafe in Bakerline.” He glanced at his listeners to see how they were reacting; Tracey was hanging on his every word, but Peterson was poker-faced. “I went there tonight and eventually found the cafe. One of the customers recognized the man I was looking for as being Thomas Timmons, who'd worked at the cafe until a week ago.”

“What happened a week ago?” Jed demanded, his voice a monotone.

“The guy didn't show up for work. He didn't tell anyone he was leaving, and he hasn't been in since. I asked for an address, but my contact couldn't tell me where he lived, though it was suggested I come back during the day and talk to the boss.”

Jed eyed Clark cynically. “Right ... and I'm guessing this source doesn't have a name either?”

“No.” The ground at his feet was suddenly very interesting to Clark, but after a second, he gritted his teeth and locked gazes with the detective. “The contact would rather remain anonymous. You know there are some areas in Bakerline where talking to the police can get you into serious trouble.”

“But you think the owner of the cafe will talk?” Jed came back quickly.

Clark swallowed, he'd been wondering about that himself. “I don't know, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't give it a try.” Clark dug his hands into his pockets to keep them still, not wanting to betray his anxiety. “Remember the cassette recording of the bomber? Jor-El said it smelled greasy, and when you had forensics check it out, you found faint traces of cooking oil; that could tie in with someone who works in a cafe.”

“Or someone who does a lot of home cooking ... granted not very healthy cooking, but ...”

“But Tanner never cooked at home or elsewhere. He didn't have a home, and I doubt you ever managed to tie Tanner to that tape,” Clark stated, standing firm.

“Yeah, well, it's difficult to compare voice patterns when the suspect is blown to pieces,” Jed said, and jumped when Zymak put her hand on his arm.

“Jed, that's not fair. Tanner is already dead,” the policewoman said reasonably. “You can't blame him for this crime, so it's possible that he had an accomplice, at least.”

“Or he was tricked,” Clark insisted. “There are people who will vouch for Tanner not being able to hurt a fly, and I happen to believe them. Jed, I know I only have a string of coincidences, but my gut tells me that there is no smoke without fire, and I think you agree with me.” He drew his hands from his pockets and held them out to the detective. “You have to admit it's worth checking into.”

Peterson stayed silent as he took his turn to study the ground.

“Peterson, I'm not asking you to do the investigating, but if I can find a connection between Timmons and the rest of the targets, will you consider him a suspect, and try to persuade your bosses to put an APB out on him?”

For the first time during their conversation, Peterson relented. “Kent, I'm not saying you're wrong ... just that I need more proof before I can act, but if you find that connection, I'll do everything possible to bring this man in.”

Clark nodded. It wasn't as much co-operation as he'd hoped for, but it was something. He turned to go, but paused for a second as he dug a copy of his sketch from inside his coat and held it out to Peterson. “Jed, do me a favor, don't ask me how I got this, but show it to the old lady, Miss Bowen-Timmons, and ask her if she believes this could be her nephew. I don't think she's seen him for a number of years, and she might not be fit enough to answer, but I'd be very interested to hear what she has to say.”

Jed stared silently at the piece of paper in his hand, before glancing up at Clark. “OK, I'll do that. You gonna be at The Planet for most of the day?”

“Probably, though I have to go back to that cafe this morning,” Clark said wearily. Tiredness clogged his mind and spread like a canker into his bones, but he couldn't afford to rest. He flexed his shoulders, shrugging off the lethargy. “If you need to contact me, try The Planet, and if I'm not there leave a message with Lois.”

Clark walked away from the couple back to the driveway, but before he reached the gate, Officer Zymak caught up with him.

“Hey, wait for me,” she gasped, breathless and smiling. “You sure can walk fast.”

“I have a lot to do.” Clark explained, without slowing his pace and unable to hide his annoyance as he threw a sideways glance at policewoman. “What do you want? Jed found something else to complain about?”

But the grin stayed on Zymak's face. “No. The opposite, actually,” she countered, before going on to explain. “Jed's in a difficult position right now. His new partner has connections on the force, and he's watching him closely. But Jed does think you're on the right track, and he suggested I could talk to the owner of the cafe for you ... unofficially, of course.”

Clark halted. “You?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you want to do that?” he added with uncharacteristic harshness, the difficulties with this investigation shredding his nerves. Without waiting for an answer, he marched on.

“For a few reasons,” Tracey replied patiently, matching his stride. “One, because Jed asked me to -- I'm off duty in a few hours, and no one in the department is keeping a check on me. Two, you have your hands full investigating Timmons. And three, and most importantly, my dad always said you and Lois Lane had the best instincts in the business.” She put a hand on his arm to make him slow down. “I want to help you, and I won't let you down. Please, let me do this?”

Clark glanced toward the eastern horizon where the sky was faintly tinged with a rusty hue. Dawn wasn't that far off, and Tracey was correct. He had to do a deep background check on Thomas Timmons, and god knew how long that might take. But first, he had to find Matt. He had no idea yet where Matt was, but he sensed that his son needed him.

“OK, Tracey,” he replied after a few seconds. “I'm sorry for snapping at you, and I appreciate your help.”

The grin on Zymak's face became brighter. “Good. You give me the address and I'll get down there as soon as I can. When I find anything concrete, I'll get in touch with you at The Planet.” They had almost reached the gate. “Boy, wait till Dad finds out I have been working with you. He'll get a real kick out of that!”

*****

Chapter Fourteen
Faith, Hope and Charity

Clark drove slowly back to the city, his concentration completely focused on locating his son. He only hoped Matt didn't do his soul-searching on an ice flow in the Arctic, where he had gone on more than one occasion when he'd first donned the suit. There was no way he'd ever reach him there.

He contemplated calling Lois, but he didn't want to worry her. He'd driven down Hyperion Avenue on his way back to the city center and had checked out his home with both his hearing and x-ray vision. Thankfully, after a couple of attempts, his x-ray vision had co-operated and his hearing was almost back to normal --

Superman normal -- allowing him to know that his daughters were sleeping peacefully, while their mother was in bed, but tossing and turning restlessly in her sleep. If he couldn't find Matt soon, he decided he would ask Lois where her son would go to think.

Meanwhile he stretched out with his mind. <Matt, son, can you hear me?> The channel remained totally silent.

Clark negotiated a second set of traffic lights, tempted to run a red light on the eerily deserted streets, but his inbred habit of being a law-abiding citizen won out.

<Matt, I know you have got to be hurting, so please talk to me. Maybe I can help.>

OK, so Matt could brood as well as he could at that age ... but he'd learned that brooding wasn't helpful.

<Come on, Matt!> he thought, letting a tiny amount of frustration leak out of his mind. Maybe his decision not to trouble Lois immediately was wrong.

He breathed deeply to calm himself. Nagging his son wasn't going to get him an answer. Instead Clark reached out with his consciousness, trying to tap into the same link he shared with Lois. Burgeoning from somewhere deep inside him came the certainty that Matt hadn't flown to the North Pole, or any other distant spot. Listening with neither his hearing nor his telepathy, but with his heart, Clark realized that Matt had gone to the one place where he had found comfort as a teenager.

Deftly, Clark turned the car around and headed to his parents' home, thankful they no longer lived in Smallville; he wouldn't have been able to fly there either.

The sky had brightened further as Clark drew up in front of his parents' apartment, while far to the south east a line of steely red edged the horizon. What was that old adage he'd heard Mac quote? Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning. Of course, that referred to the weather, but his feeling of impending dread didn't need any type of encouragement.

Clark used his key to let himself in, surprised to find the apartment in silent darkness. For some seconds he held still, listening, letting the sounds of his parents restful breathing sooth his stress levels. But they were alone in the apartment, yet he'd been certain this was where he would find his son.
He extended his senses and soon picked up another heart beat, coming from outside. His parents lived in the ground floor apartment of an old mansion that had been converted into condos, giving them the advantage of a rather large garden, which the other residents were happy to allow Martha and Jonathan to cultivate. It still gave his parents satisfaction to work the soil, if in a much smaller capacity.

Right now the enclosed garden was being used as a refuge by a very troubled superhero.

Clark passed quickly through the room and out of the patio doors to confront his son, but what he saw drew him up short. Matt sat hunched on the rustic table, back in his civilian clothes, his eyes staring northward, beyond the city limits, to the ghostly snow clad hills, yet Clark doubted if the scene even registered in Matt's brain.

“Matt,” Clark said quietly, not wanting to wake the neighbors, walking softly to stand by his son's shoulder. “Want to tell me what's wrong?” There was a wealth of understanding in Clark's tone.

“What do you think?” Matt came back with a whisper, though self-disgust bubbled beneath the surface of his hushed tone.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Clark settled himself in a chair at the edge of Matt's peripheral vision, and when he spoke, his voice was light, but full of compassion. “I know what I think, son, what interests me is how you see what happened tonight.”

Matt continued to stare straight ahead, but there was a wrenching pain in his voice when he finally spoke. “I killed someone. That's what happened!”

“No. The bomber did that, the one who sent the package. He was solely responsible for that woman's death.”

For the first time, Matt turned to his father. “But she was alive when I got there. I made a decision. It turned out to be the wrong one, and because of that she died!”

Not for one moment did Clark think to dismiss Matt's account with platitudes, instead he leaned forward in his chair until he could almost touch the young superhero. “I wasn't there. Can you tell me what your decision was?”

“Dad, I'm not sure I want to go through this with you.” And Matt, once again, was supposedly fascinated by the winter vistas.

Following his son's gaze, Clark asked softly. “You find comfort in the countryside, don't you? You know, I used to do this in China -- sit out late at night on my own and watch the mountains change under the glow of the night sky ...”

And dream of a totally different landscape, he mused, choosing to keep that thought to himself. In this instance, he was not the one suffering. Clark pulled his coat around him, feeling the cold. It was weird but his invulnerability seemed to be the last thing to kick back in ... that and flying. “The world is a wonderful place, and yet there is such evil in it too, mostly man made.”

“I like it at the farm,” Matt offered another one-liner, before clamming up tight again.

For some time, father and son sat in almost companionable silence, letting the beauty of the scene seep into their veins.

Clark understood Matt needed to open up, so finally he addressed his son again. “Matt, I know you're going over and over your actions from tonight in your head.” He leaned forward and pushed a lock of Matt's tousled hair back from his brow. “Would it be so difficult to tell me about it?”

Matt pulled away from his father's hand, but at last he conceded. “I guess not. There really isn't much to tell. I arrived at the nursing home and scanned the place for casualties. There was the danger of fire, so I used my freezing breath to tamp it down for the moment, so I could get to the injured woman,” he related his tale as if he were reciting a laundry list. “I cleared the wreckage from her, and, believe me, there was quite a lot ... and that's when I got it wrong.”

“In what way wrong?”

Matt jumped up, ready to fly away, but Clark rose with him and moved to confront him.

“The first rule of saving people's lives is getting them to the hospital for treatment as quickly as possible,” Matt snapped at his father. “And I didn't do that. I should have flown her there immediately, but I didn't!”

Clark steeled himself and buried his pity deep inside. “Why not? If you think that's the best policy, why didn't you carry it through?” he demanded, his voice unsympathetic.

“Because I scanned her for injuries and it looked like she'd broken a couple of vertebrae in her neck. I was afraid if I just picked her up and flew her to the ER, she'd end up completely paralyzed ... or worse.”

“Did she have other injuries?” Clark kept up the interrogation, though inside he was hurting for his boy ... a boy who was trying so hard to do a man's job.

“Yeah. She had some internal injuries, but they didn't seem too bad. I believed the neck trauma was the worst.”

Clark nodded and eased off a little. “So what did you do then?”

By now, Matt looked like he'd encountered a ton of Kryptonite. “I heard the sirens, so I flew in the closest paramedics. They put her in a neck brace and on a back board, stabilized her and then I flew the ambulance with the woman to the ER.”

“Do you think that took very long?”

“Not all that long, I guess.” Matt stuffed his hand in his pockets and went back to sitting on his grandparents' patio table. “They ER team did their best for her, but she bled out due to her internal injuries ... so I chose wrong, Dad. If I hadn't waited, if I'd gotten her to the hospital right away, maybe she'd be alive ...”

“And maybe she would have died from a broken neck,” Clark countered. “Matt, you're not a doctor, but you had to make a split second decision, and it's very easy to know what was the best thing to do with hindsight, but that's not one of our special abilities. No matter what choice you made, that poor woman could have died.” Clark too hoisted himself on the table next to his son. “Did the ER doctors tell you anything?”

“Not really ... only that her injuries were too extensive for them to save her.” Matt was back to talking in whispers.

“And do you think you're more qualified than these doctors to judge the extent of this women's injuries?”

Again Matt jumped up, staring at his father. “No, of course not. Dad, why are you being this way?”

Clark sighed deeply and locked his gaze with his son. “Matt, I'm not trying to attack you, though I know it certainly seems that way. I'm just trying to remind you that we aren't gods. We don't have the power of life or death over everyone, and if you don't realize that you shouldn't be wearing the suit,” Clark finished on a somber note, though his hidden tears threatened to choke him.

“But I put on the suit because I thought that's what you would want me to do,” Matt almost sobbed. “To make a difference ...”

Dropping all pretense, Clark placed his hands on Matt's shoulders. “And you do make a difference.” He wanted to pull Matt in for a hug, but wasn't quite sure if his son was ready for that. “Think about it. Tonight, you gave that woman a chance at living, but she was just too hurt to make it. Not your fault. But if you hadn't been there, she would have died under the rubble, waiting for the ambulance to reach her. If you hadn't been there, the fire would have taken hold and a lot of those old people would have been killed too, or at least injured.”

Clark moved his arm till it was resting along Matt's shoulder and started walking him back indoors. “At the theater fire, all those people who were trapped on the upper floors would not have made it out if you hadn't been there to help them. So many people will enjoy Christmas with their families because you made a decision to become a superhero. Matt, you do what you can and that does make a difference, but it's not possible to save everyone.”

Now Clark decided his son was ready for a hug and the two clung together for some moments, before Clark leaned back.

“Matt, you might make mistakes, but, believe me, tonight wasn't one. You have to have more faith in your judgment, just as your mom told me to have faith in mine.”

At last, a tiny smile crossed Matt's face. “I guess you got the lecture too -- you can't do everything but whatever you can do is enough. You give us hope.”

Clark joined in his son's soft laughter, as he closed the patio doors, shutting out the cold. “You know, I've always thought your mother was a very wise woman, and just because it's been repeated down through the years doesn't make it any less true. It's as true for you as it was for me.” He placed his arm around his son in a sideways hug, before letting him go. “And speaking of your mother, she'll be ready to hamstring me for not getting you home at a reasonable time. You might have forgotten, but you're still taking exams today.”

As Clark finished talking the lights were switched on and Martha came rather slowly into the room.

“Oh, my, what are you doing here?” she asked, sounding sleepily surprised, which quickly changed into worry. “Is there something wrong with Lois and the girls?”

“No, Mom,” Clark reassured her quickly. “Lois and the girls are fine, but there was another bombing earlier tonight ...”

“Another? That's horrible, and your father and I never heard a thing,” Martha walked into the kitchen. “Your dad is a bit hard of hearing these days, but I thought I might have heard the explosion.”

Clark followed behind his mom, crossing to the coffee maker; since he'd woken her up, he felt he owed her a morning cup of coffee. “It happened after midnight; I'm sure you were asleep. Besides it was over by Hyperion ... not our home, Mom,” he added as Martha's eyes opened wide with shock. “It was a nursing home called Hyperion Vistas, and it wasn't as big an explosion as the Metro General one.”

Martha sank down onto a chair. “Who is doing this and what gives this person the right to think he can take other people's lives?” she asked angrily before glancing up at her son with perfect trust. “Clark, you have to catch this terrible person!”

“I'm getting close, Mom, and hopefully after today, I'll know all there is to know about our mysterious bomber, though I think he's gone to ground, so finding him might be difficult.”

Martha didn't doubt Clark's words for a moment. “I'm sure you'll get him, son.” She looked across the breakfast bar into the living room to see Matt sitting on the sofa with his eyes closed. Her heart ached for the exhausted boy. Most people only saw the competent superhero, but this was her grandson ... “Since Matt turned up here, I'm assuming that the rescue didn't go so well.”

“Mom, Matt did all he could, but one woman died. I believe she couldn't be saved, not by Jor-El or Superman ... or the ER team. But because of his presence, there was only one fatality and no other serious injuries. I'd say the rescue went pretty well.”

A sad smile warmed Martha's face. “But getting Matt to see that is a little more difficult, isn't it? He is so like his father ... but so young.” Martha gazed up at Clark as he placed the steaming mug in front of her, and her hand captured his. “Do you believe we did the right thing in allowing him to take on your mantle?”

“I think Matt understands about life and death. He's not happy about the situation, but I think he realizes it isn't up to him, no matter how powerful he is.” Then Clark's head cocked a little to the side as he considered his mother's second question. “To be honest, Mom, I'm not sure I would have agreed to Matt becoming Jor-El if I'd been here, but perhaps the situation wouldn't have arisen; Matt would have had time to grow up a little more before donning the suit.” He sat down at his mother's side. “But I think your question is moot. Matt made up his own mind, and he's shares his parents' stubborn streak. He'd have created Jor-El regardless of Lois' or your backing, and I am so glad he didn't have to go it alone. Thank you for being there for my son ... the same way you were there for me, and you have no idea how much I admire Lois for nurturing two superheros. She's the real hero ... and the world will never know how much they owe her.”

“I don't think Lois wants anyone's thanks, not for that anyway,” Martha said, smiling again. “Though she does a great job herself in making Metropolis a safer place to live.”

Leaning closer, Clark whispered. “That's why I love her so much.” He gave a quick laugh. “The bad guys were more afraid of Lois Lane than Superman.” Clark's eyes closed for a few seconds as he relived his years as a member of the reporting team of Lane and Kent, while moonlighting in tights. Memories to cherish, but, at present, he had a very tired son to take care of. “And as I said to Matt, I'm afraid of what Lois will have to say if I don't get her son back home right now. He has school this morning.”

Clark stood and walked back into the living room, crossing to his son, whose eyes were still shut. Clark bent, and shook Matt's shoulder. “Come on, son. You need to go home.” Matt's eyes opened, but his gaze was unfocused. Clark took his arm and pulled him gently to his feet. “You need to go to bed. Now! A couple of hours sleep before you go to school is better than none at all.”

“I don't know, Dad,” Matt said reluctantly. “Maybe I should go back to Hyperion Vistas. There might be stuff I could do to help, and the police will probably want to talk to me.”

“No, Matt. The emergency services will have it under control, and the police can wait for their statement until after your exams. Waiting another few hours for your information isn't going to make a huge difference to this investigation.”

At that, Matt perked up, but it was obvious he was almost running on empty. “Hey, about that investigation ... how did it go? Were the police grateful for your information?”

Unable to suppress a grunt, Clark herded his son toward the front door. “Lets just say that the investigation is still ongoing, and Peterson might be willing to believe me, but his superiors clearly need a lot more proof ... which I am going to give them.”

“You bet you will, Dad,” Matt said with a grin, which was overtaken by a huge yawn. “Maybe I should try to get some sleep. I do have to take these tests in ...” Matt looked at the clock on the wall. “Oh boy, is that the right time?”

His grandmother and father both nodded.

“In about three hours time,” the young superhero added a little sheepishly. “Mom is going to kill me. She's really big on my super duties not ruining my education.”

Laughing ruefully, Clark assured his anxious son. “I think it's me she'll send to the doghouse. I had strict instructions to get you home at a reasonable time ... and almost 5.00am probably isn't quite what she meant.”

They had reached the front door, and Clark turned back to his mother. “Sorry for dropping in on you without warning, Mom, and in the middle of the night.”

Martha linked her arm with her son's. “Don't apologize. I haven't lived on the farm for years, but I still keep country hours. I would have woken up pretty soon anyway,” she finished with a smile.

“Actually, that was my fault, Grandma,” Matt said, suddenly looking very much the abashed teenager and not the hero. “I needed somewhere quiet to think, and I didn't have the heart to wake you.”

“Oh, honey, that's OK. You know you're welcome here at anytime and with any problems. Come here,” she directed, pulling him into her arms. “Your dad tells me you did a good job tonight ...”

“That's up for debate,” Matt groaned, still not quite willing to absolve himself of some of the blame, at least.

“Matt!” Grandparent and parent spoke warningly in unison.

“I know. I know,” Matt jumped in. “I accept what you're saying in here.” He tapped his head, before his hand covered his heart. “It's just a little more difficult to come to accept it in here.”

There was a minute of silence, before Clark admitted. “I'll let you into a secret, Matt. It was something I never really came to terms with in my heart, either. Logically, I realized I was just a man with special abilities, but I wasn't a god.” Clark shrugged self-consciously. “Didn't mean that I didn't cry inside for every time I was just that little bit too late, or lost someone I thought I'd saved.”

Matt studied his father's face. “How do you learn to live with it, Dad?”

In the shadows of the hallway, tears glinted in his father's eyes. “You just do ... because if you let the stress and the sadness overpower you, you'd stop trying to make a difference, and that's not an option.”

Small though Martha was, her embrace enveloped father and son, and she said quietly, but with total conviction. “It's that strength and endurance that makes both of you superheros ... and I've been blessed to help raise you.” She stepped back and scrubbed her eyes with the cuff of her robe. “Now get out of here. I think you both have non-superhero jobs to do,” she ended on something which was both a laugh and a sob. “And, remember, I'll want a progress report later.”

Clark and Matt said their goodbyes and as the door closed behind them, Clark turned to his son. “You want a lift home, or can you make it on your own?”

A cheeky grin twitched at the corners of Matt's lips. “I'm not that wiped out, Dad. I could give you a lift home, and you can have someone pick up the car tomorrow.”

Clark shook his head. “I'm not going home. I have work to do at The Planet,” he said, opening the car and sliding into the driver's seat. “I just can't rid myself of the feeling that this guy is planning something big, and that we're running out of time to stop him. Tell your mom I'll meet up with her at work.” Clark started the engine, but before he drove off, he called out to his son. “See you don't make any detours on the way home. You've helped out enough for one night ... and good luck with those exams.”

With that the Kents parted -- one driving down the street, the other taking to his grandparents' bushes and from there straight up into the sky.

*****

to be continued ...