*******
Sam Lane was, predictably, astonished to find that his daughter still had faith in him, astonished to realize that she wanted him to treat Superman, and astonished that Superman was sick--and in that order. There seemed to be a delayed reaction between Lois's impassioned plea and his response, but finally, in a move so reminiscent of Clark that Martha let out a tiny gasp and Jonathan had to look away, Sam reached out and cupped his daughter's cheek in his palm--a silent promise that he would do all that he could.
Jonathan knew more than a bit about a father's desire to be something of which his children could be proud. He had seen Sam's over-the-top efforts to impress Lois--a surprise visit for Christmas, a tagalong android to vindicate the work she had splashed across the front page, the ridiculous statements or claims or excuses tumbling out of him no matter how he tried to stop them--and Jonathan had recognized them for what they were, something he wasn't sure anyone else had. Now, Sam realized that all he had to do to win his daughter's gratitude and pride was save a fallen superhero.
All he had to do was save Jonathan's son.
It was hard to stand by and allow a doctor--worse, a doctor with somewhat sketchy morals--to examine Clark, but it wasn't as if they had a lot of choice in the matter. Clark's breathing had grown more and more labored in even the half hour it had taken for Sam and Ellen to arrive. There was no telling how much more time he had left to live.
Martha was trying her best to be strong, and to soothe Jonathan's fears about the doctor studying their son, but it was hard for her to pretend that Clark was Superman, a hero with whom she presumably only had a passing acquaintanceship. Jonathan did his best to be strong for her in return, but he was having almost as hard a time as she. He wanted to be right at Clark's side, a hand on his shoulder to reassure him he was not alone, a voice to lead him back from his frequent lapses into unconsciousness...but that would give away too much.
Lois did her best to reassure them both, but her own features were strained with the self-control required to keep her from irrevocably proving either that Superman was Clark or that she was cheating on her fianceé. She did not weep, but she grew quiet and uncertain, pale and tremulous.
They all remained silent, bravely refusing to pester Sam with questions that might only serve to distract him and slow the miracle they awaited with breathless anticipation. It was, unsurprisingly, Lois who lost the battle for patience first.
"Can you save him?" She uttered the question softly, but everyone in the apartment instantly fell even more silent than before. Jonathan put his arm around Martha, conscious of the fact that they had stood in just this manner when awaiting Doctor Harris's report on their ability to have children. It was not a comforting thought.
"Lois..." Sam stood to put an arm around Lois's shoulders. "You were a little girl when you thought I could do miracles. Now you're grown up, and you know...miracles come at a price."
"Yes." Jonathan had never before heard Lois speak so softly, or in such a lost, hollow tone.
As if recognizing that same fact, Sam straightened. "Now, there is one...controversial...treatment. The theory is to bring the host body to the point of death."
The rest of Sam's explanation was lost to the roaring in Jonathan's ears. For an instant, he was terribly afraid that he was having a heart attack, so painful was the vise gripping his heart. Martha was leaning against him, and he couldn't have said how they were both still upright.
Jonathan and Martha had stood by in Smallville and watched as Clark fought villain after villain, conquering them in battles that were shown across the world as news though it seemed more like the stuff of fiction. They had supported him when he had been without his powers after that first encounter with Kryptonite. But they had never seen him sick, never had to sit by and watch him suffer in the grips of an enemy no one could combat, and it was tearing them apart. Jonathan could feel the shards of fear and empathetic pain twisting in his stomach, could see the effects of the same in his wife and Lois, yet he knew that no matter how much they were suffering, Clark was enduring more. He was already weak from the ravages of the disease--how could they expose him to yet more agony? What if they couldn't bring him back from the point of death?
Lois stared at Clark for a long moment. "Are you asking me to make that decision for him?"
Jonathan opened his mouth, ready to squelch this idea before it could go any further, but he never got the chance to utter the revealing words.
"You don't have to." Clark's own voice was tortured, but still definitive. "The answer is yes."
Together, moving in sync, Jonathan and Martha sank to the couch, their hands clasped inseparably together. There was only one thing that could bring Clark's body to the point of death, only one element that was even more dangerous than this viral infection.
Kryptonite.
*******
2 years ago...
*******
At least the storms had all blown westward, Jonathan thought as he led Clark into the workshop where he had stowed the strange green rock. Worry for his friend, the strange occurrences on Wayne's land, and the glowing rock itself lent enough of a surreal air to the occasion; thunder and lightning would only have served to accent the dark undertones.
"Wayne Irig found a rock on his property last week," he explained quietly, knowing Clark would be able to hear the soft words. "He sent a sample of it over to Wichita for analysis. Then the feds showed up."
"It doesn't make any sense, Dad." Clark waved his hand for emphasis. "Why go to all this trouble for a *rock*?"
"Because the preliminary reports said it was some kind of meteorite." Jonathan ducked under a pair of hanging bicycles to retrieve the lead box, grateful when Clark pushed one aside to give him more room. "And Wayne--Wayne thought it might be worth money. He gave it to me for safekeeping--those federal taxes were giving him such a hard time. I figure," Jonathan set the box down and pulled open the lid to expose the sickly green glow, "since he found it a few miles from where we found you, it was probably related."
His eyes were captivated by the luminescent glow, his thoughts centered on Wayne's disappearance and the strange men camped on his land, so he didn't even notice Clark's sudden discomfort. Later, he would ask himself how he could have been so oblivious, but then, why *should* he have noticed it right away? Nothing had ever before adversely affected Clark; his son was invulnerable, impervious to harm, and unstoppable. What could a rock possibly do to Superman?
"Dad, I'm--" The tension roughening Clark's voice caught Jonathan's attention. "I'm feeling kind of strange."
'Strange' did not cover the look on Clark's face as he bent over double--'tortured,' perhaps, or maybe 'agonized,' but not 'strange.' 'Strange' was as mild a word for what Clark was feeling as Clark's façade was to Superman.
A few words passed Jonathan's lips--he couldn't have said what they were, for in the next instant, Clark collapsed to the ground, crashing into a stack of feed bags. All thought instantly fled, all reason submerged beneath panic.
Jonathan abandoned the stone. "Clark! What's happening? What's wrong, son?" He knelt beside Clark and rolled him over so he could see his face--it was much too pale and drawn with pain. "Clark? Clark?"
There was only terrible silence as the green glow of the meteorite cast sickly shadows over Clark's features and reflected eerily in the lenses of his glasses.
"Martha!" Jonathan shouted, a ragged edge to his voice. Clark didn't flinch as he so often did when a loud noise sounded in his superhearing. That, more than anything, scared Jonathan.
Gently, shakily, he stroked Clark's cheek with his hand. "Oh, my boy," he murmured brokenly. "Oh, my boy."
The next moments were some of the longest in Jonathan's life. When they had first found Clark--for months afterward even--Jonathan had held a secret fear that the boy who had so miraculously and mysteriously come into their lives would just as mysteriously disappear. But that fear had faded, leeched away by the cumulative months and years that had passed with their son still safely in their lives. Now, that fear returned with a vengeance.
Only when Martha came bustling into the workshop, her face draining of all color when she saw Clark on the floor, did Jonathan gather the strength to move. He stormed over to the lead box and slammed the lid shut. The effect was almost instantaneous.
Clark groaned as he regained consciousness, and again when he tried to sit up.
"What happened? What's going on?" Martha was asking the questions on autopilot as her hands fluttered over Clark.
"I did it," Jonathan grated. "I opened this...this *box*...and he collapsed."
"It's not your fault, Dad," Clark assured him weakly. When he almost collapsed again, Jonathan abandoned his self-recriminations and moved to give him some support. "We couldn't have known that rock would hurt me."
"Here, get him into the house," Martha directed them assuredly. "Be careful, Clark. Don't over-exert yourself."
Jonathan remained silent as he helped Clark to his feet. He didn't complain when most of Clark's weight bore down on his shoulders as they made their stumbling way into the kitchen. He deposited Clark into one of the chairs at the table, then moved to get some water. It was doubtful that water would help, but he didn't know what else to do. He felt as if his entire world was crumbling. What if Clark didn't get any better?
"Oh, Clark, honey, you're burning up," Martha exclaimed.
"Don't get scared, Mom," Clark advised when she stuck a thermometer into his mouth. "My body doesn't work like other people's."
What an understatement, Jonathan thought. Clark's body worked so differently that he hadn't even had a word besides 'strange' to describe the pain coursing through him.
"But how do you feel?" Jonathan asked over his shoulder to distract himself from the raw memory. "That's the important thing."
"Better." Clark shifted his features into a reassuring mask that Jonathan instantly saw through. His son always tried to help other people; it was what he did. "I think I feel...better."
His words were belied by the sudden shattering of the thermometer, so abrupt and startling that Martha screamed.
The solid pitcher made a thunk as Jonathan set it on the table, a sound too reminiscent of that made when Clark had crumpled to the cold ground. "What do you mean, you *think* you feel better?" Jonathan demanded. "Don't you know?"
"He's never been sick before, Jonathan," Martha pointed out. "It's a new experience."
The creaking of the stairs alerted them all to the fact that Lois was approaching. Clark's expression turned almost panicked, more afraid than he had been when reacting to the green stone. "She can't know anything about this," he commanded desperately. Jonathan and Martha exchanged glances, well-used to concealing important things about their son.
Lois looked a bit nervous at facing the three Kents. "I, uh, I-I thought that I heard the fax. 'Scuse me."
As soon as Lois was out of sight, Jonathan turned his attention back to Clark. He almost wept when Clark tried and failed to lift the pitcher of water. Checking his immediate impulse to help, Jonathan looked away in an attempt to pretend he hadn't seen, but Clark was more honest than that.
"I lifted a rocket into orbit before, and now I can't even lift *this*," he stated almost bitterly, sending another pang of guilt through Jonathan's heart.
"Don't worry about it," Martha said calmly. She easily lifted the pitcher and poured Clark a glass of water. "You'll bounce right back."
"I don't understand," Jonathan uttered. "How can a rock that's probably from the same planet as Clark make him sick?"
Martha sighed in frustration, eager to avoid any subject that harmed her son. "Because it's poison, that all we need to know. And," she said, meeting Clark's eyes, "we're not going to let it near you again."
"Look at this!" Lois burst back into the room, papers clutched in her hands.
Jonathan didn't bother to listen to the rest of her exclamation; instead, he watched Clark. It didn't take an expert to see that Clark Kent was absolutely smitten with Lois Lane; Jonathan and Martha had already suspected as much from listening to their boy talk about his partner, but it had been even more apparent when watching the two reporters together. All day, Clark had followed Lois around, showing her everything he thought she might like, his body always angled slightly toward her as if he couldn't bear to miss anything she might say or do, his lips curving upward whenever he looked at her, which was often. When hearing of the feisty, award-winning reporter, Jonathan had felt only amused--and mildly relieved--that his son had finally found someone worth staying in one place for, but now he wondered if Lois really was worth it. Was she good enough for his son when she hadn't even paused long enough to notice that Clark was ill? Or did it not even matter to her?
Suddenly, as if she had heard Jonathan's thoughts, Lois paused. Then, without missing a beat, she reached out a hand to Clark's chin and tilted his head so she could get a better look at him. "Clark? You look *horrible*."
"It's..." Clark's expression took on a distinct deer-in-the-headlights look--he had always been a terrible liar. "It's my allergies."
Lois frowned. "You never said anything about being allergic to anything."
"Uh, they always kick up when he's in the country," Martha chimed in.
"Real bad this time of year," Jonathan added, though the very idea of Clark allergic to anything was ludicrous. Or at least, it had been before he had opened that box and felled his son.
"Oh." Lois placed a comforting hand on Clark's shoulder. "Well, I tried to warn him about those amber waves of grain." She hesitated, clearly torn. "I...better get right on this. You...feel better."
Clark nodded and tried a smile, then watched her walk away. Not until she was out of sight did he breathe a sigh of relief, a sigh echoed by both his parents. He glanced up at them, a real smile appearing like the sun peering from behind dark clouds. "I'll be fine," he assured them both. "You're right--I'll bounce right back."
Whether he was correct or not, Jonathan wasn't certain, but he did know one thing: *he* might not bounce right back if he ever again had to watch his boy fall, weak and hurting, to the ground.
**********
Disclaimer: Portions of dialogue were taken from The Green, Green Glow Of Home, written by Bryce Zabel; and from Home Is Where The Hurt Is, written by William M. Akers and Eugenie Ross-Leming & Brad Buckner.
