Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Anchor: Part I -- Clark Kent (25-27/51)

An hour later, I knock lightly on the door to Lois’s apartment. I hear rustling and quiet murmurs from the bedroom, and I blink a few times to tone down my senses. Even after my exertion with the nuclear reactor, my abilities are still all amplified, and I keep having to remind myself of my new ‘baseline.’ A moment later, the door knob turns, and Lois opens the door, a relaxed smile growing on her face as our eyes meet.

“Come on in,” she says, motioning me inside. She closes the door behind me, and I follow her across the room toward the kitchen. All of the lights are now on in the room, and all the curtains have been opened to let as much sunlight in as possible. Smart. Despite the storm still threatening outside, some sunlight filters through from breaks in the clouds, casting rapidly changing shadows across the room.

“I’ve got lunch from Burger Bistro and some clothes and things for him,” I explain, holding up a duffle bag in my right hand and a white paper takeout bag in my left hand. Her stomach growls at the smell of food, and she smiles sheepishly at me.

“You know me. I can always eat,” she laughs. I set the food on the counter and then hand her the duffle bag. She seems to hesitate for only a moment before smiling at me and nodding a thank you. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I occupy myself by portioning out the food. Cheeseburgers and fries for them, and a cobb salad for me. I absently wonder if he feels up to eating as I turn toward the counter to get a new pot of tea started. Mint green tea this time, I think. I rifle through her cupboards and find stashes of Moroccan mint tea and Japanese green tea as the water heats on the stove. Perfect. The teapot whistles, and I add the mixture of tea leaves to steep as tentative footsteps stop at the end of the hallway. I turn to see Lois standing and watching me. Her hands fiddle with my neatly folded cape, and she bites her lip as she gives me a sort of crooked half smile. She steps forward and sets the cape on a side table next to the couch.

“Can you help me get him out of bed?”

“Oh, of course,” I answer quickly.

She nods and then leads me back toward the bedroom. Like the living room, the bedroom is now brightly lit, with the curtains pulled back to let in as much natural light as possible. I stop in the doorway. Lois continues over to the bed, where her fiancé sits, now dressed in black sweat pants and a long-sleeved light gray cotton shirt. His shoulders are hunched over, and his eyes remain closed as she sits next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Here we go. Are you ready?” she asks him gently.

She leans closer to him and kisses his temple lightly. He raises his eyes and straightens up a bit, his face tightening in a grimace. I’m glad he’s not projecting his thoughts to me now as I’m sure his level of pain is quite high. But he nods and looks up at me. His eyes widen as he studies me, and he shakes his head slightly.

“This is too weird,” he says in a voice that is identical to mine and yet somehow also distinct. “You’re me. But not me.”

“Tell me about it,” I reply, my tone light. I step closer to the bed and lower my eyes as he continues staring at me. I pull my hands out of my pockets and adjust my glasses as Lois clears her throat.

“I think if you just help him stand up, I can support him the rest of the way to the kitchen,” Lois suggests.

I know she’s trying to avoid making this feel as awkward as it does. I simply nod and move to his side. Carefully, though I’m sure it’s going to hurt no matter how careful I am, I slide my arm under his and around his back. Together, Lois and I lift him up to his feet. He grunts in pain, and I feel a brief hint of discomfort in my chest before it quickly disappears again.

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath.

“Don’t worry about it,” I assure him.

He is standing, but unstable, so I continue to support him as we take a step toward the doorway.

Hmmm, I wonder… If he can cause me to feel his pain, even inadvertently, maybe I can help him feel how I feel—at least temporarily. We take another slow step forward, and I concentrate to focus on my own strength and well-being. Then I project this all to him, similar to how I had reached out to him earlier while he was still in the Sun. Immediately, I sense his breathing ease, and he lets out a long sigh.

“Oh, wow, that’s… I didn’t know you could do that,” he breathes.

“Me neither,” I agree.

I keep this connection open with him as we move down the hallway and out to the kitchen. His steps are stronger and more confident. I feel Lois’s confusion, but I figure I’ll let him explain. Or I’ll at least wait until we’re seated so I don’t accidentally lose focus and cause his pain to return without warning.

Together, the three of us take the final steps to reach the table, and I help him sit slowly into the nearest chair. As I move away from him, the depth of the connection I’d established is lost, and I hear him inhale sharply. Lois sits next to him and takes his hand, a look of concern flashing in her eyes.

“Clark?” Her voice trembles slightly.

“S-sorry,” I apologize, taking another step back. “It’s hard to—”

“It’s fine,” he says stiffly. He opens his eyes and smiles tightly at Lois sitting next to him. “He learns quickly, this guy.”

She glances up at me, but I just frown. I’d planned to warn him before dropping the connection, but maybe we had to be in contact for it to work. We’ll have to talk about it more later. I turn away from the table and move to the counter to finish preparing the tea.

“You boys know I have no idea what just happened there,” Lois scolds, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

Clark lets out another deep but carefully controlled breath, and I hear him shift in his seat slightly as I strain the tea leaves and pour the hot, fragrant liquid into three clean mugs.

“Sorry, hon. He figured out how to take my pain away temporarily,” he explains.

I set their tea in front of them and place my cup on the other side of the table, across from Lois. I feel her eyes on me, and I look up at her briefly.

“Oh, that—that’s great. Good, Clark,” she praises, flashing me a bright smile. I want to smile back, I really do, but I’m still reeling from guilt. I just nod and then turn back to the counter to get their food.

“I’ve never known anyone to use a telepathic connection to do that before. I didn’t know it was possible,” he adds. “Thank you again.”

“I’m just sorry it was so temporary,” I admit. I pick up their plates, piled with fries and cheeseburgers, and turn back around toward them.

“Even just that short respite… I’m very grateful.”

I nod at him as I set his plate in front of him. His eyes widen in appreciation, and he immediately reaches out and snatches a french fry from the plate. Lois laughs at his enthusiasm as the fry disappears into his mouth.

“And I’m very grateful for this food. Oh, you have no idea how much I missed real food. Everything on New Krypton was so bland. No flavor, no texture.”

Lois laughs again, a beautiful, wonderful sound that makes me smile, and she rests her hand on his back as he picks up the burger with shaky hands and takes a big bite. I settle in my seat with my salad and sip my tea as I watch the two of them. She is more relaxed and comfortable than I’ve ever seen her. And he is…well, just like me. But more confident and articulate. I can feel a darkness buried inside of him, however, even without tapping into our telepathic connection, and I wonder how he is able to hide it so well from her.

His eyes settle on me for a brief moment before he turns back to Lois and smiles again at her. Almost like a warning. Like he’s telling me not to go there. I swallow hard and take another sip of my tea.

“Mostly, I’m grateful that you brought me back, Clark,” he says, his voice low. He gulps down another bite of his burger and then reaches over and takes Lois’s hand in his.

“You mean more than just physically flying you back from the Sun,” Lois guesses, glancing from her Clark to me and back again.

“Yeah,” he confirms. He ducks his head for a moment as his eyes close. With a deep breath, he looks up at me and adds, “I think you being here, and near her, anchored me somehow. Our connection anchored my mind so that my body could heal. With my injury…it should not have been possible.”

His eyes meet mine, and that same dark, wary expression flashes so briefly across his face that I almost miss it. He turns to Lois and brings her hand up to his lips. I lower my eyes to my salad and take a small bite, but my appetite is gone.

“When did you first regain consciousness?” I ask carefully.

I have my suspicions, but since I’ve had visions of his memories since before I even came to this universe, I’m not sure. And I think that maybe this connection he and I share may have started even before he died…somehow. I glance up at him.

He is staring at me now, confusion coloring his face. He opens his mouth as though to say something, but then closes it again and tilts his head a little sideways. He looks at Lois and then back at me.

“You’re right-handed?”

I laugh for the first time in many hours.

“Yes, I am,” I say. “It’s a weird difference, I know.”

Across the table from me, Lois pops a french fry into her mouth and interjects, “He also doesn’t drink alcohol at all and prefers salads and veggies to burgers and fries.” She chews a moment, then reaches over and pats Clark on the back with a smile. “And, he can cook.”

His eyes widen again, and he glances at me with a teasing smile. “Well, then, maybe I have some competition now that I’m back. It seems you have none of my character flaws, Clark!”

They both laugh together, and Lois leans over and kisses his cheek.

“Seriously, wait until you taste his chocolate cheesecake,” she jokes, turning to smile at me.

I grin at her in return and drop my eyes to my salad again. I take a bigger bite this time, and they each also continue eating. As I lift my fork again, a sudden alarm blares in my head, and I twist toward the sound—to the north. I set my fork back down on my plate as I listen to the police scanners and emergency crews.

Now normally, I wouldn’t be happy when lunch is interrupted by a call for help. In fact, normally I’d prefer to hear no calls for help at all—for everyone to be happy and healthy and safe. However, I’d be lying if I say I don’t feel some degree of relief at this interruption by my superhearing.

I quickly deduce that there’s a bomb threat at the Empire State Building in New York City. Fifty-six hostages have been taken to the 102nd floor observation deck, and the rest of the building is still being evacuated.

“I have to go. Sorry,” I say quickly, standing up from the table and stepping back to spin into the suit.

As my spin slows, I see Lois reach over and wrap her arm around Clark, who stares at his hands, his jaw tight. I can’t feel his emotions now; he has effectively shut me out. But I can see he’s strained. He slowly raises his eyes to meet mine, and I know with certainty that he also knows… That is, he knows that he will never wear this blue, red, and yellow suit again. My expression softens a bit.

You haven’t told her yet, have you? I ask him.

I know he hears me. But he doesn’t respond. He just lowers his eyes back to his burger and takes a big bite. Lois looks up at me.

“Be careful, Clark,” she says. She has no idea how much I needed to hear those three simple words right now.

“Thank you. I don’t know how long it will be.”

She nods and tightens her arm around his shoulders. And I take off out the window, heading toward New York City.





After a quick flight, I stop mid-air and hover several hundred feet above the building, scanning for a bomb. It is easy enough to find—a compact black case about the size of a briefcase, sitting in the middle of the observation deck. However, a second, much larger bomb is also located on the ceiling near the main support beams on the bottom floor. It is probably safe to assume the bombs are connected in some way and that moving one might set off the other. I frown and fly quickly down to where the police have gathered at the base of the building.

I land lightly next to the police chief, who acknowledges me with a nod, his expression grim.

“Superman, I’m glad to see you. We have a complicated situation here,” he explains. He motions me to a makeshift tent set up with computers and other heavy equipment, which they appear to be using to monitor communications in and around the building.

“I located the two bombs—one up with them at the observation deck and the other down in the lobby,” I say as he stops in front of a map of the building. He nods.

“They say the two bombs are connected. Move one, and the other goes off,” he adds. He points to the locations of the two bombs on the map in front of him.

“I suspected as much.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“They are demanding money, a helicopter, and safe passage out of the country. And they said they will start killing hostages—” he glances at his watch— “in five minutes. One every minute until their demands are met. Starting with the children.”

My chest tightens. Always the children. They sure know how to get to me.

I lift my eyes and zoom in to the top floor. The hostages huddle fearfully against one of the glass windows, and one of the suspects waves a handgun at them, yelling profanities, while the other glances nervously at his watch and mutters to himself. The second suspect also carries two handguns and holds a small black object no bigger than a lighter—the trigger for the bomb I assume. Can I fly fast enough to get to both bombs before they explode? I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk of finding out. But we have no time.

“Do we know for sure if the bombs are connected?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “We haven’t been able to inspect them. They said if anyone approaches the building, they will detonate one, which will then detonate the other, and the whole building will collapse.”

“Right. Can I have paper and a pencil, please?”

He raises his eyebrows at me, but nods and turns to his assistant, who hands him a sketch pad and pencil. He passes the materials on to me, and I use my x-ray vision to inspect the bombs, enabling me to quickly draw the two bombs and the detonator device with as much detail and accuracy as I can. The drawings take up several pages of the sketch pad. When I finish, I hand him the pages.

“Does this help at all?”

“Maybe, Superman, let’s see. John!” The police chief turns toward two other men conferring in the corner of the tent. One man looks up sharply and moves toward us. “Superman drew these. Can you tell him about the bombs and how they may be connected from these drawings?”

John takes the pages and flips through them, mumbling to himself and running his fingers along the sketches. He turns to his partner.

“Nate. Is this what I think it is?” His partner steps over and stares at the page for a moment. His face pales as he nods. John turns back to me. “It’s a sophisticated design, Superman. You see this right here?” He points to the upper right corner of one of my drawings. “This will send a radiofrequency signal from one bomb to the other as soon as the bomb is moved. There’s a sensor here—” he again points, this time to the center of the drawing— “and if the bomb is tampered with or detonates, the signal will be sent to the second bomb. Each of the bombs has this same mechanism. The signal is on the electromagnetic spectrum, meaning—”

“It travels at the speed of light,” I finish for him. He nods weakly. “Can the sensor or signaling trigger be disabled without setting off the bomb or triggering the signal? Like with my heat vision?”

“I would guess no, Superman. Like I said, it’s a sophisticated design.”

“Thank you, John,” I reply. I glance at the clock on the wall. We’re down to three minutes. I have to make a decision. No one is going to die on my watch. I’ll just have to be fast enough. “Once the bomb is moved, how long until it detonates? And once the signal is sent from the first bomb, how long will it be until the second bomb goes off?”

“Milliseconds. At best,” John replies.

I nod again, my eyes scanning the building. I plot my path. I’ll grab the bomb upstairs, along with the suspects guns, first and then… No, the lower bomb first, then the higher bomb, and I’ll just go straight up with both bombs. Get them as far up as possible before they explode. But I’m not sure if my earlier ‘boost’ from the Sun is still affecting me.

“Sir, how much time is left, exactly?”

The police chief looks briefly at his watch. “Two minutes thirty-seven seconds, Superman.”

“Okay.”

No problem. I can do this. I close my eyes for just a moment and focus. The power is still there—whatever the Sun gave me earlier. I know it.

I will be fast enough. I have to be.

I open my eyes and again plot out the path in my mind.

“I’m going to take out both bombs and grab the suspects’ guns,” I explain confidently.

He just stares at me for a moment as though assessing whether to trust me. Then, with a slight nod, he glances at his watch.

“Two minutes three seconds.”

“Got it.”

And I take off, careful to not damage the pavement as I go. I know I’m moving so fast that he won’t even see me until after I’m already up and out of the building and the bombs explode. Everything around me is frozen, even the droplets of rain appear to hover in the air. I break through the doors to the lobby, gaining more speed. I wrench the large bomb free from its spot on the ceiling without slowing and continue out the window on the far side of the building. I then swerve upward along the edge of the building, still picking up speed. When I reach the 102nd floor, I turn sharply, burst through the window on the side opposite the hostages, confiscate the gunmen’s weapons, and grab the second bomb before exiting the building using the same window I entered through. And I shoot straight up into the sky.

I’m several thousand feet up above the building when both bombs detonate almost simultaneously. The blast is huge, but I don’t feel a thing. I slow myself quickly, and the raindrops around me start to fall again as everything returns to normal speed. I glance down to make sure no debris from the explosion threatens anyone on the ground. Then, I fly back to the top floor of the building, where the hostages still huddle against the far wall. The suspects stand near the middle of the room, confusion on their faces, and I land lightly in front of them.

“Everyone can exit down the elevators in an orderly manner. Both bombs are neutralized,” I explain to the hostages. I grab the collars of both of the suspects and hoist them into the air. “I will take these two down to the police.”

I hear choruses of “Thank you, Superman” as I fly the suspects out the window and straight down to the police, who still stare up into the sky where the bombs exploded seconds ago. I land, not so lightly this time, allowing the two men in my grip to hit the ground just a little harder than they should, and I push them toward the police chief as they stumble.

The police chief shakes his head at me in amazement, and two of his officers step up and place the men in handcuffs. I nod at him and then launch back up to be sure everyone on the 102nd floor gets down safely.

Thirty minutes later, I land on the balcony to my apartment, head inside, and spin back into my regular clothes. Almost immediately, my cell phone rings, and I jog over to the kitchen table. It’s Martha Kent.

Oh boy.

I press the answer button and slowly bring the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Clark, hi! I was hoping to catch you. Are you alone?”

Her tone is happy and light. So I figure she probably hasn’t spoken with Lois yet.

“Uh, yeah, yes, I’m—I just got back from—Yeah, I’m alone,” I stammer. Yep, I just turned a one-word answer into a twelve-word jumble. I’m so good with words.

“Great! So next week, I’m sure you know, is Lois’s birthday. I made her a gift—it’s a painting—and I wanted to give it to her, but I’m worried that if I mail it, it won’t arrive on time,” she explains.

“I’d be happy to come and pick up the gift for you, Martha,” I reply quickly. I rest one hand on the counter as I listen to the rustling on the other end of the phone.

“Wonderful, thank you, Clark! When is convenient for you?”

A small smile grows on my lips. It’s the perfect opportunity to tell them. And it would be much better to tell them in person than over the phone. I picture Martha’s bright smile and kind eyes, and I remember the deep sadness I saw in her and Jonathan the first time we’d met. I can’t wait to see her expression when she finds out that her son has indeed returned, just like she always knew he would.

“I think maybe in half an hour, if it’s ready by then,” I propose. That should give me enough time to talk to Lois and Clark.

“Perfect,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll have apple pie for you by then. Fresh out of the oven.”

I smile wider. This wonderful woman. I’m so grateful to have met her.

“Thank you, Martha. That sounds wonderful. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, Clark, see you soon.”

I hang up the phone and spin back into the suit. Maybe at some point today, I’ll have a chance to take a breath and relax. I’ve been going nonstop since this morning’s rain storm. For now, however, I take off out the window and head back to Lois’s apartment. The Sun peeks through the clouds again as I fly, and I smile as I think about how happy the Kents will be to hear the news. I slow as I approach Lois’s apartment, and I knock lightly on the window, which is still unlocked from my departure earlier. The window opens as I knock on it, and I step into the empty room and shut the window behind me. The table has been cleared, dirty dishes taken care of, and the lights dimmed, but sunlight shines through the window to brighten the room.

I hear soft voices from down the hall, and I again tamp down my hearing so I don’t eavesdrop as I spin back out of the suit.

“Lois?”

I raise my voice enough so she can hear me, and the voices from down the hall immediately go silent. A moment later, Lois emerges from the hallway, a smile on her face. Her dark hair is now pulled back into a low ponytail, and she’s changed out of her work clothes and into black yoga pants and a blue top.

“Sorry to just… The window was still open, and I-I got back from New York, and I needed to talk to you two. It’s a-about the Kents.”

Clark appears from behind Lois, supporting himself with one hand on the wall. His face is contorted with a grimace, but he moves up behind her, and she twists her head back to smile at him as his arms wrap around her.

“I told you to stay in bed, and I’d be right back,” she says to him. She shifts in his arms and slides one of her arms around his waist to help support him.

“And I told you that I’m fine and feeling much better already,” he counters, turning his grimace into a smile. I feel it is forced, but Lois doesn’t seem to notice. She kisses him on the cheek and turns back to me.

“You’re always welcome here, Clark. If the window is open, come right on in, okay?” Lois assures me. I smile tightly and nod, and she continues. “What about the Kents? Oh, my, Clark, your parents!” She turns again to look at her fiancé, who now stares at me almost blankly. I narrow my eyes at him, and he blinks and then turns to Lois and smiles again.

“Martha called me just a few minutes ago,” I explain quickly, shifting my gaze to Lois. She tightens her hold around Clark’s waist momentarily and then looks back to me, her eyes warm and kind. “She had a favor to ask, so she invited me down later this afternoon, and I thought I could deliver the news to them in person. In person would be better than over the phone, after all. And then I could bring them here, if they want. I mean, of course, they will want to come. They are going to be so happy to see you, Clark. You have no idea—”

“I take back what I said earlier,” Clark interrupts me, a crooked grin on his face. He takes a step forward and glances at Lois as he adds, “He babbles just like me when he’s nervous. So he does have at least one of my character flaws.”

I chuckle as I lower my eyes for a moment. “Right, sorry. I just…” I shake my head. He’s right, of course. But why am I nervous? “I wanted to make sure you both are okay with that. I mean, that I tell them. And, Lois, if they want to come up immediately—is that okay? And is the guest bedroom still made up? Or should I book a hotel for them? Or…” There I go again. I stop myself as my cheeks turn red. “Sorry, I’m doing it again.”

Lois laughs, and Clark’s smile grows. She turns to him.

“It’s your call. I think Clark has a point about it being a much better idea to tell them in person,” she says. She rests her free hand across his stomach, and he clenches his jaw as he seems to think hard about it. He raises his eyes to mine.

“Why is it so important to you that you be the one to tell them?” His voice inserts itself into my mind, and my shoulders tense involuntarily. He doesn’t wait for me to respond, and his gaze shifts back to Lois.

“I agree. In person is much better,” he replies. He plants a brief kiss on her cheek and then turns back to me. Wordlessly, I feel his question again.

I don’t have an agenda here. My response is clear and concise. But I feel compelled to add more. For Lois’s benefit, I speak out loud. “I can’t wait to see their reaction. They’ve really missed you, Clark.”

His eyes remain trained on me, and I begin to feel slightly uncomfortable. I’m only trying to help here. Sure, I do want to see them happy. I close my eyes as I picture my own parents, the night before they died. One of the last memories I have of them. We sat together at the kitchen table. My mom wore a blue dress with white flowers that my dad had bought her for her birthday the week before, and my dad had changed into a clean dress shirt and slacks. And we ate apple pie. Freshly baked. With apples from our orchard. And they laughed and smiled as we played a game of Scrabble. My mom usually won, but I was leading then. I remember I had a seven-letter word to play—CONTENT. And I stood up and, in quite a dramatic fashion, I placed my tiles on the board and added up my points. In that moment, I had been perfectly content. And the very next day…

My eyes open abruptly. Does he know what I’m thinking now? I’m not sure. He’s lowered his eyes and is looking tired.

“It’s a fine idea,” Lois says. Clark leans on her a bit more, and she shifts her weight to help support him better. “Clark, is it okay with you if he goes to Smallville and tells them you’re home? Then he can bring them here? They were just here earlier in the week, but I’m sure they will be happy to come back. They are going to be so happy. I know I am.” She kisses his cheek and seems to notice that his face has paled more. “Maybe you should get back to bed, sweetie,” she suggests. He nods.

“Yeah. And yes, I think it’s fine for you to go, Clark. I look forward to seeing them.”

“Please don’t tell them about my injury. I don’t want to worry them. My dad…his heart is not good.” He again raises his eyes to meet mine, and I feel just a hint of the pain still aching in his chest. He shakes his head, and it vanishes. “Sorry again. I’m getting tired, and it’s harder to control.”

Got it. I won’t say anything about your injury, I assure him. I add, And don’t worry. Get some rest.

“Great,” Lois declares, unaware of our silent conversation. “Thank you again, Clark. Let me get him into bed, and I’ll be right back. Hang on, don’t go anywhere, okay?”

I nod and watch as she helps him back to the bedroom. I stuff my hands into my pockets. The folded up notebook page that Perry White gave me this morning is still in my right pocket, and I pull it back out and open it up. The number at the top of the page jumps out at me. One million dollars. It’s just the advance, he had said. Millions more in royalties. But everything has changed now. Hopefully, the three of us can find a few minutes to sit down and talk about this… Maybe tomorrow.

“What’s that?” Her voice startles me, and I look up sharply and fold the paper back up.

“N-nothing, really, just a n-note P-Perry gave me,” I stutter. Ha. I’m so great at telling half-truths. No way she’ll see through that one. I frown and lower my eyes again. “It’s actually… Not that important right now. We can talk about it later. Tomorrow maybe.”

“Okay,” she replies, her voice low.

She steps over across the room toward me and stops just a couple feet away. I lift my eyes to hers. She watches me curiously, her arms crossed over her chest. She smells like strawberries. Why do I always seem to notice that? I smile weakly at her.

“This has been a weird day,” I say quietly.

To my surprise, she steps up closer to me and wraps her arms around me. My body tenses momentarily, and I stand stiffly while she hugs me. After a moment, she releases me and steps back. Her hands, however, settle on my lower arms, and she squeezes me gently.

“Clark, I know this feels awkward,” she starts. Her voice falters just a bit, and I sense she wants to say something more, but she changes her mind. “I watched the TV coverage of the bomb threat at the Empire State Building. I’ve never seen you move so fast.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy, actually.” I reach up and rub the back of my neck as I turn away from her, breaking our contact. “Um, since flying up to the Sun, my powers are all amplified. I can…travel faster than the speed of light now…”

I spin back around to face her, my stomach twisting in knots. A thought I haven’t had in probably nearly three weeks pops into my head. Freak alien. Breaking even more laws of physics. Please don’t react like that, Lois. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. But I have nothing to worry about from her.

“That makes sense. That the Sun would give you a power boost,” she agrees, nodding absently. Her eyes travel up to meet mine again. “It’s incredible, really.”

She pauses and glances over her shoulder back toward the bedroom. When she looks back to me, I see confusion and concern.

“Anyways, I just wanted to thank you again. And remind you again that even though he’s back, you are still a friend. You are welcome here, any time. Through the front door or the window, whichever is appropriate. And I know…” A sigh escapes her lips, and she drops her chin to her chest briefly before continuing. “…I know he’s going to need time to heal, physically and…otherwise… And I just want to tell you how much I appreciate—”

She stops and covers her mouth with her hand. I’m at her side immediately, and I support her with an arm around her waist. I help her move to the table, and I pull out a chair and lower her carefully into the seat.

“Maybe you need to rest too, Lois,” I suggest, squeezing her hand gently.

“Maybe I do,” she agrees. “Thank you. Boy, I’ve sure said that a lot today.”

I smile at her. “Like I said, it’s been a weird day.”

She nods slowly. “Well, you probably need to get going to Smallville. Um, just text me and let me know if you’re bringing the Kents back with you, so I can prep the guest bedroom for them?”

“Sure, of course,” I reply.

She stands a bit shakily, and I stand with her, ready to help her if needed. But she waves me off with a half-smile.

“I’m fine, really. Go. The Kents will be so happy.”

I return her smile and nod.

“See you soon,” I say.

“See you.”

And I’m off. Again.





The Kansas cornfields stretch out below me as I fly at a leisurely pace under the early afternoon Sun. In the distance, the Kent farmhouse comes into my view. Dust rises as Jonathan drives his pickup truck toward the house down their long driveway. He stops and exits the vehicle, carrying a plastic shopping bag from the local hardware store. He waves to Martha, who stands on the porch, and then heads into the barn. Martha turns and heads back inside the house.

I slow as I approach and land lightly on the steps as I spin into my regular clothes. I can already smell the apple pie from inside the house, and I smile nostalgically. I raise my hand to knock on the front door, but I pause mid-knock as I hear Martha’s voice from inside the house.

“Come on in, Clark!”

I hesitate for a nanosecond, and my confidence and enthusiasm at telling them their son has returned waver. Will they still welcome me like this once he is back in their lives? My jaw tightens, and a chill runs through me. I hear his question echo in my head again.

“Why is it so important to you that you be the one to tell them?”

Had I thought, in the back of my mind, that this may be my last chance to make them happy? Or that since he is back, they will no longer need me? Just like Lois will no longer need me. Sure, the world needs Superman. But what of Clark Kent? I have gotten too comfortable thinking of them as my parents when they are not my parents. And I realize “losing” them in my life may be even more painful than “losing” Lois. Please, Martha and Jonathan, please don’t reject me.

I swallow hard and paste a smile on my face as I open the door to the farmhouse.

“Good afternoon, Martha,” I say cordially.

I carefully close the door behind me and turn toward Martha, who sets the modest kitchen table with three small white plates and appropriate utensils. Her yellow apron is dusted with flour, and her glasses fall down her nose a bit. She smiles at me brightly.

“Clark, it’s so good to see you again,” she hums.

She moves around the table and embraces me. My heart is filled with joy and hope. And my stomach twists into knots. Please, Martha.

“It’s great to see you again, too,” I reply, straining to keep my warring emotions out of my voice. Martha smiles at me again and scoots back around the table toward the counter, where her apple pie sits.

“Jonathan went out to the barn to replace a lightbulb.” She pauses for a moment, her expression twisting into a frown. “You know,” she says, looking up at me with a hint of anxiety, “maybe you can go help him out? He really shouldn’t be climbing that old rickety ladder. I keep telling him to get a new one, but he insists his old one is still fine.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

I nod briefly to her, exit the house, and jog out to the barn. Sure enough, Jonathan is several steps up a ladder that has obviously seen much better days. It creaks and groans as he steps up another rung, and I speed over to stabilize it as a crack in the front side rail grows.

“Oh, Clark! You surprised me there,” Jonathan exclaims, his hands gripping the rails tightly.

“Sorry, Mr. Kent. This ladder here isn’t quite as stable as it should be. Can I help you with that lightbulb, sir?”

I hope that was polite enough. Jonathan freezes on the ladder and then takes a deep breath and lowers himself down one rung and then another. When he reaches the ground, he huffs slightly, and I hear his heart rattle in his chest. I place a strong, steady hand on his shoulder to support him, and he takes a deep, long breath.

“You okay, sir?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, Clark. Here,” he says breathlessly, handing me the lightbulb.

I nod and take the lightbulb, and then easily float upwards, screw the new bulb into the light fixture, and float back down with the old, burnt-out bulb.

“There we go,” I say with a smile.

I toss the old bulb in the trash can and turn back to Jonathan, who is staring at the crack in his ladder. His hands are deep in his pockets, and his cheeks are slightly red as he wheezes.

“I’ve had this ladder for thirty-five years,” he says, his voice shaky. “I guess it’s time to replace it. Martha was right. As always.”

I laugh. “Spoken like a wise man. Would you like me to pick up a new one for you from the hardware store, sir?”

He turns away and starts walking toward the house, his hands still in his pockets.

“No thank you, Clark, I can handle it,” Jonathan responds. He holds open the door for me, and I nod a thanks and exit the barn ahead of him.

We walk in a comfortable silence toward the house. I keep an ear on his heartbeat, which seems to have stabilized, along with his breathing. Copying Jonathan, I stuff my hands into my pockets, and my mind wanders as I remember my own father. He had been a proud, independent man, like this Jonathan. And, like this Jonathan, he’d internalized all of his stress and anxiety, which had elevated his blood pressure and weakened his heart. I remember a medicine cabinet full of prescription bottles with his name on them and late nights lying in bed, trying to turn off my keen hearing as Mom and Dad talked in hushed voices about doctor’s appointments, dietary changes, and possible surgery. He’d passed away before surgery had been required, but it had been a consideration.

Given that Clark had asked me not to upset Jonathan because of his weak heart, I wonder whether this Jonathan has already undergone some sort of surgical procedure or whether Clark is just aware of his father’s irregular heartbeat, like I am. We reach the front door, and this time, I step ahead and hold it open for him. He claps me on the back and heads into the house ahead of me.

Martha stands next to the table and looks up sharply at us as we enter. Her hands settle on the front of her apron, and her easy smile calms my nerves.

“Perfect timing, boys. Pie is ready,” she says as she walks over to meet us. She gives me a quick hug and then loops her arm through Jonathan’s and leads him over to the table. “Oh, Clark, before I forget,” she interjects, releasing Jonathan and stepping back over toward the counter. A wrapped rectangular package sits propped up against the cabinet. She lifts it and smiles. “Lois’s gift is right here.”

“Great, Martha, I—” I stop myself and drop my eyes. I can’t say I’ll take it to Lois. Martha can give it to Lois herself. I grin widely and raise my eyes, meeting hers. She tilts her head and gazes at me with a curious expression. “I think you both should sit. I have some news.”

“Well, okay, Clark.”

She glances at her husband, who shrugs, and then silently hurries over to him and sits next to him at the table. I hear Jonathan Kent’s heart stammer in his chest, and my jaw tightens for a moment. They hold hands and look at me expectantly. I wonder what they are thinking—what they are expecting. And I realize that I should have planned how I would tell them. Especially since I’m so wonderful with words. Maybe I’ll manage not to stutter. Probably not. I let out a breath and sit, staring at my hands for a moment. This is good news. Great news. They will be happy and relieved and whole again.

I raise my eyes and smile.

“This morning, I—well, Lois and I, actually—we made a huge discovery.”

I see Martha’s hands tighten in Jonathan’s, and she holds her breath in anticipation. My smile grows. Whatever happens, at least I get to experience this moment with them.

“Clark, your son, Clark—he’s…um, he’s alive.”

Martha’s hands fly up to cover her mouth, and Jonathan shifts in his seat and wraps one arm around Martha’s shoulders. She turns to look at him, and as their eyes meet, she stifles a sob and leans into him. He holds her close to his chest and screws his eyes shut.

“The Sun healed him,” I explain quickly. My hands feel cold and tingly for some reason, and I clench them in my lap to stop them from trembling. “I felt his presence and heard his heartbeat. And then I flew up to the Sun and brought him back. He’s with Lois right now, resting. He can’t wait to see you two.”

Martha hugs Jonathan tightly, and he looks across the table at me. Tears form at the corners of his eyes, and his lips part as if to speak. Instead, he just mouths “Thank you” and buries his face into Martha’s hair, kissing the top of her head. She twists her head toward me and blinks away her tears.

“He-he’s alive?” she repeats uncertainly. I purse my lips and nod.

“Yes.”

“And he’s…okay?” Jonathan asks carefully.

With an ease that comes from years of hiding my true self, I push my own doubt regarding Clark’s physical and mental state out of my mind and smile comfortably at Jonathan and Martha.

“He’s tired and weak. But, yes, he’s okay.”

But although I’m used to lying and quite good at it, a familiar sense of guilt, which always accompanies any lie I tell, edges into my chest.

There, Clark. I did what you asked. But it didn’t feel good.

I immediately regret being so bold with my thoughts as I hear his voice echo in my head.

“I know. I’m sorry to ask you to lie for me. Thank you.”

Dammit. I blink uneasily and look away from the Kents for a moment.

I’m still getting used to this telepathy thing. I didn’t mean to connect with you there. Sorry about that.

I feel rather than hear a chuckle from him, and then his voice, as clearly as though he stands next to me, says, “No worries. Please, tell them I love them, and I can’t wait to see them.”

I raise my eyes to theirs. Will do. And I feel our connection break.

A weak half-smile grows on my face. “He says to tell you he loves you, and he can’t wait to see you.”

Martha suppresses another sob and quickly releases Jonathan to stand. She hurries around the table to me, and I push myself to my feet to meet her. Her arms envelop me in what may be the best hug I’ve had in nearly twenty years, and tears prick at my eyes as I return her embrace.

“Oh, Clark, thank you, thank you so much.”

Her voice quivers with emotion. And, consciously blocking my thoughts from prying intruders, I think, No, thank you, Martha. Thank you.