"Clark, I'd like to visit Maggie Irig for a few moments," Lois said when the last croissant was gone. "I'd like to ask her something about a recipe I found."

"I thought you didn't cook," he teased gently.

Yeah, it had been a lame excuse, but she just wasn't up for spinning elaborate tales. "After the apple pie being such a success, I thought I would try something else."

"You could call her if you wanted to."

"I don't have her number," Lois said, feeling her panic starting to rise.

"If the Irigs were such good friends of my parents, their number is probably written down near the telephone," Clark said.

"I feel like a drive," Lois said desperately. "I'll only be a short time."

"OK," he agreed easily. "I'll get to the chores."

Her overwrought muscles loosened a little. Clark kissed her and rose from the bed. "Do it slowly," Lois said, wanting to add further weight to her simulation of an untroubled newly-wed woman.

Clark's grin came at full intensity. Instead of spinning into his clothes, he slipped off his sleep shorts and proceeded to dress garment by garment. Then with another kiss and a knowing smile that said he'd appreciated her appreciation, he left for the barn.


Part 18

Evan hid the envelope in his pocket and went into the kitchen. He turned on the coffee pot and put some bagels in the oven to warm.

As he set the table, he couldn't help reflecting that this was how he had imagined his life would play out when he had married Shanti - family life, sharing the care of Layla, and doing the mundane things of life together.

Instead, he was a single father whose conversations with women - other than terse greetings to Mrs Kingsley - during the past three months were limited to those with his former boss, Lois, and a woman he had been directed to move on from the gates of the EPRAD base.

He placed a fresh cloth of pristine white onto the table and carefully set it for breakfast, using a pitcher for the milk instead of the usual practice of pouring it straight from the carton. At the back of a high, rarely used cupboard, he found a small pewter ornament that looked like a bird about to take flight. Shanti had liked it. After she'd gone, he hadn't wanted anything to remind him of her, so he'd banished it from his sight. He held it now as the bitter memories flooded back.

A glance to the table decided him. He didn't need folderol. And he wasn't trying to impress Esther, anyway. He was trying to discover her true identity and what she really wanted with Superman.

Throughout his preparations, he kept his hearing attuned for the expected knock. When everything was ready - and Menzies still hadn't arrived - Evan went to the front door, opened it, and checked outside. There was no car parked in front of his house, and no sign of the tall, burly agent.

Perhaps Evan should call Daniel again. As he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, he heard Esther at the top of the stairs and hurried into the kitchen. She appeared as he was taking the bagels from the oven. "You're up early," he said.

"So are you," she returned with a smile.

"Come in, and sit down," he invited, pulling out a chair for her. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you."

Evan put the warmed bagels on the table, added the coffee pot, and sat down across from Esther. "Do you know the time of your bus?" he asked as he poured coffee for both of them.

"No."

"Would you like me to call the depot and inquire?" he said as he offered Esther the bagels.

She took one. "No. Thank you."

"Strawberry jelly?" he said. "Cream cheese? Honey?"

"Honey?" Esther asked, her expression warm with amusement.

He gave a sheepish shrug. "Layla likes honey on everything."

Esther smiled, looking as if she had experienced the incongruous nature of a child's tastebuds.

Evan took a bagel for himself. "Do you know whether there is a direct bus route?"

"I'm not sure."

Her answers had come evenly, but the sense of butting against a barrier was strong. Evan felt a surge of pity for her. Never before had he been so disinclined to scrounge for information. He reminded himself that if Esther were Clark's mom, it was in her best interest that he ask these questions. "I saw Superman, you know?" he said conversationally. "When he was at the base, preparing for his mission."

"You saw him?" she said, appearing politely interested but nothing more.

"Yes," Evan said enthusiastically. "I usually work in a different part of the base. But one day, I was in a room, and he walked past."

"That must have been something nice to come home and tell Layla and Abi."

"I'm not really allowed to talk about anything that happens at work," Evan said.

"I guess he was there for a while before anyone knew anything about him," Esther said. "That's what they said at the press conference before he left."

She'd admitted knowing something about Superman, but she had been careful to explain her knowledge. Was that a coincidence? Or part of the plan?

"You seemed disappointed that you didn't know about his public appearance in Centennial Park yesterday," Evan said, keeping his tone light. "Had you been hoping to deliver your letter personally?"

"Of course not," she said. "I'm sure Superman would be too busy to bother with a single person."

"But you would have liked to have seen him?" Evan pressed.

"How many people were at the public appearance?"

"Thousands."

"Then it seems it wasn't just me who would have liked to have seen him," she said pragmatically.

Evan nodded and topped up their coffee cups. "Have you ever wondered where he came from?" he asked. "Where he got all those powers?"

"No," Esther said. "I am just glad enough that when we needed him, he was willing and able to help us."

"I wonder how long he's been here," Evan mused. "I had assumed that the scientists would have detected something if a planet exploded, but no one has ever said anything about that."

She took a bite from her bagel and said nothing.

"And you have to wonder how he got here," Evan continued. He looked directly at Esther. "What do you think?"

She chuckled, but he thought he detected an edgy nervousness in her humour. "I'm a simple rural woman," she said. "My knowledge of the planet I live on is limited, and I know even less about what exists beyond it."

"But you must have some ideas," Evan prompted.

"No." Her eyes met his, unwavering.

Evan took another bagel and reached for the cream cheese. "It seemed to me that perhaps you had a special reason for wanting to contact him," he said.

Esther pushed away her plate, although she hadn't finished her bagel. "I appreciate your hospitality, Evan," she said as she rose. "You've been very kind. But it's time for me to get to the bus depot."

"I can't leave the girls yet," Evan said, trying not to sound alarmed at the prospect of her slipping away. "But I can drive you when I take Abi to school."

"Your daughters aren't even up yet." She smiled absently. "I will go and pack my bag. I can walk to the bus depot. I know it isn't far from here."

She left the kitchen, and Evan heard her brisk footsteps on the stairs.

He had pushed too hard. His seven-year hiatus had blunted his skills.

Why had she been so uncomfortable with his questions?

If her interest in Superman was sufficient to compel her to travel to Metropolis to personally deliver a less-than-remarkable note, why hadn't she wanted to glean extra tidbits of information about her hero?

Evan had to convince her to stay. If she *were* Martha Kent, he couldn't let her leave, couldn't subject her to more searching, couldn't risk that she find a way to 'meet' Superman, only to have her heart broken when he passed over her without recognition. Evan didn't even know if she had enough money to buy the fare to Kansas - assuming her plan was to return home.

Eric Menzies was being frustratingly tardy. Without input and direction from him, Evan was going to have to resort to revealing some of what he knew. But what?

Considering the history, if Esther were Clark's mom, Evan knowing something about Superman's identity was going to do little other than arouse her suspicions. That would make her even more eager to leave.

And if she entertained the possibility that he had been one of the people who had captured and held her son ... well, she wouldn't be far wrong in her assumption, Evan thought grimly.

Where was Menzies?

Evan took his cell phone and dialled Daniel's number.

Before the call was connected, he heard a tap. He returned the phone and hurried to the door. Menzies was there. Evan put his finger to his mouth to warn him to keep his voice down and slipped the envelope from his pocket.

Menzies took it with one hand and held his other hand forward, his fist closed.

Evan stretched out his hand, and Menzies dropped something small and cold and heavy into it. His hand moved away, and Evan gasped.

"Let her see it," Menzies murmured.

Evan nodded slowly as comprehension filtered through his mind. Martha Kent was one of the very few people who would react to what looked like a harmless green pebble.

"Call me," Menzies said as he turned and walked away.

Evan shut the door and glanced up the stairs. No one was in sight.

He went back to the kitchen and placed the small green rock on the table. It contrasted strongly with the while tablecloth. Now, his task was to ensure that Esther came into the kitchen. If she did, she couldn't help but notice the small piece of green rock.

||_||

Clark stood in the middle of the barn. Lois wasn't home from the Irigs' yet, so he had a few minutes to continue searching through the boxes and crates that had been stored away - probably when he had joined Lois's agency and relegated the farm to a secondary part of his life.

He'd found a bankbook in a drawer in the bedroom last night - a record of steady profits, but hardly enough to constitute the earnings of a fulltime farmer. Had the agency paid him? He hadn't found any record of that - other than the seventy thousand dollars in the account Lois had passed on to him.

There were still so many unanswered questions.

About his past. About what it was about the barn that unnerved him.

About Lois. He had awakened far too early to think about rising and had become aware of her restlessness. His mind had flirted with the possibilities, but when he'd reached for her, she had nestled into his arms with a sigh, making it obvious that her needs had been more emotional than physical.

He had suggested the trip to Paris, offering to take her in the hope that it would lift her spirits. She had declined, but she had seemed buoyed by his follow-up suggestion that he bring home breakfast for them. When he'd returned, she'd been upset. Not full-blown-tears upset, but anxious about something. He'd noticed her attempt to cover her distress and had gone along with her obvious desire to simply enjoy the treats from the Parisian bakery.

Perhaps they both just needed some time.

But if something was concerning her, Clark wished she would tell him. Perhaps he could ask her later. Tonight, maybe - when they were in bed.

For now, he needed to continue to trust her. His knowledge of his life had expanded, but there were still so many blanks. Lois was in a better position to make decisions about his life than he was.

If only he could work out a way to make this easier for her.

Clark looked around the barn again. The evidence clearly pointed to a time when this farm had been the focus of at least a couple of people. Half-empty paint cans - and gates or palings or doors painted the same colour. Well-used and carefully maintained tools.

It wasn't hard to imagine his childhood and the early years of adulthood.

His relationship with Evan, Eric, and Daniel, their knowledge of his origins, and the payment of the money - all that spoke of his life in more recent times.

But in the middle, there was a gap.

What had happened?

What had he been doing during that time?

Clark levitated into the loft. In the corner, the hay was still flattened from when he and Lois had had their 'moonlit picnic'.

The feeling was stronger up here. Not even the fresh memories of being with Lois were strong enough to overcome his uneasiness.

He removed his glasses and looked deeper into the walls and through the high stack of hay bales. Several bales deep, he saw a ledge built under the arched barn roof, forming a small cavity. In the cavity was an old crate.

Clark pulled the bales away, creating a path. He reached the ledge and clasped the crate, feeling his heart begin to race. He floated down to the floor of the loft, prised open the lid of the crate, and stared at the unexpected nature of the contents. Every other crate and trunk and box he had unpacked had contained tools or something pertaining to the farm.

This crate contained a soft blue blanket.

As he reached for it, he heard the sound of a motor outside and knew instantly that it wasn't the Buick. He looked through the barn wall and saw the sheriff's vehicle.

Rachel. Rachel Harris. He'd taken her to the prom. She'd come the night Moyne had assaulted Lois. Moyne had been killed trying to attack her.

Was his sparse knowledge enough?

Was it enough to get him through a short meeting with her?

He yearned to fly away.

But he didn't want anyone to be suspicious of Lois. He didn't want small-town gossip casting aspersions on the authenticity of their marriage.

With a deep breath, Clark put on his glasses and jumped down from the loft. He strolled out of the barn with his hands in his pockets. "Rachel," he said, trying to tailor his tone to the part he needed to play.

||_||

Evan took out a loaf of bread and began making sandwiches. When he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, he went to meet his guest.

"Thank you for your kind hospitality, Evan," she said.

He felt a spur of disappointment that this could be the last time he would see her, but his personal regret was quickly overshadowed by the need to complete his assignment. "I made you some sandwiches," he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. "I just have to wrap them."

"No," she said. "You've already done too much. Give them to your girls."

"They don't take a packed lunch," he lied. "The sandwiches are for you. Come on. I've nearly finished them."

She seemed to be reconsidering. Evan walked towards the kitchen, desperately hoping she wouldn't take the opportunity to escape through the front door. After a few steps, he glanced back and smiled to see that she was following him.

In the kitchen, he turned to watch his guest.

She walked past the doorway, and her eyes fell to the table.

Her breath contracted, sharp with shock. Fear doused her face.

Without even looking in his direction, she turned and fled to the front door.

||_||

Rachel stepped out of the sheriff's vehicle and gave him a brief hug. "Clark," she said, gazing at him.

He stared back at her, refusing to cave in to the compulsion to recoil. "How are you?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "But more importantly, how are you?"

He smiled, hoping it would be enough to mask his nervousness. "I'm doing great," he said. "Did you hear that Lois and I are married?"

"Yes." She smiled, but it didn't dispel the concern in her eyes. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Clark decided to tackle her reservations head on. "I know the people around here don't know Lois yet," he said. "But when you do, you'll see that she is exactly right for me."

"She doesn't look much suited to the life of a farmer's wife," Rachel noted.

"That occurred to us, too," he admitted. "We've agreed to stay here for a little while - until things settle down. Then we'll decide whether we are going to stay permanently or whether we will move on."

"Smallville will be sorry to lose you," Rachel said.

"Thanks," Clark said, appreciating her sentiment and the warmth with which it was delivered.

"Clark," Rachel said solemnly. "If you ever need anything, please know that we will always be friends."

He nodded. "Thank you, Rachel."

"I just want what's best for you."

"Lois is what's best for me."

Her smile seemed a little more genuine. "See you around."

"Thanks for dropping by," Clark said.

He watched as she drove away. He listened carefully, but he couldn't hear the distinctive purr of the Buick. Lois must still be visiting with Maggie.

||_||

Lois pulled onto the side of the road and contemplated the photograph Maggie had given her, hoping that this was the woman who had gone to the base yesterday.

She took out her cell phone and dialled Evan. He didn't answer. She dialled again. "Come on, Evan," he muttered.

Still, there was no answer.

What was he doing?

What had happened?

She dialled a third time, her mind scurrying ahead.

Even if she described the woman in the almost-decade-old photograph, the conclusion was going to be speculative at best.

With a sigh, Lois cut the call and tossed her cell phone onto the seat.

She had to decide what to tell Clark. She couldn't wait any longer.

Perhaps she could begin by showing him the photo of his mom.

Lois pulled onto the road, her stomach feeling like a tightly knotted ball of razor wire.

||_||

After Rachel left, Clark returned to the crate in the loft. He picked up the blue blanket. Hidden in its folds was a large woven motif - a red 'S' on a yellow background inside an irregular pentagon.

The blanket was small and soft. Did it have something to do with him? When he was a baby? If so, what was this motif? Could it have possibly come with him from Krypton?

On the bottom of the crate was a sphere. It was a bit bigger than a baseball and resembled a globe - although the markings of land and sea weren't familiar at all.

Clark picked it up.

It warmed in his hands.

It glowed.

And suddenly, it was as if the curtain of his mind was ripped apart.

And he remembered everything.