Previously On Specimen S:
As he slipped into bed that night, Jonathan and Martha came into the room. Martha tucked him in, then kissed his brow gently.
"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," she said. "We'll be just down the hall."
"Okay." He hesitated a moment before speaking again. "Jonathan? Martha?"
"Yes, son?"
"Why didn't you hand me over to Trask today?"
Jonathan sighed. "A few reasons. The first being, of course, how terrified you were of him. I wasn't going to hand you over to someone who scared you that badly. Not without knowing the whole story. And then, when I spoke to Trask, nothing seemed to feel right. He said his son was missing, but he never expressed any worry for your safety. He wouldn't even mention your name. He only seemed...eager...to get you back. It didn't sit right with me." He shrugged. "Then there was that picture of you. It was crumpled badly. I couldn't see a loving father pulling out a photograph that was kept in such poor condition. If it were me, I'd treasure a photo of my child and keep it in pristine condition, right in my wallet."
"Thank you," S said. "Thank you for keeping my secret."
"My pleasure," the man assured him.
"There's one other thing," S said.
"Oh?"
"About what you asked me earlier...I really want to stay here with you, if that's okay."
Twin smiles blossomed on Jonathan and Martha's faces.
"Of course it is," Martha said.
"We're really glad to hear that. But, well, there's one thing," Jonathan said, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
S paled a little. Had he been too late in making up his mind?
"What's that?" he asked, a hint of nervousness tainting his words.
"Well, S isn't a proper name for a boy. Heck, it's not a proper name for an animal. Trask called you S as a way to demean you. So, I want you to pick a new name. Anything you want. We can go with Kal, if you'd like, since that's the name your parents gave you."
S shook his head. "I know now that's my name," he said. "But I don't want to use that. Trask knows that name."
"You don't have to decide tonight," Martha said soothingly. "You can take your time. A name is an important decision."
S nodded, then spoke again, unable to hold in his question. "Martha? Why don't you have any kids?"
Martha's expression grew sad, and S instantly felt sorry for asking. He was about to apologize when she spoke.
"Jonathan and I aren't able to have children," she said after a moment, a glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," S said, the sadness in the woman's voice cutting straight to his heart. "I didn't mean..."
"It's okay," she tried to reassure him.
"But...if you did...and you had a boy...what would you have called him?"
Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look, one that was tender and a bit wistful. S saw it, and wondered if he'd again said the wrong thing.
"We would have named him Clark," she answered him.
"Clark," S said, trying out the name. It felt a little strange on his tongue, but it also somehow seemed to fit. "That's a really nice name. Would it be okay if I used that name?"
"Honey, we would love it if you used it. We'd be honored, in fact."
"Clark," he said again, his voice full of awe. "I'm Clark."
***
January 12, 1979
Clark nervously sat on the hard wooden chair in the Smallville Town Courthouse. The beaten, saggy green chair pad was too flat to offer any real barrier between his body and the solid oak seat. He didn't mind it though. He rarely felt any discomfort, thanks to his alien DNA. But today, he was aware of everything. The feel of the wood beneath him, hard and unforgiving. The incessant ticking of the wall clock, which seemed overly loud in the quiet waiting area, even without his enhanced hearing. The overpowering, but comforting, smell of strong coffee as someone brewed a fresh pot. The uneasy way in which Jonathan and Martha sat beside him, their hands nervously entwined.
He hoped with all his heart that the judge would be kind. He hoped with all he had that their petition would be granted. The Kents deserved to have their request fulfilled. They had been so kind, so caring, so generous. He'd felt their love from the very first, though he hadn't done anything to deserve it. But more surprisingly to Clark was that he had come to love them in return. He'd once wondered if he was capable of knowing what love was. How could he, when he'd been locked away from the world and so badly mistreated? But the Kents had opened a whole new world before him.
He knew love.
He knew what a home was.
He knew what it was to have a family.
The judge they were waiting to see - she couldn't possibly take that away from him, could she? She couldn't possibly tear apart the small, budding family, could she? It would be heartless, cruel, a punishment none of them deserved. But then again, Clark wasn't naive. He'd seen first-hand how easy it was for some to harden their hearts toward others. He'd seen it every day for close to thirteen years. That knowledge put him even more on edge.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kent?" the receptionist, a tall, thin blonde named Ginny, called. "Judge Orin will see you now."
"Thank you, Ginny," Jonathan said.
The three stood from their seats, and Clark found his hand in Martha's, as she gave it a supportive squeeze.
"It will be all right," she whispered to him.
Clark couldn't find words, his throat bone-dry. He could only nod. But Martha's words did little to soothe his nerves. He was scared, it was as simple as that. The woman they were about to see would be made privy to a lot of his story. Although Jonathan had tried to reassure him that she was the epitome of discretion, it terrified Clark to have anyone know too much about him. And even if she never told another soul, she still had the power to remove Clark from the Kents' comfortable home, the only place Clark had ever felt safe and cared for.
Clark followed as they moved from the waiting room into the office of Judge Catherine Orin. He sat uneasily between Jonathan and Martha, as though having them to either side of him would somehow be able to protect him. The thought crossed his mind that, physically, he seemed to be invulnerable. Trask had had him shot at, had had grenades tossed at him, had exposed him to freezing cold and blazing fires. None of that had harmed him. But whatever words the judge spoke today had the potential to destroy him.
The three linked their hands, as a sort of defensive maneuver, and as a way to support one another. Clark looked at the aging woman before him, trying to figure out if she would be kind or not. She appeared to be in her early seventies, with stark white hair and a roadmap of lines on her face. She was thin, but not frail, and exuded an easy confidence. When she smiled, Clark recognized that many of her wrinkles fell into place. What had Martha called them? Laugh-lines? He took that as a good sign.
The judge greeted them in a kind voice. "Good morning."
"Good morning," they answered back, not quite as one.
"Jonathan. Martha. Good to see you again. Clark, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let's get straight down to business, shall we?" Judge Orin said. She glanced over the file before her. "We're here to decide where to place this young man, correct?"
"That's right," Jonathan said.
"Tell me how it is that you came to find one another," the woman prodded. Then, to Clark, she said, "I promise to make this process as easy as possible."
They told the woman Clark's story - how they had found him in their shed on Christmas Eve morning. They told her how Clark was an orphan, with no relatives to turn to. Clark admitted to having no real knowledge of where he had come from, which was true enough. He didn't know where Bureau Thirty-Nine had been located, in what direction, or how many miles he'd traversed in trying to escape from Trask.
They were forced to divulge that Trask was looking for Clark. The talk around town was about the stranger who had been looking for his missing son. Clark was forced to relate a small portion of the abuse he'd suffered at Trask's hands, though he left the details sketchy on purpose. He couldn't tell this woman about the Kryptonite. That would raise too many questions he and the Kents didn't want to have to answer. The Kents backed up Clark's claims, detailing the ragged, inadequate clothing he'd been wearing when they found him, and how petrified Clark had become when Trask had come sniffing around their property.
The judge listened carefully, peppering them with questions as they told their tale, trying to dig out further details or to clarify things they had brought to light. Clark could see the woman weighing their words carefully as they spoke, though it was impossible to tell how she felt about what they were saying. A cold knot of fear grew in his stomach. Finally, Judge Orin sat back in her chair, looking deep in thought. She seemed troubled, now that their tale was complete.
"Jonathan? Martha? What is it, exactly, that you are petitioning for today?" she asked quietly.
The Kents exchanged a look, determining who would speak. Jonathan cleared his throat.
"We'd like to adopt this boy," he said softly. The he quickly added, "Or, at least, be granted the right to keep him in our home as a foster child."
"You've applied for adoption before," the judge said, glancing at her paperwork.
"Yes," Martha said, her voice infused with a hint of sadness. "We were denied."
"And that was...? When, exactly?" Judge Orin's eyes flickered over the paper, looking for a date.
"About thirteen years ago," Martha said.
"Yes, yes. I see it here now." The woman went silent as she read the note. She made an occasional "hmm" to herself as she read. After a minute, she sighed. "Normally, I wouldn't even entertain the idea of fighting against a denial like this."
Clark's heart sank.
"But, I've known you two for a long, long time. And I'm of the opinion that you would make excellent parents. All you've been lacking is the chance."
Clark brightened a little inside. Maybe things were looking up.
"Of course, I don't have all of the authority here. If I did, this would be easy. I'll have to speak with a few others, if you truly wish to pursue an adoption."
"We do," Jonathan said solemnly.
"I can't promise anything, you know that. But...there are a few things on your side here. The state agency is bursting at the seams, at the moment. They have more children than they can place. Clark's age is another factor. The chances of an adoption for a boy his age are slim. Personally, I'd rather not see him wind up in the foster care system. I spent four years in the system myself, before I turned eighteen and was turned out to fend for myself. I don't wish to see this child suffer a similar fate. So...I'm of a mind to do what I can for you."
Clark felt himself growing ever more hopeful. It sounded more and more like this woman was going to fight hard to keep his family intact.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to have the two of you step out for a few minutes," she said, gesturing to Jonathan and Martha. "I'd like to speak with Clark, alone."
Wordless, the Kents retreated from the room, giving Clark hopeful smiles. Clark watched them go, twisting in his chair to do so. Then he turned back around to face the judge, listening to the door shut with a barely audible snick. He was nervous, to be alone with this woman. But she smiled warmly at him.
"I promise not to keep you here long," she told him in a kind voice. "But I wanted to speak with you in private. I have some questions that I need to ask you. I need you to be completely honest with me. Whatever you say, I will keep confidential. Jonathan and Martha won't know what you say. Deal?"
"Okay," Clark said, nodding. "I promise."
He would tell the truth. Lying was for people like Cameron. And he was never going to be like Trask. He would work hard for the rest of his life ensuring that he became the exact opposite of the ex-Sergeant-Major, and what the man had wanted him to become.
"Good. We've heard what Martha and Jonathan want. But what is it that you want?"
Clark was momentarily stunned. He was still so unused to people asking what he wanted. Of course, the Kents had always asked. But after nearly thirteen years under Trask's tyrannical rule, it was hard to get used to people wanting to know his own desires and not just ordering him around.
"I want to stay with Jonathan and Martha," Clark said, trying to show the woman how sincere he was. "More than anything in the world, I want to live with them. Please, don't make me leave them. I need them. They've been so nice to me. No one has ever treated me as well as they have."
The judge nodded. "I see. Just what have they done, that has been so nice?"
Clark smiled at the memories, though they were only made a couple of weeks before. "When I was in their shed, they kept me warm. They fed me. They took me into their home. They gave me Christmas presents, even though they'd only just met me. I didn't have a coat to wear or clothes other than what I had on, but they bought me things. Nice things. Jonathan's been teaching me how to play football when it hasn't been snowing."
"What else do you do?" Judge Orin asked, scribbling a few notes. She gave him an encouraging smile.
"Well, I try to help them with stuff. I helped Jonathan fix a broken chair leg a couple of days ago. It felt good to be able to help out. And Martha's been showing me how to cook. I just watch right now, but I like it. Sometimes I watch her paint. And we talk a lot. They've been teaching me things, like how to read."
Judge Orin nodded. "Are you happy there?"
Clark nodded enthusiastically. "The happiest I've ever been," he said, meaning every word with his whole heart. "I feel safe with them."
Again the woman nodded. "Anything else?"
"I want to be their son," he said.
The words had been spoken softly, but they exploded into the room and echoed in his mind. He hadn't even realized he was speaking them until after they'd already tumbled from his lips. But he knew in his heart that he'd never wanted anything so badly in his entire life. He hadn't even wanted to be free from Trask with such desperation as he felt now. He wanted to not just be Clark, but to be Clark Kent, son of Jonathan and Martha. He wanted to be part of a family, officially, legally, forever.
"Please," he pleaded. "I love them."
Judge Orin smiled again, this time even wider and friendlier than before. "I'll see what I can do," she promised. "The Kents are good people."
"The best," he agreed, grinning.
"They've been dealt a rough hand," the woman said, looking down at her papers again, and at the damning denial from the adoption agency. She sighed, then pressed a button. "You can send them back in now, Ginny."
A second later, Jonathan and Martha came back into the room. Clark gave them a small smile, trying to tell them that everything was okay. But they still looked worried. Inwardly, Clark was also worried. Just because Judge Orin had said she'd do what she could, didn't mean that she would necessarily be successful. The older woman stood behind her desk.
"Well, I think I have everything that I need," she said.
"What do we do now?" Martha asked.
The judge smiled again. "Go home. Try not to worry. For the time being, I'm granting you custody. Clark is to stay in your home while we try to get this all figured out. Look, I don't want to get your hopes up. But I know a couple of people. I'm going to call around, see what strings I can pull. I'd like to see this adoption go through just as much as you do."
"Thank you," Jonathan said gratefully. "How long before we know anything?"
"I'm not sure. I'll try to rush it as much as I can, and I'll be in touch."
"We owe you one, Cathy," Jonathan said.
"Not yet," she said, winking at them. "Let's get this matter settled first."
"I don't know how we'll ever be able to repay you," Martha said.
"You just take good care of Clark, and we'll call it even," the judge replied with a smile. "I don't know, I just feel like this was meant to be. You know what I mean?"
"We do," Martha said. "We've felt that way since the second Clark came into our lives."
"In any case, I should get to work on this for you. I have a little time now before my next appointment."
"Thank you again," Martha said.
"It will be my pleasure, if I can make you three a family."
"Thank you," Clark said, shaking the woman's hand as she extended it.
Together, the three left the court house. The day had started out in apprehension, but now held a tremulous note of hope buried deeply within it. None of them dared to breathe a sigh of relief, but each of them felt as though a tiny weight had been lifted from their shoulders. All they could do now was wait, and hope, and pray.
***
April 17, 1979
The months since Clark had arrived on the Kents' farm flew by swiftly. The boy was in love with his new life, easily slipping into the routine of the farm. He was eager to help with anything he could, no matter how menial the task. He'd rush to take out the trash, so that Jonathan didn't have to do it. He'd get up earlier than his surrogate parents and get the coffee on, once he learned how to do it. He'd race to the mailbox at the end of the driveway to retrieve the mail, heedless of the weather. He helped Jonathan with his chores in running the farm, eagerly asking questions as they worked, and broadening his knowledge. He helped Martha in the kitchen whenever time allowed, when he wasn't occupied with another task, and found that he enjoyed cooking.
He never complained. He never balked to do anything. In fact, Jonathan and Martha rarely had to ask him to do any task. He wanted to please them. He wanted to make their lives as easy as he could. Part of it, he knew, had been ingrained in him from spending his whole life as Trask's captive. But it was different, with these people. When he'd tried to please Trask, it was because he'd feared the man so desperately, so completely. With his new family, however, it was because he loved them, and was grateful to them.
Every day of his new life brought new joys to Clark. He reveled in watching his very first sunrise as a free man, even though he'd been tired. His breath was stolen away at every sunset, the brilliant colors splashed across the sky seeming more vivid than he ever could have imagined. It was true that he'd seen the occasional sunrises and sunsets from his captivity, but the oppressive sadness of that former life had muted the colors in his mind and had only marked the beginning or ending of another day of torment. Now they marked the passage of time as a free man, well away from Bureau Thirty-Nine.
Every meal was a source of celebration for Clark, as he tried things he'd never imagined before. His meals under the care of Bureau Thirty-Nine had always been bland and uninspired. And rarely had they offered any variety. But Martha's cooking opened up an entire world of new flavors and new foods. His appetite, once a meager thing, exploded. Clark wasn't sure if it was only her cooking that kept his appetite peaked, or if his alien DNA demanded more food in order to keep functioning, or if his continually developing abilities were the culprit. He didn't care either. He knew only that he enjoyed such a vast array of new foods.
And as for Jonathan and Martha, they were continuously shocked at what the boy did and did not know.
He knew the fifty states and their capitals. He could point them out on a map. But he did not know what the states were famous for - that California was the leader in movie and television production, or that New York boasted Broadway stage productions. He knew every country on the planet, who the leader was of each, and their respective titles. But he did not know that George Washington was the first president of the United States. He could not point out Abraham Lincoln when shown a picture of the early presidents. He could easily explain tactical warfare, but had no knowledge that Earth was one of nine planets, let alone their names or that they inhabited the third one out from the sun.
Not even the most basic of things had been taught to him. He knew his numbers, yet he did not possess the knowledge necessary to add or subtract them. He knew the names of colors, but did not know that red and blue combined to make purple, or that blue and yellow made green, or that white light could be broken in a prism to reveal the spectrum of colors that comprised it. He had never been taught how to read. He'd never even been taught the alphabet. He had no knowledge that there were twenty-six letters, or that the same sound could be made using various combinations of letters - that "f" and "ph" could make the same sound. He hadn't known that the sigil used to mark him looked just like the letter "S," though it made sense to him in retrospect why he'd been called that all his life.
It broke the Kents' hearts each time they discovered another thing that Clark should have known, but didn't. So, with infinite patience, they began to teach him. They started with the very basics, home-schooling him from a kindergarten level. Clark learned quickly, devouring the information offered up to him. The Kents were impressed at how fast he was to catch on to things, and how once he learned something, he seemed incapable of forgetting it again. Clark was an enthusiastic student, never seeming to dislike any of the information or subjects. True, there were some things that he enjoyed more than others. Math bored him, but a book could hold his attention for hours. And above all, once he learned how to write, he never stopped doing it in his spare time.
His earliest attempts were haltingly written, and riddled with errors. But he doggedly pursued it, until his essays and stories became stronger and grammatically flawless. It gave him immense pleasure to write, about everything and anything. He'd summarize a book after reading it, just for the fun of it. He'd write a story that popped into his head, now that his imagination had been set free by the Kents. He even kept a journal, chronicling the events of his day to day life. And as he went into the town with Jonathan and Martha, he wrote about the events he saw there as well.
It didn't take long for him to realize that writing was what he wanted to do for a living.
And yet, he also wanted to do something positive with his life. He wanted to give back to the world. He wanted to make a difference.
He felt guilty about the ideas Trask had tried so hard to plant in his mind. He felt ashamed over the atrocities Trask had wanted him to commit. He knew he had to find a way to help people, instead of ways to hurt them, even though he'd never actually had the desire to do the things Trask had wanted him to do. Clark wanted to find a way to better society, not through intimidation tactics and destruction, the way Cameron had envisioned, but through helping people solve their problems.
Picking up the morning's edition of the Smallville Post from the mailbox and skimming the front page, Clark finally had the answer he'd been searching for. He could use his love of writing, and combine it with his desire to help mankind. He would become a journalist. Not the kind who merely reported on what had transpired at a sporting event, or a local harvest festival. He would become almost detective-like, sleuthing out answers to real problems. He would expose the underbelly of society, and use his words and determination to bring justice to people who needed it.
He would become an investigative reporter.
Late that same afternoon, the phone rang. Jonathan spoke to the person on the other end briefly, nodding his head as he did so. But he looked worried. Martha simply wrung her hands, looking torn between letting Jonathan handle whatever the call was about, and picking up the extension. But after a moment, the call ended and Jonathan hung up the phone.
"That was the courthouse," he said, not bothering to conceal the worry in his voice. "They want us to come down, as soon as possible."
"Did they give you any idea...?" Martha asked.
Jonathan shook his head. "No. That was Ginny. She said that she doesn't know anything. Just that Judge Orin wants us to go over there."
"Jonathan..."
"I know, Martha. I know. But let's not jump to any conclusions yet, okay?"
Clark closed his eyes, leaning against the wall for support. This was it. For months, his newfound family had simultaneously anticipated and dreaded this day. He had no illusion in his mind that this was merely a call to fill them all in on what progress had been made. No, today, he was certain, he would have his fate decided. Either he would be allowed to stay with the Kents, as their son or their foster son, or he would be violently ripped from the only family he'd ever known. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it, if he was taken away from the Kents. He wasn't sure what he would do if that happened.
He fidgeted in his seat for the entire drive into town. His eyes barely registered his surroundings. He barely heard the various sounds of the engine, the tires on the road, the sighing of the wind beyond the windows. He was only aware of how fast his heart was beating, how twisted into knots his stomach had become. He was also aware of how elevated Jonathan and Martha's pulses had become. He felt badly about that, and wished he had some way to comfort them. But he was just as nervous as they were, if not more so, and couldn't find any words to offer them.
None of them spoke on the drive. None of them knew what to say, it seemed. Walking into the courthouse, Clark felt almost as though he were walking back into the compound where he'd spent his whole life. The bright, fresh paint of the place mocked him. The pleasant aroma of strong coffee became oppressive, sickening even. The cheerful face of Ginny, the receptionist, seemed somehow cold and distant. Clark swallowed hard as he sat with the Kents. As before, he situated himself in the middle, as though having them on either side could somehow shield him from an unfavorable outcome. They didn't have to wait long. Ginny was ushering them into Judge Orin's office within minutes.
Clark uneasily sat in the same chair he'd sat in months before. He gripped Jonathan and Martha's hands, making them into one chain. Together, they would face whatever decision was coming their way. The judge was not alone in her office. In a chair, off to one side, the Sheriff sat quietly. Clark wasn't sure he liked that. Was the man there to ensure that he didn't try to run away if things went badly this afternoon? Was he there to take Clark away from his family?
"Jonathan, Martha, Clark," the judge said, greeting them warmly enough. "Sorry to call you out here on such short notice."
"It's no trouble," Jonathan said.
"Well, let's cut straight to the chase," the judge said, pulling a file from a stack sitting to her right side. "I have called every single person that I know who could possibly help us with this case. For a long time, I didn't hear much from them. But this afternoon, I finally got word."
Please, Clark thought. Please let me stay here with the Kents.
"There were some who questioned my decision to fight for you. There were some who refused to look past your previous adoption denial, and the reasons why."
Oh no, Clark thought.
But the judge smiled. "Then there were others who felt as strongly as I do about this case. And I am more than pleased to announce that your request has been granted. All we have to do today is fill out some paperwork, and Clark will be your son, legally. I've asked the Sheriff to bear witness."
The words exploded in Clark's mind.
Son. Legally.
He was going to be able to stay with Jonathan and Martha. And not only that, but they would truly be his parents. He was a permanent part of their family now. He could barely concentrate as they filled out the necessary paperwork, though he was proud to be able to sign his own name. With swift, sure strokes, he set the pen to the paper and signed the places Judge Orin pointed out, alongside his new parents.
It didn't take quite as long as he thought it would, and soon the judge was putting the papers away again. Clark was elated. He was practically floating, he felt so relieved. He couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop the chuckles that escaped from him as the judge talked with them.
"Looks like you are all set," the woman told them, after putting the file in a different stack than she'd initially taken it from. "Congratulations," she said, shaking Martha and Jonathan's hands. "You two are now parents. And you, young man, are officially Clark Jerome Kent."
Martha and Jonathan profusely thanked the woman, then hugged each other, drawing Clark into their embrace as well. Clark felt himself swept with emotions. They brought tears to his eyes, and he let them come, feeling no shame in them. Before, in his old life, he'd shed plenty of private tears, when he was alone in his cell at night. But now, for the first time in his entire life, his tears sprang from the greatest happiness he'd ever known.
"We're all finished here," the judge said. "You'll be getting a copy of Clark's new birth certificate in the mail shortly."
"I'd say this calls for a celebration," Jonathan said. "Let's go get some dinner out. Thank you, Cathy. You have no idea how much this means to us."
"You know," she said, smiling gently at the new family, "sometimes, I have to make the difficult decision to break families apart. But this...I really do love this part of my job," she said, smiling now at Clark. "I love being able to put families together."
"Thank you," Clark said, his words feeling too simple to properly express his gratitude. "For everything." On an impulse, he embraced the woman in a grateful hug.
"You're very welcome. I trust you'll take good care of your parents." She winked at him.
"I'll be the best son the world has ever seen," he promised her.
Judge Orin laughed. "I'm sure you will be."
As they left the courthouse, Clark felt like his feet barely touched the ground. All the months of worry were over. All the tension was gone from him. He had the one thing he wanted in his life. He had a home. He had a family. He had a mom and a dad who loved him fiercely.
He felt like he could take on the entire world.
To Be Continued...
