Well, this was intended to be a one-shot, muse must come back from vacation so she can work on SED thing but...
Queenie has informed me that I may be run out of town and can she have my things. She didn't want my kids...
So - as of now, it's a one shot. Always intended to end it as is [or something along those lines at least] so...
This is completely unbetad [except for Queenie's squees and smiley faces in IRC] so... I usually at least reread as I post but I have no intention to do that either so take that for what it's worth - all errors are mine...
Without further ado...
BackwardsClark's eyebrow's climbed into his hairline. "Smallville?!" he whined to Perry, startled. "Why am I going to *Smallville*?"
"Because I'm the editor and I said so," Perry told him, turning back to the paper on his desk, a sure sign that the conversation was over.
Clark sighed and headed back to the bullpen. He was a city boy, born and bred. Well, not born – maybe, he didn't know; he was a foundling after all and who knew if they had cities on Krypton – but certainly bred. Sure, he'd disappointed his dad when he'd decided to become a reporter instead of going into medicine but it had turned out well. His dad was proud of him. Winning a Kerth his rookie year sure hadn't hurt.
The two after that hadn't hurt either.
He sighed and closed down his computer, preparing to leave for the day – the week really. Why he was being asked to cover some story about the EPA looking for pesticides on a farm was beyond him.
Fifteen minutes later, he was in his apartment on Clinton, packing his bag. He looked at his closet – at the ten pairs of shoes there – and tried to decide what was appropriate for country living. Certainly not his dress shoes and honestly, probably not his casual ones either. He finally grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and hiking boots and stuffed them in his suit case. Blue jeans, T-shirts and the flannel an ex-girlfriend had bought him found their way into the bag. He was more careful with the two pairs of Dockers and one collared shirt and one dress shirt that went on top.
His toiletries bag was packed in seconds and it was tucked in one side.
He glanced at the clock. No time for one last patrol before he headed to the airport to fly to *Kansas* in a metal tube.
*****
He sat on the tarmac growing more nervous by the second. It amazed him but he was actually sweating.
They'd been sitting out there for nearly two hours with no real explanation. He'd tried to use his superhearing to see what was going on but with all the jet noise and people chattering and, he was sure, his own paranoia about flying, he couldn't focus in on the air traffic control chatter.
He sighed and his foot started practically jumping up and down in a nervous fashion until the lady sitting next to him glared and he forcibly stopped it by pressing down with his hand. He almost forgot to be careful until he felt the metal floor starting to give beneath the pressure.
It was another twenty minutes before they were finally underway. He thought he was going to hyperventilate and he'd caught the stewardess looking at him cautiously more than once.
Actually being in the air should have helped him calm down, but it didn’t. He continued with assorted nervous twitches until several hours later when they finally touched down in Kansas City.
He managed to be one of the first ones off the plane without drawing any unnecessary attention to himself, but drew the ire of those behind him when he stepped off the plane and onto the jet way and stopped, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly – careful not blow the walls on the other side down and cause planes on approach to have problems.
After a short pause, he continued, pulling the pilot case behind him. It was thirty frustrating minutes before he managed to get to the Enterprise counter and another hour before he was finally in a car – upgraded to a fairly decent convertible after they'd had to spend forty-five of those minutes searching for his reservation.
His elbow hung out the window and his head was propped up on his fist as he drove into the deepening dusk. He made it out of the city and headed south and slightly west towards his final destination.
As he neared Smallville, he finally looked around, taking in the countryside. It would, he grudgingly admitted, have been an okay place to grow up.
He could see himself as a kid running through the amber waves of grain, playing cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians with a kid from the next farm over instead of street hockey with the other kids on the cul-de-sac of the upscale community he'd grown up in.
That didn't mean he would have traded his childhood. He'd grown up with sports, art, music, culture, the big leagues of everything. But, he admitted, the big cities also had more than their fair share of drugs, crime and poverty that he imagined would be more missing in this part of the countryside.
The stars twinkled down in far greater numbers than he'd seen anywhere except for camping trips with his dad and his scout troop as a kid – or when he was flying above the clouds – as he pulled off the highway and headed towards the bed and breakfast where Perry had told him his reservations were.
He drove through the small town, passing the local Jr. High and High Schools on Tank Avenue, the local pizza place that was still humming with young customers and even the offices for the town's weekly paper.
He didn't really *need* to drive through town to get to his destination but had decided to in order to try to get a feeling for the place. He headed further south and back east a bit, slowing at each crossroad to make sure he didn't miss turns in the unfamiliar blackness.
It was another fifteen minutes before he finally saw the sign and turned onto the gravel road. He carefully maneuvered the car into a spot and contemplated putting the top up but decided not to. There weren't any other vehicles in the area designated for guests so it seemed that he was the only one staying on a Tuesday night. He looked around and noticed signs that this was an actual, working farm as well as a bed and breakfast. That could be interesting. See if the image he had in his head – only slightly updated from the Little House on the Prairie reruns his mom had made him watch – matched reality.
He hoisted his bag out of the back seat and headed towards the door. It would be interesting, if not his next big story. He tested the door cautiously, even though the sign said to 'come on in and make yourself at home'. To his surprise, the door swung open easily.
He walked in, closing the door behind him. There was no one in sight.
"Hello?" he called.
"Just a minute!" came a decidedly female voice from the other room.
He set down his suitcase and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his Dockers.
Footsteps neared. "So, how can I help you?"
He looked back towards the little check in desk to see a beautiful young woman standing there, wiping her hands on a towel. She was wearing a pink checked apron covered in flour. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her golden brown eyes held something – slight irritation, perhaps?
"I have reservations for tonight," he told her.
"Name?"
"Clark Lane," he told her pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.
She glanced at the book in front of her. "Hello, Mr. Lane. I'm Lois. Welcome to Kent Farms."
*****
