Martha was surprised to hear Lois’s voice on the phone, just over twelve hours since her last call. “I’m sorry, Lois. Clark went with his father over to the neighbours. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”
“Oh,” Lois spoke softly down the line.
“I can ask Clark to call you back?” Martha asked, even though Lois had asked her yesterday not to tell Clark she had called.
“No, no that’s ok,” was the quick response.
Martha hesitated. The phone call yesterday had been very brief. Lois hadn’t asked if Clark was there, instead asking how he was doing. When Martha had offered to go get Clark, Lois had insisted she didn’t want to speak to him, and Martha hadn’t pushed the issue, remembering the argument she had overheard.
“Lois, honey, how are you doing?”
“Oh, you know. I’m fine, really.”
Martha sighed as she heard the fake cheery tone coming from a woman who had sounded as though she had just finished crying. “Don’t give me a media statement. I’ve seen the reporters on the news hounding you. Have you been able to leave your apartment, or are they still there?”
There was a lengthy pause and Martha waited, before hearing Lois sniffle on the other end. “Oh, dear. Lois, is there anyone that you can stay with, or anyone that can come over for a bit?”
As Lois informed Martha, through her sniffles, that there was no-one she could ask, Martha wanted to pull the poor girl into a hug, while being furious at her mother’s reaction. Even though Clark had hidden his injuries from them, and still kept some of what had happened back, he had known they would be there for him. Poor Lois didn’t have that.
“Why don’t you come out here for a visit?” Martha asked. “I know it’s not your ideal vacation spot, but it gets you out of the city.” She’d deal with Clark, right now Lois needed a friend.
“Oh, no, that’s ok. Really, I couldn’t,” Lois objected, though it seemed the sniffles had stopped.
“Don’t worry about Clark, he’ll be happy you’re here,” Martha said confidently.
“I’ll think about it.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Martha spotted Clark casually strolling up the long driveway to the house, something in his hand. “Lois, I’m going to have to let you go. The door is always open for you, and call anytime.”
She barely heard Lois’s farewell as she hung up the phone before rushing to the door. Clark was there within seconds holding what looked like a bent piece of metal.
“Mom!” He exclaimed, holding up a bent pry bar. “Look what happened!”
****
Merely being at his childhood home, away from the hustle and bustle of the world, had always been tranquil, but the last few days, Clark felt his equilibrium returning. Each morning he’d been out at the farm, he’d woken feeling happier, more rested, and as each night passed, he’d slept more soundly. The nightmares were flickers, no longer the all encompassing horror of reliving the experience, and during the day, the moments of panic had lessened. He suspected spending the last two days in the wide open fields, in the bright sunshine, with no walls or enclosed rooms to confine him, had helped greatly.
Inspecting his wounds in the mirror before putting on a clean shirt, he was pleased to see that the scars were now new patches of pink skin, no scabs, or signs that the skin was broken or injured. He’d been a little self conscious about the one that ran down his neck as it was not easily hidden in the hot Kansas summer days, even though there hadn’t been anyone to see the marks.
After spending the day with his dad fixing the fencing around the property on Monday, they’d spent Tuesday doing some regular maintenance on the harvesting equipment, followed by some spot repairs on the silos. Nothing out of the ordinary, regular repairs that Clark was glad to be able to help with. Over a hearty breakfast, his dad had announced today they would be heading over to Wayne’s to help him with his harvest preparations.
After brushing his teeth, he idly ran a hand over the stubble growing on his face. He’d always kept some disposable razors in his toiletries just in case anyone said or noticed anything, but with the loss of his powers, and his normal method of shaving unavailable, he’d been grateful for them. He would have to take his dad’s advice and get a good quality razor, he thought as he tossed the disposable one in the garbage. These cheap ones barely lasted a few days, and the one he’d used yesterday had barely worked at all. Maybe it would be easier to just let his beard grow out?
He laughed at his reflection, idly wondering what Lois would think of a beard, before sighing heavily. Would he see her again? Where did they stand with each other?
When she’d shown up unexpectedly the night of Luthor’s death, he’d not known how to react. Fear, and anger, had been the first emotions to surface. As Lois had continued to drop in at his apartment over the following days, she had not asked any further questions about his injuries, or what had happened, and other than the snippet of information about her sister, had not shared anything with him.
He missed her, plain and simple. He’d missed his friend and partner for weeks, and now everything had changed again, would she want him back in her life? Over the last few days, as he’d finally slept well, and his injuries healing, he’d realized he wanted to talk to her. Even if he decided not to return to Metropolis to live, he wanted the chance to say goodbye.
“Clark! Are you ready?” His dad shouted from downstairs.
Clark, shaken out of his musings, replied. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” Quickly grabbing a shirt, he headed downstairs.
As they headed away from the farm in the old truck, Clark smelled something burning on the breeze. Not seeing any smoke he said nothing until they drove up behind a tractor driving slowly in front of them.
“Dad, something’s wrong,” Clark stated, the smell of smoke much stronger now. “Can you smell that?”
“No,” replied his father, but he slowed down instead of passing the tractor.
“I think it’s coming from the tractor.” No sooner had the words left Clark’s mouth when he spotted flames licking upwards from underneath the cab. “Dad,” Clark shouted, pointing towards the flames.
His dad pulled the truck alongside the tractor, while Clark gestured to the driver to pull over. It was Eddie Keegan Sr., their neighbour, who was well into his eighties. While he had all his wits about him, and regularly helped his son on the farm, he couldn’t walk well. The moment the truck stopped, Clark jumped out and raced around the piece of equipment looking for a fire extinguisher, as the flames grew and the smoke thickened. He found the extinguisher and watched as his dad helped Eddie Sr. down from the cab, as he aimed the extinguisher towards the flames. The air around him turned white from the fine powder, and unsure if the fire was out, he paused.
“Clark?” He heard his dad call.
“Can you see any more smoke or flames?” Clark responded.
There was a moment before his dad responded as they waited for the white cloud to clear enough to see properly. As his dad answered the affirmative, Clark spotted the flames again. Knowing there wasn’t much left in the extinguisher, he took a breath and blew gently on the area.
“Son, I think you’ve got it,” he heard his dad frantically call. He stopped and stared at the rear of the tractor. It was encased in ice. As he walked around the tractor and back to the truck, dazed, he saw his dad helping Eddie into the passenger seat. Once Eddie was settled, his dad turned to him.
“He’s pretty shaken up. I’m going to take him home.” Clark heard the words, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ice covered tractor. “Clark,” his father said sharply. “Listen to me.”
Clark tore his eyes away and turned to meet his father’s eyes, as his dad grasped him by his arms.
“Clark, we can deal with all of this. I’m taking Eddie home. Go back to the farm and bring the tractor back, you can tow this one back to the Keegan’s, it should be thawed by then. If not, take it home.
Clark nodded dumbly as his father patted his arm reassuringly before climbing into the drivers seat and driving away, kicking up dust from the gravel road behind him. Clark turned back towards home and started a comfortable jog. His dad was right, the tractor would thaw quickly in the growing warmth, and this road didn’t go anywhere except to the surrounding farms. It could be hours before someone drove by.
As he ran he started to think over what had happened. The icy breath had been a power that had developed early, shortly after the invulnerability, strength and speed had made their appearances, around the same time as the vision and sense of smell had enhanced. He almost laughed aloud at the memory of his parents faces when he’d blown out the birthday cake candles and frozen the cake solid. At first it had just been very cold breath, it was a few years later before his lungs would develop their destructive force.
His light jog felt too easy, so he pushed a little faster, surprised when it felt no different. He was sprinting now, and barely feeling the effort. With a surge of joy and hope, Clark pushed more and more until he skidded to a stop at the driveway to the farm, less than a minute later. He stared in disbelief as the dust cloud he’d caused caught up to him, and engulfed him. Quickly, before he could be seen, he darted towards the barn and picked up a pry bar. Grasping an end in each hand he took a breath, and exerted a little pressure. He laughed as the bar folded, the ends almost meeting. He left the barn and walked down the remainder of the driveway to the house. Spotting his mom through the kitchen window he ran the rest of the way, arriving as she opened the door.
“Mom! Look what happened!”
****
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