Having just read Mark Waid's "Birthright," I was struck by something.... We've discussed a number of times that one of the key differences in L&C is that Clark is portrayed as the real person and Superman the disguise. In Birthright, however, this gets flipped back. Kal-Clark remakes himself in two -- Superman, who is free to use his powers publicly, but Clark who is intentionally unnoticed.
For those unfamiliar, Birthright is a retelling of the Superman origin set in the late 20th/early 21st century.
In some ways, this isn't L&C fanfic per se -- it's not set in the continuum of the series in particular. Rather, it takes a question that is fundamental to L&C and explores what happens when Clark chose a different answer. Much of the Superman mythos in the past has chosen that alternate answer, and yet Birthright is kind enough to leave us with questions about which is correct. I'll pick up some scenes from Birthright, then dive into our story.
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, blah blah, property of DC Comics and tons of others, legal mumbo jumbo, penniless groom paying for wedding with minimal parental assistance, yadda yadda, please don't sue. Early scenes property of Mark Waid. Storyline past the end of Mr. Waid's work, however, is my own.
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"I know that look." Jonathan Kent's face was set, worried. He didn't know what his son was about to say, but he knew he wouldn't like it.
Martha knew her husband's mood and hugged him from behind, trying to reassure him. Clark was a sensible boy. He was scaring them at the moment, admittedly, but she knew he would have good reasons for whatever notion had taken him now. "He's made up his mind about... something. Clark, what are you trying to say?"
Responding to his parents' tension, Clark's face was grave. He turned away from his parents toward the shuttle which had brought him to Earth, and took a deep breath.
"Ma... Pa... You've always taught me to do right by people. That's the greatest gift you ever gave me. But I feel like I'm working with my hands tied! Hiding all the time. Keeping myself secret.... Keeping myself... isolated." Lifting the blue banner from the shuttle, flourishing its red and yellow insignia, he began to tell them of his revelation. "Something happened in Africa. Something pretty awful. But for a minute -- just one minute, and for the first time -- I got called upon to give my all. To have *purpose*."
Clark turned toward them, his expression charged with passion. "And it felt AMAZING! Like I was finally part of something rather than standing on the sidelines! Like I was connected to the world! And man.... I want to feel that way again. That means no longer running from who I really am."
Jonathan's brows drew down. "You're Clark Kent. Our son."
"But I'm also someone else, Pa," Clark replied quietly. "It's time I started finding out who *he* really is."
Looking up, he finished, "And I have a good idea where to start. Ma.... You still sew?"
---
"Son? There's a crack in the barn's center beam, and the tractor's got a clogged fuel line. When you get a minute, I could use some help...."
Clark turned his head, his eyes still locked on the paper on which his mother was drawing. "Hmm? Oh, sure, Pa. I'll get right on it. That's not quite the look we're going for, Ma. Here...." And he was again absorbed in his new project.
After a few minutes of watching his wife and son clucking like hens at feeding time over their cockamamie project, Jonathan turned and walked out to work on his tractor.
---
Clark was startled out of an enthusiastic discussion of how best to honor his people's past in this outfit when his hearing was suddenly jolted. *Why should an engine be so important?* he wondered briefly. Then Pa walked in, a disapproving frown on his face.
"Sorry, Pa. Lost track of time. But Ma and I are making real headway. Pretty soon --"
"Pretty soon you can go play-acting in your little costume. That's great." Jonathan walked out of the room without another word.
Several minutes later, Martha came upstairs. She didn't say anything. Jonathan sat on his bed, saying nothing. After a time, she began to get ready for bed. He followed suit in silence. When it was apparent he wasn't planning to discuss what had happened downstairs, she stood in the doorway and told him with two words that wasn't an option. "Jonathan Kent."
"That's never a good tone...." His resentful mutter was directed at his shoes.
"At last! He speaks!" Martha winced a little at the sarcastic tone in her voice. She knew how Jonathan was -- when he was mad, he was quiet. That's how he's been when they were dating, holing up in the barn with some pointless project because she insulted his 'honor' in some way, or flat out not speaking to her for days. He hadn't changed over years of marriage, and most of their fights had been frosty ones. It still irritated her.
"Jonathan, what's got into you? Ever since Clark came home, you've been acting like he's a... a bother! Did he do something to upset you?"
Jonathan wasn't in a mood to discuss it. "Got no axe to grind. Don't see the problem."
"The problem is," said Martha, "Clark's going through a huge change. All this talk about his 'destiny' and his 'heritage'... It's a lot for him to deal with. You were always good at keeping his feet on the ground, Jonathan. Talk to him! Maybe he comes from the stars, but he needs to be reminded he's just like you and me."
Turning off the lamp and sitting on the bed, Jonathan didn't answer for more than a minute. Finally, he lay down and pulled the covers over himself. "Well, that's just it, isn't it?" Rolling on his side, facing away from his wife, Jonathan said what he had never said before. "He isn't."
"JONATHAN!" Martha's harsh whisper cut through the dark of their bedroom. "You can't really believe that! And to SAY it -- !" Her voice dropped lower, barely audible. "What if he heard you?"
Across the field, standing in the dark woods, Jonathan and Martha Kent's little boy stood looking up at the stars. To his ears, even his Ma's barely audible whisper was crystal clear. He heard, and hearing, hot tears began to water the tree by which he stood.
---
Clark heard the beginnings of the explosion and left his Ma's side in mid-consonant. Flashing through the door, ignoring the torn hinges, he slammed through the wall of the barn. His Pa was in his arms and being dragged out the opening in the opposite end before Ma realised he had gone. By the time her brows wrinkled in confusion, Clark and Jonathan were floating hundreds of feet above the barn's wreckage.
For a few eternal seconds, they looked at each other, inattentive to the explosion below. A face full of panic relieved stared into another full of simple fear. "Pa, stop looking so nervous," Clark said with concern. "I'm not going to drop you, you know... that...." Clark's voice trailed off as he realized. "You've never been up here before."
"Nope."
"I've never *taken* you. I.... It never occurred to me that you'd want to...." His throat was tight. He couldn't finish the sentence.
"Fly?" Jonathan finished it for him. "Why wouldn't I? Guess you don't know me as well as we thought, huh? Don't feel bad, Clark, that's my fault." His eyes dropped from his son's to the ground below. Far below. Mistake. "And now I'm paying for it."
Clark began to descend, quickly, but controlled enough that it wouldn't feel like freefall. As they neared the ground, his Pa began to speak again. "I failed, Clark. I wanted to be your real father."
"You ARE my --" Clark broke in.
"No," Jonathan interrupted harshly. "I tried. But a dad's job is to give to his son. Pass along what he knows... and enough of who he *is* to matter. That's their bond. And if ours was that strong, seven years apart wouldn't wipe it out."
Clark tried again. "I --"
Jonathan left him no room. "I didn't say anything because I wanted to believe it hadn't broken, Clark. But then you come back only to tell me you didn't even want my name anymore. That you're gonna go off and create a whole new identity for yourself." He swallowed and looked away. "I miss my son."
Opening the door for his father, Clark asked, "Is that what you meant when you said I wasn't like you?"
Jonathan's cheeks colored. "I didn't mean for you to hear --"
"Doesn't matter." This time it was Clark's turn to interrupt. "'Not like you?'" He stopped and regarded the pictures on the wall. Jonathan as a baby with his father. Jonathan as a child. Jonathan in his army uniform, saluting. Jonathan standing in front of the Eiffel tower. Ma's pictures were on another wall, Clark knew, but for now it was this wall which mattered. This wall which could break another back down.
Brushing his finger gently across the picture of his saluting eighteen-year-old father, Clark repeated, "'Not like you?' Not like a man who left home when he was eighteen to find his place in the world. Who was strong enough to go figure out who he was rather than let others decide that *for* him." He looked at his Pa. Pa looked back. "Was that hard for you?"
Jonathan had a brief flash of the argument with his father the day he enlisted. "Very."
"Then where," Clark murmured as he touched his father's shoulder, "do you think I got the courage to do the same thing?" Pulling Pa close, he led him into the living room where Ma waited for them. "'Not like you?' All right, Pa, yes. A 'new identity' -- but. I don't want to stop being Clark Kent. So more like a 'dual identity,' somehow."
Martha broke in, then, unsure how the costume would fit this goal. "I don't understand. You want the costume to have a mask?"
Clark winced slightly, knowing this was the major flaw in his plan. "Can't. There's the problem. If I want people to trust me, they'll have to be able to see my face."
"Then maybe the flying alien isn't the half of you that needs a disguise...."
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Confession: Everything so far is basically novelization of a portion of Mark Waid's "Birthright." I hope to conclude what's actually coming straight out of the graphic novel in the beginning of the next part, but I know if I don't write and post something, this story will never be written. If, however, someone is slavering for the next part, I'm more likely to write a next part.
I have no backlog, I have no posting schedule. I
am done with school and starting a new job on Monday. I have no clue how much or little time I should expect to have, other than I'm used to spending all my time with my sweetie who is now across the country from me. But if I can't be with my beautiful writer, maybe it's a good time to write. I'll post as I get somewhere.
