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Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Clark TOC can be found Here

Where we left off in Part 7…

“Martha, who was it on the phone? Who called before you rushed out of the house?” Jonathan pleaded.

“Joan, down at the market. I had asked her to call me when Richard returned from Wichita with the evening Daily Planet,” Martha explained, actually leaving the room this time. She couldn’t be his crutch anymore. He needed to start to do things for himself.

“Newspaper?” she heard him mutter.

Martha went into the living room and turned on LNN again. Was there any more developments? Had he spoken to anyone in the press besides Lois Lane? Had he made another appearance? She sat down on the sofa and stared at the same pictures that they had been showing all day: a man in red cape and blue suit, flying over EPRAD. She was transfixed.

“Martha?!” she heard her husband call, then a squeak of the bed, and then he called again. “Please, Martha. Could you just hold my chair?”

“I locked the wheels, Jonathan,” Martha told him, unable to look away from the pictures on the television.

“Martha!”

“Oh, fine,” she muttered, pulling herself away from the same video that had mesmerized her all day, to go help her husband. She flipped the blankets and sheets off his legs and then held the back of the chair as he pulled himself into it. As soon as he was in, she fixed his legs on the footrests and unlocked the wheels.

“Could you hand me the afghan, Martha?” he asked, reaching for the newspaper she had dropped on the end of the bed.

Martha covered his lap and tucked in the blanket around his legs.

Jonathan snapped open the paper. The blood seemed to drain out of his face as he made a gurgling noise. “Martha,” he whispered.

There, on the front page of the Daily Planet, was a photo of a man in a blue suit and a red cape, carrying a brunette woman in his arms, flying into an office. Emblazoned on his chest was the same symbol that had been on the spaceship and baby blanket of that child they had found almost thirty years earlier.

Part 8

“Yep, I know. I know. Why do you think I called Joan to save me a paper?” Martha said, pushing Jonathan’s wheelchair into the living room. “Come on. LNN has been showing video of him flying over EPRAD this morning. He actually took that shuttle up to the space station himself, under his own power, no jets or anything.”

“Martha,” Jonathan murmured, gently setting his hand on her arm. “Do you think… ? Could he…? Will he come looking…?”

“I don’t know, Jonathan. I know what you know,” she replied, stopping his chair to the side of couch. She locked the wheels and sat down next to him.

“He must be from the same planet as… as the… the baby we found, Martha. That insignia thing on his chest…” Jonathan sputtered, unable to form words.

Martha knew how he felt. She had reacted the same way when Maisie had called her first thing that morning and told her to turn on LNN. Thankfully, Martha had just come in from feeding the animals, so the poor dears didn’t go without their breakfast while she sat like a zombie, watching the flying man on television. “According to the Daily Planet, he’s called ‘Superman’.”

Jonathan looked down at the newspaper in his lap and started to read.

She didn’t regret not telling Jonathan at first. No point in dragging him out of bed just to stress him out with worry. LNN’s assumptions during the initial reports had been mostly negative. The reporters had said that the flying man had something to do with an explosion over the shuttle that was supposed to take off to the space station that morning. When he had flown off with the shuttle, they assumed he had kidnapped the colonists, until told otherwise by EPRAD. Sensationalists! That was why she and Jonathan hated getting their news from LNN; everything always had a negative tilt to it. Everyone was evil until proven otherwise. There was never any good news, only bad news, gossip, and speculation.

LNN had changed their commentary by the afternoon, citing the Daily Planet’s article, for the basis of their switch. Now, they couldn’t gush enough about Metropolis’ new hero! Wishy-washy tabloid television news.

The newscasters referencing the Daily Planet article was why Martha had called Joan at the market to find out if Joan had the edition with the article about Superman. Martha knew that she could trust whatever the Daily Planet had to say on the matter. They might have a newspaper to fill, but they at least didn’t have to try to entertain people 24/7. Print journalists had time to verify facts before they rushed to print. Joan had sent her son to Wichita to wait at the distributor for the next edition to arrive.

“Just because Smallville is out in the sticks doesn’t mean people aren’t interested in what’s going on in the world,” Joan had told her.

“Did you see this?” Jonathan asked, breaking Martha out of her reverie and passing her the newspaper. His finger pointed to a column under the fold, next to the main article on Superman, which was taking up most of the front page.

Martha took the paper and read, “Superman Confirms Rescue of City Worker.” She set down the paper. “So, he didn’t just arrive this morning. No, I hadn’t heard that. They haven’t mentioned that on LNN.”

“No, Martha, this…” Jonathan pointed to the article again.

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the article quickly. “I don’t…”

“Written by ‘Clark Kent’,” her husband explained.

Martha’s hand holding the newspaper dropped as did her jaw. She began to sputter, “That must be a coincidence. There must be thousands of Clark Kents in the world. It can’t be that uncommon a name. No offense, honey.”

“That’s a pretty big coincidence, Martha, that a man writing one of the first articles about this space man would just happen to have the same name that we gave… gave… him.” Jonathan caught her eye. “Do you think it’s a sign? Do you think he did it on purpose? Do you think he’s trying to tell us something? Do you think he wants us to know that he knows? It’s his way of letting us know he’ll be contacting us?” Her husband’s expression at this theory was a mixture of awe, worry, and fear. He gulped. “You don’t think he’ll blame us for what happened to the boy, do you?”

Martha raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I seriously doubt this ‘Clark Kent’ fellow knows anything about our Clark, Jonathan. Anyway, how would Superman be able to change the name of some reporter, unless…” She swallowed as her eyes went wide.

Jonathan shook his head with a slight chuckle. “You’re right, Martha. It’s just a coincidence. No need to worry. Why would Superman disguise himself as a reporter and choose our… our Clark’s name as his own? We’re jumping to conclusions.”

She let out a nervous laugh that grew, and it was soon joined by her husband’s big belly laugh. What a preposterous idea! They laughed and laughed ‘til tears streamed down her face. What ridiculous jumps and strange conclusions that they had made. Why indeed?

As soon as their laughter subsided, Martha lifted her glasses and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Oh, I needed that,” she said, gazing at her husband with tenderness, her earlier tension all but melted away. It was the first time Jonathan had laughed, really laughed, in… she didn’t know how long.

“I love you, Martha,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“I love you, too, Jonathan.”

He reached over and cupped her jaw with his large hand and pressed a kiss to her lips. Their kiss was interrupted by a knock on the door. They both turned at the same time to stare at the door. Jonathan’s hand tightened around hers. They both were thinking the same thing: had he come?

“Mrs. Kent?” called a familiar voice from outside. “You home?”

She let out her held breath. It was only Thomas Irig. “Coming!” she answered. She patted Jonathan’s knee and stood up. He was right. There was no reason to worry. It was highly doubtful that Superman would come knocking on their door.

“Hi, Thomas,” she said, letting the young man in.

“Hi, Mrs. Kent… Oh! Mr. Kent, you’re up and about,” Thomas said, his face lighting up with a beaming smile. “My dad’s out in the truck; let me go run and tell him… You don’t mind, do you? He’ll be so glad to...”

“Sure, Thomas, I’d love to see Wayne, but why don’t you tell us why you’re here first?” Jonathan suggested.

“Oh, right,” the young man shifted his weight from one foot to the other in slight embarrassment. “We only stopped by to ask your wife again where that fence was she wanted us to fix. Dad and I walked the whole length of the west field this afternoon, but didn’t see poles knocked down, like she had told us.” Thomas glanced away from Jonathan to Martha with an apologetic expression on his face, as if he just realized he had cut her out of the conversation.

A week or so ago, before Martha had gone out with Wayne to walk the property line and discuss selling the property, she had found a gaping hole in the fence on the west field. Several of the heavy fence poles had fallen down. As it was just a corn field and not a cattle field, she had added it to the list of general repairs that needed to be done on the farm that she wouldn’t be able to handle on her own. Wayne and Thomas had volunteered to help out with these odd jobs until the Kents were able to find a good, reliable, and stable farmhand.

Jonathan looked over his shoulder at his wife and Martha stared back at him. “Martha?”

She shrugged her response. The hole had been a huge one; there was no mistaking it, and it wasn’t the sort of the thing to fix itself. Her gaze moved away from Jonathan’s and over to the television where LNN was once again showing the footage of Superman at EPRAD that morning.

Jonathan must have seen how her focus had shifted, because he told the young man, “You know, Thomas, I bet it must have been one of those things I repaired the day of the accident. My memory is still sketchy from that day. I’m betting I fixed it and forgot to cross it off the list.”

“Oh,” Thomas said with relief. “I thought we got the wrong field or something.”

“How about you go get your dad, and I get the two of you some beers? I could whip up some supper, and you all could watch the game?” Martha suggested.

“That sounds grand, Mrs. Kent. Thanks,” Thomas said with an appreciative grin as he backed out the door. The old widower and a young bachelor were not known for their cooking skills.

“Martha,” Jonathan hissed. “What’s this about the fence in the west field?”

She was by his side a moment later, and whispering in hushed tones about the toppled fence poles.

“Are you sure it was the west field?” he asked.

“Positive. I had just come from visiting Clark’s grave, not knowing if I’d have time to go on Monday with you having your rehabilitation appointment in Wichita and all. I walked along the west field fence line on my way to meet Wayne to discuss… something,” Martha explained, not ready to admit their dire financial situation to her husband.

“Yes,” Jonathan agreed with her. “That would be the west field. Are you sure the damage was extensive enough…”

“Jonathan Kent, I have been a farmer’s wife for over a quarter of a century, are you seriously considering that I wouldn’t know what a broken fence looks like?” she retorted.

“No, no, not at all, Martha,” Jonathan quickly backpedaled. “But either you were mistaken, or… or… ”

“Or…” Martha finished for him. “We’ve got us one heck of a guardian angel.”

Both of them turned and stared at the television screen once more.

****************
Finding Superman
****************

Clark stood behind Lois as she described Superman in detail to a sketch artist. He had to admit, Lois was making him look really good, nothing like Superman, but really good. Cat came and stood to the other side of Clark, practically draping herself over his shoulder. He shot her another warning look and stepped closer to Lois.

“Olsen!” Perry shouted, entering the newsroom. “Where are those blow-ups of Superman?”

“Ah… Lab’s backed up, Chief, turnaround might be a couple of hours,” Jimmy explained.

“Turnaround?! Oh, great shades of Elvis!” He came to complain to his reporters. “What are we here? The Daily Planet or second stringers on the Weehawken Gazette? All right, staff meeting tomorrow morning: six a.m.,” Perry announced, before turning back to Jimmy and insisting, “With blow-ups!”

Cat groaned and then mumbled, “So much for my beauty rest.”

Jimmy’s mouth just hung open as if he feared the Chief’s wrath if the lab guys didn’t get him the photo blow-ups in time.

Lois was tunnel-visioned in on the artist’s sketch, and Clark wondered if she had even heard the announcement. “No, no, no, the color’s all wrong.”

Cat leaned over the artist’s other shoulder. “Uh… More almond shaped,” she suggested, pointing to Superman’s eyes.

“You said ‘brown’,” the artist replied to Lois’ criticism.

“Brown brown. Not, dull insipid mud-brown like Clark’s,” Lois explained, hitting Clark in the chest with the back of her hand. “No offense, Clark.”

“Mud?” Clark asked, and he had known darn well she had meant it with offense. Ever since their argument earlier, she had done everything to get him – personally – thrown off the Superman beat.

“More vibrant, more radiant!” Lois clarified, as if brown could be either of those words. Brown was brown. Clark couldn’t believe her.

“Bedroom eyes,” Cat whispered over the artist’s other shoulder, agreeing with Lois.

Clark looked up to the ceiling. If this was what having a secret identity was like, maybe he preferred everyone knowing the truth, instead of falling all over his Super side. At least then, they would know who, exactly, they were fawning over. He sighed. Of course, in his experience that didn’t lessen the flattery and hero worship.

Jimmy came up with a grin. “But, hey, if he is an alien, maybe he doesn’t get the ol’ … itch,” he suggested. “Eh?”

Lois shifted in front of Clark, accidentally bumping into him as she tried to get a better view of the sketch.

Oh, trust him, he got the ‘itch’, all right. Clark cleared his throat and straightened his tie. At this very moment, it felt like a full-blown rash.

“Hmmm-hmmm. One way to find out,” Cat retorted suggestively with a wink.

“A possible visitor from another planet arrives on Earth, and all you can think of is hauling him off to your lair?” Lois scoffed with revulsion. “To try him out?”

Clark was sorely tempted to argue with Lois’ reasoning, being that she too had invited Superman to her apartment to have an up-close and personal interview while she showered and changed her clothes. He got as far as raising his finger before biting his tongue. Right, Clark wouldn’t know about that unless Superman was a blabbermouth, which would be a bad trait for the Man of Steel to possess.

“Test drive, Lois!” Cat clarified. “A couple of hours behind the wheel, I’d know for sure if we’re talking import or domestic.” She smacked her lips and wandered off.

His jaw dropped. “Hours?” Good sex took hours?

“Ugh,” Lois groaned.

Clark had to agree but then he wondered: was he all that different? He had all the same parts as a human man. They all worked liked everyone else’s parts. He hadn’t gotten any complaints… well, Rachel at least hadn’t complained. Of course, it had been both of their first time, so she hadn’t known better, and he really hadn’t known what he was doing. Lana, on the other hand… well, Lana complained about everything. What if he really was different? What if he wasn’t as good as a human man? What if Lana had had a viable reason to complain? Maybe he should have taken hours with her. His stomach churned at this thought. Fifteen minutes with Lana had seemed like eternity. Clark turned away from where Cat had walked off and concentrated on Lois again, trying to force these thoughts out of his mind.

“No!” Lois grabbed the pad away from the artist. “The features are too coarse.”

Of course, maybe Lois would have reason to criticize him as well. She seemed to find fault with everyone else, why not Superman?

“Think noble. Think Greek god,” Lois said with awe as she stared at the picture.

Or not.

“A Greek god?” the artist echoed, unable to believe Lois’ words.

“For example the chin, it’s square, but not plain. The chin of a man who stands for something…”

“Like Clark?” asked the artist.

“This is Superman we’re talking about, not some Tom, Dick, or…” Lois retorted, hitting Clark in the chest again as if he represented the any man.

“You know, he didn’t seem that special to me,” Clark said, annoyed at her drooling over his Super side, while reviling his normal side. “I mean, except for the flying and the uniform, he could be any ordinary guy.” Hint. Hint. Standing right behind you, so-called Miss Investigative Reporter extraordinaire. See me, just this once, just see me.

“Ordinary?” Lois repeated in a tone of voice that clearly showed that she thought Clark had no idea what he was talking about. “Give me a break.”

Give her a break?

“What we’ve got here is an example of human evolution, before and after,” Lois continued. “Clark is the before. Superman is the after.” She looked over her shoulder at him, looking Clark up and down. “Make that the way, way after.”

Clark threw his hands up into the air. “Enough! I can’t take this anymore,” he retorted. “You hate me. I got the message, Lois, loud and clear. You don’t have to rub it in.” He turned and headed for the stairwell.

“Where are you going?” she taunted as if she had won grand prize at the Smallville Corn Festival by scaring him off.

“I think I’ll go and look for Superman. Maybe I’ll tell him what you told me, about how no ordinary guy is good enough for you. I’m sure another woman throwing herself at his feet is just what he came to Earth for!” he replied, spinning around to face her. “And another thing, Lois, if he really is from another planet, how could he possibly be a prime example of human evolution?”

*

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare!” Lois said, grabbing her briefcase and following after him. “You aren’t going anywhere without me, Kent. We’re in this together.”

He looked at her incredulously. “If I remember correctly, Lois, there is no we. There is you, and there is I, but there is most certainly no we.”

She ignored his joke. “And you think you can find him?” Lois said, marching down the stairs after him.

“Yeah, I do,” he told her, and then shot her a knowing smile.

What?! How could this hack from Nowheresville know where to find Superman when she – two time Kerth award winning investigative journalist – hadn’t a clue? “How? He could be anywhere. Mars. The north pole.”

“I’ll find him,” Clark assured her.

“Right, Clark,” she scoffed. “And when you run across Jimmy Hoffa and the Easter Bunny, why don’t you reel them in too?”

Clark stopped and looked back at her with a blank expression on his face as if he had no idea who she was talking about.

She made a set of bunny ears with her index and middle fingers and starting bouncing them around in front of her. “‘Here I am, Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail…’”

He squeezed his lips together. “I know who the Easter Bunny is, Lois.” He rolled his eyes and returned to stomping down the stairs. “How do you know that I don’t have the inside track on finding Superman?”

“What if he doesn’t want to be found?” Lois proposed.

“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he want to be found?”

“What if all this frenzy isn’t what this guy expected? Maybe he’s gun-shy,” Lois suggested.

“That’s ridiculous. He has no reason to hide, especially from me,” Clark responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back. “Are you insinuating that Superman has a reason to hide from me?”

“No, Lois. Just forget I said anything,” he replied, pushing on the revolving front doors of the Daily Planet.

Lois followed right behind him when he exited on the other side. “Why? Did he say something about me when you talked to him after the liquor store robbery?”

“No, Lois,” Clark groaned. “We didn’t talk…” He paused and glanced away.

Oh, humiliation! Superman had talked about her to Clark. “What? What did he say?”

Clark shook his head and focused on her again. “Nothing, really. It was nothing.”

“So, he did say something. What?!” she prodded.

“Lois, why are you following me?” Clark asked, deftly changing the topic of conversation away from Superman. “I thought we weren’t partners.”

“Of course not, but I’m not going to let you track down Superman without me and tell him a bunch of lies, so he’ll give you the exclusive instead of me,” she explained.

He laughed. He actually had the gall to laugh at her. “I thought Superman was on the moon, Lois. I thought there was no way in hell I could ever find him because he doesn’t want to be found,” Clark reminded her of her earlier barbs. “So, why are you really following me?”

“What did Superman say about me, Clark?” If he could change topics at the drop of a hat, so could she.

“Nothing, Lois,” he said with another groan.

“If it was nothing, then why don’t you tell me what he said?” she reiterated.

“Fine! If you must know, Superman’s worried about you,” Clark told her.

Lois had to take hold of Clark’s arm to stop her feet from floating off the sidewalk. “Superman is worried about me?” Superman must really like her if he cared enough to mention it to Clark.

“Yeah, first you were almost blown up by Dr. Baines and then, hardly thirty-six hours later, almost blown up again on the Prometheus transport. He asked me to keep an eye on you,” he explained.

Superman wanted Clark to keep an eye on her? Clark? “Wait a minute. How did he know about the whole Messenger warehouse explosion?” she asked. “Did you tell him?”

“No, Lois. I guess he read it in the paper or heard about it somewhere.”

“Why you? Why would he want you to keep an eye on me? Do you have some martial arts training that I don’t know about?” She looked him over again. That would explain his buff physique.

“He knew we worked together because both of our names were on the Messenger article,” he said.

“Superman reads my work?” Lois felt her knees give out and was glad she was still holding on to Clark’s arm.

“I’m sure he reads everybody’s work, Lois, not just yours,” Clark clarified, looking down at her strangely.

“Sure, sure…” she agreed, but inside she was still dancing the samba. Superman reads her work, ya! Superman reads her work, hey!

“Lois, are you okay?” Clark asked, his voice soft as if he were really concerned.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Lois reassured him as she grabbed his lapels with both her hands, still trying to hold herself up. “Oh, Clark. He reads my work. He remembered my name! He asked you to look after me. Don’t you see what this means?”

His eyes opened wide as a horrified expression came to his face, “No!”

“Yes!” she said as she swayed and her eyes looked at him with delight. “He cares about me, Clark, really cares.”

“Oh, Lois,” Clark said sadly, and she was sure with a fair amount of pity. “Snap out of it, will you?”

“Huh?” she replied as his words splashed over her like a bucket of cold water, solidifying the mass of Jell-o that had been her knees. “What?”

“He’s a person. Sure, Superman flies and is super strong and has all these other neat traits, but under all that he’s just a person. Could you please stop acting like some teeny-bopper at a… a…” He snapped his fingers as he tried to think of someone famous.

“Mel Gibson?” she threw out the first name that came to her.

“Yes!” he said, grabbing her suggestion and running with it. “A Mel Gibson concert. Please!”

A Mel Gibson concert? A movie premiere, yes, she could see that, but a music concert? Lois raised a brow and studied him. “You’re a weird one, Chuck.”

“I am?” Clark asked, seemingly surprised at this description of himself.

“Yes, but it works for you.” She let go of his lapels and straightened them out. He was right; she was acting like a school girl crushing of the head of the football team. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They stood there awkwardly on the sidewalk for a minute, neither of them knowing quite what to say. It was a strange feeling for her. She had always felt comfortable around Clark. He was one of those kinds of people she clicked with right away, had an instant rapport with, instantly felt at home around, and that was what she found so suspicious. She never felt like that around anyone.

“So,” she said hesitantly. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, I thought Superman, me, Jimmy Hoffa, and the Easter Bunny might go and get something to eat,” he said with a perfect deadpan. “Care to join us?”

How could she resist? “Well, if both Superman and Jimmy Hoffa will be there, I guess I shouldn’t let you get the exclusive,” she replied, with a light chuckle, as they continued walking down the sidewalk. “And for the record, I don’t hate you.”

Clark flashed her one of those smiles she had named after him. “You don’t?”

“No,” she admitted. “I just hate it when someone other than me is right.”

“You mean, you hate it when you’re wrong?” he clarified.

“No!” Lois nudged him sharply with her elbow. “Get this straight right now, Clark, I am never wrong. On occasion, other people, besides myself, do tend to be right, though.”

He laughed. “But you’re never wrong? Gotcha.”

Lois smiled at him. She could get used to having him around. He was no Superman, but he was also no Claude. As long as he didn’t beat her out of any Superman stories, they would get along just fine.

***End of Part 8***

Part 9

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”Here Comes Peter Cottontail” written by Steve Nelson and Jack Rollins, originally performed by Gene Autry. (This link gives you the whole movie, but the song starts about 2:56 and lasts around a minute.)