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

Where we left off in Part 57 …

The sheriff looked at the bent metal around Trask’s chest. “Need some help with that?” Sheriff Harris holstered his pistol and with all of his strength loosened the bar enough to pull it over Trask’s head.

“Did you do that, Colonel Trask? All those things that Mrs. Kent said? Did you kidnap the Kents?”

“I held them for questioning,” Trask clarified. “National security issue. You understand, don’t you?”

The sheriff nodded, accepting this answer.

“Trask is also wanted for the murder in Metropolis of a federal employee, an ombudsman by the name of George Thompson,” Lois called over to the sheriff, before taking the last few steps into Clark’s embrace. She wrapped her arms around Clark and pulled him close. “You’re alive.”

It had been a long painful day for Clark, but he felt it was worth it, if it meant he was able to hold Lois again. He rested his head against hers. “The explosion,” he murmured. “I thought you…” His voice faltered and broke. No, he hadn’t accepted her death as final. He was never so glad to be wrong. He pulled her tighter against his chest.

“Yeah, I crashed my truck. I hate stick shifts. Hank pulled me out before it exploded,” she murmured. “How did you know it was me?”

Clark closed his eyes with a wince. Lois had crashed there. He couldn’t speak, only hold her and cherish that he hadn’t lost her in the same way he had lost his folks.

Wayne Irig hobbled out of the tool shed, still clutching his hand to his chest. Thomas ran past them to help with his dad.

“What happened to Wayne Irig?” Sheriff Harris looked back at Trask. “Did you do that to him? Mrs. Kent said you shot him.”

“National security,” Trask said vaguely as if that excused his actions.

Sheriff Harris raised a brow at Trask, and sighed. “Wanted for murder? Shooting one of my constituents? I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in for questioning, sir. I’m sure it’s some great big misunderstanding that we’ll clear up in no time.” He opened a pouch on his holster, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

Trask’s gaze narrowed at him as if daring the sheriff to try to use those handcuffs on him, instead the sheriff turned towards Lois and Clark. “Who are you?”

“Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” Lois replied. “And this is my partner…” She looked at Clark as if she was unsure what she should say.

This was it, the moment of truth. “Clark Kent,” Clark replied. It was the truth after all.

Lois looked at him, her eyes full of questions. Not anger, for once, just confusion.

The sheriff looked at him skeptically as if he didn’t believe this story either. He tapped his handcuffs against his palm. “You’re under arrest for the assault of Colonel Trask there. I saw you punching him when I pulled up. Plus, you had wrapped him in that metal bar.”

Lois tightened her embrace around Clark. “Trask abducted him. He was defending himself,” she said on his behalf.

“He’s not Clark Kent!” roared Trask, slamming his fist into the sheriff’s nose and grabbing the sheriff’s pistol from his holster. “He’s Superman!”

“Lois!” Clark screamed, pushing her to the ground. “Get down!”

Trask’s gun exploded once and then twice.

*

Part 58

Lois heard Clark shout, felt him push her away, and saw him jump between her and Trask, like a human shield, before falling to the ground with a heavy thud amidst the two almost simultaneous explosions. She was angry with Clark for lying to her, true, but she didn’t want him to sacrifice himself to protect her. She closed the short distance between them, tears dotting her lashes.

“Clark?” she whispered, a mere inches from his body. She was afraid to touch him, afraid she would hurt his damaged body more, and afraid of what she might find if she did touch him.

Clark groaned, and relief filled her, washing away all her anger at him for the moment. Not that she had believed Trask’s ludicrous claim. Superman was invulnerable. Superman couldn’t be shot, let alone be bitten by mosquitoes. He wouldn’t gag and throw up at the taste of sugar or chocolate. The idea was preposterous.

Lois wrapped her arms around Clark’s head, hugging him to her chest. “You’re not dead. You’re not dead,” she murmured, letting her tears fall. “You, stupid, stupid man, you’re not allowed to die.”

“I’m usually better at it,” he said roughly. “Today was a bad day.”

She wanted to slug him for teasing her at a time like this, so she did.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Not the shoulder,” he requested.

“Were you shot?” she asked, turning him over and tearing open his button-down denim shirt. She ran her fingers over his chest to his right shoulder. “Where does it hurt?”

Clark swallowed, staring up at her. “Everywhere.”

“Where?” she repeated, continuing to run her fingers over his shoulder. “Specifically.”

“Other shoulder,” he murmured.

“Oh,” Lois said with a slight blush. She pulled him up to a sitting position and shifted his shirt so that the other shoulder was exposed. It was a bit swollen and red, but it wasn’t bleeding. “Did you aggravate an old football injury?”

“I’ll be okay,” Clark groaned in contrast to his words, and pulled his shirt closed with one hand. “How about you? Lois, he didn’t… You’re bleeding.” He reached up to her forehead, but stopped himself from actually touching her.

“Oh, that old thing,” Lois said with shrug, pulling him back into her embrace.

She felt a jolt of longing pass through her body. She had been furious at him earlier when she had found the real Clark Kent’s grave. Had she forgiven him? At the moment, none of it seemed to matter. Was it because he almost died, or because of his mouth-watering chest? Oh, dear God, she thought as she flushed, burying her head in his neck, so he couldn’t read her thoughts from her expression. Lois Lane, you aren’t thinking with your head. It was just the adrenaline.

“You promised me that your bullet chasing days were over,” she murmured against his soft skin, which had the hint of sandalwood. Earthy, country, farmer. Everything pointed to him being Clark Kent, farmboy, only he wasn’t. At this moment, she only cared that Trask hadn’t killed him. She’d worry about the other stuff later.

“That was before I became your partner,” he teased as if it were her fault.

“He was aiming at you, not me, you lunkhead,” Lois corrected him, running her fingers over his hair.

“Always with the endearments, Lois,” Clark replied softly, lifting his gaze to look her in the eyes.

She sniffled and smiled, despite herself. “Always with the jokes.” She wanted to call him Clark, or Kent, but it seemed wrong somehow to call him these names anymore. Jerome still twisted her tongue into knots. “Chuck.”

Clark shifted his position to look around, and they saw that Trask was lying in pool of his own blood, presumably dead, but who had shot him? It couldn’t have been Sheriff Max Harris. Trask had stolen his gun. Who else had a gun? Thomas?

Sheriff Harris, rubbing his jaw, was striding over to yell at Hank. “You shot Trask in cold blood, Hank,” he said, pulling Thomas’s rifle out of the man’s hands. “He’s… was a representative of our government. Do you know much paperwork I’m going to have to fill out because of this? You know this will bring the feds to Smallville to tramp all over my jurisdiction, don’t you?”

“I was doing your job,” rebutted Hank, then a thoughtful expression came over his face. “Sheriff Hank Jessup?” He nodded. “I could live with that.”

“Not from jail, Hank. You’re under arrest,” Sheriff Harris said, reaching another pair of handcuffs but coming up short. He had dropped his other pair in the dirt by Trask’s body.

“Max, that man's delusional. He thinks Lois’s husband is Superman. I defended an unarmed man. An unarmed man, mind you, who you had been warned was abducted and his life threatened by that Trask guy,” Hank clarified. “I saved Jerome’s life.”

Lois looked at Clark and smiled, brushing that errant curl off his forehead. Trask wanted Clark dead. It was okay in her book that Hank defended Clark by killing Trask. If she lived in this county, he’d have her vote for Sheriff. “Why did he think you were Superman?” she asked.

“He threatened to kill the Kents if I didn’t produce Superman. So, I told him that…” He took a deep breath. “I’m Superman,” Clark sheepishly admitted.

“And he believed you?” Lois scoffed. “How certifiable can one man be?”

Clark stared at her, his jaw hanging open as if in astonishment. “You’re not… mad, Lois?”

“What? Mad? You thought I believed him?” Lois laughed. “Please. You two may both have brown hair, and brown eyes, and be roughly the height, Chuck, but so is Thomas, and Jimmy, and neither of them are Superman either. You and Superman are worlds apart.” Then realizing what she said, added, “Pun intended.” Mad? Why would she be angry? Suddenly it clicked. “You’re right, Chuck, I am mad,” she announced, hitting his arm. “How could you have risked your life by telling that nutjob that you’re Superman? The last thing Superman would want is you dead because you impersonated him.”

Clark reached up and pushed a lock of her hair off her face. “You’re wro…” he started saying and then coughed. “Actually, the last thing Superman would want is you dead.”

Lois smiled. Okay, he had a point there. “Superman wouldn’t want either of us dead, Clark,” she corrected his correction.

Sheriff Harris marched back to them, still holding Thomas’s gun. “If you’re not Superman, then who are you?” he asked.

“Clark Kent,” Clark said again. This time with a sigh.

“Clark’s my distant cousin,” Jonathan announced, speaking up for the first time since the sheriff had arrived. “I asked him to help out at the farm after my accident. I figured if everyone in town thought he was a drifter named Jerome, he could come and go as he pleased without being the center of gossip. I didn’t want people to talk, which I knew they would if another Kent suddenly arrived in town.” He set a hand on his wife’s hand. “I’m sorry, Martha,” he said with heartfelt remorse. “I know you asked me not to…” His voice faded as he left that apology unfinished. He turned back to the sheriff. “I didn’t even tell Martha. I didn’t want her to know how much trouble the farm was in.”

“You got ID?” Sheriff Harris asked Clark.

He nodded and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He handed the man his driver’s license and his press pass.

Sheriff Harris looked the documents over and handed them back. “Do you have a birth certificate?”

“Who carries around a birth certificate with them?” Lois asked.

The sheriff’s face fell. “Yeah, you’re right. Never mind. Okay, it looks good. Stick around. I’m going to have to interview you all for my report. Probably should do that at the Kents’ house. Who first?”

Another patrol car pulled into the drive, and Jacobs stepped out. “You wanted me to arrest Hank, sir?” he asked, glancing uncertainly over at Hank.

Hank put his hands on his hips. “You don’t want to do that. You know that Lana will call her Daddy if she’s stuck with the kids all night without me,” he said. “Especially when she finds out it’s because you stupidly let an insane man steal your gun.”

A look of panic crossed the sheriff’s face. “No, no,” he admitted. “Just don’t leave town,” he added, pointing at Hank. Then he turned back to his deputy. “Jacobs, why don’t you help me with interviews?”

“Hey, Sheriff,” Jimmy’s voice called from his patrol car. “When are you going to let me out?”

Sheriff Harris rolled his eyes. “Never,” he grumbled.

Jimmy! Lois had been so focused on Clark, she had forgotten about Jimmy. “What are the charges?” she asked.

“Disturbing the peace,” replied the sheriff. “And disorderly conduct.”

“He asked for help,” argued Hank. “And you towed his car.”

“He threatened a lawman,” continued the sheriff.

Lois looked at Clark. Jimmy? “How?”

“It doesn’t matter, how. He’s under arrest and he’s going to stay that way until the judge in Lawrence can see him tomorrow morning for his arraignment,” the sheriff said.

“Please, get me out of here!” Jimmy yelled from the back of the patrol car.

*

The sheriff went to talk to his deputy and Hank, and call in the incident to the office. In the meantime, Lois went to talk to Jimmy in the back of the sheriff’s car, but Clark remained sitting on the ground. He was tired. Between his two exposures to Kryptonite, being chained, Trask’s beating, and his emotional roller coaster ride day, he didn’t want to move. Moreover, he was currently in a bright sunny spot and he hoped the sun’s rays would help him towards a quicker recovery.

A bed sounded nice, but he doubted it would be in his near future. Although, with Thomas’s father going to the hospital in Wichita due to his broken fingers and a bullet wound to the leg, it was doubtful that Thomas would be staying with the Kents that night. Maybe Clark could get a bed, just not the one he wanted.

Personally, Clark wanted to sleep with Lois, just sleep. He didn’t have the energy at the moment for anything more. He wanted to spend the night in her arms, sharing her warmth and gentle caresses, listening to her heartbeat lull him to sleep. He wanted her close, so he wouldn’t lose any more sleep over her safety. He knew the opportunity would never present itself, but he wanted it just the same. Just being close to her made him feel better. He lifted his eyes off his hands in his lap and looked at her talking to Jimmy in the squad car. In his opinion, she was already too far away.

Clark should have known that Lois wouldn’t believe he was Superman. For the past few days, he had been anything but super. He sighed. It was an uphill battle and one that kept getting more difficult to climb. Maybe he should realize he’d never scale that peak and convince her to love him.

Martha approached him. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“I’ve been better,” Clark admitted.

“I bet,” Martha said, resting her hand on his good shoulder.

He moved his hand to his mouth and pretended to cough. “Where’s Thomas’s rock?” he asked.

“Secure,” she replied vaguely. “Ferdinand is guarding it.”

He glanced up at her. “Your bull?”

Martha nodded. “I put it in the back corner of his stall and covered it with wood shavings and manure. Trust me, nobody will come near it.”

He certainly wouldn’t, not in his current vulnerable state. Ferdinand was the opposite of his namesake in personality. The bull had already punched holes in two stalls in the barn.

Clark’s gaze returned to Lois. Her energy amazed him. How did she do it? Without his powers, it took every ounce of strength he had just to stay upright.

Lois glanced over at Clark, saw him watching her, and she raised a hand in greeting. He waved back.

“Wayne knows,” Martha said, reminding him that she was still there.

“I figured,” Clark said. Those pointed glances Mr. Irig had given him when he and Trask were fighting told him as much.

“He won’t say anything,” she reassured him.

“I know. He’s a good man. Loyal,” he said. “He’s lucky to have Thomas.”

Martha nodded. “He is.”

“Tell Jonathan he doesn’t need to lie for me,” Clark said, appreciating the back up just the same.

“I tried, but he doesn’t listen. Stubborn as a mule, that one is,” she said with slight chuckle. “You’re officially family now, so he’ll defend you to the death, whether you want him to or not.”

Clark closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to keep his emotional response buried. The acid in his stomach didn’t seem quite so strong, and he thought it might be due to happiness but the feeling felt so unfamiliar, he wasn’t sure. “Thanks,” he said hoarsely.

“Me, too,” Martha said, giving him a hug.

Clark felt a burning sensation under his arm that he hadn’t noticed before and took a sharp breath in surprise. “You’re both too generous,” he said, ignoring the pain. Everything about him ached at the moment. What was one more thing?

“Are you all right, Jerome?” Martha asked with concern. “I saw Lois checking your shoulder earlier.”

Clark flushed. Just remembering Lois’s hands on his chest reminded him how much he wanted to kiss her, and how unlikely that would be. “Just bruised, I suspect.”

“You ever been bruised before?” she asked.

He shook his head lightly. “I’ve never been sick before.”

“Oh, you’re in for a world of fun. I have some aloe in the house. You can have Lois rub your shoulder and sore muscles before bed,” Martha suggested. “Maybe give you a back massage.”

“In my dreams,” he murmured.

“Just give her time. She’ll forgive you. She’s already half-way there,” Martha reassured him. “I can’t wait until she’s there. I’ve been wanting to talk to another woman about…” She paused and her voice broke. “ – my boy for almost thirty years.”

Clark raised his hand to cover hers on his shoulder, feeling that sharp burning sensation under his arm again. He drew in another quick breath.

“What is it?” Martha asked.

“What is what?”

She looked at him in the same way his mother used to when she knew he was keeping something from her. It always made him cave; apparently, it still worked.

“Just a little sore under my arm. I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said, rotating his aching shoulder. “Once I’m able to heal myself again, I’ll…”

Martha started raising his arm as he was speaking, interrupting, “Jerome?”

“Huh?” He pulled his gaze off Lois and looked up at her.

“You’ve been shot,” she said, lowering his arm.

Clark’s heart started to race. “Are you sure?”

“Did Trask burn you with a cigarette?” she asked.

He shook his head quickly.

“Then a bullet passed through your shirt under your arm here. There isn’t much blood, so I doubt it’s a deep wound; it may be even a flesh wound, but we should get you inside and dress it. If Lois sees that you’re hurt, she’ll want you to be checked by the EMTs when they arrive to pick up Wayne,” Martha said. She paused before adding, “Unless you want them to treat it?”

“I’d rather not,” he admitted, climbing to his feet.

“I didn’t think so,” she replied, patting his chest. “Anyway, this is probably the only chance I’ll get to see that handsome body of yours uncovered.”

“Maaaaa - rtha!” Clark gasped, his eyes wide.

She laughed. “I’m only joking, Jerome.” She nudged him with her hip. “Trust me, that uniform of yours doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Clark turned ten shades of red as he stammered to find a response and came up short.

“Don’t worry, honey. Isn’t that why you designed it that way? To keep people from looking at your handsome face,” she said, patting his cheek and turning towards Jonathan to tell him where they were off to.

Clark just stared at Martha Kent. That other Lois had said her Clark’s mom had made his suit for him. If so, was that her intent? Apparently so. He gulped. Sometimes moms should just be moms. When they acted like women, it was just too weird.

***

Jimmy sat in the back of the patrol car, twiddling his thumbs. Literally. That boneheaded sheriff refused to drop the made-up charges against him, and Jimmy was losing out on photographing this huge story because of it. Perry would never let him go out on a story again.

From what Jimmy could gather, not that anyone was trying hard to keep him in the loop, Wayne Irig had been airlifted to Wichita, because Trask had not only shot him in the leg, but had broken both of his fingers during interrogation and had pumped him with some kind of truth drug. Mr. Irig had given his statement while waiting in the deputy’s car for the Medivac chopper. Thomas Irig had quickly given his statement to Deputy Jacobs, so that he could drive to Wichita to meet up with his dad at the hospital. The sheriff hadn’t wanted to talk to the Irig family, some personal beef apparently, and so Deputy Jacobs had taken their statements, while the sheriff had talked to the Kents up at the house.

That Mrs. Kent was the nicest woman. After about a half-hour, when Jimmy was sure everyone had left him in the car to rot, she had brought him out lemonade and a sandwich. Then she stood out there and fed him, because that sheriff refused to take his handcuffs off. Mrs. Kent reassured him that CK had called Perry on his behalf, mortification galore, and that Lois was still trying to convince Sheriff Harris to let him go on his own recognizance. No such luck.

The sheriff wanted to have at least one arrest to make up for all mistakes he had made that day. Oh, sure, he did have Trask’s man, who came to before the Medivac helicopter had arrived for Mr. Irig, but clearly that wasn’t enough for the wacko sheriff. Not only had Trask’s man refused medical attention from the Medivac EMTs, which seemed contrary to the man’s story that he couldn’t remember anything, he also used this excuse not to give the sheriff the time of day, let alone his name, rank, or serial number. Temporary amnesia, very convenient and very fishy, according to Lois.

Man, Trask must have kept his team paranoid. Lois surmised that Trask taught his men that when they were joined Bureau 39, they did so for life. Any loose lips were sure to sink the Bureau 39 ship, so despite their leader having been killed, Trask’s soldier wouldn’t compromise the rest of his team. Why would Trask require such devotion from the members of Bureau 39, when Superman had been the first visitor from another planet to come to Earth? Or had there been others, which Trask had wiped out of existence, whom nobody knew about? Just talking about the possibilities of this had made Lois shiver. Jimmy had never seen Lois scared about anything in his life. They may have cut off the head of the Bureau 39 snake, but it didn’t mean that two more wouldn’t grow to take his place.

After the Irigs, and the volunteer firemen who had put out fire from the exploded truck, had left, and the sheriff had finished gathering his statements, Sheriff Harris left Jacobs to guard Jimmy, the Bureau 39 soldier, Trask’s body, and the crime scene, and took CK and Lois over to the Irig camp to see what information they could gather from that other crime scene. Jimmy had volunteered to come too, as photographer, but no such luck. He was a prisoner, and a prisoner he would stay. Lois had informed the sheriff that she doubted they would find anything, being that Bureau 39 had been in an awful hurry to clean up when she had been there earlier. The sheriff took Jacobs’s car, and Lois and CK took their rental because they refused to sit in the backseat of the patrol car. Something about once getting in, they doubted he would let them out again. Nice one, Lois.

The other prisoner was left leaning up against the van, still tied up in the ropes the Kents had put around him when they had initially captured Trask and the man. Jimmy wished he could have heard the story on how they accomplished this and how Trask eventually escaped despite CK somehow having bent that metal bar around Trask’s torso. Jimmy bet it was a doozy of a story. Most likely, CK feared that his family was in danger from Trask and had an adrenaline rush.

Jimmy would probably have to wait until their story hit the Daily Planet though, with his luck. He had been able to sneak Lois his roll of film from the Irig property while he was talking to her earlier. Even though Sheriff Harris had remembered to recite to Jimmy his Miranda rights, for the most part, and handcuff him, the man had never taken the time to frisk him or even take away his camera bag. Bonehead. The man was the antithesis of smooth.

“Hey,” Jimmy said, calling out to Deputy Jacobs, who was leaning up against the side of the car. “Why don’t you take off these handcuffs and let me photograph the crime scene? Then you wouldn’t have to wait for that other deputy to come in from the other side of the county. I’ll make you an exact set of prints of all the photos.”

Jimmy had heard Jacobs talking to Darlene on the CB radio. Apparently, the other deputies on duty were scattered around the several hundred-mile wide county. It would take the nearest one at least another hour before they could make it to this crime scene. The limited amount of law enforcement personnel patrolling such a huge land area made Jimmy glad to have been born and raised in the city of Metropolis, where MPD was a short call for help away.

“Sheriff Harris doesn’t want me to let you out. He said that specifically,” replied Deputy Jacobs, but he sounded sympathetic to Jimmy’s cause.

So Jimmy pressed on. “Okay, fine. How about you at least take off the cuffs, man? My wrists are killing me. It’s cruel and unusual punishment to keep me locked up like this for hours. Undo my cuffs and I promise I’ll stay in the car.”

Thankfully, Deputy Jacobs relented and released Jimmy’s wrists from the restraints. Unfortunately, he didn’t let Jimmy out of the backseat of the car. Win some; lose some. At least, Jimmy could move and stretch his arms and reload his camera. He pulled off his camera bag, which the deputy had either not noticed or cared about, and set it down at his feet, so it wouldn’t be so noticeable. Then he bent down to look through it.

A minute later, two black SUVs pulled into the yard. Jacobs went off to meet them. Jimmy ducked lower and pulled his camera out of the bag. He put in a new roll of film and started taking pictures. Since he hadn’t been able to photograph the crime, or the crime scene, he’d at least get photos of the feds taking charge. Anything to embarrass this idiot sheriff would please Jimmy immensely. Maybe he’d be lucky and the agents would insist that the sheriff drop the charges against him, though he wasn’t holding his breath.

He watched and photographed as the men in sunglasses and suits quickly showed the deputy their badges.

“FBI. We’re taking over,” one of the men informed Jacobs.

Then the FBI went straight to work. The men scoured the yard, picking up weapons, chains, and even that bent piece of metal CK had wrapped around Trask, without using one evidence marker tag or having one guy photographing the scene. Jimmy knew something wasn’t right. They weren’t following crime scene procedure. One thing he had learned about the FBI, since starting working at the Daily Planet, they liked to follow the letter of the law more than the local cops did. They seemed to live for filling out paperwork.

It wasn’t until they cut off the ropes of the other prisoner, put some plastic bands around his wrists and pushed him into the backseat of the SUV that Jacobs started to protest.

“Hey, you can’t take him. He’s been arrested by Sheriff Harris,” the deputy insisted.

Yeah, and the sheriff doesn’t give up a prisoner once arrested.

“As a member of Bureau 39, everything surrounding Colonel Trask’s death needs to be investigated by federal agents,” the FBI agent told him. He held out a form to the deputy. “Just sign here for the prisoner transfer.”

“Now, hold on a minute. I’m going to have to clear this up with my sheriff,” Deputy Jacobs said, handing back the form, unsigned.

That wasn’t right. Jimmy had to agree with the deputy. Since when did FBI agents stop using handcuffs? These guys weren’t FBI.

One of the FBI agents pulled out a Taser, and down went deputy Jacobs before he could even pull out his gun. Jimmy felt for the deputy, but he was more worried about his own butt at the moment. He ducked down lower in the back of the patrol car and hoped that the men, he was quite sure were Bureau 39, hadn’t noticed him there when they had driven past earlier.

Jimmy watched and snapped photos as they gathered up Trask’s body, zipped it up into a body bag, and dumped it in the back of the SUV. So much for their esteemed leader.

“Hurry!” one of the men yelled. The men then fanned out. Two went into the tool shed and two into the barn.

Martha and Jonathan Kent came out onto their back porch.

“What’s going on here? What are you doing on our property?” Mr. Kent yelled. “You don’t have the right to go into our barn!”

“FBI agents,” the man called over to them. “Go back inside. This crime scene is our jurisdiction now.”

“Our barn isn’t part of the crime scene,” clarified Mr. Kent. That was when he noticed Jacobs lying on the ground and nodded to his wife.

Mrs. Kent lifted up a rifle and shot the leader. It didn’t make a sound when she pulled the trigger, and Jimmy wondered if she had loaded it properly or remembered to take the safety off. He knew that the sheriff had confiscated the rifle they had lent to Thomas, which Hank had used to kill Trask. He was surprised these kind farmers would own more than one gun. Just another difference between city and country folk, he figured.

“Fall back!” the man shouted to his team, before stumbling to the ground, pulling a feathered dart from his arm.

“That’s bull tranquilizer, and I’ve got more where that came from,” Mrs. Kent called, reloading her gun. “Now, get off our property!”

The men returned from the shed. One picked up their new leader from the ground and unceremoniously pushed his inert body into the first SUV. Meanwhile, the other man picked up the back doors of the van, stuffed them inside the vehicle, and slid into the front of the van. Both vehicles sped off the property. Unfortunately, Jimmy didn’t catch this on film because he was changing rolls.

The men from the barn ran out, a minute later, followed by a big red bull. Apparently, one of them had been stupid enough to open the stall door. They jumped into the second SUV, barely making it before he crashed into the door. One man shot at the bull from the window of the SUV as they drove off, but, thankfully, missed the bull. Martha came down off the porch, checked on the deputy, and went into the barn, her gun still aimed in case she came across any men inside.

A few minutes later the sheriff, Lois, and CK returned.

Jimmy had never been so happy to see his friends in his life.

***

After making their official statements regarding what had happened with Bureau 39 and Trask at both the Irig and Kent farms, as well as her stealing one of their trucks, arguing with Sheriff Harris why he should release Jimmy to no avail, eating dinner, getting the local Smallville Post to develop Jimmy’s several rolls of film and send the photos over the wire service to the Daily Planet, telephoning Perry regarding their story and Jimmy’s scoop, and finally writing up their story, it was late into the night by the time Lois hit the save key. She and Clark had sat on couch in the living room, where he had slept the night before, while they worked on the story.

Lois knew Clark was bone-dead tired, and working on adrenaline, same as her. She had wanted him to stay up with her so they could finally have that conversation about who he really was.

“There!” Lois said, leaning back. “It’s done. Faxing it from the laptop certainly was quicker than trying to send it over the dial-up internet connection. “If that pig-headed sheriff had dropped those insane charges against Jimmy we could be back in Metropolis and handing in our story directly to Perry,” she grumbled. “Now, the story is written and everyone else has gone off home or to bed, you can tell me everything.” She leaned up against his shoulder.

Clark didn’t say anything.

Lois ran her hand down his arm and tucked her fingers around his. He sighed contentedly and shifted his body slightly to rest his head more against hers. She had to admit, this was quite cozy.

“You can trust me. Whatever it is that you’re afraid to tell me, I promise not to freak out, or get angry. Please, just don’t keep me in the dark anymore.” She ran her thumb over the back of his hand.

He still didn’t say anything.

Didn’t he believe her? Okay, she had admit, the ‘not getting angry’ part was a bit of a stretch.

“I know anger is my go-to emotion, Chuck. I don’t mean for it to be, but… well, I’ve acknowledged it as a problem I need to work on. I don’t know why I lash out at you more than I do with anyone else. I mean Lex bought me for fifteen hundred dollars, and though it royally ticked me off, and I’ll never fully forgive him for that, I don’t care.” Lois paused. That didn’t seem quite accurate. “Well, I mean, of course, I do care, but it was like it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things because I don’t really care for Lex. I know it was probably awful to lead him on, but he’s a big boy. He can handle a little rejection, right? It’s not like he’s invested in me or anything.”

She thought about that for a minute. Lex had been jealous of Clark enough to look into his past. “At least, I don’t think he is. I certainly haven’t given him any indication that I like him for more than a friend, because I don’t. The only man I’ve really been interested in… well, other than you-know-who, and we both know what a mess that was, is you.”

Lois’s heartbeat accelerated. Had she just told this man, whose true past she didn’t know, that she loved him? No, she sighed with relief, she hadn’t. She did care for Clark more than any other man she had ever known – if one ruled out a certain superhero – but she wouldn’t let herself even think the “L” word until he was fully honest with her.

“Ever since we’ve arrived here in Smallville I’ve become aware how fragile…” Oh, that was a horrible word choice there, Lane, she scolded herself. “— and vulnerable you are. I was truly frightened this afternoon at the thought of you dying. As if we were somehow linked and your death would kill me as well.” Lois flushed. So much for not telling him how she really felt. “Okay, I’m starting to ramble, and you really should say something now. And don’t you even try that old excuse that you couldn’t get a word in edgewise.” She continued to rub his hand with her thumb.

Clark remained silent.

“Clark?” she whispered, turning to look at him for the first time since shutting her laptop.

His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply.

She pressed her lips together. “Good going there, Lane. Pour your heart out to the Great Snorini,” she grumbled.

A part of her wondered if he fell asleep while she was talking, but she knew he had had one hell of day and was extremely tired. It was more her fault for not checking his attention level before diving in.

He looked so sweet and innocent and so… Clark while he was asleep. He hadn’t really looked like himself since she had first discovered he was hiding his true identity from her.

She was tempted to wake him up, but this really wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have with him grumpy. She was the grumpy party in this scenario, after all, and she refused to give him a chance to out-gripe at her for waking him up.

Lois ran her fingers over his hair, down his cheek, until she cupped his jaw. There was just something about him that was totally adorable and irresistible, especially when he was like this: quiet and relaxed. She leaned over and gently placed her lips to his.

Once again, as had happened many a time when they kissed, she felt a rush of emotion and longing. It was all she could do to stop herself from deepening the kiss, something she wasn’t at all sure she could do without his participation. If only there was a way to float him up to her bed so that they could cuddle all night, like he was her very own Clark-bear. No, best not. Who knew what might happen if they both woke up in the middle of the night?

Lois hadn’t been thinking about Clark logically since Trask shot at him this afternoon. She needed distance between them, and he needed to sleep and recover from his injuries. Slowly and very reluctantly, Lois extricated herself from under him. Not that she had been completely under him, per se… she flushed at that thought.

Oh, yes. She was very happy that she wouldn’t wake up to his irresistible body next to hers in bed. That would be just the thing to send the last of her brain cells packing.

Lois pulled a pillow from the bedding still piled next to the couch and set his head upon it to take the place of her shoulder. She felt something under the collar of his shirt as she did this. Taking a closer look, she saw that he had a hot water bottle resting on his aching shoulder. She unbuttoned his shirt to remove it, so he didn’t wake up to a cold water bottle against his skin.

As she flipped open his shirt, she saw he had put on an extra t-shirt under his button down shirt. Lifting up the hem of the shirt to access the water bottle, she saw a bandage under his arm. Although not soaked through with blood, it was a bit red indicating that it had been bleeding earlier. What had happened?

Lois checked his button down shirt and saw two round holes that indicated that a bullet had passed through his shirt.

Clark had been shot?

Lois wanted to crawl into his lap, wrap her arms around his neck, and never let go. Had she truly been so close in losing him?

Why hadn’t Clark told her? Why hadn’t he had the EMTs check him out when they arrived to pick up Wayne Irig and take him to Wichita? Did he hate hospitals and doctors as much as she did? Clearly someone had helped him bandage up his wound. Martha! Lois remembered the two of them going into the house first, while she had been speaking with Jimmy. Had Martha noticed something Lois had not? Alternatively, had Clark felt more comfortable opening up to this woman, this stranger, than he did to the woman he supposedly loved?

An ache throbbed in her chest. Why hadn’t Clark told her? Was it because she had freaked out when Trask first shot him? Had Clark not told her because he didn’t want her to worry? Was he afraid that she wouldn’t worry? Or was there another reason? She remembered the shock in his eyes when she didn’t believe Trask about Clark being Superman. Had she hurt his feelings?

Clearly, Clark wanted her to love him more than the Man of Steel. She could understand that. Had he really expected her to stop loving Superman completely? That wasn’t in the cards. There would always be a part of her that loved Superman. Clark had to know that. She had thought that Clark understood that and accepted that.

Lois ran her fingers over the bandage and noticed the edge of it had already worked itself loose. She peeled it back slightly to glance at the wound, sighing with relief. It was just a scratch. That was probably why he hadn’t told Lois. He hadn’t wanted her to worry.

She pulled out the hot water bottle and set it on the floor, and then lowered Clark’s shirts. She set her hand on his cheek once more. Too late, buddy. I already worry about you.

Clark had kicked off his shoes, previously, while they were working on the story for Perry. She picked up his feet and tucked them in on the other end of the couch. She draped a quilt over him and turned off the light.

Lois bent down and kissed him again, causing Clark to make a very contented sound indeed. “Good night, whoever you are,” she murmured.

As she reached the stairs, she realized that she hadn’t removed his glasses. She turned back, bent over the back of the couch, pulled them off his face, and set them on the end table. She turned and went up to her room, still wishing she could bring her Clark-bear with her.

***End of Part 58***

Part 59

How's that for a twist, or two, or three? Post your comments here.

The Kents’ bull, Ferdinand, was named after the character of the gentle, flower-loving, bull in the classic children’s book “The Story of Ferdinand” . Story by Munro Leaf, drawings by Robert Lawson.