Description: A collection of vignettes based on the same theme—a theme the author has never seen in any of the Lois & Clark fic she has read.
This vignette, the second in the collection, is set in the beginning of second season, before “Church of Metropolis.”-----
PHONE CALL
by DSDragon (DASWillow783@gmail.com)
Rated G
Submitted: May 2006
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the settings in this fanfic. I only own the idea. I couldn't begin to tell you who actually DOES own them—although I suppose I COULD look it up, but I'm not that industrious.
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The telephone rang just as Lois pried herself out of her best friend’s arms to put the second video into the VCR. Since they were in his apartment, Clark took the call while Lois finished rewinding the movie they had just finished.
“Clark Kent,” he answered, picking up the receiver.
“Honey,” the voice on the other end of the line said without preamble, “I think you’d better come over to the farm for a little bit.”
Puzzled, Clark asked, “Sure, Mom, what’s the hurry?”
“You probably aren’t going to believe this,” Martha Kent said, “but there’s a man here who says his name is Jor-El, and that you’re his son.”
Clark gasped, eyes wide, and out of the corner of his eye saw that Lois had noticed his reaction and was creeping toward his bedroom.
Curbing his surprise for the moment, Clark interjected before his mother could say more.
“Could you hold on a second, Mom?” There was a distinct, but quiet click on the line as Lois picked up Clark’s bedroom extension.
“You might as well hang up, Lois,” he said, watching her surprised facial expressions with his x-ray vision. When she had put the receiver back to her ear, he continued.
“I promise I’ll tell you what’s going on, but I have to explain a few other things first. Just let me finish talking here, and you can ask all the questions you want.”
Another click on the line indicated that Lois accepted his terms.
Speaking a bit more quietly than before, Clark let out a breath and said to his mother, “Mom, give me an hour, and I’ll be there—with or without Lois.”
He could hear the smile in Martha’s voice as she said, “You’re really going to tell her then?”
“It’s kind of a moot point now,” Clark acknowledged. “She’s curious, and she won’t let up until she knows that she knows everything that I know. And believe me, she’ll know if I’m hiding something.”
“You’d better believe it, Farmboy,” Lois looked at him pointedly, crossing her arms and standing in front of him on her way back from the bedroom.
Martha chuckled. “Well, good luck.”
“Thanks, Mom. See you soon.”
“Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Mom,” Clark hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and sat down with a deep exhalation as he waited for Lois to sit again.
“I guess I should start at the beginning, then,” he said. “Remember, during our first story I told you I’m not your typical male? . . .”
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Forty-five minutes later, Lois hadn’t said a word.
“So, as you know, my mom just called,” Clark began to conclude his explanation, which had touched on not only his history at the Kent farm, but also the globe he had found in the warehouse owned by Bureau 39 on Bessolo Boulevard.
Lois nodded, a bit overwhelmed and somewhat shell-shocked.
“Apparently, someone claiming to be my biological father has come to the Kent farm looking for me.”
When it became clear that Clark had no more to say for the moment, Lois asked, “And you’re just going to believe this guy?”
“Well,” Clark answered, “He did tell Mom his name was Jor-El. I’ve never told even Mom and Dad the names of my biological parents—and I haven’t told them the name I was given at birth either. There’s no way anyone could have known the name Jor-El unless they were Kryptonian themselves—not even Jack knows, since he never saw the first message in the globe.”
“So, . . . what?” Lois asked. “Why tell me now? And don’t give me that ‘You’ll just pry it out of me anyway’ spiel, because I’ve known for months that you’ve had a secret from me and haven’t been able to pry it from you yet.”
“I want you to come with me.”
Lois’s brow furrowed at Clark’s response. “Why?”
“Think, Lois,” Clark begged. “All my life, I’ve wondered who I was, where I came from. Last year, I learned just a little bit of that, and now here’s this person claiming to be someone I thought was long dead who could give me all the answers I want.”
“Yeah, so?” Lois still didn’t see.
“It all seems like it may be too good to be true,” Clark continued. “I need that Lois Lane skepticism—just in case this man really isn’t who he says he is. Basically, I need you there as a buffer for my over-enthusiasm.”
Lois raised an eyebrow. “Who’d’ve thunk it? Superman needs me, Lois Lane, of all people, to play the bad cop.”
“No,” he corrected her. “*Clark Kent* needs you, Lois Lane, to play the city-girl skeptic to his innocent farm boy.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Lois asked as she jumped to her feet from Clark’s sofa. “Let’s get going!”
“You’re not mad at the whole secret thing?”
“I might be later, but right now, I think I might just need to vent some skepticism—and you’ve just given me the perfect chance to do it.”
Clark chuckled. “Okay then, let’s go.”
Lois turned toward the apartment’s French doors.
“Lois,” Clark asked, “where are you going?”
“To the car,” Lois answered as she rolled her eyes. “Where else?”
“How about the balcony instead?” Clark answered, then spun into the familiar spandex suit. “It’s much faster.”
As he scooped her into his arms and lifted off into the evening sky, Clark laughed as he heard Lois say, “If you keep doing things like that, I may not have much skepticism left by the time we get to Kansas, Flyboy.”
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Author’s Notes: In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this collection of vignettes is based on the theme, “What if Jor-El (or even Jor-El and Lara) HAD survived the explosion of Krypton, but had to use a slower ship than Clark’s?”
Also, I’ve checked, and no where in “The Foundling” does Clark tell Jonathan and Martha that his Kryptonian name is Kal-El—and he doesn’t mention the names Jor-El and Lara either. This story was based on the assumption that he actually had not told them the names that the globe told him, just why and how he was sent to Earth.
In this particular story (as, may be the case for the other stories), I have left room for continuation, or a sequel. I may or may not do this myself, although I do have a few different branch-off ideas with which I can continue—I just have trouble deciding which ones I want to go with.
Anyone who wishes is welcome to write their own stories based on any of the beginnings I have or will have written for this vignette collection.
Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please e-mail me at DASWillow783@gmail.com, or go to the
feedback thread on the message board for this story.
