You'll find the TOC
here. A couple of unremarkable days passed after that – unremarkable, that was, except for the fact that Clark, the man who never got sick, still remained poorly enough to warrant staying at home.
“But he’s hoping to be back in a couple of days. Bye.”
Lois replaced the receiver, having fielded yet another of Clark’s telephone calls at work. She never realised he took so many calls - even when she was covering for Superman, it didn’t seem like this many. She supposed it meant he was a popular guy.
She gazed over at his empty chair and sighed. The day he got sick, she’d told callers he’d be back at work the next day, but now she was just giving the vaguer ‘a couple of days’. It just seemed to linger on and on, this kryptonian bug CK had given him.
He’d wanted to come to work today, just like he had every day since he’d got sick. He’d insisted this morning that he was okay as long as he didn’t eat anything. She’d almost been convinced; with his work clothes on and wearing that brilliant, confident smile, it was easy to believe him. But then he’d been caught unawares by a long, painful coughing fit that bent him double and left him ashen-faced and dizzy. She’d sent him back to bed with strict instructions to rest and call on CK if he needed anything.
CK.
He was as good as new – physically, at least. Mentally...well, he seemed to have pushed the rescue incident to the back of his mind. Certainly, he hadn’t mentioned it since the day it had happened, and she’d been too preoccupied with Clark to pursue it with him. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any more major incidents since then, so he hadn’t been required to follow through on his promise – or was that a threat? – never to don the suit again.
She hadn’t extracted much else out of him that day on what went wrong. After his confession that he’d ‘freaked out’, he’d clammed up again and brushed aside any more questions she’d asked. She did know that his sleep was still disturbed – Clark had told her as much – so she could only assume that whatever troubled him at night had some bearing on his behaviour at the rescue.
Meanwhile, he was doing a great job of looking after Jon while she looked after Clark. She was actually quite grateful that he was around, she realised. She’d even capitulated and allowed him to keep Jon during the day.
She couldn’t help wondering what he did all day long, though. Clark had told her that he frequently went out during the day for an hour or so, leaving Clark to keep an eye on Jon. Where did he go?
**********
The yellow tractor turned another neat corner at the end of the field and began making its way across the brown earth, ploughing another furrow parallel to the last. A pleasing ridge pattern was emerging, adding to the other neat patterns in neighbouring fields. Together, they made up a patchwork quilt of browns and greens - marking the land with the evidence of mankind’s ever-increasing need for food.
He’d never really thought of his parent’s farm in those terms before, but now, looking down on a replica of it from his vantage point in the sky, he realised that this was important. A farm produced food; a basic necessity for life. Wasn’t that so much more important than fighting for supremacy over a barren piece of rock?
The first time he’d come here, he’d been nervous. How would he feel when he saw them? What if they weren’t like his parents? Worse still, what if they saw him? He’d hovered very high in the sky, staying above the clouds and using his x-ray vision to find them.
He’d only intended to stay a couple of minutes, but he’d been unable to drag himself away. They’d looked just like his own parents, only older – which was understandable, since his own parents had been almost twenty years younger when they’d died. They’d looked warm and good-natured, just like he remembered his own parents. They’d worked hard, just like his parents.
The farm had seemed much as he remembered it, too. The buildings were a little more weathered, and there were other small differences, but basically, he’d found himself looking at a copy of his boyhood home.
Curiosity had brought him here that first time, but since then, he’d come here out of a growing sense of longing. He wanted to be there – walk into the barn and smell the hay, watch the cows being milked in the milking shed, wander around the fields and up the small rise behind the farm. Most of all, he wanted to walk up the steps to the farmhouse, through the door and into the kitchen. There would be the smell of fresh-baked bread, one of his Mom’s half-finished sewing projects laid out on the table, and a glass of buttermilk waiting for him on the side-board.
He’d thought that he’d long since overcome the loss of his parents, but as soon as Clark had happened to mention Smallville and the farm, he’d wanted to come here and reconnect with them somehow.
Of course, these people weren’t his parents. He couldn’t actually talk to them.
On the other hand, it looked like they were heading off into town together, now that the ploughing was finished. Was it safe to drop down briefly and take a quick look around while they were away? Technically, he’d be trespassing, but it wasn’t as if he was a thief or anything.
**********
Jonathan resisted the temptation to glance behind him as Martha drove them into town. Once again, he’d had this feeling of being watched. It had started when he’d been out in the tractor, and persisted as he’d cleaned up and prepared to leave. He wasn’t a superstitious person, and he certainly didn’t believe in ghosts, but lately it seemed like he couldn’t do anything much without feeling as if someone was following every move he made.
Maybe he needed a break from the farm. Things had been pretty busy lately, what with having his grandson to stay as well as all the usual farm work. He loved being with Jon, but it had seemed much harder work than when Clark had been a baby.
“Oh, darn!” exclaimed Martha. “I forgot Maisie’s art book – you know, the one on twentieth century surrealism?”
Jonathan chortled. “Sure, I know the one. Read it from cover to cover just yesterday.”
“We’ll have to go back for it. I promised I’d give it back to her today.” Martha pulled over, turned the truck around and headed back towards the farm.
Jonathan sighed; he’d been looking forward to a cinnamon roll at their favourite bakery, but if Martha took as long as he expected she would to find the dratted book, they wouldn’t have time.
“Never mind, honey,” said Martha. “Your waistline could do with missing a few cinnamon rolls anyway.”
“I never mentioned anything about a cinnamon roll,” he grumbled.
“Jonathan, how long have we been married?” replied Martha, laughing. “I can spot that longing in your eyes way before you’ve even thought of it yourself.”
They arrived back at the farm, and Jonathan followed his wife into the house. “Do you know where you-“
“Clark? Is that you?”
There was something off about Martha’s tone of voice. He stopped at her side and followed her gaze to a tall figure standing in the darkest corner of the kitchen. It looked about the same height and build as his son, but if it was Clark, then he wasn’t behaving normally. All of a sudden, Jonathan’s feelings of being watched came back to him.
“Who are you?” he asked sharply. “Clark, if that’s you, come out where we can see you properly.”
Where was his old shotgun? And were there any shells nearby – not that he’d actually want to fire the thing.
“Jonathan, don’t be silly – of course it’s Clark,” said Martha, taking a step forward towards the figure. “Honey, is everything all right? You’re worrying us a little.”
The figure moved forward, and Jonathan tensed, ready to do whatever he needed to do to defend Martha and himself. As it emerged from the shadows, though, he relaxed.
“You had us scared there for a moment, son,” he said. “What were you thinking, skulking in the shadows like that?”
“Jonathan,” said Martha with a hard edge to her voice. “This isn’t our son.”
**************
He’d been a fool. He never should have come here – all he’d succeeded in doing was to commit trespass and frighten them to death. They were standing close together, his...Clark’s Dad’s arm wrapped protectively around his wife’s shoulders. Both wore pale, tense expressions, and it was clear from her tone of voice that Clark’s Mom was not at all happy to discover him in their home.
Of course – Clark must have told them that he wanted to take Jon away with him. They’d resent him for that.
“No, I’m not Clark,” he replied. Okay, so they knew who he was, but just how much did they know? He wondered if Clark had told them about Lois, for example. And did they know he was from a parallel universe? “How...how much has Clark told you about me?”
“Well, he said you turned up on their doorstep a few days ago demanding that they hand over their son to you,” replied Clark’s Mom.
“And that you’d just returned from New Krypton,” added Clark’s Dad.
He nodded. “That’s right. I...” He faltered, not sure what to say or do next. And while he searched for a solution, it hit him then just how similar they sounded to his own parents. Not only did they look like his Mom and Dad, but everything else about them was the same, too. His stomach clenched. He was standing in front of carbon copies of the two most important people in his childhood – living and breathing copies.
He’d dreamt of this. After his parents had died, he’d had lots of dreams where he’d discover them alive. The scenarios had varied, but the story had always been the same: their deaths had been a huge mistake, the result of a big mix-up. He’d just had to find them, and then everything had been all right again.
Of course, when he’d woken up, the disappointment had been devastatingly bitter.
But now he was awake, and here they were. He could reach out and touch them, they were so close.
It was still false, he told himself sharply – they weren’t his parents, they were someone else’s parents. “I...I’d better go,” he said thickly. “I’m sorry I alarmed you.” He made his way towards the front door, easing awkwardly past them then turning his back on them to open the door.
He had his hand on the handle when Clark’s Mom suddenly asked, “Why did you come here?”
He paused. “I...I’m not sure,” he replied without turning around to face them. “But it was a mistake.” He opened the door.
“Why?” she asked. “Why was it a mistake?”
“Because...because I don’t belong here,” he said in a rush.
He heard quick footsteps behind him, and then a hand touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay a while?” she said kindly. “Let me fix you a drink.”
He swallowed. “You don’t want me here.”
“Of course we do, son,” said Clark’s Dad robustly. “Come back inside and have a coffee with us.”
He turned and marvelled again at their kind, weathered faces. “You look so much like my parents...I mean, how they would have looked if they hadn’t...they passed away...maybe Clark already told you...” He faltered, realising that his stumbling explanations weren’t making much sense. Why was he telling them these things anyway? They couldn’t be interested in his life story.
“Come on in, Clark,” said his Mom, putting a hand under his elbow. “You can tell us everything over a cup of coffee.”
He allowed himself to be led back to the kitchen table, wondering what on earth he’d done to deserve such kind treatment.
**********
Martha busied around the kitchen, making a second pot of coffee for their visitor. They’d already finished the first pot, and fed him two slices of blueberry pie, while he’d related a potted version of his life story over the last couple of years. It seemed that once they’d managed to start him talking, he couldn’t stop. Not that she minded – she’d phoned Maisie to cancel their meeting, and the shopping could wait.
There was no doubt that CK – he’d explained his temporary name change during the first pot of coffee - had endured a hard life, and despite the fact that he was intent on taking their grandson away from them, Martha still felt very sorry for him. That was why she’d invited him to stay a while. He’d obviously come to the farm looking for something; a few memories perhaps, or the touch of something familiar, to help him make sense of his turbulent life. She wanted to try and help him. There was no point in bearing a grudge against him, after all, and anything she could do to help him sort his feelings out would probably also help Lois and Clark. A calm, rational CK was going to be easier to deal with than a frantic, emotional CK.
And she was learning things, too – like the fact that Clark was sick. She was a little upset that neither Lois or Clark had told her and Jonathan about that. It sometimes seemed as if they were the last to hear about things these days. Oh, she understood that Clark naturally turned to Lois first for comfort, but even after nearly two years of Clark’s marriage, she still missed the frequent chats they used to have with him when he came out to visit.
“If it’s not too much to ask,” CK asked, interrupting her thoughts, “would you mind if I took a look at my...at Clark’s old room?”
She swivelled around. “Of course you can. Jonathan, why don’t you take him upstairs while I finish up here?”
She was sure Clark wouldn’t mind, as long as he didn’t go alone. And while he and Jonathan were upstairs, she had an idea of what she might do in the meantime.
***********
Jonathan leant against the door-frame while CK stood uncertainly in the middle of Clark’s bedroom. He wasn’t sure what this young man was searching for by coming up here. The room was filled with Clark’s personality, and as such surely wasn’t much of a reminder of CK’s youth.
CK moved at last, going towards Clark’s bed. “Do you mind?” he asked Jonathan, indicating that he wanted to sit.
“Sure,” replied Jonathan.
He sat on the edge and gazed slowly around the room. “It...it looks different,” he said.
Jonathan nodded. “Well, Clark still has a lot of his own things here. He keeps promising to clear them out, but...” Jonathan shrugged ruefully. “To tell the truth, we kind of like having his stuff here, so we don’t make a big thing of it.”
CK smiled weakly. “I understand.” He glanced around the room again. “You must think I’m some kind of monster, wanting to take your son’s child away from him.”
Jonathan regarded the young man before him, sitting so ill-at-ease with himself and the world he found himself in. Never did a person look less monstrous, he reflected. Especially when that person was the spitting image of his own son.
“Martha and I were appalled when Clark first told us,” he said evenly. “But no, I don’t think you’re a monster.”
“It’s just that he’s all I’ve got left in the world,” the young man continued. “He and I could make a fresh start together.”
Oh, the optimism of youth! Well, it was good that he had hopes, of course, but a person needed to consider the practicalities as well. “That’s a tough assignment you’re setting yourself, son,” Jonathan observed. “Bringing up a child single-handed while holding down one job is hard enough, but with a second job on top of that, you’re going to be pretty busy.”
“Second job?”
“Well, Superman, of course,” Jonathan elaborated, surprised he had to explain himself.
He was even more surprised when CK’s expression hardened. “That won’t be a problem.”
“I’m glad you think so, son, but you have to remember-“
“I mean, I don’t do that any more.”
Jonathan stared.
*********
Clark was sure he could hear bells ringing. Why he should hear bells when he was flying over the Sahara, he wasn’t entirely certain. Still, they were very insistent, so he guessed he should pay them some attention.
They sounded like telephone bells. Telephone bells in the Sahara?
But no, he wasn’t in the Sahara any longer, he was lying on the sofa in the living room. The phone was ringing. He should answer it.
He pushed himself up, twisted around and grabbed the receiver. “’Lo?” he croaked, subsiding back down into the cushions with the phone pressed to his ear.
“Clark, is that you?”
Ah. His mother. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “Yes, it’s me.”
“How are you, honey?”
“I’m...” Hang on – had he told his parents he was ill? He didn’t think so. He didn’t think Lois would have told them either. It wasn’t like he was at death’s door – it just felt like he was. “I’m sorry, I guess you don’t know – CK gave me his ‘flu.”
“Actually, I do know,” she replied. “CK told me himself.”
“CK?!” He jerked upright, prompting his head to start throbbing. Ignoring the discomfort, he continued, “When? Is he there now?”
“Yes, honey. We found him in the kitchen when we came back for Maisie’s book.”
“Came back for...” he struggled for a moment to understand the relevance of his mother’s friend’s book, but gave it up as a lost cause and focused on the first part of her sentence instead. “You mean he broke in?”
“Well, not exactly. You know we don’t lock up the house when we go out. But honey, I rang to find out how you are, not talk about CK.”
“I’m okay, Mom. I mean, I’m not okay, but I know I will be, if you see what I mean,” he said, seeking to reassure her.
“Your voice sounds terrible – are you taking anything for that?”
“Lois bought me some throat pastilles. Otherwise, there’s not much I can take,” he pointed out.
“Honey and lemon,” said his mother promptly. “Add plenty of honey so the lemon doesn’t hurt your throat. The honey will give you energy and the lemon will give you extra vitamin C.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Thanks, Mom.” He sank back down onto the sofa cushions, hoping to ease the throbbing in his head. “So what’s CK doing there?”
“Right now? Your father’s showing him your bedroom – he asked to see it,” she replied calmly, although to Clark it seemed that she should be a lot more agitated. It wasn’t as if she was accustomed to discovering her son’s double lurking in the kitchen. Yet, unperturbed, she continued, “How long have you been off work, honey? And how’s Lois coping?”
He sighed. “You’d have to ask her. Although, actually, I think it’s been a help having CK around to look after Jon. How long have I been sick? I’m not sure – a few days, I think.” He returned to more important matters. “Why is he looking at my bedroom?”
“I think he’s trying to reconnect with his childhood, dear,” she said. “So that wasn’t you at the Gandell Building fire the other day, then?”
“No, that was CK. What do you mean, reconnect with his childhood?”
“CK took your place as Superman? That was brave of him.”
Clark pulled the receiver from his ear and frowned at it for a second. “Mom, are we having the same conversation here?”
“Of course we are, dear. You’re telling me about your illness and I’m telling you about CK.”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t be trying to cheer me up, now would you?”
“Sounds like I just succeeded. You sounded a bit low when you answered the phone.”
Trust his Mom to notice. “I’m just tired, Mom. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Well, you look after yourself - and remember we’re only a phone call away if you or Lois needs anything.”
“Okay – and thanks.”
“Now, do you want me to tell you some more about CK?” she continued briskly.
He agreed, and listened while she explained more fully how they’d found him and what they’d done so far with him. “I’m surprised he went to that rescue, Clark,” she finished. “He doesn’t seem like he’s fit to rescue himself, let alone other people.”
“He didn’t cope very well with it – as you may have gathered from the news coverage,” said Clark.
“Yes, that all makes sense now,” she replied. She went on to tell him that they’d been a little puzzled by his behaviour, but had assumed he’d had good reasons. “Well, your father and I will do what we can to help him while he’s here. I don’t suppose we can do much, but we’ll do our best.”
“You don’t feel angry at him for wanting to take Jon from us?” Clark asked.
“No. I’d like to give that Mr Wells a piece of my mind for getting us all into this mess, but not CK himself. He’s as much a victim as we are,” she replied.
“Yeah. I feel the same,” he said, surprised at how much he meant it. He cleared his throat and coughed a bit; as usual, talking had aggravated his chest.
“Okay, honey, you sound like you need to rest. Is Jon all right?”
“Yeah, he’s napping. CK brings him down here so I can keep an eye on him while he’s out.”
“Good, then I’ll let you two get some rest. Take care, and remember to try that honey and lemon.”
“I will, Mom. Thanks for phoning.”
***********
Martha had just started making soup when Jonathan and CK returned from Clark’s bedroom. She glanced over at CK as they walked into the kitchen. “So did you find what you were looking for?”
He hesitated. “I wasn’t looking for anything specific. I just...” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure what I expected to find.”
“Was Clark’s room anything like yours?” she asked.
“Kind of. It was the same shape, but the layout was different.”
She nodded. “So it wasn’t as familiar as you’d hoped.”
He blinked, clearly surprised by her observation. “You know, that’s right. How did you know that was what I was thinking when I didn’t even know it myself?”
She smiled. “I think you did, really. You just weren’t admitting it to yourself.” She turned back to the onions she’d been chopping. “You’ll stay for lunch, I assume?”
“I...that’s kind of you, but I should really go back to Metropolis,” he said. “I’m supposed to be looking after Jon and Clark.”
“Oh, they’re fine,” she replied. “I just spoke to Clark on the phone.” She pulled out another chopping board, added a knife, and placed some carrots on the board. “There you go. Peel and chop into cubes.”
“Martha!” exclaimed Jonathan. “He’s our visitor.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “He’s family.” She looked at a stunned CK, laying a casual hand over his. “We may not be your parents, but I figure we’re close enough. What do you think?”
“I think...I think you’re amazing,” he murmured.
She laughed. “No, honey, just a Mom. Jonathan, why don’t you go feed the chickens while we fix lunch?”
“I already...” began her husband.
“I think you’ll find you didn’t,” she interrupted, turning and fixing him with a look.
He raised his eyebrows. “You know, I think you’re right. I’ll go do that right now.”
She smiled gratefully at him, then turned back to CK. “I’ve got leeks queuing up here when you’ve finished those carrots.”
************
Jonathan paused outside the kitchen door. So Martha had decided CK needed a ‘Mom’ talk. Well, that was fine; Jonathan didn’t mind being shooed away if his absence would help sort this young man out. But did Martha realise that CK had rejected Superman?
In a way, it was none of their business – what CK chose to do or not do with his powers was his own affair. But Jonathan got the feeling that CK had come here for help and advice. No doubt Lois and Clark had tried to help him, but now that Clark was ill, perhaps CK felt awkward troubling them with his own problems when they had enough of their own. And Jonathan wanted to know that their grandson was going to be in sound, steady hands if Lois and Clark decided to place Jon in CK’s care.
Well, if Martha was going to talk to CK, she needed to know his full state of mind.
He stuck his head around the kitchen door. “Uh, Martha, can you show me where you put that new bag of chicken feed?”
She swung around wearing a frown. “It’s-“
“I looked there,” he replied. “I need you to show me. Now.”
She murmured something to CK, who chuckled. But at least she then came to the door. He drew her outside a few paces. “I just thought you ought to know what I found out upstairs,” he murmured.
“Ah,” she said. “I wondered why you suddenly needed directions to some non-existent chicken feed.”
He explained CK’s situation. “He wouldn’t talk to me about it, but you have a knack for these things, Martha.”
She smiled and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Jonathan. Now go talk to the cows or whatever it is you do when I send you away.”
He laughed. “I’ll tell Gertrude you’re asking after her.”
**********
CK finished the carrots and began on the leeks. He still hadn’t a clue why he was here, but it felt really good to be working at a simple task in these old, familiar surroundings. It reminded him of his childhood, when he and his Mom would make gingerbread and cookies together. He’d probably stood on this very spot back then, cutting out the shapes and placing them carefully on baking sheets.
And Clark’s Mom and Dad had surpassed his hopes. They were generous, welcoming people, and he’d immediately felt comfortable around them. Clark’s Dad was a solid, reassuring presence – up in Clark’s bedroom, CK had been very tempted to blurt out all his mixed-up feelings about his powers and Superman. He’d only held back because he hadn’t wanted to burden a near-stranger with his problems.
Clark’s Mom was...well, she was simply wonderful. Warm and friendly, and pretty astute. She already seemed to be picking things up about him that he didn’t even know himself. He smiled inwardly; he wasn’t fooled by her ploy to shoo her husband out of the kitchen. She wanted to talk to CK alone. That was okay – he even found himself looking forward to the chance to talk with her.
**********
Martha started frying the onions. “By the way, CK, I should thank you for taking Clark’s place the other day,” she remarked, deciding to waste no time in getting to the important stuff.
“It wasn’t much,” he replied. “I just rescued one guy.”
“Who probably wouldn’t be alive today if you hadn’t,” she pointed out, leaving the stove to fetch the bacon stock she’d made the previous day.
He didn’t respond immediately, but continued steadily chopping the leeks into neat slices. She gave him a few moments to answer, and then prompted, “Don’t you agree?” She poured the stock onto the onions and stirred it around.
He shrugged. “Who’s to say? Maybe the firefighters would have reached him in time anyway.”
“And maybe they wouldn’t have,” she countered. “The point is, you turned an unknown into a certainty. You saved a life, CK. Don’t try to belittle that.”
She saw him glance her way. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“I think you’re trying to deny you did something good and worthwhile that day.”
“I only carried him away from danger,” he said. “I didn’t even do that very well.”
Which was what Clark had also said, and she’d seen with her own eyes how hasty and clumsy he’d been. “Well, I expect you’re out of practice,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “That’s what I told Lois, but the truth is, I...”
When he didn’t continue, she looked up from the soup she was stirring. “Yes?”
He shrugged. “Actually, I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. I expect Clark told you I don’t intend to do it again. Ever.” He pointed at the leeks with his knife. “These are done. Is there anything else to chop?”
“No, but you can reach down the lentils from that cupboard for me,” she said, pointing, “and measure out two cupfuls. CK, is the reason you don’t want to be Superman anything to do with what happened to you that day at the fire?”
“No. I made that decision a long time ago.”
“When, exactly?”
“The first time I sent a soldier to his death,” he replied harshly. “That was the end of Superman.”
“During the war on New Krypton?” she asked.
“Yes. And don’t say war makes it different, because it doesn’t.”
She considered disagreeing with that, but decided to leave it to one side for the moment. “So you think a man should pay for his actions during a war for the rest of his life? Every soldier, in every war, should live with a guilty conscience for ever afterwards – even if they were merely doing their duty?”
“No. But Superman can’t kill people one day, then turn around and claim to be a symbol of everything good and true the next.”
Again, she was tempted to pull him up on that. He’d first said he’d only sent men to their death on New Krypton, but just then he’d claimed Superman had actually killed people. She suspected he was exaggerating merely to strengthen his case against himself, but again decided this conversation was complicated enough without picking holes in every little thing he said. She did want to establish one thing, though. “Was Superman there on New Krypton?” she asked.
“Again, no. But I was there, and I have to be Superman.”
“So you have to be as perfect as Superman.”
“Yes. Or at least as close as I can be.”
Martha sighed. CK was making the same mistakes as Clark used to make. He thought he had to live an irreproachable life, when in fact, neither Superman nor CK could be perfect. Both made decisions which were too complex to be seen in black and white.
What was more, she didn’t actually believe that CK was ducking out of being Superman because the hero’s morals had been compromised. That was the official excuse, but it seemed to her that a more likely explanation was that CK simply didn’t like himself any more. He didn’t seem to think he had any worth at all, except as a potential father to Jon.
But how could she make him see that he had more value than he believed?
“CK, do you remember what it was like in your world when you first became Superman?” she asked. “How did people react?”
He shrugged. “I guess they were pretty amazed to see a flying man.”
She took the lentils he’d measured out and poured them into the soup, stirring everything around for a few moments while she thought. “Do you think that made them happy or sad?”
He looked at her cynically. “Happy, mostly. Look, I know what you’re trying-“
“Just bear with me,” she interrupted. “What about when you started saving people? Do you think they were happy or sad then?”
His mouth twisted. “There were a few people who seemed to think I should have left them alone.”
“But in general?”
He sighed heavily. “Happy,” he said reluctantly.
“And how do you think they felt when you had to leave? Happy or sad?”
He glared at her. “Sad.”
“So what conclusion do you think we should draw from this?”
He pushed his chopping board full of carrots and leeks across the counter towards her, giving her another cynical glare. “That’s a very simplistic way of looking at things.”
“Is it? CK, what I’m hearing is that you were a very positive influence in people’s lives. How about your friends and work colleagues? Were they happy to lose you when you left?”
“No.” He stared off into space for a few moments, clearly remembering that time with a lot of sadness. “No, I think we can safely say they weren’t happy. Neither was I, come to that,” he added distantly.
His melancholy voice reminded her that he’d left his Lois behind then; that those farewells had been the last time he’d seen her alive. She hadn’t wanted to bring back those unhappy memories for him. “CK, I’m sorry-“
“You got anything else for me to do?”
He met her gaze, his eyes begging her not to probe deeper. She nodded slowly. “Can of tomatoes, second shelf. Can opener’s in the third drawer down.”
She waited while he opened the can and brought it to her at the stove. Emptying it into the pan, she continued, “So we’ve established that you were well-liked, and that you brightened a lot of people’s lives as Superman. Seems to me that you’ve got a lot to be proud of-“
“But don’t you see-“
“Let me finish, CK,” she said firmly. “You have a lot to be proud of, and you have a lot to offer your world when you return. You’re a good man, CK – if you’ll give yourself half a chance.”
“But-“
“Honey, I know you don’t like yourself much right now. You’ve done things you’re not proud of. But don’t you see – you can’t live the rest of your life hating yourself. You’re a young man, with too many years ahead of you to spend all of them growing sour and bitter. It will destroy you, and worse still, it’ll destroy your children.”
“I don’t intend to dump all of this on Jon,” he said. “I don’t want him to grow up with all the problems I had.”
She shook her head. “Children have a way of knowing these things, CK. Trust me, if you’re unhappy, they’ll know it.” She picked up the vegetables and carefully added them to the soup. “You need to find a way to start liking yourself again. One way to do that is by being a good friend to the people you care about. Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about them.”
She glanced at him to find out how he was taking her little speech. He was leaning up against the counter, his arms crossed defensively. Yet, she thought she detected a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. And at least he was listening.
She continued. “Another way is to help people. They don’t know what you did on New Krypton – all they’ll know is a good man came back to lighten their load a little. Now, whether you do that by writing for the Planet, or by using your powers, or any other way, is up to you. But don’t let your past destroy your future.”
“Jon is my future,” he murmured.
“He may be part of your future, but you have to find a life beyond him.” She laughed. “He won’t thank you for making him the only thing that matters in your entire life. Think how claustrophobic that would feel to a youngster.”
He didn’t answer immediately, but after a moment, he murmured, “But I want him to know how much I love him.”
The catch in his voice made her pause in stirring the soup and look over at him. She recognised the emotion on his face, heard the honesty in his words – as a fellow parent, she knew the signs. “You really do, don’t you, CK?” she exclaimed softly. “Love Jon, I mean.”
He nodded. “These past few days, we’ve spent a lot of time together. He’s my son...how could I not love him?”
“Oh, CK...” She turned back to the soup quickly, upset by the depth of feeling in his words. She knew Clark felt the exact same way about Jon! This was hard enough already, but seeing CK show the same love for Jon as her son made it ten times harder. How were they ever going to resolve this mess?
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.
“No, no, I’m not upset,” she said quickly, forcing a bright smile. She picked up the pan lid and placed it on the pan. “I think we can leave this to simmer for a while. Why don’t we sit down?” She indicated the chairs around the kitchen table.
The brief pause allowed her to regain her composure. Once they were seated, she continued, “CK, I’m sure you, Lois and Clark will make the right decision about Jon, and whatever you decide, Jonathan and I will support all three of you as much as we can.”
She’d find in incredibly tough, of course, if they decided Jon had to go with CK, but somehow she’d find the strength. With Jonathan’s help.
CK nodded. “Thank you. I know how hard this has to be for you.”
“But, CK, promise me you’ll think about what we’ve discussed. However things turns out, you, personally, have a lot to offer the world, if only you’ll let yourself. I’m not talking about your special gifts, CK – I’m talking about you, Clark Kent.” She reached over the table and took his hand in hers. “I’m sure if your own mother were here today, she’d say the same thing, wouldn’t she?”
“Yeah. Dad too, probably.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think I still missed them, you know.”
She smiled softly. “Some wounds take a lot longer than others to heal.”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes briefly, the pain flitting across his sensitive features. Then he cleared his throat roughly and looked up. “So, do you think your husband has found that chicken feed yet?”
She laughed. “I doubt it. I guess you knew I sent him on a wild goose chase.”
“Let’s just say I had my suspicions. The puzzled look when you told him to feed the chickens gave it away.” He raised his eyebrows in enquiry. “Do you even have chickens?”
“Oh, yes, we certainly do. Just not very hungry chickens.”
“Chickens are fed,” said a hearty voice from behind them. “Is dinner ready?”
Martha looked at CK across the table, saw him trying to stop his face from splitting into a huge grin, and burst out laughing. “Oh, Jonathan!” she chortled. “I’m sorry, we’ll explain, I promise.”
“Just so long as everyone’s happy,” said a bewildered Jonathan.
***********
