Chapter 1

RUN

The doctor's office was finally beginning to return to some semblance of sanity. There were only a few patients left in the waiting room and the phones had already been swithed to the service. Stella grimaced inwardly, picked up the topmost chart and headed to the waiting room to collect the doctor's next patient. She glanced at the clock over the nurses' station and sighed: four pm. Sam, her fiancé, had picked up 5:30 movie tickets and there were still three or four patients remaining.

"Lex Luthor's ex", Mrs. Monk, the office manager, whispered meaningfully and nodded toward the large windows that separated the office area from the waiting room. There sat an exquisite girl holding a closed magazine on her lap. "She was in here last week for an examination. Back for consultation."

Stella read the name typed neatly atop the chart: "Lana Lang". She appraised the girl as she headed toward the door. The first thing she noticed was the eyes. Stella marveled. The girl sat at least ten feet from the reception counter, even so, she could make out every detail. They were huge and dark, with thick lashes. The irises seemed to shimmer even under the indirect lighting of the office. They were framed in a porcelain face composed of tiny features under a perfect waterfall of straight brown black hair that a geisha would die for.

Miss Lana Lang seemed to be average height, and delicately built. Her clothing, a perfectly tailored grey turtleneck, grey trousers, black pea coat, oozed style in a very non-boutique way that was very unusual for a girl so young. All in all, stunningly beautiful, Stella noted with more than a trace of envy. A feeling that the girl looked strangely familiar came to mind.

All-in-all, the kind of girl one might see linked in the papers to billionaires and famous movie stars, she thought to herself. The thought of billionaires made her think briefly of Lex Luthor who had been laid to rest a few weeks earlier.

She glanced again at the clock: four ten. She hoped she was not going to miss that movie with Sam because of this strange girl who looked to be the very picture of health. She wondered exactly WHY Lana Lang was at the doctor's office as she opened the door and called her name.

Lana didn't respond. She seemed lost in thought. Stella tried to keep the impatience out of her voice and called her name again.

The girl remained motionless, staring at nothing with those massive eyes. It looked for all the world as if this Lana Lang were on the verge of tears and despite herself Stella felt her attitude soften a bit. She tried again.

"Miss Lang?" She called, a bit less brusquely.

Lana shuddered and looked up to see the doctor's assistant holding the door leading to the examination rooms. Lana had no idea how many times the nurse had called her name but judging from her tone, it was not the first time.

Sheepishly, Lana gathered her things and wordlessly followed the nurse down a brightly lit vanilla colored corridor into Doctor Spring's office.

"The doctor will be with you in a few minutes." Stella announced professionally as she opened Lana's chart and laid it on the desk for the doctor. Her eyes bulged ever so slightly when two words scrawled in the doctor's own handwriting caught her attention: "meteor infected".

Her gaze flickered to the exquisite girl who quietly took a seat, and she quickly shifted her glance back to the charts. She dropped them on the table and let herself out of the examination room. It's really too bad, she thought to herself wistfully. As Stella closed the door behind her, her mind's synapses made the final connection. With a shock she suddenly realized just why Lana Lang looked so familiar!

She snuck quickly into an empty examination room and whipped out her cell. She quick dialed three and let the phone ring until at last her boyfriend answered.

"Hey honey, we're still on for the flick right?"

Her boyfriend's voice sounded groggy and Stella felt irritated. The jerk was SUPPOSED to be job hunting. But the reason for her call was priority one so she mentally let it go and whispered breathlessly into the phone, "Honey, you'll never guess who's in our examination room... Mrs. Lex Luthor!"

Stella would have been quite shocked to learn that Lana had heard every word of her conversation. But Lana had bigger fish to fry so she filed it away for the moment. Instead, Lana toyed nervously with the clear kryptonite pendant that hung around her neck. And waited.

She didn't have to wait long. The doctor was amazingly prompt. He opened the door with a wide smile plastered on his face. "Good news, Lana," he announced as he took his seat at his desk.

"Oh great, well I'm all ears," Lana replied. She adopted her own interpretation of Doctor Spring's smile and affected a relaxed pose. But she was not fooled. She could hear the doctor's heartbeat.

...

One hour later Lana was behind the wheel of her rented Volvo. She rolled down the windows and inhaled deeply the carbon laced air of downtown Manhattan, her nerves taught as a wire with the doctor's prognosis sawing away at the middle.

She tried to concentrate on driving as she pulled out of the parking garage but it was a no go.

"How can this be happening?" She moaned inwardly. She had mapped out every possible complication. Except this one.

Her mind rolled back to her last day with Clark, a month earlier. Her memory detailed every nuance of his beautiful face twisted in agony as they kissed what was likely their last goodbye, his features corrupted by the intense Kryptonite poisoning that carved deep ravines into his normally impenetrable skin.

She could still feel the pressure of his lips pressing against her own. The weeks that had passed since had unearthed particulars from her recalcitrant memory that had been lost in the intensity of the moment. Like the softness of his lips against her own. Lips that had always brought to mind satin stretched taught against marble, had been rendered soft, pliant.

It had been intended to be a kiss to last a lifetime and it had lived up to that billing. They had both poured the unspoken, the unspeakable, and enough love to last ten lifetimes into that moment.

Lana came out of her daydream just in time to slam on the brakes, barely avoiding some hapless pedestrian attempting to cross the street. The terrified pedestrian, an older gentleman, glared at her malevolently and hurried to the other side, shaking his fist.

She gave up and parked the car in the first empty parking spot. She lay her head against the wheel and let the tears come, great pearlescent tears that rolled down her cheeks and plopped one by one onto her cashmere sweater.

"Why now?"

Her cell began to vibrate in her purse. Cautiously, Lana retrieved it and checked the caller ID. Chloe.

She looked at the phone, debating, as it continued to buzz. She knew Chloe well enough to know that the phone would ring forever before she gave up. She flipped it open.

"Hi, Chloe" She forced the best approximation of a cheery tone that she could manage.

"What took so long? Is everything okay Lana?"

Lana rolled her eyes. Nothing ever got past Chloe. She sighed. Answering had been a mistake.

"No no, of course not. What could be wrong?" she lied. "After all, I'm pretty much bullet proof these days." She bit her lip. Sure enough, Chloe took her words at face value.

"Lana, has someone been SHOOTING at you?"

"Of course not, it's just a figure of speech."

Chloe paused. Somehow she didn't seem convinced. And who could blame her. However, she seemed to let it go.

"So you never told me, any news from the good doctor?"

"Excuse me?" Lana thought fast. She would have to pick her words carefully. Just a little information, just enough to hide the truth. For now.

"Dr Groll, silly. Any news on that front?"

"Oh, that!" Lana bit her lip again. She remembered something she had heard once. A little truth goes a long way toward hiding a big secret.

"Nothing much, just some tests. Just to see how far I can push my body. It also seems I can take injections. As long as the force does not reach a damaging level, the needle can be inserted between cells."

Chloe's voice took on a concerned tone. "Lana does that mean you aren't impervious to gunfire?"

"No not at all! It means that the suit does nothing until subjected to damaging force. It sort of kicks in then, and any force applied is repelled by an equal amount of return energy. Or something like that. You'd have to ask the doctor, I didn't major in molecular biology."

Chloe sounded mollified. "That sounds good; that is a good thing isn't it?"

Lana laughed. "Well, unless I want to be a living statue, I think it is. Otherwise I would be rendered unable to move."

"Well how is it that Clark is able to move then?" Chloe gasped at her own stupidity. Did I just say that? She had used the "C" word.

"I don..I don't know." Lana tried to force out more but her throat felt constricted. Clark! Even the word hurt. She rolled down the car window and inhaled deeply.

"Lana? Lana, are you there? Lana I'm so sorry I know I promised" Chloe felt like kicking herself. The most pregnant pause of all pregnant pauses was finally put to rest by Lana.

"It's okay Chloe," Lana replied gently. She suddenly felt very tired. It wasn't okay. Especially not right now. "If Chloe begins to suspect anything, it's all over!" She reminded herself unnecessarily. Lana blinked back the tears and tried to sound casual.

"Don't worry about it. It had to happen sometime, didn't it?"

Chloe began to hem and haw over the phone and Lana stiffened. Chloe never did know when to leave well enough alone.

"As long as the "C" word has been put out there…. Lana, won't you let me tell him where you are?"

"Absolutely NOT, Chloe" Lana fumed into the phone. Despite herself her voice rose. "If you tell Clark a word about my whereabouts until I'm ready, I'll never forgive you Chloe".

"Okay Lana calm down, I won't breathe a word, I promise! It's just that.."

"Chloe!" Lana's voice was firm.

On the other end of the line, Chloe sighed. She knew that tone and she knew that the subject was closed. She covered the receiver with her palm and glanced behind her, and shook her head.

"I'm a bit rushed, Chloe. We'll talk another time, if that's ok." Lana's voice made it clear, the conversation was over.

"Alright, Lana! Take care of yourself, call soon!" Chloe mustered up her perkiest phone voice and they hung up.

Lana flipped her cell shut. The mere mention of Clark's name was too much.

Clark Kent, corn-fed farm boy, Alien born thousands of light years from earth. Geeky boy next door, high school quarterback, last son of Krypton, and maybe savior of mankind. And the love of her life.

Tears danced over her porcelain cheeks as she parked the car at the airport and dropped the keys into the car rental box.

She flipped open her phone and dialed. The phone on the other end rang once and a very familiar voice picked up.

"Hello Miss Lang"

"I'm at the airport. I will be there tomorrow morning"

The voice on the other end sounded concerned. "I just received the fax from Doctor Spring, and have started the ball rolling on this end."

Lana struggled to keep her voice even.

"Thank you Doctor Groll." She flipped the phone closed and hurried into the terminal to catch her flight.

...

Chloe hung up the phone and turned to face the imposingly tall, powerfully built man standing a few feet behind her. Of course he had heard every word. This was his idea and she glowered at him angrily. But one look at his face, one look at those lost puppy eyes and her heart melted. She shook her head sadly.

Clark Kent slammed his fist into his palm. "I'm sorry Chloe. I thought it was worth a try". His face brightened a little. Very little. "At least, I heard her voice."

Chloe began to gather her things. "I need to get back to Jimmy before he wakes." She looked directly at Clark, her face suddenly shifted into that patent Chloe passive-aggressive accusatory look that Clark had come to know so well over the years. "Lois is waiting."

Clark felt the sting. Jimmy had been grievously injured at the wedding reception a month earlier, and was still recovering. Chloe and Lois alternated shifts watching over him at hospital.

"Give Jimmy my regards. Tell him I'll be up soon to visit."

"And Lois?" Chloe's gaze never wavered.

Clark forced a smile. "Tell her hi." He said, simply. What more was there to say? It seemed everyone expected that he could just move on and that Lois was his next chapter. Somehow, he didn't feel like writing that novel, just yet. Not while there was the slimmest hope that Lana could be cured.

He glanced at his wristwatch. Five pm. "I need to get back to the farm." He placed his hand on Chloe's shoulder. "Thanks, Chloe. I'm sorry for putting you in the middle, again. But I do feel better knowing she is okay."

Chloe turned back to the computer and grimaced.

"Well I feel like a rat", she croaked. A sudden breeze behind her and a small tornado of paperwork on her desk told her that she was talking to herself.

...

Clark placed his TV dinner on the antique steamer trunk that served as his coffee table and flipped open his notebook. The run from Metropolis to the farm had been too quick. The trip took only a second or two now. His powers seemed to grow exponentially by the day, and each day the farm chores got that much easier to perform. So much for working off frustration!

He longed for a bit of exertion but it took less than five minutes to complete the farm chores, chores that would generally take half a dozen farmhands a full day to complete. He had forgotten what it felt like to break a sweat. But at least he kept the farm running, and he was happy here. On the farm, he could be himself, away from prying eyes. . In Metropolis, every moment was spent hiding. And the lies never stopped. Contrary to what he told others, Metropolis was a necessary evil. The farm was still where he belonged.

Metropolis and his job there served one purpose, as a means to an end. His heart lay in the grassland. Lois was right when she jeeringly called him Smallville. That was who he was, and he was proud of it. How could anyone who had never been raised on a farm understand? The smell of the fields at harvest. The familiar hoot owls calling through the night. Tending livestock, milking cows. It was everything he could have ever wanted. Almost. Except for one thing. Except for his need, his constant need, for HER. He had given his heart to Lana the very first time he saw her. A small exotic girl who had made it all good for most of his life. his one-time best friend, Lex, had taken it all away.

Destiny had taken her away from him, as Clark always knew it would. He had known somehow for as long as he loved Lana Lang that they were screwed. It was a feeling that he had ignored again and again. It was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach that he held at bay, until now. Now it was done and so was that part of his life.

It was then that Clark remembered something Lana had said long ago. "It isn't destiny, but we ourselves who control our future."

Clark knew in his heart Lana was right. It wasn't destiny. Instead, it was his one-time best friend, Lex, who had taken it all away.

He ate his TV dinner without tasting it, which was almost certainly a blessing, because the frozen dinner wasn't very appetizing. As soon as he finished his dinner, he felt restless.

Oliver was out of town, and Chloe and Lois were taking care of a recuperating Jimmy Olsen in Star City.

He paused to think how odd it was to think of Jimmy as Chloe's husband. Chloe Sullivan was now Chloe Olsen. .

It was also something of a relief, Clark had to admit to himself. He would do just about anything for Chloe, but she was the closest thing to the sister he had never had, and nothing more.

In any event, considering that Lois would be there, silently questioning him with those eyes it seemed, Clark decided to defer that trip for another day.

Clark closed the laptop and tried to relax watching television. He gave up on that pretty quickly, and it wasn't long before he found himself pacing the floor, his path travelling ever closer to the highboy in the corner.

At last he gave in, and stopped directly in front of the ancient dresser that had been made by Hiram Kent. He placed one hand on either side as if to steady himself. He then began to open the topmost drawer slowly, as if there were kryptonite inside. He gingerly retrieved a dark, frayed photo album that had clearly seen its day.

He held it for a very long time and did not open it. He ran his fingers over the binding. He did not want to open it. Half an hour passed, and Clark Kent remained in that spot, listing in his mind, over and over, every reason he could think of to return the offending item to the drawer. "The past is the past, leave it there." He reminded himself. But somehow he felt short circuited. Frustration began to mount, at himself for his weakness, followed by the pent up anger that seethed below the surface.

All at once, all the rage, the loss, the downright misery came to bear within, and he threw the album like a Frisbee, and off it sailed through the open window, over the outbuildings, across the pasture and on and on. The album sailed into the moonlit night across the county line until it came to rest eighteen miles from the Kent farm. And when it landed, Clark Kent was there to catch it. He held it in his arms and sank onto his knees in a mossy cow pasture.

Tears rolled down his face and he cradled the photo-album as if it were the most precious child. At length, he opened the book and it fell to the spot where it had been opened last, as books will do. There she was. The girl he had loved every day of his life for as long as he could remember. She was dressed for riding, and stood next to her horse, with her beautiful hair tucked neatly in a cap. Another photo. And another. He soaked them all in.

He hung his head and closed the book. "I love you, Lana", he whispered into the night.. At last, he got up, intending to speed back to the farm. But he changed his mind. Instead he quickly dropped off the photo-album and then sped away.

He began to run. He ran for hours, until he lost count of the number of times he had traversed North and South America, from the tip of Alaska until he reached the ice flows off the southernmost point of Chile. On the way, strange things happened.

A group of baby seal hunters suddenly found their clubs missing in Alaska. Bank robbers in Texas were foiled as their get-away car turned upside down. A semi truck stranded on railroad tracks in Mexico was lifted mysteriously out of the path of an approaching train.

As Clark neared Kansas for about the hundredth time that evening, he checked his watch. Nearly two am. He wasn't really fatigued yet, but he would need some sleep so he changed course and headed for Smallville. Before he reached the farm he made his nightly stop.

In a flash, he found himself kneeling at his dad's grave, in the little county cemetery half a mile from the Kent family farmhouse.

"Goodnight, dad" he whispered into the still night and ran his fingertips over the cold granite stone that marked the remains of his adopted father, the finest man he had ever known. The man who had taught him everything he knew about how to be a man. Jonathan Kent had sacrificed his own life for that of his adopted son. Clark wondered what life might be like now, if he had not reversed time. He shuddered inwardly, simultaneously repulsed by and attracted to the thought.

Clark knelt pensively in front of the grave for a few minutes and then moved on, as was his custom, to another grave, a few yards over, in the Kent family plot.

The full moon reflected clearly one name written on the little gravestone which he himself had purchased. EVAN. Evan his almost son. The child that he and Lana had found and raised for a few short days until life had reclaimed him. The full moon reflected something that caught his eye. There atop Evan's gravestone lay a bouquet of fresh cut wildflowers. A chill ran up Clark's spine. Lana?

Clark shook his head at his own frivolity. The folks from the local Baptist church frequently brought in flowers and placed them on random graves. Here he was clutching at straws again, he thought to himself mirthlessly.

He stood up and brushed off his jeans and holding his breath, he walked to the last gravesite on his nightly agenda. Lewis and Laura Lang. Sure enough, two bouquets of flowers had been laid in front of their gravestone. Also wildflowers.

His heart thumping wildly, Clark stood up and scanned the other gravestones. He could see roses and carnations and any number and variety of hothouse flowers. But no wildflowers. All the other flowers seemed to be from local florists.

He knelt again in front of the Lang gravestone.

"Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Lang. I don't suppose you could tell me who brought these?" He nodded toward the wildflowers and eyed the unmoving gravestone as if half expecting a reply.

"Tell her how much I love her next time she stops by. Tell her I'm doing everything I can to find a way."

And then he stood up and scanned the horizon. No sign of her of course.

He headed home.

Sometime after 2:30 am, Clark finally allowed himself to crawl under the sheets and slept.

That night he dreamt of her. Dreams more powerful than himself. Her lips pressed to his, her body receiving his. Her love his. And when the alarm clock rang the next morning, half asleep, he felt her body next to his. Still halfway dreaming, he whispered into nothingness, " Lana".