“Good morning, Clark,” Martha cheerfully called as Clark sleepily entered the kitchen. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot. As soon as your dad is finished up, we’ll have breakfast.”
“Mmph,” was all Clark could manage. Martha turned and stared at her son as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, clearly still half asleep.
“Did you sleep ok?” She asked, worried. It was unlike Clark to have slept this late in the day, and she rarely, if ever, saw him look this tired, especially given the amount of sleep he had had last night.
“Yeah, I slept great, I think. I barely remember falling asleep, don’t think I moved all night.” Clark filled a mug with coffee, and took a seat at the kitchen table. “You didn’t have to wait for me to get up to eat, I know Dad is up quite early…”
“Don’t worry, he had a bite before he started the chores,” Martha laughed, the first lighthearted moment in several days.
She and Jonathan hadn’t been worried about Clark at first. He’d avoided their calls, but they knew he was alive and automatically assumed he was ok, at least physically. If anything, she’d suspected Clark was blaming himself for not saving Mr. Luthor, and had been juggling dealing with Lois’s sorrow and his own guilt. Until Lois let it slip that Clark had been hurt. At that point her stomach had fallen to her toes, a deep feeling of dread had settled in. If Clark was injured, and still had visible wounds to show several days later, something was horribly wrong with her son.
The argument between Lois and Clark she’d heard, while trying to find out what was going on, had cemented her decision to fly to Metropolis. Clark had agreed to visit them instead, which Martha was relieved about. Visiting Metropolis for a few days was fairly easy with enough notice, as they’d ask someone to watch the farm and care for the few animals they had, but having to leave for an undetermined amount of time would be challenging. Plus, getting Clark away from the city for a few days would probably do him some good.
Last night when he’d arrived, he’d been fast asleep in the truck when Jonathan had pulled up. After suggesting Clark shower and change, they’d shared a light, late, dinner, and as the sun set, they’d sat on the porch and talked.
He’d said a great deal, without saying much at all. Martha knew he was keeping much of what had happened to himself, and she wasn’t sure if that was to preserve his own mental state, or to spare them any grisly details. They now knew about the Kryptonite cage, his entrapment, and his escape. The burns, she knew came from his attempts to escape, but it didn’t explain why he was calling out in his sleep, as he had last night. Jonathan had panicked about the cage, had tried to suggest they drive to Metropolis to get it so it could be disposed of. Clark had tried to assure him it was in safe hands, that he trusted the Inspector to take care of it.
The question that hung in the air, the one none of them approached, was the concern over Clark’s powers. Last time he’d encountered Kryptonite, he’d been stripped of his abilities for a short while, but they’d come back. Would they do the same after such a long exposure, Martha wondered as she cradled her cooling mug of coffee, as she watched Jonathan stroll up the pathway from the barn. At least Clark was safe, and home, for the time being.
“Clark?” Martha turned and saw Clark scratching at his neck. “Don’t scratch the scabs, you’ll make them bleed.” She had only seen a few of the healing burns, the ones on his hands, forearms and the one on his neck. He had refused to let her check him over further than looking at the easily visible marks to be sure they weren’t infected, and healing properly.
“Mom, it’s not that,” Clark protested as he moved to scratch his ankle. “Something’s making me itch.”
She walked around to Clark and peeked at his neck, fighting the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. “Clark, honey, it’s mosquito bites. They must have had a feast on you last night.”
“Oh,” Clark said as his face fell. “Guess it’s been a long time since I last had to deal with that.”
“Not to worry,” she said brightly, trying to cheer him up a little. “If you go upstairs into the medicine cabinet, you’ll find a bottle of calamine lotion. Bring that down with some cotton wool balls.”
As she heard the stairs creak under Clark’s ascending footsteps, Jonathan entered the house.
“Is he up?”
“Yes, he’s just gone upstairs to get the calamine lotion. The mosquitos took a fancy to him last night,” she said, trying to lighten Jonathan’s mood.
“Oh, Martha, our poor boy…”
She quickly cut off Jonathan before he began to lament. “Jonathan, don’t let him overhear you. He’s alive, and he’s still probably healthier than the average man. Let’s not take that for granted. For now, take him with you today, find something to do together. Maybe if he relaxes a bit he’ll talk to you, rather than hiding what’s bothering him.”
“Well, there is that section of fence that needs replacing,” Jonathan sighed.
“Perfect. Gets him far enough from the house he can’t hide in his room, and he’ll get some fresh air and sunshine.” Martha handed Jonathan a fresh cup of coffee just as Clark returned.
“Is this it? It’s bright pink!” Clark stated, holding out the bottle of calamine lotion.
Martha couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling at Clark’s disgusted expression.
****
He felt ridiculous. There were pink splotches all over him, indicating just how many mosquitoes had bit him last night. At least there were only a few that were visible around his neck, the rest were on his back, covered by a t-shirt, and on his legs, covered in jeans. Still, how had they managed to bite him through his jeans? Though, he grudgingly admitted, they didn’t itch anymore.
It was already warm, but a light breeze coming in the open truck windows helped, especially in the old farm truck. His mom had packed them a hearty lunch, and lots of water, as though she expected them to be gone all day, but it sounded like there was only a small section of fence that needed to be repaired, maybe a few posts, not a task for the whole day. He’d overheard the comment about getting him out of the house and it looked like Mom was trying to ensure he’d be gone all day.
As his dad brought the truck to a stop, Clark gazed around at the crops in the fields. It was peaceful out here. He could hear the neighbours cows mooing, and the wheat, which looked almost ready for harvest, was rustling and swaying gently in the wind. He should ask his dad when he was planning to harvest, as this year he had all the time in the world to help.
Several hours later, Clark was finishing up the last of the packed sandwiches, sitting on the tailgate of the truck.
“Hungry?” His dad asked with a smirk, taking a leisurely bite out of his sandwich.
“Yeah, apparently I was. That was a lot of work.”
“I’ve been putting this off for months as the Keegan’s won’t be using this pasture until fall. It’s been much faster and easier with your help, son.” Jonathan watched as Clark stretched out his neck and arms. “How do you feel?”
“Tired, a bit sore, but not bad.”
“Clark, your mother isn’t here to fuss right now, and I think you’ll do yourself a favour admitting how you actually feel,” Jonathan said carefully.
Clark sighed, and reluctantly elaborated. “It’s been how many years since I had to do manual labour without relying on my super-strength? I don’t remember what it feels like.” Clark paused, thinking over his next words. “Lifting the Messenger into space was easy, but it took effort. At that point, it was the heaviest thing I’d ever lifted, but it wasn’t just a case of lifting something up. While I defy gravity by flying, the ship wanted to fall back to Earth, so I was fighting that, and trying to keep it balanced. Coming back to Earth alone, I was tired, but not sore as though I’d physically exerted myself.”
Clark looked at his dad, who nodded encouragement at him. For the first time in days he could explain to someone how he was feeling accurately, and even though his dad couldn’t understand exactly what he was feeling, at least he could say truthfully what was happening to him. He plunged ahead.
“Remember Nightfall?”
His dad chuckled. “I do. I’m glad you do too!”
Clark, lost in his memories, didn’t hear his father’s comment. “The first time I just hit it, expecting it to veer off course, but it exploded around me. The second time I had to catch it, and force it away from Earth. It was tiring, I almost couldn’t do it, but it didn’t take long for me to be at full strength again. This… this is different.”
Clark hesitated, fighting the memories of the pain and exhaustion from the cage.
“Whenever you’re ready, son. We’ve got all afternoon,” Jonathan said as he offered Clark a bottle of water.
“Dad,” Clark started, staring off at the horizon. “I’ve never been that exhausted, or defeated, ever. I didn’t think I’d…” He felt sick to his stomach, Luthor’s scream echoing through his mind, along with the sound of the axe smashing into the wooden barrels. He gripped the side of the truck desperately, and felt his dad’s arm around his shoulders, gently patting him on his back. He focused on the soothing sound of the breeze through the stalks of wheat, a gentle rushing sound, and feeling the sunshine warming him, he slowly let his grip on the truck relax, taking deep breaths. He wasn’t in the cage anymore, he was outside, on the farm, safe.
“It’s ok, Clark…”
“No, Dad, it isn’t. I let my guard down, I got overconfident. I never thought Luthor would get his hands on Kryptonite.” Clark stood and began to pace, agitated. “Remember that missing piece of Kryptonite that Wayne sent off to the lab? I never found it, and I let it go. Some investigative reporter, huh? Luthor got hold of it, and almost killed me. Lois…” Clark hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “He never loved Lois, even though he told me he did. Luthor said she was too independent, and he’d have to take care of that.”
“What do you think he meant?”
“He’d already manipulated her right into his waiting arms,” Clark spat bitterly. “The explosion at the Planet, that was him. She lost her job and her friends… Even I…” He couldn’t continue, the lump in his throat threatened to spill over into tears.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jonathan interjected, only to be interrupted.
“I should have been there,” Clark continued, regaining his composure. “Instead I pushed her away. In those last few weeks leading up to her wedding, we barely spoke. I told her I love her, and when she tells me she doesn’t feel that way about me, I abandon her. There were a few brief phone conversations, and one conversation where I yelled at her. How was that being a friend, supporting her? I practically shoved her into Luthor’s arms.”
Clark sank to the ground, and sat, his anger, pain and frustration finally voiced in a cathartic release.
Several minutes passed before Jonathan’s quiet question broke the silence. “Do you still love her?” He asked.
Clark sighed, suddenly fed up of talking. He stood, brushing the dry grass and dirt from his pants and walked towards the truck. “How about we check the rest of the fence.”
****
After dinner, while his mother insisted on cleaning up alone, Clark sat out on the porch with a mug of tea. He was tired, but pleasantly so, not the body aching exhaustion he had felt over the last few days, but a general tiredness after being outside all day, working. He and his father had gone over all the fencing on the property, finding a few more posts to replace along with a few sections to repair. He’d done most of the heavy labour, and found himself enjoying the work. He’d never minded it as a kid, and was thankful to find he still loved to work on the farm, despite lacking his super abilities.
He could hear the mosquitos buzzing around him, but couldn’t see them, and assumed the bug repellant that his mom had liberally sprayed him with before sending him out here, was doing its job. He took a sip of his tea and looked out onto the farm. The golden fields of wheat were still gently swaying in the barest of breezes as the sun, an hour from setting, began to cast rich, red hues across the landscape.
His dad was planning to harvest late next week, if this weather held. It was a good crop this year and when Clark had expressed his desire to help, he’d seen the spark of thankfulness in his dad’s eyes.
He loved the farm, always had, but had never seen himself settling down to be a farmer. For the last year of high school, as he’d applied to universities, he’d been afraid to tell his father, who was proud of his son’s desire for further education, that he wanted to enroll in journalism courses, not agriculture. Even in the first years of university, he’d held some guilt, despite his parent’s blessing, that he wouldn’t be returning to carry on the family legacy.
No matter what his future held for him now, he knew he could walk back onto the farm and his father would gladly pass the land down to him. But could he give up everything he’d worked for? Even without his superpowers, he could still write. His time at the Daily Planet, several of the exclusives he and Lois had worked on, and a few of his own, had done wonders for his portfolio. He could apply to any of the world class newspapers in the country and be considered a candidate for employment, yet the drive to do so wasn’t within him currently.
He leaned back in the old whicker chair as the squeaky screen door announced he had company.
“Tired?” His dad asked as he sat.
“Yeah, but not exhausted.”
“Well, tomorrow I’d like to give the combine and tractor a good once over, be sure there’ll be no surprises when we start harvesting.”
Clark nodded in acknowledgement; he’d anticipated that would be next on the list. “When are we sowing this year?”
“Clark,” Jonathan began, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Are you planning to be here for a while?”
“I dunno, Dad.”
“I’ll never turn down your help, and you’re always welcome here, but are you sure you’re ready to give up on Metropolis? On your career?”
Clark groaned internally. He hadn’t fooled his dad. “It’s easier to think here, in the quiet. The hustle and bustle of the city is fun at times, but sometimes I need the peacefulness I find here.”
His father nodded his understanding.
“It’s not just about me not being super anymore, there’s so much more to it than that.”
“Oh?” Jonathan asked.
Clark knew his dad wouldn’t be offended if he just left that comment where it was, but he needed to say the words out loud, so he could figure things out properly, and stop the circular arguments in his head. “There’s no Daily Planet. I could get a job at one of the other papers, but it wouldn’t be the same.” He inwardly cringed at the idea of writing for the Star. “So where does that leave my options? Settle for something else in Metropolis, or try another paper, in another city? Start all over again? I don’t know if I want to do that again.”
He sighed and broke eye contact with his father, looking out at the setting sun. “Dad, did you ever want to do something different?”
Jonathan leaned back in the chair. “No, never. Sure, there are days, seasons, where it’d be easier to give up, but I can’t see me doing anything else.” His dad looked out towards the driveway, fondly. “This town, this farm, has been my life. I couldn’t imagine growing up, living, raising you, anywhere else.”
Clark sighed in envy. He’d loved Metropolis. It was so vibrant, eclectic, and full of possibilities. He’d had a good job opportunity, which turned into the career of his dreams, and he finally had a way to use his abilities for others, while keeping a low profile. A week ago he couldn’t have imagined thinking about giving all of that up for the life of a farmer. Now, no super powers, no job, was he contemplating it?’
But what about Lois?
“Son, don’t make any rash decisions. Give it a little longer for the dust to settle.”
He hadn’t answered his dad’s question from lunch time, but it had plagued him all day. He still couldn’t answer it. “Dad, she loved him,” Clark said mournfully.
“Did she?” Jonathan asked. There was a lengthy pause before he continued. “I remember when I realized I’d fallen for your mother. She was all I thought about, and everyone around me knew I loved her before I did.”
“Maybe love isn’t always like that?”
“Maybe,” Jonathan conceded. “Love is a powerful emotion, like fear and anger, and everyone reacts differently. All of those emotions will drive your decisions, make you act rashly, and when you calm, perhaps make you regret what’s happened.”
“Maybe,” Clark stared off into the distance, thinking over his dad’s words.
After another long pause, Jonathan stood, and placed a reassuring pat on Clark’s shoulder. “G’night, son.”
Alone, Clark watched the sun set, the mosquitos high pitched buzzing around his ears the only sound he could hear. At least they weren’t biting him anymore, the repellant must be working, but it stunk. Resisting the urge to scratch the few bites he had received yesterday, he headed indoors, his dad’s words echoing through his mind.
****
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